Tully

Jennifer touched Tully with her fingers. ‘Did you like your palm tree? You’ve never seen one.’

‘Its bark was rough like a pineapple’s. It was pretty cool.’

‘Was the rope tight?’

Tully could not see Jennifer’s face.

‘It’s always around my neck,’ said Tully slowly. ‘When I fall, it’s tight.’

‘Did you suffocate?’ Jennifer was barely audible.

‘Yes, and then I woke up.’

‘Have you ever…died in your dreams?’

‘No. I don’t think you can. I think when you die in your dreams, you die in real life. No, people don’t die in their dreams.’

‘Not even you?’

‘Not even me,’ said Tully.

‘What stops you?’ asked Jennifer faintly.

‘I wanted a drink of water,’ said Tully. ‘I was really thirsty. I did not want to die. I wanted to drink. And then I wanted to go swimming.’

After a while, Jennifer said, ‘Well, at least you are getting out of the house.’

Tully smiled thinly. ‘Yeah. I used to do it in front of my mother, in the living room, and Aunt Lena would say, “Tully, can you move a little? You’re blocking the TV,” and my mother wouldn’t say anything at all.’

Jennifer stared into the dark. ‘I remember thinking you were sick for dreaming that. I remember thinking that you didn’t really want to die, you were just screaming for help.’

‘Yeah, screaming,’ said Tully. ‘Obviously loudly.’

‘To people who didn’t care,’ said Jennifer.

‘Hey, wait a minute. You’re talking about my mother here,’ said Tully. ‘And we all know how deeply she cares.’

‘Yes,’ said Jennifer. ‘Deeply.’

The girls said nothing for a little while and then Tully asked, ‘Jennifer, why are you asking me this? We haven’t talked about this in years. Why now?’

‘We haven’t talked about a lot of things in years.’

‘Like?’

‘Like why you stopped coming around here. Around me and Jule.’

‘I thought I told you.’

‘Yes, but you didn’t tell me why. Why, Tully?’

Tully didn’t answer. She thought back to the time she was twelve. And thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen. 1973, 1974, 1975…Bicentennial. July 4, 1976, she went with Jennifer and Julie to watch the fireworks at Lake Shawnee. Tully had called up Jennifer. And Jennifer, as if nothing were wrong, invited her out, and Tully came. It wasn’t the first time in two and a half years the three of them got together, but it was the first time in two and a half years Tully did the calling.

Those years, thought Tully. It was as if I disappeared off the face of the earth. I did all the usual things; I went to school, I did my homework, I learned how to dance and made some new friends, and hung out and smoked, and danced in dance clubs and won some money to buy myself clothes. I occasionally slept and occasionally saw Jennifer and Julie. But I don’t myself know how I made it through those years. Certainly nothing worth repeating to this crazy person sitting next to me on the sofa.

Jennifer rolled her eyes. ‘Forget it. Tell me, do you think you love Robin? Honestly.’

Tully looked over at Jennifer’s shadow in the dark room.

‘I don’t particularly want to lose him,’ she said. ‘Is that love?’

‘Tully, have you ever loved any of the boys you’ve been with?’

Tully did not hesitate. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I haven’t. Not one. Not even remotely.’

‘Is that why you don’t cry at the end of Love Story?’ asked Jennifer. ‘Because you can’t imagine what it would be like to love someone?’

Tully patted Jennifer’s leg. ‘Who said I don’t cry at the end of Love Story?’

‘Tull, I’ve never in twelve years seen you cry.’

‘I don’t,’ said Tully, a brittle rock inside her chest, ‘cry much.’

‘Not even in front of me?’

‘Obviously not,’ said Tully, then giving in a little. ‘I try sometimes to…imagine loving somebody like that.’

‘Like Oliver loves Jenny?’ she asked.

‘No,’ said Tully, squeezing Jennifer’s leg. ‘That I understand. Because I love Jenny, too. I know what it’s like to love Jenny.’ Tully smiled. ‘I want to know what it’s like to love Oliver.’

Tully saw Jennifer press the tips of her fingers hard to her eyes and not let go, and Tully nearly wanted to press her own fingers to her eyes, to press out the image of Jennifer suppressing her demons.

They sat there silent and unmoving in the dark. Tick tock, tick tock. Tick. Tock. Tick.

‘I want to go home, Jen,’ said Tully.

‘Come upstairs with me,’ Jennifer said. ‘Please.’

Tully went upstairs. And gasped when she saw Jen’s room: usually immaculate, it was now an unbelievable mess.

‘My God, Jennifer! Who lives here now? Not you!’

‘Well, I’ve been too busy to clean up.’

‘Busy. Of course,’ said Tully.

They sat on the bed next to each other. Jennifer looked at her feet and then pressed her fingertips to her eyes again, hard.

Tully sat on the unmade bed, next to her.

‘It’ll be all right, Mandolini,’ Tully said, feeling desperately helpless, nearly angry, when it came to all of Jennifer’s unreachable, untamable animals, baring their teeth at Tully’s meaningless comforts. Her words sounded dull and void even to herself. ‘Forget it…forget him, Jennifer Lynn Mandolini,’ whispered Tully. ‘Please. Forget him.’

But inside, Tully thought, Who cares about him? There is a whole life to be destroyed by or excited by. A whole fucking life.

Far off, Tully heard Jennifer speak.

‘What was that poem you wrote, Tully? Remember?’

‘No,’ Tully said quickly. ‘I wrote a couple of poems. The summer poem?’

‘I don’t know the summer poem,’ Jennifer said. ‘The disconsolate poem.’

Tully cleared her throat.

‘I used to sing

I used to be

Disconsolate, alone, yet free

Now that my soul has been encased

Whatever will become of me…?’

Jennifer closed her eyes. ‘That’s nice,’ she said. ‘Now tell me the summer poem.’

Tully moved slightly away on the bed. ‘Maybe some other time, okay, Jen?’

‘Okay, Tully,’ said Jennifer.

Tully’s heart gripped and ripped as she listened to Jennifer’s erratic breathing. A small scared thought ran darkly through her like a roach surprised by light. How’s Jen ever going to handle anything if she cannot handle something even this minor? Jen had always suspected there would come a time when she would be called upon to deal and wouldn’t be able to. No, I told her, don’t be absurd. Don’t be silly. Everything that happens only makes you stronger. Remember what Nietzsche said? ‘All that doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’ But yet, here she is, weaker than ever, and I cannot find the right words.

‘I want to go home, Jenny,’ said Tully finally.

Jennifer let Tully drive the Camaro home. They opened all the windows to let the wind in. The March air was cool, but it smelled like spring. As if everything were about to bloom.

‘Car handles well,’ said Tully.

‘Tully, you’ve never driven anything in your life,’ said Jennifer. ‘What do you know about handling?’

‘That’s not true,’ said Tully. ‘Robin lets me drive his Corvette.’

‘Yeah, in the parking lot,’ said Jennifer. ‘I’m sure you’re a real speed demon in the parking lot.’

At the Grove, the girls stood on the porch facing each other. ‘Jennifer,’ Tully said. ‘I’m going to ask you something, and I want you by God to answer me. Jennifer, are you screaming for help?’

Tully could hear Jennifer’s belabored breathing.

‘What a brave question, Tully,’ she finally said.

‘Give me a brave answer, Jennifer, don’t buy time, tell me right now, are you?’

‘No, Tully,’ Jennifer replied. ‘I’m not.’

‘Promise?’

‘I swear on our friendship.’

Tully stood right in front of Jennifer, looking brokenly at Jennifer’s thin face. After a moment, Tully’s right hand went around Jennifer’s head. Tully brought Jen’s face close and kissed her hard on the lips, pulled away, and then kissed her again.

‘Mandolini, I love you,’ Tully said, drained and in pain.

‘And I you, Tully.’

Friday, March 23, in school, Tully, Jennifer, and Julie sat together at lunch – a rare event. Jennifer usually sat with her cheerleader pals even though cheerleading season was long over. Tully thought Jennifer seemed brighter. The heaviness that clung to Tully lifted a little. That Friday night, the girls went to see The Deer Hunter.

‘I think it will win Best Picture,’ predicted Jennifer on the way home.

‘I think Coming Home will win,’ said Julie.

‘Oh, you’re joking!’ Tully laughed. ‘They couldn’t have been more heavy-handed in that film if they had tied you to a post and beat you over the head repeatedly with a ‘War is b-b-b-a-a-a-a-d-d-d’ shovel.’

‘Oh, and here, killing Nick in the last five minutes of the movie, when we were all thinking he was gonna make it, what is that, huh? That’s not heavy-handed?’

‘I didn’t think he was gonna make it,’ said Jennifer, keeping her eyes on the road. ‘I thought from the beginning he would die. He wanted to be so strong,’ she said evenly. ‘He wanted to be as strong as Michael, but he just wasn’t, no matter how he tried, and he tried really hard. In the end, he just lost faith.’

‘Yeah, but Stephen made it,’ said Julie. ‘And he was the weakest of the bunch.’

‘Stephen never even tried to be strong,’ said Jennifer. ‘It wasn’t important to him like it was to Nick. To Stephen, Michael was so far out in the stratosphere, to be respected certainly, but never to be understood. But Nick wanted to be as strong as Michael and in the end was shattered by his own weakness.’

Julie waved her off from the backseat. ‘I don’t think Michael was so strong. I think he pretended to be strong.’

Jennifer shook her head. ‘No. He was strong through and through. He was invulnerable.’

‘Nobody is invulnerable, Jen,’ said Tully thickly. ‘It’s a myth.’

‘I think you’re reading too much into it, Jen,’ Julie said.

‘Yeah, but unlike with Coming Home, we’re actually able to read something into it,’ said Tully. ‘I agree with Jennifer. Deer Hunter will win.’

‘When are the Oscars?’ asked Julie.

‘Monday, April ninth,’ said Jennifer.

‘Well, we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?’ said Julie. ‘And the loser buys lunch.’

Julie was dropped off first, and when Jennifer parked in front of Tully’s house, she folded her hands across her chest, hung her head, and said, ‘Maybe you like me too much, Tully.’

Tully turned her face away from Jennifer. The fog around Tully was so dense, she could not see well. She blinked, trying to blink back the aching that, like anchors, weighed down her eyes. Shaking her head in short, convulsive strokes, Tully said quietly, ‘I definitely like you too much, Jennifer, I definitely like you way too much, but…’ Tully paused, ‘what does that have to do with anything?’

‘I wish,’ said Jennifer, ‘that maybe you wouldn’t like me quite so much.’

Tully’s head did not stop shaking. ‘Don’t be so concerned. Do we seem close to you? We’re close with Julie, too.’

‘Not that close,’ said Jennifer. ‘You and me are too close.’

‘What’s wrong with close?’ whispered Tully. ‘Everything will be okay, Jen.’

‘I just wish you wouldn’t be so attached to me, Tully,’ said Jennifer a little stridently. ‘I just wish you wouldn’t be.’

‘Okay, Jen,’ said Tully, ‘I won’t be.’

‘Promise me you won’t be?’ said Jennifer.

‘I promise, Jennifer,’ said Tully, her throat so tight she was surprised any words could get through, even little ones. ‘I won’t be.’

Saturday, March 24, Tully, Jennifer, and Julie went to watch Tom pitch his first baseball game of the season. His team won 11 –9.

Jennifer was talkative and cheerful. She narrated Tom’s game, much to Tully’s superficial amusement, and afterwards ate a double scoop of strawberry and chocolate ice cream. Even when she saw Jack with Shakie Lamber on his arm, Jennifer did not flinch. Tully watched her. Jennifer did not say hi or look Jack’s way. Only her unblinking eyes gave away the remains of her soul.

Sunday, March 25, Jennifer as usual picked up Tully and drove her to church, and then to The Village Inn. Rather, Jennifer let Tully drive the Camaro to St Mark’s and to The Village Inn.

‘I really like my car, Tully,’ said Jennifer. ‘Don’t you?’

‘Great car,’ said Tully. ‘Great fucking car.’

‘I’ve really come to like it,’ said Jennifer.

Yes, all the Stanford jocks, Tully wanted to say, will go crazy over you in your Camaro, shiny and baby-blue.

Sunday night, Jennifer sat between her mom and dad and watched the ‘ABC Sunday Night Movie’ with them. Afterwards, she said, ‘Mom, Dad, I’m sorry, but I’m just not going to make valedictorian this year.’

Lynn and Tony exchanged looks. ‘We know. We understand. It’s okay, honey. Honestly,’ said Lynn.

‘I haven’t been feeling very happy, lately,’ continued Jennifer. ‘As I’m sure you’ve noticed. And my grades have suffered.’ She breathed in deeply.

‘Are you okay, Jen?’ Lynn asked. ‘Do you want to go see…someone?’

‘Like who?’ said Jennifer.

‘Like Dr Collins. Your breathing…it sounds…not so good.’

Jennifer smirked. ‘Maybe. Yes. We could do that. I am having a little trouble catching my breath.’

Tony said, ‘What about maybe talking to him about, you know, to see if, you know –’ he broke off.

‘If I’m slipping back again, Dad? Don’t worry. You guys love me so much, and I love you back so much, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Teenage blues, you know.’

‘Oh, honey, don’t we know!’ exclaimed Lynn. ‘We’ve all been there. You’ll be all right.’

‘I know I will, Mom,’ said Jennifer. ‘And anyway,’ she added, ‘the good news is that I haven’t lost any of my hair like Dad.’

‘Good news indeed.’ Tony smiled.

Jennifer then kissed her mom and dad good night and went upstairs. She brushed her teeth and washed her face. Then she took a long shower, washing her hair four times and deep-conditioning it. She shaved her legs, from her ankles to her thighs, and her underarms, too. After the shower, she put on Oil of Olay all over her body, taking particular care of her face. When she put on an extra long T-shirt and a fresh pair of underwear, she got on the scale. The two-digit number above the black line read 89.

She was having trouble sleeping. So she spent the next two or three hours quietly cleaning up her records and books, picking up her strewn-about papers, putting away her magazines, and throwing out dirty paper plates from months ago when she was still eating. Around two in the morning, Jennifer opened the window, moving the curtains out of the way so that the fresh air could get through, and got into bed. She lay on her back, hands under her head, looked up at the ceiling, and remembered that she hadn’t called Tully tonight. Just as well, she thought. Reaching under the bed, she pulled out her notebook journal and flipped it open.

Tully, wrote Jennifer in the dark,

It breaks my heart to break your heart, my Tully, my Natalie Anne Makker, my faithful friend. But Tully, I assure you, you would not have wanted me to live my life out with my soul such a screaming raging zoo. You would not have wanted me to live my life out in such pain. You taught me all I know about caging the animals that run rampant inside me, for the monsters have been running rampant inside you for years. But strength is not like a will: you cannot will it to me. And though you tried to teach me, you could never give me any of your strength. Which is really good, because now God is going to call upon you to summon all your strength, all your iron-clad, gritted-teeth, clenched-fisted will to pull through. And pull through you will have to. Cope you will. I’m sorry, though, Tully. It seems that we all have done nothing but break your poor heart…

She scribbled a few more lines and then shoved the journal back under the bed, flinging her head back on the pillow. Jennifer started counting sheep, and sleep came before the twenty-seventh sheep jumped over the fence.

Monday morning, March 26, Jennifer was not in homeroom. After homeroom, Tully pulled Julie aside and said, ‘Jennifer was not in homeroom.’

‘I know. I’m in the same homeroom, remember?’

‘Where is she?’ said Tully.

‘How should I know? Home sick.’

‘Let’s call her,’ said Tully.

They called from the downstairs cafeteria. Tully let it ring twenty times before she hung up. ‘Let’s call her mother,’ she said tensely.

‘Oh, great, Tull!’ exclaimed Julie. ‘Let’s call Mrs Mandolini and tell her her daughter is not home and not in homeroom.’

‘Well, where is she, then?’ asked Tully.

‘Maybe she’s taking a shower,’ replied Julie. ‘Maybe she has the music on so loud that she doesn’t hear us – ’

‘Impossible,’ interrupted Tully. ‘The stereo is unplugged.’

‘Why is it unplugged?’

‘She says because she doesn’t listen to it that much any more and she doesn’t want it using passive electricity.’

‘Passive electricity?’

‘That’s what she says,’ answered Tully. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘What’s the matter with you? I don’t know what you’re going to do, but I’m going to Health.’

‘Julie.’

‘Tully! What kind of a face is that? You are out of your mind! Listen to me. She is taking a shower. She is listening to music. She plugged it back in. She went shopping. She went for a drive. She went to Kansas City. She’s a big girl.’

Tully stood motionless. ‘Come with me, Jule,’ she said.

‘Tully, I’m going to Health. I’ll talk to you at lunch,’ said Julie, and ran to class.

Tully continued to stand there. She then slowly went to her locker, stashed her books, and left the school. Outside, she thought of calling Robin and asking him to come and get her. But it was a feeble thought, and Tully dismissed it, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. What am I going to say to him anyway? Robin, please come and drive me to Sunset Court? I just don’t want to be alone going to Sunset Court. In fact, I don’t want to go to Sunset Court at all. Robin, please come and drive me to a desert, drive me to a palm tree, drive me to drink, but just drive me away from Sunset Court, Robin. Tully sat down on the bench outside the side entrance, sat there motionless for such a long time that the sun moved from the bottom of the trees in the courtyard to near the top of the sky before she got up and crossed 10th Street. She trod to Sunset Court with her shoulders as squared as possible. On the way, Tully studiously counted every car that went by, numbering them at fifty-seven by the time she walked up to Jennifer’s house.

Walking past the garage, she held herself tighter with her arms and continued on to the back gate. She sat herself down at the picnic table, arms folded around herself, unyielding, shaking arms, gripping her around the chest, and sat there looking at the grass until she heard the car door slam in the front. Tully ran to the driveway, but it was not Jennifer’s Camaro, only Mrs Mandolini’s Chrysler Plymouth.

‘Tully, what are you doing here, what’s wrong?’

‘Oh, nothing, Mrs Mandolini.’

‘Tully, you’re ashen. What’s the matter? Is everything all right at home?’

My home? My home is wonderful, here it goes, here it goes, here it falls right now, right here, here we are, I am going to turn around and walk out of this house and I am never going to come back. I just cannot stand here in front of her.

‘Want some lunch?’ Lynn walked business-like into the kitchen, swung open the fridge, and pulled out the Tupperware bowl of tuna salad.

‘I’m glad you’re here. You haven’t talked to me in some time. I feel very close to you, Tully. You’ve been very dear to me, but you know that, of course.’

‘Of course,’ mouthed Tully, to whom Lynn Mandolini’s voice sounded as far away as Zaire and just as black.

‘And to Mr Mandolini, too, despite how he acts sometimes. Want something to eat?’ Lynn asked Tully with her mouth full.

‘Mrs Mandolini,’ said Tully, putting her hands to her throat. ‘Do you know if Jen’s car is in the garage?’

‘Well, of course it is, we always put it there overnight.’

‘Could you check, please?’ Tully asked, trying to keep the raw edge out of her voice. But Lynn must have seen something in Tully, heard something from Tully because she put down her sandwich – though not her Marlboro – and said, ‘Tully, where is Jennifer?’

‘Not in school,’ said Tully. ‘I’m thinking maybe she went shopping or something.’

‘Playing hooky from school? Jennifer?’ Lynn shrugged her shoulders and picked up her tuna sandwich. ‘Well, I suppose anything’s possible,’ she said, her mouth full.

They walked outside to the garage. Lynn turned the key and Tully closed her eyes, wanting not to see. She heard the garage door pull slowly up. When Tully opened her eyes, she saw a brand-new 1978 Camaro, shiny and baby-blue.

Tully did not move and neither did Lynn. Nothing moved except for the ash on Lynn’s cigarette, which broke off and fell to the floor.

‘Gee,’ said Lynn. ‘I wonder where she could be. Where do you think she could be, Tully?’

Tully did not hear her. She was holding on to a low tool shelf, keeping herself steady, and was stunned at the anger that swam over her. Yes. Anger. Fucking, naked anger. Goddamn it, Jennifer, goddamn it, couldn’t you at least go out on the open road, couldn’t you do at least that, to spare us all just a little? Just a fucking little?

‘Tully, where do you think she could be?’ said Lynn, a little more urgently.

Tully looked up at her, met her gaze head-on, and said as calmly as she could, ‘She is in the house, Mrs Mandolini.’ But when she let go of the shelf, her legs gave out under her, and she collapsed to the cement floor.

‘Tully! What’s the matter with you, are you sick?’ said Lynn, helping her up with one hand, the other one still holding on to the Marlboro. ‘You look so awful, why don’t you come in. I’ll have Jen drive you home.’

Tully struggled up. She thought wretchedly as she walked back into the house that if Jennifer wanted to drive, she would have already driven off somewhere. But the car! The car was in the garage.

‘Jennifer!’ yelled Lynn Mandolini at the foot of the stairs. ‘Come and have something to eat. Jenny Lynn!’

There was no answer. Lynn looked at Tully, who was clutching on to the banister. Lynn went up first. Tully trailed behind her. ‘I hope she is all right,’ said Lynn. ‘She hasn’t been feeling well these past couple of days. But it’s so strange. She seemed perfectly fine this morning. Very chipper and everything. Ate a big breakfast.’ Upstairs, the door to Jennifer’s room was shut and so were all the other doors upstairs, making the hallway a dark tunnel. Tully came to stand near Jennifer’s bedroom door.

‘Tully! Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to open the door?’ She walked past Tully and turned the knob.

Jennifer’s room was empty. They both walked in. It was not only empty, it was spotlessly clean. The bed was made, the floor was vacuumed, the window was halfway open. The books and records were in their places.

‘Wow, when did she do that?’ Lynn wondered. ‘Last night it was really messy.’

Tully sat down on Jennifer’s bed. Her hands were wet. ‘This morning. She did it this morning.’

‘What, instead of going to school?’ Lynn said. ‘Well, maybe. I thought you said she was in the house.’

Tully pressed her fingertips to her eyes so hard that when she stopped she saw red spots. ‘Mrs Mandolini. She is not in school and her car is in the garage.’

‘But she is not in the house, either, Tully,’ said Lynn, sounding slightly irritated. ‘Listen, my lunch hour is almost over.’

‘Mrs Mandolini,’ said Tully. ‘Jennifer is in the house.’