Ink & Interruptions

            Typing out a message to my mom proved far more difficult than I thought it would be. I was on my tenth draft of essentially a long-winded “Hello. How have you been,” when there was a knock at the door. I clicked the lock button and watched the phone screen shift to black, sucking the half-written message into the void.  I didn’t know who I expected to see when I looked up, but it wasn’t him. Sam. My heart fell, and the shame I had buried earlier that morning seemed to rise from the haphazard pile of student files on the edge of my desk. My throat squeezed every word that tried to escape—effectively turning me into a statue that could only stare at the young man who seemed to deflate with each step he took toward me.

            “I’m sorry to bug you, Ms. M.” His voice was tender—a quiet sound that floated through the pulsing silence in the room. My hand was still resting on my phone—my mom’s voice somehow rising up through the past and searing into my skin.

            “Evie, you can’t do that. What would Julia think?”

            “Evelyn Mercer do not deliberately annoy Kyle; you know he is under a lot of pressure right now.”

            “Oh, honey, you look absolutely stunning with Kyle in this photo. Aren’t you glad we put that other dress back now?”

“I can just see your future right now: Kyle, you, babies—oh, the babies will be absolutely perfect.”

            “…I mean I can go if you’re busy.” His voice ripped me into the present, causing me to snatch my hand back from the surface of the phone.

            “No, no, no. Everything’s fine. Please sit down, Sam,” I said, forcing the words out in a rush. His body sagged with relief, but he positioned himself on the edge of the seat, as though he was preparing to make a quick exit.

            “I just wanted to say sorry for my parents. I shouldn’t have told them what you said.” His gaze dropped to his hands. He stretched out a rubber band, revealing a thin tan line that circled his wrist. “I knew they wouldn’t be happy, but I just—well I thought if they heard that someone—” His voice broke. “It was stupid, but I thought if they saw that someone, like you—someone other than my teachers—thought I was good at something else—” He snapped the rubber band against his wrist; I felt my body flinch at the sound of impact. “Like I said, stupid. I knew it was a long shot too, but I truly never thought they would get you in trouble.” His head shot up, his brown eyes shimmering as they met mine. “Ms. M, I never thought you’d get in trouble.” He released the band again, snap. “Really.” Snap.  

            I felt my heart fracture, like the band was meeting my soul instead of Sam’s reddening skin. “Sam, stop.” My shame finally gave way, and my voice poured out, like a dam bursting, water rushing to fill in the cracks of every surface. “It’s okay. Really.” I stretched out my arm, knowing I couldn’t reach the band, but praying the movement caused him to relax enough that he would let it settle back into place on his wrist. I had to refrain from audibly sighing when I saw his hand move, but the sound of rubber striking skin didn’t echo around the room. “Sam, I didn’t get in trouble, and your parents were just making sure I was doing what’s best for you.” The words stuck a little; it felt like I was scraping grime from my tongue, dislodging unwanted slime that had built up overnight.

            “But, they said Dr. Montgomery—”

            “And he did. Dr. Montgomery spoke with me, but it was just a quick conversation.” I could see his distrust—his hesitation to let himself off the hook for this. “It really was. He clarified which schools you could apply to. That’s all.” I pulled my hand back. “Here, I’ll show you.” I gestured to the stack of folders. “Hand me your folder. It’s the last one.” Sam reached over and slid his file from the bottom of the stack, careful not to send the rest tumbling to the floor. I took the file from him and opened it, revealing the piece of paper Dr. Montgomery had added to it this morning.

            Four schools, none of which we had looked at last week, stared up at me from the paper. Every word a brick composed of his parents’ hopes and dreams—stacking until they became a wall, separating Sam from his future. I was about to hand Sam the sheet of paper when the last school on the list caught my eye. Meridian State University. Named after Dr. Eleanor Meridian, a famous mathematician who was at the forefront of innovation in the 1950s and went on to found the college in the early 70s. But there was something else about the name that tugged at my mind—drawing my thoughts away from the conversation. Dr. Meridian was married to—Victor, Vance, what was it? I set the paper down and spun to my computer, pulling up Google.

            “Ms. M?”

            “Hold on, Sam. Just a minute.” I typed Dr. Eleanor Meridian’s name into the search bar. “Trust me.” Which I realized was a big ask, considering I had all but discarded his wants at the foot of Dr. Montgomery’s desk just this morning, but I could feel the answer—could see the path that was just barely visible through the wreckage. There. Dr. Eleanor Meridian. The first few hits were a mix of her accomplishments, her publications, and the history of the school, but after a few scrolls, I saw what I was looking for. Dr. Eleanor Meridian had been married to Vincent Meridian—a famous playwright—and below that link was a newspaper report titled “Meridian State University Celebrates Fifty Years of Housing One of the Most Successful Art Programs in the Midwest.” I clicked on the link and began skimming the information. I felt my smile grow as I read about the program that was started ten years after the university opened. The program was small, especially when compared to the school’s science and math programs, but it still included classes in every major art discipline, with graduates including the now-famous writer Laurence Blackwood and twice Grammy nominated, Isabelle Ravenna. Yes, yes, yes, I chanted over and over again as more details from the page filtered through my mind.

            “Is everything okay?” His voice startled me, causing my smile to falter for a moment. I had to figure out how to do this. Think. What did Dr. Montgomery say this morning? I ran through the conversation again. He had told me Sam was only allowed to apply to these schools, but there was nothing said about which programs in those schools we had to look at. Was it a technicality? Yes. Could I get in trouble? Sure. Should I tell Sam? Probably not. I sighed and closed out of my browser. You barely know him. I rotated my chair, so that I was facing him again. His parents raised him. I opened my mouth to tell Sam that it was nothing, just some misremembered detail about one of the options, but my words shriveled under the heat of his gaze. Hope had exploded behind Sam’s eyes, melting through his irises and searing every surface it touched.

            “This school,” my words were shaky as I pointed at the final name listed on the paper, “has a great science program and an almost famous math one.” It started to flicker—the flame—the hope that I had found something, some way out of this for him. “It was founded by a mathematician, Dr. Eleanor Meridian. She was like super famous in the 50s.” Blink. Another flicker. “It’s closer to home than the others.” Snap. The band sounded again as the flame went out. Sam sat back in the chair and nodded his head.

            “Yeah, sounds good, Ms. Mercer.” My name. Like a punch to the gut. I was his parents. I was one more voice telling him no. No. My mom’s voice carried the word through my mind—bouncing against the shadows and edges of my memories.

            And then before I registered the words, I was talking about Vincent, and the arts program, and Blackwood, and Ravenna, and how if he tried super hard, he could balance what his parents wanted with what he needed. With each word he sat up straighter, leaning in, the flames burning again. And as much as I should have felt the weight of Dr. Montgomery’s lecture and Sam’s parents’ money and position, I didn’t. I looked at Sam and kept giving him the yes no one else would.

            I was still rattling off the few details I had learned about the program when the bell rang, causing both Sam and me to jump.

            “Oh.” I sat back in my chair. “I guess I lost track of time.”

            “That’s okay.” He stood from the chair and began to head for the door. “This was great.” He turned around just before he stepped out of my office and back into the hallway, now filling with the sound of shoes squeaking against the floor, of laughter, of lockers opening only to be slammed closed moments later. The world around us was coming to life. “I’ll see you next Thursday, right?” I nodded, unable to find my voice again. “Cool!” His joy was infectious, and I could feel my own mouth begin to mirror the grin that was spreading across his face. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell my parents. Learned that lesson.” He let out a soft chuckle and then stepped into the hallway, immediately sucked into the throng of teenage bodies bumping against each other.

            Sam’s words hung in the air around me—clashing with the roar from the hallway. What have I done?

            The question lingered for the remainder of the day. Sticking to the surface of my keyboard, causing every key to feel tacky as I searched for scholarships, schools, and potential programs for each senior. By the time the clock clicked into the 3:00 hour, I all but pried my fingers from the keys. Thank God, it’s Friday. I felt like I had lived an entire lifetime since I pulled into the parking lot eight hours ago. Dr. Montgomery. Henry. Sam. Henry. My brain seemed to glitch when I thought of his name—those five letters short-circuiting my already mis-wired mind—his name an endless loop.

            I usually ended each day by preparing for the next: organizing student files, double checking appointments, printing applications, but every tick from the clock felt punctuated with a sense of dread that sank lower into my stomach. 3:30. Finally. I stood up from my desk, clicked the power button on my desktop, grabbed my purse, and made my way to the door. It wasn’t until I was in the hallway on the other side of the locked door that I realized my phone was still on my desk. A heavy sigh escaped—the release of air causing me to lean into the door. A quieter breath of air followed as the cool metal bit into my skin from where my forehead now rested. My keys were still in my hand, making the task of getting my phone simple, but I just wanted to go home. I need to go home.

            “Evelyn!” Jenna’s voice exploded in the air behind me. My body jerked into a standing position; my hand releasing its grip on the keys at the same time. The keys hit the floor—the impact from each key sending up a clink, clink, clink as they settled onto the tile.

            “Jenna.” My tone was flat, inviting no further conversation, as I bent to retrieve the keys.

            “I just knew you’d be gone by now.” She leaned against the wall beside my door. “But here you are.”

            “Here I am.” I twisted the keys into the lock and pushed the door open. There it was. My phone—resting on my desk as if it wasn’t the anchor that was dragging me through the depths to my watery demise. “Can I help you with something?” I asked as I made my way to my phone. I turned around to find that Jenna had followed me into the room.

            “Oh, that. Well, I know you won’t believe it, but Henry does remember you. Isn’t that crazy?” I walked past her into the hallway, my grip around my phone almost painful as I stepped aside, allowing her to slide past me. “Something about senior year…” My heart stuttered as Jenna’s voice became muffled in my ears—drowned out by my thoughts. What had he said? Did he tell her about prom? The ride home? Yeah, Evie, that makes sense. Henry meets a random stranger. Eight hours later. Boom! Jenna knows everything. Get a grip. “So, what do you think?” I finished locking the door before I realized that Jenna was still talking to me.

            “Um, yeah, sure. Great idea,” I said as I turned away from her. Jenna followed—her steps matching mine as I headed for the front door. I just wanted to leave and if agreeing got me out of this moment, I would deal with the repercussions later.

            “Great. I can’t wait to tell Henry.”

            “Wait. I’m sorry. Tell Henry what?”

            “Were you even listening?” She came to a stop, my feet following suit as her hands found her hips. “I asked Henry out.”

            You just met him.” My mind was reeling.

            “So?”

            “Well, um, don’t you think you should get to know him first.” Breathe. Breathe. Henry isn’t yours.

            “That’s what the date is for?” Her eyebrows furrowed, causing the first wrinkle I had ever seen on her face to form between them.

            “Yeah,” my hands started to sweat, “I guess that makes sense.” I started walking again. Just leave. Leave. Leave. Leave. She can’t get in the car with you.

            “I thought it made sense too.” She caught up to me again, a pout causing her lips to push out into a small ‘o.’ “but Henry said no.”

            “Oh?” The octave of my voice caused me to close my eyes, praying Jenna didn’t notice it.

            “Well, that was until I told him it wasn’t a date.”

            I stopped walking—Jenna quick to pull to a stop beside me. “Not to be rude, but what the hell are you talking about?”

            “I knew you weren’t listening earlier.” She blew out a breath, leveling me with a glare. “For a counselor, you really should be better at that.”

            “Jenna, the point?” My voice becoming more clipped with each word I said.

            “Fine. For the second time, I told Henry you were going to be there.”

            “Where?”

            “The bar, you know the one on South Main, I think it is called The Watershed.” I pressed my teeth together to keep from screaming. “Anyway, I told him it wasn’t a date; it was a ‘welcome to the job’ thing that we did for new employees.”

            “Who did?”

            “Us!” Jenna’s voice cracked, as she became just as frustrated with me as I was with her.

            “But we don’t do that.”

            “I know! But what was I supposed to say after he told me no.”

            “I don’t know. How about ‘okay?’ or ‘thanks, anyway.’ Not, throw him a party.” I rolled my eyes and started walking again.

            “Oh, please, stop acting like it’s a big deal. I know you don’t have plans this weekend.”

            “Actually, I do.” I didn’t, but the way she said ‘you’ set my nerves on edge, her words racing across my skin, burning away the last of my patience.

            “Evelyn.” She dragged out every syllable, as she reached out and pulled my arm backwards causing me to stop again. I could see the door from where I stood. Freedom less than ten steps away. “Come on, I’d do it for you.” No, you absolutely would not.

            I sighed. “Time.”

            “It’s tonight. 6:00. I thought that would be enough time for you to be there. Make Henry feel better, or whatever, but still leave early enough for me to have some alone time with him.” Her mouth ticked up in a grin. “You know, without it being too obvious.”  

            Suddenly, everything hurt—like I had gone on a ten-mile hike—my muscles tense, aching, begging for rest, to be left alone, to heal. I could do this. I need to do this. I needed to prove to myself that Henry was not where my life began and ended. Sure, we’d had a moment in the office, but that was a moment, and I had bigger things to worry about. The thought caused my phone to expand, suddenly taking up more space in my hand, and before I could stop myself, I was nodding.

            “Thanks, Evelyn. Oh!” Her voice spiraled up, as an idea took root. “I should start calling you Evie more.” She jiggled my arm back and forth as her words spun out around me like a spider’s web. “That’s what Henry kept calling you.” She released my arm and started to walk toward the main office. “Well, I won’t keep you.” She turned back, her eyes methodically assessing me. I felt my shoulders pull back—tense under her gaze. “You need to go home and change.” I couldn’t make my mouth respond, silenced by her words as they slid down my body—clinging to every insecurity. And then, she was gone. The office door closing behind her, releasing me.

             Tugging at the hem of my shirt, I made my way out the front door. I inhaled deeply as the crisp, chill wind refilled the lungs Jenna had robbed of oxygen for the last five minutes. I looked fine. It was supposed to be three employees meeting up for drinks, not a fashion show of eligible bachelorettes for him to choose from. It’s not a competition. I released the hem of my blouse and sighed as it curled back up over the band of my slacks, bunching in unflattering layers that made me look way bigger than I was. Not that much bigger. The image of me standing beside Jenna’s slender frame lodged itself behind my eyes, sending a sharp burst of pain up the front of my head and down the back until it settled in the base of my skull.

            Pulling my coat tight around me, I walked away from the school and into the parking lot. After I had left the safety of the awning, the wind felt too cold, driving my feet to move faster—seeking out the warmth my car offered. I was sucking down breaths by the time my body slid into the driver’s seat of my bug. Shifting into autopilot, I pushed the key into the ignition switch and collapsed back into the seat’s worn, beige leather as the engine roared to life and lukewarm air burst from the vents.

            Minutes passed before I opened my eyes and looked out the windshield. The green pick-up still sat in my spot, and I realized I’d forgotten to ask Henry what job he’d accepted. Was he coaching? Teaching? Both? I looked at the time on my dash, almost 4:00. He had to be coaching. Most of the teachers were gone by this time on Fridays—ready to escape the piles of ungraded work, parent complaints, and stressed students the previous four days had given them. A baseball coach. That tracks. He was good in high school—the best. I’d never actually gone to a game—Kyle was a basketball player, and the groups never seemed to overlap, but according to the announcements that broke through the static of the intercom system, Henry had been the star of our team from the moment he stepped onto the field in 7^th grade. My thoughts of Henry continued to spiral until they crashed into Jenna, her plans for the evening, and the growing fear I had made a terrible mistake…again.  

            I let my head fall back against the headrest. The pain in my skull pulsing in earnest again—closing my eyes in an attempt to fight back against the sharp, consistent stabs, the image of Jenna in her pale, blue dress forced itself to the front of my mind. I had noticed the way it clung to her hips when she was in my office, the stark vertical lines that ran from the neck of the dress to the hem drawing attention to her figure. Not to mention the notch that was missing from the neckline, just low enough to pique interest. Suddenly, Jenna’s hovering figure in my office turned into Jenna walking away from me in the hallway. I pulled my arm up, resting it across my eyes. Name one thing in your closet that looks like that. I pressed harder against my face—complete blackness forming under my eyelids. I can’t look like that. I fought back against my mind. I don’t want to look like that. Jenna walking away played on a loop—like every man in America was controlling the remote. I don’t have to look like that. I reminded myself—chanting it like a mantra—over and over again until I found the strength to remove my arm from my face and open my eyes.

            I lifted my head again and placed one hand on the steering wheel and one on the gear shift, pulling it down into drive. I lifted my foot gently off the brake as I mentally traced the route between the school and my favorite coffee shop. A coffee and a book was what I needed—not to race home and try on every article of clothing I owned. I don’t have to look like that. My thought was cut short as my foot found the brake. Jenna was walking out of the front door, Henry trailing behind her. He was smiling—clearly entertaining whatever thoughts were spilling out of her mouth. Keep driving. My mind bit out, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from them. Henry had made it to his truck—Jenna lingering, her hands moving about in front of her as they traced out the details of her story. Never mind, let’s just sit here and creepily stare at them. What a great idea, Evie. I felt the truth of it sink in, but I still couldn’t pull my foot from the brake. He was smiling. She was smiling. Yeah, that’s what people do. Chill out. I physically shook the thoughts from my head, the movement stirring my body into action again.

            I released the brake and made my way out of the parking lot—keeping my eyes glued to the road. Turn left. The coffee shop is left. Your sanity is left. As I reached the stop sign, I flipped my left turn blinker on and breathed in deeply, holding it in my lungs for a moment before forcing it out of my mouth. Then, I turned right, towards home.

            “I hate myself.”