Ink & Interruptions

            I was sitting in the parking lot of The Watershed, the blood from my knuckles draining down the fingers still curled around the leather of the steering wheel. You can do this. My brain had been whispering those four words for the better part of five minutes, but somehow, they weren’t enough to allow my hands to let go of the steering wheel, open the door, and get out. The air was too thick—it clung to my skin, weighing me down—pinning me to the seat.

            The air mingled with the silence, my thoughts swimming through my mind. I would have used the radio to drown them out—push them into the deep—but after Sam Smith and Bruno Mars had played equal roles in shattering my confidence, I tossed the music as a Band-Aid plan. Sam Smith’s voice singing “I love you but not in that way” still ricocheted off every surface of the car. It wasn’t until I saw Henry’s pickup truck pull into the parking lot that I realized my skin felt raw from where the lyrics had bounced against me—every word chipping away at my resolve. I pushed the air from my lungs, as my eyes clung to the side of Henry’s Ford, circling around to the side of the building. Seconds. Literally second later, Jenna’s Hyundai Elantra pulled in—the sharp edges of her front bumper following the same path around the building. I stared. My god, did she install a GPS tracker? I rolled my eyes—the movement breaking enough tension that my hands relaxed, and I was able to pull them from the steering wheel.

            Henry and Jenna rounded the corner of the building—her striking blue dress clinging to every curve. My eyes dropped to my lap where I surveyed my favorite blue jeans for the tenth time since I put them on.

            “Just try.” My mom’s voice crowded into my thoughts, as I remembered last year’s seasonal close out sale.  

            “Mom, they’re a size too small.” I hollered over the changing stall. “Please just let me out.”

            “Evelyn Rose Mercer. I’ll let you out once you try them on, and not a moment sooner.” Her weight had shifted against the door, causing it to bow slightly towards me. I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Oh, don’t give me that,” she said. “It will take you ten seconds to prove me wrong. Not that I am.”

            I tilted my head back in silent frustration, slipping out of my shoes and kicking them under a bench covered in size stickers that stuck out from the left wall. Next, I pushed my pants over my hips, shimmying them lower until I was able to let them fall to the floor. Stepping out of the puddle of fabric, I unclipped the blue jeans from the hanger and held them up in front of the mirror. I wanted to scream as my hips stuck out past the fabric. It’s official—my mom’s crazy. I tugged on the waistband, trying to stretch it out. It’s not that I didn’t want them to fit, I just knew they wouldn’t. Why did she insist on putting me through this—forcing me to take part in her imaginary world.

            “Mom, please.”

            “Are they on?”

            “Mom.”

            “Are they on, Evelyn?” Her voice had shifted. There was no winning, so I stepped into the jeans and began to work them up my legs. Every inch felt like a victory, but one that I knew would be short lived as the war between skin and fabric progressed. The waistband slid up and around my butt, and I felt my eyes widen. There’s no way. I looked in the mirror. They were on. The button. That would be where mom lost. The button would prove me the winner in this test of self-knowledge. I placed one hand on each side and pulled.

            “You’ve got to be kidding me.” The words left my mouth in a rush.

            “I told you.”

            “You don’t even know if they fit.” I shot back.

            “Oh, I’m sorry. Do they not?” I could feel her smile—pulled up slightly on each side, the pride of another battle won sparkling in her eyes. I pulled the lock back and gently pushed against the door until I felt my mom’s weight shift away. The door swung wide, and there she was. Beaming as she moved her eyes up and down, her feet bouncing. “See?” She said the word like it was spelled with six ‘e’s instead of two.  

            “Fine. Fine. Fine.” I spun around, feeling the smile spread on my face.

            “Evie, you are stunning.” She clapped her hands. “I can’t wait for Kyle to see you in them.”

            I rubbed a line down the surface of the jeans—a sharp ache wedging itself into my mind as the memory dissolved. I looked over at my phone. Mom.  I hadn’t opened it again since my meeting with Sam, the unfinished message still hovering behind the dark screen. I snagged it from the cup holder, reached across to the passenger seat, and stuffed it into my purse. She would have to wait…again.

            I pulled the strap onto my shoulder and pushed open the door—there was no reason to continue delaying the inevitable. I climbed out of my car, stooping slightly to keep from scraping my head across the door frame. Once I was standing, I ran my hands down my Florence and The Machine concert tee, smoothing out any creases and ensuring it was still half tucked into my waistband. The shirt was faded from two years of at least weekly wear. The red coloring of her hair, now a faint pink, and the tour dates that ran down the back blotchy from where they’d sat pressed against my sofa for hours as I lost myself in another book. But it didn’t matter, every time I wore it, I swore I could still hear “Cosmic Love,” the way her voice had carried over the crowd—touching every person. Kyle had all but begged me to play anything else on the three-hour car ride home.

            “We just saw her.” He laughed as I swatted his hand back from the radio. “Aren’t you just a little tired?”

            “It’s like you don’t have ears!” I shouted as I spun the volume dial up. “How could you get tired of this?” The lyrics had poured into the space between us, pulsing and thrumming as Kyle navigated through traffic. I’d fallen asleep somewhere between the second and third time through the album, waking up as Kyle pulled the bug to a stop outside our apartment complex—Florence’s voice still floating out of the speakers. I sighed as I brushed my hands down my shirt a final time, dusting the memory off.

            I shut the door and caught my reflection in the glass. My hair was in the same controlled ponytail, and my make-up, which had faded throughout the workday, was barely being kept alive by the second coat of mascara I’d applied before rushing out of the house. It’s kind of like her dress. I felt my chest deflate. Yeah, sure. We’re practically twins. I pressed the lock button twice before pushing my keys into my purse—a soft click as they bumped against my phone.

            Glancing both ways, I crossed the parking lot and headed toward Jenna and Henry, where they stood by the front door. The building looked basic from the outside. A simple, brick façade, with a short breezeway leading up to a glass door—The Watershed printed in bright blue ink in the middle of the top pane. Breathe. In. Out. I coached myself, my eyes dropping to my white sneakers, tracking them as I moved up the sidewalk. Once I was confident my feet were going to behave, I looked up, Henry’s eyes catching mine. Time would have frozen had Jenna not entered my line of sight, breaking the spell. I lifted my hand in a wave, and as his hand mirrored my own, I was eternally grateful that my heart was not able to physically leave my body. Smooth, Evie. I lowered my hand as I came up beside them.

            “Oh, good, you changed! Your work outfits really don’t do you any favors.”

            “Thanks. I think.” My jaw clenched as I shuffled the last two words under my breath. Remember why you’re here.

             “Florence and the Machine?” Jenna asked as she leaned forward, squinting her eyes. “Sorry, I can barely see the text.”

            “Oh, yeah,” My words caught in my throat as I pulled the fabric away from my torso, stretching out the image.

            “I knew it,” Henry said. “I could pick out that album cover anywhere.” He laughed, the sound light—gliding across my skin—triggering an explosion of goosebumps. “It’s still one of my favorites.” I stared at him, dumbfounded. How was he still saving me? How was this still my life?

            “Hmmm, never heard of them,” Jenna said with a shrug as she spun on the heel of her beige pumps and headed toward the front door. My envy threatened to bubble over as the conversation moved toward her favorite band and away from me. It was like we were on a spiral, and Jenna was the center—a black hole that pulled matter toward her, leaving void spaces in her wake.

            She moved easily from bands to parties as we hovered in the entryway, waiting for the host to seat us. My eyes scanned the room. I’d been here once or twice, the last time over a year ago, but the space still felt the same. A granite countertop stretched down the back of the square space—barstools on one side and shelves filled with bottles and beer tabs running down the wall behind it. There was a door to the left of it that led to the kitchen, and one to the right that led to the back parking lot. Sprawled out in front of the bar were black, shimmering tables. Each one surrounded by four simple, white stools. The stark contrast made every surface feel rigid and detached—the line between the atmosphere you’d expect at a bar blurring into that of a conference room arranged for serious conversations and negotiations. As we moved through the room to our table, Jenna managed to steer the conversation to her old alma mater—which turned out to be an east coast school she’d attended on a tennis scholarship. Each nugget of conversation was so seamlessly tied to the next, no awkward pauses or wrung out hands busied by the fear of other’s thoughts. I didn’t realize I’d been sucked into her orbit until the waitress arrived for our drink orders.

            “How are you folks doing tonight?”

            “Wonderful.” Jenna’s voice chimed; her hand curling out—her fingers running down Henry’s arm as she spoke. “We’re here celebrating our newest hire.”

            “Well, let’s start out strong then,” the waitress said. “Are we thinking beers or mixed drinks?” She asked, reaching across the table to pull the menu out from behind the napkin dispenser. “We have some great seasonal drinks, if you’re looking to try something new.” She laid the menu on the table. “But we always keep the basics in stock, if you’re in a more traditional mood.”

            “I always get the same thing.” Jenna leaned forward, hovering over the menu. Her fingers found the vodka section, and she ran her nail down the list. “I’d like a Sex on the Beach but with Grey Goose.” Come on. As though she’d heard my thought, she glanced over at me, shifting her weight to her right arm. “What? That’s what it’s called.” She giggled—the sound high pitched and anxious, like a teenager discovering what PG-13 meant while their parents were away.

            I felt my eyes widen at the noise, but the waitress never missed a beat, nodding her head once before shifting to face me. “Oh, uh,” I tried to gather my thoughts, “I’ll just do a glass of—” My throat constricted as I went to order my favorite wine. Crap. I should’ve ordered something else; it was the only wine I drank, but the pronunciation always twisted my tongue into knots—no matter how many times I repeated it in my head. “Soe-vin-yon Blanc.” I winced as each syllable clattered to the table. “I’m so sorry.” I said looking up at the waitress. “I can never quite get it.”

            “No worries!” The waitress chirped back. “Trust me, that’s better than others I’ve heard.” She smiled. “Especially, after they’re a few glasses in.” A soft chuckle rolled out of her chest, causing my nerves to subside. “And for you?” She tilted her head toward Henry.

            “I’ll have any local IPA you’ve got on tap. In a Pilsner, please.”

            “No preference?”

            “Surprise me.” Henry returned the menu to its place behind the napkin dispenser.

            “You got it.” The waitress gave one final smile before she drifted from table to table on her way back to the bar.

            The same routine, same friendly smile, performed again but for someone else’s benefit. I felt her absence intensely as the responsibility of conversation fell back on us. My mind felt like a desert—sucked dry by decades of conversations with Kyle and my mom. What did conversations without them even look like?

            As I squinted against the mirages shimmering in my mind, Jenna’s brain was apparently a blooming rain forest with no shortage of thoughts. She moved her weight to her left arm, which angled her frame towards Henry—her hair falling over the shoulder now facing me.

            “So, you knew Evie in High School, right?” My name seemed to stick in her mouth—like she remembered halfway through that I was supposed to be Evie, not Evelyn.

            “That’s right. We had a class together.” His gaze left Jenna, and as it found me, a familiar warmth started to churn in my stomach, my skin remembering the way he would trace shapes onto my back while he waited for me to finish my history quiz. He always finished before me, and after two weeks, I caught myself counting the seconds between when he set his pencil down and when I could feel the pressure of his finger dragging swirls along my spine. Each movement caused my pencil to stutter, my focus pulled between the questions in front of me and the heat from his skin searing through the fabric of my shirt. He swore he was tracing the answers, B, D, D, A, but the shapes never felt quite right for that.

            “Just one? Wow, you’ve got an incredible memory.” Her voice drew his eyes away from me. “One class and you still remember her after all these years.”

            “Do you remember that one test?” My voice burst from me, too loud as I attempted to find my footing in the conversation. Jenna’s head whipped toward me, her eyes hard as her eyebrows dipped low.

            “You mean the one where she essentially insulted the entire class.” Henry laughed. “Yeah, that was a good time.”

            “Insulted the class?” Jenna was drawn back to him—his laugh breaking through the tension.

            “I honestly didn’t even catch it at first.” I felt myself smiling, my body relaxing into my seat. “Mrs. Whitaker,” I turned toward Jenna. “I think she retired last year?” Jenna nodded, pulling herself back from the table. “Well, Henry and I had her class Senior year.”

            “Yeah, and there was this one section of the book the entire class was struggling with.” Henry cut in, his own memories merging with mine.

            “That’s right! Oh, gosh, what was that unit even over?” My smiled turned into a chuckle—my chest shaking slightly at the movement.

            “I have no idea.”

            “Then it’s a good thing she’s retired. I’d hate to be the one to tell her we really weren’t listening.”

            “Wait, was that the insult?” Jenna’s voice was a hammer, rupturing the bubble that had formed around Henry and me. I felt exposed all of the sudden like I had been caught in a moment I didn’t belong in.

            “No, but it was during that unit.” Henry’s voice was calm as he picked back up the story.  “When we went to take the test, she wasn’t there for some reason.”

            “And while Henry and I are upstanding, law-abiding citizens.” I looked across the table to Henry where he was nodding, his eyebrows pulled together as he tried to be serious—the grin still fighting to stay on his face betraying him. “The rest of the class…” I let my voice trail off, my mouth breaking into a smile. “Well, not so much.”

            “Cheating, and lots of it.” Henry’s grin grew into a smile, and I felt my lips spread even further, my teeth now fully on display, as the memory of our classmates whispering and passing papers back and forth filtered through my mind.

            “Did you not have a sub?” Jenna asked as she shifted in her seat, nudging herself closer to Henry.

            “Oh, we did.” He snorted, somehow unaware of Jenna’s nearness, his eyes locked with mine. “As much as a bus driver with a propensity to turn off his hearing aid can be considered a sub.”

            “I completely forgot about him!”

            “How?” Henry leaned toward me, the movement causing my head to spin, and the edges of my vision to blur.

            “I honestly don’t know.” I shrugged, my laughs punctuating the movement. “Anyway, so we took the test, and Mrs. Whitaker came back.” Jenna leaned away from the table, separating herself as our memory consumed us. “I don’t know what they were thinking. Did they honestly believe he was going to grade them?”

            “I know, but I mean, teenagers, right?” He said the word like that was the only explanation needed.

            “I mean I can attest to that now.”

            “Hold on, I think I’m confused. Have you said the insult yet?” Jenna’s voice felt further away—like the sound of an ambulance, a whirring that builds until you’re forced to move and make way for it.

            “Oh, sorry.” I said, turning to face her, the movement pulling the string between Henry and me tighter. “So, she grades the test, and the entire class did good on it, like really good.”

            “Red flag number one.” Henry chimes in.

            “Didn’t Brad make an A on it?” I asked, shaking my head.

            “Red flag number two.” He held up two fingers, wiggling them back and forth, the motion causing my laughter to start back up. “How do you make an A when you’re gone for a month straight?”  

            “Right? Anyway, so she passes back the tests, and as she does, she says—”

            “It was brutal.”

            “I still can’t believe she said it.”

            “Said what?” Jenna’s voice was tight, each word clipped short.

            “She says, ‘If you think your scores are too high, let me know, and I’ll be happy to re-grade them.” Henry and I erupted into laughter as the last word dropped between us, the noise engulfing our table and spilling into the space around us.

            Jenna’s mouth ticked up into a false smile—her irritation evident in the way her eyes squinted, not quite able to mirror the forced emotion displayed on her lips. “Sorry,” I said, suddenly embarrassed by Henry’s attention, “I guess you had to be there.”

            “No, it’s…it’s funny.” I could feel her discomfort—the way her voice softened as she cast her eyes down and away. And for that split second, I saw myself in her. I saw me cowering, losing myself in every conversation, easy to overlook. Easy to fade. Fade to my mom’s and Aunt Julia’s plans. Disappear behind Kyle and his dreams. It was so easy for me to take the invisible ink of my life and write love letters to people who would never read them. I saw Jenna turning into that ghost, and I was overwhelmed by the sudden need to help her—to find something that would bring her back into focus. Why? My mind spiraled, struggling to find the answer, but before I could find it, before I could reach out toward Jenna, the waitress returned—swooping in, a modern-day superhero wrapped in a black apron.

            “Sounds like a good time over here.” Her voice was airy as she set the drinks down on the table. “Are we doing food tonight or just drinks?”

            “Just drinks for me.” Jenna quipped, leaning in again, grasping for the opening that the waitress had created. “What about you, Evie?”

            “I’m good with just the drink for now.”

            “Same here.” Henry added as he brought his beer to his mouth.

            “Great; just flag me down when y’all are ready for round two.” And then she was gone again.

            I took a sip of my wine—Jenna’s eyes clung to me, a weight pulling the liquid down my throat. Her eyes dropped to her watch and then back to my glass. God, what did she want me to do? Chug it? I shot a look back at her and set my glass down on the table—the liquid sloshing gently against the sides.

            “So—”

            “Oh. My. God. Evie.” My sentence died as she reached out a hand, grabbing my arm. “Don’t look now, but a serious hottie just walked in.” I watched as Henry’s eyes shifted up, over my head, and towards the door. His shoulders straightened, pulling his shirt tight across his chest. What just happened? As the thought crossed my mind, the humor faded from his features, leaving his eyes flat. Cold.

            “Who is—” I spun toward the door.

            “What’re you doing? I told you not to look” Jenna hissed as she threw up her hands in mock exasperation.

            The man in the doorway was tall; he was wearing jeans and a red shirt with a white emblem centered on the front. No. No. No. My eyes tracked his movements as he stepped around the host stand and headed for the bar. His path a collision course. My brain flashed the image of the exit as the distance between us steadily decreased.

            I pulled my eyes from him and forced my body to turn back towards the table. Maybe he won’t see you.

            “Gah, he’s hot, right Evie?” Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. My mind screamed at Jenna. I kept my eyes pinned to the liquid in my glass as his steps grew louder. Keep walking. Please just keep walking. I glanced up, and Henry’s eyes were jumping between Kyle and me—bursts of lightening striking each of us. “Should I say hi for you?” My head shot up at the same time Henry’s whipped toward her, and I saw the moment she realized she was missing something—a piece of the puzzle she didn’t have—but it was too late.

            “Evie?” His voice poured into me, replacing all my blood with ice.

            My heart pounded in my ears as I turned, lifting my head and eyes to find his. “Hey, Kyle.”