Intertwined Page 2

  “I think a few study dates in the library after classes should suffice, right?” He says. “You're more than capable of handling the essay part.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, if I'm honest, the whole reason why I paired people up was so that I wouldn't have to grade as many papers.” He says. “I have this thing with the history professor that I have to do, so I don't have a lot of free time.”

  “The history professor?” I say.

  “Don't tell anyone I told you this, but one of the history classes is going to be having a memorial day dance, and a new exhibit will be on display.” He shrugs. “It was kind of my idea, but I don't know the first thing about history, so unfortunately I had to enlist some help. Which honestly is never easier than just doing the thing by yourself.”

  “That sounds like a lot of fun.” I say. “I can't remember the last time I forced myself into an overly fancy dress for a night.”

  “Well, if you want, I can wrangle you an invite.” He says. “If you do well on the essay that is. We are in this together after all.”

  I smile at him, and turn on my heel, more than ready to get a lungful of fresh air. The closeness, the smell of his aftershave, regardless of how I feel about him personally, is intoxicating.

  “Oh, Eliza?” He says. “I'll meet you at the library tomorrow after class, we can get a coffee afterwards.”

  I nod, and fiddle with the tendrils of auburn hair that have escaped the confines of my bun. It's one thing to know that I have to do this project with him, and another all together to think of all the alone time that it dooms us to. The hours, minutes, seconds of time where it will just be him and I.

  And then there's what I'm going to tell Annette, somehow I know that she's never going to let me live it down.

  Chapter 2.

  “I feel like I'm going to throw up.” Annette says. “How can you feel totally fine about this? What's your secret?”

  “I don't know. I guess I'm just not that worried.” I say.

  She turns away from her closet and stares at me as though I'm from a different planet entirely. “You're joking, right?

  “No, actually, I'm as calm as a cucumber.” I say. “Besides, your “date” with Luis isn't until tomorrow night.”

  She pulls out a red blouse and holds it up to her chest. “That's right, I don't have that much time Eliza, and neither do you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know perfectly well what I mean missy.” She scolds. “You are going for coffee with professor hottie, or have you forgotten?”

  “No, I haven't forgotten.” I sigh. “But Ann, it's just because there was no one else for him to put me with. Plus I might have to cancel, I have to go to work.”

  “You have to go to work tonight, not tomorrow night.”

  “Well, that's a technicality.” I say, hiding my face in a textbook.

  Her eyes widen and she turns to me with a smirk. “I knew it Eliza, I knew that you were nervous. That makes me feel a lot less like a loser.”

  “I don't know if I'd go that far.” I say.

  She sticks out her tongue at me. “Aren't you late for work? The little old men are going to be heart broken.”

  “Yeah, yeah. “ I say, standing up and straightening my scrub top. “I think I'm going to quit tonight, I'm so tired by the end of the day I don't have time to do anything.”

  “You say that every night.” She says. “Buck up sister.”

  I grab my jacket and water bottle from the hook beside the door and turn the handle just as someone else pulls the other end.

  I let out an embarrassing squeal as I tumble downwards and land on the poor unsuspecting person with a harsh thud.

  “What the hell?”

  “Luis?” I say. “What are you doing here?”

  Luis stands up and extends a hand to me. “My partner lives here, remember?”

  I look up at Annette, not even trying to mask the confusion on my face. “I thought you said you were doing that tomorrow night?”

  She raises her hands in the air dramatically. “Yes, we are doing it tomorrow night!” She says.

  Luis covers his face with the hand that isn't waiting for me to take it, and sighs. “But I thought you wanted to study tonight? You told me that earlier.”

  I let him pull me up and I dust off my white pants. “You guys have fun with this, but I'm going to be late for work.”

  “Uh wait Eliza!” Luis says, grabbing me by the arm. “There's something I have to ask you, a favor that really can't wait.”

  “As long as you can spit it out in less than two minutes.” I say, tapping my nonexistent wrist watch.

  He nods, and takes a deep breath. “Okay, so I'm a history major, you know that. A few of us were asked to put together an exhibit for some memorial day party, and we decided to ask a couple local nursing homes for donations from their patients.

  “And you want me to ask my patients?” I finish.

  “I would be forever grateful.” He says. “I would do it, but it was just kind of thrown on me and I don't have a lot of time to set everything up.”

  “So what kind of things are you looking for?”

  “Whatever you can get your hands on.” He says. “Jewelry, mementos, Mr. Roberts told me that he heard one of the patients at Rosebud has a really cool antique ring or something, so maybe ask around for that?”

  Annette peeks her head around the corner and smiles. “Speaking of Mr. Roberts. Guess who basically admitted his gigantic crush on Eliza?”

  “Wha-”

  I hold up a finger to Luis' lips. “Nope, I'm not going to entertain that anymore, I have to go to work. Maybe you can keep Ann busy for the night. Keep her out of trouble?”

  He glances at Annette out of the corner of his eye, taking in the piles of clothes and the complete disarray, and smiles. “Sounds like fun.”

  I watch as he ambles into our dorm room and takes his place on my bed, and I'm taken aback by how natural he looks there. He looks so at home in the middle of the mess, laughing at Annette's spastic, nervous behaviour. And even though they are my best friends, I feel a tiny twinge of jealousy in my chest.

  ✽✽✽

  I walk into the bright florescent lights and immediately feel one hundred years older. Even in the beginning, I felt like working in such a sad, decrepit place could suck the life out of anyone. Which is why, maybe, all of the patients who live here seem more like puppets than people.

  All of them except for Mr. Jacobs, a tall beanstalk of a man who likes to sit in front of his window and read the same books over and over again. When I first met him I thought that it wasn't possible for him to like anyone. He was snarky, and cranky. But for some reason, out of everyone else, he decided that he liked me the best.

  “How are you this evening?” I say as I set down his dinner tray. “Which book are you reading?”

  He sighs and closes the novel. “My least favorite unfortunately.” He says. “Although I haven't gotten very far today. I've been too focused on what they are erecting across the street.”

  I stand behind him and look out the window. “They're building something there?”

  “Yes, some grocery store or something.” He says. “You know, many years ago a church used to sit there, Catholic I think.”

  “Are they allowed to just put something there, isn't that like...hallowed ground?”

  “I suppose so.” He stands up on shaky legs and takes his cane from it's resting place against the wall. “Although you would be surprised at how little people really care about things like that, regardless of how much they seem like they do.”

  I loop my arm around his and help him to his bed. “You seem more cynical than usual today.”

  “Ah, I'm sorry.” He says as he situates himself beneath the bleach white sheets. “I'm just thinking, reliving if you will.”

  “Really? Do I sense another one of your famous “back when I was a boy” stories coming on?”

  “Actually no.” He chuckles. “But there is something I want to ask you about.”

  “Okay, sure.” I say. “Anything you want.”

  “A few young men came by today, asking if we could give anything for the museum.” He says with a frown. “You know, I've never been one to carry a lot of my past with me. So I don't know if there's anything I can do, maybe you can tell them to talk to some of the old ladies around here.”

  “Oh?” I say. “Do they have a secret stash of antiques?”

  “I wouldn't be surprised. You know the history around here runs as thick as molasses. Every other person that I meet claims to have ties to the old practices they used to do around here...you know, voodoo and the sort.”

  “There are people here that say that?”

  “Of course.” He says. “People don't lose their identities when they get too old to live on their own you know. I bet a lot of them still practice.”

  “You know what? That's actually a really good idea.” I say. “But, I hope they weren't too pushy earlier... If they were you would tell me right?”

  Mr. Roberts raises a bushy, gray eyebrow. “So you know them?”

  “I know of them. I go to the same college, and a good friend of mine is a history major there.”

  “I see.” He says. “It's kind of strange though, isn't it? Why would they ask me? I'm the least interesting man here.”

  I pull up a chair close to his bedside and sit down. “That's not true, you're forgetting about all of the exciting stories you've told me.”

  “Many of which were not as exciting as I made them out to be.” He says. “But anyway, if I do find something hidden away you'll the first person to know.”

  “Well, you know that it's just for a few weeks right?” I say. “I mean, you'd be getting it back.”

  He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, and an air of sadness washes over him.

  I reach out and put my hand over his. “What is it?”

  “I'm getting old Miss DuPont, and I just want to end my life with no regrets.” He says. “I want to give my few posessions to some one I care about, so I know they won't be misused.”

  “Mr. Jacobs...”

  “Please.” He says. “Let me air out some of my dirty laundry, I'm an old man after all. An old man who just wants to know that the life he lived meant something.”

  I remove my hand from his and lean back against the chair. “...Okay...of course.”

  “I trust you, Eliza.” He nods. “I know that you'll make sure my things are taken care of.”

  As though he didn't just say something incredibly somber, he leans forward and removes the lid from his tray. I watch as he wrinkles his nose at the sight of his meal, and the sadness that I was just feeling is momentarily replaced with laughter.

  “What's on the menu?” I ask.

  “Seemingly a pile of gelatinous turkey.” He says. “But that's alright, the green beans are always really nice.”

  I stand up and laugh as he picks at his dinner. “Don't worry, I'll sneak you in something for dessert.”

  He gives me a wink and I give him a small wave before I turn to leave.

  “Eliza.” He says just as I have one foot out of the door. “Sorry. I just wanted to say thank you, for being a friend to me.”

  I smile at him, and in spite of myself, I feel the sharp prickling of tears in my eyes as I see him for who he is for the first time since we met. A man who is incredibly lonely, and maybe just a little bit afraid.

  ✽✽✽

  I walk out of the nursing home and take a seat on a small stone bench beneath an oak tree, and pull out what remains of my sandwich.

  I look down and watch as a little clump of strawberry jelly falls to the ground, and then mere moments later I watch as little, black ants encircle it. It reminds me of a black hole sucking up all the good things in it's path, because when the ants move away, there is nothing sweet left. Just brown, clumpy dirt.

  I sigh, for seemingly no reason at all and glance up at the big, brick building. It's been here for years, longer than any of the other buildings that make up the stretch of shops and restaurants that create our own “Little Italy.” In the beginning of it's life, it was a bed and breakfast, and I can still see little wisps of it's past; The beautiful garden with the bird bath, the giant fireplaces in the rooms that have long been boarded up, even the wrought iron gates that welcome in new patients and visitors alike.

  But in spite of what is all around me, my mind keeps drifting back to Mr. Jacobs, who is no doubt finished with his dinner and sitting in his favorite spot in front of the window by now. Every time I see his salt and pepper curls and his dark brown eyes I wonder what kind of person he used to be. If he ever wanted to become someones husband, or someones father. Or if maybe he really has been happy just belonging to himself.

  ✽✽✽

  The walk to my dorm room is usually not very interesting, but tonight the small town seems to be full of excitement and laughter. I remember that it's the hub bub is probably thanks to the big football game a few blocks over. The feeling reminds me of when I was in high school, and it takes me back to those nights walking across the pavement, the path illuminated by street lights and the full moon that hanging low in the sky.

  I squint up at it and wonder if there will be a full moon all night tonight, or if it's just waiting for the protective cover of the clouds before it begins it's slow dance around the Earth.

  As I walk past the strip of businesses and apartment buildings there are people I go to school with singing and dancing in the streets, and women chastising them from open windows. I've always loved to see the intermingling of different stages of life, the kind of thing that a person could only really experience in a college town.

  I walk bast bustling bars with girls in cutoff shorts and leis, which seem to be appropriate party attire for any season around here, and eventually I reach a familiar place; The museum in which I spent so many of my childhood days, exploring and running past the priceless artifacts and the terrifying prospect that life goes on, and it will keep going on until everything I know ends up boxed away.

  I close my eyes and breathe in the warm, sticky-sweet air.

  “Hey, I recognize you I think.” Someone says from behind me, in a voice that automatically puts me on edge.

  I turn to face him, and see that he's right, I do know him. Although I don't think we've even spoken once.

  “Yeah, I definitely have a class with you.” He slurs. “I would never forget a face like yours.”

  I smile in spite of the panic, and search my mind for a shred of anything I might have learned in the one karate class I took as a kid that would get me out of the situation. But all I can think about is how tragic it would be for me to be killed here, so close to home, and only a few feet away from the nursing home.

  “Why do you look so scared?” He says, ambling towards me. “I'm a gentleman, I swear.”

  I hold my hands up in front of my chest. “I really need to get going, I'm sorry but I have to meet my roommate.”

  He smiles a wide, toothy, smile and lets his arm hang limply over my shoulder. “I'll come with you, I don't have anything to do tonight.”

  “Uh...” I stammer.

  I look around, desperately trying to find a way out, when out of the corner of my eye I see the perfect one. A figure walking a few feet away.

  “E-excuse me!” I yell, waving my hands over my head. “Hey!”

  The person turns, and the moonlight encompasses him in warm, yellow light. “Uh...can I help you with something?”

  I peel the other man's arm off of me and jog across the slick pavement.

  “Charlie, it's so great to see you!.” I say, a fake eagerness in my voice. “I thought you wouldn't be here until tomorrow night.”

  The stranger raises an eyebrow and cranes his neck to look at the man I just ran away from, who is now trudging through the wet footsteps that I left behind.

  “Miss Dupont? What's going on here?”

  When I hear his voice, my eyes widen in shock and embarrassment. I silently wish that I had really looked at the man before calling him over; Mr Roberts. My savior is none other than Mr. Roberts.

  “Hey.” The man behind me grunts. “Hey, aren't you my professor?”

  Mr. Roberts looks from me to him, and then back again, a tired expression on his face.

  “I think you're mistaken, this-” He points to me. “Is my dear friend from...uh...film school. We have to get going now, so...good night.”

  I release an audible breath of relief and feel my body relaxing beneath Mr. Robert's hand as it careens me far away from the drunkard.

  “W-wait.” The man says, reaching out to grab my free arm and give it a hard tug. “But we were going to her place now, I think you two might have to reschedule.”

  “No.” Mr. Robert's says. “I think you need to take a hint and get out of here before one of us calls the police.”

  The mans mouth opens and closes multiple times before he can form a coherent sentence.

  “W-whatever.” He grumbles. “I'll have more fun in the bar anyway.”

  Mr. Roberts and I stand side by side as we watch him walk back in the direction he came. It's so pathetic that we can't help but laugh.

  “Oh thank God.” I say, putting my face in my hands to mask the shakiness I feel, a side effect of the rush of adrenaline that had kept me standing upright.

  Mr. Roberts pulls his hand away from my shoulder and sighs. “What in the world are you doing out here in the middle of the night Eliza? You could have been killed.”

  “I got off work and...I guess I should have gone straight home.” I say. “But I wanted to take a walk.”

  “Take a walk...? Downtown in the middle of the night? yeah....probably not the best idea.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Well...”He says. “Let me walk you back to your dorm, we don't want a repeat offense.”

  I wrap my arms around my torso and follow him across the the street.

  “So...what are you doing out this late?” I say, Trying, awkwardly, to help us out of the dreaded, uncomfortable silence.