Absolution
by Erika Mendelssohn
The stench of cheap beer and stale cigarettes hit me like a truck. Making my way through the crowded doorway, I walked into a cloud of smoke – no, not a cloud – a fucking storm, so thick I could barely see to the other side of the room. Barely.
There he was, towering over everyone else in the cramped, dim space. He was surrounded by a group of guys, all watching with adoring eyes while he told what was undoubtedly a fascinating story. He was the centre of attention, the light of the room. All legs and shoulders, he laughed with his entire body, his dark curls tumbling over his darker eyes. Needless to say, he stuck out.
Scanning the crowd, his eyes locked on mine almost instantly, and his grin vanished just as fast. Excusing himself from his friends, he slammed his glass on the table, squared his shoulders and easily pushed his way through the crowds of college kids. He reached me in seconds, his single stride double that of most people. Grabbing me by the elbow, he swiveled me around and out the door, gently pushing my body against a wall in the grungy alley outside. I tried to walk around him without success, his arms placed firmly beside my head, caging me in.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Dylan demanded, more curiosity in his voice than anger.
“I didn’t know I required your permission to go to a bar on a Saturday,” I retorted, not a hint of emotion in my voice. I was a blank slate, my poker face strong; I wasn’t giving anything away tonight. His eyes burned into me, daring me to make another smart remark.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you need to get out of here. Now. Get out, and go home,” he snarled.
I looked him up and down, taking a step forward so we were practically nose to nose.
“Make me.”
BEFORE
“Make me,” I challenged.
I was grinning like a child. We were standing at the edge of the cliffs on Stony Lake, peering down into the deep, calm water below. It was the middle of the week, and the entire bay was completely deserted. I assumed that was why he picked it: isolated and hidden was the way he liked it, the way it had to be.
It was completely overcast, giving the world a hazy grey glow. Regardless of the hidden sun, the heat was scorching, leaving a thin sheen of sweat over the entirety of my body. Plunging into the water below seemed like an amazing idea in theory, but the sheer height of the cliff completely changed the equation. Heights weren’t my thing.
“Ok.” He didn’t hesitate. With a gentle shove, I was over the edge, my limbs flailing as I tumbled through open sky.
Just as my lips parted to form a scream, I collided with the glassy surface, my body immediately overcome with cool relief as the lake consumed me. The water flooded into my ears and all I could hear was the ominous echo of the flowing lake, his exuberant laughter at the top of the cliff muffled and distant.
With a loud crash, Dylan’s body landed next to mine, time seeming to stop as he raced toward the bottom in slow motion. We emerged simultaneously, our bodies instinctually reaching for each other.
I tangled my fingers into his hair and toyed with the soft ends. He looked around anxiously, ensuring our privacy was legitimate. I rolled by eyes and loosened my grip; I was tired of the undercover scheme, and he knew it.
But he just held me tighter.
“You know nobody can know about this,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
“Yah. I know.”
And we stayed there, swaying, for the rest of that grey, glowing day.
I snuck back into my house later that night – and by night I mean really, really early in the morning. I walked on my tiptoes, careful not to creak the floorboards. Yes, I still lived with my parents; the price you have to pay when you’re completely broke in a world where everything comes with a price. I was 21 years old, far past the age where I needed anyone’s permission, let alone my parents’, to stay out at night.
Nevertheless, I lightened my step and slowly trod up the stairs; childhood instincts were clearly still wired into my system. As stealthy as I thought I was, three steps from the top, I stubbed my toe against the hardwood stair, emitting a string of curse words without paying any mind to volume. I listened to the cry of hinges as my mother rose from her bed and poked her head through the doorway, eyes still half-shut.
“Where have you been all night?”
“At the library, cramming.” The lie was as easy as breathing.
My whole life was a lie.
NOW
I put my hand on his chest and pushed him away from me, turning on my heel and trudging back into the bar. I made a beeline for his crowd of admirers, my lips ready to spill. I was so completely over being a living, breathing secret.
His friends recognized me instantly; I had been in study groups with nearly all of them in the past two years. Small college, small circles. They flashed their drunken smiles and sloshed their beers onto the floor as they waved.
“Mike, man, get over here!” they screamed, beckoning me forward, spilling even more of their $8 pints onto their polo shirts. I marched over to them, more determined with every step. Grabbing a stool from a nearby table, I squeezed my way in between two clean-cut blondes from my first year Econ class, who forcefully clapped me on the back as they made room for me. Someone from the other side of the table slid a glass over my way, and I drank it gratefully. I didn’t think I could do this sober.
“Mike, where have you been?” asked someone I vaguely remembered as either Justin or Jake. “Haven’t seen you in months!”
It didn’t matter. I looked around nervously, trying to spot Dylan’s face through the mob. I could see him just through the doors, running his hands through his hair, his back facing me.
My time was running out; when he turned around, when he saw who I was talking to, my chance would be gone. I turned my attention back to the guys, eagerly awaiting my response.
“I’ve actually been seeing someone. Someone really great. It’s kept me busy.”
“Someone we know? I remember you used to mess around with Paula James back in second year. She back in the picture?” asked Justin/Jake.
It took everything in me not to laugh out loud. I took a deep breath. I was about to blow everything up.
“Yeah, actually, it is someone you know, but it’s not Paula. Far from it, actually. It’s –”
I was cut off by a striking blow to the side of my head, knocking me off my stool and onto the cold, sticky floor. I slowly opened my eyes, looking up through spots of black. With my vision blurry, my head pounding so loud I couldn’t hear a single voice in the room, I could still see him. Dylan was towering over me, his right fist slowly turning an angry shade of purple. I stared into his dark eyes, expecting to see an undeniable anger. But that’s not what I saw.
I saw fear.
By now the questions had begun. Previously drunken and jolly, his friends were now stone-cold sober, pints on the table long forgotten.
“Dylan! What the hell?” yelled one of the boys. I recognized his voice: Eric, from first year political science. Blonde hair, tan skin. I always liked him; shame he had to see this.
“That’s Mike, man! He’s your friend.” claimed another.
“He…Mike was…He can’t…” Dylan was stutter- ing, like a broken record.
Guess it was hard to find an excuse for hitting someone when his back was turned. I let out a groan as a wave of nausea hit me; he had got me right in my temple.
Dylan looked down, observing his work, as a lone tear fell down his cheek. He roughly wiped it away, playing it off as a bead of sweat.
“He – Mike slept with my ex. He hooked up with Melissa,” he blurted.
It was blatantly obvious to me he was making up the words as he went along. But the men all nodded in understanding, the act now seemingly justified. I had broken the guy code; I deserved a good hit or two. What were once looks of pity were now ones of resentment, as the boys who were welcoming me only minutes ago urged me to get up and leave the bar.
Wincing, I gripped the table for support and slowly pulled myself up. The room had gone dead quiet, every gaze finding me. I turned to find the only one that mattered.
He turned his back to his friends, shutting out the rest of the room.
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed. The words he wanted only me to hear.
“You should leave,” he demanded, saying it for the entire room, acting for the audience.
I walked away. From all of it.