CHAPTER 17

The Phone

And so began the obsession with her phone, every buzz, every vibration, every moment, needing it by her side, checking it nearly constantly. The feeling of hope when she’d hear it or feel it at the bottom of her bag and that utter, and merciless, joy at seeing his name.

John

it would say and then she would open the text or answer the call, her heart rising inside her throat, and she would always stop breathing for a second and then swallow. The day she stopped the pattern of heart rising, stop breathing, swallow was the day that the relationship actually became serious. It was a Tuesday and John had texted, “What park? I’m on the corner now.” They wouldn’t commemorate the moment, although they did happen to have cake later that night by coincidence. The cake was red velvet and she had two pieces.

In those early days together, the pulse of her existence was beating almost entirely by when she’d hear from him. She’d check her phone first thing when she woke up, before she could even fully focus her eyes, when she still felt tired and weak from sleep. If he did text her, the morning would seem more lucid; she’d be energized for the day ahead, ready and excited for the next texts. At night they’d always talk before bed. He often went to bed later than she did and so she’d stay up and wait for him, sometimes so late that she’d have to sit up to keep from falling asleep, but then she’d hear her phone go off, and she’d feel rejuvenated, her heart rising, her breath stopping, her swallow. “Hi,” she’d say.

She and John could easily talk for hours. They could maintain conversations about the most useless topics.

“I don’t understand why people like string cheese.”

“I like string cheese,” he said.

“I’m not surprised you like string cheese. You like all sorts of disgusting food.”

“But string cheese isn’t disgusting. String cheese is like a phenomenon of cheese.”

“You would think that, wouldn’t you, because you love disgusting food,” she said.

Anne was jealous of it. It became a wedge in their friendship, one that would take years to fully play out and was mostly handled with catty remarks and the occasional backhanded compliment.

“How is it possible to talk on the phone for five hours with someone?” Anne said as they ate pizza.

“I don’t know. We just talk about everything.”

Anne shifted in her seat. “I just think that’s, like, a really long time. I mean…five hours just seems crazy.”

“You know—but we don’t realize it’s five hours.” Leda felt compelled to defend herself, her pizza growing cold in the attempt. I can’t really explain the boat conversation, but maybe she’ll understand if she realizes how funny the boat conversation was.

“We had this conversation about boats where…you know how boats can sometimes have, like…I don’t know what they’re called. They’re, like, those big things. It was just, like, about the Titanic basically, but my point is it was really funny and so we just ended up talking about boats.”

“Boats?”

“Yeah.” She took a bite of crust. It was cold.

“You guys are weird. Five-hour phone conversations are weird,” Anne said.

“Don’t you and Jory talk on the phone?” Jory was the guy Anne was currently dating.

“No. We text, of course, but you know how I don’t like to talk on the phone. It’s just different. It’s more about passion with us.”

And that’s when Leda realized Anne was jealous.

“Passion is everything, isn’t it?” she said.

Anne texted less frequently after that, but Leda didn’t mind. She had John now, and anyone else’s texts just seemed like a letdown anyway. She’d feel her phone go off and then reach for it with so much hope and anticipation, only to be dashed by friends and family. I don’t care about your damn haircut, Katrina!

All of this was a certain kind of wonderful suffering, a pain she put herself through. She’d send a text, and if John didn’t text back fairly soon, she’d wonder, and she’d worry, and she’d let her day be so wielded by his word. “How are you?” and that was happiness. She’d be over the moon and flying through her life, looking down on everything else so shrinking below her.

She remembered an old friend who was dating a terrible guy. His name was Omar, and he was always showing up or not showing up or talking to her or not talking to her on whatever whim he felt. The girl’s name was Allison. She was tall and blond and really, really pretty. Leda remembered envying the way she could effortlessly wear such low-rise jeans. They took a photography class together and Allison would often talk about Omar and all of their problems. Leda would listen but think her own thoughts as Allison would tell horrible story after horrible story, all the while saying things to the effect of, “But he does care about me—I know he cares about me—he does care about me.” She remembered Allison telling her about how Omar had invited her out for dinner, one of the rare occasions that he actually did, and then halfway through started rushing her out so he could go hang out with his friends.

“We were only there a half hour,” Allison said.

“What did he say to make you leave, though?” Leda said.

“He didn’t really say anything. He kept being like, ‘Are you done? Are you done?’ I just knew all of a sudden that he had plans so I stopped eating.” She stood on her tiptoes to pin her print to the clothesline to dry. It was of a flower with raindrops on it. Only part of it was out of focus. “I had my hair cut that day and everything ’cause I was so excited that we were actually going to go out for dinner.”

“But that sounds so crazy. Why would you stop eating?”

Allison kept moving as she spoke. She looked even more brilliant in the red of the darkroom light. “I just know how he acts when he has plans.”

“But what I mean is, why would you do that just because he had plans? Why not eat really slowly? Why not tell him it’s not okay to act like a dick?”

“I know. But he did text me like an hour later…See.” She smiled and held out her phone. The text said, “Hey.”

Leda never met Omar, but she did see him across the quad once. She and Allison were on a break midway through class. It was a warm spring day and they sat opposite each other at a picnic table. Allison smiled and laughed and looked so blond and so pretty. All of a sudden her face changed, and she jumped up and swung over beside Leda.

“Oh my god, he’s over there,” she said.

“Where?”

“Over there. Do you want to meet him?”

“Yeah, where though?”

Allison pointed to a very short, fat man standing with a group of guys. He was laughing and talking, and he looked so small and fat.

“That’s Omar?!” Leda couldn’t believe that this was the man who had brought so much misery to Allison’s life. He looks like you could just flick him, she thought. And there he is just laughing like that. As stupid as hell.

“I don’t know if I should introduce you,” Allison said. “He looks busy.”

“You’ve slept with this person, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, who cares! Just go up and talk to him.”

“It’s…I…ummm. I’ll introduce you another time.”

The last time she saw Allison was the day of their final. Allison said something at the beginning of class about a fight or some disagreement that she and Omar had. She said she’d cried all weekend and hadn’t eaten. But she didn’t seem that sad, she seemed so used to it all and ready to move on, and so they talked about other things, about the summer ahead and Allison wanting to go to Europe next year to study abroad. All the plans seemed good, as if she were letting go of it all, and it seemed then as if she were happy. And then in the middle of talking about Paris and Milan and boating at her parents’ lake house she said, “He hasn’t texted me.” Leda could only see her back as she spoke, her thin back and her arm reaching out, supporting herself on the photo enlarger beside her, the curve of the muscle, her elbow, her wrist. And that’s when she noticed that Allison’s arm was shaking.

She hadn’t really thought much about Allison until meeting John, and then she only thought of her once. It was a Thursday, and she decided she needed bronzer. She took a shower and lay on her bed naked, flipping through a Victoria’s Secret catalog. There was this picture of a model wearing a pink floral corset. “Spring into Spring,” it said. Leda didn’t care for the corset, but the girl’s contoured face and languid expression made her think, Maybe I should get bronzer.

She ate an apple as she walked to the train and texted John about getting dinner later. She hadn’t seen him that Saturday because he said he was busy. He hadn’t said why, and although she didn’t really think anything of it, it still bothered her that he hadn’t given an excuse. They’d talked that night, and he hadn’t mentioned anything in particular that he did, which made it even worse. Anne said, “So he just didn’t even give an excuse?” Leda said back, “No, but I’m not worried.” And then she ate nearly an entire package of Oreos.

As she got to her stop she checked her phone. He hadn’t texted back. She walked the six blocks to the mall and checked it again, nothing.

In the makeup store she immediately felt overwhelmed. Apparently there were many, many bronzers, and she certainly had no sense of which one to choose. She checked her phone again. A salesgirl with green mascara asked her, “Do you need help?” Against her better judgment, Leda responded, “Yes, I’m looking for bronzer.”

“What kind of bronzer are you looking for?” the girl asked.

“I don’t know, actually…”

“Well, what does your skin look like in your most sun-kissed state?”

It was then that Leda regretted ever saying that she needed help. The girl took a test compact from the shelf.

“This is my absolute favorite. It’s from this company called Irrational Discord. It has a very smooth, bold look.”

She took a cotton makeup pad and wiped the sample bronzer.

“You always want to wipe the samples first,” she cautioned.

Leda wondered whether she was speaking from experience. The girl wiped the top layer of powder off and then, taking a second pad, acquired a generous amount of bronzer.

“Just along your cheeks,” she said, swiping the makeup across her face.

“Take a look.”

Leda looked at herself in a nearby mirror. She didn’t look more contoured at all. She did look her most sun-kissed, though. She looked as though the sun had kissed her many, many times.

“Do you love it?” the girl asked.

She knew that if she protested in any way, she’d be in for more time with the green mascara girl. She certainly didn’t want to try on any more bronzers with her, nor did she imagine that the two of them would come to a consensus on what makeup aesthetic could be considered successful, but more than anything she wanted to check her phone and see if John had texted.

“I love it!” she said.

She checked her phone. John still hadn’t texted. It’s been almost an hour, and I haven’t heard from him all day, she thought. She wiped her face almost immediately after the salesgirl walked off, but she held on to the Irrational Discord bronzer for some time before stealthily discarding it behind the liquid foundation. Leda had a sense that Green Mascara would be offended if she saw this, so she took great care that she did it while her back was turned.

After that she walked around and looked for an alternative bronzer. She tried one that was lighter. Does it look like anything? she thought, and she put it back and checked her phone. She tried two more that were still light. And then one that was redder. And then another one that was sort of dark and shimmery. She checked her phone three times in between trying them on and looking in the mirror, her expression increasingly more worried and forlorn, as it was reflected back to her. Where is he? Maybe there’s something wrong. Maybe he’s dating someone else. Why am I not contoured? She wiped her skin clean with alcohol for the sixth time and noticed that it had become red from all the wear. Maybe I’ll just get a lipstick instead, she thought. She tried a red lipstick. A bold red lip was something she had always envisioned was possible somewhere in her life. In her mind she was the kind of girl who threw on bright red lipstick and laughed with her hands up, looking impossibly chic. But there in that mirror it was just her and her worn cheeks and residual sun-kiss and bright red lips staring back at her, worried and tired, and it was then that she thought of Allison and her shaking arm. I’m not better than her and her shaking. She wiped off the lipstick and left the store.

She checked her phone only once the rest of that night. When she thought of not hearing from John it made her ill; she felt a nausea that was specific and markedly foolish. She made a point to try not to think about it. She ate pizza and read Margaret Atwood’s Cat’s Eye. I don’t collect many marbles because I’m not a very good shot, it said. Without meaning to, she fell asleep and had a very specific dream about having sex with the boy from the bagel shop. He had a very large penis in the dream, so large that he couldn’t fit it in her, but she wasn’t worried; she just kept laughing with her hands up in the air. “It’s such discord,” she said to him.

In the middle of the night she woke up to pee and found that John had tried calling five times. He’d sent seven texts as well, explaining that he’d lost his phone and that he was so sorry and that he would have loved to go out for dinner. It made her happier and more gratified in that moment than any of the morning texts, or the five-hour conversations, or anything else John had ever said or done before. It was nice to know that at least he was shaking too. She didn’t text back until the next day.