Ernest Hemingway didn’t go to college,” I said to Lea. We were at a new café in Seabrook.
“You don’t look well,” she said. “Are you okay? You’ve got these dark circles under your eyes. It’s not a good look for you.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Did you know Dorothy Parker stopped school at thirteen?”
“Dorothy who?”
“Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses?”
“I don’t think glasses matter to most guys.”
“No, Lea, that’s not … never mind. My point is, college is not a prerequisite for success.”
“Well, maybe not in the olden days. It probably is today. Especially in the good old USA.”
“Why do you want to go to college, Lea?”
She looked at me. “You’ve got your serious voice and your serious face, and I do not like it.”
I munched on another salty fry. “Just answer the question.”
“It’s just what you do, Annie. You go to high school, you graduate, you go to college.”
“Then what?”
“What do you mean?” asked Lea, stealing one of my fries.
“Hey! You should have gotten your own.”
“Fries are bad for you.”
“Would you answer the question?”
“Didn’t I?” asked Lea, taking a bite out of my burger. I removed it from my hungry friend’s hand. Lea grabbed another fry.
“So what of it?” I asked. “What are you going to do after college?”
“Get married and have kids. Ga! Don’t make that face!”
“I knew you were going to say that,” I said.
“I knew you were going to make that face, which is why I was stealing fries and bites of burger instead of answering you. I thought you were the one thinking of staying here to be with Mark anyway. Or has that changed now that, you know, other things have happened?”
I studied my burger really closely.
“What?” Lea asked.
“Huh?”
“Why is your burger so interesting all of a sudden?” Lea asked.
My hand on the table was suddenly covered with Lea’s. I looked up. Lea’s face was frozen.
“What?” I asked.
“Are you going to break up with Mark?”
“I don’t know what to do, Lea. I don’t think I love him,” I said, quietly. “I mean, I love him. But I’m not in love with him anymore.” It hurt to say it, but it felt true. I was exhausted. I’d gotten very little sleep last night. “I don’t love him, Lea.”
Lea made a sad face. “I’m sorry.”
I pushed my fries away.
“I’m so sorry!” exclaimed Lea. “I’ve made you sad.”
“You didn’t make me sad. All this stuff is just sad.”
“Are you going to break up with him?” she asked.
“I don’t know how I’m going to do it. Just thinking of it makes me sick.”
“You’ve been together a long time. And friends for longer than we have!”
“I know.”
“Do you think you’re going to miss him?” asked Lea.
“Yeah, I do.”
“He loves you so much. It’s going to hit him hard.”
“Now,” I said, taking a sip of my Diet Coke, “you’re depressing me.”
“Oh, I’m a terrible friend!”
“So since you’re feeling bad and all for making me sad, answer another question.”
“Okay,” said Lea, agreeing despite looking like she really wanted to keep talking about how sad Mark must be.
“Are you going to college because you’re expected to or because you want to?”
“Didn’t I answer this already?”
“Nope,” I said.
Lea sighed. “Why do you think about this stuff?”
“Lea.”
“All right.” She paused, looking like she was thinking about it. “Yes, it does seem like it’s expected, like it’s thirteenth grade. But I’d go anyway, I think, even if my parents didn’t expect it.”
“Would you?” I asked. “Or are you saying that because you’ve been brought up to think that way, like being Methodist?”
“I like being Methodist.”
I smiled. “Yes. So do you think it’s like that?”
“Since that’s what I’ve always known, how would I know? And maybe I’m glad I was brought up with that idea.” She shrugged. “I’m looking forward to it. I mean, Annie,” she said, leaning forward, “I think the question is, why don’t you want to go?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t.”
“But you’re thinking about that, whether you really want to go.”
“Maybe I should talk to Mr. Williams about it,” I said.
“Any excuse to talk to Mr. Williams,” she said, grinning. “Look, I don’t understand what’s not to like about going to college. Maybe you don’t want to go because you’re being rebellious, you think that’s what’s expected of you, so you’re determined not to do it.”
“That’s just weird,” I said. “I don’t think that’s it.”
“Then, what is it?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know what I want, Lea. I’m not like you or Mark or my mom or my dad or even Tommy—”
“Speaking of Tommy—”
“—all I know is I like to read.” And I like to write poetry.
“Yeah. But—”
“And I like living in my house with just my mom and me with my dad coming over all the time and watching tele-vision with me. Sure, sometimes I go nuts and want my own car to get out of the house, but when I feel that way, I call Mark …” I stopped and looked down. “And Mark comes over and we drive and drive.” I was talking quietly now. “And I like riding in the car with him. Just driving around.”
“Okay,” said Lea. “Okay. It’s all okay, Annie. All that.”
I looked into my friend’s eyes, but wasn’t focusing on her. “But I don’t love Mark. And I can’t ride around in the car with him for the rest of my life just so I won’t have to stop and figure out what I need to do next.”
“No, you can’t,” said Lea softly.
I sighed. “How can I care so much about him, but it not be right for us to be together?”
Lea shook her head. “You want different things.”
“What do you mean? I don’t know what I want.”
“I’ve said all along I think you’re meant for great things. And Mark just wants to be here, stay here.”
“And part of me wants that too.”
“Do you think, Annie,” asked Lea, “that that’s just the scared part of you?”
I looked at Lea for a long time before answering. “Partly. But it also feels like … loss. Like I’m giving something up.”
“You are, Annie. But that’s just what happens in life.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But I don’t like it.”