With Susie
by Christopher Denham
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| About the Author |
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Christopher Denham says that Nuvein Online consistently impresses him. He says that Nuvein publishes the writers he reads; from Scott Essman to Holly Day. With Susie is his first short story in Nuvein.
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“I love you.”
He liked telling her that.
“Need anything?”
“Water.”
Simon got up from the bed and went over to the sink, which was only three paces away. He filled a plastic cup at the tap. Above, the sink-light hurt his eyes.
From a sink cabinet, Simon drew a plastic bag. He covered the light with it and what was left was a muted luster; like a hospital floor at night, when the overheads are dimmed, but the glow of the ground is still enough to annoy. Simon remembered that glow.
“Sunblock,” he said.
Susie looked at her desk drawer. He took out sunblock and rubbed his face, his arms, his neck.
He shut the dirty-chalk blinds.
“Better,” said Simon, “tenfold.”
He was going to go back to Susie on the bed, but decided to stand more.
“This place is so small,” he said, “I have closets bigger than this. Why are you crying?”
“Leave me alone.”
She was crying hard. He sat on the bed next to her, gave her some water, and then wiped her tears, as she obviously was not going to.
“I’ll take you to dinner,” he said.
“Please stop,” answered Susie.
“I want to make you happy. That’s like my goal.”
Simon didn’t know what he had done wrong.
“You’re stunning,” he said, “you make me feel good.”
Her crying subsided. Her face, which was normally ruddy, was now being Irish and had a pallid hue.
“I’m sorry,” Simon added, “if I did something bad.”
“You are?”
He nodded.
She’d been like that for three hours. Dramatic. Litigious. She had to be hiding something, but Simon was afraid to ask.
There was a knock on the door.
“I got it,” said Simon.
It looked to him like Susie wanted to scream.
Looking out the peephole, he saw that it was Susie’s R.A.: the Egyptian guy, Chad, making his rounds to see that all the students were out of the dorm for Christmas break. He didn’t do his job well; running down the hall, giving only a half-second at each room, then bolting down the stairs.
Susie screamed.
“Jesus Christ!” said Simon, “what the hell is wrong with you?”
He looked through the peephole and saw that Chad was not coming back.
“Everyone’s gone,” he told Susie, “I mean, if you want to leave, we should do it now, before we get locked in.”
Susie was silent, her body half-writhing on the bed, too tired for a full fit. She looked beautiful like always in her clinging, blanched dress, and her long hair above it.
“Is it Katie?” he asked, “cause I told you, I told everybody I’m sorry about that. That bullshit will stop. It’s only you, Susie. That’s who I’m seeing.”
She turned over on her side, and he saw a thong through her dress.
“That’s classy,” he said, “we’ll go out dancing with that. Frat boys can see your butt floss.”
Simon laughed at his joke.
“WHAT?” he asked, “can’t I joke anymore? You can’t tell me you want kids, then not laugh at my jokes. Doesn’t match up.”
Simon kneeled by the bed.
“Turn around, honey.”
She didn’t.
“Please.”
She did.
“What the hell’s a matter, Suse?”
He watched the tears go down her cheeks.
The flourescent light now flickered and her eyes, her cobalt eyes, seemed to go in slow motion.
“That’s scary,” he said, “your eyes are all weird.”
“Leave me alone.”
Simon looked at the ceiling; a view he knew so well from sitting alone in her apartment, waiting. She never left him on purpose, he knew. It’s just that Susie Brand is a social type of person. She likes to go to the campus bars even on Tuesdays. She prefers studying in public.
The ceiling was the same garish white as the cabinets. So were the walls, except, fortunately, she had covered them with posters of N’SYNC, Britney Spears and Enrique Iglesias.
“Why Enrique?” he asked, “Just ‘cause he’s pretty? I mean, Christ.”
Simon felt the poster. It was adhered with tack-putty, which he delicately scraped off. He then placed the poster on the floor, remembered seeing the scissors by the suntan lotion, and went back into Susie’s desk. He also got tape. After cutting out Enrique’s face from the poster, Simon taped the poster to his torso and stuck his head through the hole.“Like that?” he asked.
Susie didn’t answer.
“I’ll keep it on. I know you like Enrique.”
The edges of the poster gave Simon little paper-cuts, the most painful one on his jowel.
In the closet mirror, he saw that his sun-tan lotion was not fully blended into his face. Simon hated his face. He remembered Linda hating his face, saying there was no difference between putting a pill in his mouth or his ass. Screw her. She wasn’t even a Nurse; just a “health care professional.”
“You know what I heard today,” Simon continued, rubbing the fuzz of her arm, “at work, there was this man; Denny. I think I told you about him before. But, he’s like this cocktail waiter at night on some boat- the schnazzy ones that give lake tours of Chicago? But, he’s got the worse case of water sickness like ever. Every night he gets sick. And today, he goes, ‘Simon, I think I’ve had enough. I can’t take it anymore. I’m losing too much weight.’ And I ask, ‘well, is the money still good?’ And he goes, ‘no, man, the money never was good.’ And, I was like ‘well, why do you do it?’ And he starts up this big thing about how he likes going inside to the two benches next to the life preservers. The people who sit there- well, they’re ready to talk. When people are scared, they say things that would floor you. No time for bullshit; just pithy talk. He told me about this guy who was bragging--”
Too much light came in through the window. Simon crossed to it, and the poster taped to his body made a loud crunch.
“You mind if I cover this?”
“No,” said Susie.
“Can I use some clothes?”
She nodded that he could. He went through one of her suitcases, and pulled out three black dresses and duct-taped them over the windowshades.
When he went back to her, he saw that a picture had fallen out of her suitcase. It was of Susie hugging a handsome boy in a necktie.
“That Matt?” he asked, already knowing.
“Yes.”
“You think I’m going to be mad?”
Susie cried.
“I’m not,” he added, “I’m not mad. I’m confused. But I’m not mad.”
Susie’s face was once again reddened.
“What?” said Simon, “I’m not gonna hit you. Have I ever hit you?”
“No.”
“You’re right, no. I’d never hit you because I love you. And, I’d also not hit you because it’s not like I don’t make mistakes. I do. Probably more than you. So, I’m not going to get mad over some picture. He’s- what- just a frat guy, right?”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve seen him, Suse. Come on.”
Simon lay next to Susie and wrapped his arms around her.
“Can you please tell me what this is?” he asked, “are you breaking up with me?”
Susie was silent.
“Are we breaking up?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbled.
“Just tell me. You’re going home. Is that it? Just ‘cause the school year’s done? If that’s the case, that’s fine. You can do what you want, because I’ll be here when you get back and I’ll wait for you if you want, or if you don’t want me to, I won’t. Whatever you want. Or, I could leave right now. Just tell me to.”
“Please leave.”
“Trick question. I’ll do everything else. But I can’t leave just yet.”
Simon kissed his girlfriend’s shoulder. It tasted salty.
“Transudation,” he said, “I learned that word and it means sweat.”
He kissed her shoulder again, then put his hand to her mouth and asked her to kiss it. She softly did, and he told her thank you.
Simon started to stroke her hair. The poster on his chest rubbed against her dress.
“If that’s annoying, let me know.”
Simon hoisted her dress a little, so he could see the white of her thighs.
“O.K.?” he asked.
She didn’t respond.
“Are your hands fine?” he continued, “cause why won’t you touch me?”
He lifted her dress a little bit more.
“We won’t even have sex,” said Simon, “that’s how much you mean to me. You can leave for the summer and think about if you want to. Come back next semester- let me know. I’m a townie. I’ll be here, so no rush.”
The plastic bag fell off the sinklight.
He went over to it and put the bag back on, but the heat of it burned him.
“What is this place?” he said, “friggin tanbed?”
He knelt by his lover.
“Remember the time at the Indiana Dunes? That was so fun,” he said, “you me and Starbucks. Took you so long to accept that I named my dog after coffee. But, anyway, remember how I spent the whole time in the car because the sun was so bright? And you said that was fine, and ran out on the beach and you were such a knock-out in that swimsuit, I was like wow. All those boys were eyeing you, but you kept your eyes on me, the whole time. I didn’t even tell you to. And, I know you like the sun, but you came back to me after twenty minutes. The first time we made love. And I kept saying, Susie Maten, you’ll be the death of me.”
Simon stood and held his face. He heard Susie stop crying. He heard the last of the students leaving the dormitory.
“Or, you remember catching steelies?”
He grabbed Susie’s thigh.
“Uh-huh,” she uttered.
He stroked Susie’s thigh.
“I sucked at it, but you were pretty good. Caught two of em right in a row. I kept getting bullheads and they’re dumb, just eating your hooks for the fun of it, cause they have stomachs like blenders. But you insisted, you said you have to throw them back in. And I smiled at you, because for the first time, I was with someone who cared. You were the type who’d kiss me without me even asking.”
Simon lay next to her again. There were no sheets on her bed, so the blue springbox was glutinous.
“I’m being long-winded, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just. I don’t want to lose you. And, I know I never told you how I felt, and if it comes off as a monologue, that’s o.k, cause it’s more important for you to know my feelings than for me to sound like a butthead. And, I do sound like a butthead, but for you, that’s o.k. I’ll sound like anything.”
He kissed her neck.
“You have to let me go,” said Susie.
“I know, just give me a minute.”
Susie said nothing.
“Come on, Suse. I know your parents. I saw where you grew up! Don’t cut me out of that. Please.”
“My last name is Brand.”
“I know.”
“You said Susie Maten.”
“When?”
“Before.”
Simon stood up. She wanted out. He saw it clearly now. Before, he thought he could maneuver, but now he saw how standstill she was.
Simon started to cry. He felt an acid reflex in his throat.
“Marry me,” he said.
Susie writhed on the bed.
“Please, Suse, let me take care of you. I have so much love to give, but with everybody else, I feel like a complete fuck. But not with you. You make it like getting up in the morning is something I should do.”
“Please stop.”
“I shouldn’t protest? You’re telling me we’re breaking up and-what- I should just nod my head?”
Simon crouched on the floor, which was only off-white tile, now that her rug was rolled-up. He took off the poster on his chest.
“Sunglasses?” he asked, then remembered seeing them in the desk drawer as well. He put them on, and they were too small for his head, so much so that they pushed out his ears and made him look like Dopey. The lenses were tinted so that Susie could see herself in them.
“You know what,” said Simon, “I won’t fight you anymore. But, if you don’t mind, can we please just sit here for a while and do stories or something? Can we just smile about this, then I’ll go?”
“You’ll go?”
“Yeah. In fact, I’m sorry I stayed so long. I feel like an ass.”
Simon lunged for Susie and kissed her on her lips. They were chapped white, but tasted o.k. He got off the bed and paced. She watched herself in his glasses.
“That wasn’t great,” he said, “it’s usually better.”
He kissed her again.
“What the fuck?” he mumbled, “why is this not working?”
Once again, he kissed her.
“This is not old days, Miss Maten.”
“What?”
“It just isn’t.”
The sun was setting, but one cloud dispersed, and it suddenly got bright. Simon went to the window and pressed her dresses tight to the pane. The once pale materials were now inky from the window dirt.
He took a deep drink from the tap. It spilled over onto his ashen shirt.
“Remember the time me, you and Bucks went to Comiskey Park and this was old Comiskey park, and we kept drinking from those fountains and everytime, cause this was “bring your dog” day, a dog would jump into the fountain with you and try to tongue some water. First time, you thought it was cute, but the by the fourth time, it was like cut out the shit, I’m thirsty, and I don’t want dog tongue all over the fountain.”
Susie screamed. Simon took a sock from her luggage and put it in her mouth.
“We’ll do this easy,” he said, “you don’t want to reminisce, that’s fine. But, somehow, I want to leave here with you not screaming and me not feeling like a loser. Please. It’s been three years. Just give me that. Give me you not screaming.”
Susie nodded and Simon took the sock from her mouth.
“Sorry; that was disgusting. God. I’m really sorry. You want water again?”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
Simon pressed his back against her cabinets.
“What do you mean?”
“Just what is it?” she repeated, “I won’t tell anyone.”
He slunk to the floor.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, “I mean, my friends told me that you weren’t any good for me, but I told em, I said it like a million times, that none of them knew you like I did. Don’t be switching up here. You want me out, just say it. You don’t have to do mind games.”
Susie stopped talking. He went to her and kissed her.
“You never tasted like that.”
“Stop, please.”
“It’s usually tangerine what you taste like.”
“You don’t know who I am,” said Susie.
“You’re my baby.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re Susie Maten.”
“My last name’s Brand!”
Simon sprawled out next to her.
“When I got out,” he said, “I didn’t know where to go. I tried Bass Lake, but that was nothing. I thought maybe your dorm room would work cause this was the first place we touched. October, 1989. I thought we’d both know to come here. 387 Allen Hall.”
“Stop.”
“387.”
“My name is Susie Brand.”
“Your name is 387.”
She screamed.
“387 Allen.”
He put the sock back in her throat.
“Stop,” he said, “I know it’s not you. My baby looks better.”
She made a muffled cry.
“Are your hands fine?” he asked, looking at her wrists, tied with gaff-tape to her bedpost, “you’ve been like that for a while.”
She moved her head, but he could not tell was it yes or no.
“You’re not my baby,” he said, un-pocketing his Swiss Army Knife, “she has inner beauty. All you have are innards.”
