Dobb's Ferry Blues

They had taken Jane through a doorway and down a hallway, out of sight. The walls were thin. I could hear things — small sounds at first, low procedural voices, wheels on linoleum. I had a book with me but couldn’t focus on it. Two other girls had been there, apparently on their own. One had gone through before Jane but one was still in the waiting room with me. Local girl, I figured. Not sure why. Then I heard a scream.

I had never heard Jane scream before, but I knew it was her. It wasn’t pain exactly, and it wasn’t long. More like something breaking, like something being suddenly torn away. Then it was over, swallowed back into the low procedural sounds, and it was quiet again.

Friday afternoon

The night before, I’m driving, stupidly fast, up the Taconic. I knew Jane had gone that morning to find out for sure. She was late. She didn’t want to tell me. But she did. How could she not. She was embarrassed. Embarrassed this had happened.

So now we’d know. The rabbit dies or lives. If it dies then what? Imagine a kid in her, half Jane, half me. I’d hate to see it go. I’d step up. I can see Jane as a mom. Me as a dad? There is something appealing about it.

It’s not even a possibility. That’s what she said. No way. Don’t even think about it. She’ll deal with it and I don’t have to do anything. She knows someone, someone to take care of things. So if the rabbit dies the kid goes with it.

And us? I keep coming back to what she said the other night. About us. “I don’t think it’s a matter of your feeling more for me than I do for you. It’s more complicated than that.” But for me it was as simple as a rabbit escaping into the woods.

As I pulled up I could see candles in the windows. I sensed the worst. Inside, Claudia was home alone doing calculus by candlelight. She gave me the news. Jane is knocked up.

It’s like being kicked in the stomach.

Claudia made soup. I was grateful for it. I wanted to let it all go but not in front of her. It was her birthday. She didn’t get such a great birthday. And I’m trying not to let the dam break.

Jane came home not long after. I told her I was informed. She seemed ok. Composed. She had some homework to do. I told her I could get some beer, celebrate Claudia’s birthday. Would that be alright. She says yeah come by later.

Friday night

I gave it a few hours. When I came back the lights were out and only some of the candles were still burning. Was I too late, would the door be locked. It wasn’t.

Jane was alone, sitting on the couch. Just sitting there. Hey you, I said. She gave the smallest nod. I put the beers down and sat next to her. I laid my hand over hers. She didn’t pull away.

We sat like that a while. I looked over at her. Her eyes were closed. I should get these beers in the fridge, want one? The faintest of smiles said yes.

She had shifted and was reclining on her side, head up on the far end of the couch, her legs pulled up. I passed her a bottle and sat with mine. She lifted her head to drink and then unfolded one leg and laid it across my lap.

We sat that way, only occasionally tilting our beers. And that is how Claudia found us.

She informed us that it was still her birthday. But she only had a beer and a half left in her. She got us onto religion and morality somehow. Claudia did most of the talking, and it was a blessing. But she faded and left us to figure it out on our own. We soon arranged a few more words into a few more sentences and silently agreed that any point that needed making had been made.

Jane’s single bed, the font of unraveling.

I had her back to me the whole night. I could feel that she was wet, cold. Her back was watery. She doesn’t want to think about it. How else would she be? In the morning we’d go to Dobbs Ferry. Take care of it.

What went on behind those blue eyes, now closed and sightless in sleep, I could only imagine. So blue, even without her blue tinted contacts. I swam at the edges of all that blue, wanting to dive in deep when I tried to hold her gaze and speak the words. I love Jane. Did she blush or cringe? She said “oh babe.” Oh babe as in how sweet or oh babe as in how impossible.

Saturday

In the morning Claudia drove us in her old Volvo wagon. We’d heard it might snow. This beast can handle anything, she said.

When we got there she said she’d find somewhere to study, give us some space. And then it was just the two of us.

At the reception desk Jane was herself again. She could have been returning a library book. We didn’t sit for long before they called her in.

Sunday

I can’t get out of bed. It’s freezing in here. The kerosene heater went out. I finally sit up and restart it, then I’m back on my futon on the floor while the room slowly warms.

That scream. Did the second hand on the clock really stop? It seemed like hours. Maybe it was.

She’s resting.

Claudia had returned and we sat together, wordless. For a while she rubbed the back of my neck.

Try to remember. Jane finally returning from the hallway. I just lost it when the meds hit. Did she shrug when she said that. The blue had faded but she seemed ok. I’m ok, just real tired, let’s go. Something like that.

She cried in the car. Then she slept. Then she woke up. She looked so numb. I took her hand through the seats. It snowed incredibly hard toward the end.

There’s a small window in here. I can see it’s snowing again now.

I get up and head downstairs. How did it go? Doug asked as I passed through the living room. I let out a moan. Coffee. That’s my answer.

How did it go. The drive was an endless climb through a tunnel of snow swirling in the headlights. Finally at the house. I held her a bit. It was all I could do. I tried not to cry. Should I have let myself. I wanted to be strong for her. It hurts her very deeply. Would it help or hurt her to know how much it hurt me? Anyway she went to bed. I went to dinner.

I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself. I do. I should know what to do next. I don’t.

I call over to the house. She’s sleeping. Maybe just give her the day to herself. Ok Claudia, you’re probably right. And thank you. And then I thank her again. But what else am I feeling? Resentment, jealousy? She knew before I did. I might not even have been told. She’s there with Jane and I’m here with a cold cup of coffee.

The day proceeds. I end up at Adolphs drinking with Doug, talking about anything other than the procedure. I leave him there at the bar and cross the street to our house.

Vicki calls. That’s when I start crying. I can’t stop. The dam breaks. I tell her everything. She listens. I calm down and it feels so good. Her kindness. An ex’s kindness, which is its own particular thing.

We talked for a while. About us. She mentions she’s going to some party at some guy’s place. She thinks she might like him. That is good. She says something like, yeah, but she doesn’t want to go out “looking” for anything. I ask her where there’s any game playing in that. She doesn’t answer exactly. Life goes on. We hang up, I light the heater, I get into bed. I was able to sleep.

Monday

I stop by Jane’s. She’s in her nightgown, robe thing, doing her homework on her bed. Good girl. Her eyes are shallow now, almost colorless. She has her books out, papers in hand, ready to shoulder on.

She pauses to talk to me. I wish I could relay the conversation with all its underlying implications. Jane resists me. Often doesn’t understand me. Or I don’t understand her. But how could I understand?

I do love her. But what is loving what you don’t quite understand?

I’m walking across Route 9 back to our house. Rabbit tracks criss-crossing in the snow. What good are these thoughts. I always reach out, she doesn’t. I’m not doing her any favors, all these protestations. I’m worth something. Maybe not much, but less if I make it so cheap.

I could no longer keep her clean in my mind.

Now in my mind I am that rabbit, caught out, dark against the snow. How little it can grasp of the wider world. It snowed a lot the rest of that winter of solitude and celibacy. She was there, in the house across the road. She remained in my periphery well into the following year, there but consistently distant.