Rebirth

“From the light on high/A chance to change your fate/Forgiveness falling down/On those who chose to wait… find yourself a home again”-Remy Zero, ‘Prophecy’

Steve hadn’t been making eye contact with me for several hours. He had been focused on what Tali and Louis were saying, absorbed in this game of Dungeons and Dragons while Georgia and Allison snuggled on their couch, and I’m not a lesbian myself but seeing that was more beautiful than anything I had seen since leaving Utah. I didn’t know what Steve thought of it, but I could sense Bart’s disapproval from the couch he was sharing with Louis. Plain and simple, Georgia was part of our guild and Allison was just her girlfriend (of a sort, since Georgia was also going out with Steve), and when Allison was around, Georgia seldom contributed. Besides that, I knew there was a lingering bit of homophobia in Bart-- something installed in him by his parents which he would never admit to and which existed to cover some of his own bisexual leanings. It was evident, the one time that Steve kissed him as a joke, how discomforting it was to him. “He’s forcing himself on me,” Bart would complain, “I don’t care about his lifestyle but I don’t like him forcing himself on me.”

Except… Bart did care about Steve’s lifestyle. “You’re my fiancée,” he’d tell me. “He shouldn’t be touching you.” But Steve was a master of massage techniques. And yes, they did affect me, and yes, Bart was never able to replicate them, but the fact remained that Steve Lingonberry, with his bright red hair, electric blue eyes, and wolflike smile, would never truly be attractive to me.

Steve wasn’t the only one Bart was worried about, however. Devin Langermann-- Steve’s best friend-- was the other. Devin Langermann, who could help me out with everything in this game better than Bart could. Whose couch I was presently sharing, as I drifted off, not listening to Tali or Steve, just drifting into half-sleep as I observed the beauty of Georgia and Allison.

This is peace, I thought, this is perfection. When had I felt so much at peace before? Never in the past week, with my constant worries: how will I survive months on end without him? What will I tell my parents? Is this really what my life is meant to be? Why did he lie to me about everything in the first place?

Steve suddenly makes eye contact. I look away, my eyes shift to Bart, Devin, back to Steve. He licks his lips. Steve must be figuring something out, I think. Steve knows so much.

From the moment I walked in this afternoon things had been shaky. My eyes were up, on the prize, across the cyber café to where Devin sat. The feelings all came back. I could see him stretched out across the entirety of the couch that had always been ‘ours’. Then I caught something else-- Bart and Tali, at a computer. Damn, I thought. I backtracked, greeted them, and wasn’t met by much of a response as they played some game online. So I excused myself and went towards Devin again. Well, I thought, I suppose I could take that dismissal as an expression of apathy, and I reason to pay even more attention to Devin than usual tonight.

But part of me wondered why Bart had behaved this way. This entire past week he had been attempting to prove to me that we were strong, could survive anything, would be okay. Trying being the operative word. I will admit that on Monday and Tuesday I did believe him, as I flew home from Utah, shaken and stirred, as somehow I made our new plans seem happy, as I met up with him while he was house-sitting and made love in a house that wasn’t ours, on a bed that wasn’t his, as he cured me from a horrible foot cramp that I somehow managed to avoid when wearing ski boots. Then, I did buy into every single word he told me.

Tuesday night and Wednesday, though, were punctuated by worry, anxiousness, and slight distrust while I waited for a promised call that never came. As I called him only to be redirected to voice mail, and knew that calling his house would produce the same results. And then Thursday, wondering, the entire time, whether I was being taken for granted. Wondering why he thought he could change everything and I’d stick around.

The obvious answer, though, comes to me as I lean on Devin. Because I have. Despite my feelings for other men—first James from my history class, then Devin-- I had been unable to let go of what was ‘familiar’ and ‘safe’-- Bart Savarnich. The future we had planned out over a year ago.

Over Christmas break I had reassured myself that Devin Langermann would be a non-issue. That the attraction would have to evaporate because I wouldn’t be seeing Devin, Steve, Georgia, or any of the others after May or June. That Bart and I would go off to the west coast and never have to worry about any interferences in what was once a perfect relationship ever again. Because it was safe, I stuck with him.

Now, though-- was there anything safe? Did I want the sort of life Bart was aiming for? Was I made for that sort of life?

“Fiona,” a voice says. Steve’s voice. “Come with me.”

I rise and follow him over to another of the café’s corners.

“Do you know what you were doing?” he asks me. His voice is low, filled with the gravelly cadences of years of chain-smoking.

“No,” I say. I assume he’s referring to Devin-- he’s always referring to Devin-- “I mean, I know I was sort-of leaning on him--”

“And your pants weren’t very tight,” Steve comments. I blush. Of course they aren’t tight. Considering how upset I’ve been over the past week, I haven’t wanted food. Or rather, I have wanted it, and even needed it, but I can’t eat when I depressed, I can’t eat when the song I have stuck in my head is the first verse of ‘What You Own’ from Rent, because my stomach actively rebels. Steve continues. “He told me, if Bart wasn’t here, he would’ve tried something with you.” I nearly leap out of my armchair. “Calm down,” he says. “We don’t need to attract any attention.” I steady myself. “Look at what’s in your hand.”

My car keys are in my hand. I remember, how at the beginning of the night Steve examined them and told me how easy it would be to steal my car, while Devin watched. “You don’t need Bart to help you get on campus anymore,” Steve says.

I’d better not, I think. Considering that his driving privileges have been cut off by his parents. And all of the sudden, the thoughts that I had at the beginning of the night about going playing, and making out with, possibly making love to, Bart in my car, are replaced.

“Think about it,” Steve urges. His voice betrays an almost desperate emotion. How much do you know? I think. How much can you see?

“Thanks,” I say. It is all I can say. Steve Lingonberry gives me a way out of this dead end-- and all I can say is thanks.

We stand up. He reaches for me and I shake his hand but he pulls me into a hug instead. I rest my head on his shoulder-- and feel as if someone actually cares for me for the first time in the past month. I do not love Steve-- romantically, at least. But as I stand there, completely melded with his leather-clad form-- he is an angel.

I remember the first time I noticed Devin. It was the second time our group met, and I was sitting between him and Bart. I remember how he had been saying that his hands were huge but he couldn’t palm a basketball. I remember fitting my hand up next to his to see just how big they were, really. I remember him helping me out in the game and hi-fiving me afterwards. I remember wearing Bart’s hat and having him grab it off my head, and I think now that I should have fought him for it, but at the time I knew I would never be able to reach that high. If I had tried to get it back, it would have been flirting. I remember him playing Frisbee with Steve using that hat. And I remember the last time I saw him, back in December, the other day I could have made this decision, how me, him, Steve, Georgia, and Allison rode over to his dorm in his car, and on the walk to the car he picked me up and we all joked about how Bart wasn’t there so we could do whatever we wanted. I remember how one time he put his arm around me and commented to Bart: “She likes me the better.” I remember how he eats his bagels plain and untoasted without schmear. I remember how he demonstrated how he pissed his incredibly short boss off by kneeling down in front of me and still being nearly as tall as I am, taller than she is. And I remember how he actually apologized for pissing Bart off one week. The complete Devin Langermann, as far as I know. What else can I learn about him? Everything I want.

About ten minutes later, I run up the student centre steps talking to Bart a mile a minute. All the while I am wondering: Why aren’t you angry? I just spent five minutes talking to Steve-- and then after that-- that awkward moment of procuring Devin’s e-mail address, of him hugging me, holding me-- though sadly not lifting me into the air again-- why isn’t Bart angry? “I’ll go home on Sand Run tomorrow,” I say. “Because I need to drive, oh do I need to drive--”

I run down the outside stairs to my car with him laughing the entire time. I could stare up at the stars forever, but Bart leans in and kisses me-- the smallest of pecks, so unlike the grabbing he had just been trying to do inside. “Bye,” he says. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Where’re you going?” I ask.

“Tali and Louis’,” he replies cheerfully. And he runs off.

So you lie to me and use me all semester, then you ignore me? I think. You run off to be with Tali-- again?

Why do you deal with these things? I ask myself. What’s the point of it all? If he wants to ruin his life, then get yourself out of it. You are not his mother, and you do not have to stick around, especially if you love another.

So I drove home, Devin Langermann’s e-mail address written on my character sheet, moonroof open into the January air, the Shins’ ‘Turn a Square’ blaring through the streets. Streetlamps shone down on me, and the sky looked dark blue rather than black. I took Summit street past Water Street-- around the curves and over the railroad tracks. I remembered the first time Steve told me about Devin’s feeling for me-- when I had been dependent on Bart to get home and he hadn’t revealed his lies to me yet. How guilty and stuck I had felt, between two such different guys-- the unconfident Bart, with his slight, straight-haired frame, and the confident, almost arrogant Devin with his curly black hair, prominent nose, and beard. Not knowing which to choose…

But now… I did.