Forks, Knives, and Spoons Page 4

  “This is Paul, a brother, he’s a junior,” Andrew shouted. “Paul, this is Amy and Veronica.”

  As the vibrating crowd mushed around them, both Andrew and Veronica fused into the party and Amy found herself alone with Paul, pancaked against the wall, separated only by the width of two cups. He wasn’t talking, so Amy started with a basic opening question.

  “What school are you in?”

  Paul was studying engineering, and that one question seemed to turn on his talking. He launched into a description of the latent heat of condensation, drily moved on to recarbonization and abrasion resistance, and then on to the yawn-inducing thermal electromotive force, all while Amy discreetly but frantically searched for someone to save her.

  Gracelessly, Paul lurched into Amy. His hand brushed against her chest and Amy backed farther into the wall. She couldn’t tell if it was intentional; he seemed too gawky, too amateur. The motion made his beer slosh over the outside of his hand, and he wiped the wet spot on his geometric-patterned sweater. He cleared his throat, audible above the blaring Guns N’ Roses.

  As Paul moved closer and yelled into Amy’s ear about Bernoulli’s theorem, she felt a tug on her sleeve. Amy turned gratefully to see Veronica, who urgently pulled her away. She leaned toward Paul’s ear, keeping a distance, and shouted at him, “Sorry, excuse me. Nice to meet you.” With a weak wave and her back half turned, Amy slipped away.

  “Nice guy? He was kinda cute,” Veronica said.

  Despite being completely dull, Amy supposed he was nice enough. Nice. There it was. She wondered why girls say they want a “nice” guy but then are magnetized to the forks. Specimen A: Chase. Maybe Paul could outline the phenomenon of human attraction and polarization, she thought.

  “You saved me from a total spoon. A gigantic, dorky serving spoon.” Amy spoke directly into Veronica’s ear as she dragged her toward the living room and the source of the loud music.

  Veronica yelled back, “Did you know that Andrew is the president of his pledge class?”

  Amy raised her eyebrows, impressed. One song melded into another, not a second passed music-free as Van Halen overlapped the end of “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” The girls joined the dancing crowd, and beer splashed down Amy’s back when a group of guys jumped with David Lee Roth.

  From behind, Andrew grabbed Amy’s waist, she turned to him, and they leaped in unison. She was conscious of his hands lingering on her hips, and she fixed her eyes on his. Jumping to the chorus, someone bumped into Andrew, who fell into Amy, who knocked into Veronica. Together they stumbled, laughing and grabbing one another for balance. Somehow, Paul was beside Amy as she steadied herself. He was grinning broadly as she watched Andrew join a group of permed and ponytailed coeds.

  Paul moved beside Amy. She watched his oafish version of dancing: his feet stuck to the floor, his shoulders hunched, his knees bobbed offbeat as his hands flailed. Any remaining cute spilled right out of him. Their single conversation had bored her—her accounting class was a suspense novel by comparison—so before he could speak again, she danced away, letting the volume of the music and the thickness of the bodies distance her.

  The jumping hadn’t finished when the fraternity DJ morphed the music into “Paradise by the Dashboard Lights” and the boys started to belt out the words. In the dim lights, the shouty singing began and Amy thought about the lyrics as the girls stopped the boys, asking for commitment the boys refused to give, dodging the question of love.

  As she danced with the girls, Amy thought, Meat Loaf doesn’t look like a classic hot fork, but this song could be the fork anthem. Maybe Meat Loaf would be a butcher knife since he really doesn’t have the sexy stuff of forks. Utensil Classification wasn’t an exact science, Amy realized. She imagined that would bug spoony Paul.

  Coarsely acting out the lyrics, the room divided into a glob of girls facing a glob of boys. Pitiful to watch as an observer, the enthusiastic participants dramatically lifted their hands, questioning. Will you love me forever? girls pleaded, and grasped their hearts. Boys bought time, begging, Let me sleep on it. The whole group of lying forks leaned in and sang out.

  At the end of the song, Amy motioned to Veronica from across the room that she wanted to find a bathroom and Veronica followed. Struggling to keep her friend in view, Amy navigated the unknown fraternity house. A trio of blondes, linked arm in arm, paraded into Amy. No red curls in sight. After asking a brother for directions, she shuffled toward the staircase as Aerosmith rolled into the dense party air. She searched for Veronica from the higher vantage to no avail, and her bladder led her on alone.

  From jumping to pleading to walking, Amy and Steven Tyler sang “Walk this Way” until she reached the landing at the top of the main staircase and turned left into the bathroom. The stench of urine made her cover her nose with her sleeve, and the heels of her boots felt tacky on the tile floor. Two girls leaned toward the smudgy mirror, adding more eyeliner to their dark-rimmed eyes.

  “This bathroom is grody,” said one of the girls, sounding loud in Amy’s throbbing ears.

  Amy chose the stall farthest from the one that was occupied with male feet. She was still getting used to sharing bathrooms with boys. Barely touching anything, she shifted from side to side, pulling down her jeans. The lock on the door didn’t lock, and she reached out with an elbow, then a knee, to tuck it closed while wiggling out of her pants. A burst of noise filled the room when the bathroom door opened to the hallway, the girls’ voices receding into the party. With one hand on the door, Amy wrestled with the roll of toilet paper that teetered on a broken chrome holder and stuck to itself, bunching up enough paper to wipe.

  She heard the sounds of the last person in the room: a faint clicking sound, the fiddling of a belt buckle, running water. She pulled up her jeans, leaving them undone, and lifted her foot to flush. The tightness of the denim at her hips fought to restrict her as the stall door fell open again, bumping her side. Amy leaned her shoulder back to shut it but felt a hand close around her arm.

  She jerked away. Spiraling toward the door, she came face-to-face with Paul. She exhaled with a faint sense of relief that it was someone she knew. Then she tensed, uncertain as she saw his eyes.

  “Oh, excuse me, just need to wash my hands,” Amy sputtered as she tried to take a step past him. Just act normal, she told herself, feeling her pulse race.

  She glanced down, avoiding eye contact, and saw that his pants were unzipped and opened. His belt hung loose and black hairs splayed from his lowered underwear. Amy lunged herself forward to get by, but he widened his stance and planted himself in her path. Paul’s right hand moved up and down her arm roughly in a demanding caress, and his other hand leaned against the metal frame, further blocking her.

  Amy’s attempt to pass him had only brought her closer, and she tried to back away. He stepped forward. With his body filling the opening, he dropped his left hand, slipped it up the back of her untucked shirt, and yanked her to him. Fear pulsed through Amy. She felt the bulge of him press against her. He held her with the same passion he’d shown for engineering. Beer had erased his hesitation but not his awkwardness. He kept his hold on her while he reached for his crotch.

  Amy struggled to pull away but Paul held her in place, rubbing against her. His breath smelled like beer and grape candy as he exhaled into her hair. “Come on, Amy, let’s just have some fun. We danced together, I could tell you liked it.”

  She heard voices outside the bathroom and called out, “Help! In here! Please help!”

  Her screams echoed wildly in the ceramic bathroom but were lost to the noise beyond.

  “It’s okay, Amy, come on. We were having so much fun downstairs, let’s just have a little more fun,” Paul slurred as his hands slid inside the back of her opened jeans. He muscled her body toward his. His sweaty hand moved haltingly, working its way down while Amy squirmed to free herself.

  “Stop! No!” Amy pushed against him, digging for strength. He held firm and his grape breath blew h
ot on her cheek. She turned her face farther away and wedged her hands into his chest, working to escape his hold.

  Seizing her firmly, he smashed his lips against her neck, her face, her lips. Amy threw her head to the side, feeling the hot wetness against her skin. “Stop!”

  Her cries made him chuckle. “Playing hard to get? I know your type.” He lifted her shirt and fumbled with the clasp of her bra. It snapped against Amy’s back, and he clawed his hands underneath when he couldn’t unfasten it. Clumsily, he clutched and clenched her breasts, he moaned and pressed her deeper into the stall. Straining against her struggle, he forced her into the cold metal and the wall shuddered. The spoke of the paper holder pressed into her thigh. In another ungainly grope, Paul lifted her bra above her chest, tangling it in her shirt, then pushed his pants down. He clasped himself in his hand then reached for Amy’s jeans. She felt his fingertips on her stomach like points of fire against her skin. His touch repelled her, and in a burst of strength, she shoved him back and he stumbled.

  “Help!” Amy screamed.

  Paul regained his balance and grabbed her waist, worming a hand into her pants. He stabbed himself against her body, his eyes half closed and glassy. A guttural noise gurgled in his throat.

  The bathroom door jiggled, startling Paul. He turned to the door and Amy used the moment to thrust forward. Paul’s fingers caught in the waistband of her jeans, but she wrenched away and ran the short span to the door, trembling as she focused on unlocking it. Andrew stepped into the room. Behind Amy, Paul rushed to cover himself, snatching at his pants. Andrew stormed over to his fraternity brother, and in a single motion, he gripped Paul and landed a strong, punishing punch into his gut.

  Paul collapsed onto the sticky tile, his forehead pressed into the moldy grout, and he coughed in shock and pain. With the predator down, Andrew rushed to Amy. Her hands were shaking as she worked to untangle and button her clothes. He slipped off his T-shirt and put it around her. He moved swiftly to get her out of there, leaving Paul doubled over and moaning. He guided her toward an Exit sign. Exchanging the sweaty heat of the house for the nighttime, northern New York cold, Amy felt her shoulders stiffen and a sting in her nose. She was crying. With safety, her tears released.

  The fire escape landing was narrow and chips of black paint pulled away like bark uncurling from a tree. The metal bars vibrated with sound as her boot heels clicked against them. She wrapped her arms around herself feeling her thin top beneath Andrew’s shirt, a favorite she would never wear again. Andrew folded his bare arms around her, pulling her into his warmth. His gentleness turned Amy’s silent tears into sobs and her breath caught on itself.

  “I’m so sorry that happened to you. I’m so sorry I didn’t find you sooner,” Andrew said, speaking the words to Amy but meaning them for himself, too. Andrew let his hand cradle the back of Amy’s head, stroking her hair to soothe her.

  “We’ve got to find Veronica, she’ll be worried,” Andrew spoke quietly, still holding Amy against him. “She couldn’t find you in the downstairs bathroom, so I checked out the others. I’m so sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

  Amy whispered into his chest: “I’m glad you didn’t find me later.”

  THEY CAREFULLY TURNED THE knob and tiptoed into their room so they wouldn’t disturb Eric.

  “I’m fine, really, I’m okay sleeping at Kate’s again. Sarah’s away, I’ve got her bed,” Amy assured Veronica in a whisper as she quietly gathered some fresh clothes.

  “That’s not what I meant, you know.”

  “I know.” She took a slow breath. “I’m shaky. And I feel stupid. I guess I kind of thought this stuff only happens in the movies. I mean, I know it happens, but it doesn’t feel real.”

  Veronica and Amy had reunited at the fraternity house, and Andrew walked them home from the party, his arm protectively around Amy the whole way. He left her with a hug and a kiss on her temple. “I’m sorry,” he had whispered before heading back to the house for cleanup duty.

  “I still can’t believe that dweeb of a spoon did that to me.” They sat on Amy’s bed with their backs against the wall. “It’s like he morphed into a pitchfork right before my eyes.”

  “Pitchfork?” Eric called from Veronica’s side of the room.

  The girls smiled at each other. “Nothing,” they answered. Veronica hugged Amy again and went to him.

  Eric flipped on the bedside lamp, and rubbed the hair around his ears. The soft light illuminated a collection of empty beer cans on her desk. Veronica raised her eyebrows but said nothing, wondering where he’d gotten them and how much schoolwork he’d accomplished.

  “I’ll be down the hall. See you in the morning.” Amy waved to Eric who was lying drowsily on the bed.

  Veronica gave her another hug before she left and then slipped out of her clothes and into her bed with Eric. “I’m exhausted, let’s get some sleep.”

  “I’m going to the bathroom, be right back,” he said. She noticed him catch his balance as he got to his feet. He scratched his parts through his boxers and walked into the hall.

  Veronica shook her head and squished up against the wall to leave him room in the twin bed. She yawned upon seeing the hour, 2:06 a.m., and then she closed her eyes as the weight of sleep pressed down on her.

  THE BLAST OF THE fire alarm stabbed Veronica into consciousness. She wasn’t sure if she had just dozed off or if she had even slept at all. The bed next to her was still empty. Eric hadn’t returned from the bathroom yet, so she must have just fallen asleep. The shrieking continued as Veronica tried to piece things together through sleep’s haze. Pulling on her fire-alarm uniform, she noticed the red numbers on her clock radio read 4:18 a.m. Confusion clouded her mind. She rubbed her eyes with her palms and looked around the room. Amy’s bed was empty; the stack of beer cans glinted silver in the lights from the window. Where was Eric?

  Feeling the need to leave the building, Veronica pulled on her second shoe, hopping into the hallway and looking left and right for Eric. She paused a moment and worked her way toward the bathroom, against the crowd, to look for him. The bathroom was deserted and encased a strange pocket of calm amid the jarring noises outside its doors. Where was Eric?

  Maybe he already evacuated, Veronica thought, and joined the herd to the stairs. Outside the building, she rushed toward the floor meeting space, searching as she went; Eric wouldn’t know where to meet her. Amy and Kate were already by the wall with their sweatshirts, sleeves yanked beyond their fingertips in makeshift mittens.

  “Have you seen Eric?” Veronica rushed to ask, concern for him leeching from her voice.

  “What do you mean? He’s not with you?” Amy asked.

  “No, I don’t know where he is. When you left, I got into bed and he went to the bathroom. I must’ve fallen asleep, so I don’t know if he came back in or what happened . . .” She trailed off, still muddled.

  Stationed at their home base, the three girls looked around.

  “Let’s ask the other girls to help us find him,” Kate suggested.

  “But no one besides you two have met him, they wouldn’t know what he looks like . . .” Veronica said, her eyes still scanning the crowd of sleepy students. “Wait! Except Jenny. Jenny met him. Last night. In the elevator, we were getting pizza, and she met him. Where’s Jenny? Maybe she can help?”

  Kate peered around. “I don’t see her, she’s not out yet.”

  A firefighter in full gear came toward the milling freshmen. Through a megaphone he announced, “Due to the problem we’ve been experiencing with too many students remaining in the building during fire alarms, we will be conducting a room-by-room search tonight. Sorry, folks, settle in for a while.”

  Moans rose up from the crowd, the obedient punished.

  “Do you think he stayed inside?” Amy wondered to Veronica.

  “But where? I checked the bathroom, where else could he be? He’s probably out here and can’t find me.”

  Veronica, Amy, and Kate split up to s
earch different sections of the evacuees then meet back by the wall. In the darkness, finding anyone in particular was a challenge; that was part of what sparked Veronica to set a meeting spot for their floor in the first place. People covered their heads with hoods and lay against one another seeking warmth and sleeping positions. Piles of people huddled together in standing circles or sitting heaps, a few roamed about solo. Those were the people Amy tried to focus on, the ones walking without aim, companionless. She followed behind someone with Eric’s stature; he was moving away from her and she picked up her step to keep from losing him. As she neared him, he turned abruptly, sensing her, and she found herself facing a stranger.

  “Oh, sorry, thought you were someone else,” Amy said then kept looking as she navigated back to the wall.

  Kate circled her area and called out “Eric?” every few paces. She was drawing unhappy single-eyed glares from the sleepers. After weaving in and among the crowd, maneuvering as through the audience of an outdoor concert, she looped back around to the stone wall.

  Determined and increasingly desperate to find Eric, Veronica charged through the lazing students with organized precision. She marched efficiently up and down an invisible grid. He must be out here, she thought, why can’t I find him? She strained to remember what he was wearing to help her identify him in the night. Boxers and nothing else, she realized. He was only wearing boxers when he left her room.

  The doors of the building were starting to open as firemen escorted people out and then headed back inside to continue the search, looking in every closet and under every bed to discourage future delinquencies.

  Up ahead, Veronica caught a glimpse of him; lit by an overhead streetlight, she saw his unclothed legs sticking out from under a coat. Thank goodness someone gave him a jacket, she thought. With a rush of relief, Veronica jogged over and hugged him from behind. He startled and craned his neck over his shoulder to see who was holding him. As though it were choreographed, he rolled to face her, and they both leaned apart on the same beat. It wasn’t Eric.