Falling People

Allyson Malone is at the health center for the sixth time in her college career.

The woman behind the desk purses her lips and scans Allyson’s chart. “You’ve been in here before. You are aware that these pills are not meant to be used as a substitute for an effective form of birth control,” she says, glancing up at Allyson.

“I know,” Allyson says, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. She’s tried her best to look responsible and pure. White polo shirt, plaid skirt, straight dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Obviously the nurse isn’t buying it. “My boyfriend thought I should come in, just to be safe,” she lies.

“I see,” says the woman. She sighs. “You didn’t have any side effects the last time you had the pill, did you?”

“No,” says Allyson. She watches numbly as the unsmiling nurse fills out the prescription. “Thanks so much for seeing me on such short notice.” She grabs the slip of paper, struggles into her black pea coat, and slings her bag over one shoulder.

“Time to get the hell out of here,” she mutters as she pushes open the health center door and is struck by a blast of stinging snow. Allyson hates the morning-after pill, frat boys, and herself.

***

“Women are only good for sex,” Dave O’Donahue theorizes, shoving a beer at Josh. Dave’s a senior and he’s never had a girlfriend, so he doesn’t see what the big deal is. The way Josh is acting, you’d think somebody died. Dave grins at the bartender, a semi-cute girl with a nice enough ass, and downs the first of his five tequila shots lined up on the bar. He figures there are more important things to think about on a Wednesday night than being ditched by some girl.

“Right,” says Josh absently, taking one sip and then absorbing himself in peeling the blue label off the LaBatts in front of him.

“Have a shot,” Dave offers, pushing the second plastic shot cup down the bar. “It’s on me.”

“It’s Wednesday. I have an 8:30 tomorrow, remember?” Josh eyes the shot for a few seconds, then picks it up. The bar is mostly empty. It’s a weeknight and outside the snow is driving down. Shadows drape the unoccupied booths, and the music from the speakers seems to echo. The door creaks open, and Dave hears shrill girl voices behind him. A cold breeze sweeps the room.

“So? It’s only 12:30-- you got plenty of time.” Dave moves on to the third shot in the line. He spins on his stool to check out the girls who’ve just arrived. They stamp their feet to shake the snow from their boots. He pictures them hurrying down Park Street in this weather. Good thing he decided to drive. He turns back to Josh. “Have another drink. Dude, I get rejected by like 15 girls a night. You get used to it after awhile. It’s not so bad, you know?”

“Dave-O, you’ve slept with half the school. I was with Julie for two years. It’s not the same thing.”

Dave notices that he’s cracked a smile, though. He grins and grabs another shot. “Oh come on, you guys’ll probably be back together by Saturday. She’s full of bullshit. Don’t worry about it.” He wonders if any freshman girls are going to be out tonight. He runs a hand through his spiky brown hair, raises one eyebrow at the bartender. There’s a rustle of motion on his left side, the scent of a flowery perfume.

“Hey Josh,” says a smooth female voice. “How’re you holding up, kid?” Dave turns to see Allyson Malone drop a kiss on Josh’s cheek. He exhales appreciatively. Now there’s a girl who’s good-looking even when he’s sober. He should know-- he’s been trying to get her in bed for the last year or so. Gorgeous long hair, nice body, pretty face. She’s wearing a tight black shirt and jeans, with high-heeled boots and not much makeup.

Josh half-smiles at Allyson. “You heard already? Jesus Christ.”

She tilts her head to one side, pats his arm. “Small school,” she says. “It sucks, though. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I’ve had a shitty day myself.”

“Hey Allyson,” says Dave, “wanna make out?”

She shoots him a dirty look and orders a beer.

***

Park Street is busy. The glare of sunlight, the crunching of boots in the snow.

Allyson is walking to class, the cold pinching her nose and cheeks. Icicles glisten on the eaves of the fraternity houses along the street. Above the snow-blanketed roofs, the sky is a pale crystal blue. She shoves her numb fingers in her coat pockets and surveys the students shuffling along the icy sidewalk, their heads bent into the cold. A tall figure in a red ski parka is moving toward her. Aw fuck, she thinks. This is all she needs.

It’s the usual dance. She looks up, their eyes meet, he glances down at his sneakers, she suddenly discovers something fascinating in the sky across the street. Their hurrying steps carry them closer.

“What’s up?” he says, and she feels more than sees his presence as he passes her. A swish of fabric, a rush of air.

“Ever heard of a condom, asshole?” she wants to ask him, but instead she just says, “Hi.”

***

Josh Blake does not make his 8:30 that morning. He rolls out of bed at noon and has lunch in the student center with Allyson. He’s known her since freshman year, when she was Julie’s roommate. They’ve stayed good friends, even though she and Julie never got along. As Allyson says, “I liked boys, she liked homework.” Josh takes a gulp of Powerade and rubs his forehead. He has vague recollections of last night… doing shots at the bar till last call, Dave laughing hysterically after backing his Jeep Cherokee over a stop sign on Park Street, drunkenly dialing Julie’s number at 3 AM only to hear her quiet voice calmly telling him to stop calling her, and then the dial tone… beep beep beep… Josh shakes his head. Fuck Julie.

“He took out a stop sign?” Allyson is saying. “What a fucking idiot.”

“Not many girls like Dave-O, do they?” he says. “Julie hated him.” Hated. Past tense. He stares at Allyson across the crumb-littered table. He notices her wide hazel eyes, heart-shaped face, and the glorious wave of thick dark hair that cascades down the back of her pink button-down shirt. It’s funny, but it’s been a long time since he actually looked at her as a girl.

“I never said I didn’t like him,” Allyson says, taking a large bite of her sandwich. “I just happen to think he’s one of the more useless people on the face of the earth-- that’s all. But I don’t hate him.”

“Oh. I thought you didn’t like him because he hits on you all the time.”

“Josh, everyone hits on me. I’m fucking sick of it, yeah, but there’s not much I can do about it.” She chews on her soda straw.

He hesitates, then asks, “So how come you had such a shitty day yesterday?”

“Umm… guy issues.” She twirls a piece of her hair, looks down at the table.

“Did you hook up with Trevor Bailey? You were talking to him at the bar the other night, weren’t you?” Josh glances over Allyson’s shoulder. They’re sitting by the fireplace in the back of the student center. The room is filled with the gentle buzz of conversation and the smell of fried food. People walk in and out, carrying sandwiches and mail and textbooks. He casually scans the crowd. Julie usually has lunch here around noon.

“No comment.”

Josh sighs. “I don’t know about him. He’s kind of sketchy.”

“This coming from a guy whose best friend is the sketchiest guy on campus. Right.” Her voice is low and bitter.

He decides it’s probably wise to drop the subject. “Hey, come over to the house tomorrow night if you’re not busy,” he says.

“Why? Anything going on?” Allyson finishes the last of her soda and gathers up her trash. She runs a hand over her hair, uncrosses her legs. “Or just the same old shit?”

Across the room a blonde girl laughs, and Josh snaps his head up. It’s not Julie. His eyes feel strained and tired. “Friday night. Same old shit,” he says.

***

“This is not about you moving into the house,” says Julie, twisting and untwisting her hands in her lap. The setting sun sends streaks of bright orange light through the window. Josh watches her, notices the way the light reflects off her glasses, observes how her hair curls into little tendrils on the back of her neck when she has it up in a ponytail like this. He doesn’t need to look at these things. He’s seen them every day for the last two years; he’s memorized them. But he looks anyway. Julie continues, “It’s about what you’re doing with your life.”

“What’s wrong with my life?”

“Nothing, if you plan to make a career out of getting wasted with Dave and the other degenerates you live with,” she says sharply. She stops, then takes a deep breath and goes on. “I just… Dave’s a mess, you know? I mean, he’s gained like 30 pounds since freshman year. Oh, he’s still good-looking, don’t get me wrong. He knows it, too. But every time I talked to him last semester he used to be like, ‘Next week I’m changing my life. I’m reforming. Gonna start going to the gym, gonna get back in shape.’ And I’d be like, ‘Well, that’s really cool, Dave. Good for you.’ And then the next time I’d see him, he’d be chain-smoking, hungover, and on 50 different kinds of drugs, mumbling about how he hadn’t slept in 3 days.”

Josh is quiet. It occurs to him that it’s been a long time since he heard Dave say he was going to fix his life starting next Monday. Maybe winter makes everyone lazier. “He’s a good guy, Julie,” he says, but he knows she doesn’t want to hear it. Or maybe it’s him she doesn’t want to hear.

She looks up at him, her eyes glistening. “I just don’t understand why you need to do it.” In the silence that drops down over the room, he can hear the ticking of the radiator and the hum of her computer. Julie stands, breaking the spell. “I have work to do,” she says.

***

Allyson stops by the house after the bar Friday night. She heads upstairs, her snow-soaked wool coat draped over one arm, where she finds Josh passed out on one couch and Dave sitting on the other watching Sports Center and smoking a cigarette. He’s wearing a plaid shirt tucked neatly into khakis, and more than enough cologne, although she doesn’t remember seeing him out. “Hey baby,” he says, “you’re just in time. Wanna bang?” He seizes her arm and pulls her down onto the couch. He’s stronger than she expected. Or maybe she’s just had too much to drink. He grins at her, a sex-charged leer, as his eyes sweep up and down her body. He smells like beer and vodka.

“You are a piece of shit, Dave O’Donahue. You have always been a piece of shit and you will always be a piece of shit.” Allyson glares at him, pulling her arm away. She draws herself up, trying to get back some dignity, then stops. Dave has this dumb little smile on his face, one eyebrow raised. She feels her face flush, as if he can see through her clothing. “What are you looking at?”

“Your chest.” He picks up a half-empty red plastic cup from the coffee table.

“You’re disgusting, you know that?”

“I don’t see why you won’t sleep with me,” he says in a voice that’s almost a whine. “I’m hot. You’re hot. What’s the problem?”

Allyson rolls her eyes. “You’re dirty, that’s the problem.”

“We can at least make out.”

“No we can’t.”

“Well, how about a blow job? You can give me head and I’ll owe you one.” He cracks up, squinting his eyes and giggling into his cup.

“You know what, Dave? You’re not funny.”

“Ooh, that hurt.” He makes a face, and tosses the empty cup onto the table. “I think I’m gonna boot.”

“Oh, well that’s attractive. Honestly, Dave. What do you think I’m going to do? Fall all over you because you’re cute? I’m not one of your freshman girls.”

He looks at her, raises one eyebrow. “You’re not exactly clean yourself.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He clears his throat, coughs the name, “Bailey.”

“Look, what happened with me and Trevor is none of your business. How do you even know about that anyway?” Allyson’s had enough of him, and she stands up, straightening her shirt. Tears spring to her eyes, and she wipes them viciously away with the back of her hand. “Why does everybody have to know everything? It’s this place that’s killing me,” she says, biting her lip. “There aren’t any secrets here, you know what I mean? She stops, shakes her head. He’s probably too drunk to understand. She picks up her pea coat and starts doing the buttons with clumsy fingers.

He laughs at her. “You’re bullshit,” he says, looking at the TV. He trips over the words, closes his eyes for a few seconds. She turns on her heel and is about to head out of the room when he reaches up and brushes her arm. “Hey, Allyson?”

“What?”

“Can you get me some water? Please?”

And she does, but only because it’s the first time she’s ever heard him say please.

When she gets back to the room with a cup of water from the sink downstairs, he’s gone. “Dave?” She steps back out into the hallway. Most of the rooms are closed. Everyone’s downstairs. She can hear the shouts and music of the party, but they seem very far away. A sharp breath of subzero wind tickles the back of her neck. She inhales sharply, shivering. She whirls toward the end of the hall, where a door is partially open. She can see a few inches of black sky through the crack. Everything is hazy as she slowly makes her way down the hall. She tries to tally up the number of drinks she had at the bar, but she can’t remember. “Dave?”

“C’mere,” she hears him say from outside, his voice thick and hoarse. She steps through the door and the world drops out from under her in a flash of cold and snow. She gasps and squeezes her eyes shut. When she opens them again, she realizes that she is on the fire escape. Lightheaded, she grips the railing. She can see through the black metal mesh to the snow-covered ground below. The snowflakes prick her skin with sharp cold. She watches a car crawl up Park Street, its headlights reflecting off the snow.

He’s slumped on the platform, leaning back against the railing. He’s wearing his jacket now. She notices the hardness of his chin, the shape of his lips, illuminated by the streetlight. It strikes her that he really is a good-looking guy.

“Dave, what are you doing out here?” She doesn’t let go of the railing.

“I’m looking at the stars. We’re looking at the stars. Sit down. Have a drink.” He passes her a plastic cup full of beer.

“You just told me to get you water,” she says in exasperation.

“Who cares? I don’t want water.” He takes a long sip of his beer.

She lets go of the railing, eases herself down to lean against the steady wall of the house. “I think you should go inside. It’s freezing out here.”

“It’s a free country. I can look at the stars if I want to. It’s my house.”

Allyson takes a cautious sip from her cup. “Dave, there aren’t any stars. It’s snowing.”

“Fuck you,” he says. He closes his eyes. Neither of them says anything for a minute or two. Allyson feels sparks of cold pain in her toes. The snow falls lightly, sharp tiny flakes. “Do you ever wonder if you’re supposed to be better than this?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” The cold is pinching Allyson’s face.

“What if I’m supposed to be something better? Someone special, but I fucked it up. What if… I don’t know, what if I was supposed to be Jesus Christ or something? And now no one’s going to be saved and it’s all my fault.” He laughs, his head falling over to one side, away from her. “Everyone’s screwed.”

“Dave, if you were Jesus Christ I would be very afraid for the world,” says Allyson, her breath a white cloud in the bitter air.

“I’m serious.” He leans his head back against the metal railing, and spits over the side of the fire escape. His hair is sticking up in the front, and he suddenly looks like a little kid: small, vulnerable, and very high up. A stab of real fear hits Allyson hard in the stomach. She shakes her head, lifts her red cup and tilts it back. He’s still mumbling. “Fucked it all up. Fucked everything up.” He spits again.

“I’ve never heard you talk like this before.” She studies him, sees for the first time the redness of his usually pale face.

“Oh, shut the fuck up. I went to Sunday school just like everyone else. What, am I not supposed to… to think about things? You think I’m dumb. Well, maybe I’m not, huh? You ever think of that?”

“That’s not what I meant,” says Allyson, curling her hands up inside the sleeves of her coat. “I meant you’re freaking me out. You know what I think of you, honestly?” The words drag. Her tongue feels like a small animal in her mouth, thick and covered with fur.

He stares at her, raises his eyebrows, both of them this time. Seconds slide by. Her eyes keep drooping half-shut, they won’t stay focused on his face. Finally she says, “I think if you tried you could be a good person.” As soon as it’s out, she isn’t sure if it’s right. Is that what she means? Does that sound bad? Can she even form coherent thoughts at this point? The cold is seeping through her jeans and pea coat. She takes a sip of her beer, and adds, “That was supposed to be a compliment.”

“Oh,” he says. “OK.”

“Hey,” Allyson says, putting her hand on the sleeve of his jacket, “Let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here.”

“So?” he says. “I can’t feel it.”

He has a point. She settles back against the wall. Looking at him makes her dizzy.

But he looks at her. His light brown eyes catch hers. And he starts to laugh. He laughs so hard he spills his beer. He shakes his head and laughs, a laugh that’s almost a snicker. “You know what?” he says. “You’re bullshit.”

She knows he’s laughing at her, but she doesn’t know why. “Stop it!” she says, smacking him. “What’s so funny about me? Cut it out!” She hits him again, she can’t feel her toes or her fingers now, he’s falling over onto his side, still laughing, she’s on top of him, hitting him and hitting him, and suddenly she gets the joke: she is bullshit, everyone’s bullshit, the whole world’s bullshit. She starts to giggle, tears freezing in the corners of her eyes.

She sees herself bend down and kiss Dave. She sees herself close her eyes, sees his hands tangle in her hair, sees them tumble from the icy fire escape, sees them float and drift, two figures falling among the feathery snowflakes. That’s when it hits her: what if this is it? What if there’s just the two of them, two fucked-up drunk kids sitting out on a fire escape on a –10 degree night? What if this is all there is? The dizzy warmth of the beer buzz, the numbness that drops down over her mind so all she can do is sit on the platform, gripping that red plastic cup like a lifeline, and gape up at the falling snow. What if it’s all just bullshit? The thought is exhilarating but terrifying.

Dave pushes her off him. “OK, I really am gonna boot this time,” he says, and pukes over the side of the fire escape.

***

Josh wakes up to one of the guys banging on his door. He hears the door combination being punched in, winces as the light flicks on. “Hey Blake, man. Time to get up.”

“Fuck off, Jay.” He rolls over.

“Come on, get up.”

“I said, fuck off!” Josh buries his head in the couch. It smells like mildew and beer. Purple spots dangle in front of his eyes.

“Come on, I need you to buy for me.”

His head is spinning-- oh God, why bother to close his eyes? It doesn’t help. “Get TJ to buy for you. I’m fucking dying.”

He feels Jay hit him with a pillow. “Get up, you pussy.”

“I’m going to kick your ass in about two seconds if you don’t get the fuck out of my room. I mean it! Leave me alone!” It takes him all the energy he has to get those words out. The world drifts away. He thinks he hears the click of the door closing.

His dreams come in half-flashes. Julie’s blonde hair is tickling his face. He’s standing on Park Street and the snow is falling. Has he been sleeping for one hour or ten? He doesn’t know. The door opens. Josh comes awake slowly, as if rising out of deep water. The light swims closer and closer, while Dave’s hoarse voice grows more and more substantial. His head throbs. The wave of light breaks, washes over him. He opens his eyes.

“God, I feel like I’m going to puke,” announces Dave cheerfully, tossing a McDonald’s paper bag down onto the coffee table. Josh feels a sense of déjà vu. Perhaps it’s because, being a perpetually hungover person, Dave tends to say this at least once a day.

Light from the hallway is spilling into the room. “What time is it?” Josh squints at the clock. The red numbers blur. Where are his contacts? How long has he been on the couch? Where is everybody?

“Want some fries? I got you some fries.” Dave shakes the snow off his jacket and throws it over the back of the couch. Josh notices that he sways a little, his body off balance as he drops down into the chair. “I don’t know, it’s like 10. I think.”

Josh pushes himself up on his elbows. It’s dark outside the window. He feels like he might have a fever. Shoving the hair off his forehead, he says, “It’s snowing again?”

“Yeah. Tough as shit to drive in. It’s really coming down.” Dave unrolls the top of the paper bag. He grins as he takes out three quarter pounders, two fries, and an apple pie.

“You drove?” Even without his contacts he can see that Dave’s eyes are bloodshot.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Josh shuts up. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with Dave right now. He manages to pull himself up and reach for a fry. The salt burns his mouth. He feels about a hundred years old. “Hey, what went on last night? Did I miss anything?”

“Allyson was here.”

“Really.” Josh struggles to rip the top off a ketchup packet.

“Yeah, she hung out for a while.”

Josh raises his eyebrows and glances skeptically up at Dave. “With you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Dave. He shifts position in the chair and concentrates on unwrapping his quarter pounder. “We, ah, just talked about stuff. I was pretty fucked up.” He finally looks up, then relaxes back into the chair and props his shoes on the table. He examines his burger for a few seconds and flashes Josh a smile. “Sometimes you just want a cheeseburger, you know?”

With a sound that is half chuckle and half grunt, Josh reaches across the sea of crinkled yellow and white McDonald’s trash to dunk a fry in ketchup. He knows.

***

“Hey,” says the bartender, placing a shot cup in front of Allyson. “This is for you.”

Allyson exchanges glances with her friend Megan. “I did not order a shot of…” She carefully picks it up and sniffs it. “… Tequila.”

“I know.” The bartender grins, her ponytail swinging. “It’s from Dave-O.”

Allyson leans over and glances down the bar. People are perched on every stool and lined up against the walls. She hears the crack of the pool balls from the table in the corner, followed by the cheers of spectators. A group of girls squeals as the song changes. She spots Dave down at the far end of the bar, surrounded by the guys from the house. He lifts his own shot and holds it up in a toast. “I hate tequila!” yells Allyson over the music. A guy in a sweaty plaid shirt sways into her, shoving her against the bar. She shoves back. It’s Saturday night, and the bar is packed.

“Good!” Dave yells back. He raises one eyebrow at her and downs his shot like it’s water, tossing the cup on the bar. Allyson watches him turn to the girl on his right and say something, his eyes grazing her cleavage.

“Figures. You see the tiniest glimpse of humanity in someone, and then two seconds later they go back to their usual self.” Allyson finishes her beer. She leans her elbows on the bar, then, realizing it’s wet and sticky with spilled alcohol, makes a face and removes them. “Life sucks.”

“Yeah,” says Megan. She pokes Allyson and points through the crowd. “Hey, check it out. Looks like Emily’s going home with Hockey Boy again.”

“He has an ugly nose,” says Allyson, tossing her hair back. “I wouldn’t.” She picks up the shot. Why not?

***

Dave rubs his face and pulls his pants out from under the sleeping girl, who was a lot cuter last night. Katie, no, Kathy something… He hopes she doesn’t wake up. Climbing carefully over her, he slides off the bed. As he stumbles to the futon to get his shirt and jacket, he trips over his shoes. Grabbing the bedpost to steady himself, he shoves them on his feet without tying them. As he straightens up, he notices a framed picture of the girl’s parents on her desk. For about two seconds, he wonders what his parents would think if they saw him now. Then he shakes it off and grabs his clothes. Can’t think about that now. Fuck it. His parents don’t know what life is really like, anyway.

The cold outside is sharp as Dave slips down the front steps and onto Park Street. A snowplow passes, its machinery rumbling and squeaking. Fresh snow crunches under his feet as he starts down the slippery sidewalk toward his house. The sky is a crystalline light blue streaked with lines of gray clouds, and the sun is about to rise. Dave crosses the street, his breath coming out in white puffs. He wishes he had a cigarette. The sidewalk is empty except for one figure walking briskly toward him. It’s a girl. He squints, then laughs out loud, recognizing the black coat and long hair. This is too good to be true.

Their steps bring them closer. She has her eyes fixed on the sidewalk. “Hey, Allyson!” he calls as soon as he’s close enough, his voice bright. Her head snaps up. He watches her features freeze in an expression of annoyance. “Good morning.”

“Where are you coming from?” Her smile is tight. He recognizes that look of unconcealed disapproval. She’s always pretending she’s so much better than him, and now he’s caught her in the act. He’s going to enjoy this.

“I could ask you the same question,” he says, his grin feeling too wide in the bitter Sunday morning air. He raises one eyebrow. “Looks like a walk of shame to me.” He studies her, his hands curling into fists inside his jacket sleeves. Her makeup is smudged in dark blotches under her eyes, and her usually neat hair is falling in her face. She’s the picture of the morning after. Probably even has her underwear in her coat pocket. He doesn’t know why, but suddenly the image of the two of them up on the fire escape the other night jumps into his head. Thrown off balance, he feels his smile fading.

Allyson stares at him for a few seconds, the skin between her eyes crinkling together. Then she bursts into a lopsided smile. “Well, all right,” she says, her voice even. “That’s fair.”

He’s surprised. He’d expected her to snap back at him with some smart line. They’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk. A car goes by, splattering brown slush. “So…” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, avoiding her eyes. Damn, it’s cold.

“So?”

He looks down at the sidewalk, then back up at her. “I don’t know, you want to get some breakfast or something? I think it’s like seven.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, seriously. Come back to the house. I’ll make something.” It’s funny, but he’ll say anything to keep talking to her. Suddenly the idea of going back to the house, where everyone’s passed out, seems lonely and unappealing. The sun has come up from behind the rows of houses, sending piercing strands of light into his eyes. He rubs his forehead. He’s got a wicked headache. He really shouldn’t have gone home with that girl.

“You can cook?” She crosses her arms over her chest. She’s wearing gloves. He wishes he’d remembered his. He was too drunk when he left the house last night.

“Well, sort of.” He flashes her his most charming smile.

“Good God,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I think that’s the most frightening idea I’ve ever heard.” He can’t stop staring at her. How does she manage to look cute even now? He runs a hand through his hair.

“Oh, come on.” He pictures the two of them eating bacon and cereal in the house kitchen.

“Umm, I’d love to… I think… but I’ve got to go home and pass out. I have a lot of work to do this afternoon.” Her voice sounds strange. He watches her swallow and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s kicking a chunk of snow with the toe of her boot. Another car creeps by.

“Hey,” he says quietly, “you OK?”

She looks up at him, her hazel eyes shining. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I’m all right. It’s been… a fucked-up weekend.”

He reaches out and touches her shoulder. She jumps a little and gives him a wary look. He pulls his hand away. “Take care of yourself,” he says finally. “Get some sleep.”

“See you later,” she says, and brushes past him. He shoves his stinging hands in his pockets and watches her walk down the street. He almost wishes he hadn’t seen her. He feels unsettled, self-conscious. Why did he go home with that girl anyway? Two houses down, Allyson pauses to glance back over her shoulder. Seeing him staring at her, she ducks her head and walks faster.

Dave watches her until she turns the corner. He wonders who she’s been with and why he feels like he wants to kick the guy’s ass.

***

Allyson is in bed watching Pretty Woman, a wool blanket draped heavily over her legs. Her single is dark, lit only by the flickering glow of the TV. She glances at the phone on the shelf next to her bed, then at the clock. 8:20. “I am a strong woman,” she says out loud. “I do not sit around waiting for guys to call. I have a life.” She lifts a spoonful of ramen noodles to her mouth and blows on it. Is it too pathetic to drink on a Monday night? She should really go to the library, but a beer seems so much more appealing. She picks up the remote and turns the volume on the movie up a few clicks.

Propping herself up on her elbows, Allyson looks out the window. It’s snowing again. She feels her face getting warm as she remembers the last time it snowed, the night she was on the fire escape with Dave. She remembers what his face looked like, almost scared. She remembers what she thought that night, and can’t help thinking it again: What if this is it, eating ramen alone in a dark room? What if this is all there is?

The snow falls, sticking to her window screen. The streetlights make the sky look orange. It’s silently snowing over the dorms, the church spires, the frat houses, and the shabby streets. It’s snowing over the flat and treeless fields. Allyson has always wanted to live in a city. She wonders when she gave that up.

“I want more,” says Julia Roberts to Richard Gere on the TV screen. “I want the fairy tale.” Now this, thinks Allyson, is a movie I can relate to.

***

Josh bends over to rest his hands on his knees. His head is throbbing from the cold, and the back of his throat is filled with a sharp ache. The vast sky above him is an unfriendly whitish-gray, and there are no houses in sight. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and surveys the empty cornfield to his right, the crushed and broken yellow stalks poking up through a blanket of snow. He used to run nine miles a day. What happened to that anyway? He spits into the brown slush at the side of the road, then draws another icy breath and starts running again.

This is how it used to be, one foot in front of the other. There was track, Julie, and schoolwork, in that order. This is how it used to be, miles of flat fields and slick black road stretching out in front of him. Josh smiles, remembering freshman year. He remembers going to practice every day, how it felt to just run and forget everything else, like beer but without the hangover. He remembers snowball fights on the lawn behind the dorm, Allyson’s hair flying out from under her wool hat as he grabbed her around the waist and swung her face-first into the snow. He remembers Julie’s quiet laugh as they sat at their table in the library and sipped coffee, and going to lift in the weight room with a thinner and livelier Dave.

His smile fades. How were we supposed to know? he thinks. Dave O’Donahue, the kid who knew everybody, who would stroll into a party to shouts of “Dave-O!” Allyson, the beautiful girl who believed every guy should be in love with her. There was no way any of them could have known. He tries to remember when it all somehow went subtly wrong, the exact moment when things started to slide… Was it when he quit the track team last year? Was it when Allyson lost her virginity to that football player, or when Dave pledged? Julie would say it was when they all turned 21, it was the drinking and Dollar Blues night and the kegs in the basement of the house… but Josh knows she’s wrong.

This is how it used to be, he thinks, as he tries to control his breathing and focus on the rhythmic pounding of his sneakers on the wet road. This is how it used to be... But it isn’t, not really. The truth is, the alcohol was never the problem. Truth is, whatever they lost, they lost it way before that.

***

It’s Wednesday, and Allyson is at the library studying for her psych exam. Her notebook is open on the table as she twirls a pen in her hand. The library smells like old books and dusty computers. The girls to her left are loud, their laptops and notes and coffee cups spread out across the black surface of the table. Allyson glances up at the low whoosh that means someone else has pushed through the revolving doors. It’s no one she knows. Tapping her feet, she closes her book. Time for a study break. She grabs some change from her coat pocket and heads for the drink machine.

On her way back to her seat, she sees Julie sitting at a table near the back of the room, her head bent over her books. Sipping her soda, Allyson walks over. “Hey,” she says, replacing the cap on the soda bottle with a twist.

Julie glances up. “What’s up?” she says She drops her pen and stretches her arms.

“Not much. I’m studying for a big psych test.” Allyson hesitates. She wonders if she should bring up Josh. What the hell, she thinks. “I, ah, saw Josh this weekend,” she says slowly.

Julie gives her a mild smile, then looks at the table. “How’s he doing?”

“He misses you.” Part of Allyson is unsympathetic. Yeah, Julie’s upset, but at least she had a boyfriend. How hard can it be to get a goddamn boyfriend? Allyson thinks. It’s not like she hasn’t been trying for three years.

“I miss him,” says Julie. Her voice is almost a whisper. “I just don’t know how I feel about him right now. The thing I used to love about him is that he was so intense, you know? He used to care about everything… and this year it just seemed like he stopped. And then he moved into the house and started hanging out with Dave and going out all the time.” She lowers her head. “I don’t know, I guess I just started to feel like since he stopped caring about track and school and… and all that stuff… he might stop caring about me.”

“They’re not bad people. Even Dave, he’s not that bad,” says Allyson. Did she actually just say that? She shakes her head. She can’t believe she’s defending him.

“I never understood you guys,” says Julie, “and maybe that’s the problem. You and Josh, I mean. The stuff that you guys do… well, I don’t do it. I don’t really know why.” She doodles stars in the margins of her notebook with her pen. Quickly surveying the surrounding tables, she lowers her voice. “I don’t want to party. No offense, but… I don’t need whatever it is that makes you guys drink four nights a week and stay out till 6 A. M. I’m not trying to be judgemental but… I don’t know, maybe Josh and I don’t have anything in common anymore.” She sighs and rests her chin in her hands. “I don’t know.”

Allyson bites her lip. “I don’t know either. But look… Josh really…” She stumbles over the word. “… loves you. He’s been an absolute wreck this week. It’s not like I’m an expert on relationships or anything, but I think you guys should talk.”

“I’ll think about it.” Julie shifts position in her chair. She tucks back a piece of hair that has fallen down from her ponytail.

“OK. Well, I gotta go get some studying done,” says Allyson, trying to decide if she should say anything else.

“See you later.”

Allyson turns to leave, then stops. Concentrating on peeling back the corner of the label on her Diet Coke, she says without looking up, “Maybe he doesn’t need to care about anything else. Maybe it’s enough that he cares about you.”

***

Dave doesn’t know what time it is and he doesn’t know why he’s calling her. He stumbles out into the hallway and props himself against the wall, listening as the phone rings. She picks up on the third ring, sounding annoyed and far away. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Dave,” he says, taking a sip of water from the cup in his other hand.

“Dave… Dave O’Donahue? Why the hell are you calling me at 3 A.M.?”

“I don’t know. Just got back from the bar,” he says. “How come you weren’t out tonight?”

“I have this crazy psych exam I’m studying for.”

“You didn’t go out ‘cause you were doing work? That’s fucking pathetic. You always go out on Wednesdays.” She must be in bed then. He wonders what she wears to bed.

“Yeah, some of us actually do work, Dave. What a concept.”

“Work. I might do some of that next week. You should’ve come out. I wanted to see you. I kept looking for you.” In the pause that follows, he can almost hear her rolling her eyes.

“Look, Dave,” she says, her voice sharp. “I’ve had a fucking stressful evening so let’s be honest here. Is this a booty call?”

“No,” he says too loudly. He pauses. “I don’t know. Do you want it to be?”

“God, no.”

“OK, then it’s not.” He exhales. Was he holding his breath?

“So why are you calling then?” she challenges him. “What do you want?”

He thinks for a few seconds. It’s funny, but he doesn’t know. He really doesn’t. “I don’t know, what do you want?”

“You’re the one who called me, but you know what? I’ll tell you what I want. I’m sick of drunk guys calling me at 3 A.M., wanting to hook up. I’m sick of being cute. I’m not just a piece of ass. I have a brain, and I have fucking emotions, all right? Just once, I want a guy to be like, ‘Allyson, let’s have dinner tomorrow night.’ That’s what I want.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Not very exciting,” he says. Behind him, Josh’s door creaks open.

“Nope. But it’s what I want.”

Hey, I asked you to breakfast the other day, remember?” Dave takes another sip of water and watches the world slowly spiral around him.

“Dude,” says Josh, coming out into the hall and rubbing his eyes. “Who’re you talking to? It’s almost 3:30. Go to bed.” He starts to shuffle toward the bathroom.

“Allyson,” Dave says, craning his neck to look up at Josh.

“What?” says Allyson.

“Really,” says Josh, half turning. “Tell her I say hi.”

Dave shakes his head. Too many people talking at once. “That was Josh,” he says into the phone. “He sucks too. He wouldn’t go out tonight. He’s all pissed off ‘cause Julie won’t call him back. You people are fucking lame.”

“Sorry,” says Allyson flatly. “Look, I have to get some sleep, OK? I’ll see you Friday.” There is a click and then the dial tone. Dave glares at the phone for a few seconds, then tosses it across the hallway. It bounces off the wall with a clatter. He pulls himself to his feet. He doesn’t feel like sleeping. There’s a bottle of vodka on his desk. He wonders where the fuck he put his shot glass.

***

The bartender sets a beer and a mixed drink down on the bar, and Josh tosses her a ten-dollar bill. “I don’t know where Dave went,” he says with a shrug. “I think he’s at the back bar. He’s pretty fucked-up. A couple of us started at two or three.”

“Mmm,” says Allyson, stirring her drink with a straw. She’s not sure why she even bothered to ask about Dave. She hasn’t heard from him since Wednesday night. Not that she cares, she’s been pretty busy. Thank God that psych test is finally over.

Josh stares at his beer, then glances back up at her. “So… I went for a run the other day.”

“Yeah?”

“It felt good.” Allyson watches him pick at the label on his beer, and takes a small sip of her own drink. She wishes she hadn’t let him buy it for her; she’s had more than enough. The people around her are very fast and blurry. “I ran a few miles, thought about a lot of stuff. I don’t know, it used to be something I really cared about, remember? It kind of seems like I don’t have anything like that anymore.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Allyson says. She flings her arm out dramatically, her hair swinging around her shoulders. Her lips feel loose and numb. “It’s the fucking apathy I can’t stand. No one cares about anything anymore. Someone should do something about it, you know?”

Josh laughs, shakes his head. He has a strange look on his face. Allyson glances away uncomfortably. “Shit, I’m really fucking wasted,” he says, exhaling loudly. “Hey, you’re coming to afties, right?”

“What?” Allyson is momentarily distracted. She’s been scanning the crowd.

He moves closer. “After hours. Back at the house.”

“Sure,” Allyson says, tensing as he plays with her hair. “You know I wouldn’t miss it.” Her heart starts rushing, beating a warning. The floor dips dangerously. She holds herself very still, aware of every breath. He trails one hand down her arm, gripping his beer with the other. She tells herself it’s a joke. She tells herself that maybe if she pretends it isn’t happening, he’ll stop. “Josh,” she starts to say, her voice high and unsteady.

He leans in and kisses her neck, his hand brushing her waist. This is not happening, she thinks. This is not happening. Allyson feels like the floor has been jerked out from under her, like she’s listening to music that has gone abruptly off key, like the world has suddenly shifted into something grim and terrible. Oh God, not Josh. She can take this from anyone but Josh. For a few awful seconds, she can’t move. Then the fog clears and she snaps her head up.

“Cut it the fuck out!” she says sharply, shoving his chest with extended palms. “I can’t believe you!”

Josh looks disoriented, as if he doesn’t know what’s going on. “What…?”

Allyson cuts him with an icy glare. “Don’t you people ever stop?” she hisses, whirling away from him. She feels herself sinking, she knows it and she can’t stop it. We used to cut out snowflakes, she thinks, snowflakes out of paper to hang in our window, me and Julie. Allyson breathes, slowly and deliberately. She closes her eyes and sets her drink down on the bar, hearing the ice rattle. She sees a different Josh, with glasses and longer hair, take a sip of beer from a plastic cup in the dark corner of an off-campus party where they are the clueless freshmen who don’t know anyone. “You can’t tell her this,” he says earnestly, “but I think I like your roommate.” Allyson breathes, clutching her drink, as a hot tear trickles down one cheek.

And the girls swish through the crowd in their shiny shirts and the guys brag and push each other, Allyson doesn’t need her eyes open, she knows. She’s seen it before, God, so many times. The place smells like stale beer and smoke, while the speakers blast the chorus of some stupid 80’s rock song: “… And if I had the choice, yeah, I’d always want to be there… those were the best days of my life…” How ironic, she thinks. How fucking ironic. She swallows hard.

“Allyson,” she hears Josh say, feels his fingers pluck at her sleeve. “Hey, I’m really sorry.” She squeezes her drink one last time, then leaves it on the bar and, without looking at Josh, elbows her way through the crowd toward the coat rack.

***

Josh closes his eyes. What the hell was he thinking? It hits him hard, like a punch to the stomach, as he ducks his head and takes a large swallow of beer. I’m no better than Dave, he realizes, blinking in the dim light of the bar. I am Dave. God, maybe we all are. He clasps his hands into fists and rests his forehead on them. He almost wants to laugh. It’s funny, he used to try so hard. He used to be so good. He’s spent all this time thinking that he’s different, but now…

Oh God, he thinks, when did this happen to us? What the hell went wrong?

“Hey Blake!” Josh feels a heavy damp hand on his shoulder. He looks up and it’s Dave, his hair spiky with sweat and the sleeves of his rumpled blue shirt pushed up above his elbows. The buttons around the collar are undone, and Josh can see the dirty T-shirt underneath. Dave’s face is flushed as he leans in close and asks, “Where the fuck did Allyson go? She was just here a minute ago.”

Josh looks down at his elbows resting on the bar. “She left.”

“Shit,” Dave says, swaying as he chugs the last half of his beer and tosses the empty bottle onto a nearby table. “Hey Beth!” he yells to the bartender over the heads over several people. “Can I have my coat?” She nods to him from halfway down the bar. She drops two bills in the cash box, before grabbing his jacket from a shelf behind the bar and shoving it at him. Dave struggles into the coat, his car keys jingling as he pulls them out of his pocket.

Josh sees the keys. “Dave,” he begins, “don’t be fucking ridiculous…”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dave says, an edge to his voice. “I’m good, I swear.”

“Come on, I’m serious this time. It’s… 1:15,” Josh says, checking the clock above the bar. “Just wait a half an hour and we’ll find someone to drive. It’s fucking snowing out there.”

“Blake, don’t be an asshole. I’m fine,” says Dave, zipping up his jacket and turning to leave. Josh moves to take the keys from Dave’s hand, but he jerks away. A second later, he’s lost in the crowd. Josh feels his forehead crease as he watches Dave weave his way toward the door, briefly pausing every few feet to say goodbye to various people. Josh watches his broad back, his confident swagger. The door opens to reveal the clusters of brilliant white snowflakes falling into the wet street, as a couple of girls enter and Dave slips out. Josh shakes his head. I’m a failure, he thinks. My girlfriend thinks I’m a fuck-up, I just hit on Allyson, and my best friend’s going to kill himself and I can’t even stop him. He picks up his beer to take another sip.

And then he sees her.

It’s like a movie: he glances up and suddenly, miraculously, she’s there. He freezes. His breathing slows, as everyone else in the bar disappears. Her head is bent, her straight blonde hair falling gently forward into her face as she hands her ID to the guy at the door. No, he thinks. No way. It’s not her, it can’t be.

She moves to take her coat off, lifts her head. Her hair shifts around her shoulders the way tall grass ripples in a slight breeze. She sees him then. She pauses. Her lips are bright, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her face tentative. They look at each other, unaware of the twenty feet and the flood of people that separate them.

He doesn’t recall seeing her walk forward, nor does he remember leaving his barstool, but somehow there she is, standing in front of him. She’s close enough to touch. Her hair is misted with spidery drops of melted snow. He’s forgotten how to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice thick and cracking. It’s all he can say.

Julie glances mildly left and right, her eyes taking in the spilled drinks, empty bottles, and laughing people. She smiles slightly, draping her coat over one arm. “It’s OK,” she says as she reaches up to squeeze his arm. “Buy me a drink?”

***

The snow is falling again. Allyson wonders if it will ever stop. She’s walking down Park Street alone. Her hair is crusted with large snowflakes and her tears are freezing on her face, but she plunges on. She hates people. God, they all fuck you over eventually, she thinks. You just have to wait long enough. She hates this town, hates this street, with its rows of faded houses and muted streetlights. Allyson’s hands are shaking; her whole body is shaking. Tilting her head back, she lets the damp flakes fall on her face. She stares upward, mesmerized by the delicacy of the sparkling ice in the tree branches. It’s too beautiful, it hurts to look at it. The sidewalk gently revolves around her. She feels it then: a dim ache, a vague sense of something lost, something irretrievable. Oh, she feels it. A car inches up the street behind her, its headlights cutting through the snow. The engine slows to a purring hum as the Jeep pulls up and stops. Allyson turns, her hair swirling around her face.

The window rolls down and Dave leans out. “Allyson!” he calls.

“What?” she shouts back. The breeze momentarily lifts the snow and throws it against the car. Dave jumps out of the driver’s seat and slams the door.

“Are you OK? Come on, let me give you a ride home.” He reaches out to touch her arm, but she shakes him off. He almost loses his balance, then recovers.

“I don’t want a ride.” She closes her eyes. “I don’t want to go back to my room. I’m getting out of here. I’ve got to get the fuck out of here.”

“What are you talking about? Where are you going?”

She opens her eyes and looks up at him. The wind stings her cheeks and whistles through the trees. She raises her voice. “I don’t know. I don’t care. Someplace where the sun shines. Someplace where it’s warmer than 30 below.”

“Allyson, seriously. Get in the car. It’s a fucking blizzard out here.” He looks down at the sidewalk, steadies himself against the side of the car. “And I really have to talk to you.”

Allyson laughs bitterly. “What? No, let me guess. You’re going to tell me you’ve been secretly in love with me for years or something? And then I’m supposed to believe you, even though it’s complete bullshit, and then you’re going to try to hook up with me, and I’ll probably do it, knowing me, because I’m stupid… And why not? We’ve both slept with everyone else on campus. Perfect. God, could this night get any worse?” The world is spinning. The icy pavement dips. She puts her gloved hands on either side of her face, gasps for breath.

“I-- no, that’s not… Allyson, listen to me. I just… I just wanted to make sure you were OK. Trust me. Now will you just get in the fucking car?” His words are slurred but urgent. Snowflakes frost his hair.

Allyson explodes. “Dave, I don’t trust you! That’s just the point! You say I’m bullshit? You’re the one who’s bullshit. You’re an alcoholic, you don’t even go to class, and you don’t care about anything! Give me one good reason why I should listen to you.” The words rip from her throat, angry clouds in the frigid night air. She’s breathing hard.

He takes a step closer, and his face is serious. “You think I have problems? So do you. The problem with you is you blame everyone else. You hook up with a guy, suddenly it’s the guy’s fault. That’s bullshit, Allyson. I fuck up my life, yeah, but at least I have the balls to come out and say I’m… I’m fucking up my own life!” He sways toward her, grabs her shoulders.

“Don’t touch me!” she screams, slapping at his arms.

“Why the fuck are you so mad? What do you want me to do?” he yells.

“Leave me alone! Just leave me alone! I hate my life, OK? Is that what you want to hear? Fine, there it is! Are you happy now? Are you fucking happy?” She’s sobbing now, she buries her face in her gloves, it’s so cold, and is it ever going to stop snowing? She feels herself shaking. It’s true, it’s all true. She hates her life. The tears flow down her cheeks; her makeup must be running. God, she must look awful. And Dave’s still standing there, and she won’t look at him. She’s still shaking as he wraps his arms around her. She feels his hands on her back. He’s warm and solid as she leans into him, her hands resting on his jacket. He tilts his face down toward hers. Allyson’s shoulders tense, and she feels her chest grow tight. Not this, not again, anything but this, she thinks. Please don’t. She waits, holding her breath, biting her lip.

He kisses her forehead. Allyson gazes up at him in confusion. She hadn’t said that out loud, had she? “I just… I just get so scared sometimes,” she whispers, scrubbing her wet cheeks with the back of her glove. She backs away so she can see his face. She is suddenly aware of her own heartbeat. “Like what if there isn’t anything better? What if this is all there is?” she asks, her voice hoarse.

“Why would that be such a bad thing?” he asks.

She opens her mouth to answer, then stops. She’s looking over his shoulder at the floating snowflakes, the humming pink streetlights. She feels his hand on her waist and the warmth in her stomach from all the beer. She listens to her own breathing, and his. Her eyebrows draw together, and she tries to think of a reason, a good one. But the answer never comes. One particular snowflake catches her eye, and she lifts her hand like a small child, catching it on her finger. Above them the night sky is a drowsy light purple. Peace floods through her, as she turns back to him. And then, feeling the stiffness of the dried tears on her cold cheeks, she smiles. “Maybe,” she says, wonder in her voice and a swelling in her throat, “it isn’t.”

He grins at her, trailing a cold hand down her face. He’s forgotten his gloves again. She smiles back. It takes her about three seconds to make up her mind. She kisses him. The air around them is thick with feathery snow, and as they stand on the sidewalk of Park Street she slowly reaches up and allows herself to twist her numb fingers through his hair. He tastes like cigarettes. “You’re not helping me,” she murmurs against his lips. “This is the last thing I need after tonight. God, I hate you.” But she doesn’t mean it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling her in tighter. His voice is rough and low as he strokes her hair. “I’m not a good person.”

She stares up into his face, watches the snow melt in his hair. “I just want to go home,” she says, her voice sounding pathetically small to her own ears. “Is that OK?” He kisses her forehead again, then releases her slowly, his hands sliding along her waist. The snowflakes on his shoulders twinkle in the streetlight.

“Come on,” he says. “Get in the car.”

***

For the first time in months, Dave feels like everything is going right. Allyson’s sitting in the passenger seat next to him, gazing out the window. With her head tilted back like that and her hair falling around her face, she looks peaceful, almost holy. Maybe he should try to kiss her again. Maybe he needs to drink some water. Shit, it’s snowing hard. He wonders if she has a cigarette. If he tries to kiss her, will she let him? He’ll say, “Just give me a chance, I won’t fuck it up, I swear.” He’ll tell her, “I’m going to be a good person, I’m going to try harder, I’m going to quit smoking and start going to the gym on Monday.” He squints into the driving snow. Not to ruin the moment, but he thinks he really might throw up. He sees himself introducing her to his parents. The kitchen smells like cookies, and his mother is smiling. “Allyson, what a pretty name. It’s so good to meet you...” His head is thick and heavy, and the black pavement keeps moving all over the place. He’s having a hard time keeping it straight. Everything seems suddenly cloudy, or is that the snow? “Allyson?” he starts to say, but the car is sliding sideways. In slow motion, he jams down the brake. As the Jeep slams head-on into the telephone pole, he hears her screaming.

***

Park Street is quiet. The rush of cars, the whisper of snow.

Allyson is breathing heavily. The air rushing into her lungs feels cold, harsh, and dry. Her lip is cracked, and she tastes the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. She leans forward, spots swimming diagonally across her vision, and hugs herself, arms wrapped tight around her own waist. She breathes, feeling her body expand against her arms. Her right hand is bleeding. Through the cracked windshield she can see the glow of a streetlight. Snow gathers lightly on the hood of the car. It is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. Tears pool in the corners of her eyes. “Fuck,” she whispers. Her breath catches in the back of her throat and she coughs. “Dave?”

She turns, her neck sore, her heart thumping nearly out of her chest. With trembling hands she clutches his shoulder, the fabric of his jacket. She shakes him, smearing blood on the jacket. “Dave?” He’s facing the other way, and there is blood on his forehead, a dark streak against his sweaty face. He has freckles. She never noticed that before. “Oh God, Dave, are you OK?”

He moves slowly. Opens his eyes and they’re still light brown, still shot with red. He reaches up and slides his cold fingers between her bloody ones, and squeezes her hand. Behind them on the sidewalk, there is a clamor of panicked shouting voices. They stare at each other, and everything stops except for their breathing.

“Holy shit,” Dave says, and starts to laugh.

***

And the snow falls, and the wind swirls through the shivering bare branches of the neat rows of trees. A couple staggers down the street, pausing under a corner streetlight to kiss. A group of girls hurries up the icy sidewalk, a blur of linked arms and brightly striped scarves. The frat boys yell and the police sirens wail. People squint through the snow and point at the car. The drunk couple under the light gaze mildly at the accident for a few seconds, then the guy slips his hand up under the girl’s coat and they go back to making out. Josh, coming up the sidewalk with his arm around Julie’s waist, recognizes the black Jeep and starts to run. A small crowd gathers, as the sheriff’s car pulls up.

It’s another DWI, they say. The story will make its way through the houses and dorms the next day, over hungover breakfasts and weary coffee dates in the student center. Some townie will no doubt write a nasty letter to the local newspaper about the recklessness and indifference of these spoiled ex-prep school kids from New England. But for now it’s another Friday night, another blank kiss, another empty beer can tossed in the neighbors’ yard. It’s another belligerent bar fight spilling into the street, another anonymous party, the piercing loneliness drowned in a stream of shots and the noise of the crowd. Down at the bar they’re gathering their coats; down at the pizza place they’re standing in line. Down at the house they’re drinking and falling. As more and more sirens fill the air, the people in the crowd take their last lingering looks at the wrecked Jeep before, in pairs or small groups, they stamp the snow from their shoes and file down Park Street to after hours.