Professor Feelgood (Page 56)

After a few minutes, Jake sighs deeply. “Done. Why do I feel like I just had a prostate exam?”

I finish my final question and press ‘complete’. “I guess they want as much information as possible to get an accurate prediction.” I’m tempted to bump his phone to see how compatible we are, but I fear knowing will be worse than blissful ignorance.

Jake flags down a passing waiter and grabs two glasses of champagne before handing one to me. We both drink deeply and then stand there in silence, watching the action in the room. I hate that things are so tense between us. Damn me for having those notebooks out, and damn him for finding them.

“How long do we have to endure this?” Jake asks. “And how drunk am I allowed to get?“

I watch people mingle and bump phones. Seems like everyone but the two of us is having a good time. “Sid wants us to stay for a couple of hours.”

“Not the party,” Jake says, turning to me. “Us. The way we are together. It’s exhausting.”

I’m taken aback. I’ve been lamenting about our bickering so much, I didn’t realize he was feeling the same way.

“Maybe you were right about me needing a different editor,” he says. “I’d hoped that enough time would have passed for us to let go of all the shit we’ve put each other through, but I was wrong.”

I’m becoming more tense with every word he says, which is crazy. Yesterday, I would have been thrilled to leave this project and get away from him, but now that it’s happening, it feels hideously wrong.

“Is this about the journal? Because if you want me to apologize again, I will.”

He looks down at his empty glass. “The journal is a symptom, not the cause. I thought I could keep all the angst from our past as background noise while we worked together, but … I can’t. It’s deafening. Every time I’m near you, I can’t hear anything else. That’s why I can’t write.”

“Jake, it’s been one day. We need to find our footing together. Tomorrow will be better.”

He looks at me. “Will it? Or will we just continue to let our issues drag us around in circles?”

“If we both try to find a better way, then absolutely not. I don’t know about you, but I hate being angry at you all the time.”

He gives a bitter smile. “I’ve been angry at you for so long, I don’t know how to stop.”

“Have you tried?”

“Yes. Have you?”

I want to say I have, but I know it’s not true. Part of me has been avoiding letting go of my anger, because when it’s gone, I’ll have to deal with a whole world of feelings I’m not ready to face. Is my anger even real? Or is it the name I’ve given to the sensation of my heart trying to push out pain and loss?

I grab Jake’s arm and pull him toward the bar in the far corner of the room. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to talk through everything we’ve done to each other and see if we can finally get some closure. But before that happens, I’m going to need a real drink.”

_______________

Everyone remembers their childhoods differently. I have a few snapshots of smiles and melting ice creams in summer, or running through the park and swinging on branches of trees that probably don’t exist anymore. In those quick cinematic flashes, I’m happy. But they don’t tell the full story.

The bulk of my memories are harder to remember and not nearly as much fun. Those images are dark and grainy; a film noir of a kid struggling to find her way in a world that seemed to keep taking things and people away from her without ever giving anything back.

There are very few people that feature in both versions of my memory, but Jake is one of them. Bestie-Jake was the one who made me laugh, and swung from branches higher than I would ever dare reach for. And caring-Jake was there when my dad left; when my mom died; when moments of melancholy hit me so hard, all I could do was curl up in a ball and disappear for a while.

And now, when I remember those times, I’m hit by an overwhelming sense of sadness, because our friendship was so easy, I assumed that’s how all connections were: Instant and powerful. And if I screw things up tonight, I’ll never have a friend like him again. And that would be tragic.

In the hopes of helping to facilitate our self-inflicted intervention, we’re doing tequila shots.

“Go!”

We slam our glasses down on the bar before shoving lime wedges into our mouths and sucking.

“Is there a rule for how much alcohol we need to consume before we address our emotional trauma?” he asks, dropping the lime into his glass. “Because I’m not feeling the urge to share yet.”

I gesture to the bartender for another round. “Maybe there’s a formula. One shot for every year we’ve been estranged?”

“So, what? Six shots each? After that much tequila, I wouldn’t be able to find my ass with both hands, let alone carry on a coherent conversation.”

I want to start the process, but I feel like I’m sprinting through a minefield. If I say the wrong thing, there’s a good chance Jake will think even less of me than he already does, which would suck.

Jake looks just as uneasy. “Why the hell is this so hard?”

Because there’s so much at stake.

“Professor Feelgood?” A group of young women come over to Jake. “Sorry to bother you, but we’re big fans. Do you mind taking some pictures with us?”

Jake gives me a surprised look then turns to them. “Uh … okay. Why not?” It must be weird for him to go from being anonymous to unmasked. And the number of people recognizing him is only going to increase.

The lead girl turns to me and hold out her phone. “Could you?” All of a sudden, another five phones are thrust at me.

“Sure.”

The girls crowd around him, talking about which poems are their favorites and posing each time I raise a camera. I know why they’re drawn to him, but none of them have any idea about who he really is. The heart of him.

That’s one thing I used to know.

“Last one.” I hold up the phone and ignore the tightness that’s starting to infect all my limbs. Nostalgia achieves nothing but to make you second-guess every crappy decision you ever made.

“Ash!” I turn to see Eden walking toward me. Jake notices and seems relieved to have an excuse to extricate himself from the ladies.

“Hey!” Eden says as I give her a hug. “You look gorgeous.” When she pulls back she gives Jake a not-so-subtle once over. “Well, well. Little Jakey Stone is all grown up.” Somehow, she manages to seem both friendly and intimidating.

Jake tips his chin. “Eden. Good to see you again.”

Growing up, Eden treated Jake like a little brother, which is to say, she antagonized the hell out of him. To be fair, he gave as good as he got, but it was always clear they had real affection for each other. Unfortunately, their relationship was collateral damage when he and I fell out. It’s bizarre seeing them interact again.

“If you plan on being a dick to my sister again, let me know ASAP, because hitmen are expensive, and I’ll have to start saving.”

Jake gives her a tired smile. “Some people are born dicks, and some have dickishness thrust upon them. I’m trying hard to be neither.”

“Good.” She glances at me. “The universe has worked hard to bring the wonder twins together again. Don’t screw it up.”