The Gentle Deceit

“Can you keep a secret?” she asks me.

For a moment I am too distracted by her beauty to reply.

I am hung up in the way that the light is catching her eyes, doing so in such a way that it causes the flecks of green hiding within the hazel of her irises to gleam like little emeralds.

I’m watching her elegant fingers as they trace the golden links of the ‘Together Forever’ bracelet that I’d gotten her on our anniversary earlier this year.

“Uh, yeah, of course I can,” I reply awkwardly, knowing full well that I have no one to tell even if I wanted too, as well as being my lover, she was my best friend.

She stands in front of me with her arms crossed just under her chest as we talk. I rest against the hood of my grey Oldsmobile Cutlass, the heat from the midday sun is causing its metal grille to feel more convection oven than car against the skin of my bare legs. Despite this, I can’t seem to move. I’m just too caught up in whatever it is she has to tell me to worry about burning my bacon right now.

There’s something in those beautiful eyes, a sadness not usually present that was troubling. It stands out like all-consuming white flash before the thunderclap. She starts speaking, and I feel my stomach drop as the preverbal lightning bolt slams straight into me.

***

It was the swan song for our all too brief summer vacation. The fall season was fast approaching, and with it came our final semester at our local community college. Marie and I had been friends since we started attending here last year. It turned out that we had been in high school together as well, but we had never really connected during those days. We were both in different cliques, had different schedules, that sort of thing.

Once college started and both of our groups were scattered throughout the various university dorms across the United States, it seemed as if there had been some kind of rapture on the affluent and the privileged teens, and only we, those poor unfortunate souls without some trust fund to whisk us away from our lives, remained in rural Pennsylvania. 

So, we did the next best thing and jumped directly from high school to community college in a vain attempt to come out of the rat race to a degree without a mountain of debt smothering us in the process. Balancing work and school life could be tedious, but it was necessary if either of us ever wanted to get out, to escape the clutches of mediocrity.

Though we’d seen one another in passing for years, I first actually met her at the Subway restaurant located at the heart of our little school.

While standing in the seemingly endless line for lunch between classes, she caught my attention, standing there like a ray of sunshine with her wavy blonde hair and her flattering yellow summer dress. I couldn’t help but notice the novel in her hand, ‘The Death of a Salesman’, and without thinking, I made the absolute worst quip imaginable. 

“You know he dies at the end, right?” I asked as suavely as the dulcet tones of my barely post-pubescence voice would allow.

A couple of audible groans croaked out from a couple of students who were within earshot further back in the line.

She stared at me blankly for a solid ten seconds before she finally managed to come up with any sort of reply.

 “Huh?” she asked once her brain had finished processing the unbridled idiocy that was the comment that I had just made.

“The salesman, you know, in your book?”

She looked me over, then to her book, then back to me, with a

bemused expression.

“That was lame,” she said with a deadpan voice.

I nodded in agreement with her as I adjusted my black rimmed glasses.

“I figured if I started this introduction at the bottom then there

would be nowhere left to go but up,” I replied with a nervous laugh.

“I’m Ash, by the way. I promise I only get better from here.”

Marie snickered her expression softening slightly.

“I’m Marie, and I certainly hope so, for your sake,” she replied with a chuckle.

From that day on we had lunch together every day in the common area that was just outside of the Subway sandwich shop.

Atop of the faux marble tile, the booths that lined the outskirts of the sizable room were packed to the brim with various groups of students, all of which were chatting away about everything and nothing while a small flat-screen television mounted in the furthest corner of the room blared random sports analysis and scores from the latest ball game.

To the side of the double doors that led outside, there was a small onyx counter top with a beat-up microwave and random Styrofoam cups filled with condiments. The smell of the room was an odd mixture of body odor and popcorn, it was how I always imagined a Blockbuster would’ve smelled in my head if they had survived into the 2020’s, which only led me to appreciate it more. 

We sat in one of the tables and chairs that dotted the innermost portion of the room, taking in the side conversations around us while also remaining happily independent, save for serving as the occasional tiebreaker in a heated group discussion to keep it from spiraling out of control and encompassing the entire room like a World War, only none of the combatants could drink and everyone was Poland.

Those periods in-between our class periods were some of the most enjoyable moments of my day. I felt the dissipation of those somber feelings that had enveloped my personal life after my friends flew the coup for greener pastures, and for the first time in a while, I felt happy.

 I quickly found myself falling for her charms, despite the fact she was way out of my league. However, somehow, someway, it turned out that she had fallen for me too. The same day we managed to admit our affections to one another, we also shared our first kiss on the steps leading up to our World History I class, and as a result, I ended up developing a much greater appreciation for Italy under the reign of Pope Alexander VI.

After the end of our first year at college, we’d managed to get a better understanding of what we were actually interested in in terms of our future. I was going for my BA in Business, so my plan was relatively simple. I was just transferring to Penn State, which wasn’t but an hour away from here, if that. While life would be a little different, there wouldn’t be that dramatic of a change.

The same could not be said for Marie, though. The woman’s passion was drama, and with a lot of hard work, some glowing recommendations, and a surplus of talent, she’d managed to get accepted at Julliard in New York City.

That’s when I knew, this relationship was just too good to be true.

***

“If you want me to stay, all you have to do is ask me to,” Marie says quietly.

A sad smile spreads over her face, she lets go of her bracelet and locks eyes with me, it takes a lot for me not to look away from her.

“That’s my secret, Ash. I don’t think I can do this without your support. So, if you don’t think I should go, if you don’t think you can handle the long-distance thing, please, just tell me. There’s still time enough for me to apply to Penn State if that’s the way you feel.”

I just sit here like a stupid lump, suddenly dependent on my car for stability. It feels like my legs have gone numb. God, how I wish I could just scream out, “STAY!” at the top of my lungs. What I would give to be able to tell her that I can’t picture my life as brightly without her light in it, then beg her not to leave...but I can’t say

that, not one word of any of it.

I won’t. 

Even though I know how this will end. I refuse to be that selfish.

Instead, I find my gumption and manage to pry myself from my car’s grille and step forward to take her into my arms. As we embrace, I tell her that I love her, that we’ll make it work, no matter the distance.

Even if I’ve seen this story play out a thousand times, even if I know that the odds are not in our favor. But I can’t tell her that, I can’t hold her back from accomplishing her dreams. So, what do I do?

I do what I must…I lie both to her, as well as myself.

Marie believes me. I don’t know if it’s because I’m all that convincing or because it was what she wanted to hear to begin with. I am generally a terrible liar, so I assume it’s the latter.

Either way, it’s easy to see that she is relieved.

Her lovely smile is effortless now.

I hold her close to me while pushing back my own tears, quickly giving her a kiss before I head home. Somehow, I manage the effort, I’m able keep them contained until I get back to the relative seclusion of my own driveway just a few minutes up the road. I look for my mom’s Ford as I pull in, but it’s nowhere in sight. She must have already left for her shift at the hospital.

With the coast clear, the floodgates burst and I begin sobbing, lightly at first, but within moments it is completely uncontrollable. I bury my forehead into my forearms as I cling helplessly onto the worn leather cover of my steering wheel, nearly retching from the force which my cries continue to escape me. I stay like this for a little while, openly weeping until my breath starts to stutter as it exits my mouth. I lean back in my seat and try to slow my breathing more to regain some semblance of control.

I am a mess.

I wonder how I managed to maintain my composure in front of her, then I let out a wry, pained laugh.

Maybe I’m the one who should be going to Julliard.