Читать книгу Off Her Rocker - Jennifer Archer - Страница 15

The sun has gone down by the time I pull into the visitor’s parking lot a block away from Troy’s dorm. I’m road-weary, but too excited to care. It’s been seven and a half weeks since I last saw my son. I can’t wait to see his face when he opens the door and finds me outside of it.

As soon as I know how he’s doing, I’ll call around and find a hotel suite with two bedrooms and a kitchenette. Considering how lousy Troy feels, I’m sure he’ll jump at the chance to get away from his roommate for a while, out of that cramped dorm room with those tiny matching twin beds. Once he has settled in at the hotel, I’ll run to the store and buy a few groceries. Seven-Up, hot tea, chicken-noodle soup. A little tender-loving care from his mother and Troy will feel better in no time.

Tomorrow, while he sleeps in, I’ll attend his classes and take notes, then schedule a meeting with his economics teacher. If anyone can set things straight with the man, I can. This isn’t the first time I have had to confront a teacher on behalf of one of my kids.

I park the Lexus, grab my purse and jacket, and climb out, pausing to stretch my aching back. As I start down the sidewalk, I slip the jacket on. The temperature has dropped since I last stopped for gasoline and to throw away trash from a fast-food lunch on the go. Dense clouds hang low in an inky-black sky. On the radio earlier, an area weatherman said to expect snowfall tonight in most parts of the state. I shiver and hasten my pace, wishing I had brought a heavier coat.

It’s a quiet Wednesday evening. Students stroll across campus, alone or in small groups. Others are on bicycles, a few on Rollerblades. I take deep breaths of brisk air and try to recall what it felt like to be young and away at school. Polly’s questions about my dreams before I married and became a mother drift through my mind.

What did I want?

To meet someone and fall in love. To have children. But what else? What possessed me to study philosophy, of all things? Pressure to declare a major at the end of my sophomore year? All the courses I had taken up to that point transferred, so I didn’t lose any hours by becoming a philosophy major. Was that the appeal?

Memories of my own uncertainty filter back to me. I felt overwhelmed, adrift and desperate. Desperate to make a choice. Afraid I would make the wrong one and end up stuck in a career I hated for the rest of my life.

Funny how I’ve come full circle; I feel the same now. Uncertain. Overwhelmed and adrift. Desperate and afraid. But I don’t want to think about all those feelings at the moment. They aren’t important as I open the door to Troy’s dorm. Carl and I must have walked this route more than a dozen times while helping Troy move in, carting box after box up to his room.

When I reach the wall of elevators, I push the up button and wait. Soon, a ding sounds and the doors slide apart. Three laughing guys reeking of cigarette smoke step off, and I step on, followed by a boy and a girl who can’t keep their hands off each other. I push Three.

“Five, please,” the young man says, and I push that number, too. “Thanks,” he mutters, then I’m forgotten. The doors close, trapping me with the musty, leftover scents of a multitude of students who have stood here before. Smoke and spilled drinks. Sweat and unwashed clothing. Pepperoni and popcorn and who knows what else. They’re all there. Signs of young life on the run.

To avoid the giggling couple in the corner, I fix my gaze on the numbers above the doors. None too soon, the doors part onto the third floor, and I’m off and walking the narrow stretch of hallway that leads to Troy’s room, my heartbeat keeping time with my step. Young men and women cut glances my way as we pass one another. Some mumble greetings, but no one looks me in the eye.

The boom and screech of rock and roll hits me long before I reach Troy’s door. I assure myself the music isn’t coming from his room. Troy is sick. His roommate wouldn’t be so inconsiderate. But after a few more steps, I realize the music is from Troy’s room. Voices and laughter, too. In his effort to make new friends, is my son reluctant to stand up for himself? Am I going to have to play the bad guy for the sake of his health? If so, I’m willing.

At his door, I make a fist and pound three times.

“It’s open,” Troy yells.

Turning the knob, I push in.

He sits on the bed playing a video game, a beer can propped on one thigh, his back to the door. A girl with henna-red hair sits on the bed, too, facing him, her legs crossed beneath her, an open magazine in her lap and a beer between her knees. She wears pajama pants and a T-shirt, no bra. The girl glances up and straight at me. Her eyes widen, but before she can say anything, Troy crushes his can and blurts, “What took you so long, dickhead? We’re out of brews.” He tosses the can onto the clothes-strewn floor and turns, his face falling when he sees me. “Mom…”

He and the girl both scramble to their feet as, behind me, a male voice calls, “Logan, you bastard, you owe me. I almost got caught sneaking these in here.”

I look over my shoulder as a skinny, freckle-faced young man bursts into the room pulling a twelve-pack of Old Milwaukee from beneath his coat. When he spots me, he stops short, moving the pack of beer behind his back.

I return my attention to Troy. “I thought you were sick. Too sick to study, isn’t that what you said?”

“I am…sort of. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Obviously.” I look at the girl. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

“She’s—”

“Kate,” the girl says. Standing, she wades her way toward me through a sea of discarded clothing, wadded-up napkins and notebook paper, magazines, shoes and crumpled cans.

I shake the hand she extends, then turn to the boy at the door.

“I’m Bennie,” he says. With a sheepish expression, he transfers the twelve-pack from his right hand to his left so he can shake with me, too.

“I’m Dana Logan. Troy’s mother.” I glance back around in time to see Kate exchange a wide-eyed glance with Troy that clearly says, Shit! What are you going to do?

Aloud, she says, “We should, um, let the two of you talk.” Kate starts around me. “Come on, Bennie.”

“I’ll call you,” Troy says to her.

“Later, man,” Bennie mutters.

They close the door.

Color rises to Troy’s face, familiar red splotches of embarrassment and irritation. He clears his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Why? So you could hide the evidence and pretend to be sick?”

“What are you trying to do? Catch me at something?”

“I wanted to surprise you. I see that’s exactly what I did.” My throat aches with disappointment as I motion to his crumpled beer can and the littered floor. “I believed you, Troy. I came to fix things with your economics professor and to help you get over your cold.”

“You were supposed to call him, not show up at his door.”

“I did call him. He was adamant about you taking the test, so I thought it might help if I spoke to him in person. And you said you needed someone to go to class and take notes for you since you’re so sick.” I cross the room and pick up Kate’s beer. “I didn’t realize this stuff cured the flu.”

“You drove all this way to take notes for me?” His voice rises an octave.

Someone pounds on the door and shouts, “When’s the party?”

Troy walks to the door, cracks it, pokes his head out. He talks quietly before shutting it again and moving around me to stand beside the bed.

“I came to take care of you,” I say.

He tugs at his hair and groans. “I’m not ten years old. Couldn’t you have gone over the teacher’s head and called the dean or something? And mailed some antibiotics? I don’t need you to wipe my nose anymore. Stop trying to run my life like you always have.”

His words slash like a knife and the last of my self-esteem bleeds out of me. My certainty that I’ve always been good at one important thing. The most important thing. Being a mother. I have prided myself on always giving him and Taylor what they need, but have I? The expression on his face seems to indicate otherwise.

I stare at Troy and realize I don’t know him. Not completely, as I did when he was a little boy. But he’s not that little boy anymore. An entire segment of his life exists that is separate from the one we share. That segment is off-limits to me, and he wants it to remain off-limits.

Reluctant understanding dawns when I consider my relationship with my own mother. It’s normal for Troy to pull away from me. He needs to, in order to become an adult. I can’t remain the center of his universe.

Still, it hurts to think he hasn’t missed me at all. Am I the only one struggling to let go of our prior relationship and move on to a new one? Is it easy for him? I should be happy he and Taylor are growing up. Isn’t that the whole point of raising a child? But I’d like to think that I’m more to them than a bank account, a complaint department and a repairman; someone to call only when they want money, have a problem or need something fixed.

“Why did you call me?” My voice breaks. “What did you expect me to do?”

“Not make me look like a freakin’ geek in front of everybody. You always have to butt in.” He turns his back to me.

Trembling and fighting tears, I reach behind me for the doorknob. “You want me to butt out? Okay. I will. But your dad and I didn’t send you here to party night and day, then skip your classes, Troy. We expect some effort on your part. The money we give you isn’t to blow on beer. It’s easy to let yourself get distracted and before you know it, you’ve flunked out. Or lost motivation and dropped out.”

“Maybe I should drop out. I’m only here because…” He flushes a deeper shade of red and looks away.

“Because why?” I ask softly.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Talk to me.”

“Why? So you can spell out what you and Dad expect from me?”

Torn between wanting to shake him and wanting to hug him, I stare at Troy for several more drawn-out seconds. I sense he’s as conflicted and confused as I am. “Maybe we should postpone this conversation until we’ve both had some time to calm down.” I open the door. “Good night, Troy.” Leaving his room, I dodge a string of gawking students in the hallway.

Cold wind bites my cheeks and blows hair into my face when I exit the building. I move quickly down the sidewalk, anxious to escape the chill and my own humiliation. Halfway to the lot where I’m parked, Troy catches up to me, matching my pace so that we’re side by side.

“Mom…I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.” I keep walking.

“It’s just…you treat me like I’m still a kid. I’m sick of it.”

“Then quit acting like a kid, Troy.”

“The beer’s no big deal. It’s not like I drink all the time or anything.”

“I hope not.”

“I don’t need you to do every little thing for me anymore.”

“No, just the things you choose not to do.” He and Taylor both. I reach the car and fumble in my purse for my keys.

Troy fidgets beside me. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

I turn to him, grieving what we’ve lost, the closeness we once shared that I’m desperately afraid we won’t ever find again. “I’m sorry, too, Troy.”