Bowing Out Gracefully

Chapter 14
The Potter and The Clay

Disclaimer: The world of Terabithia belongs to Katherine Paterson and her publishers.
I’m just playing around in it for a while. Sadly, no profit can be received from this story.

When Grace appeared late the following morning, she found her flatmate, pale and sweating, slumped over the small table in the kitchen. A bottle of aspirin and nearly empty glass of water sat next to his limp hand. She had spent much of the past two hours in the bathroom, so even the thought of taking a pain reliever nauseated her further. Wetting a hand towel, it was quickly warmed in the microwave. Then slumping into the other chair, Grace wrapped it around the back of her neck and placed her head down.

A minute later, Jesse groaned, “That you, Gracie?” A non-committal grunt was the only response. “What day is today?”

“Sunday, I think.”

“Thank God I don’t have class...”

Another pause ensued during which Jesse fetched his own hot towel and sat back down.

“Jess?”

“Mmmm?”

“We… What did…? Last night, did we, uh…?”

“Yeah…”

Grace groaned loudly. “I thought so. God, it hurts to talk, and I’m sore as hell but can’t remember much.” Then suddenly jumping up, she ran to the bathroom and vomited. Jesse yelled out for her to brush her teeth before returning. “Fuck you, Aarons!” was her reply.

Already did that. “Yeah, whatever.”

Grace did not return to the kitchen, rather, a few minutes later she slumped onto the sofa in the living room. Gathering up what little energy he could muster, Jesse joined her.

Her words muffled by a cushion, Grace said, “I guess we need to talk.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“You keep saying that, Jess. I mean, whatever we did probably wasn’t real smart, but I can’t imagine it was your fault only.”

Jesse nodded and over the next few minutes told Grace what he could remember from the night before, which was a good deal, but he presented it poorly due to the hangover. His primary memory was that he had had sex with his friend, and that she had been very upset about it. (Further, and irrelevant to that topic, was an email he had sent to Leslie. He dreaded the idea of reading what it said, now that he was sober.)

“Oh, shit…yeah, I do remember that.” Grace went on to share her recollections. “I found some condoms on my night stand, Jess. Uh, did you use one?” When she saw him shake his head her complexion became even more sallow.

“I didn’t…um, I came right out, Gracie…” I’m pretty sure. “Then we talked for a while and you went to sleep.” He discretely omitted the last few moments they were in bed together and where he’d placed his hands. Besides, it seemed insignificant compared to their other activities.

Jesse’s words jogged Grace’s memory and she seemed to recall more, and calm down. “Okay. Crap, I can’t believe this…”

Trying to cheer up his friend, Jesse said, “Hey, from what I can remember it was fun.” But Grace’s look told him the joke was a flop and he apologized again.

“Don’t be stupid,” she snapped. “Oh…if I get pregnant…” She didn’t need to say more.

“Grace, you’re not going to get pregnant.”

“Oh, right,” she snapped, “I forgot this was your week to watch the Oracle to see my future. Is that what you said to the others?”

There was something especially discomforting about the way Grace said the others and Jesse replied just as waspishly. “What are you talking about?”

“Never mind.”

“Grace, it’s impossible.”

“No, it isn’t, Jess. Unlikely, but not impossible.”

“Well, if you’re so worried about it I’ll buy you a pregnancy test.”

“Thanks…” For nothing was the unspoken ending to that sentence, and Jesse finally lost his temper.

“Grace, it was a MISTAKE. This whole year was one big fucking mistake…” Jesse threw his hands up in frustration. “And don’t look at me like that; you know it’s true. We were tempting Fate yesterday. Neither of us is good at holding alcohol, and after what happened at Cape Cod, we should have known better. Can we just - I don’t know - take this one day at a time?”

By now, Grace was in tears and looked even more miserable. Jesse left the room for a moment and returned with aspirin and a glass of water. Grace accepted them in silence and took the pills. It soon became obvious she was having difficulty keeping them down, but she managed.

The balance of the morning found the two avoiding each other, though more from lingering embarrassment than animosity, and by mid-afternoon Grace had apologized for her irrational outburst, but was clearly concerned about being pregnant. Jesse tried to provide distractions from events of the past twenty-four hours by engaging her in chores around the flat, and it worked reasonably well.

As dinnertime approached, Jesse noticed his cell phone blinking that it had a couple messages and he started dialing in to listen to them. Grace mimed that she would get Saturday’s mail and went downstairs. Returning, she found Jesse sitting, looking at his phone, with an odd expression on his face – part amused and part surprised. “What’s up?”

“Grace, did you get any, um, odd mail this week?”

“Huh? No, nothing…oh, wait….” Looking at the mail she was carrying, Grace extracted a thick, cream-colored formal-looking envelope; Jesse clearly saw the logo of Harvard Medical School on the back. “I wonder what this is?” she said. Jesse already knew. Her curiosity now peaked, Grace sat, opened the envelope, removed what looked to be a very formal invitation and read it aloud: “The Harvard University School of Medicine invites you to attend the annual Honors Ball on… What is this?”

“Who’s it from?” Jesse nudged, knowing the answer.

Opening the invitation, an embossed card fell out, but she ignored it to read what was inside. Jesse laughed when her jaw fell open, but stopped as she shot him a dirty look. So he helped her out some. “I have a phone message from an admirer of yours trying to get your number.”

“This can’t be happening…”

“Yup. The chauvinistic prick himself: Clayton Branch.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, Grace mumbled, “No. No, no, no, no.”

“What’s wrong? The Harvard Honors Ball is the formal event of the year around here. Everyone who’s anyone attends.”

“But…but…Branch? Why would he ask me? Especially after what happened at that New Year party.”

Jesse laughed. “Maybe that’s exactly why. Jeez, Gracie, he fancies you. What’s wrong with that?”

“He’s still chauvinistic, Jesse.”

“A chauvinistic prick,” he corrected. Grace smiled. “Come on, give the guy a chance. Look, he left me a message that he was trying to get hold of you. Here, call him back.” Jesse hit the Return Call button and handed his instantly horrified friend the phone. She shied away until they heard Branch answer. Jesse left the room at a rapid pace. Grace’s stuttering was the last thing he heard as he went to strip his bed. As he pulled off the sheets, he started humming. Though he wasn’t completely certain why, the events of the last few minutes left him feeling strangely euphoric. That lasted until some lingering memories of the night before cropped into his consciousness.

Two weeks later, Jesse and Grace found themselves eating a quiet dinner together at the flat. The intervening fourteen days had proven a number of things to both: First, Grace was not pregnant; second, Clayton Branch could be much more of a gentleman than his reputation suggested; and finally, the activities of Jesse’s birthday had very nearly ruined his and Grace’s friendship.

For Jesse, there was little time to dwell on any of these – except for the not being pregnant thing. Final exams were approaching and the last few weeks promised to be more than difficult, academically. And Grace, after three tests had finally proved to her that she was not pregnant, gave notice at the Cambridge Biology Department of her unexpected departure and received word she would have a summer position at Saffron Labs in Woodbridge when she returned. Mrs. Hill grumbled and griped about her leaving, but just as quickly expressed her opinion about college boys and girls sharing an apartment.

As most dinners had been of late, this one was quiet and a little tense. Jesse made no attempt at small talk, other than compliments on the fine stew Grace had put together. Her only response was a shy smile. But both had big news for the other and eventually spoke up. Jesse first.

“I got an email from Les this afternoon.”

Though he could not tell it, this revelation both delighted and hurt Grace. She looked up expectantly, awaiting more details.

“She replied to the note I sent, um, a couple weeks ago…when I was drunk.”

“Uh-huh. What’d she say?”

“Not much, something like: ‘Sunday, May 19, 1PM, the skunk place.’” In fact, it said exactly that.

“The ‘skunk place’? Sounds charming. Where is it?”

Jesse smiled, thinking back almost a decade. “You know that place on my parent’s driveway where you can turn a car around? Les and I were sprayed by a skunk there a long time ago.”

“Nice memory.” Grace went back to her food. Jesse ignored her veneer of immaturity. He knew she had been baiting him lately, almost testing him, to see if jealousy could sway his resolve to patch things up between himself and his former girlfriend. It had almost become a game between the two, and the only real playful activity between them of late.

Following dinner, and while Jesse was cleaning dishes, Grace went to her room and composed a few emails. She had been putting off a difficult one for two weeks: The explanation to her father and brother as to why she was leaving Boston. Tom had already written back asking if Jesse had “Done something.” To this she replied, forcefully, NO. Al Jacobs, infinitely more tactful, skirted around the subject but asked essentially the same question.

No, Dad (and Tommy), Jess and I are not involved and he didn’t hurt me. In fact, he wants to stop by on the way home after school finishes…

I have a big ‘date’ next week with this odd med-student I know. He’s the guy I told you about who throws money around at the local artists. He floored me by asking me to the Honors Ball at Harvard. Here I was thinking he hated me! I’m nervous. Jess said he’d chaperone if I wanted him to. I told him thanks but no thanks…

So, Dad, could you or Tom have the van up here by…?

The letter went on for a while, but Grace had already written the important parts. When finished with this first letter she began another one. This second email was far more important. Then, hearing Jesse move to the living room, an indication he was done with the dishes, she looked over her shopping list and left to buy a gown for the Ball. This activity cheered her far more than she expected it would.

Two hundred yards and a manned security gate separated the old and decaying SSMH grounds from the new thirty-room RVSAC campus. Two hundred yards that often felt like two hundred miles. Three times a day, for sixty days, Leslie Burke had passed through the ancient double-fenced security position feeling like a prisoner. Southwest State Mental Hospital had been closed for ten years, but she was not completely certain it had been her imagination creating the nauseating odors each time she walked over to the meeting room from the Roanoke Valley Substance Abuse Center. A more likely explanation would be her withdrawal symptoms, symptoms her ever-decreasing dosage of meds hardly alleviated. Yet it was better than the frequent chills and vomiting she had experienced the first few days: Those had left her depressed and embarrassed beyond words. Some of the other patients at RVSAC (most returnees themselves) did little to make her feel welcome. Leslie Burke was, in their warped opinions, a rich bitch, and deserving of the life from which she was trying desperately to escape.

Every Sunday since she arrived in mid-March, Leslie’s family visited for two hours, but strict rules prevented any of the patients from leaving the campus so on-site picnics were the usual distraction. Twice, May and Brian Aarons came along, but this only drove Leslie further into a funk that often took her days to work herself out of. She loved her neighbors dearly, but both - and Brian in particular - reminded her of their brother.

The only other close contact with the outside was an unexpected visit from Barb Keane’s oldest sister, Jeanette, who was interning in Charlottesville. As a physician, she was allowed to take Leslie off the modest RVSAC campus, though they were still required to remain on the old mental hospital grounds. Jen filled Leslie in on happenings in her world and some of their mutual friends, but it was a bittersweet reunion. The eldest Keane daughter constantly reminded her of Jen’s long dead sister, Teri, and the horrible circumstances surrounding her suicide. When her guest departed that evening, Leslie broke down and cried, curled up into a fetal position on her bed. And when she recalled Jesse Aarons’ comforting presence at Teri’s funeral many years before, the emptiness of her heartache threatened to engulf her: she was admitted to the infirmary, for two days, under sedation, as her emotional stability slipped away. This event, however, was a turning point for Leslie Burke and she began to take the final weeks of her rehab more seriously.

On this day, she carried her ever-present diary to share with her doctor. The last walk to her therapist was more than a formality, rather a necessary step to close out a bad chapter of her life. It was not the first time she had shared her written thoughts at the Center, and she was anxious to hear what the doctor would say. He was an avid reader with a memory as vivid as a young man she knew…

Long past her scheduled fifty-minute appointment, the doctor handed the diary back to Leslie and sat quietly for a moment. When he spoke, his tone was light and cheery, and it was infectious. Praise for her progress was genuine. Encouragement to participate in a support group was professionally forceful. And one final question was posed: What would she do about Jesse Aarons? A little of Leslie’s cheeriness evaporated.

The following day she would be going home, arriving before Jesse returned from Boston. So the opportunity existed to prepare for a confrontation. The fact was, she missed him so badly it hurt at times, almost like when Janice Avery had died and she felt a part of her die too. Since seeing Jesse the previous Christmas, she couldn’t count the number of times, earlier that year, she’d begun an email or picked up the phone. A couple times she had even started driving to Boston. She chickened-out the first time before reaching Baltimore. In retrospect, however, Leslie knew it was good she had waited. Her problems with drinking and sleeping pills had nearly cost her her life on the second attempt to visit when she wrapped her car around a tree at a rest stop, narrowly missing a picnic table of kids. Sixty days in Rehab ensued.

Walking back to her room, Leslie stopped inside the security fence and pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket. For the thousandth time since receiving it the previous month she read the odd words and wondered what they meant. It had been her first communication from Jesse Aarons in more than a year and he had obviously been drunk when he wrote it.

GLes…wHY CAAant we CVBe fiends?

She hoped he’d meant friends! Cursing Jesse, laughing at the same time, Leslie remembered: Why Can’t We Be Friends, by War…Mrs. Edmunds…fifth grade…ten years ago…half their life ago.

Leslie was glad she replied the way she had. May 19th was only a few days away.

A/N: Thank you for your patience. One chapter left, but no promises when it will be out.