Jeff

“Cassi put your clothes on please! Get out of the water and put your clothes on.” Jeff yelled from the sandy beach.
“Whooooo! I gotta swiiiim! Wait for the clothes Jefffffffffffy!” I yell back to Jeff, slurring my words as I flail about in the Folsom Lake water.
“Come on, we need to go. Just walk to me and we will get you dressed.” He pleaded.
“I loooooooooooove the water!” The alcohol was taking great affect now. I attempted to start walking towards Jeff.
“There you go, just keep doing that.”
“The water is making me fall, Jeff!” I yelled up to him as I fell over and over again.
“Just walk right to me, and I’ll wrap this towel around you, ok?” He held out a big white towel, he was but three feet from me.
“I tired!” I plopped down into the shallow water, sinking slightly into the sand.
“Cassi, you are so close just a little more, come on!” He already has his dry clothes and shoes on and did not intend on getting wet again.
“Kay, sheeeeeesh. I’ll come.” I crawled towards him slowly, my hands disappearing in the dark silty sand.
“There you go, ok up now, good good.” He lifted me into the towel as I got close to him.
“Jefffff, thank you for you being you know a person that is good and you.” I mumbled to Jeff as we walked to my clothes.
“Shhh. Let’s just get you dressed and home ok?” He handed me my shirt.
“Kay, Jeff.” I put my shirt on, while he handed me my pants.
“Be careful.” He said as I fell back on the sand one leg in my jeans the other out.
“Heeeheeee!” I giggled. I quickly put the other leg in.
“Cassi, ok lets walk now. Get up and lets go to the car.” He put his hand out for me to grab.
“Jeffffff!” I yelled at his head.
“Cassi, shhhh! Let’s just get to the car. We can talk then, ok?” He said quietly to me. His grip on me tightened as we headed up the hill to the car.


I yelped out in pain as the edge of the paper slid underneath my skin. The blood seeped out just above the rim of the small cut. I was looking through old pictures. I never was one to keep my pictures organized, although I had been planning to do it for a long time. I sucked on my finger and came across a picture of him. I hadn’t thought of him in quite a long time. I stared at the Polaroid for a few minutes, just remembering how nice he was to me. I wondered if he ever thought about me. I took my finger out of my mouth. I wondered if he only remembered the weird/bad/lame things about me. I shook my head and looked at my finger. It was now soggy and had those wrinkles on it like when you take a long bath. I put the picture down on my bed, his face covered slightly by my white comforter. I moved it. A lot of my friends had told me just to forget about him; to just move on. I really didn’t want to. I wanted him to be nice to me again. I wanted to be nice to him. I always knew that I could be there for him, but never quite was. I wondered if he knew that. I ran my finger over the picture. A small smear of blood ran across his face. I quickly wiped it away onto my white comforter.


Why do we do this to each other? We can connect in such a way, but not know it. Our hearts can feel it, but our brains refuse to let us enjoy it. I have met so many incredible people in my short time on Earth, and I know that I will meet so many more, and out of all of them I know, really know, about 2 of them. Maybe it is just me. But then why do you see close-knit friends in groups of two and three. We give ourselves to no one. We are selfish in that respect. It is the most frustrating thing. If we can just open ourselves to the possibility of knowing someone, maybe connection can be more than just Starbuck’s coffee and talk of the weather. So many times there has been a person in my life who I would want to know, want to talk to, want to know what makes them tick, want to have them know exactly what I need when I got a bad grade on a test, want to have a serious connection with. And I let something like differences of opinion on abortion make me loathe them. I let something like my own fears drive them away. Who will ever win? Fear will.


I remember being scared when I was little. I used to be scared of monsters in my closet and flesh-eating bugs under my bed. Those were such raw fears. You knew what you were scared of; you were scared of being eaten, or being dragged to some monster land to be made a slave. These were real fears. When you were a kid these were real fears. As we grow older those fears dissipate and new ones come about. Some left over from child hood traumas and environments and some with real roots. The fear that your car will get keyed when you are parked outside the check cash place in San Jose is a real fear, just as the one of the flesh-eating bugs under you bed when you were a kid. These fears are real and tangible. They have proper roots that were planted correctly. Having a fear of someone knowing that you need help, or that you can’t sleep at night is a fear that is not grounded. These fears are the ones that keep us apart. These are the fears that make us so worried about keeping them unknown and secret. This in itself becomes a fear. Having our ungrounded fears known. I didn’t want to be scared of him. No, scared pertaining to him.


I got up from my bed and decided to call him. I brought the picture with me. I stared at his eyes. They were talking to me. They were asking why I had abandoned him. They told me to talk to him. They asked my why didn’t I help him when he needed it. I couldn’t answer his hazel-green eyes. They were so green. Sometimes the green was so strong that I couldn’t do anything but look and look. The picture was coming alive in my hands. He was crawling around in the little box of a Polaroid. His hair, his mouth, his cheeks, they were all becoming 3-d.
“Jeff, I really want to know you, you know this right?” I asked the picture as if it would talk back to me. I waited for him to respond. I reached the hallway and continued down it. The picture in my hand felt warm. I stared again at his warm face.
The picture was taken at a birthday party of mine. It was one of those How To Host A Mystery parties. I played the weird vampire host. He didn’t participate, but just watched from the couch. I think he was a little embarrassed to be doing all that acting in front of everyone. This is why he wasn’t in costume in the Polaroid. I had said to him after the party that he looked like a sad model in the picture with his powerful hazel eyes. His eyes were always first to be hurt. Even if he said he was fine, his eyes couldn’t lie.
I made it to the phone in the kitchen. I glanced again at the picture. He urged me to call. He asked me to call. I rubbed the smooth surface with my thumb. I swore that heat was coming off of the little Polaroid.
“Jeff, stop messing with me.” I said directly to the picture.
He seemed to smile back as if to tell me to stop messing with myself and to call him. He was always ready to do anything. I could ask him if he wanted to drive to New York for the weekend and he’d already have the car warmed up. So, I knew even now after all that had happened; he would still be up for anything. I wasn’t worried about that at all, I knew he would meet me again to have fun. What I was worried about was his eyes. His honest eyes.

“Hello.” Jeff answered his cell phone.
“Hi Jeff. This is Cassi.” I said slowly.
“Hey! How are you?”
“I am doing ok. You? How have you been?”
“I have been working too much, but I am too ok, I guess.”
“That sucks. You still working at Larkspur Landing?” I asked.
“Yeah still there, but I really hate it. I’m really thinking of quitting.” He said sounding a little distracted.
“Really?”
“Yeah. But so, what’s up?”
“Oh, I was just wondering if you wanted to get together. I am going to be in town and thought that we could have lunch or something.”
“Yeah, that sounds cool. Just give me a call when you get into town.”
“Ok. I will. See you then. Bye Jeff.”
“Bye.”


We met at his work. He was dressed in his sharp work clothes. Tie and all. Shiny shoes. We exchanged hugs and greetings. It was great. We ate at Denny’s near his work. We talked a lot there and it felt nice. I was starting to remember why I liked him so much. We decided to go to Reno. Drive to Reno and play in the snow. We drove to his house so he could change. It was nice seeing him again. At his house I couldn’t stop staring at all of the things in his room. He was changing in the bathroom. There were pictures everywhere. I stupidly was looking for one of me, but I knew that was a bad idea. It would only make me feel bad. I hadn’t been a part of his life for a while now and these pictures were of new fun events. I sat on his bed and felt a little sad that I wasn’t a part of his exuberant existence anymore. I stopped myself from analyzing his room and just decided to enjoy the night. We got in his truck and drove up I-80. We talked and listened to music. We took exits that were too snowy to drive on, causing his truck to slide around. We laughed after first being scared. We found a little local Inn that had snow covered cars and trees. We parked and made snow angels in the soft untouched snow. We ran and did that slidey thing on the road besides the Inn. It was 3am and we were playing like we were little kids at noon. We walked down an embankment and found a clearing. The snow was beautiful falling in the dark. We made a really horrible snowman and threw snowballs at each other in the clearing. I was having a really fun time. And I knew he was too. We drove back to Folsom, where my car was parked, listening to music and talking.



I was backing out of the parking space I had left my car in while we went to Reno. He drove past me in his truck that I always called purple, but he insisted it was grey. I saw him head out to the exit of the parking lot. I was staring at his truck. I could not help but laugh at the purple truck. It rolled around the corners and bounced over speed bumps. It looked like one of those trucks like on that video game, Off Road. I was now far behind him. Hew as going much faster than I.
That’s how it always seemed. Everyone was ahead of me in a purple truck. A cute purple truck. It was like he was saying whoo hoo, here I go, watch as I zoom home. I don’t exactly know why I was feeling like this. I think it was the fact that I could be a great friend with him, but I seemed to always stay a little behind. And I always feel like the person who I am trying to get to know is mocking me as I step back. I know this to be a stupid fear. But I can’t stop thinking it.
I sped up a little maybe to catch up to him, but I didn’t. He drove away, breaking at the stoplight to exit the parking lot. His purple truck bouncing cartoon like, and saying “neener, neener, neener” to my drab silver/tan accord.

I drove the rest of the way home not really thinking of anything. I turned onto the right streets and went the right speed almost robot like the hour and a half it took me to drive home. I reached home without event. I changed my clothes and headed to bed. For two days I couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun I had in the snow. Even thought we were wearing the wrong clothes, even though my hands were freezing, I had a blast. I took two midterms. I washed the dogs. I watched Six Feet Under on HBO. All this time, I couldn’t help but wonder if Jeff was ok. Was he ok with me? I want to be the one of the first people he tells things to. I wasn’t as afraid anymore, and I wanted him to know this. I sat at my computer writing the first part of this story, the scene part. I wondered if he would mind me writing about him. I think he might be touched. I know he would be touched. I should call him and ask though, and then I can talk to him too. Ask him about work, that guy, and about his neice. Ask him.


“Hello.” A deep voice said, not that of Jeff.
“Hello, Jeff?” I said knowing it was him doing a strange voice.
“Who is this?” He said still in a weird voice.
“This is Cassi, Jeff you are a dork.” I could hear loud noises in the background, like he was at a club or a concert.
“Hey, what are you doing?” He used his normal voice.
“Nothing, I just wanted to say hi. Where are you it’s really loud?” I asked.
“Where are you?” He said all weirdly.
“I am here at my house. Jeff, why are you so weird?” The noises in the background were strange cheering sounds, or maybe singing. I couldn’t tell.
“I’m just here at a restaurant.” He said and he sounded distracted yet again.
“Ok, so I just wanted to say hi and stuff.” I said, kind of regretting calling to tell him about this lame story.
“Hi! So is that all you called for?” He loudly said.
“Um. I used your name…in this story. And I just wanted to let you know.” I said, realizing that I sounded so strange. I wanted to just hang up and write another story or change the name or something.
“What, you used my name? You are using me?” He said. He emphasized the word, used, to make a lude joke.
I laughed before speaking. I wanted to forget I said anything. “So…” I said thinking he would forget what I said.
“What are you saying? You used my name? And you want my permission. Can I read it?” He said fast.
“Yeah, I just wanted to let you know. Now I feel stupid for saying anything.” I was feeling really dorky.
“Don’t feel stupid. E-mal it to me and let me read it. Call me at work tomorrow.” He said, kind of reassuringly. But my brain was still feeling really horrible about bringing this story up. He is going to read it and think what? He’ll think that I’m in love with him. That I’m all obsessed or something. He’ll give it to his friends to read. He will laugh and think I am weird.
“Ok, I will send it to you.” I said not really letting him know how I now felt about it.
“Ok, talk to you tomorrow then when I am at work.” He said, the noises in the background still loud and music like.“Ok, bye.” I said. I hung up my cell phone. I was thinking that I am going to have to send it to him now and he will read this story that I seemed to make a big deal about. This is exactly what I am talking about. This is an ungrounded fear. What am I afraid of? I am afraid of maybe opening up to him. Maybe showing something of myself than just my humor. Fear is a crippling thing. Especially when you don’t know what you are afraid of, and there are no flesh-eating bugs anywhere in sight.