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“You're always running somewhere.” Wendy blinked.
“I'm sorry?”
“You're always running somewhere,” Bebe had repeated. “Whenever I see you, you look so... Rushed.” Wendy hesitated and considered this, hearing but not really listening to Bebe's words. This was something that often happened when Bebe spoke to her. It was like Wendy became dislodged from existence. Like she was floating around, and all the world had that same sort of muddled sound, like when one held one's head beneath the water.
“I have things... I have things that I have to do. And they have to get done. In a... Timely manner.” Bebe's mouth made a small 'o', and Wendy frowned.
“Whatever you say, Wendy.” She had heard that, she thought. She remembered it, yes, those words lined up with that beautiful, pale face and those sweeping blonde curls. But she had forgotten, was she smiling? The most important parts, the light in her eyes and the curl of her lips, she had lost them. How Wendy hated her mind.
She had been sitting on his car, she remembered that. That hideous mint green, sixty-something Lincoln atrocity of a car. Every time she saw it on the road she found herself seriously considering running it off the nearest bridge. She always became distracted before she could follow through, though. This happened quite a lot. She would find herself driving urgently somewhere, going twenty or so miles an hour over the speed limit, and swearing every time she caught a red light or spotted a police car and had to slow down, only to ultimately discover that she hadn't any idea as to where she was going. She would drive home, resigned, pull into the driveway, and sit.
After her most recent episode, she had slammed the car into park and sat there numbly for five minutes before realizing that she had begun to cry. She remembered removing her gloves, slowly and deliberately, and touching one of the warm streams of tears that were trickling out of the corners of her eyes. She felt shocked. In fact, she began to cry harder, and felt very much like a girl when she realized that she was crying because she was crying, and this only intensified her weeping still. But she shouldn't have been so surprised. At least that time she had known where she was going.
“What are you writing?” Wendy had shivered involuntarily.
“It's an application.” Bebe shifted closer, scooting forward on her computer chair so that she was flush against the back of Wendy's, her chin planted firmly on the dark haired girl's shoulder.
“You're applying to Georgetown?”
“Yeah... I mean, I doubt I'll get in, but I know I'd hate myself if I didn't at least try.”
“That's some winning attitude,” Bebe sneered.
“Shut up, Bebe,” Wendy had murmured, bowing her head and smiling, embarrassed and bashful and nervous all at once. Bebe had pulled away then, and Wendy lips contorted into a small frown. A few minutes later she had buttoned the few remaining unfastened buttons on her jacket.
Did Wendy want to go to Georgetown? She wasn't sure. She often found herself coming down to the kitchen in the middle of the night to get a glass of milk and standing there in front of the refrigerator for twenty minutes, just staring. Throughout her high school and middle school years her parents had accumulated brochures from every remotely reputable college and university in the United States. They were now plastered all over the fridge in a sort of frightening academic collage. When Wendy looked at it, letting her eyes fall on University of This and the Institute of That, she suddenly felt very small and very empty and very aware that she was seventeen years old and standing in her light purple nightgown and cartoon animal slippers that she had been wearing since she was twelve.
“Where are you going with that dazed look on your face, Wendy Testaburger?”
“Oh, I don't know,” Wendy laughed, sadly. “When do I ever?” Bebe had smiled warmly and touched her lightly on the arm when she caught up to her.
“Listen, Wendy, my parents were thinking of driving me up to the University of Colorado this weekend, just to check it out, but I was wondering...”
“If I'd go with you instead?”
“Would you? I just hate for my first on campus experience to be, you know, lunch with the Dean and five hours of incoming freshman 'bonding activities'.” The dark haired girl had smiled, then found herself breathing a sigh that floated gently into laughter.
“I would love to.”
Bebe was the sort of girl that perplexed those around her. To the untrained eye there didn't really seemed to be anything too terribly special about her. Even when you knew her well, no single trait jumped out at you. But the way she made you feel was indescribable. Like she was always pulling away from you, like every desperate grasp you made for her just pushed her further away. There were few simple things in life that made Wendy happy. Perhaps that was the curse of the academic, or maybe it was just that she could never focus on any one small thing long enough to see the beauty in it. Either way, she never felt as suddenly whole as when Bebe gave her that undivided attention that so many craved without ever knowing why.
“Oh God,” Wendy moaned, slumping forward into the steering wheel.
“What is it?”
“The engine won't turn over. I keep cranking it and it just won't budge. I think it's frozen or something.” The dark haired girl waited for a response, but Bebe just sighed and glanced back at the restaurant. It was ten o'clock and just about everyone had cleared out.
“I guess we won't be using their phone.” Wendy climbed out of the car and sniffed. Bebe was surprisingly calm about the whole thing, and sat down on the hood of the car, staring out into the night sky. It seemed so clear on those subzero nights that it was like a giant sheath of black ice on the earth.
“Why are you just sitting there? We should--”
“Just be quiet for a minute, okay, Wendy?” The girl in the pink beret swallowed hard, and took a place on the hood next to Bebe.
“Are you mad?” Wendy's voice was so small that Bebe had to turn and look at her to make sure it was she who had said it.
“No,” Bebe realized that this wasn't exactly a satisfactory answer, but she didn't feel like elaborating at the moment. Wendy took this in silence, stared up at the sky, and trembled.
She never fell in love. Wendy used to try drag it out of her, chiseling away at her with tiny, incessant questions, “which boy made you happiest?”, “who was your favourite?”, “who made you laugh the most?”. But the response was always the same. Her current boyfriend always gave the best gifts, was the best kisser, and knew her the best. She always used to say “he's my favourite right now”. Wendy wondered about the “right now”. It was such a finite prospect. Could she ever be the “right now”? Would “right now” be enough? Or would she just be like all the rest of them, forced to watch the girl drift effortlessly away?
“We shouldn't have walked. That was a bad idea.”
“What was the alternative? Freeze to death in the car?”
“At least then we wouldn't have had to walk,” Wendy muttered vindictively as she struggled to remove her icy boots. Bebe ignored her as she fiddled with the slightly intimidating furnace resting beneath the window at the front of the shabby little hotel room. The dark haired girl approached from behind, wincing at the unfamiliar sensation of cheap carpeting against her bare feet. “Is it working?”
“As well as can be expected.” Bebe surmised the temperature would rise perhaps a degree. She glanced over at Wendy and smiled. “Your hair is full of snow. You should dry it off.”
And they sat in silence on the single bed, staring with varying degrees of hope and despair at the awkwardly shaped heater as it labored intensely to an uncertain end. A white hotel towel was crumpled in Wendy's lap; her hair frizzy and disheveled, but dry. She looked longingly at the furnace as well, but she felt no lack of heat. There was a warmth in the room emanating from some intangible force. Intangible until she felt Bebe's hand caress her own and her entire body contorted in a single twitch. Unfazed, Bebe push a stray lock behind the dark haired girl's ear and smiled gently.
“You seem as though you're off somewhere else, Wendy.”
“No, I'm right here.” She wasn't certain, but she thought she heard her voice come out in a rasp just above a whisper.
“I wasn't mad before, you know.”
“I didn't think you were.”
“You did. But that's my fault.” Not for the first time in her life, Wendy was very uncertain as to where to settle her gaze. She stuck with the floor, just in front of Bebe's feet, but the blonde found this unsatisfactory. Soon Wendy felt Bebe's fingers on her face, turning it towards her. “Wendy, Wendy, Wendy. Always in a hurry, in your head or on your feet. Where is it you're going?”
She never answered. Or perhaps she did, and she just couldn't hear or she forgot. She had forgotten her own words before. But no, she had no time to speak. Bebe's lips were on hers, kissing her slowly and softly, breaking away frequently, only to return again. Her palm was warm against Wendy's cheek and her mouth and breath were warmer still. Suddenly the girl whose pink beret lay forgotten on the bed beside her realized that her eyes were closed. She opened them, and stared up with some degree of timidity at Bebe, who was framed eerily by the moonlight, in a such a way that she seemed to possess a personal outline of glowing blue and white.
“You want me?” The dark haired girl murmured.
“Right now,” Bebe breathed. But Wendy, wherever she was, hadn't heard.