Date: Tue, 19 Feb 2002 16:20:20 +0000 From: Hessa Meena Subject: (lesbian high school) Gutless, pt-3 SMITH college seemed woven from the same fantasy. The campus ambled behind an old iron gate over a hill, and had a looming, ancient feel. It almost looked like Columbia, but had an older, spookier vibe to it. The smell of clean old wood was everywhere, and Amy almost forgot they were there to perform. It seemed too picture perfect. Amy and Katarina grabbed their instruments and walked up the dorm's long path. Katarina, the teenage ashtray, had a cigarette lit immediately out of the car, and didn't put it out once they got inside. Despite protests and warnings from Beat, Dalia and Amy, smoked her way up the stairs. "Girl, you're going to get us thrown out. I'm not sleeping in the woods so I can play jazz for society girls." Dalia grumbled pulling her bag closer to her body. "You're such a pain," Amy sighed looking back at Katarina, who remained impassive, but puffing. Amy didn't see where she was going, and bumped into a red headed woman in jeans and a T-shirt that said: "SMITH COLLEGE: A HISTORY OF WOMEN COMING TOGETHER." The red head rolled her eyes like someone who spent too much time babysitting, and tapped Katarina on the shoulder. "Excuse me, this is a no smoking dorm." She stopped in the stairwell and surveyed the four young women. Katarina screwed her lips into a bratty scowl and pinched the cigarette's glow out with her left fingers. They were so callused from years of bass, she barely felt a thing, and enjoyed performing this routine for strangers. The rest of the Quartet shifted uncomfortably on the stairs. "Uh huh, and you must be the Brooklyn Prep Jazz Quartet." The red head said sounding amused by the prim sounding named as she glanced over such a slouching bunch of girls. And when her eyes met Amy's for a moment, she realized how much she hated the name of their Quartet, she felt like she should be handing out milk and cookies. "Awright, I'm Rachel," the red head said. "I live here, I'm the dorm monitor." She was tall and freckled, and her jeans were faded and beginning to fall apart. "Please don't get locked out. Don't get wasted and not clean up after yourselves, and please...enjoy SMITH." She laughed. "Ok, sorry for the lecture, I get paid to say that. We're supposed to feed and take care of you, so let me know if you need anything. There are locks on the doors, keys inside and smoke detectors," she glared at Katarina, "in every room. I gotta run, you guys were late, and there's a lecture I need to check out!" Amy found herself smiling at the confident, red haired woman as she bounded down the carpeted stairs. The recital was flawless, and the audience was obscenely polite. "Ohmigod, if this is college, please tell me I'll have a life," Amy thought to herself. The ensemble smiled politely as Mr. Murphy warbled through his "We're such cultured New Yorkers" introduction to "Take the A Train." And Amy managed not to freak out during her solo, and even enjoyed herself. She was getting better, or maybe it just felt easier. The memory of Mr. Murphy's crazed pep talk the previous week popped into her head. "You're our horn section, you're on TOP of that solo. Go girl! Sing! Sing with that guitar!" As much as everyone wanted to call him a weirdo, Mr. Murphy's inspired, freaked out seventies fashions and complete love for music made them all play better. One night as they packed their equipment, Amy told Beat and Katarina about her vision of Mr. Murphy as the mad nun in the boat and they cackled like birds. Mr. Murphy made playing jazz, somehow rock. After their show, Mr. Murphy told everyone to get a good night's sleep and left for a fundraiser at Amherst College. Katarina and Beat talked about attending the social they'd been invited to by the music department, but Beat said it would only put her to sleep. "Hey Dalia, you're the one with the ticket tonight, you gonna call him?" Katarina grinned at the pianist and raised her eyebrows over her cigarette smoke. "Naw girl," Dalia shook her head, "I'm too tired to MOVE." They all laughed. Beat and Dalia said their goodnights and made their way back to their rooms. The college gave them doubles: Beat and Katarina shared one room and Dalia and Amy were in the other. "Looks like we should've roomed, `eh?" Katarina asked. Amy stiffened. "Relax, I wouldn't get you in trouble." She smiled, but her eyes narrowed, a look Amy couldn't place. She knew Katarina well enough to stay away from her in moments like this. Even completely sober, her eyes shone danger. "It's not that..." Amy managed to mumble. "Whatever." Katarina stubbed out her cigarette and threw the filter into the trash by their dorm. "I'm sure there's a party somewhere, wanna look?" Katarina had her ready-for-anything face on, and it made Amy envious. She wished she could take advantage of situations the way Katarina did, but instead she thought she should clear her head, get some sleep. They had to play another show tomorrow at 11 am, and she wanted to be fully awake for it. "Be good." Her parents' voices chimed in her head. Amy trudged up the stairs to the dorm. She wondered what it must be like to live this far from home. As she entered the room she realized that Dalia, as usual, was asleep before she hit the pillow, but try as she might, Amy couldn't drift off. Between Dalia's snoring and the thump thump of dance music downstairs, she'd never get to sleep. The dorm they'd been placed in didn't seem like the Ivy-League halls of the prestigious SMITH press kits, and Amy thought she should have followed Katarina in pursuit of a party. Amy wandered into the lounge and peered into the fridge, it was empty save for a half-bottle of catsup and some cat food. "Couldn't sleep?" Amy jumped at the voice, and looked up to see the dorm monitor, Rachel, in pajama bottoms and a tight, sleeveless "Girls Rule" T-shirt. Her red bob accentuated clear blue eyes, and Amy found herself admiring Rachel's shoulders. "Nah," Amy mumbled, embarrassed to be caught rummaging through a stranger's fridge. Amy noticed what must be Rachel's open door down the hall. "I was looking for something to..." she realized that admitting to her quest for alcohol might not be the best idea. She was a visiting high school student, merely a tv actor in this fantasy world of college. Poof it would all be gone the day after tomorrow. "You want to listen to music?" Rachel paused, "I mean...I'm sure you hear enough, but I'm working on a paper, so it's mellow." She shuffled back into her room and Amy, with nothing better to do, followed, mesmerized by the rich guitar sounds fluttering behind the door. "This re-write was due yesterday, but...I guess I work best under pressure. Make yourself comfortable," Rachel gestured to the bed in the corner. The pillows were propped against the wall and a patchwork quilt covered a full sized futon. "What's the paper on?" Amy asked, and began to feel how tired she really was. She stopped thinking about what she was doing on a stranger's bed, and started concentrating on the luscious guitar flowing from Rachel's speakers. "Bertold Brecht." Rachel made a face. "I'm supposed to compare melodic structure to the evocation of space." Amy mumbled in return and closed her eyes. "Thrilling, I'm sure," Rachel laughed. Amy concentrated on the sound of Rachel typing and the melody building out of the stereo. She opened her eyes to see Rachel's on hers, smiling. "Some of my friends are having a party tomorrow, if you're still around." She turned down the volume. "Come by, it's at Tenny House, up the road. I'll leave an invite with directions." Amy felt Rachel's eyes burning into hers and from far away heard Rachel say, "I'll put my number on it." Amy nodded. She is really cute, why is she being so nice to me? Amy forced herself to imagine the notes transcribing themselves in front of her eyes. "This would be beautiful on the violin, but it's so powerful the way it is ." She opened her eyes and saw that Rachel wasn't typing anymore. "What's it called?" Amy asked. "Huh?" Rachel seemed suddenly distracted. They both blushed and Amy tried again. "What's the song called." "Oh..." Rachel laughed and looked back at her desk, as if to move something around. "`Mom's Mercedes.'" "Hummm," Amy mumbled, increasingly aware of how content she felt. She settled into the pillows and looked around at the posters on the wall. Band names like THE BUTCHIES, TRIBE 8, THE NEED, TEAM DRESCH, and THE THIRD SEX covered every inch of wall space behind Rachel's desk. Amy realized that all the pictures in the room were of women with instruments. "You play violin, too, right?" Rachel asked. "Yeah, since I was 5." Amy answered, but felt her voice trail off. She took a deep breathe and tried to take mental inventory of Rachel's room. A scented candle mingled with coffee, and maybe she smelled marijuana. Amy smiled at the thought of her `no smoking' lecture directed at Katarina. She grew more relaxed, but became increasingly aware of Rachel. Amy listened to her busily type at her computer, and occasionally sneer at a correction on the paper in front of her. Finally Rachel stopped. She stretched, rubbed her arms and yawned. Amy could feel Rachel's eyes on her again, and willed herself to sit up. She had only felt this comfortable with someone without instruments when she and Louis shared a room at their parent's timeshare in Maine. But they were nine then, "Sixteen Blue," Amy quoted a Replacement's song, she certainly didn't feel "sweet" or "little". As much as Amy wanted to stretch out and lose herself to Rachel's room, she realized she had to snap out of it. Any more time in here, and Amy felt she'd have some explaining to do, and the questions piled in her head. Why did I ignore that party invite from the music department, but end up HERE in the dorm monitor's room ...Make that BED. Why am I so afraid to see if something will happen? Amy pushed the thoughts from her head and reminded herself of the 11am recital. She needed to clear her head, and this wasn't helping. She yawned and heaved herself up off Rachel's bed and into a standing position. "I gotta go to bed," she smiled at Rachel, and saw a question in her eyes. "This music is um," she dropped her eyes from Rachel's and noticed the, half-smile forming on her lips. What's she going to say? Amy felt her stomach drop. She started again. What should I say? "This music is really nice, I should play stuff like this." Rachel removed her glasses and backed against the door to close it. "Amy," Rachel squinted, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "What's stopping you? You can do anything you want." Amy laughed nervously, Rachel's fingertips were light on her wrists, and Amy could feel her heart beating in her mouth. What's going on here? Amy asked, although she realized she already knew. Rachel took Amy's face in her hands and kissed her slowly. Amy felt the blood rush to her head, and stepped away. "I..." Amy cleared her throat. She felt like she would cry. She was completely sober, but felt sped up and terrified. "I...gotta go." Rachel nodded and put her glasses back on. "When you get to college..." Rachel smiled and stepped away from the door. "It'll be a different world." She opened her door and stepped back so that Amy could leave. "There will be all the time in the world for you to try anything." Amy looked up at Rachel, who had returned to her post at the computer, and smiled awkwardly. "Thanks," Rachel made no effort to stand up, and nodded. As Amy left she heard the volume increase with the sound of typing, and wanted to beat her head against the wall. She walked down the hall and into the room she and Dalia shared. It was time to brush her teeth and go to sleep, so why did she feel like she was about to jump on stage? Her hands were sweating and her stomach felt coffee-tight. Ohmigod, What's wrong with me? She squeezed some toothpaste onto the toothbrush. She totally kissed me. Amy could feel herself blushing, and wondered why she was still shaking. No one had ever kissed her before, she told herself that Katarina's drug-fueled harassment didn't count. Thoughts raced around in her head and kept her from falling asleep, so Amy stared at the ceiling. She didn't know what to do. Amy knew she wanted to walk back into Rachel's room and try again. Rachel's words about "try anything" echoed in her head and Amy almost cried. If love was something that inspired such good things in people why did Amy feel so pained? She knew she didn't love Rachel, she barely knew her. Amy thought about Dori, and realized she definitely had a crush on her, but this was something different, it wasn't romantic and it was right HERE. Amy's body knew it, and that's what scared her. She was almost asleep when she heard a knock on her door, but ignored it. Surely Rachel wouldn't risk waking Dalia and was almost relieved to see Katarina slouched by the door. She smelled like a bar, and smiled feebly as she walked towards the bed. "Howya doing?" She kicked off her shoes and lay down next to Amy on the single mattress. Amy was close to tears already, and Katarina's warbling wasn't going to help. "I saw you go into that girl's room." Katarina whispered. She propped up on her elbow and leaned over Amy, the smell of beer was everywhere. "What did you do in there?" Any hormonal convergence waiting to blossom from Rachel's room went into overdrive with Katarina leaning over her. Amy felt her hips go rubbery and a cold sweat take over her stomach. Oh no, not now, just go away. "Oh," she said too quickly. "We just listened to music." "You're a musician. What did you listen to?" Katarina was girl in charge, placing her fingertips on Amy's collarbone. Amy tried not to swallow. "Urmmm," Amy fought the approaching sleep to remember what the piece was called, "The HIGH ART soundtrack," she mumbled. "Mom's Mercedes." Katarina's eyes flew open. "What?" she sounded almost angry. Then in cool admiration, "That's a hot piece." Katarina moved over so that she could lie down on top of Amy. "I liked HIGH ART, did you see it?" "HIGH ART?" Amy felt like a weak swimmer going down. Did she miss another one of Katarina's movie make out sessions? She thought about the notes floating around in Rachel's room. They stared at each other for a moment. All Amy could think about was the ticking of Dalia's alarm clock and that she couldn't breathe. Katarina had her frozen. She was drunk and their pianist slept six feet away. And if they were going to kiss again, even if it was some warped page from The Amy Fantasy Book, she knew it shouldn't happen. Not like this. "Katarina, don't you think we should get some sleep?" Katarina looked at her for a few moments without saying anything and left the room. Amy felt numb, almost relieved, and thought about asking Rachel about the bands on her walls.