“Do you have a call?” Phoebe asked.
“Text message,” I said. “I’ll check it later.”
“Wow, how does your tribe afford a phone?”
“For emergencies and stuff,” I muttered.
Phoebe reached out and took my hand; our fingers laced together easily. We reached the railroad tracks and headed into thick darkness and nighttime insect sounds.
Telling a lie is kind of like having a piece of food caught between your teeth. I tried to simply forget it and enjoy the date, but the whole date felt like a lie now.
“You know that text message? I wasn’t being honest about it.”
“I kind of figured. People don’t usually jerk when their phone rings.”
“The truth is…” What? I’m seeing someone else? I’m having an affair? “I’m emotionally involved with someone.”
I told her about Sophia. She was cool about it, very understanding. We talked about it as if we were friends, and after making some thoughtful comments and suggestions, she told me that she was still recovering from a painful breakup. She’d been dating a guy, and he left her a few months ago. He was a black guy, and her parents had disowned her and kicked her out of the house over it, so she and the guy left town and caught up with a tribe formed by some of his old high school friends. And now he was gone, and she had no one but the tribe.
“The ironic thing is, I don’t even smoke weed,” she said. “I barely drink. Not that I judge people who do, but I’ve always been pretty straight-laced, and I find myself in a tribe that gets by selling drugs.”
“Here I had you pegged as a wild child, getting high and living by your own rules.”
“I’m more the read a good book while drinking tea type.” I liked the way she said “tea.” There was a British lilt to it.
We walked in easy silence. Soon we could hear music drifting from the dual camps. It sounded like heavy metal.
Phoebe slowed, tugged me to a stop. “We should say goodnight here, before we have an audience.”
I wrapped my arms around her, and we kissed—a good, soft, date kiss. She was a good kisser. Her breath was sour, but I’m sure mine was too, probably worse than hers. We were getting used to smelling bad and having bad breath.
“This was fun,” she said. “Thanks for asking.”
“Can I get in touch with you somehow? Maybe we could get together again?”
“Hold on.” She squatted on the track to rummage in her bag. She pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper, jotted a number, and the name Crystal. “This is the number of a friend. It might take a few days, but I always check in with her eventually. I’ll send a message back through her.”
We walked into camp holding hands, let our fingers slip apart as we reached the midpoint between our tribes, and each went to join our own.
“So how’d it go?” Colin asked as soon as I sat in the flattened wild grass.
“She’s a really, really nice woman,” I said. I watched Phoebe, standing with a few of her tribe mates, probably discussing the date as well. “Sophia texted me right in the middle of the date. I forgot to turn off my phone.”
“Not good,” Colin said.
The music was coming from their camp, and some of them were dancing. The forty-something woman whose name I forgot pulled Phoebe by the elbow and got her dancing. She danced a little awkwardly, shyly, maybe because she felt self-conscious that I was watching.
“I should be interested in her, but I don’t want to lose Soph.”
“Um, you don’t have Soph,” Colin said. “She climbs into bed with her husband every night. You climb into your tent with your trusty right hand.”
“I’m a lefty,” I said, but the joke was reflex. I was stinging from the image of Sophia climbing into bed with her husband. I saw them kissing, his hand on her bare breast, couldn’t get the movie in my head to stop, even though the image was like lit cigarettes pressed to my eyes.
“I have to stop seeing her, don’t I?” I said. And there it was. I’d never said the words before; I hadn’t even allowed myself to think them. But this was killing me, it was torture.
“Yeah,” Colin said. “If she won’t leave her husband, what do you have? Phone calls and text messages. That’s never going to be enough.”
I nodded, my eyes filling with tears.
“I’m not saying Sophia’s a bad person,” he said. “Obviously she’s a very good person, trying to do her best. But you have to do what’s best for you.” He stood. “I can see you’re about to need someone to hold you and rock you and tell you everything will be all right, and I’m sure you don’t want that person to be me,” Colin said.
He went over to Ange, squatted beside her and said something. Ange looked over at me, then sprung up and headed my way. I was crying like a baby before she reached me, arms out, ready to enfold me.
“It’s been almost two years,” she said as she held me, “you don’t want to turn around one day and realize ten years have passed, and you’re still waiting by the phone. You’re a wonderful guy. You deserve a whole person, not one you have to share.”
But the whole person I wanted was Sophia.
“After you broke up with Tyler, how long did it take you to get over him?” I asked, speaking into her neck, which was wet with my tears.
“I never got over him. It got less painful, but even now, those emotions come crashing down sometimes, and it’s like we just broke up.”
I think everyone has a Sophia. When Ange first told me about Tyler, who she fell in love with when she was sixteen, she’d said “Don’t get me wrong, I love Cortez, but Tyler, he sunk to my bones.”
When you fall in love, really fall in love, the stakes are so high.
I took a walk down the tracks and called Sophia. She said she couldn’t talk, which meant her husband was there.
“Can you take a walk. I really need to talk.”
She was quiet for a long time. I knew she could hear in my tone, in my plugged up nose, that something was very wrong.
“I know what you’re going to say. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
I heard her close her front door. “Please don’t,” she said. She was crying, which made me cry harder. “You’re the only thing in my life that makes me happy.”
We talked for hours. I said if she was never going to leave him (I could never say his name, I just called him “him”), what was the point? She said she didn’t know what the point was, she didn’t need a point, she just needed to hear my voice every day. I told her we were just torturing ourselves.
In the end, she said she understood, but she still didn’t want me to go. We told each other “I love you” about fifty times. And then I held a dead phone.
You go a little crazy after a breakup; you know you’re a little crazy, that your thinking is all askew and can’t be trusted, but you can’t do anything about it besides wait it out. I’ve learned it’s best not to make any substantive decisions during this time, because they’re mostly going to turn out to be bad ones.
So I followed my tribe, one foot in front of the other, feeling bleak, tortured by guilt at the thought of the pain I was causing Sophia, knowing I could stop it by calling her and saying I was sorry and wanted things back the way they’d been.
We headed toward Vidalia, working rivers along the way with our hydropower collectors, roadsides with our windmills, spread solar blankets whenever we stopped and the sun was out.
“Nietzsche said ‘What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger,’” Jim said to me as we slogged along another trash-strewn roadside.'
“Yeah, right,” I said. “How about radiation?”
Bob Marley came on the portable radio Cortez was carrying. I went over and stabbed the power button as that aching sadness ripped through me. Marley was one of Sophia’s favorites. Cortez looked at me funny, but didn’t say anything. They were all cutting me a wad of slack.
I’d loved Marley long before I met Soph. We used to play it during our high school poker games. That got me
