Homebound


First strike - I go for a walk in the snow.  A driver swerves to avoid hitting me and loses control on the slick streets.  The
car jumps the curb and barrels into a bunch of kids playing in the snow.  Bodies bounce off the hood of the car, blood
splatters on the snow.

Second strike - I run to catch the bus.  I bump into a magazine stand covered with icicles.  The stand is crowded with
people picking up the morning paper.  Ice, even falling such a short distance, stabs people like knives.

Third strike - I slip on the wet marble outside my office building, fall and knock down some faulty scaffolding.  The sidewalk
is crowded and the air fills with the sound of breaking bones.

Three strikes and you're out.  Or for me, in.  I stayed in my house.

At first I stayed alone in the dark.  After a week or so, I started running out of food.  I ordered some groceries online.  I
held my breath and a telephone ready to dial 911 as the driver safely delivered my bags to my doorway.  Then I ran out of
sick days and I arranged to work from home.  The computer technician arrived and even climbed on the roof as I sat in the
living room praying silently for his safety.  He made it down without incident.

I stayed in the house for months.  I didn't want to hurt anyone else, but I wanted to get outside again.  I waited for a
clear day and I ventured out.  I wasn't planning to go far, just a quick walk around the block.  I made it exactly one block
before the curse struck again.  I rounded the corner and an onrush of exhaust fumes made me sneeze.  I startled the
technician up on the pole and he inadvertently activated the current in a wire that lay across a wet metal grate.  A woman
was out walking her dog.  The smell was awful.

I ran back to my house.  And for two years I stayed there.

My new life was fine.   I telecommuted to my job via high-speed Internet connection. I learned to cut my own hair.  I
exercised on the treadmill in my bedroom.  I gave the UPS driver a nice gift at Christmas so he didn't mind bringing
everything right to the door.  And I saw all my friends on television, and all of them told me to stay home.

I don't mean I thought of television characters as my friends.  I had real friends on television, people I had known for
years.  Every time I thought about going out of my house, another friend came on television to remind me that I shouldn't.

A former neighbor reports for the Travel Channel and urged me to try a "staycation."  A sorority sister from college sells
jewelry on QVC and reminded me "there is no need to ever go to the mall."  A high school classmate on CNBC said her
show "is like having a personal financial planner in your living room."  In commercials for a wireless company, a friend from
my local drama club told me I had the whole world right on my cell phone.  I even saw the first boy I ever kissed (part of a
spin the bottle game at a birthday party when I was 14) on an episode of a wedding show.  He wasn't the groom but the
bride's best friend.  The bride was so mean to him, he said, "I never should have come to this wedding."  I agreed.  Oh,
and he's gay.

That part didn't bother me, about having kissed a boy who turned out gay.  I don't blame myself for that, at least.  I was
only in love once, with Dennis of course.

I saw the waitress from my favorite diner competing for a modeling contract, a crazy college professor interviewed on Fox
News, a distant cousin eating worms in order to win a million dollar prize.  In one way or another, they always said they
wished they had never left home.  I took their advice to heart.  These people were my friends, even my family; they would
never lie to me.

I didn't sleep well.  I ran out of sleeping pills.  Lying in the dark, I rolled from one side of the bed to the other.  I tried this
pillow, then that pillow.  I pulled on more blankets, then threw them all off.  I stretched.  I yawned.  I counted backwards
from 100.  I started imagining frightening things coming out of the radiators.  I turned on the light.  The scary thoughts
would not leave me alone so I turned on the television.  Surely one of my friends would be around to keep me company.

I tried all my usual channels, but no one seemed to be on that night.  I scrolled through the on-air channel guide but
nothing caught my eye.  I couldn't imagine having to spend this upsetting night alone, or worse, with strangers.  I
frantically tried every reality show, game show and talk show I knew about.  That was how I found him.

Dennis was spinning in his chair across the table from Jon Stewart.  His hair was shorter than I remembered and he was
wearing glasses, but he had the same dark eyes, the same crooked smile.  Dennis had written a book, a wry commentary
on the sad state of television.  Jon Stewart remarked that Dennis might insult television, but it seemed he was not above
going on television to sell his book.  Dennis laughed, that same high-pitched laugh I remembered.

At the end of the interview, Jon Stewart said, "Go out and buy this really great book."

"Yes," Dennis said, "go out and buy the book.  And I'll be making lots of appearances so come out and see me, too."

The love of my life was telling me to go out, to go out and see him again!

It was my sophomore year in college when I first heard of Dennis.  Do you know what the word sophomore means?  Well,
no matter.  He wrote for the school newspaper, all kinds of incendiary editorials.  I loved everything he wrote.  How
profound, how deep, how rebellious he was.  The picture next to his articles showed his dark shoulder-length hair swept
back to reveal the three earrings in his left ear.

My sorority sisters scoffed at him.  "What a loser!" one girl said.  "He is just so desperate for attention."  "He can't be that
rebellious," another quipped.  "Why would he come to such a conservative school?"  I didn't listen to any of them.  I didn't
even listen to the rumors about how he grew pot and sold it out of his dorm room.  How else could he have afforded that
new car of his?  It was only a Honda Civic, I reasoned.  Not exactly the pimped-out ride of a dealer.  Dennis was profound.

I cut out every article he wrote and pasted them into a scrapbook.  With cunning and a few tears, I convinced the student
life office to let me move out of the sorority house and into the same dorm where he lived.  I always studied in the lounge
on his floor, catching glimpses of him as he roamed the halls.  I called his phone every day to hear his voicemail message.  
I signed up to write at the newspaper, but I only saw Dennis breezing in and out of the office.  I would sit at his desk when
he wasn't there, touching his pen and his stapler, feeling his energy.

I stole the original of his picture from the newspaper office.  I placed it in a gold frame and stored it in a velvet scarf under
my bed.  Every night, I pulled out the picture and told Dennis about my day.  I knew he could hear me and sometimes I
could even hear him answer me.

That perfect night started when I followed him to a party at an off-campus house.  I played it cool as I eased my way
across the loud, crowded basement.  He was laughing with some friends, that feminine, high-pitched laugh of his.  He
looked up at me, smiled and even waved.

"Hey," Dennis said as he brushed his hair away from his dark eyes, "you're the new girl at the paper, right?"

I smiled and managed to nod, yes.

"I'm Dennis, welcome to the asylum, I mean the newspaper."

I introduced myself and laughed.  He put his hand on my shoulder and introduced me to his friends.  How possessive that
hand felt.  He held my body like he owned me already, like he already knew he needed to show me off to his friends since I
was going to be the most important woman in his life.  The sweat from his palm soaked into my bare shoulder and became
a part of my skin.  I watched his chest rise and fall, and tried to match my own breathing to his.  I held my drink in my left
hand, three fingers towards the top of the cup, pinky spread lower, thumb around the middle, just as Dennis was holding
his drink.

I almost silently whispered all the things I wanted to tell him – how much I loved him, how we had to be together, how I
knew we were perfect for each other.  He may not have been able to hear me over the throbbing music, but I knew his soul
heard every word.

The group started to break up.  A few joined other conversations; a couple went out for cigarettes.   

Dennis turned, took me by the shoulders, leaned over and yelled in my ear, "You want to get out of here?"

The next day I walked to the student union on a cloud.  I had found the man of my dreams and he had fallen for me too!  
My life would be perfect.  I could tell all those sorority girls they had been wrong about Dennis, and about me.

Dennis was sitting in the coffee shop.  We had not planned to meet that morning, but I thought we must be so in tune
with each other now that it was no coincidence.  I sat down at his table.  He looked up from his coffee and smiled but
didn't say anything.  We didn't need words so we sat in silence for a few minutes.  Then he picked up my hand and held it
tight.

"I have a study group I have to get to."

"Oh, yes, I know.  That's fine."  I answered.  I knew his schedule by heart.  He paused for a moment.  As he was leaving,
he leaned over and kissed me on the forehead.

My phone rang very late that night.  I was already asleep but jumped to grab it.

"Hey, it's Dennis."

"Hi," I managed to whisper.  My hands started to shake.  Of course we couldn't go the entire day without speaking to each
other.

"I have a question to ask you that might sound a little strange."

I was slightly disturbed that I could not anticipate his question, but nothing he could say would sound strange to me.  I
guess I still had so many wonderful things to discover about him.   I didn't answer.  Dennis hesitated and sighed.

"Do you think we are going out or something?"

What did he mean?  What was that odd tone in his voice?  Was someone else forcing him to speak like this?  Maybe it
wasn't Dennis at all.  Maybe one of the sorority sisters had heard about my happiness and was playing some kind of joke
on me.  "I don't understand," I answered.

"Because of the way you acted at the coffee shop this morning.  I just don't want you to have the wrong idea."

What could be the wrong idea?  I knew we were supposed to be together forever, what could be wrong about that?  I
replayed our meeting in the coffee shop.  Hadn't he kissed me?  Hadn't he held my hand?  "Oh," I said.

"You know, you should be concentrating on exams and having fun, not, other stuff, you know?"

Other stuff?  He was the only thing that mattered!  Then it hit me.  Of course he was frightened.  Not everyone can
recognize such a perfect love like we shared right away.  He just needed a little time for it to soak in, to wrap his head
around it.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  He was just asking for time to get used to things.  We had forever; I could wait for
him.  "Don't worry about it, Dennis," I even smiled as I said it.

"Okay, yeah, hope I didn't wake you up.  Yeah, uh, good night."

"I'll talk to you soon," I assured him.  "Good night."

Now all these years later, Dennis was telling me, finally, I should go out and see him!  It had taken him much, much longer
than I ever expected, but he was ready to accept how perfect we were for each other, how undeniable our love for each
other really was.

I found his MySpace page.  It listed all his planned personal appearances.  In less than a month, he would visit a bookstore
six miles from my house.  He could have traveled anywhere in the whole world and he was coming only six miles from my
house.  He knew how hard it had been for me to go very far.

Oh yes, but the curse was still hanging over my head!  I never wanted to hurt anyone.  I planned my route carefully.  I
decided to take a taxi, since that would put me in contact with the fewest people.  I would arrive late, when the reading
should be almost over and stay in the back.  All those people in the bookstore didn't need to get hurt for Dennis and me
to be together again.

I heard the taxi honking outside.  Like a ripping off a Band-Aid, I thought, do it quick.  I swung open my door and
marched to the waiting car, climbed in and slammed the door.   It was a cold night and the snow that had been melting all
day was now freezing in patches across the road.  The taxi moved slowly on the slick streets.

I arrived at the store just as Dennis was finishing his reading.  The small group applauded and laughed politely and lined up
to have their books signed.  I hung back.  He flashed his crooked smile at each person that handed him a book.  His dark
eyes shone behind the wire-rimmed glasses.

As the group thinned, I approached the table slowly.  Dennis was standing with his back to me and was speaking to a clerk
from the store.  She stopped talking as I walked toward them and pointed at me.  Dennis turned around, pen poised in
air.  I noticed he longer wore any earrings.

"Dennis," I whispered, "I… it has been a long time."

Dennis stared silently.  I said my name.  He laughed that high-pitched, feminine, awful laugh.  "It was a long time ago, but I
would call our time together memorable.  How are you?"  He leaned over and hugged me.

I could barely speak.  I could barely breathe.

"Did you get a copy of the book?"  Dennis asked.  I didn't answer.  What was he talking about?

"My book?  Did you get a copy of the book?"  He turned to the pile stacked on the table.

I shook my head.  What did his book matter right now?  We had found each other again!  Who cared about his silly book?  
I saw him pick up a copy and write something in the inside cover.  He handed it to me.  Silently, I looked at what he wrote.

"Wow, blast from the past, huh?  Sorry I don't have time for a cup of coffee or anything.  I have to drive to New York early
tomorrow morning and I am exhausted."  Dennis took me by the shoulders.  "Can I at least walk you to your car?"

I shook my head.  Could I gather breath enough to speak?  "I took a cab."

"Yeah, you know, it isn't the greatest night to drive, is it?  It was nice seeing you again though.  Yeah, good night."  He
walked out of the bookstore.

I stood for a moment in the store, as the clerk began to turn off the lights.  I looked again at what Dennis had written on
the title page of the book he had handed me.  I closed the book and left it on the table.  Of course, why hadn't I seen it
before?  Dennis, Dennis and his dark eyes, Dennis and his crooked smile, Dennis and his laugh, Dennis was the reason for
my curse.

"We're closing," the clerk stated coldly, as she held the door open for me.  I wandered out into the night.

A car skidded through the slippery parking lot.  The driver must not have seen Dennis running across the lot in the dark.  
The car tried to swerve, but Dennis bounced off the corner of the hood.  He rolled across the pavement into some
scaffolding that started to shake.  Icicles fell from the metal.  Icy knives stabbed his legs just before the scaffolding
collapsed on top of him.  Some boxes fell from the scaffolding, and broke with an awful stench.  There was blood
splattered across the graying snow.

No one else even had a scratch.  I felt much better, the curse being broken and all.  I decided to go out to dinner.  That
waitress had lost the modeling competition so maybe she was back.

Alison Beth Brown