The Men by Sandra Newman

Author:Sandra Newman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grove Atlantic

For a long time, she loomed larger in my mind than in my life. I’d somehow assumed we would be instant friends, but Evangelyne was always besieged by people, all infatuated just like me. I followed her rise to fame online. I thought about her in the car. I was then an Asian Studies major, and, after I gave up Approaches to Black Studies, we had no classes together. Sometimes I saw her from a distance and felt a jolt as if something significant and dangerous had happened. Once or twice I joined a group around her, but soon felt uncomfortable and left without speaking. Her personality haunted me like a fragrance; Evangelyne the person now seemed lost.

Then one day, I saw her in a student parking lot with her inevitable entourage. This time she waved me over. They were talking about her book, which had just come out. She turned to me and promised to give me a copy, but the conversation drifted on, and I began to feel self-conscious. Of course she didn’t really want to give me a copy. I’d somehow made her feel obliged. As I was thinking of slipping away, a girl casually lit a joint and offered it to Evangelyne. Evangelyne balked, then accepted it self-consciously, handling it like a dangerous insect. She gingerly took a drag. I was already full of panic, as if the sky had been lifted off like a lid. I’d been off probation for a year, but the terror of crossing any line remained. At twenty-three, I’d still never had a drink in public. I hadn’t smoked weed in seven years. Still, when Evangelyne passed the joint to me, I took it. As I lifted it to my mouth, a car pulled into the lot, and Evangelyne and I both startled, ducked, and stepped convulsively toward a nearby dumpster as if to take cover. I let the joint fall from my hand as the girl whose joint it was said, “What the fuck?” She stooped immediately to pick it up. Of course the car was nothing. A student.

I turned back, making myself straighten up, and saw Evangelyne’s face, so angry and sensitive. That set me off. I started to cry.

The joint-giving girl saw my tears and said, “Oh shit. What’s wrong?”

I said in a tense bitch voice, “It’s just that I can’t do anything illegal, even borderline illegal.”

“It’s not illegal here, it’s California,” another girl said.

“It doesn’t work like that,” I said. “Not for … Some people are vulnerable.”

“No, wait, how are you vulnerable?” said the joint-giving girl. “I mean, you’re vulnerable? What?”

She looked at Evangelyne for backup, but Evangelyne said, “Jane, hey. Let’s get you that book.”

As we walked away from the others, I was twisting in shame, still crying. What I’d said was crazy, and I’d said it that way, uptight and shrill. And the reason I was scared was that I was a sex offender, which I couldn’t say, though they probably knew. Evangelyne knew. Evangelyne was about to tell me to leave her alone.

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