The first time it happened Judd assumed we were having an earthquake. He yelled to me in the kitchen to take cover and then crouched in the corner of our cozy bedroom with hands wrapped tightly around his head, exactly the way he practiced in his California grade school. I found him like that, waiting for the tremors to stop. Then he heard the girly moans and squeaking of the bed upstairs and felt like a fool. The combination of noises suddenly made sense.
We lived in Area Four of Cambridge where the buildings were old and gritty. The porches sloped and the stairs creaked. The walls were thin and not one of the units had air conditioning or a dishwasher. The rooms were painted all sorts of funky yellows and greens, and few were rectangular.
The sheepish grad student who lived above us had just acquired a girlfriend. We assumed it was his first. They stayed up all night humping and shaking the house, and we stayed up all night waiting for them to finish.
"I'm going up there," Judd said. He had that same menacing look he got when I told my friends we might move to Brooklyn.
"Don't bother," I said. "You remember how we were at first."
Then we went back to our sleepy game of Scrabble. Neither of us wanted to be awake. Our words were short and basic. We were just killing time. It was a silly game to play at that hour and with such shaking. With each thrust from above, we had to reconfigure the board.
* * *
We were in Judd's dark, sticky basement. Though we met in fifth grade, the year Judd arrived to Albany, we didn't really know each other until college. We became friends through friends, and eventually I got thinner and he became attracted to me. The October air seeped through the walls and made my nipples hard before he could even touch them. He had a cold and said we shouldn't kiss much. How did we ever get started? Our shirts stayed on, his pants did too. We both wore tall white socks. He hurried things along, worried we were being looked for, and he made us go back upstairs once he finished, still out of breath. I wanted to stay and look at him. His body was lean and muscular. Mine continued to shrink, but he seemed to like it, so I kept it that way.
* * *
We sat in his little Honda in the Foodmaster parking lot. The store was closed, and there was no light other than from an occasional car zipping by on Route 16. He said he didn't want a girlfriend, I said that was fine by me. He said we could keep having a good time, but he would also keep having fun with other girls. He wanted me to know all this so he wouldn't hurt me. We were almost done. Then there was an intense thud that shook the car silly. "What the hell?" he said. The hood was dented, and on the ground we found a pumpkin the size of a soccer ball, smashed in on one side. We looked around and saw nothing but the blackness of the empty parking lot. Judd looked up and noticed the nimble branches of a large maple extending over the car. "A pumpkin tree?" he joked. I laughed. Then he became serious. "This must be a sign," he said. But I didn't ask what of. I didn't want to jinx it.
* * *
Area Four was the only neighborhood in Cambridge void of professionals and preppy college students. There were no lawyers or doctors or anything like them. Most of the black people lived in the speckling of projects. Brazilians worked at restaurants, and Jamaicans owned a few convenience stores. White people worked and went to school all over the city and lived in Area Four to feel less white and save on rent. Just by chance there was an occasional shooting.
We lived in Area Four because we had friends nearby. Judd said he didn't want to feel alone. I reminded him that he always had me. "We're a team," I said. He agreed, then reminded me that being around others was equally important.
Judd started having blood in his stool. His father called and told me to make sure Judd took his medicine. I didn't tell his father this was all news to me. I liked that he trusted me. Then he asked if the blood was actually in the stool or just on the toilet paper after wiping. Of course I didn't know but told him both. He was a doctor and knew exactly what those details meant.
I lost a bunch of weight and had to get my blood tested. I was already skinny, but now I was a freak. My bones jutted out from my hips. My face was pointy, and the bumps of my vertebrae showed through the back of my shirt. All I had left was those big fleshy calves. Judd called them bowling pins. He told me he still found me attractive but wouldn't have sex with me. Maybe he would break me in pieces. I was that skinny. He wouldn't take me bowling either or anywhere in public. He said I needed to rest.
We went to get my blood tested, and Judd told me about his condition. He wanted me to feel we were in it together. He said he was taking pills and the whole thing was no big deal. I admitted I already knew about it from his father. He said nothing and grabbed a magazine. A nurse entered the room and asked Judd if he was the patient. "Yes, but she's the one getting her blood drawn," he said then pointed towards me but held eye contact with her. She giggled and let herself turn a little red because I was too skinny to be anyone's girlfriend.
The needle went in, and I squeezed his hand like I wanted to break it. Or at least just a little, somehow, I wanted to hurt him.
* * *
Judd started taking me seriously after the "Practice New Year's Party" in November of senior year. We counted down, and when the clock struck twelve, I found myself lip to lip with Jason Gibbons.
Then Judd decided to start over with me. He told me to put on a skirt and took me to a Peruvian restaurant. We shared his favorites, chupe de mariscos and lomo saltado.
He introduced me as his girlfriend. He complimented the absolute greenness of my eyes. He ran his hands through my golden brown hair and twisted the curls around his long fingers, like spaghetti around a fork. The ultimate sign of affection, I thought. He kissed my eyes and my nose. He told me I was pretty. He told me I was fun to have around.
He planned to go to Peru once we graduated. I told him I wanted to go too, and he said "sure," as though it were nothing more than a fleeting thought. He knew I would follow him anywhere, and I knew he would let me. He was terrified of being alone.
My friends said I was a fool to go for Judd. What they really meant was that they assumed he would hurt me.
* * *
We went home to Albany for a long weekend because our parents were worried. Especially mine. Judd's just wanted to see him. Mine wanted to see how bad I was. Judd thought it was a trap. "They'll say you look sick and shouldn't go back," he said.
On the way there, his hand rested on what was left of my thigh. He used to get turned on by that. He would inch his hand up my leg until we were both aroused. If we were driving, we would pull off the road and finish. This time his hand was there out of friendship. Pity.
When I was too big it was hypothyroidism, and now I was a twig and it was hyperthyroidism. It was hard to remember which was which. Judd said it didn't matter because no one except his father would know the difference. He also said, "You might not have anything."
"I'm afraid of dying, you know?" I said. "I just wanted to be old already, so that, if I died, it wouldn't be so tragic."
"But you won't even know it happened."
A deer ran into the middle of the road, and Judd pulled his hand off my thigh, slapped it on the steering wheel, and swerved into the oncoming lane. The deer sauntered into the woods. "Those fuckers aren't scared." For a while he breathed heavily and clenched the wheel. Eventually he let his hand fall back onto my lap.
"I just want to do something meaningful. Before it's too late," I said.
He only nodded.
* * *
Judd was nervous around my parents because he thought they blamed him. In a way they did, but they counted on him too. My father pulled him aside while my mother and I prepared dessert. Judd had a few inches on my father, but still Judd was talked down to. My father spoke quietly so Judd could barely hear him, but he already had the gist. He was to be strict with me. To make sure I did exactly as the doctor said. It was all very obvious. My father said nothing to me about my condition the entire weekend. My mother insisted I eat every hour.
* * *
The next night Judd's parents had us over for dinner. They asked if we were moving to Brooklyn, and Judd flipped out, first at them and then at me. He stood up and shouted, "Assume I'm staying in Fucking Boston the rest of my life." His mother yelled back for him to watch his language, and I gave her my bitchiest look to let her know I'm always on his side.
Later we fought. We were in his childhood bedroom, the walls still covered in posters of his favorite athletes. He threw away nothing. His parents let it be. The room was cluttered with dusty hats, torn Halloween costumes, and a messy stack of his father's old medical journals. As usual, he was angry and I was apologetic. "I thought you stopped telling people that," he said.
"I haven't in a long time. They must have heard it from someone else."
He didn't believe me. He almost never did, especially about Brooklyn. He feared I was trying to surround us with my people. My two closest friends had offered to convert their living room into a bedroom for me, and they said Judd would have no problem finding a place nearby.
* * *
Our families had brunch together. My father insisted on preparing everything. Our mothers did most of the talking. Judd and I drifted in and out of the conversation. When no one else was paying attention, Judd's father asked him if his symptoms were under control. "Yes, but I'm still bleeding out my asshole," Judd said. His father threw his head back and laughed as quietly as possible. He slapped his knee, three times maybe, then forced himself to gain composure before the mothers were drawn in. He was proud of Judd's sense of humor. I wasn't sure if Judd was joking. "I'm glad you're feeling normal," his father said.
* * *
We lived in Peru for almost a year, but I wanted mostly to remember the first day. Judd lay shivering in a bare bed of the dusty apartment that was supposed to be ours. I spread my purple fleece over his long body and propped his head up with a folded sweatshirt. He was light-headed from the altitude. There was a fly buzzing around the bedroom, relentlessly. I was disgusted by the filth and swatted at it. "Leave the damn thing. It can be our pet. We'll call him Ayacucho or something." Judd's olive skin had turned white. I sat by him and rubbed his forehead and touched the side of his face. Then he took a break from being ill and wrapped his arms around my waist. He squeezed me and said, "Don't leave me." I hugged back and promised I wouldn't. "I mean don't leave this world," he said. Again I promised I wouldn't.
* * *
On our seventh day we still hadn't showered. Judd bragged that he could go another week if it wasn't for the party. We had made friends with Edgar, the psychologist at the orphanage where we volunteered in the mornings. He was young and eager to introduce us to his friends.
We crammed into an unmarked van, hoping it would take us to the natural baths just a few miles out of town. We felt big compared to the chickens and their owners who shared the middle row with us.
There was a jolt, then a bang, and then it was over. There were too many people to see out the windows, so I couldn't say who was at fault. Judd thought it was our driver. "He was driving like a Masshole," Judd joked. I giggled even though he wasn't joking. "Our first car accident," Judd said. "Add it to the scrapbook."
We waited in the van, not knowing how long it would be. Our driver and the driver of the other car stood in the street arguing. In the beginning they were throwing their hands around and shouting in each other's faces. The other traffic crept by. Occasionally someone stopped and rolled down a window to say good morning to one of the men. By the time a police officer showed up they were laughing and patting each other on the back. The men took out their wallets and handed the police officer a few bills. Without looking at it, he stuffed the money into his pocket. The three of them had a few more laughs then went back to their vehicles.
* * *
We showed up to the party an hour late. Judd grabbed my hand before Edgar answered the door. "Sorry we're late," I said. Edgar laughed. "Come in, come in, my friends." We entered through a tall black door into a courtyard. There was a plastic table smack in the middle with a set of plastic chairs and a deck of cards on top. Off to one side was a bed of red flowers and leafy green plants. The concrete floor was cold. There were a few doors off to each side and a winding staircase in the back leading to a balcony that wrapped around above us. We were the only ones there. "I need to teach you about Peruvian time," Edgar said. "If someone says eight o'clock you must not show up until nine-thirty or ten. If he says seven o'clock, same thing. Don't show up until nine-thirty." Edgar laughed again.
The guests all seemed to show up at once. Before I knew it we were happy off shots of pisco. Some of the night Judd and I were apart. He danced with a beautiful girl, slower than the music called for. She was younger than us and had straight black hair down to the middle of her back. Her eyes were big and brown and focused on him the entire time. He gazed around the courtyard, sometimes looking at me, sometimes looking at nothing in particular. He looked at her too, a lot. From the other side of the room, it seemed like he was letting himself fall in love. She grabbed his arm then whispered something in his ear. He said something back then looked at me apologetically.
I danced with a college boy. He was almost a head shorter than me, and his hair was as black and thick as Judd's. He touched my arms and my sides, and tried to touch my butt, but I wouldn't let him. He asked me if Judd was my brother. I said husband, and he immediately apologized.
We got home and started to have sex, by default. Judd was behind me going much slower than usual. Then he stopped. "I got a tutoring gig," he said. "Oh yeah?" I asked. He waited a little then started up again. He touched my back and shoulders. He went faster and faster. He grabbed my ass and pulled my shoulders. Then he was done. We lay next to each other naked and intoxicated. He was warm, and I was cold. "I'm going to teach that girl English," he said. Of course, I already knew which girl.
* * *
The upstairs neighbor shook the building but that wasn't what woke us. Judd had to get a colonoscopy. He was too hungry and I was too worried to sleep, so we found each other in the living room as the sun rose. I changed into my running clothes and stretched on the bare floor. He didn't want to invest in a carpet because he was afraid to buy things together. He never said that but never said anything to make me think otherwise.
I was starting to gain weight back, but he still yelled at me. "Your bones are too weak for exercise. They'll break and turn into purple bruises." I was relieved by the scolding. We got back in bed and held each other silently. We were just waiting.
* * *
Judd woke from the procedure, and the doctor said everything looked fine up there. "Just a little inflammation of the colon." Then Judd announced he would never eat red meat again. The doctor laughed and said, "You can eat whatever you want." They put him in a wheelchair, and in the hallway he shouted, "What the hell am I doing in this thing? My legs are long and strong." The nurse wheeling him along said it was standard procedure and he would be on his feet in minutes. "This is a big mistake! You have the wrong person!" The nurse pushed faster.
On the way home he told me he wanted a burger for lunch. "That's red meat, you know?" I said. He didn't get it. "Obviously," he said.
* * *
He devoured his sandwich, and for some reason I didn't feel like eating. I wanted to protest. But he made me eat and wash it down with a cup of liquid iron. I reminded him to take his pills. We rested a little then went to dinner with Jeremy and Elise. Judd complained that we could never hang out with Jeremy alone. "Why do we have to always do things in couples? It makes me feel so old."
* * *
Judd was rushing around the apartment looking for something. He didn't say what and wouldn't let me help. Finally he left with a notebook in hand, a pen over his ear, and a rain jacket flipped over his shoulder. In Peru it rained every afternoon.
He returned right away. "Forget something?" I asked. He plopped on the bed and scribbled in the notebook. "She stood me up." He tried hard not to look at me and covered himself with a blanket made from alpaca fur. "You were only gone a couple of minutes." I waited for an explanation. He looked at me and nodded.
I knew he had never intended to tutor her. He couldn't go through with sleeping with her, and now he resented me.
* * *
In the mornings Judd was a human playground for the children at the orphanage. They especially liked his height. Sometimes he would have three or four at a time climbing up his sturdy back. I envied the structure of his frame. He played soccer and volleyball with them, and to make them laugh he juggled. I helped with their English homework, but they mostly just wanted the answers. They asked if I was friends with Britney Spears. I told them the United States is really big then they asked if I was friends with Madonna.
We spent the last half hour each morning with Edgar in his office. There was nothing in there but a silver metal desk and three orange plastic chairs, barely large enough for children. The walls were white with occasional streaks of brown from the orphans' dirty hands. Often I would just stand and Judd would tell me I was being rude. But I stayed standing while he sat crouched over, hanging off the miniature chair.
Edgar asked if we knew about the nightclubs. We assumed he was talking about discos and said yes. "A lot of our girls were rescued from them." We must have looked confused. "They have abusive parents or no parents at all and they end up on the street. Sometimes they're only nine or ten when they get picked up. Most are grateful for it." Judd asked what we should do, and Edgar said, "We just have to be sensitive to their situation." I wondered if Ruth was one of them. She was a small thirteen-year-old with rosy cheeks and brown freckles. She sat next to me during our lessons and often grabbed my hand. She would play with each of my fingers individually. She wanted to get really good at English so I would adopt her. I told her it was more complicated than that, and she told me she loved me. Sometimes she fell asleep against my bony shoulder.
* * *
In the afternoons we sat at the café. I drank coffee and Judd ate cake with dulce de leche on top. I read the headlines from the local paper, and he gazed out the window, occasionally jotting down notes. He told me they were just observations, but when I looked up, he shielded them with his forearms. We sat at the same table by the window, and the same man waited on us. He was tall for a Peruvian and liked to give Judd extra dulce de leche.
One day our waiter wasn't there, so we sat at the table across from the glass case of cakes and under an abstract painting of Incan ruins. I said it was a Fernando de Szyszlo, and Judd laughed. "Excuse me, miss." He waved over the waitress. "Who did this one?" She was happy we asked. "That's Jose Sabogal. We're very proud." Judd was disappointed. "You made that up?" I should have pretended it was a joke. "I really thought it was Szyszlo. It looks like his funky style." Judd dug deep into the cake and filled his mouth so he couldn't yell at me.
Our table started to shake, the Sabogal painting swung from its hinge. I reached underneath and grabbed Judd's thigh. I didn't realize what was happening. No one moved, except our waitress. She screamed and sprinted out of the café into the street. Things started to fall. The cooks came out of the kitchen. The painting dropped from the wall and landed on my side of the table. The corner cut into my hand. The water jug tipped over and rolled across the floor. It came to a sudden stop but we remained afraid even to breathe. Nothing was where it was supposed to be.
The cook with the thick mustache announced it was all over. Judd reached across and took my hand. He blotted the blood with a napkin then kissed the wound. "Our first quake. How exciting," he said. I was more excited that he continued to hold my hand.
The next day we were back in the café at our usual table with our usual waiter. The newspaper told us two men in Chiclayo had died. Judd said the quake was too weak to kill someone. They must have killed themselves or each other. "They were repairing a roof," I said. "That makes sense," he said. Then he rubbed my cheek and said, "You are full of life. Today." I probably turned red.
* * *
I was reading the science section of the New York Times when I heard Judd scream. He was in the bathroom and dripping wet, a towel falling off his waist. His mouth and nose were scrunched up towards his eyes. His torso was bent over, forty-five degrees. "It's my back."
I pulled him into the bedroom, hunched over, and called his dad. I lay next to him in bed, kissing his neck and shoulders. He pointed out the orange and white cat in our neighbor's window and imitated its stillness.
I hurried out and picked up the muscle relaxants his dad had prescribed.
The pills were littler and whiter than he was used to. "One now and another in five hours."
He rolled over and looked at me with one eye. "I feel so old." He teased his bangs. "Look at all these grays. I'm an old man."
For some reason I took him seriously. It was always my first reaction, and sometimes it was right. I raised my eyebrows and said I was sorry. But that wasn't what he wanted. He needed laughter or a slap in the face, someone to act absurd, someone to tell him to get over it, someone just to get him. But I was me, and that was mostly the problem.
He groaned as he tried to sit up. His upper body was twisted and looked as though it didn't belong to the rest of him. He fell back into his pillow, grunted something and then dozed off.
I lay next to him, only getting up to pee and take my pills, waiting to be needed.
* * *
The next morning he tickled me around my armpits to wake me. Maybe he was loopy from the muscle relaxant or turned on from the moans and shrieks coming from above. He reminded me to take my medicine but wouldn't let me go. He kissed my ear and moved his tongue all over my body. He stopped to tell me I was sexy. His touch was warm and familiar. For a moment, I felt that anywhere we lived would feel like home.
I looked down at my stomach, which now stuck out a little, and over at my skinny arms and decided I was doing okay. My legs still had purple welts from a fall in the kitchen and the anemia. His back seemed much better. But had anything else changed? I felt the urge to jump on the bed, to holler, to shake the building with all our strength, just the two of us, by myself. Then I asked, because I really didn't know, "Why do you love me so much this morning?"
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