Page 12 of When People Leave

Carla

C arla never talked about her past; some things were too painful to revisit. During her childhood, she longed for someone to laugh at her jokes or wrap their arms around her when she was sad. Two things she never got from her parents.

Carla had been going to the college library every day after school to study; it was better than being alone in her house.

She had no idea until later that Brian had first noticed her outside that building.

He told her that when he saw her, the wind was whipping her hair into her face, and it looked like she could barely see.

She was weighed down by her denim backpack and trying to balance a purse, a jacket, and a can of coke.

Something about Carla intrigued Brian, and he waited outside the library every day for a week, gathering up the courage to talk to her.

One day, as Carla walked home, she became aware that a guy had been following her for the last few blocks.

She was slightly creeped out, so she walked faster and faster until she was almost jogging.

When she developed a cramp, she stopped, bent over, and grabbed her side.

The young man caught up to her, and she balled her fists just in case.

“Hi,” he said.

Carla raised her head and looked him over.

His jeans didn’t have any holes, the color of his shirt was bright, as though it wasn’t a hand-me-down that had gone through a washing machine hundreds of times, and he wore white tennis shoes without any scuff marks.

He was either a regular guy or a well-dressed mugger.

“Hi,” she said quietly. She ran her fingers through her hair.

“Do you mind if I walk with you?” he asked.

“It’s a public street,” Carla said, which might have sounded snotty, but her voice had a lilt to it that conveyed she didn’t mind.

He walked alongside her for a moment before he spoke again. “I’m Brian. I just transferred to Brooklyn College, and I don’t know anyone.”

“I’m Carla.” She put her hand out to shake his as if she were on a job interview.

“Nice to meet you, Carla,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it lightly.

Carla smiled but wasn’t sure what else to say. Her usual demeanor could be considered shy if one was being nice or standoffish if one wasn’t. Her aura wasn’t conducive to boys approaching her. She continued walking, and Brian kept in step with her.

Carla waited for him to speak again, which she quickly realized he excelled at. In a very short time, it became apparent that he could’ve had a conversation with a thumb tack.

“I love New York, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer.

“I like the snow and that we have all the seasons. I’d never want to go to California; they have summer all year long.

The only way I’d ever move away is if someday I had kids.

Then, if my wife agreed, we might want to raise them in Connecticut or Massachusetts, but not Vermont or Maine, there’s not enough to do there. ”

Carla listened to him go on about how he was raised in Mystic, a seaport town in Connecticut, and he loved movies, thin-crust pizza, and dogs.

She enjoyed the fact that he talked so she didn’t have to carry the entire conversation, which she had to do with other boys.

And when he asked her a bunch of questions, he seemed genuinely interested in her answers.

Carla thought he was charming and felt a warmth and comfort she’d never felt around any other boys. Besides, they had a lot in common, from their love of U2’s music to how many times they read ‘Cider House Rules.’

After that first day, Brian waited for Carla in front of the giant elm tree on the corner of her street to walk with her to school every morning.

And he’d show up at her last class every afternoon and walk her home.

They got to know each other in bits and pieces, and by the end of that first month, Carla thought she must be in love.

She hadn’t fallen off her shoes, but her heart did a cartwheel whenever she knew she was about to see him.

When Brian invited her over to meet his parents, Carla felt it was a pivotal moment in their relationship.

She put on her favorite slacks and shirt and ensured her nails were freshly manicured and her eyebrows perfectly shaped.

When she drove to the address Brian gave her, he opened the door and, in a whisper, told her not to bring up that she didn’t go to church.

Carla knew he was Lutheran, but he’d never made a big deal about it before.

Dinner was lovely, and Carla thought his parents liked her until they asked—

“What’s your last name?” his mother inquired.

“It’s Christian,” Carla said. Brian’s mom smiled warmly until Carla continued. “Which is ironic because I’m Jewish.”

“I see,” his mom said, raising an eyebrow at Brian’s father. Carla knew Brian wasn’t going to be happy with her, but she’d never been embarrassed about being Jewish before, and she wasn’t about to start.

The conversation became sporadic for the rest of the night. Carla tried to engage Brian’s parents, but they had no more questions for her. She wondered if that would be the end of her and Brian’s relationship, but Brian never said anything about the evening.

He was a year older than Carla, so when he graduated, he moved to the city for a job, but every weekend, he took the train to Brooklyn to spend time with her.

A few days after Carla graduated, she and Brian went to city hall and got married.

Carla wore a vintage dress she bought at a thrift shop and never felt more beautiful.

The ceremony consisted of her and Brian, the judge, and the judge’s secretary as their witness.

Beverly had taken a job out of town and missed both Carla’s graduation and wedding.

Mort had said he’d come to both but didn’t show up at either.

Brian’s parents weren’t there. They refused to speak to him because he was marrying a Jewish girl.