Since you've gone away I never know just what to say
Erin goes to university in America. She leaves at the end of August and suddenly friendship consists of crackly phone calls that only last five minutes before Michelle’s mam is doing her head in, yelling about the cost of long distance and “whatever happened to writing a letter?” So she tries that, sits down at her overcrowded messy desk and puts pen to paper to tell Erin about the lads she’s juggling and how it is living in the dorms with Clare and Orla and James and how her head is still sorta pounding from the vodka they downed last night. But the minute she tries to write it all down, it’s like her pen’s run dry and she can’t think of anything that would sound good enough to tell Erin who’s probably hanging out with her American pals and working on some sophisticated novel and then Clare comes bounding in, fresh from lecture, asking Michelle if she wants to go get lunch so she shoves the pen and paper away and gets on with it.
~~~
Sometimes, when they’re all walking to town and going down to the pub to hang out, Orla says something absolutely bonkers and Michelle turns to roll her eyes and yell something about how “your cousin is doing my absolute head in, Erin” but the words dissolve on her tongue when she remembers there’s no Erin to shout at and she quickens her pace, wanting to wash out Erin’s name with a sickly sweet cider.
~~~
In lecture, as her professor waffles on about some boring war from eons ago, Michelle’s gaze wanders and falls lazily on a girl sat a few rows ahead of her. She takes constant diligent notes and her posture is firm and at attention and, if Michelle squints, her shiny blonde hair is nearly the same shade as Erin’s. Unconsciously, (on purpose, whispers Michelle’s traitorous mind) she starts coming to class early to make sure she can nab a seat in the back row and take note of this not-Erin Erin.
Not-Erin Erin’s name is Quinn, Michelle discovers at the end of September at one of Jenny’s “using university to reinvent herself as a party girl” parties.
Michelle is making her way over to the drinks when someone accidentally spills one all over her dress and then attempts to use the drink-spilling as a way to pick her up. Last year’s Michelle might’ve gone for it and ever since they got to university everyone’s been expecting her to shag tons of lads but, for some reason, nothing’s been clicking for her and when she has found herself making out with some new lad, she finds herself glazing over, going through the motions and it makes her think that maybe she’s always been doing that, just going through the motions, picking lads to fancy, shagging because it seemed right, like what they wanted, what everyone wanted. (But had it ever felt right? her mind betrays her yet again).
After she’s done tearing that asshole a new one for ruining her (new!) dress, she grabs her jacket and storms outside, digging in her pocket for a smoke. In the crisp cool air without countless bodies grinding and shouting, Michelle feels Erin’s absence acutely. Michelle can imagine passing her smoke to Erin and laughing as the blonde coughs up a storm because she almost never smokes, not unless it's a night like this, just the two of them. And back in Derry, there were countless nights like that, especially in the weeks leading up to Erin’s departure which was anything but sudden and yet Michelle was still left reeling, feeling like a black hole had sucked her up and shot her out into some alternate universe where she felt Erin like a phantom limb, like a ghost. Erin would like that, Michelle thinks, she really should write it down and send it to her. In fact, she makes up her mind to do just that, to walk back to her room and take out that piece of paper that’s been lying there for a week and actually write to Erin, drop it in the mailbox that night. But then someone taps her on the shoulder and she jumps.
“You got a spare?” says Not-Erin Erin, when Michelle turns around, ready to yell at yet another asshole interrupting her night.
Her anger freezes and then melts. “Yeah,” she says, “Hang on a sec.” And although she’s usually not one to give a smoke away for free, much less to a stranger, she rummages around for her pack of cigarettes again and offers one to Not-Erin Erin who has deep brown eyes, unlike Erin’s clear blue ones.
“Thanks,” says Not-Erin Erin, lighting up, inhaling, and blowing the smoke out of the corner of her mouth.
“No problem,” says Michelle. They lean against Jenny’s front gate and smoke in silence together for a minute.
“I’m Quinn, by the way,” says Not-Erin Erin.
“Michelle,” says Michelle.
“I know,” says Quinn and she turns to look at Michelle, “I’ve seen you around. You’re friends with Claire.”She smirks at Michelle, like they’re in on some inside joke. “You’re a hard one not to notice.”
Michelle’s stomach swoops interestingly.
“Oh,” she says and she can’t think of anything intelligent to say as she turns to face Quinn.
Quinn takes another drag and Michelle notices that she has lovely pink lips, the same shade as Erin’s mouth. She blows smoke at Michelle, a move that she for some reason finds a bit charming. The air around them feels flirtatious but Michelle doesn’t know what to say next. Feeling at a loss, she stubs out her cigarette and Quinn follows suit.
If Quinn were a lad, Michelle would be pressed up against her with a hand on her chest, whispering in her ear, knowing exactly what to say to lead this moment into something else. It turns out she doesn’t have to do any of that because all of a sudden Quinn is leaning in and then they’re kissing and Quinn’s maneuvering them so they’re hidden by the bushes and Michelle’s back is pressed up against the cool metal gate and soon she’s gasping for breath between fervent hot open mouthed kisses and feeling Quinn’s knee slowly wedge itself between her thighs and it's like something’s clicked on that’s been off the whole time she’s been at university, the whole time she’s been alive, and she realizes that there’s kissing and then there’s kissing and she thinks she’s never really kissed before, not with any of those lads.
Suddenly, a loud yell from the house rings out and she and Quinn spring apart, breathless. Michelle quickly looks around but no one’s come outside, it’s still just the two of them, it was just some drunken cheering for a good song. Michelle presses her hands to her lip, lips that Quinn was just pressed up against. She feels adrenaline pumping through her veins, keyed up from the kissing and the sudden yell, the fear that someone could have seen her wantonly pressed up against a girl.
“Well,” says Quinn, “That was fun,” and she smirks again.
“Yeah,” agrees Michelle, mind racing, “Just a bit of a laugh.” And then she laughs too loudly. “Anyways,” she continues, skin itching with energy. “I should get going.”
Quinn raises her eyebrows but seems to not mind Michelle’s departure too much, “Yeah, sounds good. Guess I’ll see you on Monday, then?”
“Monday?” Michelle exclaims, still too loud, too much. “Why?”
“Class?” Quinn laughs, “you know, school?”
“Right,” says Michelle, feeling the buzz of the nicotine and alcohol and an intense need to leave the party, “Class, Monday, see you then!”
Once she makes it back to her dorm, Michelle feels raw and exhausted but attentive, like she’s licked a battery. She just made out with a girl. (A girl who looks like Erin, her traitorous mind notes before she shoves that thought to the back of her head). A girl. And it felt good. It felt great. It felt like nothing had ever felt before.
As she’s taking off her necklaces and rings and putting them on her desk, she sees the pen and paper she’d shoved away with “Dear Erin” written in blue ink on the top. The phantom ache in her heart springs up. She rubs her lips together. She picks up the pen, tentatively, but it’s too much. She puts it back down, (coward, says her traitorous mind), and shuts off the light, climbing into bed where she falls into a deep sleep, dreaming of blonde hair and blue pens.
~~~
The next weekend, after a week of staring at Quinn’s neck and feeling flustered whenever she bumps into her as they leave class and spending too much time in her room writing “Dear Erin” and not much else over and over and over again, she goes home to see her Ma to take her mind off of kissing and letter writing and to eat something other than the shite dining hall food. But of course her ma’s first question once she’s settled in is: “Well, how’s our Erin doing in America? You girls were always thick as thieves, weren’t ya?”
Michelle feels the back of her neck go hot and her stomach does some interesting gymnastics at the sound of Erin’s name. And she feels foolish for not knowing how Erin’s doing, her own best friend, living in a brand new country in a fancy school in America, so she makes up something about how Erin’s loving school and making friends. Her Ma nods approvingly— “Can’t believe Mary and Jerry let her go all that way. And to study English! Can’t she study English here? Well, still, proud of her anyway.”— before she starts complaining about how Aileen down at the supermarket has been overcharging her for milk but Michelle tunes most of that out and resolves to call Erin later to find out if any of what she made up is actually true.
Later, when she’s full of her mam’s cooking and a wee bit tipsy and everyone else has gone to sleep, she sits in the kitchen and dials Erin’s number, the one she memorized, tracing her finger again and again over the nines and the ones Erin had written meticulously written down.
She presses the phone to her ear as it rings and feels her stomach clench in apprehension — what if she doesn’t pick up? What if she does pick up? Will she be mad at Michelle for not calling? What if —
“Hello?” Erin’s groggy half-awake voice murmurs into the phone.
“Erin!” Michelle exclaims, “It’s me, it’s Michelle, Jesus, sorry, did I wake you up? I forgot you’re like seven fucking hours ahead, shit, I’ll call you tomorrow, nevermind.”
“Michelle? Wait, no, don’t hang up! What’s wrong?” Erin says, sounding much more awake.
“Wrong?” Michelle waivers. “Nothing’s wrong. What do you mean?”
“You haven’t called me in like a bleeding month, Michelle,” she snaps in that strident voice of hers, “And then you call me up at 5 in the morning out of the blue! Of course I’m going to think somethings wrong! Why haven’t you called? James and Clare and Orla have been ringing me up weekly!”
“I —“ ” Michelle starts and stops. “I’ve been trying to write you a letter.”
Silence on the other end. Then: “A letter?”
“Yeah,” says Michelle, “I just, um, I guess I’ve got that writer’s block thingy you’re always banging on about.”
Erin laughs softly and then there’s another beat of silence.
“I’m sorry though,” Michelle continues, “for not calling. That was kind of a dick move.”
“Yeah”, says Erin, “it kind of was. It sucks not being able to talk to you everyday.”
Michelle doesn’t know what to say except for sorry so she says that again.
“It’s okay,” says Erin, already ready to see the best in Michelle, giving her the benefit of the doubt like always. “Sorry I snapped at you when I picked up. It’s just —” She pauses.
“Yeah?” whispers Michelle.
“I miss you,” whispers Erin. “I miss everything.”
And all of a sudden Michelle is picturing Erin, curled around a landline, alone in some nondescript room on the other side of the world and realizes how lonely it must be to be Erin, away from all your friends and everyone you’ve ever known, having to start over again.
“I miss you too,” Michelle chokes out. “So much. Too much.”
And they let that hang in the air for a minute.
~~~
Later, after they’ve talked for hours about Erin’s messy roommate and the professor she’s obsessed with and her new mates Kelley and Ryan and Olivia who live in her hall and about how Clare and James have forced Michelle and Orla to join the campus arts magazine so Michelle’s been going to a lot of plays to review them and actually she’s thinking of auditioning for the spring rendition of Midsummer Night’s Dream, Michelle glances at the clock and swears loudly.
“Fuck, me mam’s gonna murder me for the bill this’ll run up! It’s not fucking funny, quit laughing your head off, Erin!” But Michelle’s also dissolving into giggles, delirious from lack of sleep and the joy of having Erin’s undivided attention, which is really a beautiful thing.
“Well,” says Erin, “I guess you’ll have to write me that letter then.”
“Yeah,” says Michelle, “Guess I’ll have to.”