Jasmine Borderline

"One who walks in when the rest of the world walks out."

—Walter Winchell

Remy held on to the phone and shrugged at Tom.

Tom held up his hands, questioning Remy.

"No one's there," Remy said. He set down the phone.

"Fuck," Tom swore. "Where is she?"

"I don't know," Remy replied.

"Fuck."

"Why? What's so important?"

"Nothin'. I just needed to talk to her, that's all." Tom looked around Remy's room as if some answer would magically pop out of the walls, but in the end turned to Remy without an answer. "Thanks anyway."

"No problem."

Tom walked out of Remy's room, frustrated and confused. He couldn't understand where Jasmine was. They were supposed to be best friends and they hadn't talked in a week. Where was she and why hadn’t she called or visited him?

Slamming his dorm room door behind him, Tom looked around his own room, still searching for God sent answers. Jasmine would've found those; she would’ve found the answers in something. Jasmine was a very religious person. As the thought crossed his mind, Tom saw a Lenten prayer sheet Jasmine had given him. She taught a religion class to kids and had given the same sheet to her students. The purple sheet of paper asked her students to color in stones on the pathway—symbolic of the students' own Lenten journeys with Jesus—for each good thing they did. Tom had already colored in a few of the stones. He did it only because Jazz had given it to him. He didn't have to do it; in some ways it seemed childish, but because Jasmine had given it to him, he did it; it was a special mission: something that had to be completed with the utmost seriousness.

He couldn't help smiling at the little paper. That's how he always reacted when he saw her. She always asked that people do that, she liked it—she enjoyed making people happy. But she didn't need to ask him. With her, Tom smiled voluntarily.

"Last night was, uh . . . weird," Tom had said.

"Weird?" she had asked, looking up from her book.

"Yeah," Tom laughed, doing the same.

"Why weird?"

He had fidgeted on the sofa, stared off at the laundry machines for a moment, then setting down his book. "I don't know, I guess it's just that you—we—were pretty flirty last night."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Tom looked down, away. "Does it have something to do with me and Patti not being together anymore, or . . . ?" He gestured unconsciously with his hands as his voice faded.

"Probably," she shrugged.

"It was weird."

"Why do you keep saying that?" Now she had shifted her position to lean on the armrest of the sofa. Since Tom was leaning on the armrest of the adjacent sofa, their faces were very close.

"Jazz," Tom said softly. He hesitated; looked into her eyes. "I know we've talked about this before"—her eyebrows raised—"and I don't know. I just, it seemed like, it seemed like you liked me last night."

She pulled her head back and threw Tom a great grin. "I liked you?" She gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. "I thought you liked me!"

Both of their shoulders dropped with an internal relief and both of their faces went red with embarrassment. "You goof," she said to Tom. "You had me scared."

"Didn't I tell you—explicitly—that I thought we were better as friends?"

"Yeah," she said shrugging, giving Tom that same grin again.

Tom leaned over and tickled her sides and her stomach. She squirmed immediately, trying to escape. "You're the goof," he said, laughing.

As her only defense, she slapped his hands away; Tom was not ticklish. They both laughed and goofed around for a little longer, then got back to studying.

Tom kept smiling, even as the conversation faded again into his memory. His computer's screensaver caught his attention with its scrolling lines of color. He wondered why he had left it on. Tom bent over, about to shut it down, when he heard a knock at the door.

"Chess?"

"Sure." It was Lewis. "Set it up. I have to shut the computer down."

"Okay."

Even as Lewis set the game up, Tom could not stop his mind from remembering again: remembering when things were different.

"Check," Tom had said, smiling a broad smile at Lewis. He couldn't see her, but Tom knew Jazz was smiling too. He could feel her chin resting on the top of his head, though.

"I think that's checkmate," Lewis muttered. He frowned.

Tom laughed loudly. It was a fake laugh, one meant to sound funny, almost maniacal. It worked. Lewis shook his head with a slight smile, even in the face of defeat.

Tom arched his head back and looked at Jasmine, about an inch away. "You gonna cheerlead next time or what?"

"No."

"Come on," Tom whined.

"No, I gotta go."

"Yeah?" he said getting up.

"Yeah."

"The sooner the better."

"Hah-hah."

"See ya later," Tom said. As she walked down the hall, he gave her a playful slap on the butt.

"Hey, now," she had pointed at Tom, warning him.

Remy, coming out of his room, had raised his eyebrows—Tom remembered that especially. Then he had motioned with his hand for Tom to step in his room, so Tom had followed. "Be right back, Lew—set up another game."

"Okay," Lewis had replied.

"What's up?" Tom had asked.

"I just wanna clear something up."

"Go for it."

"You and Patti broke up, right?"

Tom nodded.

"And Patti and Jasmine are roommates?"

"Uh-huh."

"Are you and Jasmine . . . ? " his voice trailed off.

Now it was Tom's turn to raise his eyebrows—but he had done so with a slight smile. "No," he laughed. "We're just friends."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, definitely." Tom nodded with his words.

"It's just that I always see you two together, talking or studying, and you're always doing things, and—"

"Dude, Remy, I wouldn't lie to you. We're just friends."

"Just friends?"

"Yes."

"Checkmate," Lewis said, this time with a different emphasis.

No chin resting on his head and no pieces left on the board, but a lonely, defeated king, Tom nodded. The same game, but different.

"I really destroyed you."

It wasn't a good time for Lewis to be cocky, and Tom let Lewis know it. "Very funny."

"But very true."

"Shut up."

The game probably would have gone better had his mind been on it instead of on the past. No, he decided. He didn't need to make excuses. As burnt out as he felt right then, he had lost simply because Lewis had outplayed him. Tom couldn't help whining, though: even if only to himself.

Where was Jasmine? He couldn't go visit and he couldn't call; he'd just broken up with her roommate and he needed to give her her space. Besides, Patti didn't want to see him and Jazz hanging out all the time, all giggles and smiles. That left him two options, have his friends call for Jazz, and if they got her, give the phone to Tom—or wait for her to call or visit.

"So. What's up between you and Jazz?" Lewis asked.

"What?"

"Are you guys seeing each other?"

"Jesus, no! How many times do I have to say this?"

Lewis shrugged.

"You're the fourth person to ask me that!"

"Well it seems like it."

"Can't a guy and a girl be friends?"

Lewis shrugged.

Where was she?

"I don't know, Tommy. I guess so." He started cleaning up the chess set. "I guess I should go and study for a bit."

"Okay."

There was a knock at the door.

It was Jazz. She had gotten a haircut. It had looked better before.

"Jazz!" Tom said with a smile. "What's up?"

"Later, guys," Lewis said.

Both Tom and Jasmine said an absent-minded good-bye.

"Hi," she said softly. Too softly. Problem softly. Fuck.

"What's goin' on?"

"Not much," she said.

"No?" Tom asked.

"Nope."

"Hunh." Tom looked at Jazz, but she was keeping her eyes on the floor. Discouraged, Tom looked down also, seeing if maybe what he was looking for was down there.

Not finding it, he looked back at her. "Where have you been?" Tom asked.

"Around."

"Jazz," Tom said, taking hold of her chin. He made her look at him. "Have you been avoiding me or something? Is something wrong?'

Jazz stepped closer and shrugged.

"Are you mad at me?"

"I've just been thinking."

"Yeah?" Tom asked.

"You know how we were screaming at each other after you dumped Patti, that I couldn't possibly understand, because I hadn't been there? That I hadn’t had the experiences that you have?"

Tom nodded, his dark eyebrows lowered.

"When I cooled down, I figured I was just mad because you were right." She ran a hand through her shorter, dirty blonde curls. "But maybe we're just too different."

"For what?"

"To be best friends."

"What?" Tom couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I don't feel right telling you everything about my life when we're so different."

"Jazz, that's only one thing! There is a lot more to life than dating and whose done what with who."

"It's more than just that, Tom. Our inherent philosophies are very different, Tom. On certain things that are very important to me, we don't agree."

"Because I don't go to Church?" Tom caught himself before continuing that line of thought and held up his hands. "Okay, okay, so we're somewhat different. But we complement each other, Jazz. Don’t you think? No two people are ever gonna be exactly the same."

"Tom—"

"You're not gonna be my best friend because we're different?"

"I can't."

"What the fuck are you talking about? It doesn't make any sense! We still like each other as much as we ever did. We're still the same pair of people, Jazz. Besides, I never hid that or anything else from you. You always knew who I was."

"Maybe I just didn't realize how important it was."

"But—"

"Remember the other day, when Patti and I were teasing you, and you asked us if we loved you, and we both said no?"

"Yeah," Tom was definitely confused.

"I meant it."

Tom blinked. "You don't have to love me to be my best friend," Tom said, wanting to scream.

"Yes, I do."

"What are you talking about?"

"I love all my best friends, Tom."

"A comradely love," he said. His voice lowered in tone.

"Yeah. I love Patti and Melissa here and Greg and Annie at home. I love all of my best friends."

"But you don't love me," Tom said.

"No," Jasmine said.

"And you never will.”

"No."

"Because I'm different from you."

"Because you hold certain attitudes that I don't believe in. I've talked to my mom and my sister about this, they both agree that—"

"That what? What if I were the same fucking person but I was black? Would you not want to be my best friend?"

"I didn't say—"

"What if I were a Buddhist? Would you not be able to talk to me? Would I not be able to listen to you pour out your heart to me? Would I not be able to hold you just as tight while you cried on my shoulder? How can you say that just because I'm different than you we can't be best friends?"

"I'm sorry."

Tom took her hands in his. He looked at her eyes. He didn’t know what to say. She met his gaze, hurt in her eyes too.

He looked at her hands for a moment, silent, then slid the ring off of her right hand, and placed it on the ringfinger of the left hand.

"Now you're engaged," he said. "That must mean something." It was just an attempt to lighten things up. He didn't want it to end yet.

"To you?" she laughed.

It worked.

"Yeah," Tom laughed back. "As friends."

She shook her head gently. "It doesn't fit," she said, looking at her hand.

Tom looked at her finger for a split-second, then looked up at her face. "No. It's just different."

Tom smiled still, and even Jasmine couldn't help letting out a short laugh.

"It still doesn't fit," she persisted.

"You haven't given it a chance."

"You haven't given it a chance," she had said when he told her he wasn't going to Church.

"I called you," Tom said, "but you weren't home.

"You called?"

"Yeah."

"Don't."

"Why?"

"Because. Patti's still getting over you. She's not gonna wanna have to hear you ask for me when she answers the phone."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Of course, I'm right," she said. She elbowed Tom in the ribs as they lay together on his bed.

"It's just so frustrating. You're my best friend and I can't call or visit you."

"But I can visit you," Jasmine said.

"Yeah, you can," Tom replied.

"Yeah."

"You better."

"I will."

"Okay."

"So come to Church with me," Jasmine said.

"Fine."

Tom sat alone in his room, where he'd been alone for too long, working on his computer, when the door opened. "What's up, Rich?" he said, assuming it was his roommate.

"It's me."

"Jazz!"

"Yeah."

"What's up?" Tom said softly. Problem softly.

Jasmine paused before she spoke, almost as if it was an effort. "I've decided that I like it better on this hand." She held up her right hand, showing him the ring.

Tom looked down at her hand. He picked it up in vain, hoping somehow to see if the thumb and forefinger made an "L". No such luck. Fuck.

"Yeah?" Tom asked.

"Yeah," Jasmine replied.