Ordinary People by Judith Guest Page A

used to wear her hair long and straight. She would tuck it behind her ears while she talked. Now it is short, curling softly about her face. Dark feathers that brush against her cheeks.
    “I like your hair that way.”
    “Thank you.” She touches it. She touches and straightens her coat again. They look at each other. Slowly sinking in the awkwardness of the moment. He didn’t want that to happen. They were good friends at the hospital. They still are. No reason to be uncomfortable, is there?
    She asks, “When did you come home?”
    “End of August.” A place where they were both safe. They talked for hours on the stone bench outside the rec-room door. Sometimes Leo would come and sit with them, cracking jokes, finding out they were alive. Surely she must remember.
    “It’s great to see you,” he says.
    “Good to see you.” Again she ducks her head. “I can’t stay too long. I’ve got a meeting at school. Our drama club is doing A Thousand Clowns —the Herb Gardner play—do you know it? We’re going wild trying to get it together. I’m secretary this year, that’s probably why we’re so disorganized—”
    He says bluntly, “Well, don’t let me hold you up, then.”
    All that time to get here so he can have a Coke in this drugstore because it is near her house in Skokie, and she sits there as if she is being held prisoner. What a stupid idea. Sorry he thought of it, sorry he called her at all.
    “I came because you asked me to,” she says quietly.
    And sorry again for being rude, and for exposing himself and his goddamn needs again. Jarrett when will you grow up?
    “You kids gonna order or what?”
    The counterman doubles as the waiter when things are slow, as they are on this Saturday morning. He eyes them with hostile boredom.
    “I’ll have a Coke,” Conrad says.
    “Just black coffee for me.” Karen gives him a pleasant smile. Nothing doing. He scribbles off a bill and slaps it down on the table with a grunt of annoyance. Not the type to be won over so easily. Have to come up with something better. A million-dollar order, maybe. Conrad pulls his eyebrows together, mocking him, and Karen giggles. She bites her lip, looking down at the table. There, that’s better.
    He says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
    “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to sound so rah-rah, either. And I really did want to see you. Only I was sort of afraid. You seemed so down, over the phone.”
    “I’m not down,” he says quickly. “Hey, everything’s going great. I’m back in school, I’m swimming—”
    “Oh, really? I’m glad.”
    “Well, we haven’t had any meets yet. I could end up on the bench all year.”
    “Oh, no, you’ll do fine, I’m sure.”
    The man returns. He is small and undernourished-looking. Sour. In silence, Conrad slides out of the booth to pay him. He looks at the coins suspiciously; turns away without a word.
    Conrad shakes his head. “Hostile.”
    She giggles. “Definitely a low-self-image day.” And they relax. She, the seasoned veteran, out six months to his three, asks, “Are you seeing anybody?”
    “A doctor? Yeah, are you?”
    She shakes her head and, obscurely, he feels ashamed. Another black mark against him.
    “Dr. Crawford gave me a name,” she says, “and I went for a while, but then I finally decided it wasn’t doing me any good. I mean, he wasn’t telling me anything I couldn’t figure out for myself. Really, the only one who can help you is you. Well, you and God.” She stops, but it is only to take a breath. “Anyway, that’s what Dad says, and I know he’s right. It’s what they told us in the hospital, too, didn’t they? That you have to learn to help yourself, and this guy was over in Elk Grove Village and expensive as hell.” She looks at him and smiles. “That isn’t why I stopped going, though. And I don’t mean that there isn’t any value in it, if you need it. I mean, for some people it could be just the right thing—” She looks to