Linda stormed into her own house in about five minutes, stalking and rubbing her arms against the freezing wind. She paused in the foyer, wondering if it was worth it. There was a small window halfway up the stairs, on a landing, so that if she looked around it at precisely the correct angle, she could see into Liz's kitchen...but there was no point to that. Linda knew what would happen. They would discuss her bitchiness for maybe half an hour, finish their tea, find nothing more to talk about and go home. It was pathetic, like most of what those kids did. She went upstairs to see David instead.
Linda knocked softly on the second-to-last door in the splendid hallway. The doors and railings and floors were built out of a darkly polished wood that echoed Linda's mood right now. The floorboards creaked unceasingly under her feet, and she and David has been friends since childhood, but she knocked anyway.
"Come in." Said a voice from inside. Linda pushed the door open, and David turned around in his desk chair. David--he reminded Linda of the sort of kind, lovable person she had never been. He was a good clean-cut boy, with dark brown hair and straight eyebrows that danced merrily. Lighter eyes that seemed to register everything around him. And smart, too--Linda could see books and papers spread out on his desk.
"What's up, Lindie?" He asked. "Hey--what happened to your face?"
Linda stiffened. "None of your business."
Wisely, David chose not to say anything. "What's up?"
"Nothing." She said, as she crossed the room's white carpet to sit on the already-made bed. "Davie--you're twenty, same as me."
"Yes, " he said, nodding. "But you were the old lady, there, for awhile."
Linda smiled fleetingly. It was true. She was ten months older than Davie, yet she had been coming to him for advice for as long as she could remember. "So, I mean, why don't you go?"
"Go?" David asked, a perplexed look passing his face.
"Go. You know, like most people. They graduate high school, and get a job or go to college or get married or something--and they move out. It's almost kind of natural. Humans get weaned, and all. So why not you--why not us?"
"Well..." David said, tossing this question around in his head. "It wouldn't help if I said the answer's probably different for each of us?"
"Not much." Linda said.
David sighed. "Well, I'm in college. That's my reason, and I didn't stay in the dorms so I could save mom money. I mean, since Dad skipped, this house is the only thing she's got--she can't go back to work, and it's not like we could afford payments if she took out a loan on the place--so I'm working myself through college and then I'll move, and send some money to mom so she'll be happy. Like that. But like I said, we're all different."
David continued. "I don't think it's because we're lazy or anything--I mean, we do stuff, have jobs and all that." He shrugged. "Maybe we like it here. Maybe we're stuck."
"I don't want to believe that." Linda said.
"Well, I hate to say it, Lindie, but what other choice have you got? I mean, you didn't go to college--"
"With the rest of you freaks?" Linda said, giggling. "God forbid."
"--and you've switched jobs a lot. Like everybody else. Maybe you're waiting for something. Maybe we all are."
"Waiting for something." Linda mused. "I like that better. Waiting for what, I wonder?"
"Spring, maybe?" David shrugged as he sat back down. "I mean, if you believe that stuff--"
"I think I might." Linda said softly, looking at her hands.
"--then, spring is the season of new life and all that. What better time to go out and get stuff done? Maybe this winter is so bad it's been getting us all down."
"That what I think it is." Linda said. "Like this heavy blanket dropping down over me, depressing me, keeping me here. I wonder why Grant didn't have that."
"Maybe Grant did, but he ignored it. You're always followed your feelings, Lindie." David said.
"You're right." Linda said, looking out David's window at the rushing wind. "I have. That's something for me, at least. The precognitive bimbo."
David snorted. "If you're a bimbo, I'm a playboy. I don't know why you keep trying to convince people you don't give a damn--"
"Maybe because I don't want to have to. People hold on to you if they think you care, David. I don't want many people to do that to me. You, Sharon, Mom. That's it, no-one else."
"I could understand that." David said, nodding. "I don't like it, though. I think you're trying to be more like Grant, cause you think it'll help you get out of here. But you said it yourself, Lindie. You feel like something's keeping you here. So go with it. Maybe it'll be the greatest thing you ever had. It's not that long till spring."
Linda blew at her forehead. "Okay. But if I go stir-crazy, it'll be all your fault. I'll probably bug you all winter so you can't get any work done." She rose off the bed. "I think I'll go visit Rachel."
"Would you mind asking Mary if I could have that book, then?" David said, turning back to his papers. "She should be done with it by now, and I've got to write an analysis by next week."
"Okay. Cool." Linda said, shrugging into her coat. "How's Sharon?"
"Same as always." David said, in measured tones. "Staring out the window." Linda nodded, and headed down to the door.
