Probably not. I think Judi would hunt me down if I didn't post that story. And apparently everyone wants to read it. So I'll post it now. Keep in mind, this is after seven days of no power, no AC, no electricity, no internet. I was having weird dreams. (I did have my iPod. Before it died :-( This is based almost exactly on a dream I had, and we all know how bizarre dreams can be. And for the record, the narrator is not me. You know how you can be the main character in a dream but it's not you? Same thing here. So here goes - enjoy! And please, no speculations *cough moore cough*.
And this would be about the worst time for someone on facebook to discover my blog link. But I just don't see it happening.
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I listen to my engine ticking and run my hands over the silver sequins of my dress. They drift in an upward spiral from my ankles to my shoulders, a thin sparkling river over the crimson fabric. A slimming design, say the fashion magazines. I glance at my stomach and pray they’re right. I know every contour of my body, even more since – then.
Withdrawing the keys, I stare at them for a moment. The Tigger keychain beams at me, extending an armful of purple flowers. I got the little figure three years ago when I turned sixteen; now Tigger’s arm is missing a splotch of orange, and his tail is fading. After I drop the keys in the ebony-colored purse perched on the console, I grab a filmy black wrap from the passenger seat. Take a breath. I can do this. Just fool them all for a couple hours.
I unlock my door and step out of the Rav4. I would have been fine with a Camry or an Accord, but Dad insisted on a small SUV. Cars were too little, too dangerous. I shudder, grateful he isn’t here. Draping the wrap over my shoulders, I clutch my purse and lock the doors, slamming mine shut. Two hours. Just two hours. Avoid getting up from the table if possible. Just smile. Smile and lie prettily. I am golden in reputation only for another few weeks.
An older couple dressed in black walk toward the museum in front of me. The last rays of sun tint her pearls with luscious pink. I find it odd I can still appreciate beauty with such clarity, though I am unhappy, as if my mind is partitioned.
The wooden doors at the entrance are swept open like arms, welcoming us. Vines and birds and flowers rise in relief on the wood. I reverently touch one finger to a parrot’s beak as I step over the threshold. Inside, a woman in an emerald sheath dress and brilliant auburn hair stands behind a table, armed with a clipboard. She glances up and smiles as I approach. She wouldn’t know me by name, but my grandmother, yes. “Hello.”
I smile. “Melissa Burns.” I pull my invitation from my purse and hand it to her.
She nods and glances at the table. I realize the objects posed on the cream tablecloth are life-sized butterfly pins. Monarchs, swallow-tails, and one with glowing sapphire wings. She waves one manicured finger over them as if it will summon the correct one. “Ah, here we are.” She plucks up a fine specimen of a monarch. “This will look lovely with your dress.”
Why we’re wearing these at an invitation-only modern-art museum show opening, I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s something to do with the theme. I smile again, clipping it to my shoulder. “Thanks.” I wander in, eyes drawn by a splash of color, a beautiful Leon Polk Smith I’ve never seen before. My stomach lurches once, as if reminding me. The sooner I sit, the less people see. I jerk my gaze from the art in the next room, taking a left out of the foyer. Hurrying through two more spacious gallery rooms, I search for the dining room and find it through another door.
I sight my mother at table thirteen, and I can’t help an ironic smile. What a fitting number. I envision my feet growing into my black heels, becoming one with them so I will not stumble as I weave through the circular tables, set on pale marble floors. A flash of red to the left catches my eye. I see my grandmother’s short (unnaturally) blond hair and the back of her stoplight-red jacket, entirely sequined. She disappears into a small side door with a sign. Perfect. She won’t see me until I’m seated, and she’s shown me the restroom. I’ll need it.
Setting my purse on the table, I seat myself across from Mom. “Hey, Mom.”
She smiles, light in her eyes dimmer than usual. “How was the drive in?”
I shrug. “Not bad. They had just cleared a wreck, so a little slow, but not bad.”
Her gaze flicks to my midsection and back to my eyes. “How are you?”
Such a loaded question. I decide to answer purely in the physical sense, keeping my tone light. “Nauseous sometimes, but not too often. I can keep playing for a while. Just no dramatic saves.” Volleyball isn’t exactly a high-contact sport. Unless I'm throwing myself at that gleaming wood floor to make a save.
A short little breath and a near-squeal in a soft drawl. “Mel!” Grandmother bustles around, beaming, lips the color of her jacket parted in a smile. She hugs me, and I return the embrace, catching a whiff of tasteful perfume. My grandmother might be eccentric, but she’s good with scents. “Well, we match quite nicely, don’t you think, Anna?”
Hardly. I’m blinded by the light thrown from her brash sequins; I glimmer silver on crimson.
My mother smiles, nodding, probably grateful she wore the dark green dress instead of her red one. She’s a foil to my grandmother: slender, olive-skinned, dark-haired, and thoughtful. My grandmother is pale in comparison, only made bright by her clothes. I fall in the middle, with darkish brown hair.
As she sits on my left, still beaming and chatting nonstop about so-and-so who’s passing by, I pick up my purse and set it on the floor. If my stomach decides to rebel, I can make a quick exit.
Dinner comes soon enough. I smile and nod, adding a comment here or there, answering the occasional question about school.
Mr. Hanson finishes a bite of filet mignon and sets down his fork. “I remember when your mother was this age. The two of you look so much alike.”
I nod patiently, bestowing a smile. This is the fourth time I’ve heard that tonight. A lot of these people knew my mother from her childhood. “So I’ve heard.”
His wife sets down a glass of wine, red, with a nice sharp smell. “Now, you’re a junior in college?”
“No, ma’am, I’ll be a junior next year.” Maybe. If I make it that long.
Grandmother jumps in. “Did you know that Mel plays volleyball on the school team? Why, her school played…”
She rambles, and I tune out. Thanks. Load on the guilt. My coach will be ticked when I have to quit. Mrs. Hanson and her thirty-something daughter are looking at me with interest, so I smile again. My teeth hurt. I know my grandmother loves me, and I love her, but nineteen years later, I still haven’t found her mute button. Even if I announced my predicament, she wouldn’t shut up for more than five seconds.
I pick at the filet, favoring the bread. My mind informs me I won’t have food this good again for a long time. My stomach tells my mind there’s only so much heavy food it can process. And it wants sugar. So when caramel crème brulee comes for dessert, I scrape the little bowl clean with my spoon. It makes me happy. Kind of.
During coffee, the speeches begin. I stare at a crease in the tablecloth while the main backer of the show prattles about the museum’s history. While another person thanks individual donors, I memorize the positions of the wine glasses. My grandmother stands when her name is called, beaming, hands clasped behind her back, pivoting left and right to see her co-donors.
I want to sleep. Drift into black oblivion for years. Finally, the head of the museum invites us to finish coffee (I want it, my stomach doesn’t, so I abstain) and see the paintings. I think she says “Enjoy these priceless works of art”, actually. Her phrasing is the last thing on my mind as I see someone rise from a table across the room.
His build catches my eye first. Tall. Muscular. Nice shoulders I’ve often gazed upon. By result of my gazing, I know their shape. My breath catches in my throat, and I go still.
Kyle Thompson stands, head at usual jaunty angle. He’s one of those people who always have expressions on their face. Almost stage expressions, just exaggerated enough to be obvious. Usually his expression is a smile, a smirk, a half-cock grin, lit by mischievous dark brown eyes. I like how his hair is a length that untouched looks casual, but given five minutes of combing and hair product, forms a million little spikes. He’s done the latter tonight. I see a suit jacket draped over his chair. He wears a silk vest the color of cream over a dark red shirt, sleeves rolled past his elbows. He has large hands, perfect for a running back. His smile lights the room.
My stomach lurches, and I taste something bitter. I swallow hard and sweep up my purse, throwing my wrap over my shoulders. Mom and Grandmother are occupied. Eyes on the floor, I hurry from the room via a small gallery to the side. A moment later I’m in the older part of the museum, heels making minute clicks on ochre tile. The show is confined to the new part, so the lights are dim, most off. The paintings are flat boxes on the wall, no color, no life. I walk along the wall, turning to the left into a women’s restroom.
A single overhead shines onto the mirror. The rest of the room is like a peaceful grave, dark and quiet. I lean against the counter, as far from the light as I can. The air conditioner breathes in the background. All else is quiet. I pull my cell phone from my purse, flip it open, and stare at the display. Close my eyes. I don’t want to do this. He deserves it. I think back to Christmas break, almost eight months ago.
____________________________________
I sat in the chair, inhaling the rich air of Starbucks, tapping my fingers on the table. It had been five months since I’d seen this particular group of friends. Shelby and Marie stood in line, waiting for the long-haired barista to finish shelling out change to the man in front of them. Tyler, Violet and Kyle hadn’t shown yet. I met them all in a way most people would call unusual.
So there were three high schools in town. They went to Shadow Grove and I went to Willow Point. The connection was at Highland Park, where six of us tutored a couple classes of freshmen and sophomore. Believe me, it was a bonding experience, especially when this clueless kid dropped the f-bomb right in front of me, and then asked “So where’s the tutor-person?” The teacher had stepped out, everyone else knew my exact location, and they lost it. To his credit, I never heard another cuss word from him.
Anyway, we were all back home for Christmas break, after semester one of college. The bells on the door jingled, drawing my attention. Tyler and Violet walked in first. I didn’t actually go light-headed when Kyle stepped through the doorway. It’s not like I was in love with the guy, please. I couldn’t deny, though, he had some special magnetism. That’s why half the freshman girls attached themselves to his tutoring group, and why after the first few weeks, I didn’t talk to him a lot. No way was I going to come off as some idiot love-struck girl.
But naturally, I looked him over from my strategic position in the back corner. He wore a cool leather jacket, unzipped, and a black Ralph Lauren shirt with a tiny red polo player. I hoped for the spike-thing with his hair, but the casual look wasn’t shabby. Okay, so I liked him. He was smart, he was a football player (the two aren’t incompatible, as I previously assumed), he was hot, and he made me laugh more than anyone else I knew. Now I wished he could be serious a little more often, but no one’s perfect.
I set down my hazelnut steamer and stood, walking toward them with a smile. “Hey, y’all.” I hugged Violet, the sweetest person on the planet. And then I did the side-hug thing with Tyler, who looked like a starving college student while he was in high school. I stepped back, glanced at Kyle, and waved, face straight.
He gasped, with that hilarious big-eyed expression of mock hurt. “Ouch! Guess I know where I am on the priority list.”
I rolled my eyes, smiling, stomach doing weird, hollow things at his voice. Stupid, stupid. Friends only, remember? Not a stupid love-struck idiot, right? “Yeah, yeah.” Quick hug. I felt different retorts warring in my mind. If I spoke I’d mix them up, so I kept my mouth shut.
They order drinks, and a few minutes later we were all in the back corner, in an assortment of straight-backed chairs and couch seats. I learned how everything’s going – Marie’s first semester of Arabic went well. Violet stayed home, working at KinderCare. Her eyes got bright, and she put down her drink, using her hands as she talked about her kids. The whole time I resisted one long ohhhh. I’ve never seen anyone so clearly loving their work.
Tyler enjoyed Texas A&M so far. He passed biology (something I’d heard was a trouble subject) and liked the town. Shelby planned to double-major in biology and chemistry, so her biology class went well. It was her sometimes-absent total slob of a roommate that drove her nuts. From her Facebook status updates, really nuts.
I kept myself from sounding overly interested when Kyle updated us. He was an economics major (I didn’t have trouble being uninterested in that), so those classes were easy. He liked his dorm, his roommates, and all that jazz. I knew his football team had a good season, so I commented on that. I also knew from his Facebook page he’d gotten his hair buzz-cut at the beginning of the semester. Not so hot, in my opinion, but it was long enough to spike again, so I liked it. Naturally, I didn’t voice that.
Shelby had to leave early. Marie followed, leaving Tyler, Violet, Kyle and me. I of the ever-restless fingers fiddled with the cardboard hot-drink wrapper hugging my cup. Soon enough they’d have to leave, meaning another long period without visitation. Facebook IM only did so much. It certainly didn’t make me laugh as much, because I couldn’t see Kyle’s face. Ugh! Stop mooning, you moron!
Kyle eventually stood, stretching his arms. “I guess we’ve gotta go. Jessica’s supposed to come in soon.”
Jessica. Older sister. Right. I nodded, standing, sighing to myself. “It was great to see you all.” I hugged Violet, feeling like a freaking giant at 5’9”. “Definitely keep me updated on what’s going on. Let me know if you’re gonna be around town.”
Tyler spun the keys to his old Beemer around his index finger. “Yeah, definitely.”
I hugged him too. “Awesome.” I felt a sudden rush of boldness and jerked my chin at Kyle. “See ya later, Thompson.”
He spread his hands, brows scrunching in a hurt-little-boy expression. “What did I do?”
“Nothing, it’s a cool last name.” I wasn’t sure where these words were coming from. I was sure meeting his eyes did weird things to my muscles.
He half-smirked. “What, like Melinda Thompson?”
Flames ignited my face. I was not that obvious. I might have been a newbie to this whole romance-thing, due to the parental restriction on dating, but I knew it wasn’t that bad. “What? You’re dreaming.”
Violet’s forehead puckered as she glanced at Kyle, and then at me.
Kyle didn’t look away. “Seriously, though, if we were going to think about dating, I’d say wait a while, just ‘cause it’s still freshman year and we live like three hours away.”
Was it possible to be a human torch and a soaring bird at the same time? I felt like both, and dizzy. “Are you serious?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, sure.” His tone didn’t sound as flippant as his words.
I nodded slowly, aware of Tyler smirking at us. “I’ll keep that in mind.” And I smiled.
And he smiled back.
I thought I was going to melt like the misguided snowflakes outside. “Keep in touch. All you guys.”
Tyler shot a knowing look at me, and then at Kyle’s back as he and Violet walked out. “I never saw that one coming. You and Kyle?”
I glared at him, face still warm. “Yeah, yeah.”
“You seriously liked him that whole time and never let on?”
I grimaced. “No way was I saying a word. Not with those freshmen throwing themselves at him.”
He laughed, starting for the door. “He was the chubby kid in fifth grade, so I can’t say I thought I’d ever see that either.”
We walked out together, parting ways at my car. I stepped in, exhaling the happiest sigh. I was so, so happy. Even if it never worked out. I was so happy.
___________________________________
I take a shaky breathe and find Kyle’s number, pressing the talk button before I can think. It rings. I don’t know why I expect him to pick up. His phone’s probably off. That’s all right. A message is easier for me to –
The ring cuts off. “Hello?”
I inhale. Crap. “Hey. It’s Mel.”
“Hey, Mel. What’s going on?”
I can’t tell if his voice sounds a little flat or if it’s the connection. “I kinda needed to talk to you.”
He laughs. “I kind of guessed as much, since you called.”
“No, seriously.” I can’t even force levity into my tone. “Look, I think – you know what we talked about a while back? Dating and all that?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I think it’s probably best if we just stick to being friends.” I bite both lips, waiting.
His voice becomes as serious as I’ve ever heard it. “I know.”
I don’t move. Breathe. He knows. He knows. I can hardly hear myself. “How?”
There's a pause, like he's talked himself into a corner. “Look, if anything, a couple months ago you'd lost the Freshman Fifteen. And now you're curvier.”
I feel a blowtorch on my face. Trust Kyle to know my shape. He’s just like that. The next emotion comes in a tsunami, crushing the embarrassment. I choke on the golf ball in my throat. My voice hoarsens and drops to almost silent. “I’m so sorry.” And I close the phone. My nose will be a cherry within two minutes. There’s no return now. I text Mom, saying I’m sick, sorry, catch up later. Picking up my purse, I look in the mirror, pulling shorter strands of hair from their pins and arranging them around my face. Anything to draw attention from my eyes. But I catch my own haunted gaze and glance away.
I weave through the museum and out a different door. The streetlights gleam on smooth car domes; light traffic travels the road past the parking lot. I locate the general area I parked in and walk that way, heels clipping the asphalt. The sobs congeal in my chest, waiting for total solitude. I’m going home to my dorm. To sleep. Perchance, to never dream again.
The vehicle doesn’t twitch, move, or flash, but I look left. An old Toyota 4Runner sits between a silver Lexus and a red Corvette. It looks black, but I see the shade in my mind as dark green. My chest throbs as I touch the back window with my fingertips. I remember checking the parking lot in front of the school for this vehicle, heart always jumping a little when I saw it. So sorry. So, so sorry. Stepping around, I press my forehead to the driver’s window before walking on.
A moment later I sight the back of my vehicle. I press the unlock button on the key fob, eyes down as I slide between my car and the Mercedes coupe next to it.
A human-sized space of darkness drapes across the driver’s door. I glance up and gasp, dropping my keys. His face is shadowed, but the streetlight gleams on the collar of a silk vest.
Kyle stoops down, oh-so-close to me, and picks up my keys. He stands, closing his hand around Tigger.
This was the last-ditch plan. If all else fails, flee. I stare at the middle button of Kyle’s vest. Now that hope is gone, held firm in a hand half again as big as mine. I don’t know what to say.
“How far along are you?” says Kyle.
I keep my gaze where it is. “Three months. People will start noticing soon.” I shove some anger into my tone. “I didn’t expect this soon for those exact reasons.”
“Take it easy, Mel. I know for other reasons too.”
I snap my gaze up. “Yeah, like what?”
The muscles in his jaw work, and he tightens his fingers around my keys. “Like my sister got pregnant a year ago.”
Whoa. Not expecting that. “Jessica?” The perfect girl?
He nods, eyes dark. “Yeah. I knew she was acting weird, and I figured it out when I swung by her dorm and she was walking in with a pregnancy test kit.”
I really can’t think of three words to string together.
“And then she had an abortion and made me swear never to tell.”
I wince. I know abortion is one of the ultimate no-no’s for Catholics. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” He forces his tone into submission, but I hear traces of pain in it. “So I know what it looks like. And my parents never found out, so that stays here.”
I nod robotically. We’ve talked a bit, obviously, but this breaks into a new level of personal revelation. “Yeah.”
Kyle tilts his head. Maybe it’s the cheerfulness in my tone. “You okay?”
I crack my lips to say yes, but the word refuses to leave my mouth. “Of course I’m fine.”
Through gritted teeth.
“’Cause you don’t sound fine.”
I bristle, tears pricking my eyes. “Just shut up, would you?” Before I’m sobbing into your shirt.
He blinks. “I think my mother was right.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“About viciously swinging pregnancy hormones.” There’s just enough humor in his tone to keep me from hurtling over the edge.
I swallow hard. “Why? Why the hell are you standing here talking to me after we talked about dating for crying out loud? And then I did something so monumentally stupid as getting pregnant without being married and trashing volleyball forever and I haven’t even told my dad yet and when he finds out he’s going to kill me-” The horror of it all, piecemealed over the past three months, collects into a meteor and crushes me. A ragged sob escapes.
“Okay, Mel.” His voice is summer-breeze soft. “You’re gonna be okay.”
“No I’m not!” I draw a jagged breath that hurts my chest. “I just wrecked my life! I had a purity ring, I never, ever thought I was gonna sleep with someone until I was married, and then I ruined it all one stupid, stupid night!” My throat pulses shut, barring words. I fold my arms around myself, balling my fists in my wrap. They shake, and I close my eyes hard. Can’t cry. Not now.
His hand on my shoulder is the weight of a butterfly, like he wants to make sure touching me won’t shatter me. I blink a few times. His face is shadowed again. “Look, I’m not a shrink and this isn’t exactly what I do as a hobby, but hear me out, okay?”
I swallow and draw a breath that shakes my whole body.
He stands there for a minute, not moving. “Ah, screw it.” Kyle pulls me into a hug, but as though I’m the most fragile rice paper.
I can’t believe this. I talked about dating him, got pregnant, and he’s comforting me? Something in my chest shatters. I didn’t know he had a heart like this. I feel the tears streaming down my face, and I lean sideways into him, sobbing. He pulls me closer, one arm against my back, hand on my head. I wrap my arms around him and hold on, a swimmer in a storm clinging to a pillar of granite. His vest is smooth on my skin.
Time drifts onward. Sometime later, I step back. My chest hurts, but it’s a different pain, like there’s a possibility of healing. “Sorry.” I trace my fingers under my eyes. There’s a reason I wear waterproof makeup these days.
Kyle nods once. “So, if you don’t mind me asking-”
“You can ask about anything at this point.”
He tilts his head. “What are you going to do?”
I shudder, despite the warmth of the night. “I don’t know. My dad doesn’t even know. That I’m pregnant.” Those three words are ugly. “But it’s not like I’d have an abortion. I don’t think I could live with myself.” God notwithstanding – I’m not sure who exactly he is at the moment – I just can’t do it.
His face relaxes a hint. “Yeah, good. You haven’t told your dad yet?”
I shake my head. “I have to sometime before it’s obvious. I just – I can’t make myself. He’s going to kill me.”
“Would it be easier if someone was there with you?”
I nod, stupidly, before realizing what he’s saying. “It would, but you don’t mean-”
“No, I meant Big Bird.”
I stand there, mind shutting down on me. “Are you serious?”
Something like a smile passes across his lips. “Trust me, I wouldn’t have offered otherwise. I’m not a masochist. All the time, at least.”
“But why?”
Kyle holds out my keys to me. “Because I’m your friend.”
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Whew. You're still here? I know that was a lot to read on a monitor. So I'm toying with the idea of turning this into a project. Like, a novel-length project. But I'm kind of uncertain. I dunno. I am clearly rambling now, and should go do something useful like watch soap operas, clean the kitchen floor with a toothbrush, or read Plato.
