Author's Chapter Notes:
*The lyrics of the song can be found in italics.*
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
It is Tuesday night and you have fallen asleep in front of the television with your head in my lap. I look down at your restful profile and run a finger along the outer shell of your ear, a soft smile playing around the corners of my lips. I am thinking about the first day we met. Do you remember? Back then my world was a small one, where happiness was as simple as finally getting the neighbor's cat to eat out of the palm of my hand and disappointment could never be as crushing as running out of the house just as the ice cream truck was pulling away from the curb.
This year was different, I remember, because I was going to be in the first grade, in the same school as the big kids. I was so proud; I already had my shiny new black Mary Jane's out of their box and my plaid skirt and white, button down shirt laid out across my pink sheets. That night I would sleep on the very edge of my bed, just to make sure that I didn't wrinkle them. Do you remember? I do.
I place my hand on your chest, feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat and watch as my hand rises and falls, rises and falls.
I remember how that morning I was so excited that I woke up at six, more than three hours before I had to be at school and well before my mother was awake. All I could think was that fall was here, finally, and that I would be going back to school, back to where all my friends would be returning from their family vacations and camping trips; I never imagined that I would be making a new one. I had my hair in ribbons and braids; my skirt floated prettily around my legs as I twirled around in it. I liked how slippery my stockinged feet were against the wood of the floor and the blurry image I got of Mother putting my books and pens in my backpack every time I turned my head to the left. She was shaking her head at me and pretending to be stern about the fact that I wanted to walk to school that first day, but her frown disappeared when I put my shoes on. She held her hand out to me and we walked out the door.
I felt so special then, with just me and mother walking together. The leaves were falling down around us, sad little reminders of summer that landed on my head and shoulders. When I first saw you, you were crossing the street and you were all by yourself and I remember thinking how strange it was that a person as small as me was all alone. Your shorts were the same color as my skirt, your shirt the same crisp white. They were shabby, though, as if they had been washed one too many times, and a little too tight, a little too short. You stopped when you saw us, frozen, as if you were afraid we were going to run you over, but Mother stopped in front of you and said, "Hello, young man."
"Good morning, ma'am." Your voice came out in a whisper, and you were bowing your head.
I reached out my hand - I don't know why - and took yours, and that's how we arrived at school: the three of us holding hands amid the children yelling and the ringing of the bell.
I remember the next year, when Mother got sick it was you who would walk with me, holding hands. We made up games to play on the way to school, had pet names that we would call each other when we were alone. You called me Suzy, I called you Lee. We sat side by side in every class. We would wake up earlier so that we could walk through the park that was near the cemetery and dare each other to run through it. You wouldn't let me think about how thin Mother was getting, how her skin was beginning to sag, how her hair was disappearing. You would chase after me with the bugs you found in your backyard, and I would run away, screaming and breathless. When we got too tired from chasing all the ants and worms, we would rest upon the ground, looking up at the sky through the skinny tree branches. When even your antics could not distract me, and I became quieter and quieter and refused to tell you why, you didn't nag me or call me names. You just shrugged your shoulders and we would walk to school all by ourselves, safely, and without a sound.
After Mother died, you were the one who pulled me out of the ditch; it was like there was no one else. I would drift from place to place, class to class, one year to another, completely unaware of other people and my surroundings. I was in a fog, and I didn't want to leave it. I didn't even care that our high school psychiatrist had called me into her office. It wasn't until I found out that I would be going into the advanced English course and you would be in the remedial class that I started to think of anything other than my mom. I remember that you looked away when I confronted you, got angry and told me I had no idea what I was talking about. I told you to stop being stupid, you told me to stop being a head case. But when I began to cry you apologized and hugged me. I remember how you arms enveloped me, how your head rested on mine and how you never pulled away, not even once. Numbers, letters, learn to spell: I tutored you in everything, tried to tell you everything I knew. Nouns and books and show and tell: I coached you through Catcher in the Rye and Invisible Man, Toni Morrison and William Faulkner. That is when, I think, I began to fall in love with you. When you were stumbling and stuttering your way through the books that I had buried and lost myself in, your voice growing steadier and more assured.
You still had to go to summer school, but it was all right because you had gotten into The American Academy of Art in Chicago. I was going to Vassar. We didn't talk about it. We would go to the movies and buy ice cream and run around in the sprinklers on your front lawn and race each other to the local pool, the way we used to when we were younger. It was easy not to notice any time pass when I was with you, easy not to notice anything except for you, because I knew come the end of August, you'd be gone.
And August did come, too fast, it seemed. We had just finished packing up your car; you were leaving the next day. I was leaning against the passenger door, wondering if I should give you your present now, or later, after the big dinner your parents had prepared for you. My arms were folded across my chest and I was biting down on the corner of my lip, a habit I still haven't gotten rid of, when you walked up and stood before me. We stared at each other for a moment and then I made a face at you. I stuck out my tongue and crossed my eyes. You laughed. I was thinking about how much I was going to miss that laugh when you began to lean in.
Suddenly you were all around me. You were all that I could see and smell. I could feel the heat radiating from your body and hear the breaths that you took. It was a gentle kiss, at first. Almost innocent, the way it had been the one other time we'd kissed at our first dance back in the sixth grade. You had your hands clasped behind your back and the kiss was more of a caress than anything else. So when you pulled away I wasn't sure if it was a friendly, I-won't-be-seeing-you-for-a-long-time kind of kiss, or if it was something else. I can only imagine what my face looked like to you. I must have looked like one of those cartoons with question and exclamation marks popping up all around their heads. But your face was completely serious and genuine, and I thought that I could see traces of that little boy that I had met so many years ago: in the way your hair rustled in the sunset breeze of the evening, in the scar right in the middle of you right eyebrow that you got back when you were in your skateboarding phase. But I could see hints of the man you were becoming, too: in the light stubble that shaded you jaw line, in the way your eyes looked straight into mine without ever glancing away.
I thought of how for the next four years, we would be apart, living in separate worlds; worlds that didn't have the abandoned house on Mulgrove Street where we used to hide when all the kids from the neighborhood were playing hide n' seek, that didn't have the twelve foot long rope tied to the oldest tree in town that we would swing on at the same time, holding on tight to each other, that didn't have us sharing an ice cream sandwich that we'd bought with the spare change we'd found in your older brother's backseat. That is why I put my arms around you then, because I thought that if this was going to be the end of all that, then it might as well be a great end. And it was. Your lips were warm and supple, while your tongue was teasing and curious. Your arms wrapped around my waist and lifted me up until I was on the tips of my toes, and when you made that sort of low, growling sound that I would come to love so much, I shivered and sighed, which only made you hold me tighter. I loved every second of it. Of course, we had to stop when Mrs. Kim hollered at us that she had children and could we please take it inside, at which point we sprung apart, grinning like a couple of idiots.
Now I can hear the sounds from the television turning into background noise as I stroke my finders through your hair and lean my head back against the couch. I'm still smiling, the way I always do whenever I think of our first real kiss, and as I close my eyes I can feel the beginnings of sleep, the first few wisps of a dream I've had before, one that I like. It's one full of silly thoughts going through my head, one of bugs and alphabets, one of being tucked into bed by a smiling Mother and hoping that I'll get walk to school with you again.
You mumble something in your sleep, which snaps me back from sleep, and shift a little, then open your eyes. You are looking up at me, and now you are the one who is smiling. There is nothing tentative in the smile, nothing being held back, and I just have to wrinkle my nose at you. You sit up and push yourself off the couch. I watch as you pad your way towards our room, yawning and scratching your stomach. You stop and look back at me, crooked smile still in place, head cocked to the side, and you hold out your hand. "You coming, Suzy?" Your voice is a little groggy from your nap and it catches just like it used to, way back when. I nod silently, grinning, now, and jump up to follow you.
You do remember, don't you? So do I. Even then, I could tell that we were going to be friends.