Chapter Six

I had enjoyed an exhilarating week – wasn't it so? I had met Chris on Monday, I fell in love with him and dreamed about him all week… then, again, I saw him on Thursday, and though I feared a second encounter might ruin my pleasant memories of the first, it didn't – Despite my constantly pessimistic expectations, that second event was so much better than the first, much more colorful than I'd have hoped as I fantasized about us meeting again, too! Not only was I physically closer to him, and for longer… not only did I experience the touch of his hand again, but he also talked to me – straight at me, and to me alone! He saw me, personalized his attentions to me, and despite my fluttery stomach and dumb inexperience, I managed to talk back intelligibly, to not stutter or cower away with shyness. I made myself smart and playful too… I guess I was growing up, developing, learning to handle these situations – to ignore embarrassment and stay focused in the present. Together we smiled and laughed… And as he walked me home, and it was only the two of us, even though I shook with some poorly-contained excitement, I stayed centered and we talked normally, sharing facts about each other. My heart was pure bliss… But then, it turned sour, and a cool gush of dread struck at my core for remembering! Finally, reality took its tow, and I now experienced the dark side of going out of my way, of lingering with Chris some more… the sweetness of my memories was threatened, the lush flower field I had conjured to protect them was mined, and it burned to think about it... If I picked a flower, I could now get stung by a thorn: they'd grown there overnight! My entire retreat might be susceptible!

I was tired from a night of little sleep, and still resentful of my mother and her antics. And what's worse, that pleasant evening of Chris talking and 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 me, instead of condescendingly talking down as if I was a child, culminated with his angry eyes leering at me as the lights in my house were turned on. Certainly, then, he saw through my lies, he saw me for the stupid, green, scaredy and slow teenager I was! If only it was true… If only I was really older, experienced… Older even than 17… Then I'm sure I could make myself really interesting in his eyes. But I wasn't. What could I do, wait? My heart certainly felt willing… but would Chris be there? In, say… 5 years' time, would he give me a chance? I wasn't optimistic enough to think of a future where that would work, when there were so many variables!

The school grew progressively emptier as the days passed. Soon, Danilo and I were hanging out in the empty classrooms, because there wasn't anything else to do in the schedules anymore. We would just find an empty, quiet nook for us, sit down and talk, or play a long round of chess, or draw pictures… Sometimes we did none of those things; sometimes we'd just sit and enjoy the strangeness of being the only two people to occupy an entire hall of classrooms. That afternoon was such a one.

The sky was so cloudy, 2pm felt like evening was quietly falling. Dark clouds thickened and loomed, static, overhead. Occasionally they'd roar, but the air was still dry, so we found comfort in sitting at the edge of the large skateboard ramp outdoors, waiting for the storm to gather. When the air filled with that moist perfume that precedes rain, that's when I thought of Chris the most, and experienced a painful contrition around my heart. When would I see him again?

I remembered being content with just collecting moments with him – as many as I could – to think of them later from the safety of my reserved mind. When did that become not enough? When did I let things get so out of control, that my heart now bled for him, reality consummated and addictive? Thoughts wouldn't do – remembering positive encounters wouldn't do, I needed to see him again, to take it further, to make it as real as I could with the limitations I had!

We only had this week before school closed down completely, and it was already Wednesday… If Chris never came back, what would I do? My heart had never felt so heavy, it had never sunk so low. Not even when Mike Campbell… hell, who was he, compared to Chris? My Chris… my adult friend… I sighed a heavy "I'm in love with him" when I knew Danilo was too aloof to hear me, the words fed my despair, but they also seemed to grant some validation… As if, like in a romantic movie, I had just sent out a memo to the public: that I had picked the hero of my story, the prince - or rather the 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 - it sounded more befitting his age -, and that now the screenwriters ought to write our encounter, our 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯… Fate would align and see me through, it would bring us together, the 'love would find a way' type of thing. It gave my fading heart a flickering glow…

The dark contours of the overlapping clouds lit up convulsively, a loud thunder followed – a long, reverberating one… it had certainly landed close.

"We should be going…" Danilo murmured. His voice – like mine – got so used to the silence we spend that entire day in, it forgot to rise above his breath.

I cast one last glance from the height of the ramps across the school grounds, the lonely courtyard, the clanky playground, the two buildings and the shadowy patio… It was still too early in the afternoon, but no one was coming, I was sure. No one would be out in a storm like that… indeed, we should go.

We climbed the red metal stairs from our building in a small rush, hoping to get home before the rain. We ran all the way to the fourth floor, to our classroom, to get our bags which we had left lying there. We had closed the classroom behind us, turned off all the lights, and were rushing down the corridor, back to the staircase, when, turning a corner, I nearly bumped into him.

His outline wasn't so easily recognized, I had not yet the time to memorize it. In fact, the broad shoulders and chest seemed broader now that I ran into him… like a wall… But his eyes… those I had certainly memorized, and learned to read: they peered down at me, first a frown of inconvenience, then the forehead muscles softening, the eyes expanding with recognition, opening like curtains into a cerulean pool… For a second, he seemed pleasantly surprised!

"Hey kid!" he spoke, his hands framing my arms to prevent a fall, but not immediately touching them "…Kids…" he added, looking over my shoulder and meeting Danilo's moody, hasty approach.

"Hey!" I smiled, staring eagerly, reading, taking it all in…

Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but it felt like I stood there receiving his friendly, receptive gaze for over 10 seconds, before Danilo caught up to me and simultaneously pushed me forward:

"Come on! We have to go!" He said impatiently.

"He's right, you know?" he spoke attentively, a frown starting on his face, but his voice still a meek, calculated caution "I don't know what you two are doing here in the first place. There's a huge storm coming, can't you read the signs?" and he cast his eyes to towards the sky through the open corridor – the brooding light reflected there made them look extra pale, extra charming too. My insides grew warm, fuzzy… Looking back and seeing me still frozen there, staring at him, made him smile at me.

Everything was forgotten! He wasn't mad! Maybe it had all been an illusion… an exaggeration on my part. I could be happy again!

"Come 𝘖𝘕!" Danilo rushed again; his voice an ounce more aggressive.

"Well, go ahead!" Chris stepped out of my way, breaking that restraining eye contact he had established, and his hand hovered about my back, encouraging me, but not touching… perhaps only a slight brush, one I only felt move my shirt.

"I'll catch you some other time." He assured, as if knowing it was what kept me.

"Yes!" My smile widened "Yes… I'll see you. Later this week…" I made a point of specifying, testing, 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 being bolder, like a 17-year-old would.

Chris merely nodded, his eyes tracing the ground, away from mine, as if he tried to hide… but his lips retained that half-smile. Danilo pushed me by the arm and I followed - a content, absorbed kite.

I was giddy again – the sky outside was overcast, but inside the clouds finally broke, spilling light into my impressionable, inexperienced heart. And perhaps this inexperience should tell me to be on my guard, perhaps I should be warned that, even though Chris seemed interested… almost 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺, it didn't mean anything. Perhaps he was just encouraging me because he thought it was adorable to have such a young girl crushing on him… Hope was a comfortable, delicious drug as long as it had no pretense of a real foundation… The contrite pain my heart suffered from merely considering I was wrong showed me it was too late, though: I was no longer content with dreaming about his static image: I wanted Chris for myself. And if I could convince him I was 17, if I could act that age long enough, he just might… maybe… who knew? Hope, then, was like walking a tight rope… The heights exhilarated me, I didn't want to get down from there… but to look down and contemplate how I might hurt if I fall filled my heart with dread. Just don't look down - I told myself, purging pessimistic thoughts from my head.

…Still I should have known something was coming. My mother wasn't one to let things slide – particularly when it concerned her sense of authority. That evening, I received a phone call from my father – something rare enough, considering he'd already called me that month. He had talked to my mother, she had tried to convince him I shouldn't be left alone in this big old house, that I didn't know how to take care of myself, that I was in a terrible shape. My father was a somewhat uncaring man, always had been – not because his heart wasn't in the right place, he just seemed perpetually clueless about parenthood, tired and uninterested in the mischiefs of his kids. I always suspected, from his hobbies and from his moody weekend distances, that he never intended to have a family, but my mother made that decision for him. He loved his kids – I'm sure he did - He just didn't know how to pretend to be interested in them, so I knew the last thing he wanted was to have to interfere with my life… "I can't be taking your mother's angry calls complaining about you! You have to help yourself!" he confided.

I did my best to explain to him in small details that my mother was just being a manipulative bitch, and convincing him was easy enough, too: he had been married to the lady for 21 years. Still, he had some authority to impose: if I got into any trouble, or if my grades started slipping, he'd have me out of the brownstone and I'd have to live with my mother.

"Actually…" He paused, just as I began to sweat "...tomorrow I'll phone your school and let them know they should mail your report card to me instead of your mother. That way I can keep a close eye on you, and keep her off my back!"

The school never even knew my mother and father had moved away… It's not like they 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 know!

"T-they didn't mail it to her." My brain worked quickly – 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵, like my mother would say. "I… I have it right here with me. I can mail it to you myself! I'll do that first thing in the morning, how's that?"

"Nice try!" my father chuckled at my perhaps too suspicious eagerness "I was a teenager once too, you know?"

And I thought I had found an easy way out: to make an art project out of my report card and adulterate the shit out of my grades before sending them out. I was mute, thinking urgently.

"I'll call them tomorrow." And with that promise, he hung up.