Chapter Twelve

If I were a 17-year-old... Well, I wouldn't have twitched my fingers nervously under the table as I did this morning. I wouldn't have held my breath like a baby who forgets to breathe, and I wouldn't be stunned wordless, haunted repeatedly by thoughts of last night, poked to distraction by the intrusive memories and the chaotic feelings they evoked. No... if I was really the mature 17-year-old I pretended to be - the one I at times hoped I actually could be! -, this morning wouldn't have been so uncomfortably awkward. 17-year-old me would have sat relaxedly at the table, as he did... I wouldn't have flinched at his unexpected joining in, and I'd have looked as aloof as he did, as if nothing had happened…

...Because nothing actually did happen. Those memories? That was nothing: a kiss? Some heavy petting? Those should be no big deal for an older girl... as they were no big deal for him.

And to think I stayed awake for most of the night, thinking he was angry... but from the looks of it on that following morning, he didn't seem to care - not enough to mention it, at least! Perhaps not enough to ever try it again! - My heart skipped a beat, wrenching the controversial truth from me – that I dearly hoped this wasn't the end of it… that I dearly hoped he cared. Why should he though? Last night I had proven myself to be a child! How unalluring that frozen fear must have made me, if I ever was otherwise in his eyes! How unalluring I felt, sitting at the table with him as he nonchalantly sipped coffee from a mug, untroubled by my dumb silence! Dumb as it was, I couldn't break it. I felt small, scared and wrong. And oh so distant…

How surprising… that I always thought of kissing as a threshold to be crossed, a marking point from which one would step right into comfortable intimacy. I pictured it as a broken seal, something that would make things clearer, more declared, official in some capacity. Instead, we sat there quieter than ever. More distant, it seemed, than when I met him: at least back then his eyes didn't seem so effortlessly indifferent to me! And that heavy feeling that hung in the air... it seemed leagues more complicated than it was before!

The silence we shared in so brief a morning was stifling, suffocating! It put me into childish despair, imbuing my trembling with the feeling of having lost something I dearly wanted because I was too much of a coward to receive it – but coward was still the appropriate word, when calling back to last night and to the main feeling I experienced – namely, fear!

Perhaps if I told him the truth… if I let him know how his had been my very first kiss – and what a thrill! –, if I told him how really young I was, maybe then he would take it slower, and then it wouldn't have to be so scary… Or maybe he'd lose interest altogether, and hate me for tricking him, just like Michael Campbell hated me. What a stupid idea: Men didn't like young girls… they liked women! I closed my eyes, stressing. Why not just let him do what he wanted, without flinching, without making that stupid scared face? Because I was scared, that's why. It could hurt. It would definitely hurt – a flash from last night, from being pinned to the table and feeling his warmth and his weight falling over me haunted me briefly.

Still, I was willing - no, desperate! – to win back lost ground, or to prevent myself from losing even further. That's why, upon seeing Chris motioning to leave the house, I shook off timidity to bluntly ask where he was going and what he meant to do – my most subtle way of asking if he would ever come back, or if this was my dreaded and pessimistically expected goodbye. Some related word must have escaped me nonetheless, because he chuckled as he answered:

"No, I am coming back. There are some things I must retrieve, that is all!"

My heart was wrung – something about the sensation it experienced told me I would die if Chris left. I would not survive whatever time it took him to return, with all the fears that would cross my mind: That's why I offered to go in his stead, smartly throwing in that he should lay low. The suggestion at first made him flash me that condescending smile that filled me with dread: he knew me for the child I was. But I pushed my case, until he relented as if agreeing was his way of paying me a favor, and not otherwise.

And thus he gave me detailed, most impersonal instructions of what I could do for him, since I was 'feeling so particularly charitable in this front', as opposed to all the other times I meant to offer myself to him…

"FOCUS!" I slapped myself in the forehead, then once again checked the map he drew me, held out the key with the hotel logo in it.

The task – the favor – was easy enough: I'd take the bus downtown, then the subway headed east to the shabby hotel he was staying in. I was to bring back a black duffle bag that was laying around. "Take a cab. It's too heavy." He said as he nonchalantly deposited another small stack of bills into my hand.

"Nothing else?" I offered proactively, figuring he must have left a lot of things unpacked around his room. He stared distantly for a while, as if recounting his possession, but decided there was nothing.

I insisted I could do it – take all his belongings, put them all in the black bag, but Chris maintained I should bring nothing but the bag, as it wouldn't be appropriate for me to go through all of his things like that:

"DON'T" he emphasized, his wide blue eyes capturing my attention, his index finger held up "DON'T open the duffle bag. Are we clear?"

I must have frowned automatically before offering my unconditional compliance, for he added:

"I know it's an odd thing to ask, but those are my work instruments – and they're very sensitive."

I nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility. Not assertive enough, I guess, for he repeated:

"It's imperative you understand this, Abby. If you go through them, I will know, and I will be very disappointed… okay?"

I nodded once more, and received an impatient frown. "Yes!" I spoke out, and Chris almost smiled. Things were okay again… we were friends again. I had done it! I had fixed things, and I felt proud of myself, for it seems I was finally growing smarter, more mature!

I left him with a warmer heart. He shut the door behind me, not before looking about the streets like the cautious fugitive I had made of him.