“Of course not.”
“i’ve heard about shotguns, but a farm dad with a razor knife? i don’t need that.”
“We’re not hillbillies. My dad doesn’t want to hurt you.”
“Right.” The guy tosses around fat mama pigs all day. Compact but powerful. He could break me like a toothpick. “He looks at me like i’m Jack swiping his favorite goose.”
“Golden eggs? That would come in handy. Maybe he could get a new combine. Too bad you are totally delusional.”
“He scares the crap out of me.”
“My dad is the sweetest man on earth. You’ll see when you and Gram come out next week for Thanksgiving.”
“Can’t we just eat at Gram’s?”
“You want to make Gram cook? She’s psyched. I promise you all the pie you can eat.”
“Freak, Leese, pie isn’t the answer for everything.”
She reaches for my hand. “Don’t get upset.”
“Why shouldn’t i be upset?”
“You’re right.” She lets go and steps back. “Throw a fit. It’ll be good for you.”
Instead i lunge up to her, pull her tight to my body, kiss her until we’re both hotter than is good for us. She calls it quits when i shove my tongue into her open, trusting mouth.
We walk back to her house in silence. i drive home to Gram’s, steaming. Then i start freaking. i’ve blown it. She’ll dump me for sure.
But that night when Isadore blows and my mother screams and my dad pounds on the door trying to get in and i wake up breathing like a new diver in panic mode, Leesie’s there, waiting online, spouting something about Job, ready to tell me it’s going to be okay.
Someday.
chapter 25
DANCING
LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM #35, PERFECTION
Each crazy ice crystal melting
in his chocolate brown hair.
snowboarder jacket
and black wool dress pants
I convinced him to buy.
gray shirt compromise
that sets off his eyes—I
wanted white, he went for black—
tawny yellow valentino
eBay’d tie—more
money than I’ve ever spent.
(maybe I won’t eat at BYU.)
the Winchester knot
I practiced all week
and tie on his surprised
neck. the taste
of his lips when I
smother
his protests.
my rose-colored hip-hugging
swishy skirt, the clingy
v-neck top showing off my
clavicle.
Him and me in the privacy
of gram’s Chrysler
not riding up with my
parent chaperones
and Phil the Pill.
a fluttering white snowfall
purifies the night.
Should I drive?
I can do it. Time
I learned to in the
snow.
Perfect.
We make it for the opening
prayer—I can tell he’s scared.
You pray at dances?
refreshment tables ooze
brownies on doilies.
a chocolate fountain gurgles.
the girls are all beautiful,
wearing colorful dresses—no
cleavage, shoulders, barely a knee;
fresh, pure faces.
the boys, even the skinny
ones who still look twelve,
shooting hoops at the far
end of the gym in their white
sunday shirts and ties, wear
unique power I want to clothe
michael in.
the gym’s overhead fluorescents drop.
a hundred strands of icicle lights
set on twinkle transform
the b-ball court. the first cut:
salsa. His face gets tight.
It’s easy. I’ll teach you.
I pull him into the mass
of kids showing off all those
Wednesday night lessons.
He breaks my grip.
stalks the brownies.
I trail in his wake before
the tide of female eyes following
his perfection devour him
like the gooey rich brownie
he’s choking on.
the next cut is slow, about loving
a disaster, theme song
for my life. I get him on the floor,
absolutely dying to sway close to him.
I assume waltz position.
Mormon dance rules.
I clasp his right hand.
His thumb caresses the marks he made.
I place his left hand on my back.
It slips to my waist and tickles the sliver
of skin that isn’t supposed to be showing.
He settles my hand on his shoulder, kisses
my thumb, and pulls me into full body contact.
I tingle at how perfect that feels but ease back.
Rule number two:
We have to keep the width
of the Book of Mormon
between us.
He laughs low, a hint of mock.
But I don’t let it mar moving
as one to the beat of the haunting
melody. He bends and whispers,
You’re perfect tonight.
Our faces melt together.
I ache to whisper back
how much I love him,
and want to love him
forever, and just what
that would take.
I bite it back and dance
on a prayer the lord will
convince him
he wants perfect,
too.
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #8
The tunes suck. The clothes are stiff. The tie she bought is choking me. And her parents are here. They even dance. Her dad twirls her mom, catches her, whispers, and they both laugh. Freak.
“Chaperones? Are they staying all night?”
“Mormon dance rule number three.”
“That’s a drag.”
The slow song fades, and a fast one starts. A few guys stay out on the floor with the girls. Leesie doesn’t let go of my hand. She steps back and gets pretty slinky. She’s not pole dancing, but she can work her assets. She spins up my arm, and i catch her around her waist. She keeps up her rhythmic writhing.
“Do i have to dance the fast ones?”
“Yeah. It’s for my birthday.” She pushes off, lets go of my hand, and gets crazy.
Leesie keeps me out there even when it’s mostly chicks. On the next slow song, she fudges the book rule. There’s only a breath between us. “Your dad is watching.” i pull back.
Her head whips around. “Don’t scare me like that.”
Her mom is deep in discussion with another set of chaperones. Her dad, who really did give me his injured-giant look before going back to the discussion, rests his hand in the middle of her mom’s back. Her mom keeps yakking. She must be saying something brilliant because Leesie’s dad gets this amazed junior high crush expression on his face like he still can’t believe she chose him.
i’m drowning in this place. “Want to go outside?” Please, i can’t breathe. We get refreshments and sit down instead.
A couple of girls in tight short skirts, boots, and bare legs take over center floor. The rest of the chicks keep their distance. They both get a good grind going. i nudge Leesie. “Can you dance like that?”
She purses her lips and shakes her head. “I’m not a stripper.”
“Aren’t they Mormons, too?”
“They’re messing up everything.”
“They’re just dancing.”
Leesie’s mom goes up to them and says something. The chicks look dirty at her and stomp out.
Leesie swallows and frowns. “
That kind of dancing isn’t allowed, and they know it.”
“So your mom bounced them?”
“They came to make their nasty, in-your-face, I’m-too-good-for-the-Gospel statement.”
“Your mom kicked them out, though.” i watch her mom walk back to her dad. “That’s cold.” Leesie’s dad pats her back.
“I’m sure she just told them to cool it off.” Leesie leans back away from the table and crosses her arms. “Those two snots always make trouble. We’re going to lose them. Their parents don’t know what to do.”
Her mom puts her head on her dad’s shoulder. His arm goes around her. My eyes go back to Leesie. “You’re all freaked just because they act like normal chicks?”
“Hardly normal. They’re into everything. They’ll ruin their lives. It’s really sad.”
“Are all these people looking at you with me and thinking it’s sad?” i glance around the room.
“No. The girls can’t take their eyes off you.” A smile creeps up on her. “They hope I’ll convert you and then you dump me and date them.”
“And the guys hate me?”
“Naw.” She stabs a strawberry but doesn’t eat it. “They’re writing me off, though. They think I’m going to fall.”
i lean over and whisper, “Why does that turn me on?”
“I am not going to fall.”
“Should i take that as a personal challenge?”
She stands up. “Let’s go outside and cool off.”
We grab our jackets, and i hold the door open for her. Snow swirls in with a gust of wind. She walks out into parking lot lights and thickly falling snowflakes. i put my arm around her and guide her toward Gram’s car. Her birthday present is in the trunk. i can’t wait another three days.
She nudges me in another direction. “Can I show you something?”She grabs my hand and walks backward, pulling me along, deeper into the snowy night.
“Won’t the snow wreck your suede?”
“It’s tough.”
Behind the modern sprawling church the dance is in, there’s another building, all white and lit up. It’s got a soaring steeple with a gold guy on the top.
“Isn’t it wonderful with the snow falling around it? Don’t you think it looks like a tiered wedding cake? Iced smooth and perfect.”
“Why do you have two churches side by side?”
“This is the temple. Churches like that”—she points to the big building behind us—“are everywhere. There are only a hundred and thirty temples around the world. We’re building more all the time. This one’s mine.”
“i still don’t get it. You already have a church here.” i circle my arms around her waist and cuddle her close.
“Temples are for special stuff. Weddings, for one.”
We stand there a few minutes watching the snow sift down around the glowing building. White on white on white. A surreal, otherworldly feeling comes over me. i let go of Leesie and step away from her. She turns around, gives me a gentle smile. With the pure white snow falling around her and the light of the beautiful building bathing her in blue, she’s as ethereal as everything else.
Untouched.
Untouchable.
She wears the joy this brings her like a transparent cloak that shimmers as she holds out her hands to catch snowflakes.
My chest gets tight. Am i breathing? i don’t think so. i float on the verge of shallow water blackout. If i pause here too long, what will happen to the me that’s struggling to survive? i exhale, inhale, struggle to take a simple breath. Suck more air and grab Leesie’s arm to break her free from the scene.
She’s startled, pained, reads my panic, and relents. “I’m sorry. I thought you would like it.”
i hurry her away from her temple, and it’s strange power. “My turn. i have a surprise for your birthday.” i guide her to Gram’s car.
She eyes the front seat. “Let’s go back to the dance for a while.”
“In a minute.” i stop at the trunk, pull out the bunny and her keys, scrape the snow off the lock.
“What’s going on?”
i grin and open the trunk. “Happy birthday.”
Two brand-new scuba bags full of the best gear i could buy bulge side by side, filling the trunk.
“This is for me?”
“The pink stuff.” i pull her gear bag toward her and unzip it. Hoses and fins spill out. The sweet scent of neoprene tinges the air.
She steps back. “But you’re not supposed to dive. Did you tell Gram?”
“i promise i will if you say yes.”
“My parents won’t let me.”
“You’ll be eighteen. You won’t need their permission. Look where we’re going for your open-water dives.” i hand her a brochure for Cozumel’s Intercontinental. “i booked two rooms. But mine has a king-size bed if you get lonely.”
She doesn’t jump on me and thank me like i dreamed she would. Her voice is colder than the winter night. “I hope you can get your money back.”
“The tickets are nonrefundable. It’s Christmas week. They cost a fortune.”
She stares at the gear like it’s going to bite. “How could you possibly think I’d agree to this?”
“Just consider it.”
“You know me better than that, don’t you?” Now she’s looking at me like she glared at the gear. “Are you trying to ruin my life?”
“i’m just trying to survive.”
“There’s no way Gram will go for this. Her doctor said six months. You’re still having flashbacks.” Her face droops into an ugly frown. “Don’t deny it. Diving is way too dangerous.”
“i dove before i could walk. Gram’s quack is not my doctor, and neither are you.”
“I can’t go along with this.” She steps away from the trunk so the gear i painstakingly chose won’t contaminate the air she breathes.
“Just try one day of cert dives, then.” i gently tuck the gear back in its bag and zip it up. “Your first one is scheduled for next Saturday.”
“That will only encourage you.”
“Don’t i need encouragement?” i slam the trunk. “You’re wrong about this, babe. You’re wrong about a lot of things.”
“A king-size bed, Michael?” She shoves the brochure in my face. “Am I wrong about that?”
i take it from her, shake the snowflakes off the front, and open it. “i wanted it to be special for you. First time. Look, the room is gorgeous.” The four-poster bed is soft cream flowing with pillows and a fat feather duvet. A sheer drape adds the fairy-tale-romance element that i know she digs.
But Leesie turns her head away. “The first time I sleep in a gorgeous king-size bed in a hotel room will be on my wedding night.”
“But you’ll be eighteen.”
“That doesn’t change the Lord’s commandments.”
“Okay. Forget the bed.” i smash the slick paper into my pocket. “That was stupid. We don’t even have to take the trip. Just dive with me. Please? i’m drowning without it.”
She shakes her head, still freaked over the hotel room. “No. Not after this. You killed the whole evening.” She gets into Gram’s Chrysler and slams the door.
i get in the driver’s side and start the car. Leesie doesn’t slide to the middle beside me where she always rides. She’s quiet. i’m silent, too.
At the first red light, i want to say something. Sorry? But i’m not. She should say it. Not me. i’ve said it way too much. Way too often. She killed the night, making me buy these clothes, dressing me up like her prepped-out Ken doll, gagging me with a stupid tie. i fix that. i loosen it and rip it off my head. Toss it in the back.
She catches her breath.
The light turns green, and i press on the gas. Gram’s car lurches forward into the white night. Snow swirling in the streetlights disappears, and we’re out into the countryside with only the headlights for company.
It could have been so sweet. i dreamed of Leesie getting certified and taking her to Cayman. We’d dive Bloody Bay Wa
ll like my parents and i used to. We’d descend, and a spotted eagle ray would fly below us, daring us to follow. We’d chase it through a canyon, hit a hundred feet depth, and still be able to see rays of sunshine refracted from the surface. i’d teach her how to fly over the deep blue where the wall drops sheer for thousands of feet. i have a hard time seeing that now. i could go back to Cayman alone. Sink down the wall deeper and deeper. Stay down there forever. Then Leesie would wish she’d come.
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