Mending Time
Page 1
Mending Time
A Short Story
by Cheri Lasota
Copyright
This story is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Mending Time.
Copyright © 2011 by Cheri Lasota. All rights reserved by Cheri Lasota, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
To book the author for engagements, gain permission for reprints and excerpts, contact:
Ever-Sea Press
www.cherilasota.com
cheri@cherilasota.com
Today he’d “walked” Aurelia to the Waterfront Park in downtown Portland. Well, a few yards behind her as always, but he liked to think he was looking out for her. Unusual for a Sunday to find Aurelia wandering the city. It was nice to see her out of her element, though the day wasn’t nice now. Aurelia stood at the railing in the cold wind, but she wasn’t really looking at the Willamette River’s white caps or the jet boat screaming past. She was shouting over the phone at her boyfriend.
“One day you’ll wish you had!” she yelled into her cell phone—that damned red crackberry she had glued to her head 24/7—oblivious to who would hear it.
Jack yanked his headphones out, though he could still hear the Proclaimers’ “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” bursting through the earbuds.
The last time he had heard those exact words spoken was five years ago—almost to the day. He thought he’d just forget at some point. But he still saw his gramma’s finger wagging at him, still heard that condescending scratch in her smoker’s voice.
But it wasn’t Grams saying those words from six feet under the Oak Hollow Cemetery across town. It was Aurelia Luciano speaking them now. Aurelia from his 10 a.m. lit class at PSU. The one who never seemed to notice that he had his eyes on her nearly every single day. The one who had a too-large mouth and cat eyes with tiny flecks of gold in them. He wondered what she’d say if she ever found out that he walked her home every day from class. Well, walked behind her anyway. But Aurelia didn’t notice anyone but her friends and her worthless excuse for a boyfriend.
Jack didn’t realize until this moment that her words had made him get up from the park bench. And now he stood three steps closer to her. He wanted to know what made her say that particular phrase. No, he needed to know. He walked up to the railing, staying the usual stranger’s distance away. But just like in class, she was oblivious. He watched her still, out of habit, from the corner of his eye.
“You say that now—” The boyfriend must have interrupted her. “No. You know what? I’m done with this. I’m done with you.”
He heard the faint beep of a text message alert over the hum of Portland traffic.
Then Jack heard a sharp clatter that made him glance over despite his efforts to act nonchalant. No, she hadn’t dropped it. Miss Luciano, of the pristine academic career and perfect hair had just slammed her phone down on the sidewalk after breaking up with her rich, classless boyfriend. And now she was looking at Jack. Square in the eye.
“Don’t have steel-toe boots on, do you?”
Ah, that Italian accent of hers. He gave her the most complicit smile he could muster and tried to sound cool. “Nah, but I have a decent throwing arm.” He pointed out toward a river buoy. “I can launch that sucker so far out there you’ll never hear his obnoxious ringtone again.”
Jack watched as a laugh toyed with the corners of her mouth. It somehow gave him courage or stupidity—she wasn’t sure which.
“Can I ask you something?” he said. “What made you tell him ‘you’ll wish you had’?”
She narrowed her eyes, wary. “How do you know I was talking to a guy?”
Jack flashed her an innocent smile. “Only a girl would say that to a guy. And only a guy would need it said.”
She nodded. Yes, they both knew that was true.
It was about time he came clean. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”
She took a step back. Not a good sign. She didn’t say a word but cocked her head to the side, peering under his baseball cap. He felt his face go sticky hot, and he yanked the cap off and bit his lip. Why didn’t he dress up in something other than jeans and a T-shirt all the time? Didn’t Gramma always say that first impressions were everything? ‘Course this wasn’t a first, but by the look of confusion in her eyes, he might as well count it as such.
Aurelia crinkled her nose and smiled. It nearly made him lose his breath. She remembered!
“Of course, you’re one of the checkout guys at the grocery mart on Third.”
Well, he thought, sometimes invisibility had its benefits. For one, jeans and a T-shirt were perfectly acceptable attire in general. And for another, he supposed he never had to worry about what to say in awkward situations.
“Ah, no.”
She didn’t seem embarrassed. “The coffee shop on Fifth?”
“Ehrm, PSU actually.”
“Oh! You’re at the university? Hmm.” She raised an eyebrow, which might have been cute in other circumstances.
Well, apparently narrowing it down wasn’t going to help much. Geez. “St. Cloud’s English Lit?” he prompted.
She snapped her fingers. “You sit behind me!”
Now it was Handel’s “Hallelujah!” chorus drifting through his head, and he tried to hide the stupid grin that plastered itself on his face.
Without preamble, she said: “What are you doing here?”
The question was a little abrupt, which almost made him blurt out the truth. Um, yeah, so I’m in love with you and I follow you home from PSU like a little puppy dog every day . . . Yeah, right.
He shut and opened his mouth. Then he pointed to his iPod. “Tunes.” Didn’t sound too intelligent, but it could have been worse.
“I suppose it’s obvious what I’m doing here.”
“So I can erase him from your speed dial, you know. Just a quick toss, and he’ll be at the bottom of the river.” He made to pick it up, but she stepped on it with her heel.
“I might have been a little hard on him.”
“No,” Jack blurted. “He’s an asshole.”
He shouldn’t have said that. The frown on her face told him so. She was wondering how he would know that, of course. But he wasn’t stupid enough to tell her. He stepped toward the railing, put his elbows on it. Glanced at the dark river, attempting to keep his heart steady, trying to look calm.
She straightened up and left the phone there. Just left the boyfriend lying on the sidewalk like the garbage he was and stepped to the railing too. This did nothing but crank up his heartbeat, and he gripped his Mariners cap until his fingers hurt.
She blew out a breath. “He is.” Her accent was subtle but he could pick it out in a line up.
Aurelia. He wanted to say her name. Out loud. But he didn’t dare. He realized he would do anything for her. Why her? He’d asked himself that dozens of times. He had no idea. She was beautiful, sure. But then, they all were. And she was Italian. He’d always wanted to go to Venice. But she was oblivious. A little bit peevish. Self-absorbed.
But he would. He would do anything for her, and expect nothing in return. Is that what Grams was talking about? When she said those words? He hardly remembered that final argument they’d had.
He asked Aurelia again. “What made you say, ‘you’ll wish you had’ to him?”
“Why?”
Jack swallowed. Looked at her. “’Cuz my Grams said it to me once.” He felt a tickle of embarrassment in his throat, but he cleared it. “Just before she died.”
Aurelia pr
essed her lips together, and a touch of rosy lipstick smudged the skin just below her bottom lip. He wanted to touch her, to wipe it away, but he would never do that. He put his hand in his pocket instead.
“I wanted him to know that one day he’ll wish he had given me more time . . .” She paused, embarrassed. “Given me more love.”
So that’s what Grams had meant all those years ago. He remembered now. She had asked him to pick up her heart medicine, and he blew it off to play video games.
“One day, you’ll wish you had put others first. We only have so much time, Jack. So much time, and then it’s just over.”
And then it was for Grams. Two days later. A heart attack. And he hadn’t paid attention until it was too late. Would it be like that with this girl some day? Would he never say what he wanted to say? And if she needed him—selfish though she may be—would he be too afraid to see it?
If he did help her, though, it wouldn’t just be because he was a nice guy. He’d do it to get something in return, wouldn’t he? A touch, a kiss, returned affection. And wouldn’t that actually make him the selfish one? Geez, Grams, you’ve got my head spinning with all this stuff.
“We always do that,” Jack finally said to Aurelia. “Never take the time, never do what we promise. And then it’s always too late.”
She was silent, clasped her fingers together tightly. “Why do you do it, then?”
“There is no why. We’re idiots.”
“Yes, you are,” Aurelia said. She was serious when she said it, and he knew she was really