by Kent, Julia
Looking out into the night and seeing nothing but the occasional deep orange flashes of the passing streetlights is somehow very soothing. My thoughts are all jumbled and disorganized, and I need to figure out what I’m feeling.
Owen intentionally ran into that jerk back on the slope. I don’t doubt it for even a second. He saw the guy trying to push me around and mess with my mind, and he came to my defense.
He protected me. Nobody but Tina has ever done that for me before.
“So, how’d your snowboarding go?” calls out Tina, breaking up my thoughts just as I thought they were finally making sense.
“It was good,” I mumble, still staring out into the night. It’s snowing, and tiny white dots glitter in the headlights and then vanish into the darkness as they zip past.
“Just good?”
“Once I calmed down, Owen and I got along pretty well,” I continue, seeing that she’s not going to let the conversation go. “We went over onto one of the blue slopes on the eastern ridge. He got a lot better.”
“Ahh...”
Tina turns on the windshield wipers and goes silent for a long time before speaking again. The wipers flop back and forth... back and forth... it’s oddly relaxing.
“Maria, is there something you’re not telling me?”
I sigh and rub my eyes, trying to break the hypnotic spell of the windshield wipers.
“Yes, there is.”
“Well then,” she exclaims, her interest piqued. “Do I nag you about it, or do I wait for you to break down and tell me anyway?”
I laugh weakly and shake my head. She’s right; I’ll probably crack and confide in her soon enough. Right now, though, I don’t understand the muddled feelings bouncing around inside me. The fear and worry I felt when I saw Owen knock over that asshole on the slope, the excitement of him coming to my aid... I don’t care so much that he did it, as that he was willing to. Even more, though, I’m still nervous about how a snowboarding collision triggered a flashback. Even when I think I’m strong, the nightmares are still hiding and waiting to sneak up on me.
I need time to think before I tell her anything.
“Alright... wait it is,” she says, sounding a little disappointed, and she drives in silence the rest of the way home.
We go our separate ways when we finally get back to the apartment. Tina still has homework to do for tomorrow, so she locks herself away in her bedroom. I get in the shower, crank up the hot water until I’m nearly suffocating in the gloriously thick steam, and feel my fears wash away along with the sweat and grime of the day.
Maybe I can trust Owen. Maybe he’s different from the others—different from Darren in particular—and doesn’t just want to hurt me. When I finally get out of the shower, I know what I need to do. I can’t believe I’m going to do this, but I have to.
I need to talk to Owen. I need to find out why he tried to protect me.
It is dark downstairs, and I tiptoe quietly down and into the kitchen. Tina’s coat is hanging on the back of the closet door, and I start to rummage through its pockets.
Crumpled chocolate wrappers, loose change... eew, a used tissue... where is that sticky note?
“Are you looking for this?” calls out Tina from behind me, and I nearly leap into the air from surprise.
I spin around and see Tina lying on the couch with her pathology textbook and a clip-on reading light. She holds up the ripped, yellow sticky-note between two fingers as if tempting me to come get it.
“Yeah, that’s what I was looking for,” I answer embarrassedly. “Sorry that I went snooping in your...”
Her face lights up, and she excitedly cuts me off and leaps up from the couch.
“Maria, that’s wonderful!” she gushes, and she crosses the apartment in a flash and hugs me tightly. “Look at yourself. Seriously, look at what you’re doing. You’re calling a guy!”
“I... well, maybe?” I stammer. Truthfully, I hadn’t planned that far ahead. I just... well, what else do I want his number for if I’m not calling him? Why would I even go looking for it? Damn it, I’ve managed to confuse even myself now.
Tina holds out her hand and sitting in her outstretched palm is the tiny shred of yellow paper. As I reach out for it, though, she pulls it back and shakes a finger at me.
“You have to do two things for me if you want it, though.”
I groan. I should’ve known there would be a catch. There always is.
“Number one, you have to promise to tell me what happens.”
“Oh Jesus, Tina... I’m not trying to go on a date; I just want to talk to him.”
“Doesn’t change anything!” she answers in a light, sing-songish voice.
I sigh in exasperation. “Okay. Fair enough—I’ll tell you what happens.”
That should be easy. I just want to talk to him, so there won’t be anything to tell.
“Good,” she chimes happily, and then quietly adds, “For number two: you have to promise to be careful with yourself, okay?”
I roll my eyes at her and scoff.
“Tina... what do you think I’m going to do? Have sex with him? Hell no! I just want to talk to him.”
“I wasn’t talking about sex at all,” she chirps, sticking out her tongue at me, “but the fact that you just considered the option makes me a happy, happy girl.”
She winks at me as she hands me the tiny shred of paper, and then she skips back to the couch and buries herself in her textbook again. I briefly debate continuing the argument—maybe pointing out that I hadn’t considered having sex with Owen whatsoever—but I think better of it in the end. There’s just no winning an argument with Tina.
Instead, I go straight back upstairs and grab my phone.
“Six zero seven...”
I sit cross-legged on the carpet and wrap myself in a blanket as the phone rings. The room suddenly feels very cold to me, and I start to shiver.
One ring... two rings...
My thumb shoots out and disconnects the call.
“Shit... why am I so nervous?” I mutter to myself, but I already know the answer.
I dial his number again, but this time I can’t even get my shaking hand to hit the call button. I grind my teeth in frustration and try to push the nervousness and fear into the back of my mind, but the back of my mind is already full of even scarier emotions.
I can’t do it. I can’t call him.
I curl up on the carpet, frustrated and upset with myself, and I cover my head with the blanket. I want to strangle myself for being so worthless, but instead I just lay on the floor as a wave of humiliation washes over me. Now what am I supposed to do?
I stare down at the little yellow slip of paper, and my spirit lifts as I see his e-mail address.
I can handle that. E-mailing him is so impersonal, so aloof and distanced, that even a wimp like me can do it. I do wonderfully over e-mail because I don’t have to see the other person stare at me.
I still agonize over the e-mail for an entire hour before I finally send it, though.
“Hey... it’s Maria. Just wanted to say hi. What’re you up to this week? Coffee maybe? Let me know.”
I immediately shut off the computer, turn off my phone, and leap into bed. I don’t want to even look for his answer until tomorrow. If I stay up and wait, I’ll worry about the possible responses—all the terrible, hurtful things that he’d never actually say, but could say if he wanted to hurt me—and waste the entire night.
I just want to go to bed proud that I’ve taken my biggest step in seven years.
Wednesday, February 27 – 3:30 PM
Maria
“What the... Maria! What are you doing home so early?”
Tina stares down at me from the top of the stairs, flabbergasted, as I lay on the couch with my homework. I should be sitting in the front right corner of Owen’s classroom right now, trying desperately not to stare at him, but I’m here on the couch instead.
Do I tell Tina the truth? Of course I do—I’m t
he worst liar ever.
“I skipped statistics today. I figure I’ve got an A so far, and I just... well...”
“You just chickened out and skipped class so you wouldn’t have to see Owen before your date?” interrupts Tina as she hops down the stairs and heads to the kitchen.
I sigh and close my eyes. Aside from that whole ‘date’ thing, she’s pretty much right.
“It’s not a date.”
“Sure, whatever,” answers Tina flippantly from somewhere inside the refrigerator. Bottles clink loudly, and then she reemerges from behind the door with a beer. “You’re just going out for sushi with a guy for no reason at all.”
“It was supposed to be coffee,” I protest weakly.
“And the coffee turned into fish somehow?”
My face flushes bright red, and Tina laughs and winks at me. She pops the cap of her beer with a satisfying hiss and then joins me on the couch.
“Seriously though, how’d you get roped into sushi anyway? I’m surprised by you.”
“I don’t know,” I stammer. “I just asked him if he’d like to get coffee and talk, and then... well, next thing I know he’s e-mailing me back about Plum Tree Restaurant and I’m replying yes. It just happened.”
Tina nods and purses her lips thoughtfully.
“Fair enough. What are you wearing?”
I look down at my jeans and back up at her in confusion. I’m sitting right in front of her. What kind of question is this?
“I meant for the date, you dummy,” she groans as she reads my befuddled expression. “You can’t seriously be going out like that.”
“Yes I can, and yes I will,” I fire back. “It’s not a date. I’ll put on a clean shirt if it makes you feel better, though.”
“I’d rather you put on a nice skirt, frankly.”
I shake my head vehemently as my stomach rises into my throat.
“Oh come on,” pushes Tina. “Why not? You’ve got really sexy legs, Maria!”
“I haven’t worn a skirt since I was fifteen,” I answer, choking on my words, and I curl up in a ball on the couch.
A disgusting memory of Darren touching me—of him running his hand up my leg—suddenly bursts to life in my mind, and I shake my head to try to chase it away.
“Sorry... bad suggestion,” apologizes Tina. “Wear whatever makes you feel comfortable.”
“I have to shower and get ready,” I say, and I hop off the couch and head for the stairs.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?” asks Tina in a nervous, quivering voice. She tries so hard to protect me, and she gets upset with herself when she’s the one who ends up hurting me.
I smile sweetly back at her and shake my head, and she looks relieved. I know she was just trying to help.
“Nah, I’m good. Really. Just getting ready to go.”
“Well, you should be damned proud of yourself for this. I hope you relax and let yourself have some fun,” Tina calls up after me.
“I will!” I yell down to her.
Inside, though, I’m scared to death.
––––––––
Plum Tree Restaurant is right on the corner and has a great big sign in the window, but I somehow still walk past it four times before finally noticing it. It’s not quite as embarrassing as when I asked for directions to the Empire State Building while standing directly in front of it, but when Owen pops out the door and waves to me, I still feel humiliated.
“Hey, come on in. Glad you could make it,” he says excitedly, and he holds the door open for me.
“Sorry I’m late. I... well...”
“...walked past the restaurant four times?” he interrupts, finishing my sentence for me.
I nod embarrassedly and feel my face get hot. I want to put a bag over my head and hide.
“I saw you go past the window,” he says quietly with a warm smile. “Relax, we all do it.”
I follow him into the restaurant lobby and the Japanese lady behind the counter waves to us.
“Hello Owen! You date is here?” she asks in an accent so thick and stereotyped that I can't believe it's real. She’s got to be faking it. Nobody talks like that.
Wait a second... she called me his date. I start shaking my head vigorously, and she raises an eyebrow.
“Oh? You need own table?”
“No no, she’s with me,” Owen intervenes. “She just means it’s not a date.”
“Ahh...”
The old lady smiles and nods understandingly, and then she grabs two menus and guides us to a table. Owen grins at me over his shoulder and my face gets hot again.
Our table is in the back of the restaurant and is set apart from the rest of the dining room by a bamboo divider with a pattern of white and pink cherry-blossoms stenciled onto it. The old lady smiles as Owen pulls out my chair for me.
“Looks like a date to me,” she quips quietly, and now even Owen looks embarrassed.
She hands us our menus and places a basket of steaming-hot washcloths—each one individually rolled—in front of us before disappearing.
I stare down at the washcloths and daintily pick one up.
“What the heck are we supposed to do with these? Wash up for dinner?” I whisper, and Owen shrugs.
“Damned if I know,” he whispers back. “I never quite figured it out.”
He starts washing his hands with his, and for lack of any better ideas, I opt to toss mine at him. It bounces off his chest and lands in his lap.
“Well, mine now!” he proclaims with a grin, and I can't help but giggle as he drapes it over his head.
“What can I get you two?” asks the hostess, suddenly reappearing beside our table from out of nowhere.
She casts one long, bemused look at Owen, rolls her eyes, and snatches the washcloth off his head as he radiates embarrassment.
“Stupid boys. So immature, right?” she moans dramatically, and she winks at me. I still can’t stop laughing. She smiles and then grabs her pen, waiting for our order.
Between the two of us, we order almost everything on the menu. Our elderly hostess bows and then darts off to the kitchen. Now begins the hard part—talking to Owen.
I stare across the table at him and not even the soft koto music playing in the restaurant can relax me. I’m so nervous that I can barely breathe, and I’m grateful when Owen finally breaks the ice.
“So... um... can I ask you a question?” he says, swirling his ice water with his straw.
“Sure, I guess.”
“Why didn’t you come to class today?”
I should have known he’d ask that. Now what do I say? I watch the ice go around and around in his glass while I try to put my thoughts into words.
“I was too nervous,” I finally admit.
“You did fine on the homework, if that’s what you were worried about,” he tells me, and I shake my head.
“No, I was nervous about tonight,” I blurt out. “Tina kept trying to convince me that I was going on a date, that I had to dress up nice and put on a show. I knew I’d panic if I saw you in class.”
I take a deep breath before continuing.
“I was afraid that I’d be too scared to come out with you tonight if I saw you in class.”
The silence almost hurts as he stares back at me with his mouth just barely open.
He must think I’m insane now. Maybe he’s right.
His phone rings and breaks the tension, and he quickly glances down at it before silencing the ringer.
“Sorry about that,” he apologizes. “It’s my mom, but I can talk to her later.”
“You sure?”
“Yep,” he answers, smiling at me. “Right now, all I really want is to talk to you.”
“So, how’d you like snowboarding?” I ask, smiling back at him and trying my hardest to be someone worth talking to.
He groans as if he's in pain, but his smile tells me he still enjoyed himself.
“Have you ever, in your entire life, seen a snowboarder as bad as
me?” he asks.
“You weren’t that bad,” I protest. “Once you got your weight forward, you were really pretty good.”
“Flattery or not, my answer’s the same: I loved it,” he gushes. “I’m sore in places I didn’t know existed, but it was totally worth it.”
For some reason, I’m excited that he enjoyed it. It’s one of the few ways I’ve found that I can get outside my shell and be free from my fears. I like the idea of someone else enjoying it with me—someone I can trust not to steal my last safe thing away from me.
The restaurant’s proprietor returns with an enormous array of tantalizingly delicious-looking sushi, winks at me as she puts it down on the table, and then disappears again. I still have one burning question that I need to ask, but it can wait for a bit while I stuff my face.
Seven or eight pieces later, I’m ready to talk again. God, I love sushi.
“Umm... Owen?”
He loses control of his chopsticks as he looks up at me, and the tuna roll slips away and plops back down onto his plate.
I take a deep breath.
“I... well, thanks for helping me when we were snowboarding, but... why?”
“Why what?” he asks, looking confused.
“Why did you help me?”
“I... what? When did I help you? I don’t understand,” he answers, shrugging awkwardly. He has no idea what I’m talking about, does he?
“On our last run, when that guy started bothering me. Remember?”
His eyes light up as he figures out what I’m talking about.
“Maria, if there’s one thing I hate more than anything else, it’s a bully. I... well, I dealt with them a lot when I was a kid, and it left a really bad taste in my mouth.”
I smile at him and he looks down at his plate before continuing.
“I don’t want you to feel like you owe me or that you have to be grateful or anything, okay?” he tells me. His gray eyes are wide and honest as he looks back up at me, and I believe every word he’s saying. “I mean it. I knocked that guy on his ass because I hate seeing people get bullied.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.