OC Me

by Kristin Albright

  Valentine’s Day was coming up, and Kat and I mused over our bus commutes if and how we should celebrate the holiday. Neither of us was attached to anyone, and we only had a week before the one day a year where even we find it painfully obvious that we are single. We were sharing our usual Tuesday morning snack when she said, “Maybe we should plan on going out.”

  “Out? With who?” I questioned. I sat slightly flustered, wondering if she knew about my secret crush on James, wondering if somehow I’d let on.

  “What do you mean, with who?” she paused, “You know who I’d like to spend the evening with,” she said with a grin.

  “Oh yeah,” I smiled looking in both directions to see if anyone was coming, “With Nolan,” I whispered, drawing out the “o” in his name.

  “Shh!” she scolded, looking in both directions, “Someone might hear you!” “Right…someone might hear me. Would that be the end of the world? Maybe it would get back to him.” I poked at Kat.

  “No…it would get back to Kassandra. She’s had some sort of weird crush on him all year, but I don’t think he knows. She’d kill me.” She emphasized the kill and couldn’t help but giggle.

  “Yeah – I thought she was going to go berserk when I hit her with my hockey stick earlier this year in phys ed; I can’t imagine what she’d do if someone,” I gasped theatrically, “stole her crush.”

  Giggling Kat retorted, “See. Now you know what I’m up against…I just need a quieter way to get his attention.” She glanced down at the table, looking almost self-conscious.

  To me it seemed all but impossible that Kat hadn’t already caught Nolan’s attention. She is one of those rare, naturally beautiful types. Stunning actually. She has thick wavy strawberry hair and bright green eyes. But beyond her physical beauty is her impulsive, brave and unapologetic personality. She’s funny and sometimes crass and is oblivious to her physical appearance. Guys tend to love her. Girls like Kassandra…well…not so much.

  “Do you ever talk to him one on one?” I asked.

  “All the time. Mostly in history because we sit by each other, but lately he’s started talking to me after band too,” she mused softly.

  “Ask him what he’s doing on Valentine’s Day,” I pushed.

  “And if he has plans?” Kat asked, her voice rising a bit.

  “If who has plans?” We both jumped an inch or two out of our seats; James somehow snuck up on us. We’d been leaning in and talking so softly (or what we thought was softly) and were both a bit flushed, wondering how much he heard. He looked extra adorable in his faded cargo pants and a brown sweater, “If who has plans?”

  Our cheeks simultaneously deepened in color, and he jumped right in, “Oh, well ladies – if you were going to ask me to accompany you on a da-”

  Kat interrupted him right away, “A date? No James – I was not wondering if you had plans, but thank you for offering us your pity.”

  “Not pity ladies. Not pity at all.” He sat down on the bench next to me, obviously enjoying our chiding exchange. I became acutely aware of his thigh resting against mine. The hair stood up on the back of my neck, and a flock of butterflies took flight within me. I was a bad best friend. Kat was unaware of my growing crush on James, which was in itself a betrayal. She was also unaware of the fact that I believed James had a crush on her. What a fun triangle we were.

  “What about you Amy? You’re awfully quiet this morning,” he said while nudging me and staring me down with his beautiful eyes.

  I looked up at him and smiled. “I’m fine James…just a little tired that’s all.”

  “Well,” he continued, “If you change your mind, let me know. I’m still free for the big night.” He winked at me, stood up, and sauntered off.

  Kat groaned as he walked away, “Well there’s no question who he has a crush on.”

  “A crush?” I questioned, trying to sound doubtful.

  “He asked me last week if you were single or interested in anyone,” she said, raising an eyebrow in an unsaid question.

  Me? He wanted to know if I was single? All these weeks I’d been confused because I couldn’t read his signals; I couldn’t tell if he liked me as more than a friend or Kat. “What did you tell him?” I asked a bit too quickly.

  “Nothing,” she said slowly, “I had no idea if anyone was on your mind right now.” She studied my face carefully. “Why? Do you like him Ames?”

  “I think he’s nice…” I started

  “You DO like him! Amy! Why didn’t you tell me?” She stared at me with her eyebrows raised and her mouth slightly open.

  “Well it’s not like the last month has been all that great with everything that’s happened. So I honestly haven’t thought about it much.”

  Kat looked at me like she didn’t believe me. “Well whatever your reason for keeping it a secret, I think the two of you are cute together, and your personalities would compliment each other well.”

  “Do you think he was serious though?”

  “About being free for the ‘big day’?” Kat verified.

  “Yes, that.”

  “I don’t know why else he would’ve said it. And…”

  “And what?” I asked

  “Never mind,” she said quickly, “I’ll talk to you later. Have a good one!”

  The bell rang, and Kat left me to wonder what exactly she was talking about. It stirred up all kinds of emotions in me that James had asked Kat if I was single; I found myself looking forward to art even more than usual.

  …

  When I walked into the art room, James looked up and smiled. “Hey,” he waved. He was already perched on his stool, a palette in one hand, his brush working the canvas.

  “Hey yourself,” I said keeping my physical distance. We were in the middle of an independent project, and it was driving me crazy. Instead of having the liberty to walk around the room and see one another’s work, we were supposed to head directly to our stools, all of which were placed strategically around the room as to not allow us to see anything that anyone else was working on. The assignment was to paint something based on the theme of light. I’d chosen to paint a photograph of my childhood fishbowl; sunlight streaked through the water, and illuminated my fish’s tail from behind. I was struggling to accurately depict the translucency of the tail, but overall the project was a good challenge. Frequent critique circles usually allowed us to gather feedback during the creation phase of our work, rather than having to wait until the end. The waiting was pushing me artistically, but frustrating me all at the same time. James would have some good insight on how to paint the tail, but I couldn’t ask him. I sighed.

  “How’s it going?” he asked nodding toward my portfolio.

  “It would be going better if I could pick your brain about something,” I admitted.

  “Next week.” He promised with a grin. “Honestly? I could use your help with mine too,” he said.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Yeah, this one is a little challenging for me,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Well…next week,” I echoed with a smile.

  His eyes held mine, and my cheeks turned pink as I walked toward my stool. I could feel him watching me as I set up my canvas and brushes; I glanced over my shoulder and caught his eye again. He grinned before turning back to his work; he didn’t look too apologetic about being caught.

  …

  I plopped into my desk chair after school. “So I think we should keep it casual,” I said, “like plan a group thing so it’s not a big deal if they don’t want to come.”

  “James is going,” she said insistently. “It’s Nolan that’s the unknown.”

  “Says you!” I said, “Either way, I want it to seem like no big deal; I don’t ask boys out.”

  “Correction, you haven’t asked a boy out…yet.” She smirked at me, leaned over and clicked on a link for the local events calendar. We decided to see if the boys wanted to do something on Valentine’s Day and met at my house to figure
out where we wanted to go.

  We hit the jackpot on the county parks web page. The main square downtown was going to have a live band performing at the ice-skating rink, and the park would be lit up with festive red and white lights.

  “Perfect,” Kat exhaled.

  “As long as the weather’s nice,” I said somewhat pessimistically.

  “Perfect regardless; in fact, a little cold weather could mean that we might need to skate extra close to them.” She looked over at me and wiggled her eyebrows up and down. I burst out laughing.

  “So?” I trailed off.

  “So we make it a group thing. And when they say yes – and James will say yes - we will have dates for Valentine’s Day,” she grinned. It sounded good to me, and with a plan in mind we settled down on the floor in my room to spend some much needed time on our homework.

  The week flew after that; we wanted to ask the boys on Friday so that we’d have the weekend to get over it if they said no. Kat rounded up as many interested people as she could. Many of the more long-term couples already had plans, but Kat managed to get six other people interested in going. We were going to carpool in two different cars from Kat’s since she lived more centrally located than me.

  Meanwhile, I was completely preoccupied with trying to finish my fish painting. Our critique circle was also on Valentine’s Day, as if I didn’t have enough anxiety about the day already.

  Chapter Seven

  Think you’re escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home.

  ~ James Joyce

  I left a quick note on the counter for my dad and grabbed the car keys off the hook. It was Thursday afternoon, and I wasn’t quite ready to take on tomorrow’s challenge of asking James to go ice-skating. So I did what usually made me feel better – I headed out to the preserve. It’s a gorgeous little park nestled in the woods on the other side of town. Inside the preserve, a lake surrounded by tall reeds, grasses and an old wooden boardwalk has served as my own personal sanctuary for as long as I can remember. It’s where I always used to go with my mom if either of us was having a rough day; it has been years since we walked there together.

  I couldn’t explain it, what happened between her and dad; their marriage literally appeared to change overnight. One day it seemed that everything was fine and the next she said she was done - that she didn’t love Dad anymore. She told me not to worry: nothing would ever change how she felt about me, I was still her special girl and we would be just fine without my dad. She began to pack up her belongings and tossed a few boxes in my room. When I got home from school, she told me to pack my stuff. I told her I didn’t want to - I didn’t want to leave. And I didn’t – I didn’t want to go to a new school, didn’t want to leave Kat, didn’t want my parents to get divorced. What I didn’t understand was that she was leaving no matter what. I was twelve when she left, just shy of being old enough to realize how much I would miss having a mom in my life.

  She told me I could visit whenever I had breaks from school. But I was twelve! It’s not like I could have driven myself, and Mom never offered to make the six hour round trip. I often found myself wondering if she had a hole in her life like I did. I wondered if she thought about me when the other nurses talked about their kids. Did she wish things were different? I wondered if the space she kept between us was her way of isolating herself from my dad; it was hard for me to say. All I know is that when she moved halfway across the state, she all but disappeared from my life. She has not made it to one parent-teacher conference, art show, or even a birthday party since. She calls once a month and sends sloppily written notes on funny cards a couple times a year, but is otherwise absent. And strangely enough, the times I miss her most are not those pre-planned events; not the art shows or school meetings, but days like today when I need her encouragement and wisdom and a companion for a walk around the lake.

  The last stretch of my drive before arriving at the park proved nerve-wracking. The roads were all ripped up, and there were construction barrels everywhere: an odd sight for winter. Several men leaned over an opening in the concrete where water was spurting up from a water main break. My heart raced as I carefully navigated past the blockades; it didn’t look like there was much room on either side of my car. As I passed a man, I felt a bump under my back tire. My breath caught jaggedly; had I run over his foot?

  I took a deep breath and slammed on my brakes while looking into my rear-view mirror. I readied myself to pull off to the side, apologize, and perhaps fill out a police report. But he just stood there talking to his co-worker by the hole. My eyes scanned back and forth, squinting against the harsh afternoon sunlight. It was hard to see details, but if I’d hit him surely there would be more commotion. Confused, I reasoned that there must have been a piece of loose concrete that rolled up under my tire and that the bump wasn’t his foot after all. I drove forward slowly, taking deep breaths in an attempt to quiet my wildly beating heart.

  The park was practically empty when I arrived. Several cyclists whizzed by in bright yellow jackets, and a few walkers passed with their dogs. I embarked on my usual loop heading to the northwest side of the lake. The lake was actually an old quarry that filled up with water when it was being mined. This was the spot where everyone came to swim in the summer. It was hundreds of feet deep, and I always shuddered when I thought about how cold and dark the quarry must be at the bottom.

  This time of year the park is quiet. My mind wandered back to James; it seemed all but impossible that he had asked Kat about me - that he liked me. I stared at the gray, sun-bleached wood of the boardwalk and shivered when the wind shifted. And just like the wind, my concentration shifted too. It was all over the place, refusing to stay on any one thought long enough to process it. I was still worried about the construction worker. Why? I don’t know. If I really hit him, he would have moved, yelled out, something. But all the same, I worried. The fear grew inside of me like a snowball, growing larger with each rotation of my brain. I tried to convince myself that what I saw in my rear-view mirror proved my innocence, but then I worried that maybe he’d turned to his friend saying, “She ran over my foot!” Maybe he was wincing, but I couldn’t see because his back was turned to me. Part of me figured someone would have waved their arms and tried to stop me from driving away if I’d indeed hit him. They would have hollered, banged on the side of my car, or put out their stop sign. Right?

  The backs of my eyes were burning; I hadn’t meant to pass so close to him. Why hadn’t I gone around the block and taken Blossom Street instead? It was careless to pass so close to someone doing their job. But I’m a good driver…I’ve never hit anything, and when I looked back, I saw that he was fine. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe I’d hit a man and left the scene. My eyes blurred as they filled with tears. I wouldn’t hurt someone, not on purpose; and if I did it accidentally, I wouldn’t leave. The thoughts spun through my mind like a washer on spin cycle. The “Did I hit him? No I didn’t! But what if I did?” dialogue repeated over and over in my mind. It wouldn’t stop no matter how much I tried to reason with myself. The lake, the boardwalk, the trees and the late-afternoon sky all blurred into one gray blob of burning nothingness.

  Upon rounding the final curve of the lake, I convinced myself that worst-case scenario - if I hit him - it would be on the news tonight. If I did hit him, I could call the police and tell them it wasn’t a hit and run, that I must have accidentally done it. That I knew I passed too close, but I didn’t realize I hit him, that I thought I ran over a chunk of concrete. I figured they would have to give me points for honesty or at least not arrest me for a hit and run. I felt ill at the prospect of being arrested, having to testify, maybe losing my license and embarrassing my family.

  I drove home having accomplished nothing I set out to do on the walk. I had no words for talking with James, and on top of it, I was more torn up inside than when I left the house. The park, my oasis, had none of its usual therapeutic effects on me. I parked the car in the drive
way, and heavy with shame and fear, headed inside.

  Dad lifted a giant stock pot off the stove as I entered through the back hallway. He smiled at me and nodded in greeting. “I made my famous chili.”

  I glanced at the clock, and saw that it was five minutes to six. I needed to see the six o-clock news. “Sounds great Dad…I have to watch the beginning of the news though. Can I join you in ten minutes?”

  “It’s hot now Amy. Why do you need to watch the news?” he questioned.

  “Uh, it’s something for school.” I bit the inside of my lip, hating that I’d just lied to my dad. I needed to see if the construction worker was okay. I needed to know that I didn’t do anything wrong.

  “Well I guess I’ll leave it on simmer for a few more minutes. Let me know when you’re ready,” he agreed.

  While I felt bad for lying, the relief of being able to see the news made up for it. “Thanks Dad. It won’t take long.”

  The breaking news was always first, and amazingly enough, there was a story from our suburb. My heart sank as they showed a view from above the water main break and spoke of a fender-bender caused by the icy conditions earlier in the day. I mentally prepared for making the call to admit my mistake. My hands were clenched and clammy as a woman in a suit and a stocking cap finished the report. “It is a cold job,” she said seriously, “but luckily tied up quickly and without further incidence.”

  The newscast jumped to a story about the humane society, and I sat frozen on the couch. Of course if one of the workers had been hurt, it would have been on the news. My heart slowed, and I let out a deep breath as my body relaxed into the couch.