Four
My family and I sat in the second row of our church, the same spot we occupied every week at this time. Most Sundays I was engaged and interested in the readings and the homily, but today was different. Today, Thomas was distracting me. He stood next to Father Luke. The white altar server robe reached to his shins. Pressed khaki pants and black dress shoes were visible beneath it. Those were his mother’s doing; the constantly bouncing leg and unshaven face were his.
I wasn’t sure what the bouncing leg was about. I assumed he must have thought he looked good with a scruffy, unshaven face. Hopefully, his mother would tell him he was wrong. If we were friends, I’d tell him. Since we weren’t, I wouldn’t.
Thomas and I had gone to the same small church, in the same small town, since we were born. Our parents weren’t exactly friends. They got along and occasionally socialized together, so, by many standards he and I had grown up together. After my mom’s death, Thomas and I pretty much only saw each other at church events. That didn’t matter. Even if our families had continued to spend time together, I was sure we’d still be as distant as we were now. He always thought he was better than me, or, maybe not better—more popular. He was. I had few friends as a kid and none now; you don’t get much less popular than that.
I watched as he and Father Luke processed out of the church. Avi immediately left the pew. This was her one chance to eat donuts and run around with other kids. She wasn’t going to waste a second of it. Unlike me, she made friends easily and even though she only saw them once or maybe twice a week, they were always excited to see her. No one was ever excited to see me, except my family.
We left the church, shaking hands with Father as we went. My dad stopped to make small talk with a few of the men and women from the parish council. Lisieux and I went with Gigi, across the worn path, to the tiny building which doubled as a parish center and office for Father Luke and the receptionist, who was also the bookkeeper.
When we opened the door, we spotted Avi surrounded by a group of kids her age, each with sticky hands and mouths. She popped the last bite of a donut into her mouth and quickly grabbed a fresh one before Dad could show up and stop her. Lisieux was called over by two girls; they were twins and functioned as Lisieux’s best and only friends—both as introverted and bookwormy as Lisieux. It was a beautiful friendship. They occasionally spent time at our house and the three of them were hilarious in their lack of interest in typical fourteen-year-old-girl things.
My sisters each had their friend groups. Avi’s, as large as possible: there were nine kids around her now, and Lisieux’s, small and intimate. Both exactly as they wanted them.
It was me who stood out. It was me who always stood out.
Not a lot of people my age attended our parish, and those that did were not particularly nice. There were two girls my age in the room, both staring down at their phones. One of the girls, Beth, had been my friend when we were younger. After I was pulled from town life, she stopped talking to me. It hurt a little, but I understood. I had become the freak who wasn’t allowed to leave her own house. There wasn’t much for us to talk about.
The other girl, Chastity, had arrived with her parents a few years ago. She never showed the slightest interest in me, though I didn’t show any interest in her, either.
“Siena.”
I turned. It was Thomas and his fuzzy face. When was the last time he’d spoken to me? Years, I was sure. “Yes,” I answered.
“How are you?” he asked, standing in front of me.
I didn’t bother to hide the confusion I felt. “I’m doing okay,” I said.
He laughed. “Why do you look that way?”
I took a sip of orange juice. “Because we’ve known each other our entire lives and I don’t think you’ve ever asked me how I was.”
He picked up a Styrofoam cup of coffee from the collapsible table. “To be fair, you’ve never asked me how I was doing,” he said, taking a sip of coffee and playfully raising his eyebrows.
“I’m pretty sure there was a time in third grade,” I answered, vaguely remembering a sad Thomas, and my asking if he was all right.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, “my turtle died and I was crying.”
“I thought it was something like that,” I said. “Do I look like that?” I asked, wondering if I now looked like my turtle had died and that was the reason Thomas was talking to me.
“You’re funny,” he said. “I didn’t realize that.”
I decided not to state the obvious—that he wouldn’t know if I was funny or not because we never spoke.
“No, you don’t look like your turtle died.” He chuckled. “You look good—I mean, you look pretty,” he said, pretending to be bashful, though I knew enough about him to know he wasn’t.
He was popular and confident. He was all the things I wasn’t.
“I noticed you watching me during Mass,” he said.
My face turned red, though not for the reason he probably suspected.
“I was wondering,” he said, “if you’d like to go out to the garden with me.”
“Umm,” I said, not sure how I should respond.
“It’s quieter out there,” Thomas said over the noise of three crying babies.
“Okay,” I said.
I didn’t care about spending time with Thomas, but the parish hall was loud, as it always was after Mass.
“Great,” Thomas said. He extended an arm, offering for me to lead the way.
From the side of the room, Beth and Chastity watched us. Beth smirked. She had dated Thomas last year, for a few months, from what I heard from Gigi, who heard it from other old ladies. It did not go well and Beth was blamed. Thomas was considered the eligible bachelor of the church. He attended Mass most of the time and was often an altar server, something which won him lots of praise from the old women of the church.
Perhaps it was deserved.
Thomas held the door open for me to walk through.
“Thank you,” I said, breathing easier once I was outside.
The parish hall had always felt stuffy to me. If not for the donuts, I’d probably avoid the place altogether.
“Is this good?” Thomas asked, going toward a statue of Jesus surrounded by children.
This was what we called “the garden,” though it was nothing more than five tiny rosebushes which always survived the winter and two concrete benches which had to be replaced every few years because they often didn’t survive the winter.
“Yes,” I said as he took a seat at one end of a bench.
He appeared to be inviting me to sit beside him; instead, I chose the other bench.
He chuckled at my choice. I did not apologize for it.
“So, how’s life?” he asked.
“Fine … and yours?” I asked, completely puzzled by this entire interaction.
“You’re confused,” he said with a hint of amusement.
“No, well, yes,” I confessed. “It’s just … since when did you start talking to me?”
Thomas took a sip of coffee. “I love how blunt you are. I’ve always loved that about you,” he said, his bright blue eyes staring into mine in a way that made me feel uncomfortable.
“Am I blunt?” I asked. I wasn’t sure what I was. I wasn’t around others enough to know how I compared to the rest of the world.
“Yes!” he said. “And beautiful.”
My face flushed hot in the morning sun. People said I was beautiful. I’d never agreed with them, and since most of those people were related to me, their opinions were easy to dismiss.
“Since you already believe I’m blunt … why are you actually talking to me? We’ve known each other since we were babies and we haven’t said more than hello to one another in years,” I said, my arms folded across my stomach. The floral skirt I wore touched the soft green grass at my feet.
His eyes twinkled as joy reached them. “I’m glad we’re here together. I realize now I’ve been missing out. The truth is I noticed you at
Mass today and I saw you differently. You know how when you grow up with someone, you sometimes still see them as they were years ago?”
He paused and I nodded, not necessarily in agreement but in understanding.
“So, I was sitting there and I saw you. The you who you are now, not the you from when we were kids. And I realized I have no idea who you really are.”
He paused and smiled the sort of smile that made my heart race without my consent.
“And if we are being completely honest,”—he leaned forward, his tan arms straight as he held onto the bench—“you are really beautiful. That had something to do with my wanting to talk with you.”
My face felt hot.
Behind me, the doors of the parish hall burst open. I exhaled in relief. Avi was running toward us, being chased by a group of boys and girls her age.
“She’s the life of the party,” Thomas said. He took a sip of coffee and watched the horde of children come closer.
“She definitely is, and she’s very aware of it,” I said.
“There’s no reason she shouldn’t be confident. I bet she’ll grow up to be as beautiful as you,” he said, his eyes on mine as he spoke.
In exuberant exhaustion, Avi fell onto my lap. “Dad says we’re leaving,” she said, panting as the other kids lay on the grass behind us.
“How many donuts did you eat?” I asked as I pulled her sweaty hair back from her flushed face.
“Four,” she said, “but don’t tell Dad. He thinks it’s two.”
“A girl after my own heart,” Thomas said as he winked at Avi.
I stood, lifting her from my lap.
“I’d better get her to the car,” I said as I held Avi’s hand to keep her from running off with the children who were calling to her.
Thomas stepped beside me. “Can I put my number in your phone?” he asked, his soft brown hair falling into his face.
The rest of my family was coming toward us.
“I didn’t bring it with me,” I said.
I rarely used or carried my phone; no one called or texted except my dad or grandmother.
“Oh,” he said, confused and surprised. “That’s good … refreshing, really. So many people are so attached to these things, like they’re an organ or something.”
It was clear he was trying hard to hide his true feelings—he thought I was weird. Bizarre, even.
He pulled his phone from his khakis and handed it to me. “Will you put your number in?”
It took me a moment to remember it. This was the first time anyone had ever asked me to give them my number.
“What are you doing?” Lisieux said, stepping up beside me.
“Giving him my number,” I said while handing the phone back to Thomas.
Dad arrived before Lisieux could make some sort of smart comment.
“How’s school going, Thomas?” Dad asked.
“Going well, Mr. Cameron,” he answered.
“Wonderful, glad to hear it. Let’s go,” Dad said. “Enjoy your day, Thomas.”
“Thank you,” Thomas replied as Gigi joined us and Dad headed to the parking lot.
Gigi gave me her arm, and she and I followed the others.
“I’ll reach out soon,” Thomas called to me.
I turned. “Okay,” I said.
“Reach out about what?” Gigi asked as we neared our Range Rover.
“I’m not sure. He asked for my number, so I guess he might call.”
“I didn’t think you cared for him,” she said.
“I don’t dislike him,” I said. “He’s kind of cute, don’t you think? And he does go to our church.”
“He’s cute, and he knows it,” Gigi said. “I’d prefer you find a boy who is cute and doesn’t know it.”
“Why?” I asked as she opened the passenger door and slid in.
“Because those boys are sweet, kind, humble, and still cute. Thomas, whether he goes to our church or not, is simply cute,” Gigi said, closing the door.
It was a strange thing for her to say. However, it was a strange morning. Nothing about it had gone as expected. I had expected to focus on Mass, not Thomas, and I certainly didn’t expect him to speak to me or ask for my number.
As we pulled out of the parking lot, I watched Chastity and Beth come outside and start talking to Thomas. The three began to laugh. For a moment, I had the feeling they were laughing at me. I was being paranoid. They were laughing and joking; there was nothing wrong with that. Laughter was good. Still, I felt as though I was being left out of something … maybe it was life.
As we drove away, I felt angry and jealous and all the things I hated feeling and usually didn’t feel. For the most part, I was happy with my secluded life. I didn’t miss what I’d never had, but here, in this moment, I saw what I was missing: friendships, and maybe something more.
We turned off the main road and waited for our wrought-iron gate to open. Inside the gate was our driveway, simple asphalt currently buried by the bright autumn leaves. As Dad drove, the leaves rushed from under the car, out to what remained of the late summer grass. Gigi hadn’t mowed in over a month; she hadn’t needed to. It was getting cold. The grass was barely growing and would turn brown soon. Few things about my family were typical, I realized as I thought of my almost eighty-year-old grandmother riding a lawnmower up and down the edges of our mile-long driveway.
The trees were vast and ancient, but even so, our house could be seen above them. This was only partly because it was built on a hill. The size of the house was embarrassing. I wasn’t the only one to call it a castle; everyone in town referred to it the same way. Yet another thing that made us stand out. When I was younger and had friends visit, I sometimes felt embarrassed by all I had. Then I lost my mom, and I no longer had more than them … I had less.
Five
The kitchen was warmer than the garage. The warmth brought me a feeling of peace. I no longer thought of Thomas, Beth, and Chastity laughing as we drove away. However, the sense of missing out remained. There was nothing new about this; I was missing out. Most days, it didn’t bother me. Today happened not to be “most days.”
Gigi’s phone buzzed and she pulled it from her purse. “Samantha needs eggs. Who wants to take her some?”
“Can’t one of them come and get eggs?” Avi said in a shrill voice, her body flopping to the floor. Her arms and legs opened as if she was about to make a wood floor angel.
“Avila, exactly how many donuts did you have?” Dad asked, staring down at her.
Lisieux stepped over her, going to the table where she had left a book.
“Two!” Avi shouted in her blood-sugar-crashing voice.
“She had four,” Lisieux said as she picked up the book.
“Avila, you know better!” Dad said in a stern tone.
“I’ll take the eggs,” I said, grateful for a reason to miss out on this particular moment of family life.
Avi had gotten better as she’d gotten older, but even now, too much sugar caused serious meltdowns. Maybe that was why Lisieux reread Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde so often; it fit our baby sister perfectly. Her drug of choice—sugar.
I went around Avi and, from the counter, grabbed the wire basket filled with eggs.
“You need protein. Eat this,” Dad stated as he attempted to hand Avi a slice of turkey.
“No!” she bellowed.
“Now,” he commanded.
“I’ll be back,” I said as I bolted out the back door.
I lifted my long flowing skirt above the grass with my left hand and carried the wire basket of eggs with the right. I breathed deeply, grateful for the silence and the warm sun against the pale skin of my arms. I loved the heat of the sun. If I ever left Maine, it would be for somewhere hot, with a warm ocean next to beaches scattered with seashells instead of rocks.
Jackson stood and followed me. Birds flew from trees, their movement sending a cascade of autumn leaves floating to the ground. I stopped and watched the leaves’ gently journey
to the earth. I entered the forest and felt the warm, damp air. Even from here, I could smell a hint of salt from the ocean, carried into the forest, and mixing with the scent of fall leaves. It was a fragrance I was sure existed only here, in this place, where forest and sea lived so close together.
The path to the ocean and Blueberry Trail went left, the path to Sam, Jason, and Luca’s house went right. Luca … I had forgotten for a moment he would be there. I didn’t want to see him and I certainly didn’t want to speak to him. If the day was less beautiful or my house less chaotic at the moment, I’d turn around and ask Gigi to have Sam come and pick up the eggs, or at least make Lisieux come with me. But even from here, I heard Avi screaming.
Jackson and I both turned in the direction of my house. He whined.
“If she would just eat the turkey, she’d calm down,” I said, wishing she kept some level of sanity when the sugar left her system.
“We certainly aren’t going back there,” I said to Jackson after a few seconds and another shriek. “We might as well deliver these eggs. Sam’s probably halfway up here already. We may not even make it to their house, and if we do, I doubt we’ll see Luca.”
Jackson wagged his tail as I started down the trail.
When we reached the fork in the trail, he continued on, toward the beach.
I held up the basket of eggs. “We’re delivering eggs,” I told him. “Maybe we can go to the beach later.”
He stood on the beach trail, watching me as if he didn’t believe my words, though, in truth, it wasn’t that he didn’t believe them; he didn’t understand them.
“Come on,” I called as I continued down the path away from the beach.
Jackson hesitated and then sprinted forward, bounding through the trees that divided the paths, hopping out onto the trail in front of me. The beauty of this trail struck me every time I was on it. It was far narrower than the trail to the beach and it wound around trees. It had never been anything more than a foot trail, unlike the trail from our house to the beach, which had once been a dirt road.
Awakening Page 4