Louder Than Words

by Laurie Plissner

  Ben stood behind me, pointing out various landmark buildings, burying his face in my hair, nuzzling my neck. While people around us commented on the biting cold, I felt blissfully warm. The heat between us was more than just figurative.

  “Have you seen enough? It’s time for dinner. You must be starving. I forgot to get you any lunch.”

  I was going to comment on that. Very neglectful. You’ll have to be punished. I leaned back against him, not wanting to let the cold air rush between our bodies.

  “You definitely shouldn’t let me off the hook. I need to be punished. When can we start?” he whispered in my ear.

  Turning me around so I was looking up at him, he kissed me hard, ignoring the fifty or so people milling around us. I loved that he was so uninhibited. Always a jealous witness to other people’s public displays of affection, I much preferred being a participant.

  Ben was no better behaved on the ride down, but I had given up trying to stop him, and decided to enjoy all the attention. Curbside, he hailed a taxi, and minutes later we were standing in front of the maitre d’ at Mario’s, a stereotypically Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village.

  “Good evening. Reservation for two under the name Fisher.”

  “Right this way, sir, miss.”

  It was like being out with a grownup. Ben was so self-assured, so handsome and serious looking in his blue blazer. Any minute I would wake up on the couch at the Shoreland Public Library, having dreamed every enchanting moment I’d spent with this Prince Charming with the magic tongue. The restaurant was dark, with lots of red leather, and tiny votive candles scattered on the tabletops. It screamed romantic interludes, handholding under the table, and lots of Chianti. How did I end up here?

  “I brought you here for a reason. Not just the risotto, which is amazing, but for something else.” Ben gestured to a shiny black baby grand piano in the corner.

  Don’t tell me you’re a lounge singer as well as a mind-reading sprinter.

  “Nope. Continuing the theme of the day, which is music, in case you missed it—the Empire State Building was just a last-minute addition—there’s a guy who sings here on Saturday nights. Standards mostly, lots of show tunes. I hope you like it, even though it’s kind of old-fashioned. I love this stuff.”

  Why doesn’t that surprise me?

  He was probably also a connoisseur of black-and-white movies, drank scotch instead of beer, and did a mean fox-trot.

  “I prefer the waltz, and I don’t really drink, except a little wine. I did live in Italy, after all. My favorite movie is Notorious, which is kind of ancient—1946.” Ben shook his head and took my hand. “You’re making fun of me. Do you think I’m too old for you?”

  I definitely like the vintage manners, so I guess I can put up with you, as long as you don’t fall asleep before dessert. What time do you have to be back at the old-age home?

  We settled on mushroom risotto and veal something. Food was irrelevant. The way I felt, I didn’t care if I ever ate again. Ben ordered for us, in Italian, of course. The waiter turned out to be from Florence, and after a few minutes of conversation, he disappeared, returning with special treats from the kitchen, bowing and saying, “Buon appetito.”

  It was like having dinner with a famous actor or politician. Anyone else would come off as a snob, but Ben was totally sincere and completely unaware of his own specialness. He was naturally suave, and I was under his spell.

  Do you always get treated like a celebrity?

  “I’m a voice from home, that’s all.”

  Sitting back, looking around the room as I munched on calamari, I noticed that we were the youngest people in the restaurant by at least twenty years. It wasn’t that I minded being the only one here who still slept with a retainer, but it made me think. Was I mature enough for Ben? He was perfectly at ease here, with the fine food, the clinking wineglasses, and the seductive light of flickering candles. More accustomed to takeout pizza, diet Coke in a can, and the operating-room glow of Stuart’s eco-friendly kitchen light bulbs, I was feeling way out of my league in the midst of all this urbane sophistication.

  Just then, a man in a tuxedo sat down at the piano and started to play and sing. I had experienced more new things in this one day than I had in all of the last four years. What else did Ben have planned? I couldn’t begin to imagine. Closing my eyes, I let the music wash over me. Life was good.

  “Are you okay? My mother thought I was overdoing it with theater and dinner.” Ben reached across the snowy white tablecloth and took my hand. “Maybe she was right.”

  I love everything about today. After such a long time, I worry I may never talk again, but since I met you, it doesn’t matter so much. I can still be happy, thanks to you.

  Even in the restaurant’s dim light, I could see Ben blanch until he was nearly as white as the tablecloth. “But …”

  Don’t freak out. It’s not like I’ve picked out a china pattern.

  I hadn’t meant to overwhelm him with my appreciation or some implied statement of lifelong dependence, but it wasn’t like I could keep what I was thinking secret from him anyway. The color failed to return to his cheeks. How could I fix my latest blunder?

  I’m not proposing or anything. Chill. For someone who could hear all my thoughts, he wasn’t a very good listener.

  “I just worry that you’ll give up, that’s all.” He took a forkful of tiramisu and fed it to me. “You deserve only good things, and I don’t want you to miss out.”

  Before you came along, the only thing I was missing was a real life. You rescued me that night in the gazebo, and every day since. I know now that I’ll be okay, whatever happens with my voice. Lifting his hand to my lips, I turned it over and gently kissed his palm.

  “I just want you to be happy, to live a full life.” He had suddenly gotten very serious. “That’s the most important thing.”

  Sounds like a toast. I held up my cappuccino cup, trying to lighten the mood. Cheers. And thank you for the most perfect day of my life.

  Chapter 11

  As usual, no one was home. A note on the kitchen table reminded me that tonight was a bar association dinner in the City. Charlotte and Stuart wouldn’t be back until late.

  Dear Sasha,

  Do your homework. Leftover pizza in the fridge. Make

  sure the doors are locked and turn on the alarm before you

  go to bed.

  Love,

  Charlotte

  The only sound was the tick of the mantel clock and the hum of the furnace. I led Ben by the hand into my room and pushed him down onto my bed. Stretching out next to him, I pulled off his sweatshirt, then his T-shirt, kissing the hollow above his collarbone. This was a calculated risk on my part. We had done some kissing, but except for the occasional wandering hand, that was all. It was still hard for me to believe that a guy, especially a normal (except for the mind-reading thing) and incredibly cute guy, could possibly be into me. In the back of my mind, in spite of all his reassurances, I worried that our whole relationship was just an extended pity party, no matter how many sweet nothings he whispered in my ear. I hoped not, but sheer desperation trumped any pride I might have had. He reached up to put his arms around my neck, and I made my move. His heart beat fast under my fingertips as I stroked his chest, moving lower, lightly tickling his stomach, and finally slipping my hand inside his jeans.

  “Stop.” Ben pushed me off and sat up.

  But why? You like it. I put my hand on his bare chest and stared pointedly at the bulge in his pants. You don’t really want me to stop, do you? Let me make you feel good. Was that sexy, or did I sound like a bad actress in an X-rated movie?

  “No, I’m not going to be your fuck buddy when you can’t even speak to me. Or is a blow job some new kind of speech therapy?” He put his fingers around my wrist and moved my hand from his chest to the bed.

  What just happened? Please don’t be mad. You know I would talk if I could.

  “I’m not mad, Sasha.” He sure l
ooked mad, but maybe I just needed to make him understand the reasons behind my apparently ill-conceived attempt at romance.

  It’s just so good to feel something, to feel how warm your skin is, to feel your heart beating under my hand. When I first stopped talking, people tried so hard to help me, to bring me back. But after a while, everyone gave up. And when they stopped talking to me, they stopped touching me. You’re the first person who’s made me feel human, who’s made me feel anything, in such a long time. Can you understand that?

  “I get that part. But going downtown? A simple thank you would’ve been plenty.”

  I’m sorry if that was the wrong thing to do. I thought you liked me like that, not just as friends with a few benefits. I thought you would like me to do those things to you. Shit.

  I had totally screwed things up, as usual. Ben knew how I felt about him, and now I had no idea how he felt about me. Was he really angry, or just shocked? Disgusted? Turned off? This was a very uneven playing field. How could I have so completely miscalculated his reaction?

  We lay silently next to each other for a few minutes. I tried to make my mind go blank. The harder I tried not to think about anything, the more scattered and outrageous my thoughts became. First I thought about literal blank slates, but then I was writing on them, dirty words, which made me think about what I had been about to do. Ben must have thought I was a total slut. And what would Jules’s mother have to say? Fudge, probably. My social development had come to a grinding halt when I stopped speaking, which meant my ability to relate to boys was seriously stunted. So although I wanted to show him how much I cared, I had absolutely no idea how to go about it without coming across as a skank, and an incompetent one at that.

  “I get it. Your boy-girl communication skills haven’t evolved normally. How could they? But you kind of startled me. I do like you in that way. You know that.”

  Gratefully, I nodded and put my hand over his. He didn’t pull away. A good sign.

  “I’m incredibly physically attracted to you. It’s fairly obvious, isn’t it? When I should be doing homework, I’m fantasizing about what you look like naked, and you’re the star in all my wet dreams.” My face turned the color of boiled beets. “Is that better? You always want to know what I’m thinking. Can you handle it?”

  I shrugged.

  “Maybe it’s not so great to know what the other person is thinking all the time.”

  So if you like me that way, then what’s wrong? Relief that I hadn’t burned all my bridges flooded me, but I knew there had to be a big “but.” When we were in the City, you couldn’t stop touching me. What changed in the last few days?

  “About that. I’m really sorry if I led you on. My behavior in the City was over the top, but you looked so good in that little skirt. And it was just an incredibly romantic day. I kind of got carried away.”

  Feeling me up in the elevator of the Empire State Building? Only an idiot would think that actually meant something.

  “I’ve definitely been sending you mixed signals, and that was wrong.” He may have been contrite, but where did that leave me?

  A girl could get ideas. The wrong ones, according to you. This evening wasn’t going at all as I’d planned. Leave it to me to misread all the flashing lights and neon signs.

  “You’re absolutely right. My attraction to you made me stupid, and for that I can’t apologize enough.”

  I accept your apology. Can we move on? I’ll keep my hands and my mouth to myself until you’re ready.

  Now that he had admitted what an asshole he was being, I could afford to be a little sarcastic. All that talk about how ripe I was, when he wasn’t ripe for anything but a bunch of yakking. If I wanted to have a chat, I would call Jules.

  “Moving on is exactly what I’m trying to do.”

  Yay for you.

  “You need to let me finish.”

  Fine. Finish.

  “Even though the physical thing is really important, it’s not enough, at least not for me.”

  But we’re already good friends, and until today, we’d hardly done anything but talk and kiss. You’re my best friend, other than Jules, and that’s only because I’ve known her forever.

  Like a desperate defendant, I argued my case, hoping that if kept talking I would hit on the words that would make him recognize what we had together. My already fragile ego was beginning to crumble, and the tears welled up, ready to spill over.

  “Exactly, we haven’t done much yet—and then just now—talk about zero to sixty in under ten seconds. Trust me, slow is better.”

  We haven’t exactly been moving at the speed of light. I knew—or rather, Jules knew—plenty of kids in our class who hooked up on the first date. By comparison, Ben and I were engaged in something closer to a nineteenth-century Victorian courting ritual. You need to figure out what the hell you want from me, and until you do, you need to keep your goddamn hands off my ass.

  “Sasha, I’m really sorry.”

  Stop saying that. It’s not helping. Why couldn’t he just shut up and kiss me? It wasn’t like I really wanted to go down on him. I was only trying to be thoughtful. Now that I knew what a priss he was, I probably should have bought him a bouquet of daisies instead.

  “Fine. All I want to say is that you don’t need to do stuff like that to hold my interest. How could you think that’s what I wanted from you?”

  Why did the only teenage guy with principles have to be the one lying on my bed? There was something seriously wrong with him, but I still wanted to win him over. In total panic, I vomited all the words I had left, hoping the sheer force of my explanation would be enough.

  I’m really sorry. You’re right, I definitely overstepped, but I’m sure I can figure this out. Just give me a little time. This relationship stuff is totally new for me, and you make me feel like I’m going to die if you don’t touch me. I’ve never felt like that before. I moved too fast. I get it. But you know it’s not just your body I’m interested in, don’t you?

  The whole thing was really kind of funny if you thought about it. The guy was telling the girl to put on the brakes, tuck it back in, keep her hands to herself. But laughing was the last thing I felt like doing.

  “I understand what you were trying to do, but getting the order of the bases right isn’t the real problem. You’re buried under a mountain of issues, and until you dig yourself out from under them, it wouldn’t be fair to distract you from that.”

  You don’t distract me. In fact, you help me stay focused. Even I was getting nauseated by my puppy-like fawning.

  “In the last few weeks, you’ve clearly discovered sex—congratulations—and I’ve enjoyed being a part of it, more than you’ll ever know. Now you need to discover how that fits in with the rest of you. And most important, you need to rediscover your voice.” He rested his index finger on my lips.

  You’ve been leading me on with all your meaningful glances and good manners and that thing you do with your tongue. Trust me, it’s your fault.

  “I agree with you. It’s totally my fault. But that doesn’t change our situation.” If I was a puppy looking for a belly rub, he was a dog with a bone. Enough already.

  So now you want to be my shrink? Rediscover my voice? What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing for the last four years? Playing solitaire?

  Where did all his psychobabble come from? He had obviously changed his mind about me, about us, but what had triggered it? It had to be what I said in the restaurant—I scared him away with all my sloppy gratitude. But he wasn’t perfect either. What kind of guy panics when a girl tries to stick her hand in his pants? Most guys would say a quick prayer of thanks and get naked, but instead I was trying to justify my actions to a purity ring salesman.

  Ben kept going. It was like he had this speech in his pocket, and he was going to deliver it, no matter what. “Because of my special ability, you’re allowed the illusion of normalcy when we’re together, but there’s nothing normal about it. It would be selfish of me
to stay with you now—in the long run you would suffer. You deserve to have a regular life. You deserve to laugh out loud at the movies, whisper ‘I love you’ at just the right moment, say ‘I do’ at your wedding, and sing lullabies to your babies. You shouldn’t go through life without a soundtrack.”

  Now you’ve turned into a fucking greeting card commercial. Weddings? Babies? I’m seventeen years old, and yes, I’m seriously screwed up, but don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth. That wasn’t true, but the fact that his tongue was flapping instead of dancing with mine was pissing me off.You’re being a fucking jerk.

  “You’re so beautiful, and the fact that you’re kind of damaged and vulnerable makes me want to take care of you—just make it all better, right now. But you’ll never get better if you quit trying because I’m easy for you to be with.”

  Every word he said after “beautiful” was just noise. No one had ever felt that way about me, and if he walked out the door, no one might ever feel that way again. He was slipping through my fingers, like sand at the beach, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Throughout our argument we had remained only inches apart on my bed. Now he leaned over me, his face hovering so close to mine that his features were a blur.

  You just told me to stop the heavy breathing, and now you’re going to kiss me? You’re more messed up than I am.

  But whatever he was doing, I liked it. Ten seconds ago I was ready to punch him in the nose, and now … maybe he wanted me as much as I wanted him, and he couldn’t control himself. That sounded ridiculous even to me, but a girl could hope. I reached up to wrap my arms around him, pull him down on top of me, but he grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head. This was playing out way better than any script I could’ve written. Now that he’d vented, we could get back to business.