by John Cariani
The door suddenly opened, interrupting Dave. And Rhonda moved into the doorframe and said quietly, sternly, “Then you shoulda just told me. How you felt.” Rhonda stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door behind her. And Dave backed away from her as she did, because he didn’t know what to make of her mood. Rhonda took a deep breath and thought and then looked Dave square in the eye and said in all seriousness, “’Cause you can’t just do what you just did, you know.” The reprimand came from somewhere deep inside Rhonda. And it froze Dave. Because the good guy had done something that wasn’t so good. “You can’t do that, Dave,” added Rhonda.
“I know,” said Dave simply. And that strange lightness he had been feeling disappeared again, and was replaced once more by the heaviness that made him feel like he had a boat anchor inside him. “I’m sorry. I just thought that you liked me the way I like you. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He was trying to defend himself—even though what he did wasn’t defensible.
“Doesn’t matter what you meant,” said Rhonda.
Dave realized that Rhonda was right. It didn’t matter what he had meant. The fact was, he had done her wrong. And he needed to make it right. But he couldn’t figure out what to say or do to make it right. So he just said, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I really am. I just—really like you. And if you don’t, well…” Dave didn’t finish his sentence, because there was nothing more to say. And so, he started to go. Because—what else could he do.
Rhonda watched Dave as he headed toward the door. And she felt a strange lightness start to grow inside her. It made her feel like she had fireflies dancing around in her stomach, lighting her up from the inside. And it seemed to make her heart swell. And it filled her with courage. And it seemed to commandeer her body and force her to blurt out, “I do,” just as Dave reached the door.
Dave stopped. And turned to Rhonda and asked, “Huh?”
“I do. Like you. The way you like me.”
“You do?” Dave felt that strange lightness fill up his insides again.
“Yeah,” said Rhonda, looking at the floor.
And Dave started nodding. And then muttered, “Well, all right, then.” And he looked at the floor, too.
And then he looked at Rhonda. Who was still looking at the floor. And he asked, “Um … so … do you … wanna … be together? Or go out? Or somethin’?”
Rhonda looked at Dave. And looked him over. And considered him. And the question. And then looked at the floor again and said, “I guess,” as nonchalantly as she could—even though she was feeling anything but nonchalant about being together or going out with Dave.
“Well, all right, then!” Dave repeated. And then he just stood there smiling goofily and nodding his head up and down, waiting for Rhonda to make the next move.
But Rhonda wasn’t moving.
She was standing stock still—looking at the floor still.
“So … um…” Dave ducked down and tried to move his face into Rhonda’s field of vision. “Can—can I—um … I would like … to kiss you, if that’s okay.”
Rhonda didn’t respond.
“Rhonda?” asked Dave.
Rhonda shook her head back and forth and continued to look at the floor and said, “It’s not. Okay.”
“Oh. Okay.” Dave was crushed. And that strange lightness he was feeling was replaced by the strange heaviness again.
And he knew he needed to respect Rhonda’s wishes. So he did so—the only way he knew how: He started to go. Again.
As he did, Rhonda said, “’Cause I don’t know how.”
Dave stopped and turned to Rhonda. “Huh?”
“I don’t know how … to do what you just said you would like to do. I’ve never done it before.”
Dave looked blankly at Rhonda. “What do you mean?”
Rhonda shrugged and said, “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
“What?” Dave was stupefied. Because what Rhonda had just said couldn’t have been true. “No way!” he squawked.
“Yeah way. Never happened in high school. And then never happened at college.” (Rhonda had gone to Northern Maine Community College and majored in precision machining technology.) “And then I started workin’, and I got busy … And, I mean … I won arm wrestling at the Maine Potato Blossom Festival two of the past three years.”
Dave was just about to ask Rhonda what any of this had to do with her never having kissed anyone before when Rhonda said, “And I work in oriented strand board.” (Rhonda was a supervisor at Bushey’s Lumber and Engineered Wood Products.)
Dave didn’t understand what Rhonda working in oriented strand board had to do with her not having kissed anyone before either, so he said, “Yeah, so?”
“Dave, come on. Look at me.”
“I’m lookin’ at ya.” And Dave liked what he saw. “And … you know,” he continued, “I think you’d be surprised how many guys think you look … really good. I mean … I do.”
Rhonda winced.
And then Dave realized something.
And he looked at Rhonda.
And thought about what else Rhonda may never have done if she had never kissed anybody. “Wait—So you’ve never…?”
“No,” said Rhonda flatly before Dave could complete his very personal question. “Not that it’s any of your business,” added Rhonda brusquely.
Dave felt bad for pressing the issue and was about to apologize when Rhonda continued, “And—I’m not really sad about it, you know. I’m happy bein’ just me. I don’t need to be with someone to be happy, you know.”
“Oh, I’m not sayin’ you’re not happy,” said Dave. “You’re the happiest person I know.”
“Yeah well … maybe I could be happier,” said Rhonda, looking at the floor again, “if I was with someone like you.”
Dave’s heart swelled and the lightness filled up his insides again. “Yeah?” he asked, beaming.
“Yeah. I think … that’s somethin’ I’d be good with.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, all right, then,” said Dave. And that strange lightness continued to fill up his insides. And it made him feel like he might burst—or like he was about to launch into space like a rocket ship. “So…” Dave was about to ask Rhonda again if he could kiss her, but wondered if maybe she wanted to be the one to initiate the kiss, and he asked, “Do you wanna try kissin’ me?”
“I don’t,” said Rhonda quickly, quashing Dave’s hopes.
“Okay,” said Dave, genuinely accepting her answer, but still feeling that strange lightness.
And then Rhonda added, “I wanna do this.” Rhonda pointed to the painting—which Dave had forgotten he was holding.
And had forgotten he had given her.
“Okay,” said Dave, and he accommodated Rhonda by turning the painting around so she could hopefully see what he had painted for her. And, as he did, that strange lightness continued to grow inside him. And Rhonda felt it grow inside her again, too. This time it made her feel like she had even more fireflies dancing around inside her. And she felt bright—and light as air. And she started moving closer to the painting. And she wanted to know so badly what it was that Dave had painted for her. And so she started guessing again, and asked “Is it raspberries?”
“Nope.”
“Apples?” Rhonda kept coming closer to the painting.
“Nope.”
“A big open-faced strawberry rhubarb pie?”
“Nope.”
Rhonda suddenly took the painting from Dave and looked at it. And then she looked at Dave and grabbed him and kissed him hard, letting the painting drop as she did. And it landed on the floor faceup. And Dave worried about it getting damaged for a split second but then realized he didn’t care about the painting at all anymore, and he kissed Rhonda back.
And Rhonda pulled away from Dave for a second, gasping a little as she did.
And all the hearts and all the veins and all the arteries that were on the porch were poundin
g.
“Are you okay?” asked Dave, checking in with Rhonda.
“Shh,” said Rhonda, not wanting to talk. And she grabbed Dave and kissed him again, hard and fast.
And then she pulled away again, her breathing labored.
“You sure you’re okay?” asked Dave.
“Yeah,” wheezed Rhonda, trying to catch her breath. But she couldn’t. So she closed her eyes and bent over and pressed her hands against her knees and tried to regulate her inhalations and exhalations.
“Hey, easy,” said Dave, rubbing Rhonda’s back.
And then Rhonda opened her eyes—and realized that she was standing directly over the painting, and she gasped again.
“What’s wrong?”
And Rhonda crumpled to the floor and picked up the painting as she did and cried, “I see it!”
Dave joined her on the floor and asked eagerly, “Yeah?”
“Yeah!” Rhonda inhaled sharply again, overwhelmed, and said, “It’s a hhh…” The hhh sound she was making turned into laughter. Because she didn’t have to say what Dave had painted for her, because Dave knew what he had painted for her. And what he had painted for her—was beautiful.
As beautiful, even, as the northern lights that were hovering in the sky above at that moment.
“I see it!” Rhonda said, her breathing starting to normalize.
“It’s nice,” she said, looking at Dave. “It’s really nice.”
“Thanks.” Dave felt all hot. And light.
“It’s good!” Rhonda said, looking at the painting. And then she looked at Dave and said, “You’re good at this!”
“Yeah, well, you are good at this.” And Dave kissed Rhonda again, the painting getting squished between their bodies as he did.
And Rhonda pulled away from Dave and confessed, “I thought it’d be … complicated—or hard to figure out how to do or somethin’.” And then she kissed Dave again. And the painting got squished between their bodies again. And then she pulled away again and said, “But it’s not.”
“Nope,” confirmed Dave, smiling goofily.
Rhonda kissed Dave again. And then she got up and rushed over to the old telephone bench by the door that led inside and carefully set the painting down on it. And then she turned to Dave and started hopping up and down, because she didn’t know what to do with all the extra energy that was coursing through her body, and said, “And I feel like I wanna keep kissing you—for a long time, but I also feel like I wanna do something else, next.” And then she suddenly stopped hopping and stood still and faced Dave and asked, “But I don’t know what that is.”
Dave got up off the floor and raised his right hand as if he were taking an oath or letting a teacher know that he knew the answer to a question and said, “I do.” And then he slowly approached Rhonda. And reached out and took the zipper to her partially unzipped purple, red, and gray Polaris snowmobile jacket. And unzipped it. And then helped her take it off.
And then he unzipped his black, neon green, and white Arctic Cat jacket and took it off.
Rhonda and Dave stared at each other, hearts racing and their breathing audible.
And then Dave undid the Velcro on the not-quite-snowmobile-but-close-enough boots he got at Walmart in Presque Isle and pulled the left one off, tumbling onto the floor as he did. While he was down there, he pulled the right one off, too.
Rhonda laughed when Dave fell. And then followed his lead and started undoing the Velcro—and then the laces—of her black and gun-metal gray Polaris snowmobile boots. And then she tried to pull her left boot off, hopping all around and struggling to stay upright as she did. And she eventually tumbled onto the floor as she finally freed her foot from the boot’s stiff, waterproof confines.
And Dave was there to help her finish pulling her right boot off.
They laughed and then got back up on their feet, eyes locked, their hearts still racing and their breathing still audible.
And Rhonda waited for Dave to show her what was next.
And Dave did.
He unbuttoned and unzipped his black ski pants that worked well enough as snowmobile pants and started peeling them off.
And Rhonda did the same thing. Except her pants were actual snowmobile pants—Polaris brand—and they were gun-metal gray.
Their pants swished and swooshed as they peeled them off, and when they kicked their feet out of them, they stood facing one another again, hearts racing, breathing audible.
And then Dave unbuttoned his Scotch plaid chamois shirt.
And Rhonda stripped off her green NMCC Falcons sweatshirt.
Then Dave whipped off his Boston Red Sox long-sleeve T-shirt.
And Rhonda whipped off her “I’m a trout’s worst nightmare” T-shirt.
And then Dave unbuttoned his Wrangler jeans and peeled them off.
And revealed some cream-colored cotton long johns.
And Rhonda peeled off her Lee jeans.
And revealed some sky blue wool long johns that her mom had gotten her for Christmas.
And Dave and Rhonda stood facing one another.
And then they laughed.
And then Dave suddenly got a little self-conscious about what he looked like. He wondered if Rhonda would think he looked okay without many clothes on. He was a little doughy and tried to hold his belly in.
But there was a little too much of it to hold in.
But Rhonda didn’t seem repulsed by it. Or him.
So he stopped worrying about what he looked like and instead looked at how beautiful Rhonda was in her long johns.
Rhonda liked how Dave was looking at her. It made her feel beautiful. And she didn’t usually feel beautiful. But on the night when all the extraordinary things did or didn’t happen, she did. Because of Dave.
Rhonda looked at Dave the way he was looking at her. And Dave liked the way she was looking at him and asked, “So … do you wanna know what comes … next?”
“Yeah,” said Rhonda, nodding.
“Well, why don’t we go inside. And I’ll show you.”
“All right.” Rhonda walked past Dave and said, “Well, then why don’t you go on inside and show me what’s next!” And she opened the door and showed Dave the way.
“All right!” yowled Dave and the lightness he had been feeling expanded inside him even more and made him feel brighter and lighter than he had ever felt, and he pushed open the door to the rest of Rhonda’s house and bolted inside.
Rhonda heard something crash.
And she heard Dave whimper.
“Light switch on the right as you enter!”
“Thanks!”
The lights in the living area and kitchen of Rhonda’s house went on.
And she looked down at the old telephone bench by the door—and at the painting Dave had given her.
And she was glad she had finally been able to decipher the image.
It was a heart.
An anatomically correct heart. That looked like little blocks of red and purple and blue and gray and black when you looked at it one way—but like a human heart when you looked at it another.
Rhonda gazed at the painting. And really couldn’t believe how good it was.
And Dave wondered why Rhonda hadn’t joined him inside yet and yelled, “Hey, Rhonda! Let’s go!”
But Rhonda didn’t move.
And after a while Dave called to her again. “Rhonda!”
And Rhonda went toward the door to go inside.
And then stopped.
And Dave came back out onto the porch and asked, “What’s up?”
“Um…” Rhonda went to the old telephone bench and picked up the painting and stared at it—and seemed unsettled.
“You okay?” asked Dave.
“I’m just … I really like this,” Rhonda said, indicating the painting.
“Good.”
“And I really like you.”
“Good! I really like you, too!”
“And I really like kissing you.”
<
br /> “Good! I really like kissin’ you, too!”
“But…”
Dave’s heart started to sink, and he waited to hear what the “but” was.
But Rhonda wasn’t saying what the “but” was.
So Dave asked, “But what?”
Rhonda looked scared and sad, and Dave couldn’t figure out why. “I—I just,” stammered Rhonda. “I just don’t know if I’m ready for what comes … next.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s okay,” Dave said accommodatingly.
“Is it?”
“Yeah,” assured Dave.
“Really?” asked Rhonda.
“Yeah.”
And Rhonda was glad Dave had told her it was okay.
And she looked at the painting again. And said, “Um … would it be okay if … we just look at this for a while? ’Cause I just … wanna look at it for a while.”
“Yeah. Sure,” said Dave.
“’Cause it’s really good.”
“Thanks.”
And Rhonda sat on the old telephone bench. And looked at the painting. And loved it.
And Dave joined her on the bench.
And looked at the painting with her. For a while.
And then Rhonda said, “You’re a good guy, Dave.”
“You’re better,” said Dave.
“True,” admitted Rhonda.
And they laughed. Because Rhonda was joking. But they both knew it was no joke that Rhonda was the better person.
And then Rhonda shivered a little. Because her porch wasn’t fully winterized. It had screens instead of windows. But it wasn’t heated. So it was cold. Maybe not nineteen degrees, like it was outside. Maybe more like twenty-seven, thanks to the ambient heat from the house. Which is cold when you’re only wearing long johns.
Dave grabbed his jacket from off the floor and put it around Rhonda to warm her up. And Rhonda smiled—even though Dave had just draped an Arctic Cat jacket around her.
And she felt the lightness fill her insides again. It made her feel like she had even more fireflies inside her. And like she might levitate.