Every Rose

by Halat, Lynetta

  “Really?! How interesting. I’ve never even heard you cuss. Well, not anything major anyway,” he amends. “It must’ve been bad.”

  My behind stings with the memory of just how bad it was. “Yeah, I was feeling pretty good when I told her off in the letter for talking about me behind my back. She was spreading rumors about me making out with some boy I barely know, and it really pissed me off. I decided to, very authoritatively,” I stress the word he taught me when he curtailed the girls’ gang from killing me, “cuss her out in writing, but I signed my stupid name to it. She promptly handed it over to a teacher.”

  I have to sit there for a good couple of minutes listening to his laughter. Finally, I crack and am laughing too. What an idiot, I think.

  “What an idiot,” he says aloud and elicits another round of laughter from me. I proceed to tell him how I drafted the very angry, threatening letter filled with every curse word I’d ever heard. I tell him I even took pride in my excellent penmanship and elegant signature. He admonishes me for my lack of civility and tells me that kind of stuff will ruin my reputation not only with the students but also with the teachers and administrators. Great, disappointment. As if I didn’t feel bad enough.

  “Anyway, what’s been going on with you?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “You haven’t been the only one in trouble. My dad and I got into a fistfight a few days back. I’m pretty sure he loosened a molar. My mom left for a couple of days and threatened to make it permanent if he ever hit me like that again. I feel so bad for her. She’s had a miserable life being married to a drunk and raising a black sheep.”

  “You’re not a black sheep!” I protest vehemently. “I know all about black sheep. Remember who my dad is. I can’t even look people in the eye when I say my own last name for fear they will know which Dabney my dad is. There’s no telling who all he’s screwed or screwed over around here. You’re NOTHING like that!”

  There’s a pause. I wonder if we got cut off for a minute. He finally replies tersely, “Thanks for that.”

  “You’re welcome; but I mean it, Michael. I hate it when you put yourself down. You’re a good person, Michael. The best actually. And, I…Anyways, what did you do or not do?” Did I really almost tell him I love him? That would have been a huge mistake. It’s true. I love him, but I love him as a friend; and he wouldn’t get the distinction.

  “Well, it seems that I will reprise my role as a student at the illustrious Harrisonville Central Ninth Grade School next year.” Stuck at that awful school another year, ugh!

  “Oh no,” I gasp. “Why? You’re so smart.” I offer the compliment unthinkingly.

  “My intelligence is not in question here.”

  “So, what’s the deal? Miss too many days?”

  “I failed on purpose.”

  “Umm…Why exactly would you do that? I’ve heard it’s not the best of environments.” I don’t believe him. No sane person would do that. Why doesn’t he want me to know the real reason?

  He releases a long pent up breath like he’s about to make a confession. “It’s pretty simple. You’ll be at the ninth grade next year.”

  Oh, shit. My gut twists. Like I thought, no sane person. “Are you friggin’ kidding me?!” I yell.

  “Nope. It’ll be fun don’t you think?” He asks, warming to the subject.

  “Michael, that’s just crazy. You lost a whole year of school just to hang out with some girl?”

  “Yes and no. Lost a whole year. Not just some girl,” he replies glibly.

  “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

  “There’s nothing to say. I am gonna drop out when I turn sixteen anyway and start working. I might as well spend my last year with you.”

  “Oh, well, now that you put it that way it just makes perfect sense,” I spit scornfully.

  I’d almost told him I loved him in that conversation, but I knew he would take it the wrong way and get his hopes up. Having him at the ninth grade was great, though. I’d had an awful summer. That was the summer my dad really lost it, and my parents divorced. We moved into town, but he was there for me like no one had ever been before or since. He managed to get three classes with me and secure the locker right next to mine. Almost on a daily basis I would find a note, a poem, a drawing, a song stuffed in my locker. I threw it all away. It made me crazy. Why couldn’t he just accept our friendship? I treasured our friendship, and he was one of the most important people in my life. However, I could only take so much of his incessant pushing and shoving. Then again, sometimes his meddling was very much welcomed.

  I’m at my new house that I love. My old house was a perpetual construction zone. Alcohol and partying came before lumber and nails. We have actual walls and floors throughout. It’s even close to civilization. At times, I’m glad that my dad torched it all. I hear the doorbell, which also takes some getting used to. No one who would have been required to ring the doorbell, if we’d had one, ever came to my old house. I run to the door to prevent my little brothers from getting to it before me. I throw it open in my haste, not even checking the peephole, which I can never seem to remember exists.

  “Hi,” he says on a smile.

  “What are you doing here?” I grab him and hug him, taking us both by surprise. “I missed you, Michael.”

  “I missed you too, Lorraina. I have good news.” He hesitates a moment and squeezes me back and drops his face into my hair. I can feel him breathing me in. My eyes widen, and I suddenly feel as if his is a crushing weight. I pull back quickly.

  I step out onto the porch, closing the door behind me. “Really? What’s the good news?” My voice sounds scratchy to my ears. I try to clear it.

  He pinches at something in my hair, and I watch as he flicks the almost invisible fuzz away. “I moved in with my brother.”

  “What brother? Where? Do you have to change schools?” Why would this be good news? I had no idea he even had a brother. In the whole year we’ve been friends, he has never mentioned a brother.

  “No, I’m still going to the ninth grade. He lives two streets over. He’s my half brother. We have the same mom.”

  “Two streets over from what?”

  “From you,” he pronounces carefully as if I’m the slowest person on the planet.

  “Nuh uh!” This is very good news. I fling myself at him again and give him a quick hug, releasing him before he can wrap his arms around me.

  “Yep. You’re glad?” he asks incredulously.

  “Absolutely. You’re my best friend.”

  He groans at my proclamation, “Usually, when I manipulate situations to be closer to you, you get pissed. You’re really not pissed?”

  “No, this time I’m not pissed. I’m happy.”

  And I really was. Having him near was amazing. We rode bikes together. We walked the neighborhood. We rode the same bus again. My mom didn’t know about my dad’s feelings towards Michael, so he was even allowed over to hang out. He was so good to my brothers that my mother trusted him implicitly. It was like she knew that Michael would protect me from everything and everyone. He always had. He would never hurt me. Why couldn’t I see that then? I was so blind. At least I know I was not completely impervious to him, though.

  Chapter Eight

  One and Only

  “Do you really have to go? Can’t you ask your mom for more time?” I’d been over at his house playing Mario Brothers for a couple of hours. He was pretty impressed with my video game prowess. I had two younger brothers. I couldn’t let them beat me—ever. I had to be good at it, I told him.

  “My mom’s blown the horn twice. Yeah, I better go so that she doesn’t come storming in here.” I stand up to leave and reach down for my bag. When I straighten back up, he’s standing in front of the now closed door with his arms spread, effectively blocking my exit. “What are you doing?” I laugh nervously.

  “You can’t leave until you give me a kiss,” he demands.

  I roll my eyes toward the ceiling. “Mich
ael, there is absolutely no way that I am going to kiss you,” I respond scathingly.

  “Lorraina, I don’t ask you for much. I’m asking for one kiss so that you will prove to yourself, once and for all, that you have feelings for me. It’s time for a shove.”

  I have tears in my eyes. I just don’t get why our friendship is not enough for him. He always tries to mess everything up. If I kiss him, it will be awkward. He will see that, feel that. Then, we won’t be able to be friends anymore. I tell him of my musings.

  He offers me a challenge. “It will be anything but awkward. You will feel. And we will act like nothing ever happened until you decide otherwise. I promise.”

  Maybe if he sees that I don’t have these allegedly hidden feelings, he will back off. I move towards him. Am I really going to do this? “Don’t touch me,” I tell him. He barely nods. I recognize the look he gives me. It’s the same look I give a skittish horse that I’m trying to coax. “Don’t open your mouth,” I insist. This elicits a little laugh from him. He quickly squelches it and takes a deep breath before closing his mouth.

  I’m standing directly in front of him now, looking into his deep brown eyes. They twinkle with what seems like anticipation. The whites around his eyes are a gray-blue. Interesting. He’s interesting. I notice how long and thick his dark eyelashes are. Pretty. He’s pretty.

  I close my eyes and lay my hands on his chest. This little move feels very intimate. I lean in. I feel my lips touch his for the briefest of moments. His lips are so soft and full. I move my lips over his for a moment, relishing the feeling of—I pull back quickly. His eyes are closed. His arms have dropped to his side. He looks so serene that it freaks me out. I grab the door handle and swing the door open, ducking under his now extended arm. He deftly avoids getting hit by the door.

  I move quickly towards the front of the house, looking back over my shoulder to see if he pursues me. He’s still standing in the bedroom. His back is towards me. I stop and watch as he runs his hands through his hair. He wavers on his feet. He turns slightly, leaning on the door. His back slides down the door until he is on his knees. His head falls forward as he expels his breath.

  I take a shaky breath and continue to my mom’s car. I buckle up, feeling like the most powerful woman on earth. A secret smile escapes me. I brought him to his knees with my kiss? How? What will this mean for our friendship? Do I want more with him? I’d kissed other boys before, but that kiss felt different from any other. I liked it. I touch my lips with my fingertips. They felt tender and overly warm. If he asked me to be his girlfriend now, I don’t think there is anyway I could deny him. He would be able to see right through me. I feel as though our kiss has branded me.

  As always, Michael was true to his word. Weeks went by, and he never mentioned our kiss, acted like it never happened. What was I supposed to do with that? Did he not feel what I felt? Did he finally realize that I wasn’t all he’d made me up to be? I couldn’t bring it up. I was too embarrassed.

  As I journal about our one and only very chaste kiss, I reread the entry. My eyes linger on his words. “And we will act like nothing ever happened until you decide otherwise. I promise.”

  “Oh,” I say aloud and feel like a veil had finally been lifted to reveal the true nature of what had transpired between us. True to his word, he had been waiting for me to make a move. He promised me that he would never bring it up. I had to be the one, and I was too much of a coward. I was always such a coward when it came to him. His intensity scared me. I was also afraid that I would never be able to live up to the ideal person he had built me up to be.

  All of those fears caused me to lose seven years with him. After that kiss, we only hung out a handful of times before he dropped out of school; and he would only reappear in my life sporadically over those next few years. I think about my one failed relationship since then and all of the heartache that one person had brought me. I think about how often I felt so lonely and desolate and how I’d actually always had true, unconditional love staring me in the face. I had been more loved and cherished than probably any other person had ever been. Instead of wrapping myself in all of this and reveling in those feelings, I had taken his love and acceptance and affection, balled them up with both hands, and tossed them aside as I had all of declarations. I’d been such a fool. Resolute, I vow I will remedy that.

  Chapter Nine

  When Push Comes to Shove

  I glance at my watch. He would be here soon. I’m giddy with anticipation yet fraught with nerves. I pick up my book, flip to my bookmark, and dive into the story. It’s like a pool without any water. I land smack dab on the concrete. It is dry and without feeling. I throw my head back on the little love seat and smile. I can only think of him and our past and what may lie ahead. Our far too brief time together seems so very precious at this moment. I allow myself to indulge in another memory and reach for my journal.

  “Did you hear what he was suspended for this time?” Sheryl asks me.

  “Er…No.” I answer hesitantly. Do I want to know?

  “Smoking in the boys room,” she singsongs.

  I chuckle. “I’m not surprised. I think he wants to get thrown out of school. He hates it. It kills me, though, because he is so freakin’ smart. He could do well if he wanted to, and I have to work my butt off for my A’s.” My frustration with him shines through.

  “Yeah, it’s not fair. He has that bad boy thing down to a fine art, doesn’t he? He’s troubled and untouchable but gorgeous and talented.”

  “You think he’s gorgeous?” I ask incredulously.

  “Um…Yeah, all the girls do! They just won’t admit it because of his reputation. Pretty much everyone adores him.”

  “I thought they were fascinated with him because of his reckless nature and behavior.”

  “Well, that too.” She waves her hand around in the air. “It’s all a part of his bad boy persona.”

  Oh, am I the only one oblivious to his looks then? I never really paid that much attention to them. I mean, I didn’t think he was hideous or anything. He was just Michael. Flawed but good. Off limits to me but the most grounding force in my life. I was pretty sure that he had once again forgotten his obsession with me as we currently in a good, friendly place—emphasis on the friendly.

  “He is pretty cute,” I admit. “But he is more than just that. I wish everyone could see that. I mean, he’s kind and thoughtful and sincere.” I look over her with a startled look on my face. Did I just say all that aloud?

  I flush, embarrassed by my admission. She gives me a strange look. She is used to me shutting down on the subject of Michael. I’m usually too irritated by his antics to discuss him.

  ………………………………………………………

  That night, I went to the baseball field for practice. I was pitching for our mock scrimmage—first string vs. second string. I, of course, was second string. I saw Michael climbing into the bleachers. He sat down and started talking to one of the other girl’s boyfriend. I had pitched a no-hitter up until this point, trying desperately to be noticed by our coach and be declared a starter. I was sick of warming the bench for the first few innings. Michael and I make eye contact. I grin and try to refocus on the situation at hand. I pull it in with a deep breath, bring my arm back, and release. It’s a pretty pitch, I think. Straight down the middle, but is it too fast to be hit? My answer is the crack of the bat as it slams into the ball. Shit! I watch in horror as it soars over the entire field, dropping flawlessly behind the fence. Home run. Shit! Shit! Shit! I glance over at coach and he’s nodding his head as if to say, “Yep, I knew it. You’re not ready.” I guess those four perfect innings were effectively wiped from his memory with my one screw up.

  I refocus and finish the inning without another incident. After our end-of-game pep talk/gripe session, the girls and I meet Michael and the other boys in the bleachers to watch the next game. He has a handful of bubble gum and a Coke for me. That was the least he could do since he’
d ruined my perfect game! I tell him so. He laughs at me.

  “I can’t help it if you find me distracting,” he mocks. He suddenly finds his fingernails very interesting. I notice he is chewing on his bottom lip.

  “You’re acting funny. What it is?” I ask as I blow a bubble. Sudden fear cripples my movements. Did Sheryl tell him about conversation on the bus that afternoon? Oh, crap. Yes, I’m willing to admit to myself that I think he’s great and has potential. No, I’m not willing for him to know that anytime soon. I’m just not ready for the all-consuming force that is Michael, and I know this.

  He puts his finger through my bubble, popping it, takes a steadying breath, and grabs my hand. Oh, this is not good. “I have something to show you actually.”

  “What?” I demand.

  “Well, I don’t want to show you here. Can we go over to the playground? There’s hardly anyone over there.”

  We make our way to the playground. I’m sweating bullets by this point. What is it that he wants to show me? Is he going to try to kiss me? I’m covered in red clay from sliding. I know I probably smell bad since I’ve been sweating for the last two hours. I have a huge wad of gum in my mouth. Oh, and I have my baseball cap on. Can’t take that off—hat hair. Please, please, please don’t try to kiss me, I will him. These are not ideal conditions for my first kiss.

  He leads me to the backside of the playground and hops on a swing. He proceeds to show me how high he can go. The metal starts to click loudly as it protests the unknown height it is being forced to endure. I tell him he’s going too high and making me nervous. That is not why I’m nervous.

  “You care for my safety?” he asks. I give him a bland look. “Watch this.” He propels himself from the swing at the highest possible point. He lands skillfully on his feet with his hands out to the side for balance. “Ta da!”

  “Aren’t you amazing?” I tease coolly. “My mom’s gonna be here soon to pick me up. Are you gonna show me or not?”