Lucid

by Gabrielle Castania

  I lay as close to him as possible, the two of us spending I don’t even know how much time together, just enjoying each other’s sleepy company, lazily talking about nothing at all to pass the time. The imprisoned version of myself screamed in protest, raking her fingers through her hair when Joey suggested that we grab breakfast down at The Bistro, but the new girl was delighted by the proposition, graciously accepting.

  As we walked through the door, Rosetta was at the register as always, but was on the phone, and quietly pointed us to a table beside the windows. Not long after we settled in, Julian, bright, smiley, and wearing a chef’s coat, approached our table. His son greeted him with a grin of his own as he said, “Buona sera.”

  “Good morning, guys,” Julian replied, evenly distributing his attention. “Bambino, why don’t you come with me to help grab some breakfast for the two of you? After all those cannoli last night, I want you two to eat something of substance.”

  Without protest, Joey rose to go help his father, grabbing an apron from behind a service station before passing through the double doors to the kitchen and out of my sight. Catching a moment to myself, I figured I ought to check in on Mum, seeing as the thought had slipped my mind the night before, and I tugged my cell phone from the pocket of the jeans I’d worn on my date and had tossed back on. Whenever my survival instinct kicked in and I ran without checking on her, she was never angry with me, encouraging me constantly to save myself, but I always felt that pang of remorse.

  “Mornin’, Love,” she greeted after only a single ring, her voice permeated all the way through with a false sense of cheeriness. “How are you?”

  I couldn’t help but to smirk at her selflessness. She was the one stuck at home with Roger all night, but she wanted to know how I was doing. “I’m fine, Mummy,” I told her. Calling her that made her feel like I was still little, she’d told me once, like I still required her for everything like I did back then. “More importantly, how are you?”

  Immediately, she stopped trying to sound like nothing was wrong, clear in the fact that I knew she was far from okay. “I guess I’m alright. I picked me sorry self off the ground and went to go see what happened, and I found your father in the middle of the road, so I brought him in.” Part of me had almost hoped he’d be stuck in the street all night, lying there until a car came that couldn’t see him through the darkness and snow until it was too late. “He woke up with quite a hangover and no recollection of last night, but he scurried right off to work some weekend overtime instead of talkin’ about it. Where did you end up?”

  “Joey brought me to his house,” I confessed, smiling at a middle-aged waitress who came to pour ice water into the glasses waiting on the table. “He gave me pajamas and put me up in the guest room for the night. We’re at The Bistro for a bite to eat.”

  “I thought that boy looked familiar, the little bit I saw of him last night. He was your blind date, if I’m not wrong?”

  “He was,” I replied. “He’s really sweet.”

  “I’m glad you had a good time, Love, but don’t dive in too far too quick. It’s strange enough to your dear old Mum that my little one spent the night at a boy’s house.”

  I flapped a hand, as though she could see it. “We didn’t even sleep in the same room, Mum. It’s fine.”

  “Well, as long as you like him, and you enjoy his company, that’s all that matters to me. Your father isn’t home, so you’re okay to come back whenever you’re done on the second part of that date you didn’t even want to go on in the first place.”

  As I went to reply, to explain a little more about my night, the doors to the kitchen swung open once again, and Joey came pacing out with a small waiter’s tray in hand. “Well, he’s on his way with our food, so I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. I just wanted to check in while I had a moment.” We exchanged a brief goodbye, and I smiled at the handsome boy seated across from me. “All of this is so appreciated,” I told him as we reached for plates so we could begin to divvy up what he’d brought for us.

  “It’s no problem,” he replied, though his focus was far more on the small order of hazelnut cinnamon buns that he’d brought, digging his fork into one to bring it to his plate. “It’s not like they make me pay for any of this stuff, anyway.”

  I put a hand on his, and he paused to look up at me. I realized I’d never properly thanked him for saving my butt the night before, so it was probably time to do so, before I forgot and seemed ungrateful. “I mean that everything is appreciated. Most people would have run away after what happened last night, but not you. I could never thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me. It means the world to know that someone actually gives a damn.”

  Smiling softly, he answered, “Like I told you last night, you’re a welcomed change to everyone I’ve met before, and if part of keeping you includes running from your father, then I’ll be right there, running with you.”

  We sat together into the early afternoon, watching a light snowstorm begin to flutter outside as we gorged ourselves on an absolutely magnificent brunch of fruits and pastries and lattes. When the Sunday after-mass crowd began to filter in from the church across the street, we figured it was probably time to get going, to yield our table to people that hadn’t eaten yet, and it didn’t feel like long until we were standing back on my front porch once again.

  Thankfully, that time, Roger wasn’t home to ruin things, so I was in the clear to say and do whatever I wanted. Joey rocked on the balls of his feet with a smirk, and asked, “ So, does last night count as my pass to see you again, or can I still call you during the week to hang out?”

  “You’re free to call me to hang out whenever you’d like to,” I told him, teasing a bit, “but keep in mind that, if you forget about me, I now not only know where you work, but where you live.”

  With a laugh, he told me, “Well, I hate to do it, but I do have to run for now. The Bistro is going to be really busy today, what with the weather and people wanting a hot meal while they’re out before they head home, so I have to grab my uniform from home and get back there. I’d love nothing more than to end a really fun morning by going to work for a few hours; it all sounds great.”

  “You’ll enjoy it, you little socialite,” I snickered. “I imagine it’s quite hard for you to get paid to talk to your friends and eat your parents’ amazing food for a few hours. Still, feel free to text me when you’re done, though. I’ve just got homework to do, so I won’t be too heartbroken to have a distraction.”

  Suddenly shy like he had been the night before, he looked to the ground and mumbled back, “Sounds good.”

  The meekness struck me as odd, after the night before and how vulnerable I had been, and my suspicion came through in my expression. “You look like you have something to say.” Like he’d done for me last night in the car, I grabbed his hand, massaging the tops of them with my thumbs to try to soothe whatever he was feeling. “I don’t think that, after last night, there’s anything you can’t really tell me.”

  It took him a moment to make a decision about it, but when he had, his eyes found mine again, this time far more intense than they had been before. “I really like you, Ashley. There’s something you have that nobody else I’ve ever met has, and I can’t place what that is, but I like it, a lot. That being said,” he paused for a second, chewing his bottom lip, “I was wondering if maybe it would be okay if I kissed you goodbye this time.”

  I felt like I was living in a fairy tale, like I was a real-life version of Sleeping Beauty. I had spent so long lying dormant away from everybody until Prince Joey unknowingly embarked on the perilous journey through my self-inflicted forest of briars that I’d grown around myself to keep people far away. Already, he’d made it through all of those roadblocks and had found me tucked away there, and all that remained before I awoke and got my happy ending was the reanimating kiss.

  Desperate to feel so revitalized, I withdrew my hands from his for sake of wrapping my arms around his
neck, and instead of answering his question with words, I smiled before pressing my lips to his.

  Chapter Eleven

  The following day at school was interesting, to say the least. Ellie was running late due to a dentist’s appointment that had her skipping our walk and missing Calculus, the one class we shared, leaving me to fend for myself until she came to school after lunch. On any normal day, I’d have hated it, but that day, there was a sick, lurching feeling in my stomach that refused to let up. I couldn’t escape the feeling of eyes locked steadily onto me, or the torrent of whispers that came with it. Between my freak out on Friday and my questionable date on Saturday, I was the talk of the town, quite literally.

  Just when I thought Ellie would never show up, she shut my locker as I was in the middle of getting things from it before art class, and she leaned against it casually. “Okay, so I have to hear massive news from everyone else now instead of directly from my best friend?” she inquired, her eyes intense. “Is there any truth to the rumor that you slept over at Joey’s house on Saturday night?”

  “Thanks for shutting that for me,” I snapped at her, jolting her out of the way so I could finish organizing my things, all without looking her in the eye. “Try again when I’m actually done, though.”

  She sighed, drastically slumping against the locker beside mine instead. “Would you be so kind as to enlighten me on what has set you off?”

  I didn’t mean to flip out on her, but I’d had it up to my eyeballs with everyone that day, and I was bound to explode at some point. “Oh, I don’t know, Ellie; what could be setting me off today? Is it the fact that I have to go face Ben Oaks and his gaggle of mouth breathing shit stains for the first time since I lost my mind in art class and took off running out of the room on Friday? Is it the fact that nobody has had a conversation with me today but I’ve heard my name coming from every direction every time I so much as blink because of my date with Joey? Is it the fact that, even when I put on my headphones to drown out the whispers, there’s nowhere to hide from all of the staring? Because other than that, I am just peachy.” When she stared at me with her eyes wide, an almost terrified expression on her face, I took a second to realize that it might not be the best idea to let my temper get the best of me and cause me to push her away. I added, “Sorry to lose it with you, Elle. I’m just so, so over today.”

  “Well, all that does suck, and I’m very sorry I had to go get a tooth pulled on a day you could have used me,” she smirked, “but I’m here now, and please don’t think that your rant makes me any less interested in the gory details of what happened between you and Joey on Saturday. I heard people saw you at The Bistro wearing the same clothes you wore on the date. And if that’s not grounds for questions, I don’t know what is.”

  I could tell already that her idea of what had transpired at his house that night was nothing short of scandalous. “Think what you want,” I sighed, “but the honest truth is that we sat in his basement, stuffing our faces and playing video games. We didn’t even sleep in the same room.”

  “So, which of you was the prude, as if I have to ask?” she teased, earning a warning glance from me. She held her hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine, I believe you. It’s not hard for me to buy that you, my virginal best friend, did not sleep with someone despite having probably every chance to.”

  “Neither of us was the prude, and neither of us instigated anything. We just talked and had a lot of fun – fun that did not require our nether regions.” I scoffed at the somewhat ludicrous accusations. “I wasn’t planning on spending the night, and it wasn’t even my idea. Roger was on one of his tirades when Joey walked me to the front door, and he insisted I stay at his place to get me away from that for the night.”

  Ellie’s jaw about hit the floor. “You dropped the Roger bomb on him already?” She snorted in disbelief. “Ashley, I know they do in books and movies, but real guys so do not go for the victim type.”

  “I didn’t mean to ‘drop it on him’,” I snapped, already sort of wishing she’d have just skipped the last few periods of the day and left me to flounder by myself, “but it’s hard to keep it a secret when said ‘bomb’ breaks his bottle of bourbon and chases us down the street swinging the handle at us because I didn’t ask permission to go out that night.”

  She stared at me in bewilderment, her face betraying her shock, as the two-minute warning bell rang. “I want to hear more about this, so please come to study hall today so we can try to pass notes. Don’t worry about your next period, either. You don’t go to art class to deal with dumb people; you go there to be good at something you love. Good luck. I’ll see you in an hour.” Without giving me a chance to reply, she trotted off down the hall.

  Mr. Protoccelli was quite laid back, and extremely personable. He was the only teacher I ever talked to outside of academic things – we always chatted when I stayed after school to work on projects on the days Ellie had to go to work, never mentioning the reason I didn’t want to go home just yet. He had shared with me stories of when he was my age, also something of a misfit. He never asked for respect, but his persona simply demanded it.

  When he stood at the front of the room, silently waiting for us to hush, we cooperated. With a wordless smile, he wheeled the old television he kept in the corner of the room to the center where he stood, messing with the VHS player, and he took a seat at his desk as the opening theme song to an old favorite cartoon of mine began to play.

  During the twenty-minute show, the popular clique behind me refused to stop whispering, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was about. I wished they’d shut up and pay attention to the show, but I knew I was short on luck that day.

  The whole class groaned when Protoccelli turned the lights back on, covering their eyes as they tried to adjust. “I know, guys. As you’re blinded by the lights, you’re probably asking, ‘Mr. P, why did we just watch a show I haven’t thought about since I was six?’ Well, guys, I hope you enjoyed your introduction to the style of cartoons.”

  When some students began to pack their bags at the end of class, our teacher told them to sit back down so that he could introduce our project for this unit. Each art style had its own project to accompany it, so we could all try our hand at something we may or may not be familiar with. I quite enjoyed it, although many others complained. Maybe don’t take an art class if you don’t want to study and make art?

  “I didn’t want to include this unit, since our syllabus is already pretty packed and ‘cartoon’ feels like far too broad of a spectrum to me, but the district insisted,” Protoccelli grumbled to us. “The project won’t be due until the end of the year, and I’ve decided to just use it for you guys to have something to work on during those periods when you’re finished ahead of everyone else. All I want you to do is to pick things or moments that define you as a person, and combine them into one cartoon in the medium you feel most comfortable.”

  “Can I use Ashley on Saturday night out on what looked like a date with Joey Attollicci?” Ben piped up from behind me, ever the antagonist. I didn’t turn, but I could feel him and his posse staring at the back of my head. “The moment I saw that changed my life, so I feel it should be included.”

  “Benjamin,” Mr. Protoccelli scolded immediately, but it was too little too late.

  With the cork officially popped on them making fun of me, his friends all began to chuckle, taking it as their opportunity to voice their smart, original, hilarious comments. “I laughed so hard when I saw them at Globe that I shot soda out of my nose.” “I heard she slept over at his house, too.” “Whatever. You know he didn’t touch her.” “Maybe Danny Chatman will write a song about this, because he just loves her so much and can’t stand to let her go.” “Don’t provoke her too much, you guys – she might run away again.”

  Protoccelli boomed over the sound of the bell, “Enough! I have had it with you guys being such bullies! I hope you enjoy your disciplinary referrals, and I plan to note it in my comme
nts that it’s an ongoing thing, so that maybe, you get your senior privileges taken away through the end of the quarter. Maybe when you’re treated like children, you’ll realize how immature you all are. Now get out of my room.”

  I smiled to myself as my teacher stomped over to his desk, whipping out a bright blue pad of referral sheets that he’d fill out and send to the office. As I headed toward the door, I called over my shoulder, “Thanks for always being on my side, Mr. P.”

  “Hold it.” I spun slowly on my heel to face him, and he added without looking up from his writing, “You know you and I need to chat, so why don’t you march it right back on in here?” I heaved a deep sigh as I shut the door and headed back inside, taking a seat in the chair beside his desk. He twirled toward me when he was finished with his write-ups, greeting me simply with, “Hello.”

  I grinned awkwardly at him, well aware of what he wanted to talk about. Whether he liked me or not, I did still ditch his class. “How’ve you been, cap-i-tain?”

  “No complaints,” he replied casually, leaning back in his plush office chair, stretching his hands behind his head, never once taking his eyes off mine. “Today is payday, and I’m going out with some friends to watch the game over dinner and drinks. Life is just swell.” He leaned forward carefully, expression intensifying as he folded his hands in his lap, very authoritarian. “But I think we both know that that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  With fabricated, desperate hope, I suggested, “Well, we could talk about you! Who’s playing tonight? Got any big plans for this paycheck? You work hard; you deserve to treat yourself to something nice.”

  “Ashley,” Protoccelli said my name plainly, cutting me off in an attempt to be unyielding with me. “I’m not trying to pry. You know that. I just want to make sure you’re doing okay. Despite what school policy tells me I should do, I’m not going to be writing you up for what happened on Friday.”