“Then I’ll just chuck the box at her.” I gritted my teeth and grabbed the ladder.
“We are such idiots,” Johnny said under his breath, shaking his head. Carefully, we put the ladder against the house. After a full minute of finagling without making a sound we managed to get it rested against the house, then remembered to look around to make sure no one was watching us.
“Wait.” Isaiah grabbed my shoulder and turned me around to look at him. “What if she is sleeping or has no clothes on? I tell you what, buddy, why don’t you let me go up first and I can make sure she’s decent.” His face was a mask of seriousness, with only one corner of his lip betraying his amusement. I punched his arm in answer and turned around to face the ladder.
“Ok, here I go.” My nerves felt like jelly.
“Don’t stress man; she’s a cool girl.” Johnny patted my back like I was a soldier going into war as Isaiah handed me the brightly colored box. I balanced the box on the top of my head, using my other hand to go up the ladder. It only took a few seconds to make it up to Lucy’s room.
I only almost died once.
The ladder was only about a foot short of the window, which was perfect. I saw a dim light on through the closed curtains. My heart leaped again; knowing that I was going to see Lucy’s face in a few moments felt amazing. I had no hands free to tap on the window so I carefully put the box on the top of the ladder and lightly drummed my fingers on the pane, praying with all my might that I had chosen the right window. The mental image of Mr. and Mrs. Peterson opening their curtains to face me made my heart jump back into its normal spot. It also made me break out into a cold sweat.
Nothing happened, so I drummed again, a little harder this time. I saw a tiny piece of fabric move on the curtain. Then Lucy pulled the fabric aside and opened her window. I was too busy being relieved to even be excited to see her.
“What on earth?” I heard a confused voice. It was do or die time. My brain kicked into auto-pilot, thank goodness.
“Hey, Lucy,” I said, my face completely covered behind the box.
“David?!” Her voice went into such a high pitch that it broke.
“Would you take the box, please? I can’t move.” I was straining to keep my grip. She grabbed the box and slid it into her room so I could climb up the ladder the rest of the way. At the top of the ladder, I got to take in the first look of Lucy I’d had in a long time.
Lucy’s hair was back in a messy ponytail and her big eyes were puffy and tired looking. She wore a black tank top and a pair of green plaid pajama pants. A sliver of her stomach was showing below her shirt. Her eyes followed mine, down to her midsection. She looked down and saw what I was looking at and flicked my visible eye with her finger. Immediately, she reached down on the ground for a hooded sweatshirt and zipped it all the way up. I laughed but tried to keep it to myself.
“What are you doing up here?” She whispered.
“I wanted to see you,” I spoke quietly. She didn’t answer me, but the corners of her mouth went up for a second. Then her eyebrows knit together.
“How did you get this big ladder over here?”
“Johnny and Isaiah helped me.” She stuck her head out of the window and looked down, seeing both of them holding the bottom of the ladder.
"Hey!" Johnny did a quick salute-wave.
"Hey," she whisper-yelled back. The hair in her ponytail was right next to my nose. It smelled like vanilla. I wanted to move my face in towards her but I didn’t want her flicking my eyes again.
"Lucy! Shove! We promise not to catch him," Isaiah whispered loudly. She giggled then pulled her head back into her room to look at me again.
“Why didn’t you just call me?” She asked irritably. Sure, that sounded logical now that I had climbed thirty feet up in the freezing winter air.
“Open the box,” I suggested, trying to switch the subject off of my apology decisions. She studied me for a second then turned around and walked over to where the box lay on the floor. Sitting down with her back to me, she pulled the box onto her lap. I struggled into her room and sat down on her windowsill, putting my feet on the carpet.
“No!” She said in a quiet but harsh voice. I retreated and put my feet back onto the window ledge. “I’m not allowed to have boys in my room. Don’t put your feet on the floor!” I lifted my feet up, raising the window as high as it would go. I sat sideways in the window, with my head turned to watch her open her package.
She glared at me and turned back around to face her rainbow-colored box. After a brief pause, she tore the rainbow wrapping off to reveal a moving box. Inside it, she found another wrapped rectangle. Her head whipped around to give me a look of questioning, but just as quickly returned to unwrapping. Soon, she held a framed piece of artwork that had the words “I’m sorry” displayed in graffiti-style writing. After spending hours getting the lettering just right, I’d searched Grandma’s attic for a frame that would work. The frame I’d chosen was a dark-wooded antique with beautiful grooves that went all around the edges. Shapes in the frame almost matched shapes in the graffiti. I’d been so impressed by myself when I’d seen it all together.
She didn’t turn around to look at me but I could tell by the way her hair went back around her ears that she was smiling. Getting up suddenly, she turned around and walked over in the direction of the window. I smiled hopefully but she didn’t even make eye contact. She pulled my legs back into the room, and then reached behind me to push my back forward. For a second I thought she was releasing me from the “no boy-shoes on the carpet” rule, but when she shut her window, leaving me sitting on her little ledge with even less room than I had before, I realized I was supposed to stay right there.
“It’s getting cold,” she said, as she strode back to her box.
My thoughts touched on Johnny and Isaiah, waiting outside. I hoped I’d left the car doors unlocked, so at least they could go find shelter somewhere. Isaiah was the type who’d go knock on some neighbor’s door and try to make friends with some random family just to get out of the cold.
Lucy placed the graffiti drawing gently on her bed then bent down to pick up another wrapped package. This one was a picture I had drawn of myself; it was very accurate. The right side of my face was covered with dark hair and my left eye peered directly at the viewer with heavily-lined eyelids. There was no nose and, instead of a mouth, the word “moron” was written in long slanted letters across the lower half of the face. Smoke billowed out of the slits between each letter and one lip ring hung off of the M and another off the N.
Lucy looked over and made eye contact this time, her eyes a little bit softer. She put the second picture next to the first one and pulled out yet another present. This one, unlike the first two rectangles, was oval-shaped. Another antique frame, this one was a dusty orange that was obviously old and needed a new coat of paint. It was my favorite one that I’d found in the attic. Inside was the picture I had drawn of Lucy when she had fallen asleep on my grandma’s couch, her arm laying gently over her face. Real-life Lucy put her fingers over the glass and traced herself. She looked over at me in astonishment.
“David, did you draw all of these?”
“Yeah.” I paused and felt compelled to explain the obvious. “I drew that one when you slept at my house the night you took care of me.” She didn’t answer, but put it down next to her on the ground and reached in for the big square package. This was the biggest, by far. It was the reason I had to get such a huge box to put everything in. She opened it slowly, my heart was ready to burst thru my chest with every deliberate tear and crinkle. She looked at the picture and I saw her tensed shoulders drop down in relaxation. This time, when she looked over, she gave me a questioning smile. The large frame contained graffiti artwork with the words, “I love you.” Bright blue letters with black accents arched across the page.
This was the first time I had told someone that I loved them. I was putting my heart out there for her to take, or reject. The most horrifying part of it, I realized
suddenly, was that I would never be able to take it back because there the words were, in her hands, framed. Lucy stared at it, touching it lightly, like she was studying every letter to make sure she was reading it correctly.
"Why?” She asked, not leaving the ground but searching my face intently, her eyes boring into me. I kept my chin up, determined to make her believe what I felt.
"Why do I love you?!” I was shocked she had to ask. “You’re all I’ve thought about for weeks, Lucy. You’re everything I’m not. You’re…” But I paused.
How do you describe someone like her? “You’re indescribable, Lucy Peterson,” I finally said.
Her face went blank. Not angry or happy or any discernible emotion. It was like she was processing and didn’t want me to see how she felt about what was running through her head. I waited for a response.
A soft knock from the other side of Lucy’s door broke the spell. Adrenaline shot through to my fingertips.
“Sit still,” she whispered fiercely, running over to me and throwing the curtains shut so they were covering my body. She sat back down next to her bed, on the ground.
“Come in.” Her voice was higher but sounded natural. No one would ever guess there was a creepy neighborhood night-walker sitting in her windowsill.
Lucy’s mother spoke, “You ok, hun? I thought I heard something.” Lucy’s mother walked in and shut the door behind her, likes she was planning on staying for a while. Commence panicked sweating. I prayed Isaiah and Johnny wouldn’t start throwing rocks or something.
“I’m ok.” Lucy answered in a low tone.
“What’s all this?” I saw a silhouette walk over to where Lucy was sitting. “Who drew these?” Mrs. Peterson’s voice was filled with awed respect.
“David did. I didn’t even know he could draw until I opened these.” Lucy’s voice, I was glad to hear, held the same tone of awe as her mother’s.
“Wow. You know, Luce, he is a strange boy isn’t he? He has all these talents hiding in that quiet, private little person.” Now her tone was warm and motherly. I had heard people speak to lost puppies and kittens with the same voice.
“He is,” was all Lucy replied. There was a moment of silence before her mother spoke again.
“So. Do you want to talk about it?” She spoke like she had asked this question before, and had gotten shot down. The unspoken, “NOW will you talk to me?” hung in the air.
“Mom, I don’t know what to do.” I saw Lucy put her arms up in the air in bewilderment, then heard them hit them against her legs as she dropped them.
“About what?”
“About him!” Lucy’s arm shot out, pointing at the pile of pictures.
“What about him?” Mrs. Peterson almost sounded amused. I felt like that might have been a good sign. But I couldn’t spend too much time making sure, since most of my energy was focused on not moving. At all.
“Honestly Mom, I don’t know what I want.” Lucy sounded frustrated.
I felt myself getting heavy up on this little ledge. My hands were starting to get sore and sweaty from hanging on so tightly.
“Why do you feel like you have to make a decision?” Her mom was answering each question or statement with another question. Classic therapy move.
“I guess I want to feel like I’m going somewhere.”
“Lucy Peterson, you’re 17 years old. Where could you possibly be going?” Her mom laughed but Lucy clicked her tongue irritably.
“I’m sorry honey.” Her mom was still chuckling. “Have you talked to David about these pictures? It looks like he is really trying to make things right.”
“I haven’t yet. I just don’t know what I’m going to say.” Lucy said. “Seriously, Mom, how do I forgive him for kissing that girl?” Her voice sounded hard and bitter as she spat out the words “that girl.”
“You mean, Rachel, my dear.”
“Ugh.” Lucy countered her mother’s correction with a grunt before replying with real words. “Why are you acting like I’m obligated to forgive them, either one? I mean, they just do that, behind my back, and then David doesn’t call me for a month and I’m supposed to just poof--” Lucy snapped her fingers “--forgive them?” She stopped as suddenly as she’d begun, all her energy spent spilling out that one key question in her mind.
The room was quiet. I could see thru a slit in the curtain that her mom was considering her daughter’s question seriously.
“Well, let me ask you this, Lucy. Are you content just receiving forgiveness without giving it?”
“What?“ Lucy whined.
“Well?” Mrs. Peterson asked again, patiently. I waited, but heard no response. Lucy’s mom continued, “Forgiveness is a two-way street, my dear, for everyone of God’s creatures. If you say that you won’t forgive them then you are saying you know better than God.” She paused, and I saw her silhouette reach over and pick something up, handing it to Lucy.
“Look at this picture, Luce. He drew himself with the word moron on his face.” They both laughed before she continued, “that’s pretty telling of his understanding of the situation, isn’t it?” No noise again, but then I saw Mrs. Peterson reach over and hug her daughter, stroking her hair a little. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought Lucy might be crying. I am the biggest idiot in the world.
“It hurt, what he did, so much.” Lucy spoke into her mother’s shoulder; I could barely hear her. “Rachel is so beautiful, mom. He made me feel like a idiot.” I could see that she was still holding the picture her mom had given her.
It took all of my energy not to jump off of the window and grab Lucy and tell her that she was the most beautiful person in the world to me.
“You’re also beautiful, sweetie,” her mom told her simply. “Rachel’s beauty doesn’t negate yours. And, from the look of things, David is trying very hard to show you that he knows he was wrong.” I suddenly realized that Lucy’s mom knew exactly what I had done. I contemplated opening up the window and making a quick escape. This was killing me.
“So I just forgive him? How do I do that when I feel so angry?” I knew Lucy was saying all this because she knew I was listening to them, but it didn’t stop me from straining to hear her mom’s reply.
“Forgiveness is not a feeling dear; forgiveness is a choice. You’re going to have to choose to forgive.”
“Choose.” Lucy spoke faintly.
“Some of the hardest decisions we make are when choice directly opposes feeling.” Lucy’s mom treated each word with measured respect, making sure Lucy heard and understood. “Listen, daughter of mine, it comes down to this: if we want to be forgiven we must first forgive. Some people call it ‘you scratch my back,’ some call it karma, and we know it as the Golden Rule, loving your neighbor as yourself. You can’t get forgiveness without giving it.”
“I know.” Lucy sounded defeated; I knew how she felt. I thought about how much more her love would mean if she decided to forgive me.
I wanted Mrs. Peterson to leave so badly.
I want to look Lucy in the eye and tell her how amazing she was.
But I had to just continue straining to maintain my hidden perch next to a cold window.
“Oh hun, I don’t want to sound preachy, but you might as well learn this lesson now. Life happens, Lucy. This isn’t going to be the only time someone is going to hurt you, and it won’t be the first time you’re going to have to choose to forgive them. And it’s something you’ll have to keep choosing, as long as you know him, because the feeling of hurt doesn’t just disappear. It’s hard, arduous work to continue to choose forgiveness, Lucy.”
The room rang with these words. They seeped through the thick curtains and struck me, hard. They hurt; they stung. I thought about my own struggles and what my grandmother had said to me earlier that day.
“Will it get easier?” Lucy asked weakly.
“Well, yes and no.” I heard her mom smile. “Some days it will feel like you’ve completely
forgiven him and other days you're goin
g to feel like you have to make that choice again, to not hold it over his head and not to be angry with him. Some days you’ll do better than others, but you’ve got to keep trying. That’s life, that’s how we learn baby girl.”
I saw Lucy curl up and lean into her mother again. They sat in silence for a minute, before Mrs. Peterson spoke again. This time her voice was musing, thoughtful.
“I’ve been wondering though, what on earth made him kiss Rachel? I mean, he seemed like he was so into you. It just doesn’t make sense to me, Luce. From what your father and I saw of him, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to do that.” Lucy didn’t move but I could see her outline stiffen slightly.
“I think he thought I was flirty with the other guys there.” Lucy’s response was so low I almost didn’t catch it.
“Ha, well that makes sense.” Her mom replied through another bout of chuckling. “Now, don’t get angry at me, miss.” She playfully scolded Lucy as her daughter turned around in indignation. “It’s not okay, what he did, but you were absolutely flirting with those other guys.”
“You weren’t even there, mom!” Lucy was offended.
“Ah, Lucy. You are extremely friendly, which is an amazing thing. But let’s face it, you’re an only child. I don’t think you realize that what you mean as friendliness can easily be taken as something else entirely. I see it all the time in church.”
Mrs. Peterson then left us alone, although I didn’t realize it until I heard the door shut. I wanted to put my feet down but was afraid that Lucy would snap at me again. So I kept them up, sweat dripping down my face from having a winter jacket on and doing a balancing act on this ledge in a heated house.
Nothing happened.
I kept waiting, hoping Lucy would open the curtain and release me from the windowsill prison. Finally, I decided it was probably safe to draw the curtain. I looked over to where Lucy was sitting. She had her head in her hands.
“Can I please get off of this window?” I pleaded with her. “My butt is killing me.”
She stood up, walked over to her desk, and wheeled her computer chair over to the window for me. I sat down in it quickly, keeping my knees up to my chest so that my feet wouldn’t touch the floor.
My Stupid Girl Page 16