by Marisa Calin
Gabe and I part company at the end of the street and he raises his hand in a farewell salute. Well, I didn’t break his heart, I think as I walk away. I get the impression he was just trying it on and won’t be crying into his pillow tonight.
MY BEDROOM. MIDNIGHT. THAT NIGHT.
I can’t say the same for my good night’s sleep. He kisses me, and I’m the one spending the rest of the night neuroticizing about it! We have to go back to rehearsals tomorrow and I hope it won’t be weird. Especially with Mia there. I can’t help wondering if I was clear enough that today is as far as it goes. Maybe I should have stepped back right away, not enjoyed the attention, the feel of him. I cover my face in the dark. I hope I didn’t mess up.
Ten minutes later, the pendulum of my thoughts swings reassuringly to no big deal, he’s hardly in love. Maybe, like me, there are people he’d rather be kissing. Are there people I’d rather be kissing? I think about Mia, nearly all the time, but thinking is one thing, kissing is another. I squeeze my eyes shut and give myself permission to fantasize. If Gabe can do no big deal, so can I. I try to imagine kissing Mia with my experimental new vibe. My imaginary self turns bright red and runs for the trees.
REHEARSAL. SCHOOL THEATER. TWO DAYS LATER.
For some reason I haven’t mentioned the Gabe thing to you yet. We didn’t speak that night, and it would be strange to announce it out of the blue. Not that you’re likely to ask, Hey, kissed anyone today? so I suppose I’ll have to tell you if you’re going to know.
To my great relief, rehearsals seem normal. As if he can hear my thoughts, Gabe, sitting across from me, winks. Mia notices and I blush. We haven’t been acting as though it never happened. We’re acting as though it happened and we have successfully put it behind us, which makes me feel spectacularly well-adjusted. If only we could all go around kissing people without detrimental effects. He’s made jokes about it too, which helps. I promise I won’t kiss you, he says when I get close enough. Maybe he’s the kind of guy who kisses a lot of girls for no reason. Maybe I’m that kind of girl. I think not.
MY BEDROOM. THAT EVENING.
I’m getting ready to meet you at the movies. Kate is supposed to be coming with two of her friends. I’m running late—you’re probably already there. Mom comes into my room with an armful of laundry. I catch a glimpse of the face she makes at the “interesting paint effect” every time she comes in. I can’t find my shoes and it’s driving me crazy. I’m worried we’ll miss the beginning of the movie. Mom is speaking to me from the doorway.
MOM
I think it’s exciting how much you’re enjoying your theater class.
ME
Have you seen my shoes? I can’t find them anywhere.
Mom points to a heap on the floor—her angle clearly advantageous. The mess has gotten away from me. She sits down on my bed.
MOM
And this play that you’re a part of.
I try to zip up my sweater but it catches. The zipper is jammed. It won’t go up or down. I can’t go out with a jammed wonky sweater and I wail in frustration. Mom tells me to settle down and takes hold of my zip. It slides freely up to my neck and I wave as I run out of the room with a protracted Bye that comes with me down the stairs.
MOVIE THEATER. SOON AFTER.
Skipping the last few feet to the doors of the movie theater, I see you up ahead in front of the movie posters, illuminated in the colored lights and turning your head with unnecessary regularity to look up and down the street, for me, I guess. I spring into your field of vision:
ME
Sorry I’m late.
You smile.
YOU
No probs.
ME
Where are the others?
YOU
Kate called. They can’t make it. They’re going to a later showing.
ME
Oh. We can go to a later one too, then—
YOU
Well, we’re here now. Right?
ME
I guess.
And I follow you inside.
THE STREET. LATER THAT NIGHT.
We emerge back into the real world and walk in comfortable silence down the well-lit street away from the movie theater. My desire to be in movies is rekindled every time I see one. I want to be that girl: the girl kissed passionately after evil is vanquished, with fireworks and an orchestra, and it’s everything she wants. Not the girl kissed without warning after her coffee-shop shift, with cake crumbs in her hair and an orange apron tucked over her arm. It seems like the perfect moment to mention Gabe, so even though I can’t tell what’s going through your head, I jump in:
ME
Gabe kissed me.
You turn and stare at me as if you expect me to continue, as if some kind of explanation for such a bewildering revelation will follow. You still have your 3-D glasses on and I almost laugh. You whip them off, your reaction intense, and I feel instantly defensive.
ME
There are people who might want to kiss me, you know.
YOU
Yeah, but I didn’t know you wanted to kiss him.
I hold back my response. I can kiss anyone I choose. One kiss per annum doesn’t seem so promiscuous to me but, feeling surprisingly vulnerable, I decide not to get into it.
ME
Well, then I’ll hold off on having his babies!
I pretend to be amused by my humor. You don’t.
YOU
I didn’t see it coming, that’s all.
Still cranky but you’re trying.
ME
Neither did I!
Literally. We walk in silence.
I think I’ll still have a run for my money for biggest tramp in school.
You peer at me from the corner of your eye, the way you always do when you’re about to give in.
YOU
Not a sure thing, maybe, but you definitely have a shot.
ME
Definitely!
I finally get a smile.
Well, I’m pretty sure it won’t happen again.
YOU
Pretty?
ME
Pretty definitely sure.
You seem almost appeased and let it go. I guess deep down I knew you’d be weird about it or I would have told you sooner. We get away with small talk for the rest of the walk home. You pause as we part company at your house.
YOU
Saturday’s supposed to be warmer than usual. We should make the best of it.
ME
Sure.
YOU
So, I’ll come by your house Saturday morning.
Good way to patch up this weirdness. You wave and leave me standing here, still thrown by your reaction to it all. I’m pretty sure we won’t talk about the Gabe incident again.
THEATER. THE NEXT DAY.
We’ve started rehearsals for the second half of the play. Even you’re here today, finalizing lighting design, and I can see you settled in the third row. The rest of us are learning how to dance, fifties style, for a scene in act three. Gabe looks like he should be coordinated but he’s struggling. He sways like he’s playing dodgeball. Mia comes toward us, a soft maroon dress hugging her figure. (I’m almost tempted to revisit my “kiss without consequences” vibe.) I hope she’ll reach for me but she pairs with Gabe, easing toward him to soften his posture. I hover, envious, until she remembers me. Then, as everyone else has been paired, she points me in the direction of the only person not already dancing. You. We grin awkwardly when you reach me onstage because of all the things we’ve done together through the years, slow dancing isn’t one of them. Bouncing around like rock stars in my bedroom, maybe, but not this! A couple of people smile, seeing us deflect embarrassment with overzealous puppet sways. I spare another look, still tinged (okay, saturated) with envy, at Mia and Gabe over your shoulder, his hand on her waist and, with nothing left to do, we fit clumsily together. Right away, I feel my self-consciousness lift, surprised by how natural it feels. We turn smoothly toge
ther around the stage. Soon, caught up in the music, I forget how silly it is that it’s you, and for a second, I even forget about Mia. I tip my head back, like ballroom dancers when they waltz, and we swoop giddily around the room, the music lifting my spirits until the lights above us spin and the room disappears and all I can hear is music and the sound of both of us laughing.
MY BEDROOM. SATURDAY.
When I wake up, the sun is streaming through the gap in the curtain. It already feels warmer. The November breeze blows gently through the open window and I roll onto my side, stretching my arm out beside me. I look at my hand, spreading my fingers across the pillow. Still in the throes of sleep, and with faint memories of the remnants of a dream I was having, I touch my fingertips to the fabric, trying to remember what it had just felt like to believe it wasn’t cotton beneath them. I close my eyes to hold on to the romanticized version of myself from my dream. Aware of my hair fanned across the pillow, my slip cool against my skin, I imagine how it will be to someday wake up beside someone, to feel an arm around my waist when I open my eyes. I tuck in my lower lip, thinking of how I want to look when I know someone is watching, and wondering if someone I want will ever be watching. Stretching, I open my eyes to the real world, slip sleepily out of bed, and blunder downstairs to make tea.
THE KITCHEN. MOMENTS LATER.
I’m pressing down a piece of toast when I hear the bell. For some reason I’m not thinking about who it might be as I pad to the front door. I tug it open and take one look at you.
ME
Shit! Forgot.
It’s Saturday and we made a plan. I don’t know what happened, I just haven’t thought of it since. We stare at each other.
ME
I can be ready in two minutes, I swear.
After another second, I realize why you might still be staring. When you used to spend the night when we were young, I was always in pink cotton pj’s. Now, in my sexier days, my new satin slip probably comes as a surprise. It wouldn’t have been my choice for company, even yours, and I check that you can’t see more than you bargained for as you find your voice.
YOU
Two minutes?
It sounds like a challenge, with an edge that says I might have remembered if it had been more important to me. I see now how nicely dressed you are, with what looks like a picnic tucked under your arm. My toast pops. I turn and run up the stairs, wondering how high my slip rides up from your angle and, as if on cue, you call some quip about Gabe. When I’m tugging my slip off over my head in my bedroom I’m still thinking that Gabe was far from on my mind when I bought it.
So it took at least three minutes for me to find something to wear but when I reappear in jeans and a V-neck, you seem happy enough, sitting at the kitchen table and eating my toast.
You let me finish my tea before you stand up again.
YOU
Ready?
ME
Right behind you!
THE STREET. SECONDS LATER.
The autumn sun is not yet overhead but it looks like you have something of a day planned. You’re talking about taking a picnic up the hill this afternoon—to the highest point around. We used to sit there for hours when we were younger, lying on our backs on the grass on summer nights and looking at the sky. I’m only in a light jacket but it’s warm enough for the day, and I wrapped a silk scarf around my neck on the way out the door. It makes me feel grown-up—it’s just like one of Mia’s. You seem intense today. Something’s on your mind. Watching you from the corner of my eye, I get the impression that somehow this day started out more important to you than it did to me.
ME
You all right?
You give me a friendly nod, so I leave it at that.
We pass school on the way to the road up the hill and I skip ahead to the gate, feeling suddenly adventurous. I turn to see if you’re feeling it too.
ME
Let’s climb the gate like we used to.
Before we were in high school, we would climb over the gate during the summer to play football on the playing fields. We enacted whole sports events, and on this breezy Saturday for old times’ sake appeals. Plus, being at school makes me feel close to Mia. Most people break out of school, not in, but I feel like peeking at the past from a complex present.
You look less enthused. I wrap my hands around the bars of the gate.
ME
Come on, we’ve done it before.
You shake your head, crushing my sense of adventure.
YOU
We shouldn’t. We’ll get in trouble.
Really?! Trouble!
And we kind of had a plan.
ME
A plan!
—I imitate, not completely unkindly, craving some spontaneity, and I reach for your hand but you ignore it.
YOU
First you forget—
I let my hand drop.
ME
I said I was sorry about that.
YOU
—And now you’re acting like we don’t already have something to do.
My urge to climb the gate and clear my head by tearing across the grass like we used to is a strong one, and I reach for you one more time but now you really pull back.
ME
You are so cautious, damn it. Just live a little!
I know right away I went too far. You’re walking off. And for some reason, today, as if I haven’t said enough, I keep talking.
ME
Look! If I’m pissing you off, at least stay and tell me so.
You spin around and I realize you’re even angrier than I thought.
YOU
No, Phyre. Because then I might say something hurtful. Like you always do.
Stupefied pause. Like I always do. I stand uselessly, watching you walk away. This entire interlude has caught me off guard. I’m not even sure what I was pushing for, and now my heart feels heavy with guilt as you turn out of sight with your carefully packed picnic. How did this go so wrong so fast? I messed up today before it even started. We’ve never had a fight before this year, and now here’s another. I feel a twist of unease in the pit of my stomach.
MIA’S CLASSROOM. MONDAY. AFTER SCHOOL.
Mia, Kate, and I are here for a rehearsal after school. She suggested that the two of us explore emotion memory to help us relate to our characters. My heart shudders at even the idea of spending more time with the thoughts in my head. She sits on the desk in front of us. I look at her fingers curled around its edge and my mind swings from her soft skin to the way you walked away from me on Saturday. We haven’t spoken since then. It’s been harder to concentrate than I would have expected. My gaze returns to Mia’s delicate wrists disappearing into her lilac shirtsleeves. She has patiently waited until she has my full attention.
MIA
Think of someone you have feelings for.
I look at her perfect face, flushing pink. She speaks more quietly than usual without the roomful of people to be heard over, leaning forward, swinging her legs thoughtfully.
MIA
Remember exactly how it feels to be around them.
Hot. Airless. Exhilarating. Cheeks burning, butterflies in my chest, and, underneath it all, pain.
Think of what you’re self-conscious about when you want to impress them …
I steal a look at Kate. She’s glowing with her own private thoughts of someone and I smile, feeling united by the feeling. I’m sure my own thoughts are playing across my face like a mini–projector screen. I wonder if Mia is thinking of someone, the same warmth spreading through her chest. She tucks her hair behind her ear. She is swept up in her own imagination. I watch the split second it takes for her to wet her lower lip before forming words.
MIA
… How it feels when they’re close, if they touch your hand, catch your eye. How everything moves slowly around them but time goes so fast.
We sit in silence, thoughts playing behind our eyes. She’s talking about my every moment around her. I try
to imagine who she has felt this way about, and familiar envy seeps into my bloodstream. She has felt it, of course, everyone has, but I can’t imagine anyone could make her feel as vulnerable as she makes me.