Summer's End

by Sally Henson

  I step forward until my glare meets what's in front of me. “You're so funny.” I sigh and continue on my path out. He stands legs wide and unmoving, arms crossed, head bent down, glaring back at me. The Jeep is parked next to the wall, and I can't go around him. “Move,” I order him. He doesn't budge. I reach his location, and he still doesn't move. “Come on, let me out.” My tone is a little more civil this time. “Please?” I ask pleasantly.

  “On two conditions.”

  I roll my eyes. “What conditions?” How does he have the nerve to give me conditions?

  “One. I want you to honestly spend some serious time thinking about everything I've said this afternoon. Especially the examples I gave you.” He puts his arms down and shifts his weight.

  “Two?” I bug my eyes out at him. He stands there looking at me with a cute grin. I don't want him to have a cute grin on his face. I want to keep being upset. This is serious. I look down at my feet and tap my shoe on the rock floor. When I raise my head to encourage his answer, he takes a step toward me.

  “There are three conditions.” His voice morphs from demanding into something low and soft that draws me in.

  “Three?” I squeak. There's a sixth sense going on inside me. The adrenaline begins to flow in my veins.

  “Second.” He pauses and moves a couple inches closer to me. It pushes my blood to flow even faster. “Consider what it would be like if I dated someone. How would you feel if I started going out with Tobi, or Stacey, or if I met someone at college to spend time with that would keep my weekends busy?”

  “That's not—”

  “Ah!” He shushes me, putting his finger to my lips, causing a chain reaction in my stomach. Butterflies are flitting around. What's happening here? “These are possibilities you need to think about. I've thought about these things, too.”

  I swallow hard. The lump in my throat keeps making an appearance.

  Shifting his weight again, he continues, “I've been very honest with you. It's not easy for me to admit my feelings and especially hard to share them out loud—with you.”

  I start to look away, but he stops me by reaching for my face. He gently slides his fingers through my hair and rests his thumbs on the tender flesh near my ear. I shiver under his touch. His grin grows wide with his eyes. No. He knows what just happened. I can't let myself like this. His touch feels nice, but it's weirding me out, too. Deliberately, intensely, he studies me. His eyes wander from my hair to my neck and everywhere in between, as if memorizing a treasure map. The butterflies are migrating into my chest making it harder to breathe.

  He mumbles, “Third condition.”

  I give an exaggerated sigh, tiring of his conditions, and shut my lids. I want to end this whole thing. Suddenly, his lips are on mine. What is he doing? Oh … they’re so soft and warm and gentle. He's kissing me? My eyes pop open. He is kissing me. The butterflies in my stomach are at Mach one. They're trying to burst through my chest. I feel my pulse thrumming in every vein in my body. My breathing quickens. I'm not sure what to do.

  His lips part slightly, moving at a pace that’s somehow increasing all my symptoms—afraid and elated at the same time. I kiss him back. My eyes are still open, plastered wide, staring in this dimness at his face that has never been so close to mine. His eyes, even closed, are beautiful with long lashes. I breathe in the smell of fresh air from his skin. My hands find his hips, fingers curl around his belt loops, but afraid to bring him closer, struggling with myself to put a stop to this.

  Lane slowly pulls away. His eyes frantically survey my expression in the shadowy shed. Satisfied with what he finds, he leans his forehead against mine and closes his eyes—breathing—his hands still on my face.

  I let go of the belt loops, hanging my arms by my sides. Disoriented, I try to sort through the unexpected feelings I just experienced. My eyes are still wide, taking in what I can, but my feet are planted in the earth below me, unmoving.

  Lane emits a breathy chuckle with a quick, open smile, ending with his lower lip between his teeth. That look was, dang. And he wasn't even trying. I'm in trouble. So much trouble. His eyes gradually open. He pulls away just enough to observe me from head to toe. My best friend just kissed me. The worse part about it—I liked it.

  Somehow his eyes manage to sparkle in the umbra of the shed. “Third condition.” He bats his lids shut again for a moment, reveling in what just happened. “We do have something more than friendship. Think about how that kiss made you feel.”

  My head quickly shakes back and forth. I can't stop thinking about it.

  He speaks in a beckoning whisper, “We are so close, Regan. Nothing needs to change between us. Only a promise to each other—it's me and you—no one else. You don't need to worry that I'm going to be holding your hand in public or kissing you all the time. That won't change, unless you want it to.” I hear the smile in his voice. “We can keep this to ourselves; not even our parents need to know right now, okay?” He waits for acknowledgment from me, but I can't seem to offer anything right now. “I was going to give you a week, but after that kiss...” His chest rises and he flashes an excited dimple-clad smile. The sound of sprinkles pings off the shed's metal roof. He releases my face, looks up at the roof, then grabs my hands, and raises them to meet his lips. “I'll give you a few days, but call me or come over anytime you want.”

  Placing my hands back to my sides, he turns on his heal and jogs to his truck. A crack of thunder peels through the heavens as the pings turn into a steady ringing of rain. Opening his door, he yells to me, where I haven't moved a muscle, “I'm still your best friend, no matter what.”

  The sound of the truck door shutting and the engine coming to life loosens my legs. All I see are taillights through the rain as he turns out of the drive when I reach the opening of the shed. Unaccompanied by sound, tears pour a continuous stream down my cheeks, mixing with the water pouring from the sky over my hair and shoulders. I make as little noise as possible entering the house. I don't want to see anyone or speak to anyone right now. My parents are in the living room. I walk through the kitchen on my way to my room saying, “I have practice early tomorrow. Night.”

  I made a detour to the bathroom to pee, wrap my hair in a towel, and snatch a roll of toilet paper to use as tissues to wipe my nose. Once in my room, I quietly shut my door and lean against it looking around at the familiarity. My bed is up against the only window in my room. I crawl across and open the window a little to hear the rain mixed with crickets and frogs while they talk in the night. With a quiet sob, I lie down...and then I lose it.

  7

  I'm losing my best friend. My whole body shakes as I sob against my pillow. All I need now is for my parents to come in ask me what's wrong. First, I'm losing Lane to a four-year institution. These past few months we talked about him going off to school, what he would be doing, the cool parts of campus—I was excited. It felt as if I were experiencing it, too, as if we were going to be away at school together. I know that sounds crazy. I know we're not the same age. I know I'm still in high school. But, not once do I recall considering the real consequences of him being gone.

  My body shudders again. I tear off a few sheets of toilet paper and blow my nose as quietly as possible. Somehow, I held it together until I closed my door.

  Thinking ahead to when he’ll be gone tears me up inside. I won't be able to eat lunch with him every day or see him in the hall between classes. My eyes squeeze tight, and I shake my head. How did I not think about these things? My chest feels like it’s caving in and crushing my heart. Lane's been a part of my life longer than he hasn’t. I don't even remember Sundays without him. It's like we’re tied together … family.

  Steady rain turns to an all-out storm. Thunder shudders through my body and another gut-wrenching sob escapes me. I try to hold it in, but I can't, hoping the storm camouflages my outbursts. Losing Lane to school was bad enough, but now … I feel like I’m losing him a second time. His confession will forever change the way w
e are around one another. How can we go on being friends after all that he said? After kissing me like he did? And those stupid conditions!

  I wipe my eyes on my tear stained pillow and wrap my arms around my middle. Did I miss the little hints and innuendos that he was crossing over the line of friendship into something more? How could he do this to me? To us? We've grown up together. We've leaned on each other. Now, friendship will never be enough. On his part, anyway. He said everything could stay the same, but I don't see how that's possible. Another crack of thunder rattles the window-pane, and I reach my hand over the frame to pull it lower so the rain doesn't get my blanket wet. There's a storm raging inside me, too. It's fueled by loss—hurt—confusion.

  I don't want to even think about Lane’s stupid conditions. I blow my nose again and toss the crumpled tissue on the mounding pile next to my bed. We’re close, and we trust each other—that's why we’re so comfortable around each other. That's why being with him seems … natural. I don't pretend I'm someone else, and he doesn't, either. Lane and I know each other’s history. Our history is us. Except … I suck in a deep shaky breath … He did date some girl his sophomore year for a month or two. A lump forms in the back of my throat. These past two years, we've become a lot closer. I chalked it up to us being in high school and being allowed more freedoms together. We hung out more than just on Sunday's and during summers. I try, and fail, to swallow the growing lump in my throat.

  Touching each other on a level other than friendship isn't really an action I feel altogether comfortable with. My chest tightens. I’ve never allowed anyone else to rub my shoulders, hug me close when I'm cold, and stare at me the way Lane does. He plays with my hair, quite a lot, come to think of it when it's just the two of us. It's relaxing. I've massaged his shoulders after his baseball games and thought nothing of it. Nothing ever seemed forced or premeditated or intimate. I didn't consciously know I was checking him out. My hands ball into fists, and I pound my hands and feet against my bed like a toddler throwing a tantrum. I'm such an idiot! Is he right? What he said about watching him on the raft … is it true?

  As for his second condition? I don't know that I've given it any thought since he dated what's-her-face. I remember all the girls were boy-crazy in my class in eighth grade. Me? Not so much. I was still kind of a tomboy. Up to my freshman year, Lane and I spent the summers over at each other’s house playing and fishing. I remember sharing my mom's becoming-a-woman conversations with Lane. He shared his parents' becoming-a-man speeches. We laughed at some of it, and were grossed out by the rest. Telling Lane about menstruation was funny. But when I started my period, it wasn’t so comical. I chuckle at the memories. I was so embarrassed to tell him why I couldn't go swimming. But he was laid back about it, and my angst melted away. My body started looking more like a woman my eighth-grade year, too.

  I suck in a breath and sit up. I've been stuffing all this into the black void at the back of my of my brain, leaving it there so I don't have to deal with it. I pull my knees to my chest and hold on tight. If I’m being honest with myself, I think I’ve sort of claimed him as mine. Maybe subconsciously? If he ever went out with Tobi, like on a date—I'd feel hurt, discarded, and jealous for sure. Stacey on the other hand … if he dated her I’d feel betrayed and irate! But, if he dated someone from college? My chest tightens and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. I think I’d feel alone, dejected, inferior. How could I have been so unaware? Maybe Lane's not like a brother to me after all, and I've been denying it. How long have we been doing this unspoken dance?

  I slam my lids shut and shake my head. No. I can't think of my best friend in that way. I don't want to think of anyone in that way. Listen to Susanna's advice, Regan. Remember what she went through. Lane knows my cousin, Susanna. We've talked about her troubles several times. She had a free ride to the University of Illinois to play volleyball. She and Jesse had been dating for a year. He was her age and was a Christian, too. He was going to Southern Illinois University in the fall. That summer they spent every possible moment with each other because they knew they wouldn't see each other very much once they went off to college. Two months before school started, Susanna found out she was pregnant. Her life was forever changed from that moment on. Not only did her college plans get put on the back burner, her man ended up being a rat, and the gossips in town made sure she was knocked off the great All-American girl pedestal and trampled on. She told me everything, so it wouldn't happen to me.

  Jesse started going to church with Susanna when they got serious their senior year. They had big plans and were going to do things right. Marriage first and then sex. As the summer progressed, their relationship did, too. Things got physical and they thought they could stop before things went too far. She told me they did stop, a few times, anyway. Susanna told me how she justified pushing the boundaries by telling herself they loved each other, and they were going to get married after college.

  When she found out she was pregnant, everything went south. Susanna lost her scholarship, and with it, her chance to get out of our dead-end town. She also lost the one thing she'll never get back—her virginity.

  What happened to Susanna scares me to death. I can't stay in Stelmo. Susanna didn't even get to go to a community college that first year after high school because she had to work to pay for her and her baby. Her parents said, if she wanted to play house like an adult, she could work like one, too.

  I suck in a quick breath and squeeze my eyes shut. The pressure pushing against my chest increases with each beat of my heart. I clutch at my shirt. My dad would disown me if I ever got pregnant out of wedlock. With my brother gone, I would have no one to help me.

  My thoughts go back to my cousin. Jesse told Susanna they would get married and move to Carbondale together. Once his family got involved, though, everything changed. He didn't stay with her. Mrs. Faniger never liked Susanna. She was going to allow a factory worker’s tramp daughter trap her precious son and ruin his future. That spineless jerk didn't even try to stand up to his family when they disparaged Susanna. He went off to college and never looked back. He's not even paying child support.

  The Fanigers did everything they could to trash Susanna. To this day, Stacey continues to carry on the family tradition, spreading lies about Susanna every chance she gets. Jesse doesn't lift a finger or even a word to stick up for Susanna. He doesn't even come home to see his little girl. His family claims she's not even his child, telling everyone Susanna slept with every guy in the senior class. The state's done the testing, but unfortunately, since the scumbag, Jesse, doesn't have a job, the state of Illinois says they can't collect any money for Abby.

  Susanna, on the other hand, is still trying to juggle being a mom, working, and going to college. She told me she loves little Abby, but this isn’t the life she planned. She should have waited and saved herself the pain of failing God, herself, her parents, her future, and especially Abby. Susanna's been very upfront with me about everything she's been through. She doesn't want me to make the same mistakes. Even after all the crap she's been through, she says she still loves Jesse. I don't understand how she could love someone who would drop her like a piece of trash.

  It was painful listening to her pour out to me her life with Jesse and without him. New tears stream down my face in her honor. My mom never explained sex like Susanna did. I mean, she probably shouldn't have been so graphic, but she said it was important for me to know everything. She said your whole world changes when you fall in love and you want to love every part of that person including their body. And a girl needs the protection of marriage to give away that part of herself because it hurts and devastates without it. My heart aches for her. She said her best advice is not to have any boyfriends until I'm at a place in my life that I'm ready to get married. As extreme as that might sound, it seems like great advice to me.

  The tumultuous storm has settled into a steady rain. No longer crying, and long past sobbing, I spend some time on Lane’s third point. He seemed so
sure of himself. I snuff at my admiration for him. Had the kiss he’d given me been his first? Probably not. I mean he's a super good-looking guy and he's eighteen, for Pete's sake. It was my first kiss. Even now my body warms thinking about it. I just stood there, frozen, unable to move my legs, unable to speak. I turn over and bury my head in my pillow. I'm such an idiot. It hadn’t been some quick peck on the cheek, either.

  I flop back over and bite my lip as I stare at the ceiling. It was the kind of kiss you read about that gets your heart alert and your mind thumping. I mean … It was warm, slow … meaningful. I kick my legs and arms against the bed. A shout of delight bubbles inside my chest, but I hold it in. I did eventually hook my fingers in his belt loops at his hips. So, I guess I did move, a little. I blow out a breath to suppress my shout. Lane’s kiss was both the most amazing and the scariest thing I have ever felt.

  The rain is subsiding, and it's the wee hours of the morning. My eyes hurt. It feels as if there’s no liquid left in my body. There's a mountain of crumpled toilet paper used as tissues on the floor beside my bed. I'm exhausted. I need more time to sort this out— a couple more days to find a solution. I don't really want to think of Lane as anything more than a friend and screw up our futures. My muscles hurt from this internal fight. Obviously, I could ignore, or at least deny, anything more than friendship before. My stomach coils in knots again. Can I continue to do that, or is it all but impossible now? Will going on as friends be enough for him? My heart sinks. After that kiss, I doubt it.

  Before I finally drift off to sleep, I pray.

  God, help me make the right decision with Lane. I like the way he plays with my hair and his kiss tonight. But I don't want to make the same mistakes as Susanna, and I need to get out of my little town. I don't want to lose him as my best friend, either. This problem of mine is nothing, compared to the scope of the whole world, but it’s my little world, and I know you care about it, too. Please help me make the right choice, Jesus.