“Yeah,” I said. “She had a great time. She just couldn’t sleep there.”
“Thanks for bringing her home,” Mom said. “You’d better head back before it’s too late.”
“I’m staying too.” I said. She looked back at me, surprised. “Some of the guys are going on a long run, anyway, and I’ve got a lot of homework. It’s just not a great weekend.”
“Ethan,” she said, “is your dad okay with that?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to shut out the picture of him sitting there alone on the couch with all the dinner leftovers in the fridge, waiting hopefully for us to eat them. I reached in the back of the car for my bag and followed my mom and Chloe into the house. The smell of rain was thick in the air and I felt melancholy. Even thinking about seeing Mikey tomorrow didn’t cheer me up. I couldn’t get that picture of my dad out of my head.
What is the point, I wondered, if this is what love can do to you? My dad was alone in an apartment that night, with no wife and no kids there. I don’t know exactly what went wrong with my parents. I know that they fought and couldn’t seem to fix it and weren’t in love anymore. Neither of them were terrible people or had committed huge sins. I know half the marriages in the U.S. end in divorce and I know that the marriages in the Church aren’t immune either, by any means.
So why get married, or put yourself on the line at all? In fact, why date at all if the potential for disaster is so huge? Mikey and I had gone out on our own, sure, but we’d also done a pretty good job of going out in groups and not being exclusive, having fun and being close friends as well as dating, but even so, maybe that was too much. The way I saw it, either we’d quit dating and that would hurt a little, or we’d date forever and get married (a long shot, I know) and then we’d end up like my parents. And that would hurt a lot.
I decided it would be better to make a preemptive strike and not date Mikey at all and save us both some pain later. I’d just keep it casual and go out with lots of different girls instead of going out with Mikey a lot and other girls some of the time. Even though the thought made me feel bad, it still was better than waiting around to get hurt.
Still, the breakup didn’t go so well. She took it really personally. I think she felt like the morality of our relationship was being called into question or something. I tried to reassure her that things were okay because we’d gone out in groups a lot and we’d been careful about being alone in compromising situations, all of that. We had a good time together and a lot of that was because we both knew that we weren’t doing anything wrong—just enjoying the chemistry and attraction that was there, which made dating her so much fun.
I think it really hurt Mikey and I couldn’t seem to explain to her that it was more about me than about her. She went into her house mad that night and I couldn’t seem to fix it.
Even when she broke her leg and I went to visit, I couldn’t say the right thing. She looked really miserable and I knew that I was part of it. It made me feel awful. Even when I gave her a hug, that wasn’t the right thing to do either. And going out with Elizabeth was strange too. She was great and we had a good time, but I thought about Mikey a lot and I think Elizabeth noticed. Somehow, in my effort to keep from getting hurt, I was managing to hurt a lot of other people. I wasn’t getting off scot-free either. How had this all turned out so wrong? I watched Mikey hobbling down the hall on her crutches, and even though I’d had nothing to do with her broken leg, I still felt like we’d both been crippled somehow by the way I’d mismanaged things.
Then, she started to do better and to smile more and laugh at things again, and I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t feeling the same way. I was almost mad at her for doing so well even though I was the one who’d wanted this.
My birthday was a month or so after the breakup and I really wasn’t looking forward to it. Mom had invited Dad and Grandma over for cake and presents that night. I think she did it to be nice, so I wouldn’t feel like I had to split up my birthday or something, but it didn’t really change anything or make me more excited.
Turning seventeen isn’t a big deal, at least not after sixteen. Sixteen meant driving and dating, although I was now convinced that both were overrated. Dating was full of potential pain and driving meant being a glorified chauffeur for Chloe and practically engaging in mortal combat with Andrea every time I wanted to use the car. Seventeen didn’t mean as much as far as I was concerned, and having a family party of any kind with all that fuss only made it stand out even more how useless it all was.
I got home from school early because there was a meet the next day and we didn’t have a workout practice for track. Andrea dropped me off and then went back to school. She was staying late to tutor a freshman in chemistry, something she’s been doing after workout a few nights a week. I learned not to ask her too much about that—Andrea’s still a little prickly, even when she’s doing something nice. Especially when she’s doing something nice.
My mom’s car was in the driveway, which was a surprise. She works at the school district office and usually doesn’t get home until a little after three-thirty, which is when Chloe’s kindergarten gets out and she picks her up.
“Hey,” I said. “You’re home early. Where’s Chloe?”
“She’s going to a friend’s to play after school. It works out well because we’re eating at five, and I still have to get things made.” She hadn’t started yet, but her apron was on and the cookbook was out. “There’s a lot to do. I’m a little nervous about having everyone over here, but it made too much sense not to do it.”
I thought of it all—Grandma fluttery and excited; Dad and Mom on their best behavior; Andrea being unexpectedly kind or abrupt; Chloe with her never-ending enthusiasm and energy wanting to sing “Happy Birthday” five hundred times; me having to express gratitude for every gift . . .
I plopped down in a chair. “Oh, Mom,” I sighed. “What’s the point?”
She turned and looked at me, stunned. “You don’t want a birthday dinner?”
“It’s not so much that as it is everything. What’s the use of birthdays, or of getting up in the morning, or of any of that stuff?”
“What’s getting you down?” she asked, trying to make a joke out of it. “Are you feeling like an old man now that you’re seventeen?” Then she could see that I was serious. “Wait here a minute, Eth,” she said and hurried out of the room.
When she came back, she was carrying her scriptures. I groaned, exactly as Andrea would have if she’d been there.
“Ethan, I know you don’t want a lecture on your birthday, but I understand how you feel.” She was serious with a “This-is-one-of-those-important-talks” tone to her voice.
“When your dad and I got divorced and Andrea stopped coming to church, I really felt down about things. I felt like a big failure since the two most important things in my life—my children and my family—weren’t okay. Your dad had his share of blame for the divorce too, and I knew that, but it was really hard for me to feel so badly about myself and about the way things were going. I felt pretty hopeless sometimes. I didn’t think I’d ever want to date again, or—”
“Let’s not talk about your dating life,” I said. She’s been out on a date once or twice with guys in our stake and it’s just too weird for words.
“Fair enough,” she said. “I won’t talk about my dating life, and I also won’t mention that I know there’s something going on with you and Michaela and that that’s part of this.”
I opened my mouth to speak but then closed it. Parents. Every once in a while they zero in on something that you’d rather they didn’t.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I decided to try to find some places in the scriptures where there were people who’d been through similar things and came out of it all okay. I had just been called to teach early-morning seminary and I felt completely inadequate. I knew that I needed to really search the scriptures and find some answers so that I could teach the students with confidence and not let my
personal struggles keep me from doing the things I needed to do in my calling and in my family. So I started in First Nephi when Lehi is having a lot of trouble with his family and even begins to doubt the revelations he’s received. I could really relate to that.”
I laughed a little in spite of myself. “Andrea does make a pretty good Laman or Lemuel.”
My mom glared at me. “Ethan,” she warned.
“Sorry,” I said, and I was. I didn’t want her to think that I thought she was a failure as a mom or that Andrea was going to end up like those guys. I didn’t think that at all. Andrea is surprising us all these days, in fact, so who knew what would happen with her.
“Anyway,” Mom said, riffling through the pages of her scriptures, “the story about Lehi did bring me a lot of comfort and I kept reading. I read the part in Mosiah about the wicked sons of Mosiah and Alma and that made me feel better too. Not that I think you or Andrea or your dad are wicked or anything. Mainly, as mean as this might sound, it was good to see that people who were trying hard, like Mosiah and Alma the Elder, had trouble and trials too.”
“That makes sense,” I admitted grumpily. “It’s always good to know you’re not alone in your misery.”
“More than that,” Mom said, finally finding what she was looking for. “Listen to this scripture: Mosiah 27:29. It’s Alma the Younger after he’s had a change of heart and what he has to say is beautiful: ‘My soul hath been redeemed from the gall of bitterness and bonds of iniquity. I was in the darkest abyss; but now I behold the marvelous light of God. My soul was racked with eternal torment; but I am snatched, and my soul is pained no more.’”
I shrugged. It was fine, but I wasn’t sure what it had to do with me. My mom smiled at me with tears in her eyes. “I loved this because it made me feel so good to read it. I was in bitterness and despair and I knew I needed to open myself to the Spirit again. I really liked the image of myself, stuck in a big, deep, dark pit, being ‘snatched’ out by our Heavenly Father. I imagined a big hand reaching down and lifting me out by the collar and putting me back outside of the pit, out where I could walk around and be free and happy again. I just want you to know, honey, that there are hard days but there are great ones too. You’ll make it through those tough times if you hang onto what’s really important. And Ethan, one more thing.” She looked right into my eyes. “Loving and caring about people, romantically or not, puts your emotions on the line and sometimes that will hurt. But it is worth the price. No one knows that more than the Savior, who loved and cared about us all and suffered because of it.”
She handed her copy of the scriptures to me. “I know you probably didn’t want a lecture on your birthday, honey, so maybe I should give you your present a little early to make up for it.” Her eyes sparkled. “Come in here,” she said, leading the way into the living room.
There was a huge, flat package on the top of the piano; that’s where we usually put all of the gifts before we open them after dinner. “It’s not car keys,” I said, pretending to be disappointed, and she smiled. She knew that Andrea and I battled like crazy over the ancient beast of a Ford Taurus that we shared. I slid the wrapping off and found a painting of myself, running. It looked exactly the way running felt. And I looked triumphant, different than I pictured myself. It was definitely me, though. It was pretty great.
“Where did you get this?” I asked, surprised.
“I painted it,” she said, a little shyly. “You know that class I’ve been taking on Tuesday nights?”
“Yeah,” I said, “but I assumed that was another class toward your master’s degree. I didn’t know it was painting.”
“I decided to do something that I’d always wanted to do. You and Andrea, and Chloe too, have so many talents. I thought maybe I should see if I had any, and I’d always loved art in school. I know it’s not wonderful, but I’ve been working on it and having a lot of fun doing it.”
“It’s really great, Mom,” I said. “How long did it take you to do?”
She laughed. “A really long time. Much longer than it took you to run that race. I’m happy that you like it. It’s a little scary to show your work to someone. I’m kind of glad you’re not opening it in front of everyone. But mostly, I’m just pleased that you like it.”
“I really do,” I said. “But I’m showing it to everyone tonight, so you’re not getting out of it.” I set it down carefully and studied it for a minute. “Do I really look like that when I’m running?”
She knew what I was asking. “Yes, you do. And I know you’re going to triumph, Eth.”
She gave me a hug. “Would you rather go to the pier for seafood tonight?” she asked. “I could call Dad and Grandma and tell them to meet us there and we could come back here for cake and gifts after. Seventeen deserves a celebration with lobster. We should splurge.”
“Let’s do it,” I agreed. I took the painting and the scriptures up to my room for safekeeping. I laid down on the bed and put my hands behind my head, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars I’d put up years ago. I’d tried to scrape them off since, but it looked like they were going to outlast me. It was too light for them to really work, but I could still see their outlines on the ceiling and knew that they were there.
It was like Mikey these days. We pretended to be really casual when we saw each other, but I always knew exactly where she was on the bus on track trips and in the hallways. My plan wasn’t working out after all. I was still hurting in spite of everything I’d done to protect myself. I reread the scripture Mom had given me and tried to hold on to that good feeling as my mind went over and over things—Mikey, my parents, the church, everything.
I must have fallen asleep because I jumped awake when my door flew open and the light flipped on. There was Andrea in the doorway. It had gotten darker. Groggy, I sat up. “Why didn’t you knock?” I grumbled, reaching for my sneakers. “Is it time to go to dinner?”
Andrea nodded. “Almost. Mom’s getting Chloe ready. It could be a while because Chloe can’t find the birthday hats she picked out for all of us to wear. I hope she finds them because I think a Disney Princess birthday hat would really set off your eyes.”
I laughed grumpily in spite of myself. I shoved my shoes on without bothering to tie them and stood up, but Andrea was blocking my way, holding out a present. “I wanted you to open this before we met up with everyone else. In case you thought it was dumb.” She pushed it into my hands and folded her arms, watching me closely.
It had been a few years since Andrea had given me a birthday gift. Usually she stuck ten dollars in an envelope and wrote my name on it. This was an actual gift, wrapped in actual paper and wearing an actual bow. I tore it open curiously.
It was a scrapbook. I think that’s what they call it, when there’s lots of pictures and writing and cute paper and stuff. That might be a misnomer though, because this wasn’t cute at all. It was every article from the school paper and from the local paper that mentioned my name. There were also several photos of me running. It was all done very professionally in black and white with crisp edges and clear headings. I turned the pages and went through every meet, remembering. Most of the pictures were ones I’d seen before, ones that Mom or Dad had taken.
Then, on the last page, there was a heading in Andrea’s bold and perfect writing. “State Meet,” it read and there was a full-color picture of me running, the same one Mom must have used as the basis for her picture. I hadn’t thought about where Mom would have gotten the pose and the setting for the painting. I guess Andrea must have taken the photo, which was kind of a shock. I didn’t even know she owned a camera.
The picture was of me in a kind of a hard place on the course, a spot in the trees on a hill that only someone else who’d run the course would really know about, a spot where the crowds are a lot more sparse than on the rest of the course. There wasn’t anything else on the page, just the picture and the lettering.
It was weird, and cool, to see two different people’s interpretation
s of the same person, the same picture. I sat there looking at the two things, the picture and the painting, for a minute.
“You took this?” I asked Andrea.
“Yeah,” she said. “I was going to take a picture of that spot on the course because I felt like it was the hardest part and the part where I won the race. It’s where I really started to build a lead. I wanted to remember that. And then I saw the guys coming, and there you were, so I took the picture with you in it.”
I looked closer. “Maybe that’s where I lost the race,” I said, joking. “I didn’t end up first like you. Are you trying to tell me I should work on that for next year?”
Andrea was impatient with me, but it wasn’t the impatience-with-an-edge that it usually is when she is explaining something she feels is obvious. Maybe peer tutoring has taught her that it isn’t particularly effective to be ticked off when you’re explaining something.
“No, no, no,” she said. “That’s not the point of it at all. The point is your face and how alive it looks. This is the hardest part of the course. I think it’s the part of the course that hurts the worst. I always gut it out and hate every minute of it and think about beating everyone else. You’re not doing that. You’re just running and enjoying it, even though you’re working hard.” She stopped. “It’s corny, but you’re enjoying the race, even though you don’t know exactly what the results will be yet.”
“Thanks,” I said to her, wishing I could think of something better to say.
“No problem,” she said. At the door, she paused. “Not to get too deep with you or anything, but don’t try to control everything. I’ve made that mistake too often. It doesn’t keep you from getting hurt.”
I was in a little bit of shock after she left, both from the gift and from Andrea getting all philosophical and insightful with me. My mom called up the stairs for me to come out to the car. Andrea was already sitting in the back with Chloe, so I climbed in the front. I didn’t have a chance to say anything more to Andrea because Chloe was in the car and she had plans, big plans, for the celebration that she had to tell me about. Then, when she was done, Mom started wondering aloud if the restaurant would mind that we were bringing our own cake and if they would light the candles for us there.
Yearbook Page 17