Every Rose (11 page)

Yep, I think to myself, it was exactly like he owned me. He used to tell me that if I ever kissed a boy or had sex with a boy that it was the same thing as breaking the adultery commandment and that I would go to hell. That God had given me to him and I was his until he gave me away on my wedding day. I do not share these thoughts with Michael, though. He doesn’t need to know exactly how twisted my dad is if he hasn’t yet figured it out for himself.

“You OK?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah. The possessive thoughts aren’t what I find baffling or disturbing. I’m more surprised he said anything flattering about me. He never was very nice to me.”

“He spoke of you almost reverently. The way he described you made me want to find you and make you mine forever. I remember thinking that
one day. Just out of the blue after weeks of talking to him about you. I thought: ‘I have to make her mine,’” he admits and laughs as something occurs to him. “I had to be kinda sneaky getting him to talk about you, though. He offered information at first. Then, after a while, he quit talking about you, so I had to invent all kinds of segues that would get him to talk about you without letting on that that’s what I was doing.”

I imagine him sitting around dreaming up ways to get my father to talk about me without provoking his wrath. It makes me laugh. “You always were so smart. I always wondered why your feelings were so intense for me, though. I barely knew who you were, but you seemed to know all about me.”

“Well, after school started, I watched to see if I saw those qualities in you. I saw the way you looked out for others, especially your brothers. You always were so thoughtful. Do you remember Clark getting his fingers smashed in the door?”

I raise an eyebrow at him. Of course I remember; it was the scariest thing I’d ever seen. Clark lost the ends of two his fingertips. “Yes, I was scared out of my mind, but you weren’t there.”

“Oh, I was there. You just weren’t aware that I was there. When he smashed his fingers, everyone jumped back like they were scared to help him. You didn’t though. You rushed forward and freed his hand in nanoseconds. I couldn’t even react. I had the thought to help ya’ll, but you had him freed and were carting him off to the nurse before I made it to you.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you were there. I missed the bus home that day. My grandmother had to come and get me, and she was not happy. I tried to explain, but nothing would come out quite right. I was pretty freaked out by the time she got there. I ended up just taking my punishment.”

“I tried to get the bus driver to wait for you, ya know? She wouldn’t hear of it. I finally convinced her to at least let me run your book bag and purse to you. I knew someone would come and get you. I, however, would’ve ended up walking home had I missed the bus; or I would have waited with you. Besides, you didn’t know I existed yet.”

A laugh escapes me, “Ya know. I never could remember how my stuff got to the nurse’s office. When I walked out of the back, I thought I needed to track down my stuff and there it sat on the front counter. I had no idea that it was you. I just figured I was so freaked out that I’d only imagined tossing my things in desperate attempt to help Clark.”

“Yep, doing my good deeds where I can.” He pauses for a beat and then blurts out, “
Where the Red Fern Grows
.” I give him a questioning look. “That’s the book you were reading.” A satisfied sensation pervades my entire being, making me feel warm all over. He remembers the book I was reading almost ten years ago. Unbelievable.

He shifts again, looking uncomfortable. I suddenly realize that I’m not very comfortable either. We’ve been out here for a while now, but I don’t want him to call it a night. Suddenly, I have a solution, “Hey, I have a blanket in my car!” I practically run to my car and grab all my sheets and pillows. We spread them out and get comfortable, lying side by side.

We get quiet again. I love that he seems as comfortable with silence as I am. So many people feel that they must fill silence when there really isn’t anything of value to say. As if we can’t live without inane and incessant chatter. Why doesn’t everyone realize that we need silence to process and feel and exist? That has always baffled me.

I must’ve dozed off. I feel so warm all of the sudden and realize that my head is cradled next to Michael’s chest. I smile slowly and close my eyes again. I’m not sure how I got over here; but if he’s OK with it, I’m not budging.

The next time I rouse, it’s to Michael’s voice and the magnificent sunrise he promised me. “When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, we admired God’s wondrous gift to us.”

I’m impressed as he paraphrase
s some lines from one of my favorite epic poems. “Homer, huh? It’s so beautiful. You’re incredibly insightful to have remembered that phrase.” I laugh at myself and confess, “I’ve always thought that the dawning sun resembled the end of an orange sherbet push up pop. How creative is that?”

“Very, actually. Mine is from memory. Yours is original.”

I run my hand up his chest and turn my head to look up at him. “I’ll never forget this moment here with you, ya know?” I’m finally starting to realize that I’ve memorized every one of my moments with him. I will add this one to my stash.

His
words are an echo of my thoughts. “I’ve never forgotten any moment I’ve spent with you. A couple of them I tried to forget because of my stupidity but couldn’t quite manage it because, however stupid I was, you had starred in that memory.”

I stretch myself along his body and place a light kiss on his mouth. I quickly turn my head to look back at the morning sun as embarrassment warms my cheeks. I feel like a new person lying here with him. Better than new actually. I feel revived. Almost like the old me.

Chapter Sixteen

Brings Me to My Knees

I wake up again to find the sun a few hours further in the sky. Michael’s breath is even under me. I gingerly scoot over and stretch. I sit up and stare at him for a few unencumbered minutes. He looks so peaceful. I can still make out the faint scar on his eyebrow from one of our dirt bike riding accidents.

I flip through my purse without taking my eyes off of him and try to locate my journal.

My mom had found two small beat up dirt bikes for sale around Christmas the year she finally left my dad and had hocked her class ring and engagement ring in order to buy them for my brothers along with a beautiful gold wishbone ring with a tiny little pearl for me. Of course, she told my brothers they had to let me teach them how to ride because they were still pretty young. That meant I got to enjoy the dirt bikes as well. It was a couple of days after Christmas, and Michael showed up at my house asking about going for a ride since I’d been bragging about my skills on the hills.

When we tried to start them, he insisted that his wouldn’t start and that he could just ride on the back of mine. I suppress a giggle as the reality of that dawns on me. I was too naïve to see his motivation for lying then, but it had to have been a lie because later that morning it had cranked right up.

“I can just ride on the back of yours for a while,” he says.

“Um…OK.” I was nervous about our weight on it but not too nervous to deny him a ride. He throws his leg over the side. Before he has his hands around my waist, I gun it.

“Shiiiit!” He shouts and then laughs as his hands grasp my waist.

I laugh and maneuver our way out of the developed part of the neighborhood. My hair is flying back in the wind that stings my eyes. I feel him rest his head on my shoulder. It has been two weeks since our kiss. I wonder if he will ever bring it up. We ride for a while, jumping puddles and mounds of dirt. I hop off for a little while and let him show me up with all of his wheelies and jumps. He’s far more daring than I am.

I yell at him that I’m starting to get cold. We decide to head back for a while and warm up and go out again later. He pats the seat behind him and winks at me. Of course, I’m hardheaded and just quirk my brow at him. There’s no way I’m getting on the back of my own bike, I think.

“Fine, have it your way,” he pouts and scoots back.

“I will. Thanks for your permission, O’ Great One!” I mock.

We’re almost to my house and I, in my infinite wisdom, decide to shake some warmth in my hands as I slow down to turn on my street. I don’t understand the fact that my hands have shrunken with the cold and are now smaller, so my new ring goes flying off in the tall grass that borders our street. I almost wreck as I try to get stopped as quickly as possible. Michael yells at me to inquire about my sanity. Before it fully dies out, I’m off the dirt bike and running towards the grass.

“Lorraina, what’s wrong?” he shouts the question at me.

“My ring! My ring! It flew off my hand when I was shaking it out! Oh my God, Michael! My mom bought it for me just two days ago!”

“OK. OK. It’s gonna be OK. We’ll find it,” he assures me.

We searched for at least an hour before being overcome with the unusually cold weather. My face was chapped from my tears. My throat ached with the unshed ones. Michael didn’t want to give up, but it felt hopeless. He assured me that after we went home and warmed up some we would search again. And we did to no avail, of course.

Later we sat on the porch holding hot chocolate. My mom was still at work, and I was scared to tell her what had happened when she did arrive. We were silent as we had been since my complete screw up.

Finally, Michael breaks the silence. “Lorraina, your mom will understand. It was an accident. You would have never been purposefully careless with her gift. She’ll know that.”

I start crying again. When I finally stop, I mumble, “Michael, my mom hocked her class ring and her wedding rings to buy us our Christmas presents. She’s working two jobs, going to school, and providing for us while my piece of shit dad blames the world for his drinking and arson problems and what do I do? I lose her precious gift to me.” I choke on another sob and can’t speak anymore.

He waits until I quiet down again. “I’m so sorry,” he offers.

And he is. I can hear it in his voice. Most people utter these words unthinkingly, not considering what they really mean. He would take this pain from me if he could. He understands that it was more than just a piece of jewelry that I am mourning for. My mom was killing herself, and I was a klutz.

I prayed that my mom would know how much her sacrifice meant to me even if I did lose the token of that sacrifice. I wasn’t ungrateful. I was just stupid. Moms understood that, right?!

He sat there with me for a long time. Not talking. He was just there. A strong presence in my infinite sadness. I gathered strength from him as I prepared to face my mom.

Over the next few weeks, to make up for my foolishness, I did all kinds of things around the house to show my mom how much I appreciated her. She wasn’t mad at me, which I had feared. Worse, she was disappointed. I hated disappointing people. Still do.

………………………………………………………

A couple of weeks later, Michael meets me as I get off the bus. “Walk with me,” he says.

I give my brother my book bag and catch up to Michael, who has already started walking away. His hands are in his pockets, his head down, his shoulders pulled taut. He looks as if he is in pain. I feel something akin to panic steal over me, freezing me in place for a moment.

“Hey! Wait up!” I yell.

He spins around. “You know how much I love you, right?”

I skid to a stop. The look he gives me scares me. It looks like resignation. I’ve never seen Michael give up before. What is he giving up on? Or is it who is he giving up on? “Michael, you’re scaring me. Are you OK?”

“Do you want the bad news, the crappy news, or what?”

“Just tell me!” I hate the unknown. “Whatever it is; we can deal with it.”

“There is no ‘we,’” he thrusts the pronoun back in my face.

I take a deep breath to defend myself. His look stops me. I don’t know how to handle this Michael. I’m sorry just won’t cut it. I’m at a loss at what would be appropriate. But, he’s right—there is no we.

He runs his hand through his hair and sighs, “Look, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just... I…”

This is crazy. I’ve never seen him at a loss for words or unsure of himself.  “Michael, whatever is, please tell me.” I want to reach out and comfort him, but he wouldn’t appreciate it right this moment.

“Well, for starters, I tried to find the pawn shop where your mom hocked her ring; but it was impossible. Either I didn’t find the right one, or it’s already sold. Either way, I can’t help you get her class ring back.”

I relax a little. This is not the end of the world as his demeanor was suggesting. This wasn’t what I was expecting. I had no idea that he had even been searching for it. My heart warms. “Michael, I can’t believe you—”

“I’m dropping out,” he deadpans. His eyes don’t meet mine. My gratefulness flips like a switch to emptiness. He can’t leave me.

“Michael, please don’t do this,” I beg. “You’re better than this. I know school sucks, but you can stick it out for a few more years.”

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?” I scream. “There’s nothing worth quitting for. Is it me? Are you that pissed at me?!”

“No, no! I have to be able to support myself. I can’t make enough money at Cricket’s to help my brother with the rent, and I…I can’t go back home. I got a decent job offer, but it’s full-time work.”