The Book of Matthew (The Alex Chronicles Book 1) (6 page)

“Oh, hi,” I said.

He lifted his head to look at me briefly before lowering his gaze to the ground again, his chest heaving. “Am I late?”

I saw his dark eyes in the dim light. Too cold and stunned to look at my watch, I said, “Right on time.”

Matt unlocked the door and ushered me inside. He flipped the switch for the chandelier and we made our way to the stairs. He started climbing the steps, but I paused at the kitchen, unable to follow him. At that moment, my desire to go inside the kitchen was strong. I looked at the swinging door and the darkness that crept around it, from it, under it. Something was willing me to breech the threshold, an invisible pull teasing me to cross to the other side. It was like witnessing the aftermath of a horrific car accident—I couldn’t peel my eyes from it. The intriguing uncertainty that lay beyond was a force I couldn’t stare down. I had to go inside. I reached my hand out…

“Alex?”

I turned my head and looked up in the direction of the voice and saw Matt looking down at me from the stairway. “Are you coming?”

Awakened from my trance, I smiled and nodded and said that I was.

Once inside the practice room, he closed the door behind me and threw his coat on the floor. I draped my jacket over a chair.

“All right,” he said, grinning. “Let’s get started.”

Half an hour later we were sitting face to face cross-legged on the floor, about five feet apart. Both of us had an acoustic guitar nestled in our laps.

I hadn’t learned much in those thirty minutes. I’d been too busy breathing him in. He’d mentioned something about distorted and clean electric guitar sounds, but who cares? I was studying his face, listening to his voice, searching for any sign of mutual attraction. What was he really trying to convey with his crooked smile? What was concealed behind the beauty of his dark green eyes?

I came up empty.

My thoughts drifted to something I thought I
could
figure out, something tangible.

The kitchen.

“I need to use the restroom,” I said.

He raised his eyes but not his head. “Downstairs, around the corner from the kitchen.”

I stood and shook the prickly pain of sleep from my legs. I limped across the room and made sure to close the door tight behind me.

At the bottom of the stairs I paused and turned to look back up the stairwell to make sure Matt hadn’t followed me. There was no way of knowing if he would approve of what it was I needed to do. Then I stood for a moment, waited, and listened. The coast was clear.

I carefully pushed the kitchen door open wide enough for me to squeeze through. Once inside the dark room, I stood motionless, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

I fumbled for a light switch but couldn’t find it. To make the most of time, I decided to forge ahead through the dark, just in case Matt were to come wandering after me.

Two large, bare windows above a stainless steel sink allowed in just enough moonlight for me to continue. The natural light helped guide me.

I shuffled across the room slowly, not searching for anything; I just wanted to feel whatever memories lingered there. It has always been my belief that if you listen closely enough, a room will reveal its secrets. Walls will talk if you want them to. Rooms aren’t really all that different from humans.

This room was small and square. Row of stainless steel tables rimmed the perimeter, and there was a walk-in freezer, its open door revealing a dark cavern inside. Stray boxes littered the floor. I didn’t open the boxes, or kick them, or try to read the scribbled writing on their lids. Just seeing the room for the first time, and being in it, was enough to calm the invisible force that beckoned me inside. For now. There’d be time enough later to explore more and look through those boxes.

Turning to leave, I gasped in surprise at his dark form. Matt stood just inside the door, partially illuminated by thin bands of moonlight. With one quick flip of his wrist the kitchen light crackled and flickered to life.

“What are you doing?” he asked sternly, taking a step forward.

I squinted at the brightness. “I couldn’t find the bathroom. I thought there was another one in here.”

He took another step. “Liar.”

I shuffled back a few steps, feeling years of dirt and grime and crumbs grind underneath my shoes. “I—I’m not lying.”

“There’s only one bathroom.”

“Okay. I just—”

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he said. He took two more steps closer and stopped just in front of me. His green eyes stared me down.

“What do you mean? What’s the big deal?”

“There’s nothing in here!” His voice boomed and echoed around the room.

“I thought…I mean, I wanted…” I stammered.

“Alex, please…” This time his voice sounded desperate and pleading.

We searched each other’s eyes for what to do.

With one more step Matt reached his hands out to touch my face. But then he changed his mind. Trembling, he took a step back, clenching his hands into fists. Our eyes connected for mere seconds before he changed his mind again and rushed forward and I felt him on me—his lips on my mouth, his hands pressed to my jaw.

There were groans and whimpers and a tangling of tongues and then our kiss was over. We stood flushed and breathless in the middle of the room. My lips felt swollen and tingly. I touched them and watched as his dark eyes darted from the floor to the ceiling and then from my mouth to my eyes.

With one quick motion I stripped off my shirt. Matt’s eyes widened and he scanned my bare flesh. He pulled off his own t-shirt, let it drop to the floor, and pressed his bare chest against me as he wrapped his arms around my back. He pushed me backwards and we stumbled and groped our way to the stainless steel counter next to the sink.

We stripped off more clothing. I hoisted myself up with Matt’s help onto the dusty cold steel. I winced as it hit my warm skin. Once he was between my thighs, my legs wrapped around him, with one hard push I took him in.

…

There was a moment of enveloping calm and nothingness before the trembling started. I was alone and then I was not. My skin was hot and perspiring and then it was covered with goose flesh. My body was lax and flaccid and then it shook and shuddered.

Matt sat next to me on the kitchen counter. I turned to him. He looked ahead with a vacant, unblinking stare, his chest heaving in and out.

“We should get out of here,” he finally said, still staring straight ahead. He slid off the counter to collect his clothes. He hastily threw them on and rushed out of the room without a glance back, leaving me alone and naked to drown in the blinding, revealing light.

…

I stood in the doorway of the practice room, watching him, his back to me as he pulled his guitar out of the cabinet. I smoothed out my knotted hair. My cheeks still burned and I felt them with both hands and they were warm. I imagined they were flushed with the unmistakable glow that comes after coming.

The first of Matt’s students arrived and pushed past me. Several more voices echoed up from the stairwell and two more boys excused their way into the room as I stood blocking the entrance. Everyone was now accounted for.

Matt kept his back to everyone. I stared at the back of his head as I took those first few steps into the room.

Things had seemed to happen so quickly between us I hardly had time to process it all. One minute we were shaking hands for the first time, the next we were making music alone together, and the next we were naked on a kitchen counter.

I was shocked, confused, exhilarated. I felt relieved, empowered, free.

Matt finally turned to face everyone. The glow that flushed his cheeks was just as unmistakable.

II.

“How about this one?” my mother asked.

I looked up from the rack of dresses I had been searching through and saw my mother clutching a white sequined dress. She held it up for me to see it.

I wrinkled my nose at her choice. “Too formal.”

She let the dress fall to her side in a slump. “The dance is called a Spring
Formal
.”

“Whatever.”

With a flip of her wrist the dress disappeared, stuffed back among the other dresses on the rack.

My mother and I had been searching for a half-hour. Who knew finding a simple dress for a high school dance could take so long, or be so tiring or so depressing. Every dress was too long, too short, or too ugly. I hadn’t even tried any on yet and I was already prepared to give up. The pangs in my stomach reminded me that the sooner I got this over with, the sooner we could eat lunch. And the sooner I could get away from
her
.

She tried again. “How about this one?”

I scanned her second pick. Although the style was to my liking, the turquoise color absolutely was not. “It’s okay, I guess. I’ll try it on as a last resort.”

Ever since the week before, since the therapy session with Dr. Cramer, I had tried like hell to ignore my parents. Dismissing my mother had been hard. A few times I walked by my parents’ bedroom on my way to the bathroom and heard her sobbing through the closed door. That made it difficult for me to ignore her. I always paused outside the door and listened, wondering what I should do. But I always did nothing. I kept on walking.

It had been hard for me to ignore my mother on this day, too. I needed her to take me shopping for a dress, and I needed her money to pay for it. I didn’t have a license or a job.

She had sifted through rack after rack of dresses. Each time I said no to one of her choices, she went at it again with renewed fervor. It was as if her happiness, and her success as a mother, depended on finding me that one perfect dress.

There were only two that we had agreed on. I decided to try them on to make the most of time and let my mother keep searching. If I was lucky one of them would fit and we could call it a day.

“I’m going to try these on,” I said. “Come find me in a few minutes.”

“Okay, my dear.”

I took a few steps and suddenly heard my mother gasp.

“Alex, wait!” she said.

I turned around, expecting to cringe at what she’d found. But to my surprise, she had found it—my dress for the Spring Formal. It was the deepest and richest hue of burgundy. It looked about knee-length and had arms that came off the shoulder. It was pretty and simple and simply perfect for me.

“That’s it. That’s the one,” I said.

She smiled. “It’s on sale. Go try it on.”

I found an open fitting room stall and closed the curtain, leaving my mother standing outside in the hallway. I disrobed and pulled the dress over my head, mussing my hair in the process, and zipped the back closed as far up as I could reach.

To my delight, the dress fit. I stood in front of my mirror looking at myself.

“Are you ready yet?” my mother said. She reached her hand in to pull the curtain back. “Let me see you.”

I pulled the curtain back with a loud whoosh.

Her eyes focused on my rounded reflection in the mirror. My hair was a static mess and a scabby knee poked through just below the hemline. One white sock was bunched at my ankle, and the other lay inside out on the floor next to my overturned shoes. My hips filled the dress completely, but fortunately, I had acquired my mother’s slim waist. It was accented by the A-line style of the dress.

Yes, the dress fit. Not perfectly, but good enough.

As I stood there slumped in front of the mirror, my mother clapped her hands together once with joy, tilted her head to the side, and cried.

…

The burgundy dress was packaged in plastic. I slung it over my shoulder and hung on to the hanger with my index finger as my mother and I made our way through the mall.

There was no question we’d be going to the burger joint at the far end of the mall. Every time my mother and I went to the mall we ended up there. Sometimes for lunch, sometimes for just a quick snack, oftentimes for milkshakes to go. Today’s events called for a celebratory lunch. And sure enough, we wordlessly drifted past store after store and eventually found ourselves waiting in line to be seated.

“Just the two of you today?” the hostess said.

“Yes,” my mother confirmed.

“Would you like a table or booth?”

My mother looked at me. I shrugged my shoulders.

“It doesn’t matter,” my mother said. “Either would be fine.”

The hostess grabbed two menus. “No problem.” Then she asked her final question. “Smoking or non?”

“Non,” my mother said.

The hostess smiled and started to lead the way.

“No, wait!” I blurted out. “Smoking!”

The hostess looked at me and then my mother.

“Oh, yes,” my mother said. “Almost forgot. Smoking, please.”

We were ushered to a booth near the back of the restaurant, across from the entrance to the kitchen, only a few steps from the restrooms.

After a few moments of silence while reviewing the menu, my mother asked, “What will you be having today, my dear?”

My dear. She always called me that, especially when she was content and thought our relationship was equally and happily balanced. But it wasn’t. Just because we shared a sappy mother-daughter moment over a dress didn’t mean I was about ready to forgive her for her role in my father’s infidelity.

I stared needlessly at the menu. “The usual,” I mumbled.

“A well done cheeseburger with a chocolate milkshake.”

“Yep.”

“Sounds good to me. I think I’ll have the same.”

Once our food was ordered and we were both contently sucking through straws at our shakes, my mother eyed me enthusiastically. “Are you excited about going to the Spring Formal?”

“I guess so.”

She seemed unfazed by my emotionless response. She smiled wide, partially exposing her slightly crooked bottom teeth. “I’m so happy and excited for you!”

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“It most certainly is. It’s your first date!”

“Whatever.”

“You wait, your attitude will change when Bobby sees how pretty you look and when the two of you are having a good time.”