I act as if I don't notice. I act as if I don't care. When people find out, everything changes. The phone calls stop, no more house visits, and gradually they just disappear from my life altogether. I don't quite understand as to how it would affect our friendship. I am not my parents.
Of course there are the nice ones, who try not to let it show, but the pattern is always the same; they figure it out and our relationship restricts strictly to school. No outside contact engages and I lose another friend no matter how good they think they are at hiding it.
Then there are the others; the ones who think it somehow has to do with their life and think they need to get involved. And by involved I do not mean in a positive, helpful way; quite the opposite actually. The rumors flood the school and I slowly, painfully begin to drown. I try to ignore them, the hushed furious whispers in the hallway, but the current is too great and I go under.
That's until Derek saves me. He has saved me more times than I can think of. Pulls me out, makes sure I'm breathing, towels me off, and stays by my side until it occurs again.
At the moment we are in the fourth stage; the one where he stays by my side as we wait for another wave to sweep me off my feet. His hand squeezes mine to pull me out of my thoughts.
"Hey you okay?" Derek wrapped his arm around my waist to shield me from the brisk wind that was gusting through the park.
"Yeah, just thinking," I responded giving him a quick smile.
He leaned over and gave me a quick peck on the lips before pulling back to look into my eyes, as to reassure himself that I was truly okay.
"I'm fine, Der." The black flecks in his dark blue eyes were visible in the bright sunlight.
"Okay," he said finally convinced.
"So, have you finished thinking about what colleges you're going to apply to?" This specific discussion had been ongoing for a couple months already and it was getting towards the middle of our junior year.
"I've narrowed it down to five; Stanford, Yale, U. of Penn., Harvard, and Dartmouth. I still have to get rid of one though because my parents only want me applying for four."
"Oh. Well I'd get rid of U. of Penn. Who wants to go to school in the same state as where their parents live? That's no fun."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," he said smiling.
"Of course I am. I don't see the world crashing down around us," I said, feigning haughtiness.
"So you're implying that if you're wrong about something, the world would cease to be?" he said giving me a smirk.
"Yes. And as the world is still remaining proves my theory that I'm never wrong," I simply stated.
Oh really?" he questioned slyly," oh really? Well I think I'll have to do something about that." He immediately broke into song of which I could barely make out as he sang it completely out of tune. After a few lines Build Me Up Buttercup began to make its way through his horribly screeching voice.
"Stop, stop! You're ruining one of my all-time favorite songs!" I screamed at him.
"...AND WORST OF ALL, YOU NEVER CALL BABY WHEN YOU SAY YOU WILL," he continued as he shook his head at me.
"Fine. Do you want me to admit that I'm not always right? Will that make you stop?" I would do anything to stop the butchering of this song.
"BUILD ME UP BUTTERCUP," he shouted nodding his head with a playful grin on his face.
"Fine I admit that I'm not always right. Though I am most of the time," I added quietly. Apparently he heard it over his yelling because he continued singing.
As I could not put up with it any longer, I grabbed his face and smothered his voice with my lips. I kissed him long and hard hoping it would make him forget all about the torturous singing.
He was grinning as he pulled back and let out a slight laugh.
"That'll do," he said in response and began walking again down the pathway. We continued our walk through the cool air back to my house.
We arrived on my porch 20 minutes later and I could feel just how cold my feet and hands were.
"Are you coming in?" I asked Derek. "We just got more hot chocolate and marshmallows," I said with a knowing smile.
"Well how can I say no to that?" he responded. We entered the house and I immediately felt the warm blast of heat overtake me. Derek and I both stripped off our coats, gloves, and hats; piling them all on the landing of the stairs.
He followed me into the kitchen where I found my 6-year-old brother, Cayden, drawing some pictures. Each of us took a seat on wither side of Cayden at the kitchen island.
"What's up little man?" I asked him. He looked up seeming to not have noticed us until I had spoken. My brother put down the red crayon he'd been using and looked back and forth between me and Derek.
"Hello Derek. Hello Mer. I am drawing," he said carefully. He had lately been attempting smarter sounding speech.
"That's cool buddy. How would you like some hot chocolate to accompany that?" questioned Derek.
"Okay. Would you like to draw, too, Derek?"
"Sure."
Derek grabbed a piece of paper and a few crayons and began drawing with Cayden. I got up from my seat and put a pot of milk on the stove. I then turned the kitchen radio to the Christmas station. While it was only a week or so after Thanksgiving I was already in the full Christmas mood.
My favorite holiday tune, Little Saint Nick, was on and I began singing along softly as I got the mugs, hot chocolate mix, and gingerbread cookies out. I laid them on the counter and prepared our holiday treat.
In the background I could hear Cayden chatting away to Derek about what he wanted from Santa and questioned him as to what he was getting me. Derek's heart laugh filled my ears and I couldn't help but to laugh as well. His laugh could make my day any time, any place.
"Here you go guys," I said setting the mugs and plate of cookies in front of them. I sat down too and blew softly on my steaming drink.
We sat enjoying our treats and listened, entertained, to Cayden tell us what he did at school today and what he planned to do tomorrow. I leaned forward laughing when he goofily stuck two marshmallows up his nose and gave himself a whipped cream mustache. I glanced over at Derek who also happened to find this funny as he was leaning forward banging his palm on the granite countertop.
Derek sensed my eyes on him and picked his head up to see me. He gave me a toothy girin, wiggled his eyebrows, and gave me a flirty wink sending me into another fit of laughs. Though my eyes were closed in joy, I could feel Cayden laughing obliviously, his body shaking in sudden jerks.
"Okay Cay, I think it's time for bed. Why don't you run upstairs and get ready for bed and I'll be up soon to tuck you in," I said.
"Oh...okay," he responded somewhat gloomily. He climbed down from the stool he'd sat in and looked up at me with puppy eyes.
"Go on," I said giving him a little push. He began walking towards the stairs, dragging his raggedy old teddy bear behind him.
"Goodnight Cayden," called Derek after him.
"Bye Derek," he called back. Cayden disappeared up the stairs, the sound of his teddy bear making a soft thumping noise as it hit each stair.
"Mmmm...I'm so tired," said Derek. His arms wrapped lazily around my waist and I leaned back contentedly.
"As much as I'd like to stay this way, I need to load the dishwasher and attend to a certain little boy." I reluctantly removed his arms from the embrace and began collecting the dishes.
"Stop. I'll do it. You go tuck him in," he told me, taking the dishes from my hands.
"Thanks." Pecking him on the lips, I jogged up the stairs two-by-two to find Cayden. His faint humming brought me to his bathroom where he was scrubbing his teeth. I left him to it and went to his bedroom to await his presence.
This waiting left me to observe his room; white and green striped walls, tan carpet, books lined the walls, and various toys scattered among the floor. I wandered over to the desk where a few books sat and noticed a drawing I'd assumed he was doing when I'd found him earlier.
The image was hard to distinguish as a 6-year-old doesn't have much drawing skill and crayons just add to the deciphering difficulty. I could just make out three people that he had labeled "me", "Mer", and "Derek". We were standing in a yard with the standard house and dog, which he had been begging for the entire year, in the background.
I couldn't help but feel upset by his rendition of our family. No mom, no dad; just a little boy with his older sister and her high school boyfriend. What kind of family is that? Not a stable one if anything.
Cayden padded up behind me, teddy bear in tow, and tugged on my jeans.
"Do you like my picture? It's me, you, and Derek. Isn't it pretty?" He was eager to hear my response and praise.
"It's real good, Cay," I said. I bent down and lifted him up, carrying him over to the bed. I plopped him down and tucked him tightly under the covers, taking a seat on the edge to talk with him. I was about to ask him what he wanted for Christmas when he quickly interrupted me.
"How come Daddy's not tucking me in?" His innocence struck me like a sharp knife and my voice hitched in my throat.
The question raced through my mind. How do I explain a child the absence of his father?
"He's busy Cay. He has to work, so he can buy things for Christmas," I replied. The lie that popped in my head was a good one and I knew it. He loved the holiday and wouldn't suspect anything of it.
"Oh. Okay," he accepted.
"Well it's bedtime for you. I'll see you tomorrow morning." I kissed him on the forehead, turned off the light, and closed the door letting the child rest peacefully.
The sharp knife was still throbbing in my chest as I descended the stairs into the family room. Flames were dancing in the fireplace and Derek appeared to be deep in thought as he lay on his back gazing at the heat.
"Hey," I said, laying down on his stomach and wrapping my arms around his waist. The softness of his basketball sweatshirt comforted me immensely and drew me in closer to the nape of his neck where I securely placed my head. Taking a deep breath gave my nostrils a fresh whiff of his scent; a mix of a sweet cologne and freshly cut grass due to his job as a gardener throughout the neighborhood.
He harped his arms around my back and ran them up under the shirt I was wearing to massage my bare back. After a few minutes of silence he stopped his hand movements and paused for a moment before speaking.
"I don't mean to be a nag, but are you sure you're okay? You're back feels extremely tense." The caution in his voice was evident as he skated on what he thought was thin ice.
"Der," I said after taking a deep breath, "how do you tell a six-year old that his father would rather spend quality time with his bottles of liquor than his own son?" I tightened my grip on his waist slightly.
"You don't," he responded bluntly.
"Exactly," I finalized. One tear escaped my eye lid and many closely followed. Damned tears always came unwanted.
"Mer? You're crying aren't you?" he questioned gently. He must have felt the wetness making its way through the sweatshirt.
"Don't. Just don't," I warned shakily.
"Okay," he whispered in my ear, his hands beginning their circular motions.
And that's how we ended our Friday night; me crying silently over the neglect of my little brother and Derek softly, wordlessly comforting me with his gentle, kneading hands.