A Life Rescued
Part 2
Chapter 10 – The Agreements
(Please read and review, it makes us better writers.)

Disclaimer: The world of Terabithia belongs to Katherine Paterson and her publishers.
I'm just playing around in it for a while. No profit was, or will be received from this story.

As with all holidays, the Christmas of 2007 passed far too quickly. Before Jesse and Leslie knew it, they were again standing with May waiting for the school bus to arrive. The excitement of the Yule snowstorm had given hope that early January would provide for them a blizzard, or at least a strong winter zephyr, to delay their return to classes a few more days, but it wasn't to be. Monday morning dawned grey, dreary, cold, and rainy their first day back to school. With small rivulets of water pouring from their rain gear to the muddy ground, the three lonely souls had few cheerful words for each other.

Jesse and May carried their usual backpacks, but they were hidden under new slickers; their boots kept their new trainers out of the mud and muck. Jesse also carried, very self consciously, a medium sized portfolio under his arm. It contained his newest drawings, six in all, which he was bringing to the school art teacher for appraisal. Leslie, nearly invisible under her own rain gear except for the collar of her shirt and some sort of beaded things dangling below the bottom of her coat, stood pondering the approaching bus.

"Better move back some, May. If the bus hits that puddle," Leslie pointed to an enormous pothole in the road, "we'll be drenched."

"You mean we aren't drenched, Leslie," May asked, smiling in spite of the cold.

"Yeah, no kidding… So, May Belle," Leslie teased the girl, receiving a frown in return, "what can I get you for your birthday party next week? With all these new clothes you don't need anything."

"Barbies!" May and her brother cried out together as the bus stopped.

Laughing, the three children boarded the bus. May found her best friend from down the road and plopped into the seat next to her. Jesse and Leslie took up their usual spot and watched the center isle of the yellow bus where more streams of water flowed back and forth as they started and stopped.

"Ready?" Leslie asked as they approached the final street before school.

"I guess. You?"

"Ready, Captain Underpants."

"Please, Les!"

"Ok. How about CU?" The suggestion returned an evil look. "Now, for Scott, what are you going to do if he starts teasing again?"

Jesse turned away. "Punch him."

"JESS! Come on, really."

"Yeah, really, I'll punch him," he repeated.

"That's not what you promised me," Leslie griped. Then she thumped his arm.

"Hey! That's my precious drawing arm."

"Then tell me what you're going to do, or I'll hit it again." She held her fist up dramatically and they both laughed.

"Yes, ma'am. First I'll ignore him, next I'll give him a withering look… then I'll punch him." His friend didn't smile.

Jesse repeated the mantra: "First I'll ignore him, next I'll give him a withering look, then I'll state loudly, but not disruptively: 'I'm trying to work, Hoager, please be quiet.'"

"And…?"

"And if all that doesn't work I'll change seats." This last idea of Leslie's was not his favorite. Besides wanting to punch the bully, Jesse could not convince Leslie that changing seats wouldn't help since they were not allowed to do it anyway.

"Good. Remember, don't let him get to you. And I'll be there, too," she said confidently, as if her presence would fix everything. Jesse snorted sarcastically, to which his friend replied, "You want to try my plan?"

"NO!" Jesse exclaimed, a little too enthusiastically.

Leslie pouted. "Thanks a lot."

"C'mon, Les, you know what I mean."

"Ok, ok. Only as a last resort." Dang!

By the time they reached school, the rain had nearly stopped. The children exited the bus and headed their separate ways, May waving goodbye to her brother and friend. "So far, so good," Jesse whispered. None of the usual crown of bullies had braved the rain to make the first day back of 2008 a nightmare.

"Right. But now comes the real test."

The hallways leading to all the classrooms were a mess of mud and water, and a few papers had found their way to the floor. In homeroom, the cloak closet was filled with dripping garments. Above all, there was the smell of wet children presenting various stages of good (or bad) hygiene. As Jesse and Leslie sat, both noticed Scott Hoager's seat was empty and they shared an encouraged look.

"Maybe he transferred!" Jesse said hopefully.

"Maybe he broke his jaw and can't talk for a month!" Leslie added, giggling. They gave each other a high-five.

"I should have known the first thing I'd see is you two touching each other," said a voice just outside the door. A few of the kids in the room snickered.

"Just ignore him, Jess," Leslie said quietly.

"I'm ignoring, I'm ignoring," Jesse repeated. Then he looked up and smiled. Scott Hoager was limping into the room with a three-quarter length cast on his left leg and an oddly sewn pair of trousers, the right leg full-length and the left leg short. As he was thinking of something to say, Leslie beat him to it.

"You know, Scott, if you would start wearing skirts again you wouldn't have to ruin your good pants," she said sweetly.

The laughs and clapping in the classroom were like a tonic to Jesse and he joined in excitedly. Hoager gave Leslie a hateful look as he hobbled down the isle to his seat. It looked like he still was not used to maneuvering around on crutches and he dropped them at least twice with various colorful curses punctuating each clatter of wood. Jesse and Leslie looked at each other and smiled.

Maybe it wasn't going to be such a bad year after all!

Mrs. Diane Mason was a middle-aged, heavy-set woman who taught art to the students at Lark Creek Elementary School. Over the Christmas holiday, she had received a call from Bill Burke (with authorization from Jack Aarons) requesting she examine some of the drawings Jesse had produced over the last week of the break. Mrs. Mason knew Jesse well and had seen his potential. And while he was, as she termed it, modestly gifted, she knew he would have a difficult time improving without the benefit of individual instruction. As a favor to the Burkes, who had donated many books to the school library, Mrs. Mason agreed to meet with Jesse during his P.E. period; she was intrigued by the unusual praise the boy had received from the famous author.

Jesse brought his portfolio into the empty classroom during third period and greeted Mrs. Mason. He was surprised to see samples of his work from fifth grade, as well as a couple drawings from earlier in the current year.

"Jesse, hello. Come over and have a seat. Let me see what you have there." Mrs. Mason held out her hand as Jesse offered the folder. Thirty seconds later, Jesse noticed Mrs. Mason had a look similar to Mr. Burke's the week before: she didn't believe he had drawn the pictures.

"Jesse, I must say…these are beautiful. I have to be honest with you, if Bill Burke didn't tell me his story I would have had a difficult time…I'm sorry, it's not that I don't trust you, but these are masterful. Your work earlier this year and last was good, but this is like, well, it's like someone else drew them." Obviously flustered and not a little confused, Mrs. Mason paged through the small pile, finishing with the drawing he did of Leslie's eyes.

"Jesse, is this Leslie Burke? Never mind, of course it is, her father said it was. Oh my!"

Jesse wasn't quite sure what to make of the art teacher's comments. He was angry when she mentioned her doubt of their authenticity, but her praise was otherwise so complete he also felt a calming satisfaction.

"I wonder, Jess… would you excuse me for a minute?" Standing, the woman walked over to the room telephone and made a request. Seconds later the public address made an announcement for Leslie Burke to report to the art classroom. She ran into the room less than a minute later.

"Hi Mrs. Mason. Hi, Jess!"

"Leslie, I understand Jesse drew this of you?" She was holding the paper up, comparing the original to the copy. "Extraordinary. Jesse, do you think you could draw the rest of her face?"

"Uh, I guess so, if Leslie doesn't mind." Leslie shrugged and agreed.

"Wonderful. Would you have a seat…?"

"Mrs. Mason, can she sit over there?" Jesse interrupted, pointing to another spot. "The light's better."

"Certainly, Jesse. I'll get you some pencils."

"Just regular #2s, please, that's what I used for this."

Jesse received another surprised look from the teacher, but she did as asked and in a minute he had started. It took most of the rest of the period, and there were some small incomplete areas, but when Mrs. Mason interrupted Jesse, shortly before the forth period bell rang, the picture was essentially complete. And it was beautiful.

Leslie jumped up and looked at it, whistling. "Hey, Jess, not bad."

"Not bad?" Mrs. Mason exclaimed, almost harshly. "It's…It's…Jesse, I need to speak with you and your parents. Oh, no, don't worry, dear, nothing's wrong," she added quickly, seeing the expression of apprehension on the young artist's face. "We need to get you some exposure. Perhaps Tech or Radford…" Mrs. Mason trailed off, in an almost dreamy way. Then the bell rang and she excused the children, promising to return Jesse's drawings before the end of the day.

"Wow!" Jesse said, walking down the hallway with Leslie to their next class.

"Yeah, not bad…CU. What's 'Tech' and 'Radford'?"

"They're the two big universities down here. But I wonder what she wants to do?"

"Who cares? She likes them and that picture of me was amazing."

Leslie was having a hard time controlling her excitement, but Jesse was, for the first time, becoming a little concerned. How can I suddenly draw so well? Who cares!

Jesse Aarons was not the only person curious about his apparent over-night mastering of his talent. Mrs. Mason carefully placed the pictures back in their holder and stored the portfolio in a locked drawer. After her forth-period class she went to the school counselor and asked a few questions about Jesse Aarons. There was nothing extraordinary about him, the man said. He came from a poor family, and not knowing about his family's sudden and temporary infusion of cash assumed his new clothes were gifts. Jesse, he said, had had a bad accident the previous spring that broke his leg and nearly killed Leslie Burke, he reminded Mrs. Mason, an event that had drawn the two children very close.

"Oh, that's right…" she said absently.

Thanking the counselor, she returned to her classroom and went to the phone to call a friend at Virginia Tech. They spoke for a while, Mrs. Mason explaining what she had seen, and the nearly overnight change in the student. Then the Tech professor asked some questions of his own. Neither, however, could find an explanation that explained Jesse Aarons.

"I know that head injuries, or tragedies," the man on the other end of the phone stated, "can often lead to spurts of inspiration, but not the technical proficiency you're telling me about."

"If I brought the drawings over, Jerry, would you have a look at them?"

"Sure, Diane, any time. Bring the boy…Jesse's his name? Bring him along, too, if you like. Just give me a couple days notice." They made a couple tentative dates before finishing the call.

Mrs. Mason checked the class schedule and returned Jesse's pictures to him just before lunch. She briefly summarized her idea about visiting the university and said she would contact his parents that evening for permission. Jesse thanked her again and set off with Leslie to eat. Mrs. Mason walked back to the teacher's lounge to pick up her meal, but found she did not have much of an appetite. She knew she was becoming involved in something highly unusual, perhaps unique, and had to suppress a brief wave of jealousy as she pondered the eleven-year-old boy who had, in the space of a couple weeks, far outclassed her own modest talent.

As January wore on, and the excitement of Christmas wore off, Jesse and Leslie fell back into their patterns of daily life: school, homework, chores, sleep. But the approaching visit to Virginia Tech made Jesse edgy and distracted him somewhat. His older sisters, always looking for an excuse to irritate him, were merciless at home and invented a number of new ways to pick on their only brother. When Jesse had had enough he would burst out, yelling at them, to the limit of his ability, which only made matters worse. He wished, at times, he could pay for Ellie to go off to college the following fall. The prospect of her spending the rest of her life, or at least the next few years, in the same house as him was most unpleasant.

At school, Scott Hoager's relentless teasing was only partly tempered by his injury, but Jesse had much success taming his temper, which only infuriated his nemesis more. The only time he nearly lost control was when Hoager began to pick on Leslie directly, not through him. And while he knew his friend could stand up for herself, verbally and physically, it galled Jesse to hear some of the things she put up with. It irritated him even more when Hoager said something he didn't understand. Some of the words were vaguely familiar and he often spent a few minutes, at least once a week, trying to look up the word in a dictionary. It was a wasted effort, however, until he came across a lexicon of slang.

January 27 was the date Mrs. Mason had set up for her, Jesse, and Mrs. Aarons to travel to Blacksburg to visit her art professor acquaintance. Jesse was more than ready to get the engagement behind him; the idea of a university level art professor appraising his work and abilities made him quite nervous and he would much rather have spent the day studying than wasting a good chunk of a Saturday traveling and talking. But he also enjoyed a certain pride in what was happening, though he had given up trying to figure out why he was able to draw as well as he could. He simply accepted it as a gift.

A sense of déjà vu swarmed around Jesse the morning of the twenty-seventh. Mrs. Mason had just picked him and his mother up for the hour-long trip to Blacksburg and they were stopped in front of the Burke's house waiting for traffic to pass on the main road. It caused a momentary panic until Jesse remembered that his friend had left the night before on a long weekend trip to Arlington. He wished Leslie could have gone with them, he was nervous and her presence always seemed to calm him down. But on the way home from school the previous day she said she had confidence in him and that she would call Saturday evening to see how everything went.

The campus of Virginia Polytechnic Institute, or VPI as it was more commonly known, was well over a hundred years old. The original school, Virginia Agricultural and Mechanical College, was founded in 1872, and Jesse noticed, as they drove around the campus, that it had an old smell to it. It was not an offensive odor, rather it was steeped with ivy, grass, trees, and dried leaves; even the brick and stone buildings added an earthy flavor. He imagined that spring would be beautiful on the grounds and envisioned himself painting the school with its surrounding mountains and scurrying students.

Entering Talbot Hall, the center of the university's Art Department, gave Jesse a feeling of belonging and his first thought was of being home. The smell of paints and paper seemed to permeate the air, the corridor walls were covered with art of all types and his mother had to drag him forward from time to time. It was a welcome distraction from the growing anxiety he had been dealing with. As they entered the office of the department head, however, panic began to return; it was made worse by the stares he was receiving from students and faculty, as if they couldn't find any reason whatsoever for an eleven-year-old boy to be on campus. Then a loud-ish voice shook him out of his distracted state.

"Jerry, this is Jesse Aarons," he heard Mrs. Mason say, "And Jesse, this is Dr. Jerry Gilbert, the Assistant Dean of the Art Department."

They shook hands and greeted each other politely, and then Dr. Gilbert led them into a small conference room next to his office. Over the next half hour, Jesse listened and answered questions about his background, experiences drawing and painting, and some general knowledge about art. Once, Jesse was sure he saw the professor give Mrs. Mason a less-than-friendly look, he supposed it was something along the lines of, Why do you have this kid here wasting my time?

Then it was time for Jesse's work to be presented. He began with two old sketchbooks he had doodled in years before and was somewhat relieved to see that Dr. Gilbert approve of his actions. "Jesse, it's a good sign that you don't throw things away. It shows confidence in your work." Mrs. Mason next presented Jesse work from fifth and sixth grade. Dr. Gilbert only looked at all these older works briefly. "Alright, Jesse, let me see what you've done more recently."

Now Jesse pulled out the illustrations that Mr. Burke's publishers rejected. Their host spent more time evaluating these two sketches, asking some questions about his inspiration and choice of symbols. It was the first time Jesse felt the man had seemed at all satisfied with something he had drawn. When asked why the drawings were rejected, Jesse told Dr. Gilbert what he was told: lack of realism and detail in human figures.

"Yes, it was a fair criticism, but not bad for someone who hasn't had any formal training. Now let's see your latest."

At this point Mrs. Mason told Jesse to pull out the picture he had redrawn of the beach scene just presented. He did as was told and Dr. Gilbert took the paper as he listened to his friend explain the sketch. When Jesse looked back to the Assistant Dean he lost his temper; Dr. Gilbert had the same look of doubt Mr. Burke and Mrs. Mason had displayed when they first saw the work.

"I drew it," Jesse declared hotly.

Dr. Gilbert looked at Jesse through the bottom of his glasses. "I never said you didn't."

"You have the same look everyone does when they see it. Why?"

The answer was about what Jesse expected. "Because, Jesse," Dr. Gilbert began, picking up the original illustration and handing it to him, "no one goes from drawing this, to this," he handed the second picture, "in one week. No one…unless you could always draw this well and simply never did. And no eleven-year-old I know could ever draw that good," the man added, almost as an afterthought.

Dr. Gilbert sat back in his chair and considered Jesse for a moment. "Diane tells me you drew something for her. May I see it?"

Jesse took out the nearly complete drawing of Leslie and handed it over.

"Beautifully done. Who's the model, your sister?"

"It's Jesse's gir, eh, a friend from school," Mrs. Aarons answered.

"You did this in two sittings?"

"Yes."

Dr. Gilbert smiled and handed the picture to Jesse. "How did I know you drew that at two different times?"

"The lighting was different and I shadowed it differently. I tried to make them the same, but…"

"But you didn't know how, right?" Jesse nodded.

"Ok, Jesse, I'm convinced. The real question is, what now?"

Mrs. Aarons spoke up again. "What do you mean? Should he take lessons?"

Mrs. Mason and Dr. Gilbert laughed politely. "No, that's not exactly what I meant, though he could probably instruct half my faculty in some things. Mrs. Aarons, Jesse, when I asked 'what next?' I was referring to where you want to go with this extraordinary talent."

"It's that good?" Jesse asked, not really believing his ears.

"Oh, yes. You have a few years to go, Jesse, but if you're still drawing like this by the time you're a junior in high school, I would guess Tech would offer you a full scholarship."

Mrs. Aarons gasped, what she just heard was so far from anything she expected. Jesse sat, stunned, and then asked, "Is a scholarship like what football players get? It pays for school?"

"That's exactly what it is, Jesse, and more. Room, board, tuition, fees, books, everything. We have one gal here on a full scholarship and she's nowhere near your level." Smiling, Dr. Gilbert handed back the other pictures before continuing. "But I have to be honest with you, as much as we would be proud of having you at Tech, you'd be wasting your time here. We have an excellent department, but I doubt we could teach you anything significant. Oh, maybe a bit here and there, but you should look into places like Carnegie Mellon, Williams College, Washington University, and other top-notch art schools."

These names had little meaning to an eleven-year-old, but his mother's eyes widened and then settled on her son. She was seeing in him something neither she nor her husband, nor their other children would, or could, attain.

Following this initial meeting, Dr. Gilbert gave Mrs. Mason, Jesse, and his mother a tour of the entire campus on one of the security department's golf carts. By noon, half-frozen and ready to retreat indoors, they enjoyed lunch in the faculty dining hall; a place Dr. Gilbert assured his guests would provide a better meal than the student cafeteria. Then he made a proposal. "Jesse, if you're interested, and with your mother's permission, I'd like to take you to one of our studios and let you try your hand with some professional tools."

Mary Aarons didn't have to ask her son if he liked the idea, she could tell by his smile. So Jesse went off with Dr. Gilbert while his mother remained with Mrs. Mason to chat about the world of art and artists.

Returning to Talbot Hall, Jesse and the Assistant Dean left their coats in his office and walked to the different studios. Dr. Gilbert let Jesse look into a number of rooms were dozens of students were painting or drawing everything from other pieces of art to flowers to one studio with nude male and female models. They had entered from the dressing room of that studio so as to spare Jesse embarrassment; they only saw the backs of the models. After going through most of the building, Dr. Gilbert gave Jesse a choice of which room he would like to work in. He chose a westward facing third floor studio that contained a variety of smaller objects to draw. Selecting a large pad of heavy paper over an easel, and his favorite graphite pencils, he sat in a comfortable chair and began.

Dr. Gilbert watched Jesse for a few minutes with extreme interest. Aside from the boy's talent, he was astounded that Jesse wasn't even looking at what he was drawing. He said nothing for a long time before interrupting his guest to tell him that he would be back in an hour. When the hour was up, he returned with a half-dozen other artists, some faculty some students. One young man walked up quietly behind Jesse to look over his shoulder. He shook his head and left without a word. The others waited. And waited. About three in the afternoon, Mrs. Mason came into the now packed studio with Jesse's mother. Most of the senior faculty and twenty or more students were watching as their guest finished his work. He sighed and stretched. Mr. Gilbert approached, asking to see the drawing. Without looking, Jesse handed over the pad and leaned forward to rub his eyes and then stretch more.

Dr. Gilbert looked at the pad for a full minute before moving again. When he did, it was to turn the pad around so everyone could see the work.

The studio erupted in applause, startling Jesse out of his seat. Half the onlookers were instantly trying to get to the picture and the other half to Jesse so as to shake his hand. Blushing furiously and feeling very conspicuous, he smiled a little and made his way to the back of the room where he had seen his mother. He wanted nothing more than to leave and go home, but Mr. Gilbert's voice stopped him.

"Jesse, wait!" He turned and walked back to his host. "You forgot to sign your work." Holding the pad, Mr. Gilbert handed him a pencil and Jesse signed the corner before again retreating from the crowd.

Ten minutes later, the Assistant Dean was again back with his small group of visitors, this time in his office. The picture was open on his desk and for the first time Jesse's mother and art teacher could clearly see what he had drawn.

"Do you recognize this, Mrs. Aarons?" Dr. Gilbert asked unnecessarily, he had seen the look on the woman's face.

"It's beautiful…yes, Dr. Gilbert, that's our house."

"I thought it might be. And Jesse, is that you on the porch swing with the girl in the other sketch?"

"Uh, yeah…yes, sir. That's my friend, Leslie."

Dr. Gilbert took out his pen, and turning the page over wrote his name, the date, and a few other notes. "Jesse, if it's alright with you I'd like to keep this for a while. I'll have it back to you by the first of March, at the latest." Jesse shrugged and said it was fine.

With the daylight fading, Mrs. Mason announced that they had to be heading home. Dr. Gilbert escorted them to their spot in the visitor's parking lot and bade them farewell, then returned to his office. Another man was there looking at Jesse's painting.

"What do you think, Gil?" the Dean of the Art School asked his friend.

Shaking his head, Dr. Gilbert flopped into his cushy leather chair. "If I didn't see him do it myself, I'd say it was impossible. Heaven knows I can't draw like that, Bill, and I'm a damn site better than you."

The Dean smiled at the old joke but said nothing for a long minute. "He'd be a big feather in our cap, Jerry."

"Don't even think it, Bill. We'd be crucified for bringing someone like him here, and you know it."

"Yes, yes; but that's not what I was thinking." The Dean sat down and chatted with his friend for a while before coming to an agreement. "I'll leave the details up to you, Gil, and be sure your friend, what's her name, Diane? Make sure she knows we're grateful."

"Got it. Say, Bill. What if young Mr. Aarons doesn't want to sell?"

"You said he came from a poor family, didn't you?"

"Yeah, so?" the Assistant Dean said cautiously.

"Make him – or his parents - an offer they can't refuse. You know what our budget is for that sort of thing." With a casual wave, the Dean returned to his office.

Dr. Jerry Gilbert sat for a long time, thinking a little about the agreement, but mostly of what he had witnessed that afternoon. He looked at Jesse's picture, too, and considered what he was seeing. Opening his top desk drawer, he withdrew a magnifying glass and examined the two figures in the picture. What did he say her name was? Leslie? The detail was so unbelievable he though he saw a scar on the side of the girl's head, just above her ear. He continued the examination, scrutinizing and admiring the magnificent detail. After a while he noticed something - something very odd - not unique, but…he couldn't explain the feeling it gave him. He stepped out of his office and borrowed a stronger magnifying glass from an elderly professor down the hall and returned to confirm his suspicion.

The entire picture, he saw, was centered on the two children – on the one child. The hair on Dr. Gilbert's back stood up as he looked closer and closer. 'Leslie' appeared, as he saw, about twelve or thirteen, but the 'Jesse' in the picture was… What? In size, posture, dress they were both Leslie's age, but the boy's image was clearly older. Was that intentional? As he was about to move on to another part of the drawing he found another tiny detail. 'Leslie' and 'Jesse,' although not sitting right next to the other, had rested their arms – 'Jesse's' right and 'Leslie's' left – on the swing's seat, between them. And, almost invisible, even under the magnifying glass, their fingers were touching.

"Jesse Aarons, you have a very interesting imagination inside that little head of yours," Dr. Jerry Gilbert said quietly.

He had no idea how true his statement was.

- - - - - - - - - - -

The impression that arrived in thirty-year-old Jesse Aarons' mind was the most unusual he had ever experienced. He knew instantly what it was, and for the first time since he had died he entertained hope that his plan had succeeded, in one way or another.

He was sitting on the front porch of his house, on a swing… But we don't have a swing! …next to Leslie. It was undoubtedly Leslie, but how he knew this he could not imagine, for he was still totally void of any sensory input.

Yet there she is!

I'm almost close enough to touch her.

He reached out with his thoughts, trying to will his mind to touch hers.

There was no indication whether he was successful or not, but as the impression faded away, Jesse Aarons was content for the first time in at least eighteen years.

Somehow, someway, somewhere, Leslie Burke lived.

Saturday, January 27, 2008

Dear Diary,

What a day! Arlington had a break from winter today and the temperature got up to 60. I wish I had my shorts! I took the twins over to the Harrison Street Park and rode the little spinning thing until Dylan barfed up his lunch. After that we took it easy and watched some guys playing football at Yorktown HS. You can see the field from the swings.

Aunt Joan took us to the Lost Dog Deli again. Mom tried a Chinese beer and said it tasted like the S word.

Mom tried to talk to me about Jess again but I told her there wasn't anything to talk about. Then she told me that the parents' grape-vine (that means gossiping old ladies) said Jesse and I were 'a couple.' (Don't I wish!) I told her it was just a rumor started by Scott Hoager, and knowing Scott's reputation she seemed to believe me. Sigh…

I JUST TALKED WITH JESS! He sounded like he had a great day in Blacksburg. He got to tour the campus and draw in a real studio. He said he drew a picture of his house with us sitting on the front porch swing, and that Dr. Somebody really liked it. Tomorrow he's going into Baxley with his father to get some part for their truck, after church, of course.

I better go to bed now, while I'm thinking about something/one nice.


Sunday, January 28, 2008

Dear Diary,

I hate my mother again. She's pregnant! She said it was a surprise. I'm not exactly sure how that works, I told her. If you "do it," you get pregnant. She explained that after having me they tried for eight years to get pregnant, but then they, 'gave up.' Hmmm, all indications are that they didn't really 'give up.'

Aunt Joan and Uncle Brian were stunned for a second when Mom told them the news, then they hugged her and 'congrats this' and 'congrats that'… very boring after a few rounds of 'congrats.' I'm trying to figure out if this means I have to start loving her again against my will. But there is a bright side to all this, when the baby comes Mom will be too busy with him/her to bug me. Mom says she's due in October. So much for another trip to the beach this summer.


Monday, January 29, 2008

Dear Diary,

I woke up this morning to the sound of Mom barfing. It was such a lovely noise to hear first thing in the morning, and she said I have at least another two months of it to live with. I kinda hate my mother… but I feel bad for her, too. We're heading home late this morning so I might get to see Jess when we get home.

Dad called late yesterday and said his book was ready, and Jess's pictures will be in the second chapter. I bet he's happy about that.

Got to remember to get new batteries for my CD player…

In the car… booooring… but at least the traffic isn't bad. Mom's always complaining about the trucks, and there are a lot of them. We stopped in Staunton for a snack, it's such a depressing city, then we were off again.

HOME, HURRAY!

January passed quietly into February without any remarkable events for the Burke and Aarons families. The bleak winter weather waxed and waned with the Arctic highs or Gulf Stream lows, neither seeming to be able to gain a firm grip in the Roanoke area. More often than not, rain soiled the day and kept the children indoors where they aggravated their parents and siblings to no end. The meteorological doldrums also wore heavily upon Jesse's desire to draw, and he felt he was stuck in an interminable period of non-inspiration.

The growing friendship between Judy Burke and Mary Aarons was bound tighter still when the expectant mother shared her happy news with her neighbor a few days after returning from visiting her sister in Arlington. Jesse would often return from school griping about the rain as he entered the house, to find his friend's mother and his own commiserating over the burdens of womanhood or some unfathomable aspect of female psychology. Of the snippets of conversations he paid attention to, only one was understandable, and he was not quite sure how to feel about it. The mothers were discussing the gender of their children, noting only one boy and five girls between them, when Jesse's mother declared that, no, they had three male children between them. Mrs. Burke found this immensely humorous; Jesse just went back to studying and scratching his head.

On February 10th, Mary Aarons quietly reminded her son that Valentine's Day was only four days away and asked if he wanted to get anything special for 'someone.' Jesse had completely forgotten about the day, or had unconsciously suppressed the idea, he wasn't sure which, and was now faced with confronting feelings he had been ignoring since Christmas. Telling his mother he would think about it, and weathering her stern gaze, he hastily retreated to his room and holed up on his bed, curtains drawn, so May would not bother him.

He found the answer to his dilemma almost instantly; his only concern was how his friend would interpret the gift. He wanted it to be meaningful to her – she was, after all, his best friend – but he had not matured enough, nor had his affection for her matured enough, to the point where he felt comfortable using a word like love. And sweetheart was right out. He would draw her a Valentine card and settled on a scene he had on his night stand, the picture Leslie had given him for her birthday, of them at the ocean. Refining the scene further within his mind, Jesse tried an artistic technique he had never used before and drew, in a muted red hue, a heart in the center of the paper, almost as a watermarked background. Then, using the photograph as a model, he drew Leslie and himself in the foreground. When finished, the five-by-eight illustration was, he felt, perfect. He cut the paper, folded it with the artwork on the front, and wrote simply on the inside: Jess.

Another child was also making careful consideration of a Valentine gift for her best friend. Leslie Burke had spent much of that same Sunday doodling pink hearts her diary's margins, particularly in the space near Jesse's name. But unlike Jesse, Leslie had no compunctions about using the word 'love' in a Valentine card because it truly was a more accurate description of her affection towards the boy next door. What was holding her back, she knew, was one of the conversations she had had with her mother about Jesse, about how his maturity level would not allow him to understand his feeling to be the same as hers. It was, in fact, this explanation that was tempering Leslie's actions. She hated it. But she knew it was necessary to be patient and gentle with her friend.

Digging into a bag of unused Valentine cards from the past couple years, she eventually settled on one that she thought adequate. It still had the obligatory hearts, but it spoke of friendship, not love, per se. Then she had to anguish through a suitable declaration; simply writing just "From Leslie" would not do. She thought she might get away with, "Love, Leslie," or even, "Lots of Love, Leslie," but hesitated. So she asked her father. The result was a safe but unsatisfying, "Always Yours, Leslie."

On February 14th, both children had independently planned to present the other with their card while waiting for the bus to arrive. Unfortunately, there was another downpour that morning, and Leslie nearly missed the bus having forgotten an assignment at home. They squished into their seat and self-consciously fingered their cards wondering when they could present them without drawing unwanted attention, which meant that during school hours and on the bus was out.

Leslie spoke first, quietly, half pulling the card out of her raincoat pocket. "Jess, I have something for you…after school?" He nodded vigorously, also showing a corner of his gift to her. This was all they dared, as the bus was quite full. May, on the other hand, had no reservations and happily handed her brother and friend a mushy, homemade card each.

A grim satisfaction filled Leslie and Jesse throughout the day as they regularly saw Scott Hoager watching them for any sign of an exchange they knew would not occur. Finally, after school, Jesse sent May ahead and he pulled his card out from a book he had placed it in at school to prevent it from becoming mashed in his pocket. Leslie did likewise. Jesse, a bit embarrassed, handed his friend the card, which she patiently opened.

Jesse's desire had been to give Leslie something meaningful, but he didn't realize how much of an effect the simple card had. He only made it part way through his Happy Valentine's Day wish when Leslie threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Fearing a repeat of the Christmas kiss, Jesse gave her an awkward pat on her back and tried to distract Leslie by asking if she had something for him – which he knew she did. His friend released him, but not before brushing his cheek with hers, a motion that left Jesse instantly feeling both frightened and wishing they didn't have coats and slickers on.

Jesse next read Leslie's simple card and smiled brightly at her three-word declaration, Always Yours, Leslie. It had the effect Leslie hoped for, too: leaving a warm feeling of contentment inside her best friend's chest. With both children blushing, they each headed home, running to avoid the next impending downfall.

A short while later, Leslie unabashedly placed Jesse's card on the refrigerator door amongst her family's other cards. She thought it most appropriate there, for now.

Revision 1.1, April, 2008