Author's Note, 02-22-03: Well, this was gonna be a lot longer, but I
decided to split it up into two chapters (or more, if I'm feeling crazy).
Still got a bunch to do, I just love updating. And new reviews are fun to
read. (How's that for subtle? :) Btw, I think the story's going to be
bumped up to PG-13 come next chapter. No biggie. Just thought I'd let y'all
know (and keep ya guessing too. Muhahaha!)
Chapter 9
AULD LANG SYNE
*
"You excited about going home tomorrow?" Bridget placed her stethoscope on Eric's chest in random patterns and seemed satisfied by whatever she heard. I watched with interest, my head against the armrest of my chair, and my legs draped over the other side. Bridget said she didn't know how I could lay like that, but it wasn't that uncomfortable. She had been in the room for a while now, more or less keeping us company. I enjoyed her prattle; let myself get lost in it. I decided she was a lot more interesting than I'd given her credit for. Her life was busy, she loved her job. She had a refreshing air about her that made me wonder how someone achieved such happiness. Was there a secret or was it all just about luck? I crossed my ankles and swung my feet back and forth idly, pondering.
"Yeah, I can't wait!" Eric answered enthusiastically. "I want to play with my new dart board. I'm tired of sitting in this bed, too."
I took a bite of the Snickers Bridget had smuggled in for me and suddenly broke my thoughtful silence. "Are you working tomorrow?"
Her nod was cheerful, same as everything else she did. "Yep, I'll be here to see you off."
"But it's Christmas," I pointed out, storing a glob of chocolate, peanuts and caramel inside my cheek like a chipmunk while I spoke. "Doesn't it suck to work on Christmas?"
She laughed at me, but whether it was because of my scrunched up position, my mouthful of candy bar or my choice of words, I wasn't sure. I liked the sound of it, real natural and convincing, and the way she showed all her teeth. People should always laugh that way - like they mean it.
"Not really. I don't have any family and the hospital is sort of my second home... I'd rather be here than sitting in front of the TV, watching It's a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street for the umpteenth time. Taking care of people is more rewarding. If I can make a few patients feel better on Christmas, then it will be a good day. Just do me a favor, though?"
I paused mid-chew and raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Eat an extra piece of pie for me, ok? I love pie."
"What kind?" I asked, grinning.
"Any kind. Blueberry, cherry, apple, peach, pumpkin... ooohh, but especially peanut butter." She rolled her eyes and let her shoulders sag like it was too much to bear. "I would kill for a piece of peanut butter pie."
"Here ya go," I said, tossing her the package of Reese's Cups I hadn't yet scarfed my way through. My hospital diet of Coke and chocolate was far from the healthy eating habits Maggie tried to enforce when she had it together. One good thing about her manic episodes was her willingness to stockpile junk food. It was one of the few parts of her illness that Eric and I had no problem taking advantage of. Little Debbies, macaroni and cheese, frozen pizzas and the cupcakes with colored frosting that I had a weakness for were plentiful during those times when she went along with any off-the-wall idea my brother or I had. We could have suggested selling the car to buy a pony or digging a swimming pool in the middle of the living room floor and she would have obliged. Thankfully we knew our limits. Though we did have fun the time we dragged Eric's inflatable wading pool inside during a thunderstorm and splashed around in it, pretending it was a hot day at the beach. "You can slice those up and it'll be like a little mini pie."
"Smart aleck," she said, whacking me playfully on the thigh with the backside of her clipboard as she passed.
"Child abuser," I teased in return, flashing a perfectly innocent smile when she mocked a scolding expression and backed out of the room to carry on her duties elsewhere.
For the first time since the accident I was alone with my brother. Dad had taken Julia, Sharon, and a very restless Audrey home after some persuasion. I insisted on staying behind, not only because I wanted to be there when Scott came but also because I wanted to hold on a while longer to the way things were when it was just me and Eric. Who knew how different our lives would be by tomorrow? Instead of Maggie's kids, we'd be Jimmy's kids. Maybe that meant we wouldn't love or need each other as much anymore. It scared me to think so. I wadded up my empty Snickers wrapper and threw it at him.
"Hey!" He fumbled for it and tossed it back. We laughed when it hit me square between the eyes and dropped to the floor. Leaving it there, I limped over to his bed, stamping my foot a few times to wake it up and get rid of the prickly sensation swarming through it like a cloud of angry bees. Apparently I hadn't been as comfortable as I'd claimed to be.
"A horse is a horse of course, of course," Eric sang, insinuating that I resembled a hoof-stomping Mister Ed. I giggled and shooed him to the far side of the bed, settling into the empty spot beside him. After a great deal of wriggling and knocking against each other, we found a position that suited us both. I snaked my arm around his small shoulders, giving them a squeeze. He pulled my hand over to have a look at my bracelet and its ornaments. I watched as he fiddled with them, his careless little boy fingers probing and pinching at each one until he was familiar with their shape and every tiny crevice. I sensed that he wasn't actually thinking about the charms as he did this. I wasn't either.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you," he said faintly, as if he was talking to my wrist. He waited a while to look at me and I used that interval to study him, my eyes absorbing the details of his features like it was the first time I'd ever seen him. I tried to memorize the way his ear curved and stuck out from his head the slightest bit, how his chestnut curls were starting to loosen into more grown-up waves, the way his bottom lip jutted forward just a little farther than his top. I wanted to remember him that way forever. Beautiful. Perfect. Everything I could have asked for in a brother, but so much more than that. Amidst all my misfortunes, he was the one stroke of good luck. I didn't need the lucky number on my shirt or charms on a bracelet. I had Eric.
"That's ok." I spoke with complete sincerity. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, too. Let's not do that anymore. Deal?"
"Deal." We shook on it and let our hands, still clasped together, drop against our legs.
"Will Mom stop loving us if we live with Dad?" he questioned, and I could tell it had been weighing heavily on his mind.
"Nah."
"How do you know?"
I didn't. Maggie loved us, I knew that. But people fell out of love all the time - people a lot more stable than our mother. "Well, remember when we broke her favorite antique lamp? The one with the hummingbirds on it?"
Eric nodded. Actually, there was no "we" involved. He had broken it while attempting some kind of spinning karate death kick he'd seen on TV. He was convinced Maggie would kill him, so I offered to share the blame. She'd have to kill us both, I said. And after seeing the look on her face when she walked in on us cleaning up the mess, I thought she might do just that.
"She didn't stop loving us then. And you know how obsessed she was with that lamp. If she can get over that, she can get over anything."
"Yeah, I guess," he said, doubtful.
"Oh, and she got over me locking the keys in the trunk when we were getting ready to leave for Aunt Shelia's wedding."
A grin finally worked its way across Eric's lips. "She sure was mad," he recalled with amusement. "And then her high heels got stuck in the mud and she couldn't go nowhere 'til she took 'em off."
"And she threw them at the car," I added.
"And cracked the window!" he finished as we began to laugh. The memory of Maggie staggering through wet grass in her confining yellow Maid of Honor dress, cussing like a sailor when she snagged her nylons, and screaming at the trunk to "open, damn you!" never ceased to crack us up. Mostly because she wasn't even manic when it happened.
The reminiscing continued, my plan to make Eric forget his worries a success, until we were so tuckered out from laughter that we gave up and leaned back on his pillow. It was only a little after nine o'clock when his head started to drift closer and closer to my shoulder. When it finally rested there I nestled my cheek into his hair and stayed that way until Scott wandered in, smelling of smoke and exuding an upbeat mood that was going to make it impossible to tell him goodbye.
*
Mom -
We're at Dad's house. Please call.
Abby
I positioned the brief note - scrawled in my sloppy handwriting with Eric's blue Magic Marker - on the table where Maggie could see it right away. After some consideration I grabbed the marker again and neatly printed Jimmy's telephone number under the message, just incase she didn't remember it or forgot it was written in her address book. I underlined the number a couple of times then scanned the paper as if the words might have changed. They sounded too abrupt, but I wanted to explain the situation to her myself, not via a Garfield notepad and Papa Smurf's Periwinkle Blue Pen.
I double-checked my pocket to make sure I had my apartment key. It hadn't moved in the fifteen minutes or so since I put it there. Every bedroom light was out when I checked those too. I even peeked into Maggie's room. She was still gone.
Out of reasons to stall, I finally forced myself towards the front door and flicked the light switch off before I could find some other excuse not to go. It wasn't like I would never be coming back. Right?
Refusing to look in the direction of Mr. Goran's door, I headed down the hall to Scott's place and let myself in. We were going to be roommates for one more night, which meant I'd get to wake up in his apartment for Christmas. It was something I could've gotten used to. But there were two suitcases in the corner to remind me that I would be leaving tomorrow. Scott kept telling me how great it was that Eric and I were going to spend time with Jimmy, but all I could think about was how much I was going to miss the one person who made me feel truly special. Had I been less sensible, I might have begged Scott to keep me. I would do anything he asked me to - anything at all. But imagining myself pleading for something like that made me cringe. And even worse, he might say no. No matter how experienced I was in the rejection department, I couldn't handle it from Scott. That would be too painful.
As usual his musical talents were on display: he was whistling as he skimmed through a pile of cassettes that were dangerously close to spilling off the shelf that held his stereo. I plopped down on the futon and put my feet on the coffee table. Scott had said that was ok or I never would have done it. I wondered what else I could have gotten away with if I stayed with him.
"This is the best song of all-time," he announced, inserting a tape in the cassette deck and making a big show of pressing the play button. I tilted my head a bit to admire him like I always did when he wasn't watching me. God, he was gorgeous.
"You say that about EVERY song," I razzed, my grin widening when he started to shimmy to the music, working all the right body parts. The music started out slow and sensual, and he knew just how to move to it. For some reason I was blushing.
"Well-" He snapped his fingers as he glided across the floor towards me. "You didn't let me finish. This is the best song of all-time... to dance to." I blinked when he held his hand out expectantly. I could see his calluses from guitar playing.
My horrified expression amused him. He rolled his shoulders and beckoned me to stand, mouthing the lyrics as the music picked up a faster, edgier beat. It was a far cry from the catchy, toe-tapping golden oldies Maggie liked to dance to. More than a few times she had cranked the volume to songs like You Can't Hurry Love or Runaround Sue or Do You Love Me, and barged into my and Eric's bedrooms to interrupt homework and draw us into some wild, twirling dance steps. It was during these impromptu lessons that we'd learned the Bump, the Twist, the Mashed Potato, and a handful of other corny dances she'd mastered when she was our age. Occasionally I liked to incorporate a little Michael Jackson or Pat Benatar hip action just to irritate her. But that was all done in fun; a mother and her two kids being goofy together. No way was I doing that in front of Scott.
"Uhhh, no." I lightly pushed his hand away, but he was persistent and brought it back. "Seriously. I-I can't dance. It's painful to watch really."
"Well, I never been to heaven, but I been to Oklahoma," he sang loudly, ignoring my hesitation and pulling me up from the futon. He led me around the coffee table to a spot where we'd have plenty of room. I let my arms go as limp as spaghetti noodles when he lifted them and tried to get me into whatever groove he was in. They dropped to my sides when he let go. He poked me in the stomach as payback then acted stunned when I twisted to dodge the playful assault. "It moves!" he teased. "Keep it up."
I balked some more, but his energy was infectious. Pretty soon he was instructing me on some motions I was almost certain Maggie would not approve of. I played it cool when his hands encircled my hips to rock them back and forth in a way that coincided with his, but I was keenly alert to how near my body was to him. In my head I did a very girlish thing: I screamed. Like one of those crazed fans they showed in old black and white footage of Elvis concerts. It took me a second to realize I was holding my breath. I let it out gradually and tried not to concentrate too hard on the grinding that was going on. It was innocent enough, but it didn't feel so much like a silly game anymore. At least not to me. I touched him tentatively, keeping it disguised as another part of the dance. He wasn't repulsed, he didn't push me away. I was starting to get comfortable with our closeness, when a pounding on the door nearly scared me to death. I jumped back instinctively and hung my head as though I was being scolded.
The banging continued and someone yelled, "Open up, man!"
"Oh great," Scott groaned.
"What?" I asked, clueless.
"It's Andy. He's the drummer in my band," he explained, trudging over to cut Three Dog Night off in mid-verse. I must have looked disappointed, because he smiled apologetically and gave me a wink. "He's an ok guy, just sorta... off-color sometimes. I'll see if I can get rid of him."
Still feeling like I'd been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, I kept out of view as Scott answered the door. Andy's voice wasn't the only one to greet him. From the sound of it, there was a whole group of rowdy people waiting to be let in. And none of them was willing to heed Scott's attempts to send them away. My curiosity got the better of me and I leaned forward to have a peek when somebody announced they had a surprise for him. The crowd parted and any shred of hope I had for spending the night alone with Scott disappeared.
She was gorgeous. Her spry auburn curls bounced around her shoulders, mocking my flatter, duller hair. Her skin was impossibly tan for wintertime. Her honey-colored eyes were full of a vibrancy and sparkle that eluded mine. She had curves where she was supposed to have curves, and the crimson dress she wore showed them off like it had been tailored especially for her. I never understood how girls like her - the flawless beauties - didn't freeze to death in such light clothing. The sweater folded over her arm was the only indication that it was cold outside. It simply added to her charm. Even her high-pitched squeal of delight wasn't unpleasant as she dove at Scott.
"Shelly!" he cried, enveloping her in a crushing hug and lifting her right off the floor. Their voices were muffled in each other's necks as they embraced. Shelly started to cry.
"I told ya you should have stuck around at the club, Scottie," said the guy I assumed was Andy. He waltzed into Scott's apartment, slapping Shelly on the butt as he passed her. "This chick wandered in about an hour after you left. Said she just haaad to see you. Being the wonderful human being I am, and knowing how much you both need to get laid, I offered to bring her here. And then I figured, hell, why not make it a party? So I invited everybody." He waved the other people in and grabbed a beer from the six- pack one of his friends was carrying. None of them had noticed me yet. I pressed my back against the wall and tried to be invisible.
"What are you doing back? What happened to California?" Scott was asking Shelly as he returned her to solid ground. She swept a finger under her eyes, halting the tears and not even smudging her mascara.
"We need some music," Andy interrupted. He stopped short, nearly choking on a mouthful of Budweiser when he came towards the stereo and saw me standing there. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded loudly, managing to draw every pair of eyes in the room in my direction. I disliked him already. Heat exploded in my cheeks, spreading right up to the tips of my ears.
"I'm Abby. Scott's neighbor," I said in the voice that always made teachers strain to hear me and inform me I would have to speak up.
"Oh yeah?" Andy sized me up and snickered. "Looks like it's past your bedtime, sweetheart. What exactly has Uncle Scott got you over here for?" He thought he was clever and that I wouldn't understand the insinuating grin he gave his friends. I scowled at him.
"Leave her alone, Andy," Scott ordered, coming to my rescue. He held onto Shelly's hand and brought her over to stand by me. She had a delicate floral scent that tagged along with her. I imagined it flooding into guys' nostrils, intoxicating them and levitating them towards her like that cartoon skunk Pepe Le Pew when he caught a whiff of his next unfortunate victim of passion. "See, unlike some of you, she was invited. She needed a place to stay until tomorrow, so I told her she could hang here."
I was glad he didn't mention I was afraid to be alone in my apartment.
"Well, Mister Congeniality, introduce us to your guest then," Shelly urged, jabbing Scott with her elbow and beaming at me. I smiled feebly in return.
"Everybody, this is my pal Abby. The best neighbor a guy could ask for," he announced, putting his arm around me. It wasn't the same now that it was no longer just the two of us. I was an outsider. A little kid in the way of all the big kid fun. "Abby, that's Ben and Curt," he nodded at the two men who saluted me with their beer cans. Next came a lovey-dovey pair that had curled up together on Scott's bean bag to play tonsil hockey. He motioned to them briefly. "Margo and Pete. And that freak beside you is Andy."
Andy huffed, but thankfully didn't get the chance to speak as Scott went on. "And this..." he said with a hint of awe, "is Ms. Shelly Burke, aspiring movie star and hairdresser extraordinaire." She giggled while he looked at her the way I wanted him to look at me.
Once, while playing in the backyard with Eric, I'd fallen out of a tree and landed smack-dab on my back. It had knocked the air right out of my lungs and made it so painful to breathe that I thought I would suffocate. As I sat there in the grass, wheezing and struggling between the pain in my chest and the pain in my back, my brother had started to cry. Comforting him helped me to focus on something else and eventually my labored breathing evened out. But now as I stood observing the exchange between this girl and my Scott, I felt the same awful constriction in my chest that had been there when I fell out of that tree. And this time there was no Eric around to distract me from the truth. Scott loved Shelly.
Chapter 9
AULD LANG SYNE
*
"You excited about going home tomorrow?" Bridget placed her stethoscope on Eric's chest in random patterns and seemed satisfied by whatever she heard. I watched with interest, my head against the armrest of my chair, and my legs draped over the other side. Bridget said she didn't know how I could lay like that, but it wasn't that uncomfortable. She had been in the room for a while now, more or less keeping us company. I enjoyed her prattle; let myself get lost in it. I decided she was a lot more interesting than I'd given her credit for. Her life was busy, she loved her job. She had a refreshing air about her that made me wonder how someone achieved such happiness. Was there a secret or was it all just about luck? I crossed my ankles and swung my feet back and forth idly, pondering.
"Yeah, I can't wait!" Eric answered enthusiastically. "I want to play with my new dart board. I'm tired of sitting in this bed, too."
I took a bite of the Snickers Bridget had smuggled in for me and suddenly broke my thoughtful silence. "Are you working tomorrow?"
Her nod was cheerful, same as everything else she did. "Yep, I'll be here to see you off."
"But it's Christmas," I pointed out, storing a glob of chocolate, peanuts and caramel inside my cheek like a chipmunk while I spoke. "Doesn't it suck to work on Christmas?"
She laughed at me, but whether it was because of my scrunched up position, my mouthful of candy bar or my choice of words, I wasn't sure. I liked the sound of it, real natural and convincing, and the way she showed all her teeth. People should always laugh that way - like they mean it.
"Not really. I don't have any family and the hospital is sort of my second home... I'd rather be here than sitting in front of the TV, watching It's a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street for the umpteenth time. Taking care of people is more rewarding. If I can make a few patients feel better on Christmas, then it will be a good day. Just do me a favor, though?"
I paused mid-chew and raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Eat an extra piece of pie for me, ok? I love pie."
"What kind?" I asked, grinning.
"Any kind. Blueberry, cherry, apple, peach, pumpkin... ooohh, but especially peanut butter." She rolled her eyes and let her shoulders sag like it was too much to bear. "I would kill for a piece of peanut butter pie."
"Here ya go," I said, tossing her the package of Reese's Cups I hadn't yet scarfed my way through. My hospital diet of Coke and chocolate was far from the healthy eating habits Maggie tried to enforce when she had it together. One good thing about her manic episodes was her willingness to stockpile junk food. It was one of the few parts of her illness that Eric and I had no problem taking advantage of. Little Debbies, macaroni and cheese, frozen pizzas and the cupcakes with colored frosting that I had a weakness for were plentiful during those times when she went along with any off-the-wall idea my brother or I had. We could have suggested selling the car to buy a pony or digging a swimming pool in the middle of the living room floor and she would have obliged. Thankfully we knew our limits. Though we did have fun the time we dragged Eric's inflatable wading pool inside during a thunderstorm and splashed around in it, pretending it was a hot day at the beach. "You can slice those up and it'll be like a little mini pie."
"Smart aleck," she said, whacking me playfully on the thigh with the backside of her clipboard as she passed.
"Child abuser," I teased in return, flashing a perfectly innocent smile when she mocked a scolding expression and backed out of the room to carry on her duties elsewhere.
For the first time since the accident I was alone with my brother. Dad had taken Julia, Sharon, and a very restless Audrey home after some persuasion. I insisted on staying behind, not only because I wanted to be there when Scott came but also because I wanted to hold on a while longer to the way things were when it was just me and Eric. Who knew how different our lives would be by tomorrow? Instead of Maggie's kids, we'd be Jimmy's kids. Maybe that meant we wouldn't love or need each other as much anymore. It scared me to think so. I wadded up my empty Snickers wrapper and threw it at him.
"Hey!" He fumbled for it and tossed it back. We laughed when it hit me square between the eyes and dropped to the floor. Leaving it there, I limped over to his bed, stamping my foot a few times to wake it up and get rid of the prickly sensation swarming through it like a cloud of angry bees. Apparently I hadn't been as comfortable as I'd claimed to be.
"A horse is a horse of course, of course," Eric sang, insinuating that I resembled a hoof-stomping Mister Ed. I giggled and shooed him to the far side of the bed, settling into the empty spot beside him. After a great deal of wriggling and knocking against each other, we found a position that suited us both. I snaked my arm around his small shoulders, giving them a squeeze. He pulled my hand over to have a look at my bracelet and its ornaments. I watched as he fiddled with them, his careless little boy fingers probing and pinching at each one until he was familiar with their shape and every tiny crevice. I sensed that he wasn't actually thinking about the charms as he did this. I wasn't either.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you," he said faintly, as if he was talking to my wrist. He waited a while to look at me and I used that interval to study him, my eyes absorbing the details of his features like it was the first time I'd ever seen him. I tried to memorize the way his ear curved and stuck out from his head the slightest bit, how his chestnut curls were starting to loosen into more grown-up waves, the way his bottom lip jutted forward just a little farther than his top. I wanted to remember him that way forever. Beautiful. Perfect. Everything I could have asked for in a brother, but so much more than that. Amidst all my misfortunes, he was the one stroke of good luck. I didn't need the lucky number on my shirt or charms on a bracelet. I had Eric.
"That's ok." I spoke with complete sincerity. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, too. Let's not do that anymore. Deal?"
"Deal." We shook on it and let our hands, still clasped together, drop against our legs.
"Will Mom stop loving us if we live with Dad?" he questioned, and I could tell it had been weighing heavily on his mind.
"Nah."
"How do you know?"
I didn't. Maggie loved us, I knew that. But people fell out of love all the time - people a lot more stable than our mother. "Well, remember when we broke her favorite antique lamp? The one with the hummingbirds on it?"
Eric nodded. Actually, there was no "we" involved. He had broken it while attempting some kind of spinning karate death kick he'd seen on TV. He was convinced Maggie would kill him, so I offered to share the blame. She'd have to kill us both, I said. And after seeing the look on her face when she walked in on us cleaning up the mess, I thought she might do just that.
"She didn't stop loving us then. And you know how obsessed she was with that lamp. If she can get over that, she can get over anything."
"Yeah, I guess," he said, doubtful.
"Oh, and she got over me locking the keys in the trunk when we were getting ready to leave for Aunt Shelia's wedding."
A grin finally worked its way across Eric's lips. "She sure was mad," he recalled with amusement. "And then her high heels got stuck in the mud and she couldn't go nowhere 'til she took 'em off."
"And she threw them at the car," I added.
"And cracked the window!" he finished as we began to laugh. The memory of Maggie staggering through wet grass in her confining yellow Maid of Honor dress, cussing like a sailor when she snagged her nylons, and screaming at the trunk to "open, damn you!" never ceased to crack us up. Mostly because she wasn't even manic when it happened.
The reminiscing continued, my plan to make Eric forget his worries a success, until we were so tuckered out from laughter that we gave up and leaned back on his pillow. It was only a little after nine o'clock when his head started to drift closer and closer to my shoulder. When it finally rested there I nestled my cheek into his hair and stayed that way until Scott wandered in, smelling of smoke and exuding an upbeat mood that was going to make it impossible to tell him goodbye.
*
Mom -
We're at Dad's house. Please call.
Abby
I positioned the brief note - scrawled in my sloppy handwriting with Eric's blue Magic Marker - on the table where Maggie could see it right away. After some consideration I grabbed the marker again and neatly printed Jimmy's telephone number under the message, just incase she didn't remember it or forgot it was written in her address book. I underlined the number a couple of times then scanned the paper as if the words might have changed. They sounded too abrupt, but I wanted to explain the situation to her myself, not via a Garfield notepad and Papa Smurf's Periwinkle Blue Pen.
I double-checked my pocket to make sure I had my apartment key. It hadn't moved in the fifteen minutes or so since I put it there. Every bedroom light was out when I checked those too. I even peeked into Maggie's room. She was still gone.
Out of reasons to stall, I finally forced myself towards the front door and flicked the light switch off before I could find some other excuse not to go. It wasn't like I would never be coming back. Right?
Refusing to look in the direction of Mr. Goran's door, I headed down the hall to Scott's place and let myself in. We were going to be roommates for one more night, which meant I'd get to wake up in his apartment for Christmas. It was something I could've gotten used to. But there were two suitcases in the corner to remind me that I would be leaving tomorrow. Scott kept telling me how great it was that Eric and I were going to spend time with Jimmy, but all I could think about was how much I was going to miss the one person who made me feel truly special. Had I been less sensible, I might have begged Scott to keep me. I would do anything he asked me to - anything at all. But imagining myself pleading for something like that made me cringe. And even worse, he might say no. No matter how experienced I was in the rejection department, I couldn't handle it from Scott. That would be too painful.
As usual his musical talents were on display: he was whistling as he skimmed through a pile of cassettes that were dangerously close to spilling off the shelf that held his stereo. I plopped down on the futon and put my feet on the coffee table. Scott had said that was ok or I never would have done it. I wondered what else I could have gotten away with if I stayed with him.
"This is the best song of all-time," he announced, inserting a tape in the cassette deck and making a big show of pressing the play button. I tilted my head a bit to admire him like I always did when he wasn't watching me. God, he was gorgeous.
"You say that about EVERY song," I razzed, my grin widening when he started to shimmy to the music, working all the right body parts. The music started out slow and sensual, and he knew just how to move to it. For some reason I was blushing.
"Well-" He snapped his fingers as he glided across the floor towards me. "You didn't let me finish. This is the best song of all-time... to dance to." I blinked when he held his hand out expectantly. I could see his calluses from guitar playing.
My horrified expression amused him. He rolled his shoulders and beckoned me to stand, mouthing the lyrics as the music picked up a faster, edgier beat. It was a far cry from the catchy, toe-tapping golden oldies Maggie liked to dance to. More than a few times she had cranked the volume to songs like You Can't Hurry Love or Runaround Sue or Do You Love Me, and barged into my and Eric's bedrooms to interrupt homework and draw us into some wild, twirling dance steps. It was during these impromptu lessons that we'd learned the Bump, the Twist, the Mashed Potato, and a handful of other corny dances she'd mastered when she was our age. Occasionally I liked to incorporate a little Michael Jackson or Pat Benatar hip action just to irritate her. But that was all done in fun; a mother and her two kids being goofy together. No way was I doing that in front of Scott.
"Uhhh, no." I lightly pushed his hand away, but he was persistent and brought it back. "Seriously. I-I can't dance. It's painful to watch really."
"Well, I never been to heaven, but I been to Oklahoma," he sang loudly, ignoring my hesitation and pulling me up from the futon. He led me around the coffee table to a spot where we'd have plenty of room. I let my arms go as limp as spaghetti noodles when he lifted them and tried to get me into whatever groove he was in. They dropped to my sides when he let go. He poked me in the stomach as payback then acted stunned when I twisted to dodge the playful assault. "It moves!" he teased. "Keep it up."
I balked some more, but his energy was infectious. Pretty soon he was instructing me on some motions I was almost certain Maggie would not approve of. I played it cool when his hands encircled my hips to rock them back and forth in a way that coincided with his, but I was keenly alert to how near my body was to him. In my head I did a very girlish thing: I screamed. Like one of those crazed fans they showed in old black and white footage of Elvis concerts. It took me a second to realize I was holding my breath. I let it out gradually and tried not to concentrate too hard on the grinding that was going on. It was innocent enough, but it didn't feel so much like a silly game anymore. At least not to me. I touched him tentatively, keeping it disguised as another part of the dance. He wasn't repulsed, he didn't push me away. I was starting to get comfortable with our closeness, when a pounding on the door nearly scared me to death. I jumped back instinctively and hung my head as though I was being scolded.
The banging continued and someone yelled, "Open up, man!"
"Oh great," Scott groaned.
"What?" I asked, clueless.
"It's Andy. He's the drummer in my band," he explained, trudging over to cut Three Dog Night off in mid-verse. I must have looked disappointed, because he smiled apologetically and gave me a wink. "He's an ok guy, just sorta... off-color sometimes. I'll see if I can get rid of him."
Still feeling like I'd been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, I kept out of view as Scott answered the door. Andy's voice wasn't the only one to greet him. From the sound of it, there was a whole group of rowdy people waiting to be let in. And none of them was willing to heed Scott's attempts to send them away. My curiosity got the better of me and I leaned forward to have a peek when somebody announced they had a surprise for him. The crowd parted and any shred of hope I had for spending the night alone with Scott disappeared.
She was gorgeous. Her spry auburn curls bounced around her shoulders, mocking my flatter, duller hair. Her skin was impossibly tan for wintertime. Her honey-colored eyes were full of a vibrancy and sparkle that eluded mine. She had curves where she was supposed to have curves, and the crimson dress she wore showed them off like it had been tailored especially for her. I never understood how girls like her - the flawless beauties - didn't freeze to death in such light clothing. The sweater folded over her arm was the only indication that it was cold outside. It simply added to her charm. Even her high-pitched squeal of delight wasn't unpleasant as she dove at Scott.
"Shelly!" he cried, enveloping her in a crushing hug and lifting her right off the floor. Their voices were muffled in each other's necks as they embraced. Shelly started to cry.
"I told ya you should have stuck around at the club, Scottie," said the guy I assumed was Andy. He waltzed into Scott's apartment, slapping Shelly on the butt as he passed her. "This chick wandered in about an hour after you left. Said she just haaad to see you. Being the wonderful human being I am, and knowing how much you both need to get laid, I offered to bring her here. And then I figured, hell, why not make it a party? So I invited everybody." He waved the other people in and grabbed a beer from the six- pack one of his friends was carrying. None of them had noticed me yet. I pressed my back against the wall and tried to be invisible.
"What are you doing back? What happened to California?" Scott was asking Shelly as he returned her to solid ground. She swept a finger under her eyes, halting the tears and not even smudging her mascara.
"We need some music," Andy interrupted. He stopped short, nearly choking on a mouthful of Budweiser when he came towards the stereo and saw me standing there. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded loudly, managing to draw every pair of eyes in the room in my direction. I disliked him already. Heat exploded in my cheeks, spreading right up to the tips of my ears.
"I'm Abby. Scott's neighbor," I said in the voice that always made teachers strain to hear me and inform me I would have to speak up.
"Oh yeah?" Andy sized me up and snickered. "Looks like it's past your bedtime, sweetheart. What exactly has Uncle Scott got you over here for?" He thought he was clever and that I wouldn't understand the insinuating grin he gave his friends. I scowled at him.
"Leave her alone, Andy," Scott ordered, coming to my rescue. He held onto Shelly's hand and brought her over to stand by me. She had a delicate floral scent that tagged along with her. I imagined it flooding into guys' nostrils, intoxicating them and levitating them towards her like that cartoon skunk Pepe Le Pew when he caught a whiff of his next unfortunate victim of passion. "See, unlike some of you, she was invited. She needed a place to stay until tomorrow, so I told her she could hang here."
I was glad he didn't mention I was afraid to be alone in my apartment.
"Well, Mister Congeniality, introduce us to your guest then," Shelly urged, jabbing Scott with her elbow and beaming at me. I smiled feebly in return.
"Everybody, this is my pal Abby. The best neighbor a guy could ask for," he announced, putting his arm around me. It wasn't the same now that it was no longer just the two of us. I was an outsider. A little kid in the way of all the big kid fun. "Abby, that's Ben and Curt," he nodded at the two men who saluted me with their beer cans. Next came a lovey-dovey pair that had curled up together on Scott's bean bag to play tonsil hockey. He motioned to them briefly. "Margo and Pete. And that freak beside you is Andy."
Andy huffed, but thankfully didn't get the chance to speak as Scott went on. "And this..." he said with a hint of awe, "is Ms. Shelly Burke, aspiring movie star and hairdresser extraordinaire." She giggled while he looked at her the way I wanted him to look at me.
Once, while playing in the backyard with Eric, I'd fallen out of a tree and landed smack-dab on my back. It had knocked the air right out of my lungs and made it so painful to breathe that I thought I would suffocate. As I sat there in the grass, wheezing and struggling between the pain in my chest and the pain in my back, my brother had started to cry. Comforting him helped me to focus on something else and eventually my labored breathing evened out. But now as I stood observing the exchange between this girl and my Scott, I felt the same awful constriction in my chest that had been there when I fell out of that tree. And this time there was no Eric around to distract me from the truth. Scott loved Shelly.
