Title: Hide and Seek
Author: Nichole Leigh
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine!
7/11/02
*
It was a night for hide and seek.
For begging to stay out past the streetlights and letting the cool summer breeze dry childish sweat. For rolling in the grass already damp with dew, laughing until your breath ran out.
It was a night for friendships lasting for forever, and constellations that you made up on a blanket stolen from your parents bed. It was for fireflies, and street baseball that lasted until home plate was barely visible.
And here I am, taking out the garbage.
No childish laughter lines the street because the only kids who play at this hour are gang members. I remember my small town in Mexico and the freedom it offered to a child. I never had to worry about streetlights, because there weren't any. However, there were also no other kids, and I fended for myself. Still, the memory leaves a smile. Not just for myself, but for some lucky kid hitting a home run on this perfect night.
I go back in my apartment, and reality prevails as always. Dishes to be washed, counters to be cleaned. I wonder if parents take care of these mundane tasks, or if they too try to capture the magic of this night, if only by watching their children play.
Sometimes, I really hate being an adult.
The phone rings, interrupting the childish laughter echoing in my mind. "Hello?" "Hey Monica. It's me."
I can't help but smile. Why does his voice do that to me?
"John. What's going on?"
It scared me, in a comforting sort of way, that I can see his half shrug. "Dunno. Was wondering if you wanted to get some pizza, go over this Bradley case."
He always has to throw in a case. Maybe it's habit; maybe he's not comfortable just asking for dinner. But because I know that the case won't come up, I forgive him.
"Sure, that sounds great. Do you want to meet there or.?"
There. Not a spot. Not our spot, anyway. Mick's. It's a little bar and restaurant near my house. We go there sometimes, and I know some of the waiters by sight, but it's not a spot. Couples have spots, friends have spots. We just have Mick's, and pizza.
"I'll pick you up."
I don't even consider changing. Someone else, some other Thursday night I may have put on something lower, or higher. Maybe make-up. But I just gather my hair back into an elastic band, make sure my jeans and tee shirt don't have any glaring stains and take some money out of a box. As I tuck it into my pocket, I know that John will pay. I wonder what kind of mother he has, and briefly, why he never mentions her. I don't know any parents who teach their sons to pay, to open doors. But still, however charming I find it, I always offer token resistance.
In the car we are quiet. Not awkwardly so. But we talk all week in the office. Now and then, it's nice to have a few minutes to just enjoy him. The way he looks, his presence. We so rarely get ample opportunity.
"Back so soon?"
Why is it always awkward when a waitress recognizes you? Even though I am with somebody, I feel as if my life is dull. She sees the same spot, the same date, the same order of sausage pizza week after week. Does she wonder what type of life I lead? We lead?
"You never did the dishes did you?"
When beer is making my tongue that loose, I'm glad that John is driving home.
"You were the parent looking through the window, weren't you?"
I know he was. I see it in his eyes now, in him everyday. He was the proud dad who never let his know he was watching him. Of course, he did, but I imagine that Luke didn't complain when his dad offered a late night snack after a bad game.
"I couldn't not watch. At least I have those moments."
A side to John I rarely get to glimpse. Not craving revenge, not in denial. Has he moved on, now that Luke has been put to rest? Has some form acceptance set in, allowing him to look back at his son's childhood with fondness? I don't ask.
"I used to wish that I had that type of childhood. I'm glad Luke got it." "Me too."
His hand is familiar in mine, and I wonder when it got there. I've always admired his hands. They always feel right against my skin, exciting and comforting at the same time. It's an odd combination, one I've never felt with another man. I'm not sure I'd want to.
"I'll see ya tomorrow?" A nod. "Night John."
A goodnight kiss in a parked care isn't something I remember happening since high school. I had forgotten how pleasurable it could be. Maybe because it's John, maybe because it's perfect, my smile is slightly embarrassed. His isn't.
"Good night," he says with that small grin.
And it is.
AN: Just in case you were confused, not all their dialogue is actually written out. Just bits and pieces, and I'll leave you to infer the rest.
It was a night for hide and seek.
For begging to stay out past the streetlights and letting the cool summer breeze dry childish sweat. For rolling in the grass already damp with dew, laughing until your breath ran out.
It was a night for friendships lasting for forever, and constellations that you made up on a blanket stolen from your parents bed. It was for fireflies, and street baseball that lasted until home plate was barely visible.
And here I am, taking out the garbage.
No childish laughter lines the street because the only kids who play at this hour are gang members. I remember my small town in Mexico and the freedom it offered to a child. I never had to worry about streetlights, because there weren't any. However, there were also no other kids, and I fended for myself. Still, the memory leaves a smile. Not just for myself, but for some lucky kid hitting a home run on this perfect night.
I go back in my apartment, and reality prevails as always. Dishes to be washed, counters to be cleaned. I wonder if parents take care of these mundane tasks, or if they too try to capture the magic of this night, if only by watching their children play.
Sometimes, I really hate being an adult.
The phone rings, interrupting the childish laughter echoing in my mind. "Hello?" "Hey Monica. It's me."
I can't help but smile. Why does his voice do that to me?
"John. What's going on?"
It scared me, in a comforting sort of way, that I can see his half shrug. "Dunno. Was wondering if you wanted to get some pizza, go over this Bradley case."
He always has to throw in a case. Maybe it's habit; maybe he's not comfortable just asking for dinner. But because I know that the case won't come up, I forgive him.
"Sure, that sounds great. Do you want to meet there or.?"
There. Not a spot. Not our spot, anyway. Mick's. It's a little bar and restaurant near my house. We go there sometimes, and I know some of the waiters by sight, but it's not a spot. Couples have spots, friends have spots. We just have Mick's, and pizza.
"I'll pick you up."
I don't even consider changing. Someone else, some other Thursday night I may have put on something lower, or higher. Maybe make-up. But I just gather my hair back into an elastic band, make sure my jeans and tee shirt don't have any glaring stains and take some money out of a box. As I tuck it into my pocket, I know that John will pay. I wonder what kind of mother he has, and briefly, why he never mentions her. I don't know any parents who teach their sons to pay, to open doors. But still, however charming I find it, I always offer token resistance.
In the car we are quiet. Not awkwardly so. But we talk all week in the office. Now and then, it's nice to have a few minutes to just enjoy him. The way he looks, his presence. We so rarely get ample opportunity.
"Back so soon?"
Why is it always awkward when a waitress recognizes you? Even though I am with somebody, I feel as if my life is dull. She sees the same spot, the same date, the same order of sausage pizza week after week. Does she wonder what type of life I lead? We lead?
"You never did the dishes did you?"
When beer is making my tongue that loose, I'm glad that John is driving home.
"You were the parent looking through the window, weren't you?"
I know he was. I see it in his eyes now, in him everyday. He was the proud dad who never let his know he was watching him. Of course, he did, but I imagine that Luke didn't complain when his dad offered a late night snack after a bad game.
"I couldn't not watch. At least I have those moments."
A side to John I rarely get to glimpse. Not craving revenge, not in denial. Has he moved on, now that Luke has been put to rest? Has some form acceptance set in, allowing him to look back at his son's childhood with fondness? I don't ask.
"I used to wish that I had that type of childhood. I'm glad Luke got it." "Me too."
His hand is familiar in mine, and I wonder when it got there. I've always admired his hands. They always feel right against my skin, exciting and comforting at the same time. It's an odd combination, one I've never felt with another man. I'm not sure I'd want to.
"I'll see ya tomorrow?" A nod. "Night John."
A goodnight kiss in a parked care isn't something I remember happening since high school. I had forgotten how pleasurable it could be. Maybe because it's John, maybe because it's perfect, my smile is slightly embarrassed. His isn't.
"Good night," he says with that small grin.
And it is.
AN: Just in case you were confused, not all their dialogue is actually written out. Just bits and pieces, and I'll leave you to infer the rest.