A/N: Sigh...my neck really hurts. Work is killing me.
Thanks to my reviewers:
TNPD: I love that I continue to wow you, and that you continue to flatter me with your reviews.
PureEvilOne: I can't sleep in anymore, I'm physically incapable it seems!!!!! This is what being forced to wake up early does to you...yup...great flashbacks. I love the flashbacks, it's like, I'm writing stories within my first story, it's fun.
xXxSarahxXx: I hope he is bettter, or gets better. Cocaine is a hard drug to kick...not speaking from experience but...um...yeah...everyone is having a hard time, especially since they recently all realized that they never really got over Spin's death.
RavenForever: Yeah...I liked that chapter to. But I think I like this one more...Chapter 4, however, has been my fave so far. Yeah, and that playground scene was only supposed to be eight years after they're fourth grade years...so...she'd only be about fifty/sixty something...yup...
DAGL: Yeah, my life is as follows: Class, write, work real late, write more, sleep, wake up early, repeat. Thanks for the review.
Stacy: I love your reviews, they're so thorough! Hm...well, first of all, yes Doug is a butthole. I didn't like him; which is why he was such a bastard. I hope you'll forgive Becky a little, or at least understand her better after this chapter, same with TJ's parents...Oh! And his mom didn't really want him to go to the wedding, she wanted him to come home to meet Becky's fiance is all. I guess maybe that wasn't very clear...erm...yeah, I like writing the angsty talks, because I really get wrapped up into them and I start crying myself...sniffles...poor Mikey...
Alright, there's a slight WARNING for this chapter. It's going to be discussing, in minor detail, a...um...very special part of growing up, maturing...physically. SO, if you don't wish to read about this subject, then consider yourself forewarned. It's not that descriptive or anything, I actually kind of hope I gave the situation the respect and dignity it deserves. You're decision, though. I am, afterall, biased in the matter.
RIGHT-O! Pero, que me quedes tu...y me quede tu abrazo...ENJOY!
Chapter 6: Falling Into Blossoming
Happiness. Laughter. Joviality. That's what came from the Dettweiler house that Thursday evening. And then a knock, resounded from the front door. The laughter stopped briefly, but quickly resumed. There was shuffling within. Someone called "I'll get it", and the front door swung open. More laughter flowed out from the living room, but did not catch on in the entryway of the Dettweiler house. The young woman, the daughter, Becky Dettweiler frowned at the tall, thin form standing before her, clouded with misery, standing with his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets.
"TJ..." she mumbled, hardly able to contain the surprise and dismay in her voice. The two siblings stared at one another from downcast glances. Becky noticed that TJ had grown taller, lost weight; his hair wasn't quite such a mess. TJ noticed that Becky had also lost weight, filled out more as a woman, gotten a tan; her hair was cut short and dyed strawberry blonde.
"Who's at the door, honey?" a man called, slipping up behind Becky, snaking his arm around her waist. She blushed, her entire face turning red, and giggled slightly, giddily. The man looked to TJ, frowned. He wasn't a tall man, well built, or astoundingly handsome. His hairs were light curls, his eyes a gentle green. Silver-rimmed glasses adorned his face. He seemed small, nothing special, nothing like the boyfriends Becky once brought home. He had a look of someone who came home every night at six, had a glass of wine every now and then with dinner, who was loyal only because it was the only way he knew how to be and couldn't be taught different.
"What are you doing here?" Becky hissed at her younger brother. He looked away, shrugged.
"Sorry," he muttered, turning to leave.
"I asked him to come," a voice piped from behind the couple in the doorway. They hadn't noticed the laughter in the living room had stopped. Everyone peered in to Mrs. Dettweiler.
"Mom..." Becky started.
"He's your brother," was the careful reply, "Let him in." The door opened wider, an invitation to the young man outside. He hesitated, glowering at the innards of the house he'd grown up in as though the light and cheer were some threat to him and his unhappiness. He obliged finally, stepping forward and trudging into the living room where his father greeted him with a nod. The fiancés took up occupancy on the couch and Mrs. Dettweiler half leaned against, half sat upon the arm of Mr. Dettweiler's chair. TJ stood, odd man out, to the side of the room, arms crossed, uncomfortable.
"Um...Harold, this is my brother, Theodore," Becky went into introductions, "TJ, this is my fiancé, Harold Rosenberg."
"A funny story," Harry spoke up, "How your sister and I met..."
"Oh, Harry...don't!" Becky squealed, wrapping her arms about the small man and burying her face in his shoulder.
"Oh come on, it's not that bad."
"It's embarrassing!"
"Oh, you've got to look back on it and laugh," Harry chuckled, "No offense, Mr., Mrs. Dettweiler, but your daughter has trouble finding the humor in life. I hope to change that. I wanted to be a comic, you know, but there are too many Jewish comedians out there already, and besides, I always wanted to be a doctor. I try to mix the two, but my patients don't find it very comforting when the man supposed to be treating them walks in with a big red nose on and a rubber chicken in his hands." The room burst into laughter, and TJ shifted, unable to even crack a smile, which Harry caught. "What's with your kids, mom, dad? They both look so miserable all the time." There was a hush, a glimmer of looks between the Dettweiler's, as though passing a silent secret, "Well...uh...so what are we having for dinner?" Dr. Rosenburg knew when to back down, "Now, Becky tells me your something else in the kitchen..."
"Well, I wouldn't say I'm anything special as a cook..." Mrs. Dettweiler fiddled with her shirt, "Between work...and I've taken up a few classes at the college...I don't have time to cook anymore."
"With all the kids out of the house, there's no one to cook for anyways, huh, honey?" Mr. Dettweiler chuckled.
"Yes...well...if one of my children would grant me grandchildren to cook for..."
"Well, I can't say how soon..." Harry mused, receiving a playful slap from Becky.
"We haven't even talked about children yet!" she cried.
"What's there to talk about? You want children, I want children; I want you to have my children, that's important. You'll make a terrific mother," Harry settled back against the couch, slinking his arm around Becky. She looked happy. She really looked happy. Harry seemed to notice TJ again, "So, you would be the brother that reads comics?"
"Yeah," TJ muttered, expecting the man to attempt a conversation on the subject, feign an interest in the subject.
"Oh...me, I never bought into the whole superhero bit. Give me the funnies any day," Harry laughed slightly, "I guess it was just so hard growing up a Jewish boy in Brooklyn, that I just couldn't swallow the idea of these super human guys wearing spandex and fighting for the good of mankind."
"I guess you'd have to believe that there is good in mankind," TJ retorted softly, a little reproachfully. Was this guy calling him jaded?
"Yeah, I suppose. I mean, for me as a kid, the good of mankind was about making sure Polly Malone and Rudy Geiger didn't get those packages they kept sending one another, or at the very least, making sure you weren't the delivery boy," Harry smiled somewhat, "You look like the kind of guy who could do with reading the funnies..."
"I used to..." TJ mumbled, eyes downcast. Every morning, he would read them to Spinelli. Even if she were out of town, he would call her, and read them to her. It was tradition. But she was gone. She broke tradition. Screw tradition.
"I never read the funnies before," Becky broke in, "But Harry turned me on to them."
"You have to find a little humor in life, or you'll die from laughter deprivation," Harry explained, "But...um...I talk to much..."
TJ moved into the kitchen, pictures on the refrigerator catching his eye. He touched one in particular, gently, tracing the smiling face. It was his prom picture, Spinelli by his side. There was silence in the living room as everyone watched him.
"TJ...?" Mr. Dettweiler spoke up, then, "Son?"
It had been hard convincing Spinelli to go to the prom. TJ liked going to the school dances, but she preferred to avoid them. She looked beautiful in the picture. Red dress, red roses on her corsage, her hair pulled up in a bundle of curls. He'd been speechless that night when he first saw her, walking down from her porch.
"Why do you have this picture up?" he questioned silently, "I thought you took all her pictures down..."
"We never took her pictures down," Mrs. Dettweiler answered, her voice concerned. Becky shot an exasperated look to her parents.
"I am not going through this again..." she seethed, a low whisper that she hoped TJ hadn't heard. He had.
"You don't have to," he muttered, "I'm leaving." He made for the door, sickened, his stomach turning unpleasantly. Why had he come there? What had possessed him? Was it the false warmly assurance of family? The empty promise of a return to what had been normalcy in that house, what seemed ages ago? Was it company? Familiarity? Remembrance?
"TJ," Mr. Dettweiler called after him, and he paused, "What's wrong?" There was so much wrong. TJ turned, his eyes burning with tears and anger.
"You didn't come to the funeral," he stated quietly, "You didn't even call." Mrs. Dettweiler stepped forward.
"TJ..." she started.
"No. You didn't come to the funeral. You could have come. You could have called, at the very least. You could have said you were sorry, or told me it would be alright...or something..."
"Please, TJ...tonight's supposed to be a nice evening...and..."
"My wife dies...your son's wife dies...and you don't even call. You could have at least acknowledged it. I mean, maybe you're happy she's gone but..."
"Stop it," Mr. Dettweiler snapped, rising from his seat, "Stop this now.""No, dad. I know how you both work. Bad things don't happen, isn't that right? Not if you push it under the rug and pretend that it didn't happen. But something bad did happen and..."
"Don't yell at him. It's my fault, not his. Your father wanted to call, TJ, he wanted to go to the funeral," Mrs. Dettweiler interrupted in a light whisper, and TJ faltered, "But I didn't want him to. I didn't want to." She was crying now, almost suddenly, tears falling slowly, painfully from her eyes to her chin to the ground below, "I couldn't...it was, all over the news. Names, flashing across the screen. Her name, across the screen. I couldn't watch the television...I couldn't. I couldn't go to that funeral, TJ, I couldn't. She was a child, a beautiful child, that I watched grow up and fall in love with my son, and...how could I call, TJ? After everything we'd said, after everything we'd done and put you two through? How could I call and tell you, I'm sorry...how could you accept that sympathy from me? I knew...I knew that...I just felt that...when I first heard, I was happy for a moment that you two married so young, because...I thought that...it was good because at least you had a short time...a very short time to be together as husband and wife. And it meant admitting I was wrong...for so long...I was wrong, we were wrong. I felt ashamed, thinking those things, after condemning the both of you for so long because of it..."
"Mom..."
"And I couldn't go to that funeral, TJ. I couldn't see that church, with her pictures everywhere...like a reminder hanging in the air of all the time that passed...all the time I missed out on her life...on both of your lives...and all the time I did have with her. I couldn't see that box, that coffin...I couldn't..." she covered her face with her hands, shaking, trembling, and Mr. Dettweiler came to her side, wrapped his arms around her, "I'm so sorry, TJ, that we weren't there for you...but..." she looked up, met his eyes almost pleadingly, "No parent wants to bury their child...and she was my child, as much my daughter as she was Flo's...and I know how it's tearing them apart, the Spinellis...and how it must be tearing you apart...because it's tearing me apart...but I can't...I couldn't... I was too ashamed, and I was in too much pain. I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."
-0-0-0-0--------------Labor Day Weekend, 1996---------------0-0-0-0-
Spinelli leaned against the chair, rocking on the balls of her feet and glowering out at the glistening pool. She refused to put her bathing suit on in front of the boys, who were busy splashing and horsing around in the cool water. TJ, Vince, Mikey, and Gus being the boys. The sliding glass door opened, and closed and Gretchen stepped out. Spinelli turned to look at her, the boys too busy playing to notice anything else going on. She was wearing a one-piece bathing suit, a towel in her hand, and was distractedly rubbing sun block into her delicate fair skin. She was not planning on burning again this year.
"Aren't you going in?" Gretchen asked, looking down at her fully clothed friend. Spinelli glanced at the pool, blushing when she noticed TJ was pulling himself from the water making his way over. He'd lost most of his baby fat, thinned out, tanned from hours in the sun playing every sport imaginable, and it was really noticeable seeing as all he was wearing was his swim trunks.
"Finally," he exclaimed, grabbing Gretchen's arm, then following her gaze, "She's being a spoil sport." Spinelli stuck her tongue out at him.
"I forgot my swimsuit at home," she muttered, and Gretchen frowned at her.
"No you didn't, it was in the..."
"I forgot my swimsuit at home," Spinelli repeated, tersely.
"Oh...I'll be right there, TJ," Gretchen said, "I have to have a talk with Spinelli." TJ shook his head, relinquishing his hold on the taller youth, and padding back into the pool, jumping in while muttering 'girls' beneath his breath. Gretchen dragged a plastic chair over, plopping down next to Spinelli.
"What do you want, Gretch?"
"They've seen you in a swimsuit before," Gretchen started.
"Whatever, that's not what this is about...I just don't want to go swimming and..."
"I know what this is about," Gretchen interjected, "It's the same reason you've been wearing such baggy shirts, isn't it?"
"I always wear baggy shirts," Spinelli argued.
"Not like the ones you've been wearing lately. They make you look huge, Spin. Besides, I highly doubt the boys are going to notice...they're oblivious, you and I both know that. And even if they do notice it's not like it's this huge thing. I'll tell them about it, explain to them, so that if they do notice it..."
"Notice what?" Gus stood hovering beside them at the glass door, which was partially open. Gretchen grinned to her best friend, who scowled threateningly.
"You wouldn't..."
"That Spinelli's developing in the chest area..."
"Gretchen!" All motion in the backyard stopped. Spinelli sunk into her chair, covering her beet red face.
"It's perfectly normal, Spinelli, it's all a part of the biological process of adolescence. I mean, we learned all about this in health class. It's not that big a deal, every girl at school has been going through the same thing for the past two years, except maybe me but...simply because your breast have started to
"Just shut up, alright," Spinelli snapped, on her feet pushing her way past Gus and slamming the door behind her, disappearing into the house.
"Oh," Gretchen sunk into the chair, "I'm sorry...I didn't think she'd take it that way...I thought it would make things better, that it would get things over with and then...I don't know, we'd be past it. I didn't mean to make her mad..."
"Gretchen," TJ moaned from the pool, "I have to share a house with her! You know she's staying with me while her parents are out of town!"
"Oh man," Vince muttered, "Is that true? Is she really...oh man...TJ, you have to..."
"I do not want you to finish that sentence, Vince," TJ hissed, "Because I know that whatever it is you think I have to do is going to end up with me hurt courtesy of Spinelli's fists."
"Spinelli...with..." Gus turned red in the face, obviously picturing something dirty in his mind.
"Of course she is," Gretchen mumbled, "Why do you think she's been wearing all those huge clothes, and why she's been walking around school with her arms crossed."
"I just thought she'd gotten more hand-me-downs from her brothers and was in a real bad mood lately," TJ conceded, sinking low into the water, "How'm I supposed to look at her now knowing that...?"
"Well, somebody has to go talk to her..." Gretchen mumbled, then quickly saying, "Not me." And as if in a domino effect...
"Not me," Vince cried.
"Not me," Mikey spoke up.
"Not me," Gus peeped at the door. TJ looked around at them, feeling very betrayed.
"Gee, thanks guys," he muttered, "But what am I supposed to say to her? I mean, Gretchen, you're the girl..."
"Which is why this talk will mean so much more coming from any of you boys than me," she argued, "She needs reassurance that these changes in her body won't affect her relationship with you four."
"But why me?" TJ whined.
"You're better at these things," Mikey shrugged, "Words are your art form and you are a master at your craft...and...girls like you."
"Spinelli's not a normal girl," TJ reminded him. Vince patted his shoulders.
"Go get 'er, man. And remember, stay low, watch her right hook, don't forget that she bites and keep your distance," he said encouragingly, then with a gentle shove, "Now get in there." TJ sighed, scowling at the rest of the gang before pulling himself from the water, grabbing his towel and entering the house.
"TJ, you're dripping everywhere," Mrs. Dettweiler scolded from the kitchen, "Dry off."
"Sorry, mom," he mumbled, stooping down and rubbing the towel furiously over his soaked skin, "Where'd Spin go?"
"Upstairs," Mrs. Dettweiler replied, eyeing him with a reproving look as he raced up the staircase to Becky's room where Spinelli would be sleeping that night. The door was shut and TJ halted, knocking gently though he would have rather burst in.
"Go away," Spinelli growled.
"Spin, we have to talk," TJ said through the door, even as he was more than willing to do just as she'd commanded. She didn't answer and he took that as a cue to continue. "Gretchen didn't mean to say those things, you know that...she just...sometimes she doesn't think about what she says, and she doesn't see things like normal kids would. Everything is science to her...it's not her fault...she's just so smart and naïve at the same time." The door opened, and TJ fell back a little startled. Her hair was down, a frown playing along her face.
"Naïve? Let me guess, you want extra points for using this weeks vocabulary word?" She let him in and shut the door, taking a seat on the bed, leaning back.
TJ blushed, looking away, shameful that he'd just noticed, as the shirt she was wearing fell around her body that she was in fact growing in the chest area. He'd started noticing, like the other boys at school, that the girls around them were changing in body shape, but it was no big deal. They'd been over all of the basic changes accompanied by adolescence in health class. But it was different now that it was happening to one of his friends, someone he'd known his whole life. He liked her the way she was, unchanged. Spinelli noticed the look he wore, straightened and wrapped her arms over her chest, lowered eyes, her cheeks a deep red.
"You come up here for a reason?" she demanded.
"No...no reason," TJ stuttered, "Just to see if you were okay. Are you...okay, I mean?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Spinelli spat, slumping forward. TJ took a seat next to her on the bed.
"If you want, you can borrow one of my shirts," TJ said.
"What?" she narrowed her eyes at him, a raised eyebrow, confused, a little flustered.
"I mean to swim in. You can wear it over your bathing suit and..."
"That's alright, Teej," Spinelli relaxed, her hands falling to her lap, "Why me? Why can't Gretchen go first? Why do I have to be the one changing? At least if she went first then by the time I went through it, you'd all be over it...she'd have talked it to death..."
"I don't know," TJ muttered, meekly. The conversation was crossing into dangerous grounds, passing the boundaries of safe chatter into something more personal.
"Man, Teej...I'm worried...I just...oh man," She fell back on the bed, "I don't want you guys looking at me like that."
"Like what?" TJ asked, keeping his eyes forward and trying not to think about the fact that he was sitting on a bed with a girl. Even if she was his best friend, and it wasn't the first time they'd been in that position, there was something different about that moment in time. Maybe it was those "raging hormones" everyone kept talking about.
"Like the way you were looking at me just moments ago at the door," Spinelli snarled, "I'm not blind, Teej."
"Sorry," he mumbled, which received a particularly skeptical look, "I am. I mean, we're all going through changes, it's embarrassing, but at least we're all going through them together."
"Really? Is that so?" Spinelli sneered sarcastically, "Because I don't see any of you guys growing boobs, and Gretchen, queen of the flat-chested..."
"Spinelli," TJ chastised, perturbed, "Jeez..."
"Well it's true," she sat up, "You ain't going through the same thing I am...you didn't wake up to find these things suddenly in front of you...and..."
"But they're fine, nobody's noticed them. And..." he was squirming, this was not a conversation he wanted to be a part of, "I mean...they're just something you have to get used to and... they look fine..."
"How do you know they look fine?" she demanded.
"Well... let me see them," TJ grimaced, something was wrong with that sentence.
"Let you see them?" Spinelli cried shrilly, "Next you're gonna wanna touch them..." TJ closed his eyes, feeling very much like he'd just been kicked in the stomach.
"Thank you for that, Spinelli," he told her cynically, seething, "I'm surprised I'm not more traumatized having grown up with you."
"You are traumatized, Teej, but it has nothing to do with me," Spinelli muttered, then sighing, "Fine." She lifted herself up; pulling her shirt taut around her body to reveal the twin rises in her chest. They were small, but noticeable, like little flesh mounds beneath the thin fabric, and TJ wished at that moment that he was not there, not sitting in that room, on that bed, inspecting his best friend's budding chest. He really didn't like the way his face flushed, how light-headed he felt, the twisting in his stomach, or any of the various other reactions taking place within his body while looking at her.
"Fine...they look fine..." he stammered, "V...v...very nice..." She let the shirt loose, groaning. She fell to the bed, burying her face.
"It's not fair..." she moaned, "Why me?"
"Spinelli..." TJ started, but felt it was better to say nothing more. He couldn't find anything worth saying as it was. He patted Spinelli's shoulder, surprised to find that she was shaking. "Spinelli?" She pulled herself up, tears evident.
"I'm sorry..." she mumbled, sitting cross legged and facing him, "I just...I don't want this to happen...I don't want to be looked at differently...I don't want you looking at me differently...treating me differently..." she couldn't get anymore out, and TJ, taking a big risk, pulled her into his arms. He was surprised when she didn't hit him, even more surprised when she buried her face in his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck. She cried and he said nothing, holding her tightly, afraid to move, afraid to talk. It hurt, watching her break down this way, and not being able to do anything about it. He'd seen girls cry before, seen Gretchen cry before, but it had never upset him as strongly as Spinelli crying. It was that she was so tough, that she never cried, that was getting to him. She'd broken her arm once, and even though she howled, threatened, and even kicked those around her, she never cried. She'd grimaced, bitten down the pain, and walked herself to the hospital. But there, in TJ's arms, she cried, tears spilling on his bare shoulder, shaking, trembling; she wasn't some tough kid; she was just a girl, a normal girl that was sad and hurting.
It killed TJ.
When Spinelli finally stopped, was silent, they still sat there. TJ was in no rush to get her out of his arms, he found he liked holding her. She was warm, soft, seemed almost fragile, breakable with one wrong move. But he knew that they couldn't sit there like that forever. There was a knock on the door, and they stirred from that hold, Spinelli pulling away, not looking up, not looking to TJ. He walked to the door, opened it. Vince stood there with Mikey, hands on their hips.
"What are you two doing?" Vince demanded, "We've been waiting downstairs for who knows how long. You're dad's starting the barbeque up...you...uh...is everything okay?" TJ glanced to Spinelli, shamefaced on his bed.
"Yeah, everything's fine," he mumbled. He could see that the last thing she wanted was the rest of the gang knowing how she'd broken down, how she'd bawled like a baby. She had a lot of pride, and TJ was the last person that wanted to take that from her.
"Well are you coming down?" Mikey questioned, then, striking a dramatic pose, "Ah...the last corn on the cob, the final grilled hot dog...summer, we bid thee adieu."
"Yeah, we'll be down in a minute," TJ said, scratching the back of his head distractedly. Vince raised an eyebrow at him, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Alright, but your dad wants to know who's having hot dogs and who's having burgers before he throws anything on the grill," Vince told them.
"I'll have a burger...Spin?" TJ turned slightly, eying her, "Hot dog as usual?" She nodded. They couldn't see her face; those raven silk locks shielding her features much like a blanket or veil.
"Okay, I'll tell him...see you out back," Vince called over his shoulder, already half-way to the staircase, turning his attention to Mikey, "Last corn on the cob, the final grilled hot dog...that's pretty good, man. I like it. Is that the new poem you're working on?"
"Yes, my Farewell to Summer," Mikey nodded.
"You should work baseball in it somewhere..." TJ shut the door again, not turning, not wanting to see Spinelli, afraid of what she may look like. He sighed.
"You okay?" he asked, a small whisper.
"No," she answered, "Thanks, for not telling them and...for...for being there." He moved slightly, leaned against the door, rolling so that his back was pressed against the hard wood, his eyes downcast focusing on that area where the floor met the bed.
"We're all there for you," he mumbled. He could hear her move from where she sat and found himself looking at her feet. He glanced up.
"I'm ready. Let's go," she said, not looking at all ready. He nodded, straightening and moving to open the door. He froze, felt her fingers brush along his skin. "You have freckles...on your shoulders," she commented quietly, musingly, "I never noticed before. I like 'em." She opened the door, slunk out, walking to the stairs and turning somewhat only to give him a slight, half-hearted smile, "Coming?"
"Yeah...yeah..." TJ stammered, heart pounding madly in his chest, realizing for a brief moment that he'd forgotten to breath.
-0-0-
They watched the last light of the day slink beneath the horizon from Fort Tender, they're eyes following the sun's descent with saddened eyes.
"I shall miss summer," Mikey announced, as though the others hadn't thought to do the same, "Baseball, kickball, soccer, bike riding, street ball, swimming..."
"Some of us soaked up as many hours as they could in the pool," Vince interjected, glancing pointedly at Spinelli, "While others squandered the time away." She gave him the finger.
TJ thought to say something, but held his tongue. Spinelli was quickly becoming the raunchiest of the group, easily picking up on every obscenity she came across. At first, TJ had tried to persuade her to censor her words and gestures, but slowly...very slowly, he was starting to use them as well. Now, there were few things she'd say or do that he himself hadn't already said or done, so scolding her would only make him a hypocrite. He did, however, often find himself longing for the days when they were all so innocent, and a finger was just that, a finger; as opposed to a metaphor for something vulgar and rude.
"Well, technically, the temperature will not be dropping below adequate swimming heat for another couple weeks. I mean, you do understand that even as the calendar states Labor Day as the final day of summer, summer itself doesn't actually end until..." Gretchen began.
"There's always next summer," Gus interrupted, saving them a long lecture on the equinoxes, solstices, and how the way the world spins on its axis affects the temperature of the earth.
"Gretchen, Gus, your parents are here," Mrs. Dettweiler called out into the backyard.
"I'll see you guys tomorrow," Gretchen sighed as she and Gus climbed down from the tree house.
"I should get going, too," Vince muttered, "Walk with me, Mikey?"
"Certainly, my good friend." the two quietly followed the others down. TJ shifted sheepishly, looking to Spinelli. She was crawling towards the entryway of the tree house, watching the rest of the gang leave, and waving to them. She fell back, rolling her eyes to meet his own.
"How late are we staying up tonight?" she questioned and TJ grinned.
"Well, there's a horror movie marathon on..." She clapped her hands together, exclaiming "great", sliding down the ladder to the ground below and TJ quickly followed.
They lay facing one another on the couch in the living room, their legs pulled up to their chests, covered in dark watching an old black and white horror flick. Spinelli was fidgeting and TJ gave her an earnest glance of annoyance.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I don't feel good, that's all," she slumped down, frowning at the television, "Why does the girl always go into the dark, creepy room by herself? Is she stupid, or what?" TJ shrugged, jumping when the man wielding an axe leapt from hiding at the helpless heroin. Spinelli broke into laughter, leaning closer to him, "She's not gonna die yet," she whispered, "The guy dies next."
"How do you know that?"
"It's too predictable," she frowned at the television again; a hand lay over her abdomen. She sat up suddenly, and TJ tried to pay attention to the movie as opposed to her inability to sit still. "TJ...will you turn on the lights..."
"Why?" he muttered, "Is it too scary for you, Miss this-is-too-predictable?"
"Teej..." her voice was shaking, a little frightened, catching in her throat. TJ was at the light switch in an instance, turning to look at her while the room illuminated. She was staring at her fingers blankly, those fingers stained with red. TJ's brow furrowed, he narrowed his eyes at her.
"Spin...are you okay? Are you bleeding?"
"I want to see your mother," she whispered, her eyes staring at that bright red, "Please..."
"Mom," TJ hollered, "MOM!" There was a rush of padding footsteps on the staircase and Mrs. Dettweiler filled the doorway, gasping for breath, white in the face.
"What's wrong? Is everything okay?" she cried frantically, looking about the room with wide frightened eyes.
"I think Spinelli's hurt," TJ explained. Mrs. Dettweiler's eyes fell on the poor girl huddled on the couch still staring at her fingers. She moved towards her, stopping in front of the couch.
"TJ, leave the room," she commanded quietly.
"What? But what's wrong with Spinelli? Is she gonna be okay?"
"What's going on?" Mr. Dettweiler asked, appearing in the doorway as well.
"TJ, go upstairs," Mrs. Dettweiler hissed. Mr. Dettweiler looked around, quickly surmising the situation with a glum expression. He wrapped his hands over his son's eyes, dragging him back into the hallway, "Come along, son, nothing to see here."
"But what's wrong with Spinelli?" TJ demanded, struggling against his father.
"I'll tell you later, now come on." They left the room, TJ's voice asking an endless line of questions fading as they disappeared up the stairs.
"Is this your first one?" Mrs. Dettweiler asked, kneeling down. Tears began to spill down Spinelli's pristine cheeks, her hair falling about her face. "Oh...oh, Ashley dear, it's alright..." Mrs. Dettweiler soothed, pulling the small girl into her motherly embrace.
"I just...is this...did I just start...Mrs. Dettweiler, I don't think I can handle any more changes," she cried, trying to fight back the sobs as the older woman gently massaged her back.
"It's alright, sweetheart," Mrs. Dettweiler whispered, "Changes are a part of life. Do you think you can make it to the restroom?" Spinelli nodded. "Good, let's get you cleaned up." She led Spinelli like a child, hands clasped, and Spinelli pouted cherubically at the small stain on the couch cushion where she'd sat.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled.
"It's alright, dear," Mrs. Dettweiler assured her, "It can be cleaned up later. You, on the other hand, need attention now." Spinelli took a shower, a long hot shower as prescribed by Mrs. Dettweiler. She scrubbed her entire body raw, hiccupping every now and then with dismay and tears. She stepped out accepting clothes from Mrs. Dettweiler and a small crinkling package. The older woman pointed to the side of this object.
"These are the instructions, it's very simple. I'll wait out here." Spinelli disappeared back into the restroom, reading the package carefully, the tiny black print in the white rectangular box. She frowned at the thin blue plastic of the package, at the smaller packages in little rows within the bigger package. She took one, unwrapped it, scowling at the detestable white netting with pink plastic backing. She peeled back the white strip of paper that concealed the glue, and placed it in her panties with a pained grimace. Change every two to four hours, the instructions had read. What a nuisance.
"My life is over," she moaned. She frowned at that blue plastic package, and at that small cotton bra her mother had bought her earlier in the week. She poked at her chest, cupped her hands over the small breasts and pushed them down, willing them to flatten back into her body to no avail. She sighed, her hands falling to her side. The pressure had started to hurt. She finished dressing and slipped out of the bathroom, finding Mrs. Dettweiler waiting patiently.
"Would you like to sit on the bed?" Mrs. Dettweiler asked. They'd been in Becky's room, using Becky's bathroom. Spinelli didn't say anything, simply slumping down on the large mattress where she'd be sleeping that night. Mrs. Dettweiler pushed the fine baby strands from Spinelli's face, frowning at the drenched strings of hair. She plucked the towel off the floor and gently began drying Spinelli's locks with a tender massage, and the small girl simply sat still without protest or movement.
"Why is this happening to me?" Spinelli finally questioned, with only a slight hint of a whine.
"You're a girl, Spinelli, it happens to all girls. It happened to me when I was your age, it happened to Rebecca when she was your age," was the solemn reply.
"I wish I was a boy. They don't have to go through this awful thing..." Mrs. Dettweiler stopped, gently, forcefully taking Spinelli's chin and turning her face.
"Don't say that. Don't ever think that. This is a beautiful time in a young girl's life. You're becoming a woman, Ashley. I know it seems horrible at first, disgusting even, but it's not. Your body is a beautiful thing. You'll soon see that this is something that connects all women. That it's very powerful, very empowering," Mrs. Dettweiler resumed drying Spinelli's hair.
"But why me? Gretchen doesn't have to..."
"But she will. One day, she too will start her cycle. Very soon, in fact. And it'll be special for the both of you, because you'll be there to help her with it. You'll share this together."
"And this chest...these boobs...TJ, he tried, but...they'll notice, and they'll look at me funny, and..." the tears came again.
"Sweetheart," Mrs. Dettweiler cooed, "Of course they're going to notice, and at first, it will be awkward. But eventually, the noticing will be good. You'll like when boys notice. In fact, you'll probably spend most of your youth trying to get them to notice."
"But...I feel like it's making me weaker..." The tears were stopping. There was something calming about talking to a woman about this, a woman who'd gone through it all, already.
"Oh, but it isn't, sweetie," Mrs. Dettweiler chuckled, "On the contrary, this will make you stronger. You'll find that it gives you power..." she lowered her voice, speaking in a conspiratorial tone, "You'll find that these..." she lifted her own breast slightly in emphasis, and Spinelli couldn't help but smile at the ridiculous vulgarity of the motion, "Will give you a power over men that they will not be able to resist, that they will never have over you."
"Are you sure?" Mrs. Dettweiler stepped off the bed, tossing the damp towel into the bathroom.
"You know those looks, the boys are giving you? The way they all gape. They're not looks of disgust or shock or distaste," Mrs. Dettweiler smiled, a smile of wisdom, "It's that they are noticing, and it is a good noticing. That, my dear, is the power of women. Because you see, that adage is true. Women do rule, and men...well, they drool over women." Spinelli smirked. Mrs. Dettweiler stood in front of her, squinting her eyes, "Now...what is that there...?" Spinelli's brow furrowed, as Mrs. Dettweiler bent, brushing her fingers along Spinelli's cheek. "Is that...ah...I see it now...there she is...a beautiful young woman sitting before me." Spinelli grinned.
"Thanks, Mrs. Dettweiler," she said.
"Now," the older woman exclaimed, making her way to the door, "You'll want to call your mother. She'll want to know what's going on, she'll want to talk to you."
"What makes you think that?"
"Oh, well, you see, there are a few moments in time, a few events, that a mother waits for so that she can give her daughter a 'talk', if you will. These 'talks', these 'moments', are very important, very special, for a mother. In fact, from the first moment she holds her daughter, no more than a newborn babe, in her arms, she begins planning these 'talks' out word for word. This is one of those moments in time that inspires one of those 'talks'." Mrs. Dettweiler explained, reaching the door and opening it, she smiled to Spinelli, "I guess I'm lucky. I was able to give my 'talk' twice, to two very special girls. You'll be fine, Ashley, you'll be just fine."
-0-0-
TJ slumped on his bed letting the things his father was saying sink in. Mr. Dettweiler himself was at TJ's desk, sitting in his swivel chair facing his son.
"So she's...ugh..." TJ groaned, "Poor Spin..."
"Just be glad you're not a girl, son," Mr. Dettweiler said, nodding appreciatively, "Be glad you're a man."
"Ahem." Both occupants of the room turned to the doorway, Mrs. Dettweiler standing before them with hands on her hips, "What corrupt ideas are you filling my son's head with?"
"Is Spinelli alright?" TJ asked, halfway to his feet.
"Yes, she's not an invalid. She's just started her menstrual cycle," Mrs. Dettweiler explained with a casual shrug, making her way over to her husband and slapping him scathingly on the arm, to which he gave a small yelp of pain.
"Ugh...mom, do you have to say it like that?" TJ moaned.
"Like what? That's its technical name," Mrs. Dettweiler sighed, "She's started her period. It's not a big deal."
"I'm gonna go see her," TJ muttered, running to the door.
"TJ," he stopped, looking to his mother, "I don't want you to tell any of your little friends about this, alright? This is her secret. She'll tell them, if she wants to."
"But mom, the gang'll worry and..."
"Just, don't," Mrs. Dettweiler hissed, "Or you'll be facing my punishment..."
"Ulp...sure thing, mom," TJ gulped, rushing from the room, and hearing the first bit of a lecture his mother began warming herself into, screeching at his father. TJ sighed, closing his bedroom door and heading towards Becky's. It was partway open, just a small crack, and he could hear Spinelli inside on the phone.
"Yeah, ma..." she was saying, he could hear the tears in her muffled voice, "I'm alright...Mrs. Dettweiler took care of it, she was great, she made me feel a lot better...I just...I wanted to talk to you..." TJ slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall, one ear mildly listening to Spinelli speak, but not quite hearing or comprehending the words.
"Your period, that's rough, Spin..." TJ whispered, barely audible beneath his breath, staring dully at his hands, "Well, you don't need to worry. I'm here for you..." He smirked ironically. "If you'd just come to me..." he frowned, saddened, "I guess you're a girl now. Oh man...I have nothing in common with a girl...my best friend is not supposed to turn into a girl." He fell silent when the door opened completely.
"TJ? What are you doing?" Spinelli asked, standing over him. He looked up, forced a smile.
"Nothing, just waiting for you...are you okay?"
"I'm tired, I want to go to bed. Are you tired?" Spinelli mumbled, looking back into the room. TJ frowned, pulling himself to his feet. She wasn't answering him, wasn't looking at him.
"Yeah, sure," TJ muttered. He wasn't tired. She disappeared back into the room and TJ made his way back to his bedroom. His parents had vacated it, so, with a heavy sigh, he began getting ready to sleep. He wanted to call someone, talk to someone. She wouldn't talk to him. Spinelli wouldn't talk to him. She kept growing and changing, and...and she kept keeping things from him. She'd always talked to him, always told him everything when they were younger. He wanted to go back in time, back to their childhood, and trap Spinelli, trap her in that child's body, in that childhood forever. He wanted to stop her from growing, from changing, from going through all these things. He wanted to stop her from leaving him.
TJ sighed, falling onto his bed. There was nothing he could do about it though. This would probably be the last time she slept over at his house. Maybe they'll stop talking eventually, start hanging out with different people. Maybe he'll make more guy friends and she'll find a crowd of girls who'll teach her to put on make-up, perfume, do up her hair, walk in heels and tiny skirts. He tried to push those thoughts from his mind, but the little girl he knew was quickly fading, quickly being replaced with this older, feminine carbon copy.
-0-0-
In silence, a dark figure skulked into the small room blanketed in pitch black. The only light came from the small digital alarm clock that read '2:10', and a small stream of moonlight from the window.
"Teej..." the figure whispered, "TJ..."
"Hmm..." TJ mumbled from the bed, moving somewhat. He was laying on his belly, his eyes still closed, groaning and stirring to wakefulness.
"I can't sleep," was the small whispered explanation. Spinelli came to the bedside, lifting the covers and slipping beneath them, hiding from the chill of the room.
"Well, I could. Until you woke me up," TJ replied, disgruntled. His body freezing when he realized she was lying next to him.
"Sorry..."
"What's wrong?" he asked, groggily. Trying to settle those emotions and reactions he was taking to this situation. They'd shared a bed before; it was nothing new. This was nothing new; he tried reassuring himself, it's perfectly normal.
"I can't sleep," she repeated, then, softly, "Can we talk?" He perked up slightly at that. He'd been waiting all evening for those words ever since what had happened. He most definitely wanted to talk.
"Always."
"I'm scared, Teej..." she squirmed, so that their shoulders were touching.
"Why? Of what?"
"Do you hate me?" The question was so small, so serious. TJ lifted himself slightly, looking down at her.
"For what? What could I possibly hate you for?"
"Everything. For not swimming...for crying...for starting my..." the words caught in her throat. TJ fell back to his pillow, closing his eyes again and relaxing, his hand coming up to rub her shoulder.
"I could never hate you, Spin. There are times when I'm mad at you, or strongly dislike the way you're acting, but I could never hate you," he said, through his fatigue-induced drowsiness, "You'll get through this, Spinelli, you're the toughest kid in school, the toughest girl I know. Other girls at school are going through the same thing, and they're getting through it. You're stronger than all of them, braver, I know you can handle it. Then you'll get to the point where you'll realize, it's not something you need to get through, it's just a part of life."
"You're mother tell you to say that?"
"No, but it would've made her proud." TJ stared at his pillow, propping himself up on his elbows, "Let's make a promise. A pinky promise..."
"A pinky promise? We're not children anymore, Teej," Spinelli muttered, "I think I proved that today..."
"Just humor me, alright?"
"Fine, what do we promise?"
"That no matter what happens, whatever changes adolescence brings, we'll always be friends," he told her.
"Best friends," she put in.
"Right, best friends," he grinned, extending his pinky, "Promise?" She looped her own pinky about his.
"Promise." They sunk back to the pillows. "TJ, you have to make me another promise."
"What?"
"Promise you won't tell anyone what happened. Not Vince, not Gretchen, not Mikey, and especially not Gus," Spinelli said.
"Are you going to tell them?"
"Not anytime soon. Maybe Gretchen...when I get used to the idea that I...yeah..."
"Right. I already went over this with my mother. My lips are sealed. They're gonna worry though, you've been acting weird lately."
"You know, I don't know what I would have done if your mother hadn't been there," Spinelli whispered, "I liked her talking to me. I think I would have died of embarrassment if it was my own mother...you're mom's great."
"I guess...you're mom's cool too."
"Thanks, Teej, for...well...being you."
"No problem, I can be me anytime. Can we sleep now?"
"Yeah. Good night."
"Night."
-0-0-0-0----------------Present Time----------------0-0-0-0-
Mikey perked up when he saw those three familiar faces enter his room. His agent, talking on the phone beside him, hung up, frowning. She didn't approve of him having visitors; it would be bad enough when news got out that he'd been rushed to the hospital off of the movie set. She'd been swamped lately, doing damage control.
"Hey, Mikey," Gretchen greeted, stepping forward, "You look great." His eyes were sunken in, surrounded by dark bags, his face was pale and splotchy and felt like rubber, his lips chapped. He looked anything but great, but he smiled all the same, accepting a warm hug from the tall young woman.
"I look great? You look gorgeous," he wheezed. Vince set a vase of flowers on the nearby dresser, patting Mikey on the shoulder tensely.
"How's it going, buddy?"
"I've been better," Mikey said, his eyes falling on Gus who stood stiffly at the door, unwilling to come in. "Hey, Gus," he mumbled, "You okay?"
"Are you?" the young man shot back. "What are you doing to yourself, Mikey? Drugs...?"
"Leslie, will you leave us alone?" Mikey whispered to his agent. She nodded, getting up and leaving, shutting the door behind her without so much as acknowledging the others.
"Well?" Gus demanded, and Vince and Gretchen were silent, standing slightly away. "What were you thinking? Have you lost it? You know what those drugs'll do to you! What could possibly push you that far into stupidity..."
"Stop it Gus," Vince stepped in, "Cut it out."
"Yes, stop Gus. It's not going to help..." Gretchen started.
"Spinelli," Mikey interrupted, and they all fell silent. A deathly hush about the room, "I keep thinking...what if she hadn't been on that flight...what if she hadn't changed her tickets...what if she hadn't taken the earlier flight...what if she..."
"Shut up, Mikey," Gretchen hissed, "Just don't...don't think about it."
"But we all know she took an earlier flight. If she had stuck to her original schedule...if she'd never found out about...if she...she wouldn't have been on that plane when it went down. She'd be alive, she'd be here," Mikey pressed on, "Don't you think about it?"
"All the time, Mikey," Vince snapped, "But it means nothing...it changes nothing. She took the earlier flight, the plane went down, and she died. We can't...we can't dwell on what can't be changed..."
"But shouldn't we tell TJ?" Mikey demanded, "He should know."
"No," Vince cried, "No. No one tells him. No one tells him that she was on an earlier flight, and no one tells him why she was on the earlier flight. He doesn't know; it should stay that way."
"But it's not fair to him..." Mikey whimpered.
"TJ couldn't...I don't think he could handle it," Gretchen whispered, "He's...he's in bad enough condition as it is."
"So it's agreed," Gus spoke up, "No one tells TJ?"
"Agreed," Vince said and Gretchen nodded. They looked to Mikey.
"I don't think it's right..." he maintained, "But okay. I won't tell him..."
-0-0-
TJ made his way out of the Dettweiler house, walking solemnly down the street. He'd talked little that night, simply listening to his parents. There was too much to be said, too much to be made up for, but it was a start. He heard the front door open and close, stopped.
"TJ," Becky whispered through the night, "I wanted to talk...I wanted to..."
"About what?" he demanded, snidely. She'd been silent that evening, slipping off with her fiancé after dinner. She avoided talking about Spinelli, she refused to participate in the conversation.
"I was mad at you...for a long time you know," she told him, "I didn't know why...I thought it was because of the things you said and what you'd done. And it was, but not for the reasons I thought." She moved forward, sitting on the steps of the porch, "It was because you were right. I kept getting one schmuck after another, but I didn't love any of them. I wanted the hottest most popular guys...and I...I couldn't stand that my little brother knew better than me. He was dating a girl he'd known his whole life, a girl that wasn't popular, wasn't the hottest at school; that no one else cared about. And he was happy, and in love. And then you guys got married, and I was so jealous and envious and I hated my life..."
"Becky..." TJ started, turning to her.
"I'm so sorry, TJ," she cried, "I wanted to call, when I heard...but I didn't have your phone number and...she was such a sweet kid, and such a beautiful woman and...and I let the fact that I was dying of jealousy get in the way. I was so angry for so many reasons...I was angry you didn't tell me, that you kept it from me; assumed I would react like mom and dad. I wanted to be there, at your wedding TJ...I wanted to be a part of it, help her pick out a dress, watch her walk down the aisle, listen to you both exchange vows...but you cut me out of that, and I couldn't help but feel like I wasn't important to you...and what with my jealousy...it's because of what you said that I'm with Harry at all. After I got over the anger, when I realized why I was so mad...I started to rethink my life. I never would have dated a guy like Harry before...but...he reminded me of you...I miss her, TJ, I miss you."
"You pushed us away, Becky, it was your own fault," TJ mumbled, unsure what to do. Why couldn't they apologize before, when Spinelli was still around? Why couldn't they say all of this before?
"I know..." she whimpered, "And I'm never going to have that again, that moment, that opportunity to make amends with her...but you're here and...I'm so sorry, TJ. There were so many times when you needed me...and I wasn't there. I see it in your eyes, TJ...there's never been a time that you needed your family more...I want to be there for you...even if it's a little late, I want to be there for you."
"He's a good guy," TJ said, turning his back towards her, "I like him. You two look happy. I guess I'll go to the wedding."
"Good, I want you there. I wish she could be there," Becky whispered, she was beside him, wrapped her arms about him in a tight embrace. He couldn't return it. He wanted to, but he was frozen where he stood. The touch was too familiar, and too unfamiliar all at the same time. He couldn't forgive her completely; he couldn't forgive any of them completely, at least not yet.
END A/N: WOW, chapter 6 is in the can...how 'bout that...
I'd like to impart a little advice on each of you before you leave: First of all, watch these movies: The Dead Poets' Society, The Breakfast Club, and American History X (All in one sitting if you have the time). Second of all, read poetry (even if you don't understand it) , and maybe write a few stanzas yourself (even if you suck at it and can't rhyme). Third of all, listen to eighties music (especially Cyndi Lauper, the Bangles, Pat Benatar, Blondie, and Prince.) as well as Billy Joel (worship him, too). Fourth, repeat Carpe Diem to yourself every morning before you start your day. Fifth, laugh at an innappropriate time at least once. Sixth, say 'Hi' to someone you don't know. Seventh, read a banned book (you Harry Potter fans have this one covered). And lastly, REVIEW my fanfic.
Thanks for reading, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors you may have come across.
Should I stay or should I go now...if I stay there will be trouble...if I go it will be double...so you got to let me know...should I stay or should I go...