His & Her Circumstances
Chapter 7 part 2
"Wow, your house is huge!" I gasp. "Ocean front view too!" I stand there in awe, taking in the splendid sight. Like most of the houses in the area, it imaged that of a Mexican villa and was painted in a warm earthy tone. Three giant palm trees towered over the estate and a large water fountain stood at the entrance. A flagstone passageway led to the doorway.
"You coming or what?" Jackson was already at the door.
"Oh, right!" I catch up with him and we go inside. "I can hardly believe you live here!" I marvel at all the architectural details—the intricate moldings, the large marble columns, the sculptured angels on the sconces. Even the staircase seems magnificent. "Why don't you go to a private school?"
"I don't want to be a burden to my parents," says Jackson, tapping his foot nervously.
"Oh." I hope I didn't offend him in any way.
"Jackson, is that you?" says a feminine voice down the hall.
"Yes Mother, it's me."
Trying to look my best, I quickly pat my skirt and run my fingers through my hair. But who comes into the foyer was not the same person I had expected. No, instead of an uptight yuppie of a woman, a kindly lady with a bright smile immerged, her hair already gray.
"Jackson, you didn't tell me you were bringing a guest," she says. "I would have dressed more appropriately."
"You look splendid Mrs. St. Clair," I say, putting my kiss-up skills to good use. Jackson gives me a look but I simply smile.
"My my, what a fine young lady. But please, feel free to call me Helen. And you're Lisa, am I correct?"
"Yes, Lisa Reisert. How did you know?"
Mrs. St. Clair nudges her son. "He's told me a lot about you."
"He has, has he?" I turn to Jackson. He chooses to ignore me, staring at a spot on the wall.
"You know what, Richard's going to be home any moment now. How about I make some lemonade and we can sit out on the patio?"
"That sounds nice," I respond. I am eager to check out the yard—the pool, especially.
Mrs. St. Clair claps her hands together in satisfaction. "Wonderful. I'll meet you two outside." She whisks off into the kitchen and the clanging of a knife against the cutting board can be heard. We decide to skip the kitchen path and go through the front door. Once we exit the house, a silver Mercedes Benz rolls into the driveway. Its finery matches the estate.
"That must be your dad right now."
"Yeah, that's him." Jackson starts to head towards the driveway. "I'll introduce you to him."
A man in a white lab coat emerges from the car. "Jackson," he says, then pauses when he sees me standing beside Jackson. "Now who do we have here?"
I stick out my hand. "Hi, I'm Lisa Reisert. Pleased to meet your acquaintance." We both shake hands as I make quick note of his features. Like his wife, he has a humble appearance. Deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and cheeks exhibit years of smiles and laughter. There is a pair of golden spectacles perched on the bridge of his tall nose, magnifying eyes of hazel brown. I wonder where Jackson got his blue eyes from? He must be a genetic mutant. I fight down a snicker from the thought and attempt to converse with the doctor. "I can see you just got out of work, Mr. St. Clair."
"Ah, yes…" he scratches his head. "I have to be back in an hour."
"Father," says Jackson, "Mother's making some lemonade. We're going to have some on the patio."
"Wonderful," he replies. He looks to me and smiles. It reminds me of Jackson's smile, when he's off his 'Tease Lisa' shift, that is. "I'll be looking forward to getting to know you." He turns to Jackson. "I'll catch up with you two in a bit. I have to get something in the house first."
Jackson nods and I watch as Mr. St. Clair makes his way to the three-door garage. I can't help but notice that he too has gray hair. Jackson's parents look like they already hit their late 50's while my parents are still lingering in their 30's. Of course, my parents had me at an early age, but still—Why does this matter to me anyway? I push the silly nonsense out of my mind and focus on Jackson. We walk along the side of the house, the backyard already coming into view.
His mother is already on the patio, pouring glasses of lemonade on a wooden table. Like the walkway, the patio is also made of flagstone and overlooks a Jacuzzi, which spews water into the pool. It is truly a tropical oasis, with the trickling waterfall playing a duet with the birds and the sparkle of the water reflecting against the leaves of exotic plants. I am dumbfounded, half-believing that someone would turn the page and all of it will be gone.
"Lisa," calls Mrs. St. Clair. I pry my attention away from the pool. "Come take a seat by me."
"Thank you," I say as I enter the patio, seating myself on the wicker chair. Jackson takes a seat beside me. From behind me I can hear the porch door slide open and I turn my head to find Mr. St. Clair stepping out of the house. He gives me a nod in acknowledgement and pulls up a chair.
"Here, have some lemonade," says Mrs. St. Clair as she places my glass closer to me. "Please tell me if it's too sweet."
I take a sip and she eagerly awaits my reaction. The lemonade could use more sugar (it being on the sour side), but I don't let her know that. Instead I smile. "Your lemonade is excellent."
Jackson smiles at this, knowing clear well that I am lying. But Mrs. St. Clair, oblivious to it all, puts her hands together in delight. "Homemade is always the best," she comments.
"Indeed," says Mr. St. Clair. He switches the subject. There's only so much you can add in a conversation about lemonade. "So," he says, "this is a first. Jackson never brought home anyone—boy or girl—to this household." He smiles at me. "You must be very special to him."
"Oh." My nervous laugh breaks through. I look at Jackson, who is staring into his glass. "We're just friends."
"Uh huh," he says in a tone of disbelief.
I take a carrot stick, feeling awkward. Jackson doesn't say anything to save me from the situation. Instead, his father decides to let me off the hook. "Well I'm glad you could be here with us. Jackson had told me you're working on a project together. What is it on?"
And thus, I get into my forte: schoolwork. Minutes slip away as I explain the significance of deforestation. It leads into a discussion about the history of this property. Apparently, this area used to be thick forest that stretched all the way to the everglades. We then banter on about global warming, which is left unresolved when Mr. St. Clair had to retreat to the hospital.
"I'm sorry I have to cut this short," he says as he rises from his chair, "but the operation room calls. It was a pleasure meeting you Lisa. You certainly have broadened my horizons."
"I could say the same!" And I wasn't lying. He was the brilliant man I had suspected out of Jackson's father. "We will definitely look into that documentary you mentioned for our project."
"Wonderful. Glad to be of service!" He takes his glass and heads into the house after a cheery goodbye. Mrs. St. Clair begins collecting the glasses onto the tray. I quickly bolt up and attempt to help her.
"No, I've got it. Thank you though. You two should go up to Jackson's room and get started on your project."
Wow, they really trust their son. Or maybe parents are more overprotective with their daughters. I place my glass on the try. "Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair."
"No," she corrects. "It was our pleasure meeting you. Now go on now." She shoos us away with her hand.
"Thank you, Mother," says Jackson quietly. We go in through the sliding door.
"Your parents are wonderful," I say to him as we walk into the dining room. "I wish my parents were like that. They're so embarrassing."
"Sure," he says. He puts on a forced smile. It bothers me. Did I say something wrong again? But I let it go. I am at Jackson's house. There is no time to be paranoid. We go up the stairs and come across an entertainment area. Past it is a hall that leads to the rooms.
"Should I have brought my Febreeze?" I tease.
He chuckles. "Not all men are pigs. Just most of them."
"And of course you fall into the minority."
"Of course," he says, holding his head up high.
'He may not be a dirty pig, but he certainly is a chauvinist pig.' I roll my eyes and follow behind him as we go into the hallway. His room is the second room to the left, and I eagerly wait to see what lies inside as Jackson twists the doorknob. He beckons me in with his hand.
The room doesn't seem to belong to a teenager. It is clean—crisp. The king-sized bed is adorned with a blue comforter, complemented by pillows propped up against a black leather headboard. Against them are a couple of toss pillows that match the gray walls. Lacking the posters that many teenagers hung religiously on their walls, the walls here look naked, except for a few prints of abstract art. The bedroom is a continuation of the rest of the house and I can see no signs of Jackson's special touch here. It is almost like he was too afraid to obstruct its balance. I return my attention to Jackson as he walks over to the bare side of the room, with the only point of interest being a bookcase embedded in the wall. It could use some furniture. The skylight above casts a golden shadow against the hardwood floor and we use the natural light as an imaginary desk for our project materials.
"You sure you're a teenager?" I ask as I take some library books out of my bag.
"What do you mean?"
"Your room, it looks like it belongs to a designer or something."
He empties the contents of his messenger bag on the floor. "Is my taste too sophisticated for you?"
I give him a warning hiss and focus on organizing my papers.
"How much research have you done?" He leans toward me with his knuckles pressing him up, and my eyes immediately rest on his shoulder blades. His t-shirt is a bit tighter than what most of the boys are wearing these days, and I can see the gentle ripple of his muscles. It brings me to the realization that I am alone with a boy—in his room. Jackson seems to notice my sudden anxiety and looks up at me. I must be gawking at him, but my stupid brain has decided to go on break and I can't turn away.
I can see him lean closer to me as his eyes draw me in. I notice the slight purse of his lips and my heart starts to race. In my nervousness my mouth utters an "Um…"
He pulls back. "Did you get anything on the Boreal Forests?" he asks as he scratches his head.
I breathe out, letting the pressure release from me. My heartbeat slows down, but it doesn't help my embarrassment, nor this overwhelming sense of disappointment that looms over me. What would've happened if I hadn't ruined the moment? I'll leave it up for my imagination to figure out another time. "No, I thought that was your part."
"No, I did the Amazon forest as we planned."
"What?" I flip through my planner. "Look! It clearly says that I was to do the Amazon forest."
Whatever moment had captured us a minute before is long gone. Jackson grinds his teeth, refusing to admit that he's clearly at fault. "You heard wrong."
"Where's your evidence?"
"In my head. That's all you need."
I laugh cruelly. "Try telling that to a judge."
He ends the argument with a sigh. "Whatever. We'll just have to get that information together."
Together. I can't help but grasp onto this word. Is this how things will be from now on? With activities previously done alone now done with Jackson at my side? The idea sounds nice. I never really considered it before, having been too involved in my delusional path of domination. But now, the possibility of becoming a couple is clear in my mind. Slowly, my world is merging with his. And little by little, I see that I am no longer depending on only myself. In that lonely space I call my own, I can see Jackson off in the distance. How long will it be until I reach him?
"Hey." He pokes my forehead. "Come back to earth, Leese."
"I'm not daydreaming!" I automatically reply. "I was thinking about deforestation!"
"Deforestation my ass," he says under his breath. A smile breaks into his face and he laughs. It is contagious, and I can't help but laugh along with him. Being with Jackson— it's so easy. There's no act I have to put on. No phony smiles, no careful choosing of words. It's just me.
I wish I could grab onto this feeling and place it in a locket, to be worn around my neck at all times. Because moments like this, they are only fleeting.