You Scratch My Back
by
Owlcroft
"BJ, would you . . ." Lydia motioned to the upper middle of her back and crooked her fingers as if scratching without looking around from her sketchbook.
He obliged, moving his fingers when she said 'higher' and 'a little higher yet'; then, when she sighed in relief and thanked him, looked at his hand thoughtfully, then anxiously.
"Lyds, you wouldn't . . . I mean, you would never ask somebody else – no, I mean, you wouldn't ask just anybody to scratch your back. Right?" Beetlejuice was still looking down at his hand.
"Of course not." She glanced up at him, curious what he was thinking.
"I mean, if you were somewhere, like in New York, Christmas shopping or something – you know, where I wasn't. Or if you go to college and –" Beetlejuice paused momentarily before continuing, "then you'll meet people there and there might be some guy you'd ask . . ." He sat, eyes hooded, brooding.
"Beej," she considered for a moment then reached to take hold of his hand. She was trying not to push him too hard or too fast, but she was already seventeen now and maybe it was time for the chick to break out of its shell. "The only person I will ever ask to scratch my back is you. Okay?"
He gave her a troubled look. "Sure, you know that's okay. But that's until you . . . go or do whatever it is you decide on. Then, you might find somebody else that you . . ." He looked down at their hands, a little shy, but not uncomfortable.
She smiled at him. "Somebody else that I trust? Is that what you mean?"
"I'm . . . not sure. I guess you have to trust somebody when you let them touch you. Touch you like that, I mean. You know." He wriggled a little, squinting at the far wall. "I mean, it's so . . . personal. It's sort of really . . . personal," he repeated softly.
"Well, actually I hadn't thought of it like that." Lydia did think about it then. "I guess you're right. You don't ask just anyone to scratch your back. It has to be someone that you know and that you do trust, doesn't it?"
Beetlejuice nodded seriously. Then he did the little duck of the head that meant he was going to say something he considered sappy. "I'd let you. I mean, ask you. You know that, right? It's just that I can stretch to reach." He stared at their joined hands.
"I know. But I really don't think I'll ever want anyone else – for back scratches or anything." She watched for a response, but he just closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. "I'm certainly not looking for anyone else." She paused again, waiting. Finally, she sighed internally and took a chance. "And if you ever need a back-rub or a massage, or anything like that –" she broke off at his look of surprise and confusion. "You know I'd be happy to do that for you." She'd just keep pecking away at that shell until his love finally broke through. She knew it was there and she'd thought he might be getting close. This back itch – it was fortuitous, useful, but not a ploy to break through his inhibitions. She'd spoken naturally, without thinking and only realized by his reactions that he was finally beginning to see things – her – differently now.
"You'd . . . you'd . . . touch me? Like that?" His astonishment gradually became mixed with gratitude and something that just might be wistful affection.
"Of course I would! How is that any different from a hug? Okay, maybe it's a little different, but still. You don't hug a stranger, and you don't offer back-rubs to a stranger, right? It has to be someone special." Lydia looked at him with all her love and hope. "And you are so special to me."
"And you're special . . ." He was back to staring at their hands.
Say it, Beej. Please say it, she projected mentally.
He took a deep breath and added, "To me," in a soft whisper and she felt her hope grow.
She gave his hand a tender squeeze of gratitude and encouragement and smiled.
Beetlejuice kept staring at their linked hands with a hesitant, concerned expression. "And if you ever need somebody to do anything for you . . ."
Lydia nodded and squeezed his hand again.
He peeked up at her face, then ducked his head again and muttered, "Anything at all, you know you only have to ask."
"Me, too."
He pulled her hand to his face and nursed it there before brushing his mouth across it in what might have been an accident and her heart actually skipped a beat.
Lydia looked at him with love, then suddenly grimaced and the clasp of her hand turned to a clutch. "Oh, no. The itch – it's back. I'm so sorry, but could you . . ." She twisted around to present her back to him.
"I'm getting you a back-scratcher for Christmas," he told her firmly. Then, with great care and concentration, he gently scratched her back, a soft smile forming as he did. And the shell cracked a bit more.