SHOUTOUT TO POPPY471 FOR WRITING THIS CHAPTER.

On the bus/Allison & Luke's Apartment. Chicago, Illinois. Friday, September 7, 1984.

(Allison)

I daydreamed on the bus to school. The night before had been a nice night. Better than nice, actually fantastic. It was a really good kiss, just the right size, not too little, not too much. And I was getting used to Luke and his ways. I was getting used to having a trustworthy friend. I was getting used to being liked. We weren't awkward or silent. Both being artists, we had so much to talk about. Now that I knew (well, I was pretty sure) that Luke wouldn't be mean to me, I thought maybe one day we could talk about deep feelings and things. Like the feeling that my parents would never stop hurting me with their neglect and rejection and disinterest.

When I was accepted into art school, Bender and the rest of the Breakfast Club had celebrated with me. But my parents didn't even know what school I'd gotten into, even though I'd told them several times where I'd applied. And they didn't care that the Chicago Institute of Art was so hard to get into and what an accomplishment getting a full scholarship was. Of course they weren't going to help me financially, but seeming to be happy for me wouldn't have cost any money. I had to face it, they just didn't care. Face it and find my own caring people, instead of constantly being disappointed by them. Caring people like Luke.

That brought my thoughts into a much happier flow, how caring Luke was. Would we go out again? Would we kiss again? Life had treated me so harshly, I was unaccustomed to looking forward to nice things. But I very much was looking forward to another date, another kiss. I felt pretty sure we would go out again. And kiss again.

Saturday would be my birthday. Maybe we could do something nice then. I would ask Luke out. It was my turn. Where could we go? I liked bowling. I'd ask him to go bowling. And have some pizza afterwards. I'd noticed Star Lanes while riding the bus to school. It was very close to my apartment, and there was a pizza place right next door.

After my ride home from school, my mind was on an assignment I needed to start on, a paper about the Renaissance. I was surprised to smell something good coming from the apartment as I went up the stairs. Letting myself in, I found Luke in the kitchen, browning some ground beef.

"Wow, what are you making, Luke?"

"Hello to you, too. I'm making tacos. Or, I'm trying to make tacos."

"Tacos!" I noticed an Old El Paso box on the counter, some packets, and taco shells. "What inspired you?

"One time when I was really little a friend's mother invited me to dinner. That was before my father had started doing crack, and I had friends." Luke looked a little pensive, then shook his head and went on. "She made tacos for us and it was the best thing I'd ever had. I still remember those tacos and how happy I felt. So I decided to try making some myself."

"The tacos made you happy?"

"The tacos, his mom being so nice, having a friend, it all made me happy."

"Can I help?"

"Sure, we still need the condiments."

Luke put me to work shredding lettuce and chopping tomatoes. Soon he was pulling a pan of crispy taco shells out of the oven and dinner was ready. I was starving.

After devouring 4 tacos, I remembered my birthday and my plan to ask Luke out. I felt a little shy asking someone out, but it was Luke. Luke was safe. He wouldn't reject me or make fun of me. I hoped.

"Luke?"

"Yes?"

"Umm. Well.. " I was having trouble getting started.

"You want to tell me something?" His sleepy after dinner look was gone. He was alert and paying attention to me.

"Yeah, sort of. I wanted…" Taking a deep breath, I said "Do you want to go bowling with me on my birthday?" The words came tumbling out, all jammed together.

"I'm sorry, what did you say? Your birthday?" He looked very puzzled.

Another deep breath and I slowed myself down, tried again. "Would you like to go bowling with me? On my birthday? On Saturday night?"

"Yes, I would love to help you celebrate. But– I've never been bowling. Is it hard?"

"Oh no, it's really fun." Relief was flooding me. I asked someone out and they said yes. "You rent these cool shoes, and you get a score card to fill out, and bowling balls come in different colors."

"Well then, it's settled. Saturday night, a bowling celebration."

I got up and began clearing the table, filled with a light feeling I couldn't identify at first. I thought about it and realized, this must be happiness. This is what it feels like to be happy.

"Let me help, Allison." Luke started gathering up the packaging and utensils used in cooking our dinner.

"No," I insisted. "You cooked, I clean. Go study for your test on Monday."

I washed the dishes and scrubbed the table and counters, then moved on to my homework. The lightness of happiness persisted until I was done with my homework and headed to bed.

Allison & Luke's Apartment. Chicago, Illinois. Saturday afternoon, September 8, 1984.

I guess it was my fault. I guess it was a mistake. But I called my parents' house Saturday afternoon. I thought they might want to know how I was doing and maybe wish me a happy birthday. We hadn't talked in three weeks. It was my mother who answered. When I announced myself, she said, "Allison, this is a very bad time. Why do you always call when I'm busy?"

"I'm sorry mom, I didn't mean to disturb you." I didn't say I couldn't know when they were busy or not if they never told me what they were doing. "I just wanted to say hi."

"Well, I can't talk now, the Fergusons will be here any minute and I've got a quiche in the oven."

"Could I call you tomorrow? Are you busy all day?"

"Yes, we're playing golf with Al Sanderson and his wife. We'll be busy all afternoon."

"Well, ok, I guess we can talk another time."

The phone line went dead. She had hung up. She hadn't remembered my birthday and was too busy to talk for even a minute. She couldn't even be bothered to say goodbye. The light happiness I'd felt all morning had drained away, leaving me cold and gray. I went to my room and looked at the small sketch I'd created the night before, of a plate of tacos. I contemplated my watercolor set. I felt like a dull winter day on Lake Michigan. So I arrayed my watercolor equipment on the kitchen table, and painted a somber picture of the lake, all smoky blues and grays. I had just completed this when Luke got home from work.

"Hey, what's up? Is that Lake Michigan?"

I nodded.

"What's wrong? Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm ok," I lied.

"No you're not. You're blue and down. Or you wouldn't be painting this, and looking like you might cry."

So I started crying.

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