EAGAN
“I died a virgin,” I blurt out. That probably isn’t something I should say in front of a kid with innocent-looking eyes. I doubt that Miki even knows what sex is. Still, she’s the only one around to talk to.
“I know that sounds like a dumb thing to think about now, but I thought Scott was the one, you know, and I wish we’d had more time together.”
Miki flutters around me as I talk, almost as if she had wings.
“How can I leave him behind? And Mom and Dad and Kelly. And what about Grandpa? This will kill him.”
“They’ll miss you,” Miki says in agreement.
“Scott will forget me,” I say dishearteningly.
Miki shakes her head, and the glitter sprinkles down on my gray arms, making my skin sparkle. “He won’t forget. Hearts are like stones on an ocean beach,” she says. “And people are like the tides that leave permanent marks on them.”
“I guess. So what am I supposed to do about him?”
Miki sighs. “I guess you have to let him go.”
I turn back to the swirl of my life. “You’re pretty smart for a kid. But you really don’t understand.”
I could barely stand to look at the rocker. Every time I did, I saw Grandpa bending over it, squinting through his bifocals as he rubbed a soft cloth over the varnish.
The chair was in Scott’s unfinished basement, underneath a fluorescent light, next to a humming dryer. I circled the chair. I argued with myself, mumbling, “I can’t give it to Mom. She stuck Grandpa in a nursing home.”
Good point. But another idea, just as strong, made its case: I’d be disappointing Grandpa if I didn’t give it to her.
Round and round.
It would be too painful to give it to her now.
Grandpa wanted her to have it.
She doesn’t deserve it.
I was getting dizzy.
Scott bounded down the steps, ducking at the end so he didn’t hit his head on the low-hanging ceiling. I felt so petite around him. Even when I wore heels.
He put his hands on his hips as he looked down at the chair. “Mom says if you don’t take that soon, she’s keeping it. She told Dad she wants one for Christmas just like it.”
I shook my head. “It’s one-of-a-kind.”
“Now she’s really gonna want to keep it.”
“Screw that. My grandpa made it.”
He reached over, grabbed my waist, and pulled me close. “Yeah? Well, it’s in my basement.”
His breath lingered on my neck. I twirled us around, then pushed Scott down into the rocking chair with me on top.
“Your breath smells good,” I said as I laid my head on his chest. I could hear his heart beating, strong and steady, as we rocked.
He lifted my head up to meet his. He kissed me. A soft kiss. Not too fast. Not too slow. I closed my eyes and pretended that kiss would last forever. When I opened my eyes, he was looking at me like he couldn’t get enough, like he felt the same way. His blue eyes with tiny brown and green specks made my heartbeat zoom off into warp speed.
Then he kissed me again. Right in the middle of that perfect kiss, I broke away and said, “She doesn’t want me dating you.”
Scott stared at me. “Who?”
“My mom. She doesn’t want me dating anyone. I swear she haunts me. I can’t even make out with my boyfriend.”
“She’s two miles away.”
“Not to me she isn’t.”
I pursed my lips, angry that the thought of Mom’s objections to my dating could push into this special moment. But she was everywhere: in our immaculately clean house with the white Italian sofa, even in this rocking chair where I was making out with my boyfriend. God, I wished I could get her out of my head.
“Are you okay?” Scott asked softly.
“Yeah. It’s nothing.” I shook my head, willing her out.
He traced his finger across my lips. “You’re pouting.”
“I want to stay here forever.”
“Sounds good to me.” He kissed me again, then jerked away when a door opened upstairs.
“Scott. You down there? Dinner’s ready.”
His cheeks flushed at the sound of his mom’s voice. “Coming,” he yelled.
I stood up. “So much for forever.”
His eyes darted between the stairs and the chair. “What do you want to do with this?”
“I have an idea. Come to my house around eight. Bring the rocker.”
“Aren’t you worried your mom will see it?”
“Sunday night ritual. Mom and Dad go to the movies.”
At seven fifty-five, I watched through the pleated curtains for Scott’s Jeep. He would be on time. He knew Mom and Dad were gone. We had two hours alone.
Just as his red Jeep pulled into the driveway, the phone rang. I pulled the front door open, then ran to answer the phone.
“Mrs. Lindeman?”
“No, this is her daughter. Can I take a message?” Probably a customer wanting to see a house. I grabbed the pen and pad Mom kept next to the phone.
I waved Scott in.
“This is Dr. Sanders’s office. She has an appointment tomorrow morning, but Dr. Sanders has been called away on a family emergency. Could you have her call in the morning to reschedule?”
Scott was struggling to hold open the door while carrying in the chair. I watched him as I scribbled down the words, “Dr. appt. canc. Call to reschedule.”
Why did Mom have a doctor’s appointment? Was she sick? My stomach dropped. Even if we didn’t get along, I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. Now I felt even more guilty for what I was about to do.
Scott put the chair down in the entryway. “Where do you want it?”
“Follow me.” I grabbed two sodas and led the way up the stairs. Our house was one of those turn-of-the-century homes that had been remodeled a million times before my parents bought it when I was a baby. Mom loved the natural wood floors and arched doorways. I loved the extra space between my closet and bathroom. It was a space about three feet wide by three feet across that had been walled in, a sort of hidden room. If I pushed on the back panel of my closet, it opened far enough to fit through.
If I knew that Mom was going to nose around my room, I would have kept my batteries and water and granola bars hidden there, but it’s kind of dusty and gross.
I’d pulled out all my leotards, shoes, and boxes from my closet and had them spread out on the floor. I led Scott into the small space. We had to do some maneuvering to get the panel open, but after fifteen minutes of sweaty work, we had a wide enough opening to fit the chair.
I went to get an old blanket to cover the chair. When I came back, Scott was sitting in the rocker.
“Are you sure you want to put this in there? It’ll be hard to get out at Christmas.”
“I’m thinking of leaving it there permanently.”
Scott grabbed one of the sodas. “You and your mom have a real love-hate thing going on, don’t you?”
“You don’t want to get me started.”
He chuckled. “My dad rides me sometimes. I guess he used to raise hell when he was young, so he worries I’ll do it too.”
Scott rocked back and forth in the chair like a little kid pushing off on the swings.
“Rocks nice.” He looked around the room, taking in the purple walls, the skating posters, and shelves of skating medals and trophies. This was the first time he’d been in my room. His eyes settled on a poster above my bed. It’s my favorite skating poster that shows Michelle Kwan in midair.
“That looks like you,” he said.
“I wish.”
“No, really. That time I picked you up from practice, I couldn’t believe how awesome you were. You nailed all those jumps. The other skaters looked at you like you were a freaking god!”
I shrugged. “I work hard at having confidence in myself. I’m not giving up my goals until I see the flash of light in the sky, when the planet is blown to bits because people have screwed things up so bad.” That was one thing I liked about Scott. He knew about my pessimism and still continued to date me.
“You ever think of trying to change the world?”
I shook my head. “Most of the people I know don’t want to hear negative stuff. They prefer to live in denial.”
“Not everyone. My brother went to Notre Dame on a football scholarship. Then last year he came home for spring break and said he wanted to be a missionary in Africa.”
“What did your parents say?”
“They were floored. But they got used to the idea. Then he gave me all his football trophies. Said he wouldn’t need them in Africa.”
I was sprawled out on the end of my bed. Scott looked like he was doing leg presses the way he moved in the chair. He rocked faster the more he talked. I wanted to reach out and touch his arm, but I was afraid I’d break the spell of the moment. He smelled faintly like the weight room at school, where he spent most of his time. He kept talking as he rocked. I couldn’t move, I was so mesmerized. I concentrated on the tiny scar on his chin, a gift from our school’s rival team during a game a few weeks ago.
“I’d still keep my trophies even if I moved to Africa. I mean, why did he have to give them away?”
“Maybe it was his way of letting go of that part of him.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“He might change his mind in a few years. You should save them.”
“For sure. I’m not getting rid of them.”
I sighed. “You’re right. People like your brother are trying to change the world.” Did my skating make the world a better place? If I competed internationally next year, would that make a difference?
Suddenly, Scott stopped rocking. “You know, I’ve never told anyone that before.”
He moved forward. I thought he was going to reach out and kiss me, but he stood up. “Your turn,” he said, pointing to the chair.
“My turn for what?”
“To talk. In the chair.”
“Rocking chair therapy?” I sat down in the rocker and Scott lay on the bed. He asked me questions and I told him everything as I rocked: how hard I worked at skating, how I had dreams of competing in the Olympics. I told him how I’d found the pictures in the closet, how I didn’t get along with Mom, how we argued about everything, even stuff like my competition outfits and the music I picked for skating.
Scott and I had been dating for over two months, but we talked more that night than in all that previous time combined. We sipped our sodas and ran our hands along the rounded edges of the chair, completely absorbed in each other.
After a while, Scott leaned over and picked up one of my skating dresses from the pile on the floor, a shiny silver one I wore two years ago. He raised his eyebrows. “So, are you going to try this on for me?”
“It doesn’t fit. I’m thinking of selling some of my old dresses to help pay for travel next year if I compete internationally. Besides,” I said, sounding haughty, “figure skating isn’t a beauty contest.”
“Maybe not, but these dresses are still kind of sexy.”
I stood up. “Let’s put the chair away now.” I covered it with the blanket, and Scott positioned the chair inside the opening. Then we fitted the panel back in place.
“I’ve decided. I’ll leave the chair there for twenty years, like a time capsule. Then I’ll take it out and keep it for myself.”
Scott sat down on the bed and tugged me toward him. “Come here.”
He kissed me and we lay down. We made out awhile before he slipped his hand under my shirt. I wound my leg over his, knowing how vulnerable I was right now, seeing the expression in Scott’s eyes. We hadn’t made out like this before. Mom would say I was being reckless.
We hadn’t noticed the time. We hadn’t even heard the back door open and close. It wasn’t until the padding of footsteps sounded on the stairs that I realized we weren’t alone.
Mom and Dad were home.