Goodnight to My Thoughts of You

by Chelsea Rotunno

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Not a Date

  Before Christmas break Charlie called and invited me to go with him to see The Nutcracker ballet.

  “Did I ever tell you that I’m not dating anyone?” I asked bluntly.

  “Yes. This isn’t a date. I already have the tickets, and if you can’t go, I’ll take my mom.”

  “OK,” I said, still hesitant. “When is it?”

  “Let me see, it says December 22nd at the Granada Theatre in Santa Barbara.”

  “Oh, Santa Barbara,” I said, laughing to myself. “I love Santa Barbara. Is that the theater on State Street?”

  “Yes, have you been there?”

  “A few times.”

  “So do you want to go?”

  “Ya, sure. How much are the tickets?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I have to pay you, or else it’s a date.”

  “Can’t a guy be chivalrous?”

  “Oh my gosh,” I laughed. “OK.”

  I made a mental note to give him money for the tickets anyway.

  The night of the ballet, he showed up at the door of my parents’ house with a handful of bright Gerber daisies: one of each color. My mom found a vase in the kitchen, and I quickly arranged the flowers while Charlie chatted with my parents.

  Later while we were in the car, I brought it up. “You brought me flowers,” I said. “Isn’t that kind of date-ish?”

  “No, it’s not,” he said. “I give flowers to my friends all the time. Besides, the only reason I got them was because I happened to see a flower shop right when I got off the freeway.”

  “OK.” I smiled. I couldn’t argue with him.

  “Well, here is some money for my ticket,” I said, putting some folded bills in his ashtray.

  “Keep it,” he said. “Really, I bought these tickets a long time ago, and you don’t need to pay me.”

  We sat in the front row at the Granada Theatre, quickly realizing that this was not a professional ballet but a children’s performance. We giggled at the little kids prancing around in costumes, waving to their moms and dads in the audience. During intermission, I surprised Charlie by buying him a large Nutcracker doll that was for sale in the lobby. He opened the box and held the doll up in the air like it was his first-born child.

  After the show, we walked along State Street all the way down to the coffee shop Paul had taken me to. We passed by some characters on the street whose eyes followed us as we passed. I looked at Charlie and sensed strength in him, like he would protect me with his life if he had to. It was the first time I’d felt that kind of safety with a guy—or someone shorter than me, for that matter. I wrote it down in my heart as something important to remember.

  We both ordered green tea and sat and talked for a while.

  “Have you ever been to Surfside on the pier?” I asked Charlie.

  A homeless guy, sitting in the corner with a hat over his face, grumbled, “Surfside burned down.”

  “No it didn’t,” said a college student. “Moby Dick burned down.” Then he turned to us. “The pier caught on fire.”

  “Wow. That is so crazy.” I was tempted to think about Paul, as if I should be nostalgic about the pier, but instead I pushed the memories away.

  Charlie and I finished our tea and went outside in the cold December air. Then I went back inside to use the restroom before we left. I walked by the homeless man, and he looked into my eyes for a moment, and then looked down at his hands holding his warm coffee. It was one of those moments that pierce your soul.

  When I met up with Charlie, I felt restless.

  “Why don’t people talk about homelessness?” I asked. “The first time I ever brought food to the homeless was in Christian Ministries class, and it was an assignment. Why didn’t I ever do that in high school? Why is it so uncommon for people to enter the world of the poor and just bring them some food?”

  Charlie listened with a smile.

  “You know, I agree. I bring my middle school guys to Santa Monica to hand out sandwiches,” he said. “There are three guys in the church group who are really involved, and they really care about helping out.”

  “You do that with middle school kids?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe we are similar,” I said, grabbing his arm and linking mine in his.

  “That’s what I told you,” he said. “We better get back. It’s almost 11.”

  Two nights later, after the Christmas Eve service, I sat at home by the fireplace with Anna and my mom and dad. We had just finished what my dad calls Family Time, where we read the Christmas story in the Bible and pray together. I always loved Family Time. It made me feel so close to my mom and dad.

  Then there was a knock at the door, and Anna got up to answer it.

  “Miriam, someone is here to see you,” she called.

  “Oh, my gosh, I’m in my pajamas!”

  “It’s just me,” I heard Charlie say from the doorway. “And my brother, delivering a Christmas gift.”

  “Hi,” I said, approaching the door sheepishly.

  He held out a small journal with a decorative cover. “Merry Christmas,” he said.

  “Aw, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

  “I know you like to write. When I saw it, I thought of you. I want you to meet my brother Sal.”

  “Hi, come in. My mom made some homemade wassail. I think it’s still hot.”

  “No thanks, we were just stopping by on our way back from my mom’s house. She lives north of here.”

  “Oh. OK. Well, thank you so much for the journal!”

  “You’re welcome. Merry Christmas, Miriam.”

  “He’s a nice guy,” my sister said after I shut the door.

  “Yes. He’s really nice.”