Voice of Innocence: A Coming-Of-Age Sweet Romance

by Lindsay Detwiler

“Yeah, yeah. But don’t worry, I’ll listen closely for the door…” she assured in a singsong voice.

  “Great. Thanks,” I uttered under my breath.

  I took extra time to get ready, trying to figure out how I should look for a snow date. I supposed that smoky, runway eyes were a bit too much, not that I could achieve runway-worthy makeup, anyway. I opted for the more natural look, pulled my hair into a low bun, and added touches of makeup here and there. Of course, my mom interrupted me to add some extra eyeliner and blush. “You don’t want to look like a corpse,” she critiqued as she expertly painted my face. I had to admit, though, I looked pretty good when she was done.

  I took an agonizingly long time choosing my outfit at the closet. After seven outfit changes, I opted for my favorite acid-wash jeans, some boots, and an oversized turquoise sweater. I also dug out my winter coat, hat, and gloves. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

  Luckily, I didn’t have to wait too long. About ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. My mom and I collided with each other in the hallway racing to the door.

  “I’ll get it,” she exclaimed as she lunged at the door, beating me there.

  “Hey! Corbin! I’ve heard so much about you! Come in, come in!” my mom offered with a bit too much enthusiasm. I could feel the color rising in my cheeks again. This was going to be a long couple of minutes.

  “Hey,” he said in his deep voice. “Nice to meet you Mrs. Groves,” he addressed her in his perfect manners.

  “Don’t call me Mrs. Groves. I’m not an old hag yet. Call me Jill,” she said, winking at him. He must be thinking she’s creepy, I thought. Or crazy. Or both. I held my breath for what seemed a lifetime.

  He strode through the door, and I felt myself finally exhale. “Hey,” I offered as casually as possible. “I wasn’t sure if you were still coming.”

  “And miss our first snow date? Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for this since I moved here! It’s fantastic!” he proclaimed, his smile giving me a glimpse of the adorable little boy he must have once been.

  “That’s right, you’ve never seen snow, huh?” my mom inquired. “Guess there’s not too much snow in the desert, huh?” she laughed. I was reminded of my stupid comment at the lunch table. I guess Corbin was, too, because he snickered as he looked at me.

  “No, not that I ever saw,” he supplemented. “You have a beautiful home, Jill.”

  “Oh, please. This place is a disaster area. Who wants to spend time organizing and cleaning, though? I have better things to do,” she declared. I looked around the house, noticing piles of clutter here and there. I should have cleaned the place up a bit. I forgot that he would probably come in. Oh well, it wasn’t too bad…just…lived in. God, I was starting to sound like my mother.

  “Okay, so are you ready?” I queried, anxious to get him away from the clutches of my mother before the excruciating photo albums or homemade cards or poems surfaced.

  “Um, yeah, when you are,” he grinned. “The sled’s outside. I bought it this morning.”

  “Oh! Sled riding! Gosh, I haven’t done that in years!” Mom exclaimed.

  “You could come with us,” Corbin suggested. Horror froze my face.

  “Um, Mom, you have that chapter to finish? Remember?” I interrupted, urgency climbing into my voice like a cancerous cell.

  “Yeah, I do,” Mom sighed, depression leaking into her voice. “You kids have fun. Stop back afterward for hot chocolate. I have yet to ask my questions. You’re not getting off this easy,” Mom muttered, a light radiating in her eyes again.

  “We’ll do that,” Corbin announced.

  Why did he have to be so well-mannered?

  I threw on my coat, hat, and gloves. I fumbled with the zipper as usual. I felt a little ridiculous, since Corbin had foregone all of the winter gear. He had on jeans, sneakers, and a sweatshirt.

  “Aren’t you going to freeze?” I wondered as I shut the front door to my house. I noticed the sled sitting in my driveway. There was only one large sled...I guess we’d be sharing.

  “Probably. I guess I’m not a detail-oriented person. Like, I forgot the detail that snow is cold,” he laughed at his own weakness. “I’ll be fine, though. I’ll get some better attire before the next time,” he noted. The next time. He was already planning a next time? As long as I didn’t launch him into a tree or break a leg, things looked promising. Unless, of course, he couldn’t handle my crazy mom. That was statistically likely.

  “So, where’s the best place to go?” he demanded, dragging the sled behind him.

  “This way,” I offered, following a path behind my house. “It’s not too far.” We walked together in silence, our only accompaniment being the frosty clouds of our breath and our crunching footsteps in the snow. It wasn’t an awkward silence, though. On the contrary, neither of us felt the need to break the serendipitous peace of the setting. After a few minutes, we reached a clearing with a decent-sized hill. “Here we are,” I proclaimed. “It’s the best we can do without driving anywhere.”

  “It’ll work,” he approved. “At least there aren’t many trees around,” he poked.

  “Shut up,” I teasingly demanded, pretending to scowl at him. My eyes glimmered, though, at his teasing. We trudged up the hill, Corbin toting the sled. By this time I was just about out of breath despite my lack of cargo. I needed to start doing that exercise tape Mom and Dad had gotten me for Christmas.

  “Okay, here we go,” he declared.

  “Drumroll please,” I stated, “Corbin Jones’s first sled-riding experience.” I plopped on the front of the sled, my thick winter gear encumbering me, while he climbed on behind. He put his hands around my waist, delivering chills down my spine that weren’t just the result of below-freezing temperatures. He pushed us off with his foot, jerking us forward. As we crested the curve at the top of the hill, we buzzed down faster than I had expected, but of course, I had never had the extra weight of a boy on the back of my sled.

  I shrieked with sheer delight as Corbin chortled, not able to help ourselves. We weren’t fifteen anymore—we were more like five-year-olds screaming in delight from the pure adrenaline of flying down the hill. At the bottom, though, things got a little out of control. I forgot how bad I was at steering. We veered left and right, spinning wildly at the bottom.

  “How do we stop?” Corbin pleaded as the sled uncontrollably veered toward the lone tree near the bottom of the hill.

  “Jump!” I dictated.

  We rolled off clumsily, both somersaulting awkwardly in the same direction. We tumbled together in the snow, jumbling between the white flakes and each other. Snow slipped inside my shoes and up my back, shocking my skin with its icy pierce. The sled thudded against the tree, ricocheting toward us. After a few seconds of shock-induced paralysis, we creakily awoke from our stupor.

  “That was awesome!” Corbin declared as we untangled ourselves. “Let’s do it again.”

  “Are you crazy?” I blurted with astonishment. “We almost died.” My heart was thudding against the wall of my chest, seemingly ready to crack a few ribs.

  “Don’t be melodramatic. We rolled off in time,” he said, poking at me. “And we didn’t almost die, you almost killed us with your horrible steering,” he beamed.

  “Oh, and you think you could do better?”

  “I am a guy. Guys are always better drivers.”

  “We’ll just see about that,” I rebutted, my competitive nature kicking into overdrive.

  For the next half hour, we followed the endless routine. Climb to the top of the hill, park your body, surge down the hill, and mesh at the bottom before crashing to our near death—on the times I was steering. In spite of my numb fingers and toes, I never had more fun in my life. And, to my disappointment, I had to admit that he was, in fact, much better at steering.

  “You have to be frozen to death,” I declared after our ninth time down the hill.

  “Yeah, I’m a little cold,” he muttered, machismo in his voice. His shive
ring hands usurped his attempt at bravado.

  “Well, I’m freezing. Let’s go home,” I commanded. “Oh, and I’m pre-warning you, you’re about to get grilled by my mother. I apologize ahead of time. She doesn’t have a sense of censorship on her thoughts. What she thinks is pretty much what she says,” I added.

  “I think your mom’s cool already,” he asserted with a note of validity that I simply could not fathom. We brushed the snow from ourselves as we stood up. He turned to gather the sled. Before he could turn around, I rolled a snowball and threw it at him. My horrific aim, however, resulted in a miss. It sailed by his head, launching itself onto the ground with a pathetic, soppy thud.

  “Nice aim,” he leered. “If you’re going to start a battle, you better make sure you at least have some ammo,” he supplemented. He dropped the sled and quickly gathered some snow. I bolted but tripped, as usual, over my own feet. I felt his snowball pelt me in the back, momentarily knocking the breath out of my lungs.

  “Jerk!” I grunted. I scrambled to my feet and chased after him. Adrenaline bursting through my blood, I nabbed him.

  “I win,” I yelled triumphantly. We laughed together, wrestling in the snow like the inner children we were. He wormed his way out from under me with significant ease and pinned me down.

  “I’m freezing!” I implored. By this time, he was looking into my eyes a little deeper than before. Gone was the immature young boy playing in the snow. The spirited smirk disappeared, replaced by a steady yet intense grin. I froze, not from the snow on my back, but from the inside out. Panic threatened to usurp my calm, but it subsided to a sense of wanting.

  Slowly, steadily, he leaned down. Hesitancy looming, he brushed his lips over mine. Despite the icy cold of our bodies, a warmth buzzed between us. When it was over, I stared up at him with unrelenting eyes, knowing he had stolen more than just a kiss from me. I lay stunned for several moments, truly not expecting the afternoon to head this way. Neither of us said anything, basking instead in the realization that our worlds had flipped again, our present and future irrevocably linked by that simple moment. After a time, we stood up, the warmth from the moment radiating, despite the chilling temperatures. Corbin grabbed the sled and meandered toward the house, shuffling close to me, a sweetness grazing the air between us in silent reverie. Once we reached the porch, I paused.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked.

  “I can handle your mom, Emma,” he affirmed.

  “Don’t be so sure. I just don’t want her scaring you away,” I teased. Deep down, the thought still worried me.

  “Not a chance,” he reassured. I believed him.

  Inside, I took off my now useless cold-weather gear. Corbin took of his shoes and soaking-wet sweatshirt.

  “Oh, good, you’re back. I was getting a migraine from that damn chapter,” my mom announced as she appeared in the hallway. At least she was out of her pajamas now. It even seemed like she had a bra on. It was truly a good day.

  She offered Corbin one of my dad’s shirts, which he graciously took. She made us some hot chocolate and turkey sandwiches while she amicably questioned Corbin about everything from sports to school to his parents. I noticed that anything about his family left him a bit...cold. Nothing too discernible, just a bit of reluctance that was not part of his exuberant character. My mom seemed to sense it, too, because she refrained from questions about them after a few moments.

  For the rest of the afternoon, the conversation ambled effortlessly. We talked and laughed, sharing old family stories, and I found out more about him. Of course, there were the mortifying moments, too—like when the baby album magically surfaced on the coffee table. What a shock.

  When he finally decided it was time to leave, Mom and I walked him to the door. As we watched him drag the sled down the block to his house, my mom turned to me.

  “I like him, Emma. He’s good for you.” And that was all she said, turning to go back to the work we had torn her away from. It was uncharacteristically simple coming from my mom, which was how I knew she meant it. Even when things got rocky and many saw Corbin in a different light, my mom would never abandon this belief. She steadfastly believed in the positive contribution that Corbin made to my life.

  Chapter Seven: A “Kind of” Christmas

  Emma

  Memories

  Over the following months, Corbin and I became inseparable, falling into the routines of young love. Our weeks were consumed with classes and books. We walked hand in hand down the hallways, ignoring our teachers’ threats at our inappropriate displays of affection. We didn’t have a single class together, other than art class and lunch. I was on the accelerated track, while Corbin’s lack of concern for his studies and horrible work ethic—not his intelligence—placed him in the standard classes.

  “I’ve got more important things on my mind,” Corbin grinned when I asked him about his lack of academic concern. I had a feeling that his poor habits had been formed long before me. So I was left alone, doodling his name and thinking about our days together during my intolerably long classes. Somehow, I managed to keep my A's, despite my complete inattentiveness. I guess miracles sometimes do happen.

  Lunchtime became the glimmer in my day. We still sat with Katie, Jenn, and Hannah. Nonetheless, I couldn’t deny that we were absent from most of their conversations. Our connection inevitably locked our focus solely on each other. Sometimes I would notice jealous glares from the girls who had once been my best friends. We didn’t mean to exclude them. I suppose it is just a fatal consequence of young love. The intensity of the connection makes other relationships pale in comparison at times, just as the other stars must feel in comparison to Polaris. It’s not that my friendships were inferior. They were just different. My relationship with Corbin clutched at my inner core, grappling at who I was and what I wanted to be. It was only with him that I felt life running through my veins. Katie, Hannah, and Jenn would all eventually fall victim to the same fate, finding serious relationships over the next few years. We remained friends, to an extent. Things, however, would never be the same. Amidst our relationships, we lost touch with each other.

  Looking back, I cannot say I regret this fact. Certainly, any broken friendship or relationship is a loss. However, I have come to know that few relationships or friendships can stand the test of time. As we change, we sometimes outgrow our friendships. And, since we cannot change this fact, it is best to simply accept it for what it is in order to appreciate the power that the friend had in your life when he or she was a part of it. If only I could apply this rule to Corbin Jones.

  * * * *

  Every Friday night during the fall, Corbin would come to watch me at the football game. Ignoring the glares of my band instructor, he would sneak into the band only section of the bleachers to steal a kiss or bring me nachos. On rare occasions, Mr. Jones would even accompany him. Corbin said that his father had once played football on scholarship until he hurt his knee. Now the stern, rigid man was a real estate agent. I suppose that coming to the games stirred a sense of nostalgia that could not be found anywhere else. Mr. Jones was friendly enough, saying hi when he saw me in the stands and buying us snacks at half-time. Nonetheless, there was an aura of coldness that seemed to envelop the man.

  On weekends, Corbin and I spent every possible second together. Sometimes we would do the typical teenager thing, going to movies or the mall. Whenever it was possible, we would go sled riding at our special spot. Other times, though, we were content to just hang out at my house. Despite my over-the-top mom and my somewhat firm dad, Corbin seemed to like spending time with my family. He actually craved our family dinners. My family brought out a new sense of vibrancy, of peace, in Corbin that he seemed to be missing from his own family.

  In truth, his family remained a mystery to me. My impersonal interactions with Mr. Jones left me understanding little about Corbin’s home life. Certainly, I sensed that there was tension in the family. I just couldn’t discern where the tens
ion sprang from.

  I hadn’t met his mother yet. Corbin rarely mentioned her, which seemed exceedingly strange. Despite all of our hours with my family, we hadn’t spent any time with his. I hadn’t even seen the inside of his house, even though it was only two blocks away from mine. I tried to play it down, saying that his parents were busy with work. His dad was always busy with house showings or property closings, and Corbin had said that his mom was a doctor back in Arizona. Nonetheless, I couldn’t deny my concern over Corbin’s placement of distance between his family and me.

  The school weeks slid into one another until Christmas finally came. Corbin spent the holiday with my family, noting that his didn’t celebrate. By this time, Corbin had become a permanent fixture in the family. My parents always included him in any activity, holiday, or trip. So, despite my curiosity, I refrained from questioning him about his own family. I figured that when he wanted to talk about it, he would.

  For our first Christmas, I had bought him a much-needed winter coat, complete with hat, gloves and scarf. He had never gone out and bought appropriate winter attire, spending his money on music instead. Our sled riding excursions had become our snow day ritual, so I figured the apparel might come in use. Corbin bought me a bottle of my favorite perfume. It was the gift that he didn’t spend a penny on, though, that would be my most treasured. While my parents were cleaning up the kitchen, he handed me a folded piece of paper.

  “What’s this?” I asked in surprise.

  “Open it,” he said.

  When I managed to unfold and un-crinkle the piece of paper, I was startled that I recognized it—it was the collage he had made of my life during the first week of school. It had an addition, though. In the exact center, he had glued a picture of us that we had taken in a photo booth in the mall.

  “Too…presumptuous?” he asked hesitantly. I looked at him with a huge smile.

  “Not one bit,” I uttered, simply.

  He peered at me seriously, stepping closer, and reaching out to wrap his arms around me.