Puddle Jumping

by Amber L. Johnson

  What we’d just watched reverberated through my mind.

  I didn’t want that for us.

  I couldn’t allow myself to wallow in those thoughts. Instead, I focused on getting up the stairs to his room. He was in the shower when I got there and for a moment, I paused.

  Until he called my name.

  “Lilly?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.” I walked into the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat, overcome by thoughts and emotions and unable to think clearly.

  “Will you join me?”

  The shower curtain moved back slightly as his head poked out, water running down his face and dripping from his chin as he gazed at me sitting there. As much as he could be concerned, he looked like he was, and I hated to see him that way. Something in the way he was looking at me pulled at my heart and every last expectation I had for the night flew out the window.

  “Are you upset? Did you not like dinner?”

  “I liked dinner,” I said quietly. I couldn’t say what I was upset about. It felt too much like folding.

  Instead of stripping and getting into ridiculous lingerie to seduce him, I stood, pulled off my dress, and stepped into the shower, under the warm spray of the water to just . . . hold him. In a watery embrace. So that he couldn’t see the difference between the water from above and the tears as they silently flowed.

  I didn’t even care about possibly having to explain why my hair was wet when his parents got home.

  * * *

  I’m not a quitter. Not by a long shot.

  I mean, if I was a smoker and needed to quit, that would be one thing. But Colton? Never.

  Just because two people in a movie couldn’t make it work didn’t mean we would be like that. I wasn’t giving up on us just yet.

  Then, the next week, he dropped a new bomb on me: He got a job.

  I was more surprised than anyone else.

  I’d gone to pick him up from school and Mrs. Neely dropped the bomb on me, explaining the situation and asking if I would mind driving him to work after our last class of the day.

  Apparently, on the night of our visit to the museum on Valentine’s, Colton had spoken with the curator and there was an internship open that my boyfriend agreed to. Just like that. On the spot. His PEERS teacher had been talking about jobs and Colton didn’t see a problem with it. It was exactly what he loved to do.

  Of course, he talked it over with his parents, but not with me. And I hated that, but there was nothing I could do about it. It’s not that he didn’t care or didn’t think of me. I am of the opinion that he had always discussed things with them and that was how it went. He respected his parents and they were the final word over every decision he’d ever made.

  I didn’t think driving him to and from work would be something my parents would be okay with. Going in and out of the city that much wouldn’t sit well with my dad.

  In the end, it wasn’t going to work out for me to do it, so Mrs. Neely started picking him up every day after school. That meant we had less time together, one-on-one, because the few minutes we had in the car to and from school had always been our special time. And lunch didn’t count. Neither did English. I wanted to be alone with him.

  After he started his internship, we only saw each other in the morning on the drive there and at our lockers. By the time he got home at night, with his new schedule, he was finding it hard to adapt to the changes in his routine and I learned very quickly I needed to stop pushing the issue. He was getting irritable more easily and instead of letting my feelings get hurt, I did something entirely different.

  I started babysitting again.

  I’m not sure why I did it, really. Maybe not being able to see Colton as much was making me feel lonely. Maybe I just needed to prove to myself that I could find an interest in other things outside of him. My mom had made remarks a few times that maybe I should spend more time with my other friends or find a hobby. Instead, I chose the job. It was probably stupid to do, but I hadn’t babysat the twins much since we’d started dating and it was easy money after school.

  It gave me time to clear my head when I got anxious about our relationship. I knew every morning I would get to see him. We just had to bide our time until then. Being busy helped the time go faster. Phone calls to friends worked, but hanging out with a couple only made me miss him more.

  He’d made friends with a few other interns and would speak of them from time to time, but we’d never met because he was so busy. The additional socialization added extra stress to his already full schedule of art and school, along with his PEERS classes and me. But I was seeing some changes in him for the better and it made all of it seem worth it.

  He started watching people more closely, and I could tell he was trying out certain mannerisms or phrases the other interns probably used. While I had been the catalyst for his journey to become more social, at least according to his mom, the internship was what really brought him out of his shell. Maybe it was because the other interns were guys, as well. Or maybe it was because he got to talk art all day: eat it, breathe it, live it.

  Whatever it was, I was glad. No matter how much I missed him. This was what I wanted from day one.

  We still emailed when we could. We still saw each other as much as possible. But the extreme difference from the initial time we’d been together, seemingly glued at the hip, to the sporadic moments we got at that time, was a difficult transition.

  For me.

  If it was hard for him to be away from me, I wouldn’t have known. He fell into his groove and just went with it like it was just a natural progression.

  Our physical relationship slowed down a bit, since we hardly had private time together except in the car. There were a few days where we’d been driving to school and his hand would wander up my leg and I’d have to debate on whether or not to skip first period just to get some interaction him. I certainly didn’t want the school calling his parents about him being tardy or absent, but . . . dammit. I missed him.

  For a while my conscience won me over and I was proud I decided to keep driving until we got to the school where we would kiss for a few minutes before heading to our lockers. But . . . I wasn’t always so strong. In fact, I started picking him up a few minutes early sometimes; just to give us the option of finding a side road to park on.

  I had no idea how much I craved his touch. How much just hearing his voice, no matter how limited his words. He’d become everything to me so quickly I hadn’t had time to see it happening until I was too far gone.

  I was so far gone. I had no idea.

  The week before prom, I’d been up to my eyeballs in everything. I was busy getting my dress and things ready, along with schoolwork and trying to keep up with my friends and my boyfriend. I’m sure I was spaced out more than usual, and the ride to school with him by my side was probably quieter than we’d become used to. But I had so much on my mind; I didn’t think anything of it.

  We were on our way to school, passing by one of the few side roads we’d claimed as our own when our need to be with one another was way too much to ignore, when I started up a conversation.

  “Are your friends at the museum going to prom with their girlfriends?”

  Colton’s hand was squeezing mine a little tighter than usual before I felt him shift in his seat and he spoke loudly into the quiet car. Placing our hands on my lap, he asked the most heart obliterating question I’d ever heard. “Lilly, would you enjoy it if we…”

  I’m not going to repeat it here. But you probably get the gist. It’s pretty much third base. Okay, it’s almost a home run.

  The car fishtailed from my foot hitting the brake so hard and unexpectedly. I slammed into the steering wheel, hitting the shit out of my sore boobs and stared at him like Bambi watching his mom getting killed.

  “What?” I’m pretty sure that was my eloquent response. “I mean we’re already pretty . . . physical.” I knew what we had and had not done and it shouldn’t have surprised me that he was sugges
ting it, but to hear him say it was a completely different beast all together.

  He straightened in the seat and looked at me for a moment. “Justin and Keith talk a lot about their girlfriends and the things they do. . .” Then he went on a very clinical diatribe about my lady business and what they suggested that he do to it. And also what they liked their girlfriends to do to them.

  “Yeah, no. I get what you’re saying.” I tried to stop him with my hand up as I attempted to keep from laughing, and dying, at the same time. I drove for a bit, considering my next sentence carefully. Pulling to a stop on a desolate stretch of wooded gravel road, I killed the engine and turned in my seat to appraise him.

  We were definitely going to be late that morning.

  We’d never really talked much about that part of our relationship - it had just happened organically, but I guess hearing about it from two people he would consider ‘neurotypical’ had made him focus on it a lot. A lot a lot.

  “Is it something you’d like to do?”

  His eyes were looking out the window as he thought. “I’ve seen things before. I’m not entirely sure what the point is, though.”

  So he’d been watching videos.

  See? Just like a regular guy after all.

  “I guess it’s because it feels good. Like when I touch you while we kiss.”

  Sly smile. Of course it did.

  “It’s not really necessary, you know. It’s not something people have to do to show their affections.”

  At the time, I had no idea why I was trying to talk him out of it.

  Maybe I secretly knew.

  “Colton?”

  He looked at me with those eyes, and his lips were so soft looking, and his face was so confused.

  “Would you . . . would you like to? I mean, we don’t have to.”

  I loved him. I wanted to. But only if he wanted to.

  He had to want to. Not because of any other reason than it was his decision.

  It was hesitant, his yes. His looked unsure and I’ll be honest, so was I.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  And then my anxiety kicked in.

  What if it was a bad move?

  I could be so, so, so bad at it.

  I was panicking.

  He just took a few moments to accept his answer and after a couple deep breaths he looked into my eyes for a second. Then he nodded and we were quiet as we moved from the front seat to the back.

  I was intimidated a little.

  Okay, a lot.

  “Just tell me if it’s too much, or if it doesn’t feel good, okay?”

  I knew he would be honest. That wasn’t an issue. The issue was that I’d never done it before.

  I took my time but he was shaking, his eyes half closed and lips trembling slightly below reddened cheeks. His chest rose and fell in erratic rhythms and I braced myself for him to ask me to stop. But he didn’t.

  After a few minutes I got worried and looked up again to see his face scrunched up anxiously. So I stopped.

  “Should I do something different?”

  He closed his eyes and brought his fists to his forehead in distress. “Too much,” he breathed. “I can’t . . . I can’t . . .” And that was about the time he started to get upset. I hadn’t seen him freak out about much before, except for Christmas Eve, but this seemed larger. He choked out words about the way it felt and how his body was reacting, that it felt good but it didn’t and it wasn’t the same as any of the other stuff we did.

  “It’s okay,” I told him, pushing aside the feelings I was having at listening to him. “We can stop. We don’t have to.” I promised him.

  The truth was that I felt like a failure.

  But it wasn’t about me.

  He was becoming increasingly agitated, shaking his head back and forth, squeezing his eyes shut and pushing his fists into the roof of the car. The words coming out of his mouth were all over the place but I could understand what he was conveying was that he just wanted to do the same stuff everyone else could and he was frustrated that it was so hard for us.

  “It’s not this difficult for other people.” His eyes were open and staring out the window, his hands pressed against the ceiling as he breathed heavily.

  “So what? So what if other people do this stuff? I don’t care.” I was reaching for his face and fighting back the tears threatening to show themselves again. Because he had tears in his eyes, too. “I don’t care what other people do. Because none of those other people are you.”

  He closed his eyes.

  “I only want you, no matter what, okay? Only you and me. The rest doesn’t matter.”

  It was true. With everything he and I had experienced physically, I couldn’t say doing that particular activity would be a deal breaker. He had so much more to offer than just that.

  I crawled into his lap and wrapped my legs around his sides, tucking my arms behind his head and pressing my forehead to his. There was about a minute of silence before he stopped shaking. Before his hands rested against the outside of my legs and he pressed them harder to his body. I flexed my thigh muscles and squeezed them against his hips, listening as a rush of air escaped his lungs.

  And then, slowly, he opened his eyes. “That makes the noise disappear.”

  “Yeah? When I squeeze you like this?” I did it again.

  He nodded, letting his lids close.

  “I’ll remember that,” I whispered, kissing him firmly on the forehead.

  His hands started to roam up my back and under my shirt and he breathed out long and slow. “You’re my quiet, Lilly.”

  Shaking my head, I mumbled, “I’m the one who got you worked up in the first place.”

  His fingers traced the sides of my waist. “For as long as I can remember, you’ve been the one to calm me down.”

  “How’s that even possible? When we were kids, I almost died every time we were together. I’m a mess. I’m chaos.”

  “No,” he whispered. “You’re my beautiful Lilly. The one who makes everything right in my world.”

  That day I felt like we saw each other in exactly the same way.

  Then there was prom.

  I watched a movie once where the lead actor said prom was an important rite of passage for teenagers. That it shouldn’t be missed. And I guess that’s a pretty true statement because I’ve heard of ladies who missed going to theirs and it scarred them for life. Like, they ended up being crazy and losing their minds, writing their memoirs from behind bars and linking it all back to the night they missed their prom.

  Seriously. Watch an episode of Snapped.

  Anyway, with as much as it was supposedly this big deal, I wasn’t quite sure I agreed. It was just another dance with people from school. Except, the dresses were more expensive and it was being held in a hotel instead of in the gym.

  I think we put a lot of pressure on ourselves to be excited about these things. That they’re defining moments we cannot miss out on because they’re once in a lifetime. While I think memories are good to have, the buildup is usually better than the actual event.

  Maybe if we stopped trying to achieve movie standards of greatness, we’d be happy with what we have.

  I wish I’d had that mindset for prom when it came around. I should have expected it wouldn’t turn out the way I’d hoped.

  * * *

  My dress was white, much to my dad’s annoyance. He kept eyeing me like I had chosen a damn wedding dress and I had to roll my eyes an infinite number of times before he finally stopped gawking. I’d gone all out and had actually worn my hair up . . . I guess I really wanted to feel like I looked pretty that night.

  Sue. Me. I’m still a girl.

  Anyway, I’d been getting ready up in my room with Harper when the first phone call came in. It was Mrs. Neely and she sounded really apologetic, but Colton was still at work doing something for one of the exhibits, so he was staying late to try and get it finished.

 
And, as I knew, Colton usually completed any project he was given.

  “When do you think he’ll be done?” I was holding the phone against my ear while trying to do my blush and failing miserably.

  She didn’t know but promised to call me as soon as she did because she was going to try to tell him one more time how important his promise was to me. And that work could wait.

  Mrs. Neely had a tone.

  Disappointment set in as soon as I disconnected and my best friend tried her hardest to make me feel better by just being . . . well . . . Harper. She was cracking jokes and making stupid faces and voices to get my mind off it, but there was no denying it would be Valentine’s Day all over again and I would be in the limo by myself that night. Alone at dinner.

  By myself at the dance.

  I took pictures with the group, not as a couple.

  I had no corsage.

  The hardest thing was watching everyone else with their dates; matchy-matchy and all goo-goo eyed at one another. It just drove the point in even more I was alone that night.

  Quinn and Sawyer with her pink dress and his pink vest.

  Harper in her yellow dress . . . with two dates.

  I suppose it was lucky for me that she had two: Blake and Derek. Laugh all you want, but neither of the guys cared they were both taking her to the dance. I’m pretty sure she’d promised them something I didn’t want to know about.

  After all of the progress she had made . . .

  They were nice. Attractive. Pleasant. She was happy. I couldn’t say anything to her about it. Tigers don’t change their stripes, as my mom would say. Or is that zebras?

  The theme of the dance was James Bond or something equivalent. Pictures were being taken as soon as you went through the door, and I was super bummed with the thought of having to walk in alone, having a picture taken by myself when I actually, truly, did have a boyfriend. He just wasn’t there.

  But before I could step foot into the massive ballroom, Harper stopped me and pulled me aside to tell me Blake would walk me in, if I wanted him to. It didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like I was going to buy one of the photos. I just didn’t want that pity look people were so quick to give. And the photographer was stopping everyone from taking group pictures at the door, so, really, what choice did I have?