Twelve Months of Awkward Moments

by Lisa Acerbo

  I’m irritated at Kyle and question how he’s been there for me whenever I need him when he can’t get other parts of his life together. I can’t help but wonder if we can be more. Previous relationships on both sides suggest not.

  Once inside the restaurant, we sit. I’m quiet as everyone else’s good mood improves. They order margaritas and read over the menus. I’m still processing the car conversation, not sure if I should laugh or be offended for Wendy the OnStar agent and what she had to put up with. I want to send her an apology letter, and I’m a little disheartened.

  I shiver. At first, I believe it’s because the restaurant is cold, but I glance at Kyle again. I’m waffling. True, I dislike his immaturity, but there is so much to love. Could I have deeper emotions for him that go beyond what we shared so far?

  The idea startles me but doesn’t sit as awkward as my own skin.

  After we order but before everyone is drunk, I ask for advice. “What do you think about grad school?”

  Tanya squints at me. “More school. Yuck.”

  “I’m not sure what I want to do, and my professor said she might be able to find me a teaching assistant position for next year.”

  “You already talked to your professor?” Kyle asks.

  “Remember the one I helped with some research? She likes me and would be happy to take me on as a grad student in the animal science program or pass me on to her colleagues at Rutgers.”

  “But more school,” Tanya says again.

  “True, but they pay for it and give you a stipend for your teaching and research. The stipend is something like twenty thousand dollars.”

  “That doesn’t sound like such a bad deal,” Sean says.

  “Thank you.” I send him a smile.

  “You need to do what will make you happy,” Kyle says. His eyes meet mine. I’m not sure what I witness there other than blue intensity.

  “I know,” I say, but I’m not sure what that will be. “I’m thinking about teaching.”

  “We can make a pro and con list once we get drunk tonight. It’s always so much more fun after a few glasses of wine or more margaritas,” Tanya says.

  “I don’t think we’ll have to wait until tonight.” A wave of air conditioning hits me, and I shiver in my shorts and light blue tank top. I should be more prepared.

  “Don’t forget I’m having a party tomorrow. Save some of the drunkenness for then,” Kyle says.

  “Will do,” Tanya replies. “Can I sleep over this weekend?” Her forest green T-shirt matches her eyes and accentuates the wine highlights in her hair.

  “Of course,” I say. “I’d love the company.” I hate being alone these days.

  “Can I?” Sean flirts.

  “No.” Tanya and I reply in unison.

  The restaurant is not just cold but frigid.

  “It’s so cold in here.” I rub my arms against my shoulders.

  “Do you want my sweatshirt?” Kyle asks.

  “No, I’ll survive.” I hope I will. “Maybe it’s the frozen margaritas.”

  The meals arrive, and I’m more than a little excited for the warm food. I order a coffee as well.

  “Excuse me,” Sean says to the waitress, “my nipples are so hard, they could cut glass.” There’s an innocent smile on his lips. “Could you lower the air conditioning?”

  She ignores him and runs away. I can see why Kyle and Sean are friends.

  “Can’t take him anywhere,” Kyle says.

  We all laugh. But a million questions swim around my mind like a school of fish.

  #friendsareforever

  * * * *

  It’s a Kyle party. And my big night. I’m not really sure when my feelings for Kyle intensified, and I don’t want to analyze it too much. I always do that. I just want to let Kyle know I like him. Like him, like him. But that’s easier said to myself than actually completed. After everything that has happened, I want nothing more than to slip into a pair of comfy pajama bottoms and hide under the covers in bed with a good romance novel. But I force myself to face this, making a compromise. I put on black, stretchy yoga pants and a white V-neck T-shirt. I tug my hair into a bun on the top of my head and add some mascara and lip gloss. Done. If Kyle likes me, it is going to be like this—my every day, boring, anxious self.

  I wonder if I should have a pre-party shot of Fireball so I don’t end up having a panic attack, but decide against it.

  After all the crazy, new shit I conquered at work, attending Kyle’s party is easy. I can do this, I tell myself. I repeat this mantra as Tanya and I head out.

  When I open the unlocked door to Kyle’s condo, the air is scented with his favorite Yankee Candle, Chocolate Truffle. The lights are dim, but warm and inviting. I hesitate a moment too long, and Tanya forces me inside. It’s a good-sized crowd. While I’ve been inside Kyle’s home before, the vibe differs with so many bodies filling the space.

  The room simple but sophisticated, so different from the college place he shared with three other roommates. There are actual paintings on the walls, mostly landscapes hanging above a matching beige sofa and loveseat. A dark wood coffee table and end tables complete the decor. And there are candles, lots of candles. Music plays, an eclectic mix of jazz, classic rock, and more modern bands, but it fades behind the hum of voices. The crowd reflects Kyle’s new life as well. His guest list includes people from his job at United Boat as well as some old friends, but no guys in banana suits.

  Tanya offers to get us drinks, and she is off, lost in the crowd.

  “Hi, Dani,” Kyle’s former roommates greets me.

  We hug.

  “Hey, Paul. How are you? I haven’t seen you since graduation.”

  “It’s all good. Working for my dad right now, but I hope to find another job soon.”

  “What does your dad do?” I ask.

  “Construction, but he’s letting me help run the company.”

  I fidget a little, searching for Kyle in the crowd. “That’s got to be good experience. Do you know where Kyle is? I just got here and want to say hello.”

  Paul glances around. “He was talking to some blonde chick. Upstairs maybe.”

  “I’ll be back, and we’ll catch up.” I give him another hug and head into the crowd.

  Most of the people stand around in small groups, talking and sipping their drinks. The need to get my feelings out is like the pressure of a heated tea kettle. As I climb the stairs, I decide to drop my coat in one of the bedrooms and attempt to find him if he’s there.

  The music and hum of voices a distant echo on the second floor. A floral candle sits burning on top of a small table, scenting this level with something besides chocolate. It’s peaceful, and I take a deep breath, hoping to relax my pounding heart. I’m not sure if coming to the party or wanting to tell Kyle how I feel has caused my heart to prison break out of my chest.

  I step into the first bedroom.

  Kyle is there. My heart bolts, but not in excitement. He’s sitting on the bed. So is the woman with blonde hair. They are more than sitting. Kyle’s hand is embedded in her hair. His lips attach to hers.

  My voice makes a noise on its own, and I quickly gaze at the ground, not caring if he heard. I hear him call my name, but run down the steps, skip by the crowd, and race toward the front door.

  “Dani,” Kyle yells again from behind as I open the door and head outside.

  * * * *

  A week later Kyle and I are fine, or so I make myself believe. We go back to being friends, just like it has always been and probably always will be. I have lots of extra time in my new life without a boyfriend or a job. Kyle’s employment believes in giving back, and they are connected to a school. He makes me volunteer with him at a summer program at Hartford High School, helping to chaperone a three-day field trip to Maine. He’s says it’ll clarify my expectations of teaching.

  It starts with four chaperones against twenty-two high school students. We crowd all the students into two fifteen-passenger vans for a six-hour
trip to Adventure Bound in Carlton, Maine. The two directors of the program, when procuring the vans, forget to make room for sleeping bags and luggage. Students sit on top of knapsacks and jam themselves together to make human sandwiches. No one complains. For many, this is their first trip out of state and, for some out, of Hartford.

  As we drive on I-Eighty-Four, I hear wonderful stories. I learn much more as our six-hour trip becomes nine hours thanks to an overturned, fire-eaten, egg-carrying truck that blocks traffic on the Maine interstate. Our group spends intense days rock-climbing and white-water rafting. The students rise to each of the challenges. The counselors at Adventure Bound continually compliment them on their enthusiasm, maturity, and behavior.

  I’m a different story.

  Today, Kyle and I are paired up on a high-ropes course. We haven’t spoken much, keeping busy with the teens.

  “I can’t do this.” I say to one of the guides. I peer up into the skyscraper-tall trees, staring at the thin ladder braced against the trunk. The guide explains the activity to the group.

  Activity! Ha! Cause of death is more accurate.

  “Once on top the ladder,” the lanky, bearded guide says, “the next step will be to walk across a wire to another tree.” He points to me and Kyle. We’re the first team going. “Kyle starts at the opposite direction, and you’ll meet in the middle. You need to somehow get past each other on the wire to make your way to the ground once again. Of course, there is the safety harness and people under the tree making sure everyone stays secure.”

  “You can do this, Dani.” Kyle touches my shoulder, reassuring me.

  I’m peering up, shaking my head. “No, no, no.”

  “Yes, yes, yes.” He’s laughing at me. His hands cup my butt as he pushes me up the ladder. Kyle touch distracts me, but only for a moment.

  I don’t remember the entire ladder climb. Students cheer me on. My eyes stay closed half the time as I move slower than a snail. With every step up, the student voices get louder from below. I hear the pounding of my heart in my ears along with my ragged breath. Once on the last step, I stare down at the ground and sway. It’s too far. Most stupid thing I’ve ever done.

  “Dani!” Kyle calls me from across the wire. He’s actually smiling as he holds onto the overhead line, feet already on the wire. He’s moving out to stand on the wire as I stay stuck. “Come on. This is so much fun.”

  Rapid, shallow breaths exit my mouth as I wobble off the platform high in the leaves and take a tentative step on the wire. My hands hold the overhead line in a death grip. I sway. I want to go down the ladder.

  “Look at me, Dani.” Kyle’s already in the middle of the line, waiting for me. One hand waves me forward.

  “I can’t.” My voice is so quiet, I wonder if Kyle can hear me.

  “Yes, you can. Come on.”

  I inch out, staring at him. I plant one foot in front of the other. It’s terrifying, yet as I inch forward, I’m excited to actually do it. I didn’t let the fear take over. I meet him in the middle. He holds out his hand for a high-five, but I shake my head, refusing to let go of the overhead rope. His laugh is sweet.

  I glance down. The earth below is a distant memory. “How are we supposed to pass each other?”

  “Lean back. I’ll do the rest,” Kyle says.

  “I’ll fall.”

  “You won’t. I promise.”

  I trust him and lean back. He scurries around me, unfazed by it all. I exhale as we head away from each other. He’s already on the ground by the time I reach the ladder. Kyle and the rest of the group continue to cheer for me as I head down.

  #challenges

  * * * *

  On the last day, one of the students, close to tears, finds me and tells me a story about how she lost her small portable fan.

  “You know the little fan I bought at the rest shop on the way up here?” Antoinette asks. “I lost it at lunch and searched for it. It was on the table where I had been sitting. When I picked it up, a man from another group asked me if I had stolen it. I’m upset. Maybe he was joking, but it still bothered me. I didn’t know what to say, so I just walked away.”

  The adult in me tries to find the correct words, but I lack a good answer to help Antoinette. I feel so sheltered and naïve. What do I really know about the world other than dysfunctional corner? “I’m really proud about how mature you are. That was a difficult situation.” I give her a hug. “I’m so happy to be on this trip with you.”

  For a few minutes, I am forced to reach outside myself and understand how insignificant my anxiety can be in terms of the problems and challenges other people face. I’m able to focus out, instead of in.

  I need to find a way to help others through work. Not the pretend way I did at Primus Medical, but in a more personal way. Could I be a teacher in front of a class every day? The idea is terrifying and exciting.

  #education

  * * * *

  It’s official now. I’m failing miserably as my dad’s unwilling primary caretaker. It wasn’t dreadful at the start. He still functioned in society. He maintained a job and a girlfriend for a brief period. When his downward spiral commenced, it careened and crashed with the strength of thunder. Unprepared and inexperienced. I watch as he loses his home and life. I didn’t know where to turn for assistance once the restraining order had been granted against my mother.

  She wrote Antonio off with an easy phrase, “If he doesn’t want help, you can’t help him.”

  I’m home for the weekend to get a great meal and to discuss grad school with my mom. The fact that she also offered to take me shopping helps convince me to return because the trip also means having to check in on Antonio. Here I am with him. We enter the small, rundown Chinese restaurant. I’m surprised he picked it instead of his usual favorite hang-out options such as Friendly’s or the Neptune Diner.

  We order off the picture menu above the counter. The garlic broccoli comes out quickly and tastes tangy. We eat sitting on hard wooden benches at one of the few tables. The place is obviously set up for a take-out business. He devours his sesame chicken. Even though Antonio has shrunk in my eyes throughout the years, he is still a large man. Today, his skin is a dull gray, his eyes red from chain smoking. The thought of him ill and dying scares me, but not as much as it should.

  “Is Norma still alive?” He asks some version of the same question every time I visit him. He waits for an answer.

  “Yup,” I say, sipping a Diet Coke. I shift in my seat, my legs sticking to the bench. Mom isn’t his business anymore. I’m reluctant to share any news. I need to set boundaries and now is the time.

  He tells the same story I’ve heard many times. “It’s your damned mother’s fault I’m losing our house. That should have been yours one day. Her family drove us apart. Damn your grandparents. They should be in prison. No lawyer will take my case. They’re all crooks and scared of who your mom is connected with. I’m representing myself and suing for two million, but I need your help,”

  “What can I do?” The request makes me start twirling the rings on my fingers. I don’t want this, need this, and what he’s saying makes me want to run. Am I too young to have a heart attack?

  “Come to my place and look at the papers I need to file. You’re good with formal language. You can see if I said everything correctly.”

  I’m about to acquiesce, but then change my mind. I remind myself about boundaries. “I don’t know if I should get involved with this. I lived with Mom, and my grandparents helped pay for college. Maybe you should consider getting another job or meeting people,” I say.

  Disgust registers on his face. “I need help. You’re the only one who can help me. Be a good girl. Don’t turn out like them.”

  I mull this over. What harm could come from reading the papers? It’s not like the case will ever make it to trial. But I don’t want to do it. “No.”

  * * * *

  I’m trying to save the world or at least save myself. I’ve scored an internship at a
local aquarium. In doing so, I realize I hate the smell of once-frozen, now-thawing squid. There is nothing else in the world that smelled quite so terrible, except maybe Snuggles’ poop.

  A wispy, brown curl falls from my disheveled pony tail, but my hands, submerged in the box of squid, are glazed with slime and ice. I can do nothing about the offending piece of hair. After counting out thirty squid, checking each carefully for deformities, I wash my hands a few times at the work sink while wishing for a bottle of bleach. Because there is no towel, I wipe them against my khaki shorts. I attempt to trap the escaped strands of hair in a scrunchi, but short curls escape at all angles. I check my blue shirt for squid remains. It’s clean, and that makes my heart beat a little happier.

  I grab the dingy plastic tray that holds thirty squid and set off down the hallway unbalanced. These squid better stay on the tray. I ponder a career as a waitress but dismiss it almost as quickly as the thought enters my mind. I’m too clumsy, and my height makes me feel conspicuous in front of the customers, especially when I’d have to lean over to pour coffee or reach, with my long arms, to grab the empty plates off the table. And then there is the smell of left-overs at the restaurant, the third most disgusting smell in the word.

  I arrive at the door and steady myself to enter the second-floor classroom full of middle school children. Volunteering and interning have become part of my new, more selfless persona. Funny thing is, the challenges I face these days far exceed dealing with the doctors and clients from when I worked at Primus Medical Education. I almost miss it. Almost.

  I step in the room, full of faked confidence.

  “Hey, class. I’m Dani, and we are going to do a squid dissection today. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

  The children squeal at the exposed squid tentacles, mantle, and fin. I hand each student a piece of wax paper and their own squid to poke and prod.