Lost

by Nadia Simonenko

  “Hello Owen! You date is here?” she asks in an accent so thick and stereotyped that I almost burst out laughing. She’s got to be faking it. Nobody talks like that.

  Wait a second... she called me his date! I start shaking my head vigorously, and she raises an eyebrow.

  “Oh? You need own table?”

  “No no, she’s with me,” Owen intervenes. “She just means it’s not a date.”

  “Ahh...”

  The old lady smiles and nods understandingly, and then she grabs two menus and guides us to a table. Owen grins at me over his shoulder and my face gets hot again.

  Our table is in the back of the restaurant and is set apart from the rest of the dining room by a bamboo divider with a pattern of white and pink cherry-blossoms stenciled onto it. The old lady smiles as Owen pulls out my chair for me.

  “Looks like a date to me,” she quips quietly, and now even Owen looks embarrassed.

  She hands us our menus and places a basket of steaming-hot washcloths—each one individually rolled—in front of us before disappearing.

  I stare down at the washcloths and daintily pick one up.

  “What the heck are we supposed to do with these? Wash up for dinner?” I whisper, and Owen shrugs.

  “Damned if I know,” he whispers back. “I never quite figured it out!”

  He starts washing his hands with his, and for lack of any better ideas, I opt to toss mine at him. It bounces off his chest and lands in his lap.

  “Well, mine now!” he proclaims with a grin, and I burst out laughing as he drapes it over his head.

  “What can I get you two?” asks the hostess, suddenly reappearing beside our table from out of nowhere.

  She casts one long, bemused look at Owen, rolls her eyes, and snatches the washcloth off his head as he radiates embarrassment.

  “Stupid boys! So immature, right?” she moans dramatically, and she winks at me. I still can’t stop laughing. She smiles and then grabs her pen, waiting for our order.

  Between the two of us, we order almost everything on the menu. Our elderly hostess bows and then darts off to the kitchen. Now begins the hard part—talking to Owen.

  I stare across the table at him and not even the soft koto music playing in the restaurant can relax me. I’m so nervous that I can barely breathe, and I’m grateful when Owen finally breaks the ice.

  “So... um... can I ask you a question?” he says, swirling his ice water with his straw.

  “Sure, I guess.”

  “Why didn’t you come to class today?”

  I should have known he’d ask that. Now what do I say? I watch the ice go around and around in his glass while I try to put my thoughts into words.

  “I was too nervous,” I finally admit.

  “You did fine on the homework, if that’s what you were worried about,” he tells me, and I shake my head.

  “No, I was nervous about tonight,” I blurt out. “Tina kept trying to convince me that I was going on a date, that I had to dress up nice and put on a show. I knew I’d panic if I saw you in class.”

  I take a deep breath before continuing.

  “I was afraid that I’d be too scared to come out with you tonight if I saw you in class.”

  The silence almost hurts as he stares back at me with his mouth just barely open.

  He must think I’m insane now. Maybe he’s right.

  His phone rings and breaks the tension, and he quickly glances down at it before silencing the ringer.

  “Sorry about that,” he apologizes. “It’s my mom, but I can talk to her later.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep,” he answers, smiling at me. “Right now, all I really want is to talk to you.”

  “So, how’d you like snowboarding?” I ask, smiling back at him and trying my hardest to be someone worth talking to.

  He bursts out laughing and groans.

  “Have you ever, in your entire life, seen a snowboarder as bad as me?” he asks.

  “You weren’t that bad!” I protest. “Once you got your weight forward, you were really pretty good.”

  “Flattery or not, my answer’s the same: I loved it,” he gushes. “I’m sore in places I didn’t know existed, but it was totally worth it!”

  For some reason, I’m excited that he enjoyed it. It’s one of the few ways I’ve found that I can get outside my shell and be free from my fears. I like the idea of someone else enjoying it with me—someone I can trust not to steal my last safe thing away from me.

  The restaurant’s proprietor returns with an enormous array of tantalizingly delicious-looking sushi, winks at me as she puts it down on the table, and then disappears again. I still have one burning question that I need to ask, but it can wait for a bit while I stuff my face.

  Seven or eight pieces later, I’m ready to talk again. God, I love sushi.

  “Umm... Owen?”

  He loses control of his chopsticks as he looks up at me, and the tuna roll slips away and plops back down onto his plate.

  I take a deep breath.

  “I... well, thanks for helping me when we were snowboarding, but... why?”

  “Why what?” he asks, looking confused.

  “Why did you help me?”

  “I... what? When did I help you? I don’t understand,” he answers, shrugging awkwardly. He has no idea what I’m talking about, does he?

  “On our last run, when that guy started bothering me. Remember?”

  His eyes light up as he figures out what I’m talking about.

  “Maria, if there’s one thing I hate more than anything else, it’s a bully. I... well, I dealt with them a lot when I was a kid, and it left a really bad taste in my mouth.”

  I smile at him and he looks down at his plate before continuing.

  “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me or that you have to be grateful or anything, okay?” he tells me. His gray eyes are wide and honest as he looks back up at me, and I believe every word he’s saying. “I mean it. I knocked that guy on his ass because I hate seeing people get bullied.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  His phone starts ringing again and interrupts the moment. He checks the caller ID and groans.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be right back,” he apologizes, and he gets up from the table and heads to the lobby to take the call.

  I watch from the table as he paces back and forth in the lobby, and I can still catch bits and pieces of the conversation. It’s his mother.

  “No, I’m not coming home for spring break. Yeah, I said I would but I have too much work to do.”

  He lowers his voice, and most of his argument is too quiet for me to hear.

  “No. I’m sorry, Mom,” he finishes, and he hangs up the phone. His face is dark and angry as he comes back to the table again.

  “Was that your mom?” I ask, and he nods in reply.

  “Yeah, it was her again,” he answers tersely, almost as if rebuffing my interest in him, and I look silently down at my plate.

  “I’m sorry... that was really rude of me,” he apologizes after a long silence. “She wants me to come home for spring break.”

  “Are you going?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Why not?” I ask. I don’t go home either. I don’t talk to my parents very much anymore, and I haven’t talked to Micah in years. It just doesn’t work anymore, and it’s best I stay away.

  “I just... well...”

  The phone rings again, and I catch his angry glare as he shuts it off. It must have been his mother again.

  “Maria... I just can’t,” he answers, looking just as awkward as I usually feel. “My family and I don’t get along anymore.”

  His fists are clenched so tightly that his knuckles are white, and one of his wooden chopsticks snaps in half. He’s so tense that he’s trembling.

  “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m okay,” he says, swallowing hard. His lie doesn’t fool me for even a second.

 
; He’s hiding something just like I am, and I’ve never been so excited to be lied to before.

  ––––––––

  It’s dark outside when Owen and I finally part ways. He heads back up to campus to study in the engineering library, and I practically skip the entire way back to the west campus bridge where Tina waits for me. She promised she’d meet me halfway home.

  I don’t know what happened during dinner, but somehow I feel different now. I’m proud of myself for going out with Owen and I’m almost bouncing with excitement that I’ve met someone who I might be able to trust. I’m still not sure yet, but I have a good feeling about him.

  “Well look who’s all bubbly now! Looks like someone had a great night!” exclaims Tina, running up to me and laughing as I hug her tightly.

  I nod excitedly back to her, and we walk back down the hill toward our apartment together.

  “So tell me! How’d it go?”

  “We ate sushi, and I talked to him!” I gush happily, and she laughs. Her breath crystallizes in the air and trails off behind us into the freezing night as we walk down the long staircase to our apartment.

  “No, really! I talked to him the whole night, and once I got started, it wasn’t even awkward!”

  This is huge to me, and Tina knows it. This is the biggest step I’ve taken in seven years.

  Just last semester, I would have been paralyzed with fear even trying to talk to him. I remember how terrible I felt just handing in my test to him two weeks ago!

  A wave of heat washes over me as Tina opens the front door. In the blink of an eye—plus or minus some time for coats and shoes—I’m out of the cold and onto the couch with a steaming mug of hot cocoa. Tina takes a few minutes longer because she goes to get into her pajamas, and then—decked out in a pink robe and her intentionally flamboyant bunny slippers—she joins me on the couch with her favorite mug.

  I sip my cocoa in silence, savoring both the chocolatey warmth coursing through my body and Tina’s impatient glare. One sip... two sips...

  “Mmm...”

  “Oh come on, Maria!” whines Tina, bouncing up and down on the couch like a toddler.

  “Hey, careful! You’re going to spill my cocoa!”

  “I’m gonna pour it on your head if you don’t tell me how your date went,” she counters, giving me the eye. I love every second of her impatience. It’s not every day I get a chance to torture her like this!

  “Oh come on, it wasn’t a date!”

  I take another long sip and then put down my mug. The little blue penguin on the side waves happily up at me like he always does. I love my penguin mug.

  “You went out to dinner with a guy, had sushi, and talked for the whole night, right?”

  I nod.

  “Who paid?”

  I don’t remember. Wow. I don't think I even saw the bill!

  “Umm... I guess Owen did.”

  Tina rolls her eyes at me and takes a sip of her cocoa. Her splotchy clay mug is the only non-pink thing on her half of the sofa right now.

  “So you went out to dinner with a guy, talked all night, and then he paid the bill?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “Grown-ups call that a date, sweetie!”

  I sigh as I shake my head, and she laughs and tosses me a marshmallow. It makes a satisfying ‘plop’ as I drop it into my cocoa.

  “Okay... date or no date,” she continues, “I hope you had fun, at least.”

  “You have no idea!” I gush exuberantly. “It was the best night I can remember, Tina. I feel... oh, I don’t even know what to say! I’m excited and happy... it was all so wonderful!”

  I feel like my words aren’t strong enough to describe the nearly overwhelming happiness coursing through me, but I don’t know how to describe what I’m feeling. I feel like I’m alive again.

  “So do you like him?”

  “No!” I answer so forcefully that I surprise even myself. From Tina’s bemused grin, I can only assume that I’ve got a terribly confused look on my face, and it probably matches what I’m feeling in my heart right now.

  “You sure about that?”

  “...no,” I answer weakly, shaking my head. “I don’t know what I think.”

  “But you’re happy?”

  My smile spreads from ear to ear as I nod enthusiastically. ‘Happy’ doesn’t even come close.

  Wednesday, February 27 – 10:30 PM

  Owen

  I stare up at the ceiling fan as I lay on the floor of the living room. Its blades go around and around just like the thoughts circling inside my head.

  “Wow,” I whisper.

  What a night. What an amazing night! I can still hear Maria’s voice in my mind, telling me how scared she was that she wouldn’t go out with me tonight. Craig thinks I’m insane for sticking by her, but I don’t see it like that.

  The way I see it, I’m the luckiest man alive.

  I understand having fears—having dark secrets you can’t get away from—and I’ve never felt more special than when Maria told me how scared she was. She pushed through her fears tonight, and for what? To go to dinner with me? What the hell did I do to deserve someone so amazing?

  I close my eyes and thoughts of her fill my mind. She wore jeans and a plain, purple turtleneck to dinner, but if she was trying to dress down for the night, it didn’t work. All that the shirt did was draw my attention to her body even more. Everything that made her look so fantastic tonight came from her, not from the deceptive allure of an outfit. I hope she didn’t catch me staring at her too much, because I know I caught my eyes drifting down several times during dinner. I could barely help myself.

  Maria is absolutely gorgeous, and I loved every minute of being with her tonight—even when started asking me about my family. I just wish... well, I wish that I wasn’t so screwed up that I can’t trust myself with her. She deserves a better guy than a mess like me.

  The phone rings for the fifth time tonight, and my blood runs cold as I check the caller ID. It isn’t my mother this time.

  It’s Dad.

  I let the phone sit on the floor and ring until it goes to my voice mail, but it starts ringing again almost immediately. I should know better than to think that he’d stop. He’s going to keep calling again and again until I answer.

  I take a deep breath, get up from the floor, and answer the phone.

  “Hello?” I say into the receiver, pretending I don’t already know who it is. He doesn't buy it.

  “Your mother says you’re not coming home again. You’d best be rethinking that, boy.”

  The harsh growl of his voice immediately yanks me ten years back in time. I feel like I’m a child again and he’s towering above me, glaring down at me with hatred burning in his eyes.

  “I can’t come home,” I argue, pacing back and forth. “I have a job and don’t get vacation days.”

  “I didn’t ask for your excuses, you stupid son of a bitch ☺,” he snaps back at me. “Your mother ain’t seen you in four years, and if I have to, I’ll drive up there and haul your ass back here myself.”

  “I’ll talk to my boss again, but...”

  I start to shake as I sit down at the dining room table. I’m cracking already. I can’t even stand up to him from almost four hundred miles away.

  “You’re coming down here. No buts!” he shouts over the line. “In case you don’t remember, you and I’ve got a score to settle, boy.”

  All I can do is shake in silence and listen. What score? I wasn’t even home for most of that last summer! I worked at three jobs all summer long just to stay out of the house, and then I got on the bus to Cornell the first chance I had. There was never a chance for me to do anything wrong!

  He’s insane. He’s completely insane.

  “I know when your break starts, and if you ain’t home by then, you’re gonna be getting a visit from me,” he hisses, and then he slams down the receiver before I can say anything else.

  I lean my head on the table as my hear
t pounds in my chest. Terrible thoughts and memories I can’t escape from start crawling out from dark places inside me.

  “Come on... calm down,” I whisper, trying as hard as I can to relax. It isn’t working.

  I’m back home in the basement office, and I’m seventeen again.

  “Are you crying?” he screams as he slaps me across the face again and again. “Did I raise a son or a fucking pansy? Shut the fuck up, you worthless...”

  He’s so angry that he can’t even finish his sentence to keep swearing at me. He grabs me by the back of the neck and slams me hard against the slate chalkboard hanging from the wall. Something cracks—I don’t know if it’s the chalkboard or my face—and then he throws me down on the floor.

  As I try to get back up, I see the deep red pool forming on the white tile beneath me. I reach up to my nose and my hand comes back covered in blood.

  “Get the fuck up, boy!” he snarls, and he kicks me in the chest.

  The sound of my pencil snapping between my teeth pulls me out of the nightmare and back to the dining room. I spit out the fragments of wood and look down in disgust at the broken pencil. My hands shake with pent-up anger and frustration, and it’s all I can do not to cry.

  “I can’t even break a filthy childhood habit,” I whisper, my voice seething with self-hatred. “What fucking good am I?”

  I slam down my fist hard against the wooden table in a rage, and the table creaks as searing pain shoots through my arm.

  “Oh damn it!” I gasp in pain as I cradle my injured hand. What is wrong with me?

  I can’t hold it back anymore. My head drops to the table and I start to cry. The pain is horrible, but even worse is that all it took was one phone call for Dad to crush me. All he had to do was pick up the phone and he pulled me straight back into Hell again.

  I've been running from myself for years, never going home, trying to forget my life even existed before college started, and it just doesn't work.

  Waves of agony keep shooting up my arm, and when I finally calm down enough to stop crying and wipe away the tears, I realize that my hand is starting to turn black. I’m definitely going to need an ice pack. I try to move my thumb and bite my lip against the unbearable pain that surges through me. I really hurt myself this time.