Do-Overs

by Christine Jarmola

  What was I thinking? Why had I brought this up? I wasn’t ready to share my dreams. I started to dig in my bag for my little friend. Time to redo a little. I now knew his answer and I could just do-over this conversation and I wouldn’t have to answer his question.

  I was stopped short by Al reaching for my hand. “Why do you do that? Whenever I ask you something important, you always seem to start searching in your purse. Do you keep all the answers to your life in there? Can I look?” he teased.

  “Nervous habit I guess,” I lied.

  “Lottie, you don’t ever need to be nervous with me.”

  His smile was so sincere. Maybe this truly was the person that I could trust with my fragile dreams. But, I kept my hand around the eraser in case I needed a speedy retreat.

  “A writer,” was all I said.

  “Books or tabloids,” he asked a little uncertain.

  “Books of course.” I had to giggle. “Does anyone really set out to write for tabloids?”

  Al seemed unnecessarily relieved. “So, what have you written?”

  “Nothing lately,” I mumbled.

  His green eyes looked very confused. “I thought writers were always working on that latest, greatest novel.”

  Perhaps it was finally time to have an in depth discussion concerning my total insecurities about my writing abilities that were manifested by my ex-professor’s devastatingly critical analysis of my literary works.

  Al shrugged his shoulders and smiled at my perplexed face. “Then again with all your school work I guess there’s not much time.”

  Then again, maybe we could talk about it at a later date.

  “I’m sorry. I’m keeping you from getting your work done,” I apologized, glad to change the subject.

  “True. So help me. I have to find some way to write an essay over a book I haven’t read yet.”

  For the next hour I told Al the story of Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle and helped him write his essay. Both of us vowed to never eat hot dogs again when we were through.

  “Lottie, thanks for getting me through that book. Now, I’d like to show you one of my favorite books ever written. Follow me.” Al took my hand and led me down two rows of books and then back another. My curiosity was piqued. What book could be so special that he had to personally show it to me? We ended up on the very back of the stacks.

  I looked at the books on the shelf. We were in the old German literature section. I turned to look at Al. My eyes connected with his and realization slowly dawned. One really shouldn’t make out in the library stacks. Just saying. But well, sometimes in life you just have to have connections.

  -47-

  Over the River & Through the Woods,

  & All Across Kansas & ...

  Twenty hours. That’s how long my family, along with Stina, was packed into my mother’s Suburban. Twenty hours to do a fourteen-hour drive. A car filled with five women and lots of beverages demands many stops along the way. Nevertheless after touring every truck stop between Oklahoma and Colorado we finally had made it to our condo in the mountains.

  Along the way we had had an interesting game of musical chairs. The trip had started with my dad and Jason in the front, taking turns driving. It’s a guy thing and if it made them feel in control. Hey, we lowly females wouldn’t fret about having to sit in the back, watch movies, eat snacks and gossip.

  Somewhere around pit stop number four we had shifted to mom and dad in the front, Jason and Jennifer in the middle and Jessica, Stina and me in the back. By stop number six, Stina was next to Jason in the middle row, the Double J’s and me in the back. At midnight when we finally rolled in to our condo, I was wondering if Stina would even remember that I was on the trip.

  That wasn’t a new predicament for me. Throughout my middle school years I had many a girl decide to become my instant best friend in order to get to know my brother better. It had taken me until high school to be able to detect this phenomenon early, but there still were times I felt I was only included in activities just in hopes my football hero brother might come along. And although I knew that Stina was truly my friend, just for me, not my brother, there still was that tiny bit of an insecure middle school girl in me that was annoyed.

  The condo was dark and cold when we arrived in the middle of the night, but my dad and Jason soon used their manly prowess and had a big fire going in the fireplace. The fact that they were gas logs didn’t deter from the elevated testosterone levels.

  All four of us girls were sharing the biggest bedroom that held two sets of bunk beds. Once we had all our suitcases opened there wasn’t much room, but it had a fun slumber party feel and Jason wasn’t included. By one o’clock it was lights out and we were all finally in bed. It had been a long, exhausting day, yet we were all still wired and awake.

  “I think Stina and Jason have a thing going,” said Jennifer to Jessica in a very loud whisper.

  “You do know that she can hear you,” I reminded the twins. I never was sure if they really thought that because they were twins that they had a special voice frequency that others couldn’t hear when they were talking to each other, or if they just didn’t care.

  Stina giggled. “You’re brother is very nice. That’s all. Just nice.”

  Yeah, right. Time for a change of subject.

  “Stina, what was up with Rachel and Olivia yesterday?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. But they sure were going at it. I started to go in and ask, but when I heard Olivia call Rachel a liar, I was thinking I best just skedaddle myself out of there.”

  “I’ve never seen them argue like that before.”

  Stina sighed. “Probably just needed some space from each other. Rachel is kind of a mother hen where Olivia is concerned. Always trying to solve her problems.”

  “I hope they’re okay by the time we get back from the break.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine. They’ve been BFF’s forever. They’ll have a week apart and then come back and act like nothing ever happened.” Next thing we heard was snoring in stereo. “Guess our lives are too boring for your sisters.”

  The snoring got louder. “Um, Lottie. Do your sisters always snore like that?”

  “Sorry, but yeah, usually. But don’t worry, Jason doesn’t.” Suddenly a pillow came flying out of nowhere and hit me in my head, followed by an evil Stina giggle.

  -48-

  The Slippery Slopes

  It took novice skier Stina all of two hours to catch up with me on skiing ability. By lunch she had surpassed me. By the end of the first day she was beginning to be bored with the green slopes.

  “Lottie, I’m so glad you invited me,” Stina was bubbling. “I’m not usually very good at athletic things, but this is fun. I see now why you go skiing every year. How about tomorrow we do a blue slope.”

  Where was she getting the energy? It had taken every ounce of skill that I had not to kill myself on the easy green slopes all day.

  “Sure, Stina,” I hedged, “that sounds fun. But, well you see, green slopes are about all I can do. The rest of the family is on the blues that is except Jason. I’m sure he’s on a black.”

  Stina tried her best not to look disappointed. “That’s okay. The greens are fun. We’ll just do them some more. I’m probably pushing myself too fast anyway. I’d get smeared if I tried a harder slope.”

  “Why don’t you go on the blues with me tomorrow” suggested Jason. I hadn’t noticed that he and the parents had entered the condo.

  Stina looked torn. She was a loyal friend, but to be honest he was a very hot guy even though that is rather awkward to admit about one’s own brother.

  “Go ahead,” I encouraged her. “I was wanting to sleep late tomorrow anyway. You go have fun.”

  And so it was decided that Jason would continue Stina’s skiing instruction and I would spend my eleventh ski vacation hanging out by myself in the condo and on the baby slopes.

  “That was nice of you,” said my mom after everyone but she and I had e
aten supper and left for a twilight run down the mountain. “I never saw this one coming. But they seem to have really hit it off right from the beginning.”

  First I was hurt, then I was mad, by the time my mom was talking to me I was on a guilt trip for being selfish. “You’re right. They do make a cute couple. But, he better not break her heart. He’s never had the same girlfriend for over three weeks—ever.”

  “Lottie, don’t rush things. They’re just skiing together.” Then my mom smiled. “But they do make a really cute couple. Cute grandkids.” She laughed and then went to the kitchen to brew up her special homemade hot chocolate for when the skiers came back.

  I pulled out my cell phone and looked at it for the fiftieth time that evening. I had always refused to be one of those girls who sat by the phone waiting for a guy to call. But with the beauty of technology I could continue my life and still never miss a message. Sadly, no message.

  “No messages from Mr. Wonderful?” my mom asked me as she handed me a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows. Life wasn’t too bad.

  “No. Not that I’ve been checking of course.”

  “Of course,” my mom laughed. “Do you even have any bars here? The reception is awful in these mountains.”

  As always my mother was right. No bars. Why hadn’t I thought to consider that?

  “Let’s try going up the mountain a little. Maybe if we walk up to those little shops up the road, there might be reception there.”

  And she was right. Again. And she didn’t even gloat about it.

  “One missed call and four messages,” I said.

  “While you check them I’m going to look around that shop over there. It looks interesting.”

  Missed call message: static, static, Al… more static … plans change … more static … Taylor… static. . . changed.

  What the flying monkey was that? It must have gone straight to voicemail due to lack of reception and still it made no sense. And why was he talking about Taylor? Never one to jump to conclusions, I decided I had better read the text messages and then I could have a nuclear meltdown.

  Text number one:

  My plans got changed. Not going to California after all. Did you make it ok to Colorado?

  No mention of Taylor. But changing plans. Had his plans changed to include Skank Woman?

  Text number two:

  Plans still changing. Hopefully for the good. Call me if you can.

  Had the plans changed back to not include Taylor? Had they ever included her? What were the stinking changing plans anyway?

  Text number three:

  If you get this message please call.

  Did he want me to call because he missed me? Or did he feel it was too tacky to break-up in a text? Which it is. And if nothing else Al was classy.

  Text number four:

  I guess you’re very busy. Call when you can.

  Four texts and no Taylor. I replayed the voicemail again. And again. If only I had some highly technical CIA voice dissecting device so that I could hear the static covered parts. But I didn’t. All I had was an over sensitive very jealous imagination. I needed to calm down and think things through realistically. Maybe he was saying he was going to get his suit from the tailor? Or that his heart was tailor made for me? Yeah, I was stretching for any plausible, or not so plausible excuse for the mention of her name from my beloved’s lips. My heart was totally schizophrenic teetering from a jealous rage at the mere mention of Taylor’s name to soaring on the first two messages. He hadn’t forgotten me. But by number four it looked like he thought I’d forgotten him. I had to call and fast before he changed his plans again to include Taylor.

  “You have reached the cell phone of Al Dansby,” his magnificent voice said. Big fat hairy bummer I’d gotten his voicemail. I wanted to talk with him so badly it almost hurt. “I am either unable to answer your call or am screening calls and you didn’t make the cut. Either way please leave a message at the beep. And Lottie if that’s you, please, please, please, please leave a message. I’m out of cell range.”

  “I’m out of range, too,” I told his voicemail. “We made it here fine. Skiing is fine. Having fun, but wish you . . .” Beep. I was cut off. “were here,” I finished to the nothingness.

  “Did you get ahold of Al?” my mom asked walking up with two shopping bags stuffed with “bargains.”

  “Just his voicemail. Guess his phone is out of range too. He said his plans had changed. Maybe he’s on some Caribbean island?” With some long leggy black haired skank I started to add, but somewhere deep down I knew it wasn’t true. Not the island part. That was very possible. But the skank part. Suddenly I had a very surreal feeling. Never with any boyfriend from first grade on had I ever felt secure enough to really believe that given the chance and a cute enough or willing enough girl he wouldn’t cheat on me. But not Al. At that moment I had a mini-epiphany. There was something in him, and in our us that I knew I could trust. I trusted Al Dansby.

  “Know what I’ve learned in life?” my mom began, startling me back to her side of the galaxy, as we trekked back to the condo. “If you can’t be with the one you love,”

  “Love the one you’re with,” I interrupted rolling my eyes.

  “No, that would be stupid. No, if you can’t be with the one you love, talk about him. It makes you feel better and I’m dying to know what is so special about this young man that I have yet to meet.”

  So we spent the next two hours with me telling my mom all the details, okay maybe not all the details—like Al’s favorite book in the German section of the library—but all the sweet wonderful things he did and how talented he was and how every time I saw him my heart skipped a beat and I wondered how I was so lucky to have such a fabulous boyfriend. She was right. It did make me feel a little better. And it seemed to make my mom very happy too.

  -49-

  You Always Hurt

  The Ones You Love

  I sat at the cafe table by the window for a few more minutes trying to decide if I should head back to the condo and read a book or ski by myself. I’d slept late that morning and then skied down the green slope alone once. Skiing alone just wasn’t much fun. However, the weather was beautiful, so sunny, with the light reflecting off the snow. The whole family plus Stina had gotten together for lunch before heading back to the slopes. I had to spend a few minutes reassuring Stina that I was perfectly fine with her skiing with my brother. I’m sure she didn’t totally believe me, but she wanted to believe me and went anyway. I was about to go sit outside and read when all of a sudden a man grabbed my face and kissed me smack on the lips. Totally on instinct I slapped him into next week.

  “Oh crap, Lottie! Ouch that hurt. I guess I deserved that for startling you,” said my beloved Al Dansby with a big red handprint on his face.

  “Al, oh sorry, oh—what—Oh, I’m so sorry,” I couldn’t get a coherent sentence out.

  “No it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have just shown up here and surprised you,” he kept apologizing. “Where did you learn to hit like that?” He kept rubbing his jaw.

  This was not good. The love of my life had somehow miraculously appeared and I had almost broken his jaw.

  Fortunately, I wasn’t the average mortal. I could fix it. Out came my pink friend and in an instant I was back doing lunch with my family. Strangely, although time had restarted, no one seemed hungry.

  “I was starving out there on the slopes,” said my mother. “But, now I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. Wish that happened more and then I could lose those ten pounds I never seem to get rid of.”

  A chorus of me toos came from the rest of the group. Except Jason.

  “Anybody who doesn’t want their food pass it down to me,” Jason requested.

  Looking at the clock I figured I had less than an hour, as that was the maximum redo time, until Al would arrive and sweep me into his arm and kiss the stuffings out of me. And this time I wouldn’t deck him.

  When Stina asked an instant replay if I was
sure it was okay for her to spend the afternoon skiing with Jason, I gave a very delighted yes that seemed to confuse her. Al was somehow, miraculously going to arrive and I was eagerly awaiting our reunion kiss.

  Forty-five minutes, then fifty and then an hour passed. The waitress had come by my table at least ten times asking if I needed anything—polite waitress talk for you’ve finished your meal, now leave.

  Something was definitely wrong. Always before in a do-over I had changed my actions, but I always assumed everyone else still did the same thing, but that time everything had changed. My family, except Jason the bottomless pit, was no longer hungry. And Al hadn’t arrived. Where was Al? What had happened in the extra hour that made him not appear? And where had he come from in the first place?

  I checked my phone again. No messages. I only had one bar. Maybe that made a difference. I would have headed to higher ground to see if I could get better reception, except what if he came to the cafe and I wasn’t there to meet him? Did our meeting have to take place in the same place or could location change in a redo?

  After fifteen more minutes of indecision and a few more glares from the waitress, I left for more altitude and less attitude.

  I went back to the shops area where I had been able to get a signal the night before. Yay, more bars. Boo, no new messages.

  I tried calling him and once again got his voicemail. I almost left a message apologizing for hitting him, barely stopping myself in time. Instead, I simply said I missed him and would he call me back.

  My deductive reasoning had finally kicked in and concluded that the change of plans to his vacation somehow had brought him closer to me. Sadly, my magic eraser had somehow sent him away again. Had my alteration of time ruined what could have been a wonderful reunion?

  The rest of the afternoon was spent loitering around the shop area. I was afraid to go back to the condo in case Al tried to call. Finally, about five, my phone began to play the theme from Phantom of the Opera. That was Al’s ringtone.