Almost Perfect

by Brian Katcher

  “Yeah.” I felt like I was standing on a stage somewhere and it was my turn to speak but I’d totally forgotten what to say.

  “Logan, I …” Sage’s jaw was frozen open, like she’d been paused. She stood there, immobile, for close to a minute. There was something frightening about her posture. It was almost like she was fearful of some impending disaster. She looked as if something horrible was happening. There was no reason for it; I was the only person nearby.

  “Sage?”

  She spun on her heels and silently walked away.

  chapter ten

  THE FEW STORES in Boyer put up their Christmas decorations the day after Thanksgiving. The town council erected the faded Nativity in Vets park, political correctness be damned. The first week of December, I made nearly three hundred dollars shoveling walks when we got a foot of snow. I turned half of it over to Mom and saved the rest for gift shopping.

  The football season ended with a surprising victory over Higbee, leaving Boyer with a 2–8 record. Tim and Dawn continued to be seen together.

  December marked the time when I shucked my self-destructive obsession with Brenda for a self-destructive obsession with Sage. I still spent every morning hanging out in the lobby, but now Sage joined me, snacking on vending machine food and making fun of the other students. We’d walk to bio together and spend the whole hour giggling and poking each other under the table. Mr. Elmer threatened to separate us more than once, but he never did.

  Sage had a different lunch hour, but we’d run into each other between classes. I’d find little notes in my locker, pink stationery covered with smiley face stickers, wishing me a good day. After school, Sage would walk me to the track, or the gym, or my bike, often under the scowling gaze of Tammi. But that was where it ended. Once we left the high school grounds, Sage vanished. No walking me home. No heading out for a bite to eat. No going over to Jack’s to watch monster movies on Friday night. It was like we were in a long-distance relationship, even though we lived less than five miles apart.

  It’s not like Sage forgot about me after school. Two or three times a week, she’d call me at home, asking forced questions about biology and trying to get a rise out of me by saying she was phoning from the shower. Mom never commented on her frequent calls, though she would gaze at me slyly over the top of her Soap Opera Digest. It was obvious Mom thought I’d landed a new girlfriend. But when I invited Sage over for an innocent study date, she’d always change the subject.

  I should have been happy, or at least resigned. Sage was a good friend. I enjoyed hanging out with her. If that was all there was, then that was all there was.

  But that was not all there was. Because sometimes she’d let me hold her hand, provided her sister wasn’t around. She’d place her hand on my knee and leave it there for most of first hour. She pinched my butt on more than one occasion. But when I tried to put my arm around her or give her a little kiss, she’d jerk away.

  Sage’s other maddening habit was her absolute refusal to talk about her home, her past, or why she was treated so differently from her sister. Tammi already had a boyfriend, was in the French club, and had found a group of friends. But Sage couldn’t date, didn’t participate in any after-school programs, and hung out only with me. It was like I was dating a woman in prison. I could visit her, but she lived under someone else’s strict rules. It didn’t matter how much I cared for her; she feared the warden more than she liked me.

  Why wouldn’t Sage talk to me about anything serious? Was she waiting to see if I could be trusted, or was something else going on? There was no one I could talk to about this. Asking my mother for dating advice was a tad too Norman Bates for my liking. Tim would accuse me of being too chickenshit to put the moves on Sage. Jack had already decided that Sage and I were secretly doing it; he’d given me a graphic description of the problems we’d encounter due to our height difference.

  If this was an ideal world, I’d have a father I could ask for some advice. If this was a sitcom, there’d be some young black teacher I could confide in. But life is not ideal and is only occasionally a situation comedy.

  I sat in the commons after school bouncing the gift-wrapped package on my knee like it was a toddler. The school was almost deserted. Christmas break had begun with the last bell, and not too many students wanted to hang around.

  I had no reason to be nervous. I’d left a note in Sage’s locker asking her to meet me here. I wouldn’t see her for almost two weeks and wanted to give her her present. I’d spent the afternoon before at the Wal-Mart in Moberly trying to find something I thought she’d like. A little something to let her know I’d been thinking about her. But nothing too fancy, so she wouldn’t feel like I expected a gift (or anything else) in return. Since I only had thirty bucks, it was easy not to go overboard. I’d finally settled on the third-most-expensive body lotion for sale. I’d seen it on TV, endorsed by an actual celebrity, so it must have been good.

  I looked at the clock. I’d been waiting ten minutes. What if Sage hadn’t gotten my note? Gift exchanges hadn’t been nearly this nerve-racking with Brenda. I’d always flat-out ask her what she wanted, and she’d always tell me. Usually a CD or a DVD. She knew my limited budget. And knowing my love of football, Brenda would always buy me some Kansas City Chiefs memorabilia because it’s the most popular team in the area. I never had the heart to tell her I was a Rams fan.

  “Is that for me?” Sage sat close to me even though the bench was empty.

  “Just a little something.” I shrugged, wishing it could have been a big something.

  “What lovely paper you picked out!” she said, examining the obviously store-wrapped box. “Should I open it now or wait till Christmas?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Good!” She greedily tore open the package. When she saw what the gift was, she froze.

  “Like it?” I prompted, worrying that I’d accidentally picked out some sort of feminine hygiene product by mistake.

  “Logan, it’s wonderful,” she whispered, staring at the bottle. “Thank you.” Her eyes glistened. I couldn’t tell if she was tearing up.

  “Well …” I tried to shrug it off but was mentally patting myself on the back. I’d done good.

  Sage sniffed loudly. “Okay, open yours.” She passed me a large brown paper bag, stapled shut. Inside was some sort of a blanket or comforter. It wasn’t the size of a standard bed; in fact, it was more of a trapezoid than a rectangle. It was made of strips of black and yellow material. A picture of the University of Missouri tiger, clipped from an old sweater, was inexpertly stitched to the middle.

  Sage had made this herself. She must have been working on it for weeks.

  “It’s for your bed at Mizzou,” she explained. “Someone said the heat doesn’t always work in the dorms.”

  “Sage …” Cookies were one thing, but a handmade blanket? No one had ever sewed me anything. Thank you didn’t seem sufficient.

  “Just make sure you don’t spill any crap on it,” said Sage half mockingly. “And wash it occasionally. I’ll be there to check up on you.”

  She must have noticed my baffled look. “Didn’t I tell you? I got accepted to Mizzou.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me that Sage would be leaving home after high school. But she was going off to college, where her parents had no control, where their rules didn’t apply. Where Sage and I could do anything we wanted. The idea made me smile. Sage smiled back. We just sat there smiling at each other, and it wasn’t awkward.

  “You know,” she said after a while, “I kind of wish we were sitting under the mistletoe right now.”

  Score! My grin got bigger. I tried to place my hand on her cheek.

  Sage abruptly looked up at the bare ceiling.

  “Hmm. Too bad.” She stood. “See you in January, Logan.” She walked away, not looking back.

  Christmas at the Witherspoon trailer didn’t involve a huge turkey, roasted chestnuts, and spiced oranges, but I preferred it that way. To me, the
holidays would always mean a raggedy fiberglass tree, Mom’s green bean casserole, and gifts from the clearance aisle at Target. I couldn’t remember ever really believing in Santa Claus. I just enjoyed Mom having the day off and spending time with Laura. If Norman Rockwell never painted a family eating Christmas brunch from TV trays while still in their pajamas, then it was his problem.

  Laura was pleased that I’d finally decided I’d join her at Mizzou. When I showed her Sage’s blanket, she told me to name our first daughter after her.

  I spent New Year’s Eve at Jack’s house with Tim, Dawn, Jack’s younger brother Matt, and a few other people. We watched movies and played Ping-Pong. It wasn’t a wild party, but I didn’t care. Friends and food. There was just one thing missing.

  At eleven-thirty, Tim and Dawn announced they were going for a walk. We didn’t see them again until one in the morning. At midnight, we counted down to the new year and drank a couple of shots Jack had filched from his dad’s liquor cabinet. The only couple there kissed.

  I was sitting alone on a sofa when we rang in the new year. The years I’d been with Brenda, she’d give me a brief, closed-mouth kiss at midnight (she’d never give me a real kiss when we were around other people).

  Jack blasted a paper noisemaker right in my ear. “Happy fucking New Year!” he yelled.

  “Yeah.”

  Jack vaulted over the back of the couch and sat next to me. “So, how come Sage isn’t here?”

  “She had a family thing.” I had invited her when she called me the day after Christmas. She just said she couldn’t come. No explanation. She couldn’t even go out on New Year’s Eve.

  On the TV screen, the Times Square lunatics screamed and waved at the camera. For the first time since the last president, I was entering a new year by myself. Next year, after a semester in college, would I be watching the ball drop with Sage? Or would we drift apart and I’d be here with some new girl? Or alone again?

  “So, I sent in my housing application the other day,” said Jack.

  Jack was also going to MU. We’d decided to be roommates, though the idea of living in the same room as Jack sometimes seemed frightening.

  “Logan, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad Brenda’s gone.” He winced slightly, worried that he might set me off. When I didn’t respond, he continued. “You never had any fun around her. Now you can start college, no strings attached. We’re going to have a blast. It’ll be a year you never forget.”

  I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was one of the most profound things I’d ever hear Jack say.

  I biked home at five a.m. At nine, the phone woke me up. I wanted to ignore the ringing, but I knew this was one of the few mornings Mom got to sleep late, and I didn’t want her to get out of bed to answer it. I stumbled blearily to the living room.

  “What?” I barked into the receiver.

  “Happy New Year to you, too!” said a familiar, throaty voice.

  “Sage!”

  “Listen, Logan, are you up? I need a big favor.” She was her usual abrupt self.

  “What do you need?” I asked. I’d had three hours of sleep, it was ten degrees out, and I had two driveways to shovel. But I knew that I’d be out the door in ten minutes, ready to do whatever she asked.

  “Tammi and Rob went out last night,” Sage explained. “They were supposed to stay at our house, but they snuck out. And Tammi let Rob drive our truck.”

  “Christ, he didn’t wreck it, did he?”

  “No, but he left the lights on. I just noticed this morning when I tried to move it. The battery’s dead. Tammi will get grounded for a month if Dad finds out what she did. I need to jump start the car.”

  I wanted to ask why Tammi could run around with the human crash-test dummy but Sage couldn’t date. I didn’t, though. I knew I wouldn’t get an answer.

  “So what do you want me to do? I don’t have a car.” New Year’s or not, Mom was working the lunch shift, and I couldn’t risk leaving her without a ride.

  “Logan, please!” Sage sounded desperate. “Everyone’s in Columbia today. Dad needs the truck tonight. He’s going to kill Tammi unless we can get it started.”

  I sighed. “Where do you live?”

  Two minutes later, I was pulling on my coat. I would have done the same if Jack or Tim had been in trouble, though with much more cussing.

  Grandpa had given us one of those jump start batteries a few years back. The family car was pretty pissy about starting, especially in the winter, and we’d gotten a lot of use out of the thing. Trudging through the drifts in the backyard, I managed to crack open the frozen shed doors and load up the battery and cables. Then I realized I couldn’t carry them on my bike. I went back into the trailer, strapped on my boots, and began trekking to Sage’s house.

  Sage lived in one of Boyer’s few subdivisions, with newish houses owned by people who worked in Columbia. It was a nearly three-mile hike. Even with my track experience, lugging the heavy battery nearly killed me.

  I had always pictured Sage’s house as some sort of gray, imposing structure, a place where laughter went to die. After all, her parents wouldn’t allow her to date, didn’t let her wear makeup until recently, and kept her away from public school. They had to be humorless Puritans, right?

  When I found Sage’s house, I was almost convinced that I’d gotten the street number wrong. It was a blue ranch house, probably less than five years old. But what caught my eye was the gaudiest display of Christmas decorations this side of Branson.

  The struggling saplings in the yard bent under the wads of tinsel and lights. An inflatable snowman billowed in the front yard, powered by a portable air compressor. Two ugly wire reindeer flanked the front door like some kind of hellhounds. There were enough lights on the roof to rival Busch Stadium.

  I hauled the battery up the driveway, which was lined with giant plastic candy canes. These people weren’t dour religious nuts. They were tacky at a level you usually only saw at Graceland.

  I found Sage in the garage smashing aluminum cans for the recycle bin. She dazzled me with her braces when she saw me approaching.

  “You’re a lifesaver, Logan. I told Mom and Dad I’d keep an eye on Tammi, but she really wanted to go for a drive with Rob. Now we’ll both get in trouble if Dad finds out they weren’t here all night. The keys are in it. You get it started, and I’ll make you some hot chocolate.” She winked at me as she headed into the house.

  As I unrolled the cables, I felt like John Wayne rushing in to save the day. It was a good feeling, and not just because of the sprig of plastic mistletoe I’d noticed over the front door. I just liked the idea of helping Sage. Liked knowing that she’d been in trouble and I’d been there for her.

  The truck was so old that it was almost, but not quite, a classic. I knew enough about cars to know that it was one of those models that would suck a battery dry if you tried to start it wrong. I hooked up the cables and crossed my fingers.

  The engine roared to life when I turned the key. I gunned the gas. I could see why Rob wanted to drive this beast. They didn’t make ’em this big anymore. Maybe I could convince Sage that we needed to charge up the battery by taking a quick drive.

  “Logan Witherspoon, you’re my hero!” said Sage with only a little sarcasm. She was leaning on the driver’s door, a mug of cocoa in her hand.

  “Take you for a spin?” I asked, grinning.

  “Get out of there,” she chided. Disappointed, I left the engine running and hopped out.

  Sage handed me the chipped I GOT BLOWN IN THE WINDY CITY—CHICAGO, ILLINOIS mug. I sipped the watery hot chocolate as Sage went back to crushing the cans.

  “So, how was Christmas?” I asked.

  She shrugged, not turning toward me. “It was okay.”

  The truck coughed and shuddered but didn’t die. “This will take a few minutes. Want to go for a walk?”

  Sage turned to me and shook her head. “Logan, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sup
posed to have anyone over. I don’t know when everyone’s going to be back, and I don’t want them to catch you here.”

  I set the cup on a workbench and pretended to check the cables. Sage had made me a beautiful gift but couldn’t or wouldn’t hang out with me. Sometimes she acted like I was great, but she had this weird phobia about her parents knowing about me. She’d begged me to come out here, then practically ordered me to leave.

  Smoke began to wisp up from the battery terminals, so I turned off the truck. As I unhooked the jumper cables, Sage quickly bent over to contain a mini avalanche of cans. Her sweater rode up her back, revealing her pale skin and the tops of some bright yellow panties.

  My world froze, but unfortunately, my body didn’t. I absentmindedly grabbed the positive clip, and like many wayward teens, was grounded.

  When I yelped, Sage jumped up as if she was the one who’d been shocked. Grabbing me by my good arm, she hustled me into the kitchen and thrust my hand under the sink. The ice-cold water caused the electrical burn to hurt worse, but I didn’t let on. Sage didn’t ask if I was okay as she dried the wound.

  “Have a seat. I’ll go get you a bandage.”

  I made my way into the living room and sat on the couch. There was more evidence of the family’s bizarre decoration style here. A framed print of dogs playing poker. Mismatched furniture and drapes. Various souvenir ashtrays and other knickknacks.

  On a table next to me stood a picture frame with a bunch of slots. I leaned over to get a better look. There was a bald, unpleasant-looking man, who must have been Sage’s father. And a woman who must have been her mother because she looked exactly like Tammi. Just as short, too. And there was Tammi in elementary school. And there …

  A large hand shot out and slammed the frame down on the table so hard I heard glass crack. I looked up to see Sage towering over me, a look of fury on her face.

  “What the hell are you doing snooping in here?” she bellowed.

  I was dumbfounded. All I’d done was look at a picture that was out where anyone could see it. “I was just looking …”