The Forgotten World

by R Gene Curtis

  We put clothes on hangers for a few minutes in awkward silence.

  It’s isn’t that I don’t want a social life like Maria. I want to be liked, and I want to know what it feels like to have a nice guy. But, the last thing I need is to find a guy who seems nice on the surface, but who is really like my dad.

  And, I really don’t want to be around alcohol.

  So, since I’m a freshman in college, I don’t have a social life.

  “Have you heard anything about your Dad?” Maria asks.

  I shake my head.

  “My dad told me that sometimes jail time mends relationships.”

  Not our relationship. Too much was said that night. I keep my eyes down and put another armful of Maria’s clothes in the dresser.

  Maria sighs. “This unpacking stuff stinks. Let’s go for a bike ride.”

  That sounds fine to me. I grab my old cell phone and we head downstairs to where Maria’s two bikes are locked up. We rope the bikes to the back of Maria’s car and drive through Seattle to the I-90 bridge, park, and ride over Lake Washington and around Mercer Island. The breeze is cool, the scenery green, the air fresh.

  The fresh air off the lake and the light drizzle soaking through my clothes lightens my mood more than I expected. Being in nature beats sitting around talking about parties and what a loser I am. Go figure.

  On the way back across the bridge, I stop my bike to look out over the lake. Green mountains surround the lake, beautiful in contrast to the deep blue of the water. Without much morning traffic, we can hear the water as it churns and licks the side of the bridge beneath us.

  I told Brit the only place I belong is on the soccer field. I may have to take that back.

  Maria pulls her bike up next to mine and leans against the railing next to me.

  “How was your party last night? Did you find a date for tomorrow night?” I ask.

  Maria responds with an exaggerated sigh. “No. Nothing but bad luck. I thought I was getting something going with this guy, but he was too dense to get the hint and ask me to go to your game with him.”

  “Maybe he had a lot on his mind.”

  “He should have had me on his mind. Guy’s brains are supposed to only have one track, and that track should have been me. I was standing right in front of him.”

  “I think you’re the one with the one-track mind. Forget the stereotypes, it turns out girls aren’t that complicated after all.”

  “Yeah right,” Maria laughs. “He’s probably at home playing a video game right now. He’s so missing out.”

  “Maybe you need to brush up on your hints. Maybe he didn’t realize you were trying to get him to ask you out.”

  “Not good!” Maria puts her hands on her hips in mock shock. “Lydia Miller, you’re looking at the best hint giver in all of Seattle.”

  “Honored,” I say, and I give her a mock bow. I laugh. Maria can make me laugh sometimes. It feels good. For a minute. As long as I don’t say anything too dumb after I laugh. “I haven’t had a date since homecoming our junior year of high school, so if you are the best hint giver maybe you can teach me something. Or, does skill not translate to being able to teach?”

  “I could teach anyone, Lydia, even people more hopeless than you. Ok. It goes like this.”

  She undoes her hair so that it falls over her shoulders. She’s wearing a sleek black and pink biking outfit, and she looks snazzy—especially for an early morning bike ride. She shakes her head to fluff her hair, and she steps back at the exact moment a young man in a purple U-dub sweat shirt runs by her. He trips over her and falls into the railing along the pedestrian path.

  “Oh!” She falls forward and lands on her hands and knees.

  The jogger manages to catch himself on the railing. He looks pretty upset until he looks at Maria.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. If she had been a guy, he probably would have pushed her over the rail into the lake. Instead, he reaches out and gently helps her stand.

  “Yeah,” Maria says, standing slowly and brushing herself off with exaggerated effort. “And you? I didn’t know anyone was behind me.”

  I bite my lip to stop myself from smiling.

  “Yeah,” the man says. “Sorry!” He turns to run away. Well, everything but his eyes turn, anyway. They stay glued on Maria.

  “Do you run for U dub?” Maria asks, taking a step toward him. I’m embarrassed for her, she looks so desperate, but it works for her. The man stops and leans against the fence, no longer in a hurry to continue his run.

  “Oh no. Just for fun. I got this shirt at an orientation meeting. I think it’s important to stay in shape, you know. Exercise and all that.”

  “So you’re a freshman at U-dub, then, just like us!”

  He smiles, and his smile is cute. “No, but I was one last year.”

  “Really?” Maria says, feigning surprise. “It isn’t often you find a guy who is so good looking and still gets good enough grades to pass all his classes.”

  The guy laughs. The wind blows through his hair. “I didn’t say I passed all of them.” He offers Maria his hand. She takes it with a small curtsy.

  “I’m Brian.”

  “Maria. And this is my friend Lydia.”

  Brian looks at me and smiles. His smile makes my knees go weak. I try to think of something to say, but before anything comes to mind, his eyes go back to Maria. I’m in a sweatshirt and shorts. Hardly boy-catching material next to Maria. She should have thought of that before she decided to try and teach me anything.

  Though, Maria’s outfit does look incredibly uncomfortable. I would never wear that thing on a leisure trip bike riding. Maybe that’s my problem.

  “Brian,” Maria says in an exaggerated voice. “This Miss Lydia is not just any friend, she’s also a star on the university soccer team.”

  Brian’s eyes flit back to me. “You’re Lydia Miller, then.” And he smiles.

  He knows my name! I blush stupidly. “Do I know you?”

  He laughs. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m completely stupid. Or maybe he does. “Oh no, I saw one of the women’s soccer ads on campus.” Then he blushes. “I don’t really follow soccer that much, but I remembered your name. You have a, uh, distinctive look. I remember it from the ad.”

  A distinctive look? What in the world does that mean? I look to Maria, but for the first time in this whole exchange, she, too was caught off guard. And she’s not going to bail me out.

  “You should come to our game tomorrow night,” I mumble, fighting embarrassment. If the lake water wasn’t so cold, maybe I’d jump over the side of the bridge and go for a swim right now.

  “I don’t think I’d know what was going on,” Brian says. “I actually don’t watch soccer.”

  “You should ask someone to go with you,” Maria says. “Someone who has an inside connection to the game who could explain some things to you.” She looks back at me and winks, her spunk is apparently back.

  Brian laughs. I’m surprised Maria is still going for the date. Well, I guess she’s not the one with the distinctive look. I shouldn’t take it personally. Everyone thinks like that.

  “Now, where would I find a girl like that?” Brian rolls his eyes.

  “Hmmm…” Maria says, rolling her eyes right back at him.

  I can’t believe how forward she is.

  Brian smiles. “Ok, you got me. What time does the game start?”

  “7.”

  “Would you meet me out in front of the field, around 6:45?”

  As we ride back into the city, Maria glows with triumph. “I told you it was easy,” she says. “You really should get out more.”

  “I’d have to take my distinctive look with me. Even you didn’t know what to say when he brought that up.”

  Maria’s face grows serious. “I think you’re pretty, Lydia. Just because you have a unique look doesn’t mean you’re ugly. Just different. It takes people some time to get used to different. Besides, your facial features may be a bit differ
ent, but your curves are drop-dead sexy. I’d give anything for your hips. Don’t pay attention to what Brian said. I’ll set him straight tomorrow night.”

  “Sure, you will. I’m sure you’ll talk about me plenty.”

  “Well, maybe not. After he sees you playing soccer, he’ll probably dump me and start chasing you.”

  “Right, and you just let that happen?”

  Maria blows a bubble with her gum. She giggles. “Not a chance. He seemed way to cute to give up that easily. Besides, Lydia, I don’t want a boy to ruin you. You have your head on straight, and you’re going places. I appreciate that you spend time with me.”

  “Even when it takes you away from boys?”

  “Even then.”

  12 Rain

  Lydia

  The next evening, I put my old cell phone into my locker and join my teammates outside the locker room. The sounds of the crowd and the smell of the early-autumn rainstorm rush into the hall each time the door opens. I review the plays in my head and shift my feet. Brit stands nearby, but we don’t talk. Finally, Coach appears and it’s time to go.

  Our cleats echo on the hard floor. With each step the sounds of the crowd grows louder. A staff member holds the door open, and we jog onto the field as the crowd cheers. A lot of people are here tonight.

  The drizzle of the rain hits my face. The bright lights shine against my gold Huskies uniform.

  It’s the home opener.

  Warm-ups fly by, and I run onto the field with the starters. Even Joana looks nervous.

  Stanford. They looked really good on tape.

  I find my place near the goalie and survey the field. The field scattered with collegiate athletes is as beautiful a sight as the lake this morning. I’m home. The crowd roars as the referee steps to midfield.

  Game time. I smile and dig my cleats into the turf.

  I hope Brian actually showed up and is up there somewhere with Maria. Maybe from up in the stands, he’ll decide my distinctive look isn’t as ugly as his original impression. Especially if Maria is right and my figure is attractive.

  I’m such an idiot. He’s with Maria and therefore not thinking about me.

  The whistle blows, and the game is underway.

  It doesn’t take long to decide that as good as the Cardinals look on tape, they’re even better on the field. It takes all my concentration to stay in the game, but I stay in it. And so does the team.

  Where would Mom be sitting in this stadium if she were here? Whenever we traveled to watch soccer games, she was always religious about where we would sit. Each stadium she had her own unique seat that had her name on it. If the seat was already taken, we wouldn’t buy the tickets.

  I don’t remember where her seat was in Husky Soccer Stadium, but I’m sure she had one. If she were here today, that’s where she’d be, and she would be loving this. This is what she wanted for me. Watching me play on the same field she played on. I run, I kick, the girls push, I fight for the ball. And the time flies by.

  I’m exhausted by half time, but exhilarated. The game is going well, and it’s still scoreless. We’re in this thing. We’re keeping up with Stanford, the defending champions.

  On her way off the field for the half-time break, I notice Joana run over to talk with a girl on Stanford’s team—a girl who played soccer at Issaquah. I frown at the breach in protocol, but Coach is up ahead and no one else seems to notice. Joana hugs the girl, whispers something in her ear, and then rejoins us, bumping me rudely on the way to the front of the line.

  Everyone knows you’re not allowed to talk to the other team during the game. Even at halftime. Even if you’re friends.

  The second half starts promising with several Husky possessions that result in shots on goal. I make a few stops, and the minutes tick by. Still, no points.

  During the 70th minute, the action moves to our side of the field. I’m on the left side of the field covering Stanford’s forward when the ball sails towards us. The forward fields the ball and jukes me out of position. I fall for the juke, but I recover enough to kick the ball out of bounds before she gets past me.

  Corner kick.

  A girl grabs the ball and runs over to the corner. I man up with a tall Stanford girl on the far side of the goal as the field fills up with girls from both teams.

  Stanford’s forward approaches, and the ball flies to us, aimed to give the taller girl a chance for a headshot to put the ball in. I jump as high as I can, too, but the ball sails over both of our heads. I look down as a second Stanford girl, who is running at a full tilt towards me, trips on the wet grass and falls.

  I’m suspended in the air, helpless as flying bodies come at me.

  And then the contact. The falling forward crashes into me on the side of my left knee just before I hit the ground. At the same time, the tall girl lands against me on the right. I hear a snap and my knee buckles backward as I hit the wet ground and collapse. My hands sink into the sodden turf, and I scream, my leg awkwardly bent from the weight of the girl on it. I gasp when she rolls off my leg and jogs away. Through my pain, I see her face—the girl from Issaquah.

  I lie on the wet grass, writhing. I’m not screaming anymore, but I grab the wet turf with both hands and clutch it. I grind my teeth. Pain shoots up my leg, but I can’t seem to move my body around to even look down.

  A young man kneels next to me. My teammates surround me. The man palpates my knee. It hurts. “We’ve got to stabilize this and get her to the doctor right away,” he says.

  I shake my head, which is fuzzy from the pain. I let my face fall into the wet turf and scream into it. I look up to see a blur of people all around me. Amidst the chaos, my eyes focus on Brit. She’s kneeling the grass next to me, huge tears coursing down her cheeks.

  “You can’t do this, Lydia! I can’t go in there.”

  “I’ll keep playing,” but I gasp when I try to move, and my leg doesn’t respond.

  “You’ve done a number to your knee,” the trainer says. “Stay still. We’re going to roll you over.”

  The crowd cheers as the trainers help me onto a stretcher and wheel me off the field. I squint though the bright lights to see Brit still standing where I fell. The lights reflect off her face.

  “You can do this Brit,” I yell, hoping my voice doesn’t get drowned out with the crowd.

  She waves weakly back and slowly disappears along with the field. The lights, the crowd, the game, it all fades away until I’m put in an ambulance.

  “When will I play again?” I ask.

  “Not this season. Your knee was bent the wrong way—most injuries like this require surgery. You’re in for a long and painful recovery before you get back on the field. Which is a shame, because you’re really good. That stop you had after the Stanford girl beat you was amazing.”

  Without soccer, what am I going to do?

  13 Reunited

  Karl

  Palm trees, saguaro cactus, open space, brilliant sunrise colors.

  I’ve missed the desert. After my red-eye flight, I’m in Phoenix. Home. Just a few hours away from picking up Pearl in Flagstaff.

  I roll down my windows and breathe in the air. It’s dry—crisp and clean. The sight of the cacti against the horizon, a wide-open sky. Suddenly, the four years in Pittsburgh fade away into a dream. As the sun breaks into the sky, I feel a freedom that I haven’t felt in years.

  Tara was actually right. I needed to come here.

  And I was right to not bring her with me, even though she threw a fit about it.

  An exit sign reminds me of Andrea, and I’m glad that I’m not staying in Phoenix. I’m going to pick up Pearl and we’re going to Arches National Park in Moab, Utah.

  And from that point on, freedom, frustration, and loneliness battle inside me until the Phoenix desert disappears behind me. I turn on the radio and drive numbly until I find myself at some apartments near the main NAU campus in Flagstaff. I park the rental car, stretch, and follow Pearl’s instructions to her apartme
nt on the third floor of Building 2B.

  Can you ignore your family for years and then show up with an expectation that everything will be like it was before you left? If she doesn’t answer the door, it would serve me right.

  If Tara hadn’t talked to her, I wouldn’t be here. If I had the courage to call her back, I wouldn’t be here.

  But I didn’t call back. And now I’m here. And I think I’m happy about it.

  I take a deep breath and knock.

  Footsteps behind the door. The bolt unlocks. The door opens, and I look expectantly into the face of a girl in pajamas with long black hair, accented with pink streaks.

  Not Pearl. I recheck the apartment number.

  She yawns and rubs her eyes. “Hello! What can I do for you?”

  The number of the door is definitely correct. I followed Pearl’s directions exactly.

  “Umm...I’m looking for Pearl Stapp.”

  The girl nods. “Pearl,” she calls behind her. “You have a hot guy here to see you.”

  That’s the first time I’ve been called hot in years. But, then again, maybe she’s referring to the fact that carrying around so much extra insulation tends to make me hot and tired.

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Of course Pearl has a roommate. It’s normal that Pearl’s roommate’s hair would have pink streaks—streaks like that are ubiquitous on college campuses, including Pittsburgh campus. Tara might have pink streaks in her red hair by the time I get back.

  Pearl’s head pokes out of the back room. A smile splits her face. “Karl,” she says in a voice that barely makes it to my ears. “You really came.” She walks over to me, and I stand still, watching her approach. I can’t believe I’m looking at my sister. She has grown up; she’s a woman now.

  We embrace, and she feels real. She smells like Pearl.

  “You look great!” I say. She wears blue jeans and a white T-shirt. Her hair is pulled back, and she looks as in-shape as I’m out of shape. We haven’t talked in forever, yet it feels like just yesterday we were kids together. Regret, excitement, love. I’m not sure how to describe all the emotions that rush through me.