Shadow Heart (Broken Bottle Series Book 1)

by Taeuffer, Pam

  “That’s okay, Mrs. Stowe. I appreciate you saving some.”

  “Here’s your plate and a bottle of water. You know where his room is. Don’t tell him I told you, but he was glad you ran late. Ooh it was messy.”

  “I won’t tell him,” I laughed.

  “I don’t touch that hazard zone anymore. How’s your dad, by the way?”

  “The same.” Time to dig up one of your excuses, Nick. “He works a lot and I'm busy, so I don’t see him very much.”

  “Isn’t that the truth? We’re all too busy,” she handed me a plate of food.

  I learned to acknowledge the question, “How’s your dad?” and move on quickly. I kept most of the information about my family quiet, just like the good daughter of an alcoholic should.

  “Hey,” I knocked on Jerry’s door.

  “Hey yourself! Come in.”

  “Where should I eat this? I don’t want to mess up your room. After all, I hear you just cleaned it. Did you do it for me?”

  “You know I did, you creep.” He threw a crumpled piece of paper at me. “Just plop on the bed with me and eat. My mom sneaks in here anyway. She doesn’t think I know, but I can tell.”

  After his parents went to bed, we raided the refrigerator for the “real” goodies and then spent the rest of the night listening to music, watching TV and of course, gossiping about classmates and the trouble they'd gotten into or the sex stories we’d heard about them.

  “What are you afraid of?” Jerry asked out of the blue.

  "I'm not afraid of anything." Although it was sudden, I knew what he meant. My defenses rose in defiance.

  "Don't get all bent." He rolled over on his side to face me.

  “Everything,” I admitted honestly.

  “Like?” He played with the collar of my sweatshirt.

  “We’ll have sex and disappoint each other, make a mistake with protection, or we won’t be good that way." I bit into a potato chip. "Worst of all? Our friendship ends. Before I get into any kind of relationship with a boy, I need all the other parts of my life to be on track. Can I talk to you honestly?"

  "You know you can." Jerry grabbed his foam basketball and squeezed it in one hand. He had a hoop hanging on his wall.

  "I'm not sure I'll put up with much. I don't think you will either. Both of us have been through crap with our families." I grabbed his foam ball and shot it in the hoop. "Can you tell me why you wouldn't want freedom in every part of your life?"

  "Yeah, I do, but I'd love to have my best buddy with me while I get my sea legs." He tossed the ball again and then played with my hair. "I don't feel brave enough to find someone else."

  "Well yeah, that's why it'll be nice to be friends." I traced a pattern on his bedspread. "We can be each other's wingman!"

  We both cracked up.

  "The thing is, I know myself pretty well—at least I feel like I do. I don't have any patience to nurture anyone. I need someone to nurture me, but I can't . . .”

  "Say it," Jerry urged me to continue.

  "I can't imagine letting anyone so close that I open my body to them," I confessed.

  “Don’t worry about all that. We've been through enough. Bottom line, I'm safe. You're safe. We know each other's secrets and that's what makes us so solid together. We’ll make sure each of us stays on track. Our parents will kill us if we mess up.”

  “You’re probably right about that,” I giggled.

  “You couldn’t do anything to hurt me,” he reaffirmed. He put one leg over my hip and his arms encircled me.

  The way we kissed made me realize that not only was I moving further away from my childhood every day, Jerry was, too. His kisses weren't slow like Ryan's. His lips weren't possessive, nor did they know where to go, but they were sweet.

  I felt his clumsiness.

  His hands rushed to lift my sweatshirt.

  His body moved on mine.

  I couldn't continue.

  The wonderful, new spot that Ryan helped to come to life only a few hours before, was beginning to speak to me, but this was too fast.

  "Jerry!"

  "Come on," he breathed heavily. His hands were determined.

  "I don't—"

  He lifted his head.

  "What's wrong?"

  Visions of becoming intimate with him tapped from within. My Evil Twin dared me to keep going. Let go. See what happens. Enjoy it.

  "This feels too fast," I gasped. "Let's slow down."

  He sighed as if disgusted. Perhaps it was disappointment, but ultimately, it was acceptance. We kissed more and after snuggling against and caressing each other's body, fell asleep on the bed and in our sweats. Our arms held on for the possibility of more, but perhaps out of respect for his parents, or because of my warning, he didn't venture any further.

  When I woke up the next morning, Jerry was still asleep. As usual I couldn't stay still. He’d turned over during the night, and after taking a few minutes to look at his broadening shoulders and curvy back, I went into the bathroom to freshen up.

  When I came out, he was sitting up in bed.

  “Morning, gorgeous.”

  “Hey! Good morning! Knock off the gorgeous stuff, dude.”

  “It feels good waking up with you in my room,” he patted the bed, encouraging me to sit by him. “I could get used to that.”

  "I have to get going." Good enough excuse?

  “Want to come to my game today?” He stretched his long arms and put them behind his head.

  God you're cute. Maybe I will lie down with you.

  “Love to. What time and where?” I put on my jacket.

  “Balboa Park, two o’ clock.” He leaned forward, flexing his arms.

  “I’ll be there. I’m going to go home to check in with my mom. She didn't think she needed the car, but you know how things can change. I’ll see you at two.” I turned to leave his bedroom and heard him get off the bed. I started to open his door and I heard him behind me.

  “Hey, Nicky?”

  “Yeah?” I turned around.

  Jerry stepped close, held my upper arms, and pulled me to his body. His long and lovely kiss was soft. I imagined it was new like mine, not yet having the chance to explore or experience too much. I kissed him back, enjoying my thoughts about our innocence.

  Is that—is he . . . erect? Are erections automatic with kissing? You’ve discovered a “new ache,” Nick, so what do you think?

  “Very nice, Jerry. Really nice. See you in a few hours."

  I floated out the door and into the car. Jerry was my friend and we had everything in common. We could discover new experiences together and we were the same age. Being with him made my feelings of the prior evening with Ryan fade like a dream with clouds moving to cover a full moon. The deliciousness of his lips offered a taste of new honey.

  Even though I felt we were moving into intimacy, his erection confused me that morning. I questioned: was having sex with a friend ever a good thing?

  “Hey, anyone home?” I yelled when I entered my house. “Hello?” I called again. Nothing.

  I ran up the stairs, still excited from my night with Jerry. My body was filled with the adrenaline from that new boyfriend joy. All those wonderful chemicals in my brain swirled with the euphoric feeling that nothing could be better than this.

  After I showered, I wrote in my journal and lost track of time. The last twenty-four hours had filled me with new confidence and a desire to be bold, stomp loudly, and do all the things my Evil Twin was born to do—at least for the summer.

  Couldn’t I enjoy both Jerry and Ryan?

  Was it appropriate to be friends with both of them?

  Why would I want only one of them when I was just waking up? Could I, or did I, want to commit to only one boy?

  Would either of them agree to be with me if I didn’t make a commitment?

  Chapter 31

  Little Games

  When I got to Balboa Park, Jerry and his teammates were on the field practicing. The coaches
were marking the baselines with fresh chalk, setting up the equipment, and getting the dugouts in order. As I took a seat, Jerry waved to me.

  A few of the young women sitting near me waved back to him, hoping they'd gotten his attention. Others were watching their boyfriends, brothers, and still others came to the game in hopes they'd become a girlfriend to one of the boys.

  Not so different from the Goliaths' stadium!

  Lately, I had begun to question patterns in life. The pattern of girls watching boys play sports amused me and I decided to write down some of my thoughts about our behaviors.

  Why were boys so adored on the playgrounds? Even in grade school they were treated like cherished prizes. By the time they played in high school, teachers graded the star players gently, often passing them with satisfactory grades for subpar work for the good of the school. Was the message victory at all costs—even the boy's education?

  So what happens when these boys, who have been treated so gently, become men who play sports?

  The public adores them. Autograph and photo events are held for them, jerseys are decorated with their names and sold in sports stores, and fans stand at the gate to the parking lot or at the airports as they leave or arrive, attempting to have a few words or get a picture—maybe with his arm around them.

  I'd seen it so many times at the ballpark and in school I'd become immune to it—until Ryan.

  Now?

  I noticed everything—girls and women dressing to reveal just enough, keeping bodies, hair, and makeup perfect, hoping the athlete, actor, businessman, or just the hot guy will pay attention.

  These pressures seemed pushed in our faces every day. Magazines ads feature airbrushed models, showing us hard or ultra thin bodies with voluptuous breasts, flat stomachs and a petite, but prominent ass. I was one of those who dreamed for years that I might someday be like those girls in the magazines.

  When in the high school bathroom, I'd heard my classmates purging their lunch dozens of times. Day after day we engaged in conversations of what we didn't like about our bodies and what we could do to be more attractive. We were too thin, too heavy, couldn't lose three or thirty pounds, had butts and breasts that were too small or too big, legs that were too skinny or thighs that were too fat. I wrote furiously as the toxic circle of it all became so clear to me.

  As the realization hit me that in all likelihood I wouldn't be able to date any jock for long because of the things that followed them in their lives, I consider how being an alpha male was represented in our society.

  I'd heard the jokes around the ballpark: “Never marry in the minors,” or “keep Mr. Johnson dressed so she doesn't trick you," or "College is for practice," and "with money come the models.”

  Why were men encouraged to enjoy themselves sexually and play the field, having as many women as they could? Were they more of a man the more conquests they had?

  Was a man only defined by having money, the right friends, a nice car, cool job, or a house in a swank and hip neighborhood? How could any successful man stay grounded?

  I'd seen the commercials about the blue pill or the couple holding hands in bathtubs side by side so they could be ready when the urge for sex "hit."

  Were men failures if they couldn’t get it up a few times a day and perform like a porn star in bed? Dare men admit that sex in their fifties wasn't the same as in their twenties? Why was that anything to be ashamed of? Wouldn't it help with the stereotypes we insist on associating with men?

  Were women failures if their hips, thighs, calves and bellies were too big or not curvy enough? What about their jobs and houses? Didn't that matter? What made the perfect woman? The more I thought about it the more confused I was.

  Two of Jerry’s teammates walked by, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Hiiiiyeee, Nickeeee,” one said.

  “Hi.” What the hell do you want, dude?

  “Whatcha doin’ this summer, Nickeeeeeeeeee?” The other asked.

  “Plenty,” I replied dully. Don’t be fooled. Those familiar faces . . . your sister . . . hurry up, close down.

  “I’m having a party tonight at my house. Why don’t you uh, bring your sweet . . .” he looked me up and down. "Bring your sweetness over and we can talk. I’ve got some weed for us. After a few hits we won’t need to talk.” He laughed, apparently very amused with himself.

  “Maybe.” No way in hell.

  They both walked away while looking back at me, smiling and whispering to each other, then moved on to other girls.

  “Nicky?” It was Terrie, one of my attractive high school classmates. She was thin, blonde, was the best player on our volleyball team, and was accepted to UC Santa Barbara. I'd played alongside her on the team, taking her direction and orders for four years. Other than that, we’d hardly spoken to each other.

  “What’s up, Terrie?”

  “So are you and Jerry seeing each other?” she asked, popping her gum.

  Damn, how do I respond? If another girl likes him, I shouldn’t get in his way, but . . . I’m just beginning to explore. Why should she get someone so innocent before I try him?

  “We’re starting to.” I closed my journal.

  “Really?” Her eyes opened wide. “While he’s been flirting with me? He's asked me out twice, you know. And rumor has it he’s been making moves with Sabrina, too. Better open your eyes, Nicky.” Her voice danced with the tease of trouble. “How come you two didn’t go out after prom, by the way?”

  Oh, damn! Is he doing all that?

  “Thanks for the tip.” I cut her off and ignored her jab, focusing on Jerry's game. He played shortstop and that afternoon he went two for four, with two RBI's (runs batted in). I enjoyed watching his agile body field baseballs, his hands wrap around the handle of the bat, and his legs in motion as he ran the bases. After the game was over, he walked to where I sat. Girls began adjusting their clothes, squirming in their seats watching him.

  “Good game, Jerry.” Terrie’s voice was sweet and girlish. Her low-cut T-shirt stretched tight across her breasts, and when she stood up, her shorts showed part of her ass.

  Weren’t you dressed that way just yesterday, Nick?

  “Thanks.” He gave her a quick look up and down and then turned back to me.

  Did you just show her you’re available?

  “The guys are going out, but let’s talk later?” he hinted.

  “I can’t tonight, but let's check in with each other on Friday." I fidgeted, feeling guilty with myself. "Does that work for you?”

  “Sure. Do you need a ride home?”

  “No, I brought Mom's car.” I dangled the keys.

  “Sweet, and uh . . .” He kissed me. “Sweet.”

  "Hey, are you and Terrie—"

  "Jerry!" One of his teammates yelled, interrupting my investigation. "Hurry up!"

  "I gotta go," he waved goodbye and jogged to his car.

  I drove home confused, as usual. On the one hand I relished delicious possibilities with Jerry. But an uneasiness settled in my gut—was he seeing other girls while pretending to be interested in me? Was I his safe person, like he was mine, while we dared to explore other people? If we could admit that, was there anything wrong with doing it?

  I looked forward to seeing Ryan later. But even then, although he'd promised he wasn't joking, the chance he'd show up was slim. There were so many opportunities at the ballpark, he could have reconsidered, and become distracted with the physical satisfaction he needed.

  The doubts pounded in my body.

  How could Ryan really resist all those women?

  How could I really trust Jerry?

  How could either of them trust me?

  I’d barely awakened to sex and already boys were the seventh wonder of the world.

  Did anyone really trust another person? How could they—how could I—really trust that what Ryan said was the truth?

  I didn’t believe or trust that anyone’s intentions were real.

  I needed proof.

/>   But that proof hadn’t revealed itself . . . yet.

  Chapter 32

  Macaroni and Cheese with Mom

  I parked the car in the garage and walked up our basement stairs into the kitchen. Mom set an empty pot on the stove and closed the cabinet door.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “You're going out again?”

  “Ryan’s coming to pick me up later.”

  “Do you think that’s smart?” she countered.

  “Um . . . not sure what you mean by that."

  “Don’t you think dating a man like him is too much for you?” She turned on the water at the sink faucet, filling a pot.

  “Why?”

  “The look on his face and in his eyes . . . he’s not kidding around." She offered her opinion freely that night, when not too many days before she didn't seem to care how I lived my life.

  “What makes you think that?”

  Come on, Nick. He just told you he loved you last night . . . you think his feelings are invisible?

  “He introduced himself to us last year, made sure he was invited to your party the other night—apparently to let us know you were both considering more. Nicky, I know those roses on your prom night weren’t from Jerry.”

  You know? How?

  "You never um . . . you never said anything about them."

  "Jerry can't afford a bouquet like that," she looked up at me.

  “I do like him, but so far, we’re just friends, Mom.”

  Well . . . not really, but I’m not telling you. You and Dad never checked in with me before. Suddenly you’re interested?

  “You’re playing with fire.” She opened the refrigerator door. “And by the look on your face, you seem okay with that.”

  Am I that transparent?

  “I like Ryan, but I like Jerry, too. In fact, I’d really like to date both of them.” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

  My mother wasn't smiling. My conversation not only put her on edge, it seemed I had also shocked her by my cavalier attitude. It was no longer up to me to reassure her that everything was okay. I wasn't the parent and I was tired of acting like one.