I vaguely know who he is but have no idea why he would tell my brother that. I am flattered, of course, being the vain person that I am. However, since I am new at the school, pretty much every guy wants to date me. It isn’t vanity for me to think that part, though. It is a reality of small town living.
That day on the bus I pay special attention when we near his stop. I want to see if he will make eye contact with me after telling my brother something so brazen. Unfortunately, my curious nature would be denied; he doesn’t get on the bus. I don’t dare ask anyone where he might be less I be accused of liking him. I may not know him very well, but I knew enough about his type. Bad boy. As if to prove my thoughts just, one of my friends offers up intelligence as to Michael’s whereabouts. He had been suspended from school for fighting.
Later that day, while cleaning up at the barn, I hear my brother on the phone in the tack room. That’s weird. Who would he be talking to? It better not be a customer. I open the tack room, and his guilty gaze meets mine. “Jerome, who are you on the phone with?” I snap.
He has the nerve to laugh and say, “It’s for you.”
“I didn’t hear it ring,” I state as I move toward the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, Lorraina. Do you know who this is?” a velvety voice asks.
All I can think is that it’s a boy and my parents will beat me senseless if they find out I am talking to a boy. “Um…no,” I utter.
“It’s Mike. Mike Bang from the bus.”
“How did you get our number?” I demand. I look over my shoulder for my brother, but he is long gone. Little rat!
“You do realize that your grandparents’ business phone is in the book, right?” Before I can offer a retort, he explains, “I had a friend ask your brother to call me actually. I thought it would be better if he just handed you the phone and I was on it rather than you having to decide if and when you would ever get around to calling me.”
“Oh, really?” I laugh, “And why would I ever want to call you?”
“Well, how else are you going to get to know your future husband?”
I hear myself laugh a flirty little laugh, but it is bravado for sure. I don’t know what game he was playing at, but I do know I don’t want any part of it. “Well, it was nice talking to you, Michael; but I have to go and get my chores done.”
“That has a nice ring to it—Michael,” he rolls it around on his tongue as if savoring the thing.
“Well, that is your name, right?!” I bite out; his voice had taken on a new quality—a dangerous one.
“Yeah, but everyone usually calls me Mike.”
“Oh, then. I guess I should call you Mike.” I mentally shrug. I’ve just never been one for nicknames.
“No, Lorraina,” he replies thoughtfully. “You should call me Michael.”
Confused, I ask, “Why’s that?”
“Because you’re not everyone. See ya tomorrow, Lorraina.”
That was the whole of our first conversation. Short, simple, to the point. Names, brief introductions, marriage proposal. I really was intrigued even though I knew I shouldn’t be. I also very much liked the attention that he was giving me. That feeling would wear off quickly enough, though.
I look back over my journaling and realize that I’d written my memories in present tense. I puzzle over this for a moment, and then I recall the conversation that took place after I had spoken to Michael.
After that disturbing conversation, I had noticed my dad sitting on the front porch alone, so I decided to ask him about Michael and his family since they seemed to be friends. I made my way out and struck up conversation on an unrelated topic. Finally, I meandered enough to find out what I really wanted to know.
Surprisingly, it seemed Michael was off limits to me. I was told that in no uncertain terms the whole Bang family was trash and that I’d better steer clear. If I was caught so much as talking to Michael, I would get the whooping of my life. I knew he meant it too. Daddy never was one for empty threats.
What I didn’t get, at that time, was that it was OK for my dad to be friends with them, but I couldn’t be. He was guilty of the same sins as Michael’s father, yet we were to hold those against him and his family but not my dad and his. What made me any better than Michael?
I throw my pen down as I realize that I get it now, though. Even though my dad acted like trash and lived in poverty, he had a respectable family name. We were able to cross that almost tangible line. My grandparents on both sides of my family were respected and that courtesy was extended to me, ensuring I never really fit in with anyone. I always felt like an impostor.
I had always felt like everyone knew exactly the kind of person my dad was even though I never understood why nobody seemed to hold it against me like it was held against Michael and others like us. That was just it, though. Because of our name, no matter what my dad did, he would never really be held accountable.
Chapter Five
If Only I Had Listened in the Silence
I look back over my journal entry and smile. It had been so long since I did any writing or journaling. It feels amazing as I put the pen to paper, get out of my head, and pour out my heart. As I pause from my writing, I’m surprised to feel this level of relief over this little purge and something else—longing. I’ve always known that I loved Michael, but I’d managed to convince myself that it was a friendly, or even brotherly, love. The feelings that are threatening to consume me now are anything but platonic. I am overtaken with the need to see him and see him soon. Aah…It’s only three o’clock now. He won’t be at Mona’s until around seven this evening.
As I start to imagine seeing him, nagging doubts bombard me. What if he doesn’t even recognize me? That would be humiliating. “And, you are?” What if I see him and this was nothing more than my romantic fancy taking over and I have to deal with the loss of something that never was meant to be? I may be completely romanticizing him and our past relationship. Even more likely, what if he has a girlfriend? If the girl at Mona’s was any indication of the way girls were overtly responding to him nowadays, he probably does, indeed, have someone. What if I go there and lay my heart bare and he turns on me? Our last encounter was truly awful. He may still be holding a grudge.
I focus on my journal again and grimace as I remember how humiliated and angered I was about his own declaration of love.
Michael and I had been talking for many weeks now. We still didn’t sit together on the bus or even acknowledge each other. I was petrified at the thought of my dad finding out that we were friends. Every night, I would sneak up to the barn and call him. I always let the phone ring once to signal him. He would run over to it, and I would call right back. If his parents answered the phone, they might wonder who I was and trouble would most definitely ensue. We felt very safe with our little ritual.
Our phone conversations lasted for what seemed like hours, but I’m sure that I never found that much time away from my parents. We would talk about everything. He would play me songs from the radio, read me poetry, strum me songs on his guitar. Most importantly, he would listen. I had never felt like anyone had ever listened to me. It was an amazing feeling, proven by his asking me probing questions and offering me the sagest advice.
He hadn’t confessed his love to me or told me that he was going to marry me since our very first conversation. I began to believe that I’d imagined it or that he had gotten to know me and changed his mind. The latter was the most probable. One night, he played back Poison’s “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.” I liked the song. It was beautiful in its simplicity. I expressed that thought only to be subjected to a fifteen-minute lecture on the intricacies of the song and what Brett really meant when he was writing it.
I reveled in his insightful analysis of one of Billboard’s Hot 100. He was too cute talking about getting what your heart desires only to realize that it doesn’t come without a price. “Even the most beautiful flower, the rose,” he argued, “has the thorn that makes it imperfect.” I argu
ed that the thorns were what made the rose so beautiful. Without the thorn, the rose wouldn’t be as magnificent as it was. He agreed that I made a fair point. He pontificated upon several more points, and then he strummed his heart-wrenching acoustic version of the song. I was so impressed. The song had only been popular for a few weeks.
It was the loveliest thing I’d ever heard, I thought to myself. Better than the glam rocker’s version even. Instead of admitting that, I say, “Cool. You learned to play that really fast.”
“Yeah,” he says, “the song means a lot to me. It expresses how I feel about a number of situations.”
“Oh…well.” I fidget, beginning to feel uncomfortable. “My parents are sure to be wondering about me by now. I’d better go.”
“OK. Good night, Lorraina. Sleep well…”
“Yep. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”
As the bus bumps along the road the next morning, I have my nose buried in a book. I register some out of character early morning laughter but ignore it. It grows louder. I, then, began to hear my name being whispered. “What the hell?!” I think. There’s no way they’re talking about me. Why would they be? When we come to a stop in front of Michael’s house, my friend hops up in the seat to see what all the commotion is about.
She flops back down on the seat and looks at me with a horrified expression. Her mouth forms a wide “0” but nothing comes out.
“Well, what?” I hiss.
By this time everyone is standing and staring and laughing at something or someone in front of the bus. I’m too scared to look. Unwillingly, I glance out and see my name spray painted on the road in front of the bus with hearts all around it. It takes up the entire two-lane road and is prominently displayed just beyond where the bus comes to a stop. OH! MY! GOD! I’M! GOING! TO! KILL! HIM!
Of course, he doesn’t get on the bus. He’s suspended again. The bus driver doesn’t realize this, though, and sits and honks and waits for him and calls even more attention to the fact that my name is branded on the road by a boy who everyone considers a lost cause. A boy who my dad would kill if he thought I was interested in. A boy I want to kill for instituting my public ignominy.
On the way home that day, I notice my name is completely covered up with fresh black spray paint; nevertheless, it’s too late. Everyone still gets a real big kick out of it at my expense, of course. I will probably never live this down, I think. I’ll probably never have a decent boyfriend. I’m forever tainted.
The evening is one of my longest ever. My anger fuels my resolve to get my chores done at a breakneck pace. As soon as I am able, I slip off to the barn.
“Hello?” he asks all innocently.
“Don’t hello me. What the hell were you thinking?!?!” I bark.
“Well, I know it wasn’t my best work; but you weren’t even a little impressed?” He asks disbelievingly.
“Um…Let’s see…NO! Not even a little!” I am shouting at this point. I hear the horses whining at my outburst. I take a deep breath and release it. “What were you thinking, Michael?” I ask more calmly. “My dad takes that road to the store at least twice a day. What if he would have seen it? He would’ve killed us both.” I wince as I recall my dad’s last lecture on my treasured virginity. It’s not something that I want to revisit. Ever.
He takes a steadying breath and replies as if he is speaking to a mental patient who is on the verge of cracking, “Lorraina, I’ve been so patient. I’ve been giving you time to adjust to the facts. The time for me to push the subject along was imminent.”
“You didn’t push. You gave it a violent shove!”
I hear him gearing up his well planned argument “That’s purely semantics, I—”
“Just stop,” I beg. I know I will get nowhere with him as I don’t even know the definition of the word semantics. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t even pronounce it properly if asked even though he’s just said it. “Michael, I just…If we can’t—”
“Don’t start that again. You know that you and I will never be just anything. I’ve made my feelings on the subject very clear,” he replies matter-of-factly.
“Well, let me make myself clear, MIKE,” I wield his name like a weapon. I hear an angry rush of breath, and I can practically feel him glaring through the phone line at me. “I will never…You will never…We will NEVER be anything other than friends.”
Instead of fighting with me, he replies flippantly, “You know what they say—Never say never, babe.” Surprise, surprise. His cockiness rears its ugly head. He’s not in the least bit deterred.
“I gotta go. Bye.” I hang up without waiting for his response. There was no talking any sense to him. He would NEVER listen to reason. Well, he would have to cope with silence then.
I ran from the tack room, throwing open the door leading to the horses’ stalls in my anger. The horses jump to attention and whinny. I feel immediately contrite. I force myself to calm down. I locate Shadow, go to her, and lay my head against hers. I feel tears burn the back of my eyelids. I just don’t understand. I love Michael, as a friend; but that’s never going to be good enough for him. Why does he keep pushing me?
Resolved to make him realize that he couldn’t behave like that with his grand gestures, I didn’t acknowledge him for two months. I hated it but felt like I didn’t have any other choice. He tried passing me messages through my brothers. I wouldn’t listen. He tried my friends. I wouldn’t listen. He even conned our bus driver into talking to me, which was awkward at best. I wouldn’t listen or respond. Radio silence. It was the longest two months of my life, and I almost gave in so many times. Then I would remind myself that I didn’t have any other choice.
Finally, he seemed like he was forgetting about me. He no longer stared holes in the back of my head. He no longer sent messages. He no longer made any grand gestures. So how do I react?
I call him, of course. His mom actually answers. I freeze for a moment. “May I speak to Micha—Mike, please?” I stutter over the name that only I call him.
“Yeah,” she mutters. “Michael!” she bellows. Hmm…interesting. I guess I’m not the only who calls him that.
“Hello?”
“Hi.”
“Umm…Hi?”
Uh oh! He sounds…indifferent. My heart protests violently. Anger, I can handle. Even obsession, yes. Indifference, big fat NO! “I’m sorry,” I hear myself saying. Well, I certainly didn’t plan to say that. What am I sorry for exactly?!
“I love you, Lorraina. You’re gonna have to accept that because I’m not going away. As much as you think that’s what you want, it’s not going to happen.”
I can’t believe he is leading with that. What the hell?! “Michael, I—” I, what? I don’t even know. All I know is that I’ve been miserable without him. I can’t tell him that so instead I ask, “Have you learned any new songs?”
He laughs a strained, terse laugh. “Yeah. Have you heard Bon Jovi’s ‘Living on a Prayer’?”
“Yes. I love it. I’m sure you play it even better than they do.” I hear the pride in my voice. He’s so very talented. I know exactly what his response to my flattery will be.
“Whatever.”
Yep, just like I thought. Until confronted with praise, he’s extremely cocky. I roll my eyes. “Michael, I swear…” and I chuckle at his true humility lurking behind that arrogant exterior.
“What a lovely sound.”
“Huh? What sound?”
“Your laughter. I didn’t realize exactly how…starved for it I was. I’ll try not to offend you any time soon so that I can have some more of that.” His voice had taken on a husky tone, but what he’d said was incredibly sensitive.
Of course, I inadvertently oblige him with more laughter. I’m taking the proverbial giggling schoolgirl to a whole new level. I roll my eyes at myself now. How does he do this to me?!
“Right on cue,” he taunts.
Before I can get irritated, he launches into his version of Bon Jovi’s latest hit. Just as I predicted, i
t’s beautiful. He has to stop and restart a couple of times, but it sounds perfect to me.
Chapter Six
The Best Laid Plans
I open one eye and check my clock. Ugh…it’s already eight. I can’t believe my mom let me sleep in. I stumble into the bathroom and wash my face. When I pop back up, I survey myself in the mirror. I look different than I looked last time I looked into this mirror. My hair is longer, almost to my waist. It’s darker blonde too. Probably from a lack of sun. Yep, I look paler. My skin seems to be glowing though. I hadn’t noticed that before. Oh, I need makeup. I honestly can’t remember the last time I wore any. My mom would have a cow. I snicker. She wouldn’t agree with many of my choices of late. I don’t even know that I have any friends besides Ginny at the moment. I’d become a recluse, a pariah, a hermit.
I try to recall the last time I went out, relaxed, and enjoyed myself. It was disastrous. I wasn’t ready. Hmm…I’m long overdue, and I feel ready. Suddenly, I’m very happy that I have several hours before I plan to be at Mona’s. Nothing in my closet is good enough for our reunion. I wonder if Joe would let me borrow some money. Probably. Can’t hurt to ask. I finish with my bathroom duties and make my way to the kitchen to find my mom.
She has her back to me, leaning over to wash the dishes. She looks really thin but beautiful. She hears me and turns. Her smile is brilliant. “Morning. Did I wake you up?”
“Oh, no. It was past time for me to get up. I couldn’t sleep last night, though.”
“Huh…Excited about Christmas?”
Yep, excited but not about Christmas. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Well, I got your sheets and comforters washed. I had Weldon put them back in the car for you. I didn’t touch your pillows, though.”
“Oh, thank you. I was putting off doing that. That’s why they were still in the car. I didn’t even realize that I’d thrown my pillows in the car too.”
Every Rose Page 3
