First Love

by G. L. Snodgrass

  Grant stood back watching, his eyes dancing with happiness. But that didn’t tell me anything. I’d seen that same look when they’d tied Parker’s shoelaces together.

  “Tara,” Coach said as he held out a box. “This is for you. The guys wanted you to have it.”

  My senses jumped to high alert as I examined the box, expecting it to explode into dust as soon as it touched my hands.

  Holding my breath, I slowly opened the edge, just to make sure a snake didn’t jump out at me. Once I determined that it looked innocent, I slowly removed the lid to find a brand new catcher’s mitt.

  “It’s for softball,” Jenkins said. “We all pitched in.”

  A tear formed in the corner of my eye as I removed the leather glove and examined it. It was almost a combination of a regular first baseman’s glove and a catchers mitt. A bigger pocket designed for a softball. The most beautiful thing ever made. With that strong leathery smell that meant baseball.

  They had done this for me?

  Swallowing hard, I tried to wipe away my tear without making a big deal of it. But I could see that they knew how strongly I was affected. Several of them looked away quickly or scuffed at the ground. No one wanted to acknowledge my emotions. Least of all me.

  These lug heads had bought me a gift. The most perfect gift in the world.

  “Thank you,” I said as I put it on and pounded my fist into the pocket, unable to look up and meet their eyes.

  “The only requirement,” Parker said. “You have to introduce us to your new teammates. College baseball chicks are hot.”

  Everyone laughed, and the tension was broken.

  “Okay, you clowns,” Coach Livingston said. “Hit the showers. Special Saturday practice tomorrow, noon, don’t be late or it’s laps until you drop.”

  The guys broke away, but several of them shot me quick smiles and approving nods before they left.

  How was this possible? I had corrected and challenged each of them over the last four years. Never taken any of their crap and dished out more than my fair share. I had always assumed they put up with it because of Grant. But for them to do this for me. It changed my entire perspective on guys.

  Coach Livingston smiled down and said, “Tara, you are probably the closest thing to a daughter I am ever going to have. So don’t screw this up. You show them what you can do.”

  I looked up at him and caught him fighting to hold back misty eyes.

  “I will,” I said. “I promise.”

  He nodded, then pulled me in for a quick hug before turning and joining his team headed back to the locker room.

  Grant had held back, watching me as if he expected me to erupt in anger or melt into a puddle of emotion. I raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking him if he had arranged this.

  He held up his hands and shook his head, “It was all their idea, they didn’t even come to me for a contribution.”

  I swallowed hard again as I fought to keep some semblance of maturity.

  “It was sweet. Very sweet,” I said, looking down at the new mitt in my hand.

  Grant smiled. “We can start breaking it in after dinner.”

  “Coach doesn’t want you throwing a softball, remember.”

  He shrugged. “What coach doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  Later that night, my new mitt sitting on my bedroom table, I opened my computer and started researching the Huskies. Watching YouTube videos. Memorizing the rule book, looking up the biographies of everyone associated with the program. Anything and everything I could find. If I didn’t make it, it wouldn’t be because of a lack of preparation.

  Of course, while all of this was going on, the big issue, the major event in my life was dancing out there on the horizon, approaching fast. Prom.

  It was like a myth had become reality. A reality that I could not ignore. Grant was taking me to the Prom. And everything had to be perfect. Of course, I couldn’t tell anyone. What if he changed his mind. Or what if they laughed at the idea of Grant taking me. I’d have died a thousand deaths.

  So I put it off until I couldn’t put it off any longer and finally broke down and told my mom.

  She was sitting at the kitchen table working through the bills. The words had no sooner left my mouth when she froze, pushed her glasses up to the top of her head, then turned to look at me as if I was not her daughter.

  “Grant asked you to the prom?” she said, obviously having as much trouble as me believing it.

  I nodded.

  A smile slowly broke across her face, growing larger and larger.

  “About time,” she said, “I was starting to wonder if that boy had a brain in his head.”

  “It’s not like that Mom,” I quickly informed her. “We are just going as friends. Nothing more. Both of us are so wrapped up in baseball stuff, and the year is ending…”

  She continued to smile at me and I could have sworn she didn’t hear a word I said.

  “A dress,” she said, “It needs to be perfect. The right color, the right style, perfect. And shoes of course. Hair, nails. Everything has to be perfect.”

  I sighed heavily and tried not to roll my eyes.

  “Mom, this isn’t a wedding dress. We’re just going to the prom.”

  She smiled and wiggled her eyebrows. “You’d be surprised how often the right prom dress leads to a wedding dress. I always thought Grant would make the perfect son-in-law.”

  “MOM!” I exclaimed. “It’s not like that.”

  She stood up and pulled me into a hug. “Maybe not, but a mother can dream.”

  Chapter Six

  Grant

  The world was whirling to a quick end. Graduation was approaching like a steam engine. Unstoppable. Soon, we’d all explode and shoot off like a thousand beams of light. Each headed in his or her own direction.

  The team was playing great, we’d make the playoffs. A dozen scouts had visited both from the pros and the colleges. And I still couldn’t make up my mind which way to go.

  Tara was no help. She refused to tell me what I should do. My guts were in constant turmoil as I tried to figure out my future.

  And to top it off, this whole prom thing was twisting me in a dozen different directions. I knew we were only going as friends. But what did that mean exactly? And how did I feel about this? How did Tara feel?

  Sighing again, I stared out my bedroom window across the short distance to Tara’s window. I silently wished she would open her blinds and come talk to me like we used to when we were kids. Staying way up past our bedtimes to share secrets and just talk across the open space between us.

  Tara had always been my center, my loadstone that always pointed the right direction.

  Grimacing at myself, I gave up on Tara coming to her window and went downstairs instead.

  Dad was in his recliner reading the paper. The sports page naturally. Mom sat on the couch flipping through a Readers Digest. Both of them smiled at me as I stepped into the living room.

  “Did you hear,” Dad said as he turned the page of the paper. “That Sinclair kid from Utah is going to pass on BYU and sign with the pros.”

  “He should go to college,” Mom said. They had been having this discussion for four years. Dad subtly pushing the professional ranks. Mom coming down hard for college.

  “You never know what will happen,” Mom continued. “It is best to always have something to fall back on.”

  Dad huffed and slowly shook his head, “The kid will get enough of a signing bonus that he can pay for college a dozen times over. Besides, just imagine on that Facebook thing, where they ask you for your occupation. He could list ‘Professional Baseball Player’ How great is that.”

  Mom rolled her eyes and shot him an angry look. I laughed to myself. I knew what that look meant. We would be having Brussel sprouts for dinner. Dad hated Brussel sprouts.”

  “Listen, I’m headed out to pick up my tux. Do you guys need anything while I’m out.”

  Mom shook her head while giving me
a quick smile. “I’m so happy you and Tara are going together.

  Dad scoffed and closed his paper while giving me a serious look. “You know I love Tara. She is a great girl. The best. But you need to focus on the future. What was it that scout told you last year. Most baseball careers are ruined before they even start. And it is usually because of whiskey, weight, or women. Young kids get away from home and establish a drinking problem, or put on to much weight, or get hooked up with the wrong woman.”

  “Tara is not the wrong woman,” I snapped at him.

  “No, No,” Dad said, “But you can’t focus on baseball if your mind is off thinking about a girl.”

  Mom jumped up and threw her magazine onto the couch, “George, you are an idiot,” she said as she stormed out of the room.

  Dad watched her leave and slowly shook his head, “I guess that means we are having Brussel sprouts with the meatloaf, you might want to stop by McDonald's and grab a burger or two.”

  I laughed. My parents loved each other. I wasn’t worried about them. But the thought of Tara kept jumping to the front of my mind. Was she the reason I was having such a hard time making up my mind?

  When I returned with my tux I hung it up in my closet and went to my window. Closing my eyes, I sent out a mind message wishing Tara would come to hers. Opening my eyes, I was surprised to see the corner of her blind being pulled to the side.

  Tara quickly opened her blind, then her window. I opened mine and leaned across the sill.

  “I was hoping you would do that,” I said.

  She smiled. That radiant smile that made me happy. Seeing Tara happy had always made me feel better about the world. Her hair was pushed back behind her ears instead of up in a ponytail. It looked softer somehow. Her eyes were larger, more alive and her lips looked fuller somehow. When had Tara changed so much and why hadn’t I seen it sooner.

  Shaking sudden thoughts from my head, I smiled back at her

  “I saw you come back with your Tux. Can I see it?” she asked.

  “What, I thought it was bad luck to be seen in a tux before the big night.”

  She laughed, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “You get your dress?” I asked. Her Mom had passed along the details to my Mom who had made sure the tie and pocket square would match. It was a thing, I guess. Sort of important. I had gone along and done what I was told. I’d learned long ago not to argue when it came to style and expectations.

  She nodded as she pressed her lips together. Okay, she doesn’t want to talk about her dress. That was the thing with Tara, I almost always knew what she was thinking, there were no games, no double meanings.

  “Are you ready for you Trigonometry final?” I asked, changing the subject. I did not want to upset her and make her leave, I wanted this conversation to last forever. At least all night, just like when we were kids.

  This might very well be the last time we were like this. Two people in our own world. There was no telling where we would be in a few months. And one thing I knew for sure. I would miss these moments with her more than anything in the world.

  For two hours, we sat there and talked. None of it important, all of it vital. Just stuff about school, memories, fun times and how things had changed over the years. Just life.

  As we talked, the night air turned cool with a hint of coming rain. Tara smiled as she tried to hide a yawn. Her eyes dancing.

  “Goodnight Tara,” I said. “See you in the morning.”

  “Goodnight Grant,” she answered giving me a strange look for some reason. Then the moment was broken and we both pulled back, closed our windows and lowered our blinds. Each of us returning to our individual lives.

  As the days passed, I noticed that Tara was becoming quieter, more withdrawn. I chalked it up to the tryouts. She must be tearing herself up inside. I knew her, she’d analyze, and map out every possible scenario. She’d worry that things might not go right then beat herself up if it didn’t work out.

  And if it did work out, she would pretend as if it wasn’t that important.

  Nothing I said seemed to make any difference.

  When I tried to assure her that she’d do all right, she’d looked at me strangely then shrugged it off like it was no big deal. But something was bothering her and I couldn’t figure it out.

  At last, the big day arrived, or should I say, the second biggest day. Tara’s tryouts tomorrow would be number one. Today, prom day, was slightly lower in importance.

  As I got ready, my stomach continued to flutter with an unfamiliar nervousness. Why? I asked myself. This was Tara, we were just going to a dance together. Why did it feel like I was being led to a volcano and someone was going to push me over the edge?

  Why had I asked her to the prom? I had been unable to understand it ever since those fateful words had left my mouth. What had pushed me to make such a stupid mistake?

  Shaking my head, I took a deep breath as I adjusted my bowtie and gave myself one last check. Everything seemed like it was supposed to. I reached up and patted my jacket. The tickets were there. I checked my wallet to make sure I had enough cash on hand. Grabbed my keys and started out.

  But I stopped myself and turned to look across at Tara’s window. Was she still getting ready, I wondered? What would she look like? Was she as nervous as I was? No way, I thought to myself. Tara didn’t get nervous about stuff like this.

  No, to her, we were just two people going to the same event together.

  Sighing, I pushed an unknown regret to the back of my mind and closed my door behind me. Let’s get this over with so I could get on with the rest of my life.

  .o0o.

  Tara

  I was a nervous wreck on the way to becoming a full-blown disaster. Everything was going wrong.

  “Mom,” I yelled, “Have you seen my shoe?”

  She stepped into my room shaking her head as she glanced at the one shoe I held in my hand. Heels, whoever invented heels should be shot at sunrise.

  “You wore them last night to break them in,” Mom said as she walked over to my bed, reached underneath and pulled out the missing shoe. Shaking her head, she gave me a look that let me know I was being ridiculous.

  Clenching my jaw, I tried to fight the rising fear in my stomach. It was just a dance, no big deal I told myself over and over. But it didn’t seem to work. Nothing I did could calm the rising panic building inside of me.

  “Calm down,” Mom said as she held my arms and examined me in my dress. “You look beautiful.”

  I sighed inside, Moms had to say things like that. But what would Grant think? That was the critical question. Was this dress too girly, too sexy? Was there even such as thing? Or did it look like I was trying to be sexy and failing miserably?

  “This is dumb,” I told her, “The whole prom thing. Why do people do this stuff.”

  Mom laughed as she told me to wait a moment and she’d be right back. When she returned she held a small case.

  “Your Dad’s grandmother’s pearls,” she said as she opened the case to remove a long string of white pearls. “She gave them to me on our wedding day and made me promise to make sure they were passed to our daughter when she was old enough to be trusted with them.”

  My heart broke into a dozen pieces when I saw the tear in the corner of my mother’s eye. What was she thinking at this moment, I wondered, what memories and regrets must she be experiencing.

  “Mom,” I whispered, unable to believe the emotions rushing through me.

  She smiled weakly and twirled her fingers for me to turn around so she could put them on.

  “I am proud of the woman you have become,” She said as she joined the clasp behind my neck. “So proud.”

  “Mom, don’t,” I said, “Or I’ll cry and ruin this make-up and I will never be able to fix it myself. I’ll end up walking into prom looking like a drunk raccoon.”

  She laughed, “Don’t you dare,” she said as she turned me around and looked me over once again for a final evalua
tion.

  I stood there until at last she smiled, nodded her approval, and stepped back.

  “What time is Grant supposed to be here?” she asked.

  “About now,” I said. The words were no sooner out of my mouth when our doorbell rang. My stomach jumped. I didn’t have butterflies. I had full on dragons dancing inside of me. How could I do this? What if Grant discovered how I felt about him? How could I keep it from him? He would see it in my eyes.

  Low lights, dancing together, romantic music. How could I keep my feeling from my eyes? Suddenly, this seemed like the most stupidest idea of all time.

  Mom laughed, “That is so Grant, always exactly on time.”

  “Mom, what do I do?” I asked with pure panic in my voice.

  She smiled sweetly. “I will go downstairs and let him in. You stay right here, make him wait a minute. Then you make your entrance.”

  “But that seems so contrived.”

  Mom laughed, “It’s not contrived, it’s drama.” She gave me one more supportive smile then left me to go answer the door. I swallowed over and over as I tried to make my mouth work. What would he think of me? Would he like it? What if he didn’t? What did I do then? How could I make it through the night if he thought I looked stupid?

  I heard Mom let Grant in the door and my nerves jumped.

  Gritting my teeth I ran my hands over my dress again, mostly to try and keep them from shaking. “It is now or never,” I whispered to myself. Taking a deep breath, I opened my bedroom door and stepped to the top of the stairs.

  Grant was standing at the bottom talking to my mom. For just the briefest moments I was able to see him without him knowing I was there. Tall, straight, devastatingly handsome. I mean in that rugged prince charming way that made my insides melt. The boy was too good to be true.

  Something must have drawn his attention to me, because he turned slowly, looked up the stairs and saw me.

  I will never forget the look of shock on his face. Not a bad shock. Not like he’d just seen a traffic accident as it occurred. More, a doubtful, unable to believe what he was seeing shock.

  The look of shock slowly changed as he ran his eyes over me. I knew Grant, I knew every expression he had ever had. That was a look of appreciation. That was the look of a guy who liked what he saw.