When We First Met

by Norma Fox Mazer

  Yesterday when I walked into school, you were right there. You shouldn’t look at me like that! I didn’t make up these rules; it’s just the way things worked out.

  Today I saw you down the hall ahead of me. You knew I was behind you, but you didn’t turn. I don’t blame you, what’s the use, I won’t speak to you. No, I refuse, because it will only start up again if I do. This way is better, Rob, I speak to you in my mind and you can’t answer, I say what I want without having to watch for those sensitive spots. If we were together, it would be impossible for me to mention my sister, or you your mother.… No, this way I have some hope that I’ll get over you; get you out of my system, as they say. Yes, get over this—this whatever it is … Can it be love? Can it really be love? Yes, it’s just what’s called “love at first sight,” but now I’ve had my second and third and even more sights of you and I still am in this stupefied state … yes, that’s the truth of it.…

  You see, Rob, how I can say all sorts of things in my head that I wouldn’t ever say out loud. Not because I’m ashamed, but simply because I’m the sort of person who doesn’t say everything aloud. And you’re the sort of person, I think, who says a great deal, who’s emotional and full of feeling and not reluctant at all to let it out. We’re quite different. Does that mean we’re really perfect for each other? I shouldn’t even think things like that! Dangerous.…

  “Are you busy?” he was saying on the phone. “I thought we could go for a walk—”

  “No.” A flood of words in her head and now this stingy “no.” Her mother was ironing in the dining room, but that wasn’t the only reason for her brevity. If once she began talking to him, let herself go, how would she ever stop?

  “How about a bike ride?”

  “No.”

  “Drive in the country?”

  “Don’t, please—”

  “I want to see you.”

  No reply.

  “Do you want to see me at all? I mean, even a little bit? You do, don’t you? Tell the truth!”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I knew you did. Jenny …”

  “Yes?”

  “Just wanted to say your name. You know what I thought when I first saw you? That day in the auditorium? I thought, Oh, God, who is that sweet, beautiful girl? What did you think when you first saw me?”

  “I can’t say now.”

  “Is there someone there who you don’t want to hear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Otherwise you would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

  “Look,” she said softly, “there’s no point—”

  “Jenny, don’t keep saying that. There is a point—us. I refuse to believe—”

  She broke in. “Why are you calling me today? All week we didn’t even say hello.”

  “I was waiting for you to speak first,” he said.

  “I won’t. Because we just can’t—”

  “We can,” he said. “We can, we can, we will.”

  “You are so stubborn,” she said. And was glad for his stubbornness, glad it was equal to her own.

  Chapter 8

  Sunday, Rob was waiting for Jenny when she got off work.

  “Hello.” He took the handlebars of her bike and wheeled it. “Are you going to tell me to go away?”

  “Would it do any good?”

  “None at all.”

  “Then I won’t say it.”

  “Round one for me.”

  She cut her eyes at him. “Oh, so this is a contest.”

  “But there’s going to be two winners,” he said quickly, laughing at her.

  “Are you always this sure you’re right?”

  Before he could answer, a car pulled up ahead of them, the door opened, and something was thrown out on the shoulder of the road. Rob and Jenny just stared for a moment, then saw it was a kitten.

  “Oh, hey,” Jenny yelled as the car pulled away. The two of them ran toward the kitten, the bike bouncing clumsily between them. “Drop it, drop the bike,” Jenny said. The kitten staggered toward the middle of the road. Rob got to it a moment before Jenny and picked it up. A car passed, beeping its horn at them. The kitten was tiny, all white, except for its ears which were little chocolate peaks.

  “It’s a baby, just a baby,” Jenny said as the kitten clawed into Rob’s arm. “But I bet it knows what happened. Do you think so?”

  “Definitely.” Rob petted the kitten. “Animals sense all kinds of things.”

  “What are we going to do with it?” Jenny said, picking up the bike.

  “Take it to the ASPCA, I guess.”

  “You know what happens to most of the animals there? Especially kittens. There are so many of them, they keep them for a while, and then—”

  “You’re right, you’re right. We won’t do that. Poor thing, it’s shivering.”

  “I’ll make it a bed in my saddle bag.” She lined the bag with her uniform. “Come on, baby.” But the kitten, digging in, flared its ears and refused to be detached from Rob’s arm. “Calm down, you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” She ran her hand down the kitten’s milky back. “We’ve got to do something with it. I’d take it home, I’d love to, but my mother can’t even be in the same room with a cat without her face puffing up.”

  “I’ll take it home with me, then,” Rob said. “Would you like that, Snowball?”

  Jenny groaned. “Not Snowball, please.”

  “What’s wrong with Snowball?”

  “Oh, nothing, I suppose, only I like more dignified names for animals. Why stick silly names on them that you wouldn’t put on a person?”

  “You name him, then.”

  Jenny considered. “What would you think of Carl? It was my grandfather’s name.”

  “I like it.” Rob put the kitten on his shoulder inside his jacket, with only its face showing. “What’s little Carl doing?”

  “Getting ready to sleep, I think.” She rubbed the kitten’s nose. “He is sweet.”

  “You’ll have to come visit little Carl,” Rob said. “You’re responsible for him, too, you know. We saved him together.”

  “Mmm …” Jenny said.

  “Mmm, what?”

  “Rob, what are we doing? What are we saying? You know I won’t come see Carl. I can’t go to your house. This is crazy. I thought we settled—”

  “We didn’t settle anything,” he said. “We never agreed on anything. All we’ve done is not talk for a week. That’s not settling things.”

  “But nothing has changed,” Jenny said.

  “How can you say that?” Rob rubbed the kitten’s ears. “Here we have Carl, our first child. He wants his parents to love each other.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes. “Rob, that’s either not very funny, or icky. Sentimental.”

  “Aren’t you sentimental?”

  “No, I don’t think so, not at all. It doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. I just think there’s a place for them.”

  “I bet you don’t even cry in movies,” he said.

  “Do you?”

  “My eyes get red, but I try not to let the tears fall. Why are you walking so far away from me? Come closer, I have something to tell you. I’ve been thinking about us. A lot. Jenny, all we have to do is forget our last names.”

  She understood. Become last-nameless. Drop Pennoyer, drop Montana. Blot out their families, their connection to their families; embark on their journey together as souls alone. Two atoms in space, meeting, falling into the same orbit.

  She looked at him. “It can’t really be that simple.”

  “Why not? Look, let’s begin right now. Until we get to your house, you’re Jenny and I’m Rob. No other names. No other people. Only the two of us. Here we are, we’ve met, and as soon as I looked at you, I thought, ‘Who is that sweet, beautiful girl?’ And you thought …”

  How could she resist? She didn’t want to resist. And it was only for the moment, just playing, pretending like two kids, that they could have what they weren’t supposed to have. �
��I thought, ‘Who is he? He’s got the face of an angel!’”

  “I don’t know what to say to that.” He pushed the bike with her. “Is that what you really thought?” She nodded. “I don’t think I can live up to that,” he said. “Now I want to know things about you. Start at the beginning.”

  “I was born on a dark and stormy night …”

  “No names, but all the details, please.”

  “… in a strange place called a hospital. I took my first step at the age of nine months, and my first word was—”

  “Wait, wait, you’re going too fast. When were you born?”

  “August fifteenth.”

  “Now there is a coincidence for you! I’m January fifteenth. Coincidences come in threes, so look sharp for the next two.”

  It was this way, light and playful, all the way to her house. As they turned onto Pittmann, a few drops of rain fell.

  “God is cooperating tonight,” Rob said. “He knows you like walking in the rain, and He knows I want you to be happy so you won’t go in your house and leave me the way you did last week.”

  She didn’t want to leave him. And yet, where was she heading if she stayed? It was unreal to pretend. No, it was impossible for them to be friends. She’d known it from the moment she heard his name. Impossible. The word separated itself in her mind, the “im” so small, the “possible” so large. “Where are your rainbow suspenders?” she said. “You’re not wearing them tonight.”

  “Where are your sneakers with holes in them? Where are your braids? I like your braids.”

  Holding Carl he followed her as she walked the bike to the back of the house and put it into the garage. “This is the car my father is working on for me,” she said, turning on the light and indicating the black Dodge Dart. “I’m paying for it while he works on it.” She got behind the wheel and started steering.

  “What are you doing?” Rob said, getting in on the passenger side.

  Jenny gave an embarrassed snicker. “Playing car. Where would you like to go, sir? Jennifer’s Chauffeur Service at your service.”

  They leaned against each other, shoulders touching. “What’s your dad doing with the car?” His head turned; his words were in her hair.

  “Fixing the rusty parts … fenders and …” He was so close. How good his skin smelled. “I should go in,” she said in a faint voice.

  “Not yet.”

  She stroked the cat’s tiny head. “Rob …”

  “Jenny? We don’t need last names, no last names, just us.”

  Just us. Could they? Could they really? She thought of her sister. His mother, her mother. She roused herself. What are you thinking of, Jenny? “I’m going in. I really have to—”

  “Don’t go, Jenny!” He gripped her hands. “It’s just us.”

  Just us. Oh, why not? Would it be so wrong? How could something she wanted so much be wrong? She freed her hand. “I’m going in,” she said. Then, looking at him: “Wait. I’ll be right back.”

  Chapter 9

  “Hi, Dad,” Jenny said. Her father was watching a special news report on TV. Dan Rather looked worriedly into their living room.

  “Just get home from work?” He leaned forward, paying attention to Dan Rather.

  She heard her mother and Ethel talking in the bathroom. “Hi,” she called, going past to the kitchen. She made a sandwich, poured a glass of milk. So, she had made a decision. After all her arguments, her hesitations, her insistence that the past lay between them like a wall. After all her “we can’ts,” all her “it’s impossibles.” What had happened to all that resolution? Rob. It came down to that. Him. Rob.

  Her mother walked in carrying Ethel. “Want to smell my hair?” Ethel asked. She was in pajamas.

  Jenny obliged. “Smells yummy.” Was she being disloyal to her family? But what if it was just for a bit … who knew how long they would last? No, be honest. There was something real there, already something deep. More than a “crush.”

  Ethel sat down at the table. “Can I have marsh-mallows in my hot chocolate?”

  She was going out to walk with Rob. Did that mean she was choosing him over her family? How melodramatic. Why make such a big thing of it? Why not just say she was choosing to let their friendship grow, to see where it would lead them.

  She rinsed her plate and glass. “I’m going out for a walk with”—she barely hesitated—“with a friend.”

  If her mother were to look out the window now she’d see Rob standing outside, waiting, but it wouldn’t mean anything to her. Not unless Jenny said, That’s Rob Montana. She wouldn’t say it. No last names. Just us. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Who did you say you were going out with?”

  “Oh … a friend from school.”

  “Anyone I know?” Her mother handed Ethel a cup. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  “No, it’s … Robin.” She put an apple in her pocket and went out.

  The rain never really came. A spattering, then it stopped, then another spattering. Jenny and Rob walked, holding hands and talking. “This is the beginning,” Rob said.

  “Let’s always be honest with each other,” Jenny said.

  “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “I know. I mean it in a different way. I mean no little lies, not even little nice things to make each other feel better. Do you think we can be that way?”

  “We can try,” he said. Carl rode inside his jacket and Jenny told him about the real Carl, her grandfather. How, when she was small, he took her to the park every day. How, for so long, he was the center of her life. “I never missed a day without seeing him.” The bad time came when she was thirteen. “He was eighty-three, getting kind of cranky, I suppose, and my parents thought—well, it was complicated. My brother Vince came home married and we were awfully crowded. My parents got the idea the best thing would be for Grandpa to go into a home. He didn’t want that, so he left. And I left with him.”

  “You ran away?”

  “I suppose you could put it that way. I think that’s the way my parents felt, but tell me this: How can an eighty-three-year-old man run away from home? Anyway, we went to the farm that had been his grandparents’ place, and we tried to live there. One night, it was autumn, getting cold.” She steadied her voice. “He went outside and I found him in the morning under the apple tree. He was dead. They said he died of exposure.”

  “Did he get confused? You know, that age—”

  “I don’t think so. I thought about that a lot. I remember once he said something to me about how every living thing wanted its bit of space—well, him, too. He couldn’t see living in a home. That just wasn’t living to him.”

  “So he was brave,” Rob said.

  “Yes, that’s it exactly.”

  He stroked her hand, and she was grateful and comforted because he had understood, and because he let them walk in silence for a while. And she knew he had really been listening to her, had heard even beyond her words, because the next thing he said was about some friends of his he wanted her to meet.

  “They’re in their seventies, and they’re wonderful. They’re always busy and always together. Just the way I think people should be when they get old. She’s Margie and he’s Art. They were my sister’s friends first.”

  If they were careful they could talk about their families. She spoke of her baby sister, her two brothers; he of his father—“He was always hugging me when I was little”—and his sister, who sang with a band, Sandy Big Feet. “They’re trying so hard to make it. They play any gigs they can get, anywhere, the sleaziest, smallest club. They’d play a Boy Scout picnic if they were asked. All the time we were growing up, the moment Jade walked in the house, she’d turn on the radio, listen for hours. She knows thousands of songs.”

  They talked about their plans for the future. “Don’t laugh,” he said. “I want to be a kindergarten teacher.”

  “Why would I laugh?”

  “You know, a guy wanting to be a kiddie teacher. Some people think th
at’s a little strange. But I think little kids are neat. They’re still free spirits and a person could really influence them for good.”

  “It’s funny,” she said, “you love kids—well, I do, too—but I really love old people. I love their faces and hands especially.”

  He wanted to know what she intended to do. Work with old people, of course, she said. And she wanted to know if he’d had a lot of girl friends. Then he wanted to know why she wanted to know that. And she said she was just curious. And he said, Would she be jealous if he told her he’d had dozens? She denied this vehemently in one breath and said “Yes!” in the next.

  “Okay, what would you think if I said—none?”

  “I’d think you were a liar! I’d think you already forgot that we said we’d be honest.”

  “Okay, the truth.” He held up a single finger.

  “One? Only one girl friend? What was her name?”

  “Roberta.”

  “Rob and Roberta? I don’t believe this.”

  “My eighth-grade love. Roberta Whizninski. She gave me a kiss behind her father’s barbershop. I wanted more, more, more. Poor Roberta. I was always trying to grab kisses off her. One day she said, Bug off! Wow. She just pushed me away. Bug off! I was crushed. After that I liked other girls, but somehow … I remember this one time I was going down the street and I saw a girl I liked coming toward me. Patti Fletcher. It was summer, a hot summer day; I was wearing sandals and cut-offs. As soon as I see Patti, I start strutting, sticking out my chest, swinging my arms, the whole bit. Throwing back my shoulders. Patti’s smiling. Fantastic! She’s smiling at me, I can’t believe it. She’s never even given me the time of day and here she comes, big terrific grin for me. And I’m looking at her and thinking, Oh, oh! I manage to say, ‘Hi, Patti,’ and she says, ‘Hi,’ but it’s sort of choked because by then she’s laughing really hard. Why? I could not figure it out. Then on the way home, some kid yells at me, ‘Hey, you’re unzipped!’ You know what, Jenny? I didn’t go to school for a week.”

  “Oh, poor Rob! Oh, that’s terrible! That’s a terrible story.”