Forever . . .

by Judy Blume

  I sat up and hugged him. “Everything’s going to be fine . . . really.”

  8

  As soon as we got to the ski house Michael jumped out of the car and bombarded me with snowballs. There was beautiful fresh snow everywhere and miles and miles of woods, with icicles hanging from every tree. I ran from him, half-laughing and half-screaming, but he didn’t listen until Ike grabbed him by the arm and said, “Work now . . . play later.” He led Michael back to the car, opened the trunk and pointed to all the stuff that had to be lugged inside.

  I helped Sharon unpack the groceries. She was tall and thin, like Michael, with the same color hair, but the shape of her eyes made her look like she was squinting, even when she wasn’t. Ike was shorter than Sharon but very broad, with practically no neck. He had a bald spot on the top of his head. I wondered if it will grow until he’s totally bald and if it does, will Sharon care? How would I feel if Michael was bald? I’m not sure. I love his hair—the color, the way it feels, the smell of it. I’d be disappointed if it all fell out.

  After everything was put away in the kitchen I explored the house. There was one big room with a gray stone fireplace, a beat-up shaggy rug, and a bunch of pillows scattered on the floor. The kitchen opened right into it. Then there was Ike and Sharon’s bedroom. They had a private bath. Upstairs there were two more bedrooms, connected by another bathroom, which meant Michael and I would be sharing. I was glad I’d been honest with him when he picked me up that afternoon. I’d led him into the kitchen while my mother was talking to Sharon and Ike in the living room.

  “I have something to tell you,” I said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “I got my period this morning.”

  “Oh.”

  “A week early.”

  “Oh.”

  “My mother says it probably happened because I was so excited . . . about going away and all . . . I just thought you should know.”

  “You’re right.”

  “In case I have to make stops on the drive up . . .”

  “You don’t feel sick or anything, do you?”

  “No, I’m fine . . . just disappointed . . . I hope you’re not.”

  “Hell, no . . . why should I be disappointed as long as you can still come with us,” he’d said, taking my hand.

  When Michael and Ike had finished unloading the car and we were all unpacked, the four of us sat around the fire, sipping mugs of steaming coffee laced with brandy. Sharon told me all about her job. She’s an anthropologist, working for the Museum of Natural History, but she hopes to go on a field trip soon, maybe this summer. When I heard that I asked her if she’d be a speaker at our Career Day program in April, because most kids don’t get to meet anthropologists every day. Sharon said she’d like that a lot. My guidance counselor, Mrs. Handelsman, will be pleased since she’s having trouble finding enough interesting speakers, especially young women.

  We were all tired from the trip and when Sharon started yawning the rest of us joined her. “Let’s hit the sack,” Ike said, and he and Sharon said goodnight and went to their room.

  Michael and I looked at each other.

  “You can use the bathroom first,” he told me.

  “Okay.”

  We went upstairs. “I’ll wake you at 7:30 so we can get an early start.”

  “Okay . . . fine.”

  He kissed me on the cheek. “Just yell when you’re done in the bathroom.”

  “I will.”

  “Well . . . goodnight.”

  “Goodnight . . .” I put my forehead against his chest. “You’re sure you’re not mad?”

  “No . . . come on, Kath . . . it’s okay. Get a good night’s sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I nodded, then went to my room while Michael went to his. I felt like crying. Our goodnight hadn’t been at all the way I’d wanted it. I put on my long white nightgown. It’s the prettiest one I own, made out of soft brushed nylon, with angel sleeves and tiny buttons shaped like hearts. I was hoping Michael would see me in it.

  I used the bathroom, called, “Finished . . .” and got into bed. I listened as Michael ran the water and flushed the toilet. When it was quiet I called out again. “Goodnight, Michael . . .”

  “Kath . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I come in for a second?”

  “Sure.” I sat up in bed and hugged the covers to me.

  Michael was wearing baggy blue pajamas. He sat down on the bed and I put my arms around him and a funny sound came out of his throat and we kissed.

  “Your sister . . .” I muttered, when we came up for a breath.

  “Don’t worry.”

  We kissed again. Then Michael held me away and said, “I wasn’t going to touch you tonight . . . just to prove I didn’t get you up here for sex.”

  “I’d have been disappointed,” I told him. “I even wore my best nightgown. Do you like it?”

  “It covers too much of you but it’s nice and soft.” Michael reached over and turned out the lamp on the night table. “How do you work these crazy buttons?” he asked, trying to undo my nightgown.

  I unbuttoned them myself.

  “I want to feel you against me,” Michael said and he took off the top of his pajamas. Then he lay down and put his arms around me.

  “Oh . . . it feels nice this way,” I whispered, as my hands wandered across his naked shoulders and down his back.

  Michael kissed me and reached down between my legs but I caught his hand and moved it away. “No . . . not tonight . . .”

  “I don’t care.”

  “But I do.” It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want him to touch me, because I did—it was just that I didn’t think it was a good idea for either one of us to get carried away. “Michael . . . don’t get too worked up . . . okay . . .”

  “I’m already worked up.”

  He didn’t have to tell me.

  We kissed one more time and then he touched my face gently and said, “I love you, Katherine. I really mean it . . . I love you.”

  I could have said it back to him right away. I was thinking it all along. I was thinking, I love you, Michael. But can you really love someone you’ve seen just nineteen times in your life?

  “I’ve never said that before,” he told me.

  “I’m glad.”

  “I want to hold you all night.”

  “I want you to.”

  We slept with our arms around each other till Ike’s voice woke us up in the morning.

  9

  It was a sunny cold day, but not windy. Michael said it was perfect for skiing. I got dressed in my long underwear, turtleneck shirt, ski pants, sweater, two pairs of socks and snow boots. I could hardly move.

  Sharon was still asleep but Ike had breakfast on the table—cereal, eggs and buns. “No raisins,” Michael said, passing the plate to me.

  “How’d you know I don’t like raisins?”

  “New Year’s Day . . . remember?”

  “Oh, that . . .” I said, picturing myself at Sybil’s table, picking raisins out of a bun. “You have a good memory.”

  “For some things,” Michael said and he smiled.

  After breakfast Ike gave Michael the car keys and told him to drive me into town to rent my equipment. “Their prices are better than at the lodge. With a little luck Sharon should be ready to go when you get back.”

  We went to the Alpine Ski Shop. When Michael was finally satisfied that I had the right size boots he showed me how to work the buckles and also how to walk in them without killing myself, which wasn’t easy.

  Sharon was dressed and ready to go when we got back to the house. From there it was just a short ride to the slopes. They had season tickets and Michael bought mine. When I saw the prices I said, “I never knew skiing was such an expensive sport.”

  “That’s its only drawback,” Michael told me.

  “Let’s go to the Ladies’ Room before we get our skis on,” Sharon said. “It’s such a pain to hav
e to come in before lunch.”

  I followed her into the lodge and downstairs. We both used the toilets. While we were washing our hands Sharon said that the reason so many beginners hurt themselves is because they try to learn to ski themselves. “I just want you to know that Michael is a qualified instructor . . . otherwise Ike and I would insist that you take class lessons.”

  “He’s really that good?”

  “Just wait till you see him in action.”

  I smiled. Sharon caught on and laughed. “I meant skiing action,” she said.

  “I know it.”

  “My brother’s a very nice boy, isn’t he?”

  “I think so.”

  “But he seems so . . . well . . . vulnerable.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Oh . . . he’s so open . . . I wouldn’t want to see him get hurt.”

  She didn’t look at me when she said that. She looked into the mirror and rubbed some kind of ointment on her lips. I didn’t know what to say to her after that. Did she think Michael would get hurt because of me? Did she think I was just using him or what?

  “Well . . . let’s get going.” Sharon put the tube of ointment into her pocket. “And Katherine . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry if I sounded like a mother hen just now . . . I’ve really got to stop worrying about Michael. After all, he’s all grown up, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” I said, “he is.” It’s funny that Sharon worries about Michael in the same way that my father worries about me.

  We went upstairs, found Michael and Ike waiting outside, and arranged to meet at the lodge at noon. Sharon and Ike went off to ski the more difficult slopes.

  Michael got me onto my skis. They were very short and hardly stuck out at all behind me. He said it’s much easier to learn with the short kind and as I improve I’ll get longer ones. I didn’t think that would be likely.

  “First one foot and then the other,” Michael said, as I tried to walk. But I got tangled up and tripped over myself. Both of us were laughing by then. “Let the ski slide across the snow . . . don’t try to raise it.”

  “Oh . . . like this?” I asked.

  “Very good,” he said, taking my arm.

  Somehow we made it to the chairlift. “Just grab the side and sit down when the lift comes,” Michael told me. “Ready . . . now!” I sat down and was surprised that I landed in the chair and that Michael was right beside me. Before I had a chance to think about it we were going up.

  Michael pulled the safety bar down, looked at me and said, “You’re going to love it.”

  I nodded and tried to smile back.

  “We’re getting off at the beginners’ slope so you don’t have to worry.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “You look scared to death.”

  “Don’t be silly . . . I can’t wait to learn to ski.” But I was thinking, we’re going up so high . . . how will I ever get down? My father was right . . . I am going to break a leg . . . I am going to fall off this chairlift and break a leg . . . maybe even two . . . probably two legs and an arm . . . possibly more than that even.

  “Getting off is tricky,” Michael said and he flipped the safety bar up, leaving me free to fall off in mid-air. “Just do what I do . . . point your skis up.”

  I did what he said.

  “That’s it . . . now get ready . . . we’re going to stand up in a minute and then just let the lift push you away . . . got it?” Michael grabbed me but I forgot everything he’d said and he had to push me out of the way or the lift would have whacked me in the head and naturally when he pushed me like that I fell over.

  “Damn!”

  Michael laughed.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “You better get used to it. You’re going to be on the ground a lot today, but cheer up . . . tomorrow you’ll be an expert.”

  “Ha!”

  He helped me to my feet. My nose was running. “Here . . .” he said, pulling a tissue out of his pocket.

  I blew my nose.

  “I forgot to tell you . . . everybody’s nose runs when they ski.”

  “Swell.”

  “Ready?”

  “Are you sure I’m going to be able to do this?”

  “Didn’t you tell me how coordinated you are . . . a tennis whiz . . . a modern dance freak . . .”

  “I never said whiz and I certainly never said freak!”

  “Relax . . . anybody can learn to ski.”

  “I hope so. Just one simple question before we start, okay?”

  “Sure . . . go ahead.”

  “How am I going to get down the mountain?”

  “You’re going to ski down, Kath.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  Michael was right. I spent more time on the ground than on my feet on my first try. But by noon I’d been up and down the beginners’ slope three times. On my third try I didn’t even fall when I got off the chairlift and if I wasn’t skiing exactly, well, at least I was doing something.

  Sharon and Ike were already at the lodge, saving a table for lunch. “Hey . . . how’d it go?” Ike asked.

  “You wouldn’t believe how good she’s doing,” Michael told them. “I’m really proud of her!”

  “Did you enjoy it?” Sharon asked.

  “Yes, it’s fun . . . it’s a very good feeling.”

  “Invigorating,” Ike said.

  “That’s it . . . invigorating.”

  “And it builds up a good appetite,” Sharon said. “I’m starving . . .”

  “Let’s get on line,” Michael said. “I don’t want to waste a lot of time in here . . . I want to get Kath back on the slopes.”

  After lunch we tried a different trail. “Skis together,” Michael said, “let them run across the slope . . . glide . . . glide . . . good . . . okay . . . now, kick your heels down the mountain . . . that’s it . . . great . . .”

  “I did it,” I called. “I actually stopped!”

  “Yeah . . . now you won’t have to sit down every time you lose your balance.”

  I scooped up some snow and threw it at him, but he ducked and laughed.

  We skied until 4:00, when the lifts closed. “I’ve had the best time,” I told Michael as he helped me out of my bindings. “I really loved it.”

  “I’m glad,” he said. “You’re not a bad student either . . . considering.”

  “Considering what?”

  “Oh, just considering.” He kissed me on the nose.

  I had no idea how sore my muscles were until we got back to the house. Michael had to pull me out of the car. “I hurt all over,” I said. “My legs don’t want to hold me up.”

  “A bath will help,” Sharon told me. “Soak a long time and keep adding hot water . . . there’s plenty of time for a nap too. We don’t eat until seven.”

  I bathed, then fell asleep and didn’t wake up until Michael whispered in my ear. “Kath . . . time for dinner . . .”

  “Mmmmm . . .” I rolled over.

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “You need some help getting up?”

  “Mmmmm . . .” I opened my eyes. His face was next to mine.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi . . .” I pulled him down and held him close.

  “Later . . . it’s time to get up now.”

  “No . . . not yet.”

  “I’ll have to help you if you can’t do it yourself . . .”

  “Mmmmm . . . soon . . .”

  Michael got off the bed and I closed my eyes again. I heard the water running in the bathroom. Then he was back, standing over me, calling, “Kath . . .” and when I opened my eyes he was holding a glass of water over my head, threatening.

  “You wouldn’t . . .” I cried, jumping out of bed.

  “Now that you’re up I won’t have to,” he told me, “but next time you don’t get a second chance.”

  After dinner we sat around the fire and talked for a while, then Michael got up and went t
o the window. “The stars are out,” he said. “You want to take a walk?” My insides still turn over when he looks at me that certain way.

  I got my boots and jacket.

  “Don’t get frostbitten,” Sharon called after us.

  As soon as we were outside and away from the house we kissed. “I had to get out of there,” Michael told me. “All I could think about was being alone with you.”

  “I know,” I said, “. . . same here.”

  We held hands as we walked. “I’ve never seen so many stars,” I said.

  “That’s because it’s so dark and clear . . . no city lights, no traffic, no pollution . . .”

  “I love to look at stars.”

  “I love to look at you.”

  “Oh, Michael . . . come on . . .” I gave him a friendly punch.

  When we got back to the house Sharon and Ike were stretched out in front of the fire smoking grass. “Hi,” Sharon said. “Did you freeze your tails off?”

  “Almost,” I told her. I was really surprised to see Sharon smoking. I thought she was so straight, especially after that business about Michael being vulnerable and getting hurt.

  “Your cheeks are bright red,” Ike told me.

  “They always get that way.”

  “I like them,” Michael said, putting his hand against my face.

  Ike held the joint to his lips and took a long drag. Then he offered it to Michael.

  “You want to?” Michael asked me.

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  “We’ll skip it,” Michael told Ike, taking my hand. “Katherine’s very tired.”

  “Goodnight,” I said, as Michael and I headed upstairs.

  “Get a good night’s sleep,” Sharon called.

  “We will.”

  Michael lay down on the bed in my room.

  “I thought you don’t smoke,” I said.

  “I don’t, anymore . . . except with them, sometimes . . .”

  “Oh.” I walked over to the window and opened it a little. I like plenty of fresh air in my bedroom. “I’ve only tried it once . . . and nothing good happened . . . I felt sick to my stomach.”

  “It can be like that the first time.”

  “Besides,” I said, going to the dresser and picking up my hairbrush, “I don’t like to lose control of myself.” I was thinking about later, wondering if he would get into bed with me again. Last night was so nice.