Falling for You

by Lisa Schroeder

  Minutes passed. Maybe hours. I don’t know. Time and everything else disappeared. What I couldn’t express in words, I expressed in my touch and in my kisses. Here, I could be honest, in a way I couldn’t be with my words.

  You matter to me, Leo. I want to know you, and for you to know me. I want to tell you everything. You’d understand, wouldn’t you? You’re not the type to judge. You’re too good for that.

  You’re too good.

  You’re too good.

  You’re too good. For me.

  I pulled away, trying to catch my breath.

  What was I doing? Had I lost my freaking mind?

  “I have to go,” I said as I grabbed my purse and opened the door.

  “Wait, Rae, hold on.” He tried to pull me back, but I pulled harder and got out.

  “Rae!” he called into the night air. “Are you okay? I want to see you again. Can we, I mean, would you go out with me again soon?”

  He was so sweet, so adorable. And we were good together. I knew that. But none of it mattered. None of it changed the fact that my life was a train wreck, and he needed more drama in his life as much as he needed to work another forty hours a week. Instead of asking to see me again, he should have been yelling “Titanic” so I’d stay far, far away from him.

  I did what I needed to do. For him. I shook my head no as tears spilled from my eyes.

  And then I got in my truck and drove away.

  from bad to worse

  MOM AND I STAYED AT THE MOTEL FOR A WEEK. MOM WAS AFRAID to go to work, afraid Dean might find her there and be pissed off that she left. I assured her he wouldn’t do anything in public. And if he did harass her, she should call the police. I knew she didn’t want to go back to her job. She would have rather stayed in the motel, curled up on the bed, watching television. But I told her she had no choice. It was either go to work or live on the street. We had to save our money and find a new place to live.

  So every afternoon Mom got on the bus and went to work. One of the ladies she worked the swing shift with, Carol, gave her a ride to the motel after the store closed at nine and they’d finished their closing procedures. Mom had a new routine, and although I knew we had a long way to go, it felt like we were on the right track to a new and improved life without Dean.

  At school, final exams for the first semester gave me a good reason to keep my distance from everyone. I just didn’t have it in me to play the part of happy Rae. I spent all my spare time in the library, studying. And no one questioned it. Finals week is the one week where people understand if you walk around like an academic robot, even if it’s not really like you.

  If only I’d been able to study the way I pretended to be studying. It was so hard to focus. All I could think about was Mom. Dean. Money. A new place to live. And Leo.

  Thankfully, Nathan kept his distance. In fact, I didn’t see him once that entire week. And with everything else that was going on, he was the least of my worries.

  Somehow I made it through and passed all my tests. But my biggest accomplishment was keeping Mom from completely falling apart. One minute she’d be praising the heavens we’d gotten away from Dean, while the next she’d be a sobbing mess, telling me how much she missed him.

  What little money I had kept us afloat. Barely. But we made it work. We used the motel coffee cups for dishes, filling them with dry cereal in the morning and Top Ramen at night. I finally broke down and went to the office at school to get the paperwork for free lunches. Mom and I filled them out one night while we watched Dear John with Channing Tatum.

  “You’d be better off if I died,” she said as we watched a sad scene toward the end.

  “Mom. Don’t talk like that.”

  She looked at me, tears in her eyes. “I don’t deserve you, Rae. I know that. I just hope someday you can forgive me for everything.”

  It was probably the closest she’d ever come to apologizing. It’d have to do. As we watched the last scene, I took her hand in mine and held it. When the credits rolled, I got up to wash my face and get ready for bed.

  “You might not believe me,” she said as I stood in the bathroom, “but I do love you.” She paused. “I always have. Even if I never show it.”

  And then I had tears in my eyes.

  At work I stayed busy and avoided the coffee shop. I should have learned my lesson with Nathan. Me and boys who want to be my boyfriend do not mix. Now I’d ruined a perfectly good friendship. Every time I started to think about Leo, it felt as if a huge rock sat on top of my chest. It hurt. Not only losing him, but also knowing I’d hurt him.

  It’d been easier with Nathan. We never really clicked. Not in the ways that matter. But with Leo, everything seemed right. A part of me wanted to confide in him—not just tell him bits and pieces, but all of it. Every time I thought about doing that, though, I’d think of his grandma in the hospital. He didn’t need another worry. It’d only bring him down. It was better this way. For him, at least.

  • • •

  Monday night, after we’d been in the motel for over a week, I waited up for Mom. I wrote a new poem and read a little more of Eyes Like Mine. I thought of Leo, telling me he liked happy endings. I was beginning to completely doubt their existence.

  Around nine Alix called me.

  “Girl, you are like a ghost,” she said. “Where have you been and what’s been going on with you?”

  I chewed on my pen, looking over the poem I’d written in my journal.

  “Been dealing with some family stuff I don’t really want to talk about.”

  “You okay?” she asked with concern in her voice.

  “Yeah. I’m okay.”

  “Nathan been bothering you?”

  “Surprisingly, no. Whatever you guys said to him that night I called and asked you to find him, it must have worked.”

  “You know Santiago, he has a way with words. Hey, how was your date with Leo? And what about that, anyway, Rayanna Lynch? I thought you two were just friends.”

  “Well, because I’m an idiot, we’re nothing now.”

  She groaned. “That is exactly why you shouldn’t date a friend.”

  I put my head in my hand. “I know. I know!”

  “So let me guess. It didn’t go well and now it’s all, like, awkward between you guys.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So do you like him, like him? Or are you hoping to go back to just being friends?”

  What did I want? “I don’t know. I mean, yeah, I like him. A lot.”

  “Then maybe you should try again.”

  I felt so torn. Part of me wanted to and the other part wanted to stay far away, because that way I couldn’t mess things up for him.

  We said good-bye shortly after that, promising to hang out sometime soon. When it reached midnight and Mom still wasn’t home, I was worried. So I went out looking for her. I drove to Rite Aid, but the store was dark and the parking lot was empty. Next I drove past our house. It was dark. I didn’t know where else to look. Mom wasn’t the type to go to a bar. At least she’d better not be, after I’d drilled it into her head all week that we had to save every single penny if we wanted to avoid a shelter or the street.

  I finally decided she must have gone home with some guy who could help her forget all her troubles for a few hours. So with nothing else to do but wait, I went back to the hotel and tried to sleep.

  It didn’t go very well.

  I skipped school on Tuesday and waited all day for her to come home.

  She never did.

  I called Nina and told her I’d be late for work. Then I hung out in the Rite Aid parking lot, waiting for Mom to show up for work.

  She never did.

  poetry journal—january

  STONE

  Let my heart

  turn to

  stone.

  Maybe then

  I can sleep

  without

  nightmares.

  Maybe then

  I can eat

 
without

  a stomachache.

  Maybe then

  I can read

  without fear

  of an unhappy ending.

  Take the knife

  out of my heart

  and, please,

  let it

  turn to

  stone.

  the hospital—8:56 p.m.

  “Rae, can you hear me?”

  Yes. I can hear you, Mom.

  “The doctors said everything went well.

  “Now it’s up to you.

  “Honey, you rest and get strong.

  “That’s all you need to do.

  “It’d be real nice if—can you open your eyes for me?

  “Let me know you’re going to be all right?

  “Please?”

  Silence.

  “It’s okay. I’ll be here. Take your time.

  “We’ll all be here.

  “Lots of people have gathered over at the school, to hold an all-night vigil for you. I’m going over there to tell them you made it through the surgery.

  “But I’ll be back.

  “I promise, I’m not leaving you, Rae. Never again.

  “You have my word.”

  two months earlier

  painful

  FOR ALMOST A MONTH I WAS ON MY OWN.

  According to Carol, Dean had come to the store at closing time that Monday night. He’d brought Mom a box of her favorite cookies and apologized for treating her so badly. After they’d locked up the store, Carol told Dean he needed to go, because she needed to get home and needed to get Mom home too.

  But Dean clung to Mom, squeezing her tightly against him, kissing her cheek and telling her how much he’d missed her. When he asked her if she missed him, Carol said, she’d nodded and started crying.

  Carol tried to convince Mom to ask Dean to come back the next day, when they could talk things out over lunch or a cup of coffee. But Dean sweet-talked her into leaving with him. Carol felt bad for me. I knew she’d tried her best to keep Mom away from him. It wasn’t her fault. Dean had a hold on my mother that seemed impossible to break.

  Carol said she’d left a note for me with the night manager of our hotel, letting me know my mom had gone off with Dean, but I never got it. I found out what’d happened on Wednesday, when I showed up at Rite Aid again.

  After Mom disappeared, I checked the house multiple times each day, before and after school, and a couple of times each evening. But it stayed dark. I finally checked out of the motel and moved back into the house. It was scary living there by myself, but what else could I do? I didn’t have enough money to stay in the motel. Besides, if the two of them came back, I wanted to be there.

  The day I moved back home, I checked the mailbox. It contained only a few days’ worth of mail, which surprised me. Dean must have come home while we were at the motel. And if he’d been back before, then most likely he’d be back again.

  The only question was—when?

  The weeks before Valentine’s Day were insanely busy at work. In a way, I was glad. My brain got a break from the constant worrying. Nina put me in charge of decorating the shop with as many hearts, cupids, and teddy bears as we could find.

  At school, when the big day arrived, it seemed everyone had been bitten by the lovebug except me. I went to the benches before the bell rang and found myself sitting alone. After all, there were Candygrams to open and lockers to decorate.

  Mrs. Knight, the assistant principal, walked by with a bunch of newspapers in her arms. “Would you like a copy?” she asked me.

  “I’d love one.”

  I said thank you as I took it, and then immediately flipped it open to find the poetry pages. There were about the same number of anonymous poems as last time. The poems with names attached were, once again, less personal. There were poems about cupcakes, about coffee, about stars, and about kittens. In contrast, the poetry that people had submitted anonymously was generally darker. Much more personal. There were poems about the pain of losing someone, the pain of watching your parents split up, the pain of struggling to fit in.

  So much pain.

  As I sat there reading, something didn’t feel right. What was it? Weren’t all these poems a good thing? Hadn’t Ms. Bloodsaw said I had started a poetry revolution?

  And yet, there were people around me right now who hurt. And I couldn’t do a single thing about it, because I didn’t know who they were.

  That’s when it hit me. We were sending a message that said, Fine, if you want to cry, just make sure no one can see you.

  Your pain is not something I want to see.

  It hit me like a punch in the stomach.

  I stood up and rushed to Ms. Bloodsaw’s classroom.

  “Hi, Rae,” she said when she saw me. “What can I do for you?”

  “You have to stop allowing anonymous poetry,” I said. “Please. I think it’s sending a bad message.”

  She gave me a funny look. “I don’t understand. You’re the one that started it.”

  “I know. But what if kids feel like they have to hide when things are bad? What if they should get help and they don’t?”

  Ms. Bloodsaw shook her head. “I’m not quite following you, Rae. It’s just poetry. If it gives kids the freedom to share their feelings without being ridiculed, certainly that’s a good thing, yes?”

  “Ridiculed?” I asked.

  “Some teens can be very cruel. I’m sure you know that. If everyone had to give their name, they might get picked on. Or they wouldn’t submit anything in the first place. Isn’t that why you wanted to submit anonymously, after all?”

  Was she right? “I don’t know. The issues we have to deal with are personal, and, yeah, it can be hard to share them with others, but maybe we should. Maybe we could help each other, you know? Because the thing is, not everyone is cruel.” I paused. “I’m not. You’re not.”

  The bell rang. In a minute students would start streaming in.

  She stood up. “Rae, I think you’re overthinking this.” She reached over and gently squeezed my arm. “Feel free to put your name on your next poem if you’d like. That’s your choice. But I will still allow the anonymous submissions.”

  Felicia bounced in then, carrying a bunch of Candygrams. She was one of the members of the Key Club, which sponsored the Valentine’s Day fund-raiser.

  I gave her a puzzled look as she handed one to me. “Do you know who it’s from?” She shook her head. “Are you sure it’s for me? Because I don’t think anyone—”

  “Yes,” she said, interrupting me. “I’m positive. Your name is right there. See?”

  She pointed to the name on the folded note, which was attached to a box of candy hearts. “I gotta go. Lots of deliveries to make and I’m only supposed to miss twenty minutes of class.”

  Maybe it was from Alix. Girls sent them to their best friends all the time. Although Alix and I had discussed it, and we both agreed it was kind of stupid. Why use Valentine’s Day to tell your best friend she matters? You should say that anytime, for any reason—and on more than one day a year.

  I opened the note slowly, my eyes scanning the signature first. My heart sank to my stomach.

  Rae,

  I miss you. Every day, I miss you. So much has happened that I want to tell you about. Can we talk? Maybe have coffee or get together at the Mushroom? Hey, remember our first date there? It was so much fun.

  I’d really love to see you. Even if it’s just as friends. To talk. You said we could still be friends. Remember?

  Happy Valentine’s Day.

  Love,

  Nathan

  Scars

  by Rae Lynch

  When a wound

  is fresh,

  my pen is

  the ointment

  and my paper

  the gauze.

  What a surprise.

  I’m not the only one.

  We write

  to remind ourselves

  we have a voice.

>   That what we

  feel,

  think,

  worry about,

  matters.

  Scars form

  and we try

  to hide them,

  as if they define

  who we are.

  They don’t.

  Like it or not,

  hurting is a part

  of the human experience.

  Maybe we shouldn’t

  be so afraid

  to let the world

  see our scars.

  Sharing brings people

  together.

  It’s secrecy that can

  tear people

  apart.

  special delivery #3

  ON THE WAY TO WORK, I THOUGHT ABOUT HOW NATHAN HAD reached out to me. Was I being a hypocrite, saying one thing but doing another? Hey, everyone, share your pain because maybe we can help each other, but sorry, Nathan, that doesn’t apply to you.

  No, I’d given him lots of chances, and each time, he’d blown it. I couldn’t be there for him the way he wanted me to be. I just couldn’t. Like Leo had said, I needed to look out for myself. And Nathan needed to find someone else to talk to. I had to get him to see that.

  In the parking lot at work, I noticed Leo’s white Honda, and I felt a sting in my heart. I hadn’t talked to him since our date, the night everything fell apart. He’d come around the flower shop a couple of times, once to borrow something and a second time to order some festive Valentine’s Day arrangements for the coffee shop. I didn’t help him either time. I’d let Spencer do it. I think Spence figured out something had happened between us. But he didn’t ask, because Spencer’s cool like that.

  Mister gave me his usual happy greeting when I walked through the door of Full Bloom. “Aw, look at you, Mister,” I said, admiring his heart-covered bandanna. “Even you’re celebrating Valentine’s Day.”