Читать книгу A World Without You - A. S. Peterson - Страница 10

4

Patience

Scott always thought of himself as a patient person, especially when he had to deal with a demanding mother, a group of quick-tempered friends, and a longtime-sister-like neighbor who enjoyed irritating him as much as possible. However, Scott had to admit Tuesday and Wednesday crawled incredibly slowly. He kept himself busy to stifle his excitement about seeing the girl at the park on Thursday. He thought about her constantly. To pass his time and when he was in the privacy of his own bedroom, he wrote a poetic list of names that reminded him of her.

You Are…

Angelica—An angel

Blossom—A budding woman

Crystal—A sparkling treasure

Melody—A musical lyric

Pearl—A valued gem

Prudence—A sensible girl

Tiara—A princess

When Scott finished, he placed his notebook in his desk drawer, satisfied he had captured the qualities of the girl inside the park. He closed his desk drawer as his mom gave a quick knock on his bedroom door, entered, and placed a stack of clothes on his bed. “These clothes need to be put away, and, Scott, put them away before you go to bed. I don’t want to see them on your chair tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” Scott replied, watching her leave. As much as his friends tested his patience, his mom could spark his irritation faster than anyone of them.

On Tuesday morning, Scott gritted his teeth after hearing his mom remind him, for the umpteenth time, to wash his breakfast dishes before leaving the kitchen. While he wiped his clean dish and placed it inside the cupboard, he contemplated the reason for her repetitive reminders.

His patience ran thinner a few minutes later when she reminded him, once again, to fix the door handle at Felicia’s house before playing football.

“I heard you the first time,” Scott replied abruptly, walking over to Megan who sat in her highchair. His sister’s bib, face, and hands were a mess of pancake and syrup. Blond locks of her hair were plastered to the side of her face. He leaned down carefully and kissed the top of her head. Megan’s hand immediately shot out, grabbing a handful of his hair.

Scott groaned. The substance of her breakfast was now stuck to the strands of his hair. “Megan, now look what you’ve done.” His mom’s laughter echoed inside the room. He narrowed his eyes. “Sure, that makes you laugh.”

“It was so funny.”

“I’m not cutting my hair. Wait until it really grows.”

His mom frowned. “What do you mean? You’re not growing it any longer.”

Scott shrugged. “I’m thinking about letting it grow all the way down my back.”

His mom scowled as he left the room, grinning. Scott headed to the bathroom and cleaned the syrup out of his hair. He grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste, squeezing the paste from the bottom and adjusted the contents evenly toward the top of the tube before returning it to the second shelf inside the medicine cabinet. While he brushed his teeth, he eyed his brown shoulder-length hair. Should he actually let it grow longer?

It’s something to think about, he told himself as he rinsed his mouth, turned off the bathroom light, walked down the hallway, and exited the house. He grabbed his toolbox from their one-car garage and walked next-door. Determined to complete his job before his football game, he jogged up the three concrete steps and pressed the doorbell.

Felicia opened the door, looking unhappy as she scrunched up her face in a pouting expression. She hurried back to their dated blue sectional couch in her living room and crossed her arms over her chest. “My mom will be here shortly.”

“Okay,” Scott replied, ignoring her moodiness.

He shut the door and crossed the living room where he had spent many childhood days playing childish games with Felicia. On the five-foot mantle above the fireplace, framed pictures had been placed carefully. There were baby pictures of Felicia and him lying on the floor beside one another. Pictures of them standing on the front steps on their first day of school each year. Pictures of them playing in the front yard, in the backyard, and inside the house. The most recent picture had been taken last February when they went to the Sweetheart Dance.

Scott picked up that picture. He studied his navy-blue three-piece suit and Felicia’s tomato colored gown. Their arms were linked as they smiled into the camera. “I haven’t seen this picture yet.”

Felicia sulked. “I don’t know why we went to the Sweetheart Dance. We’re not even sweethearts.”

“You wanted to go.”

“I went because you wanted to go.”

“Yeah, right,” Scott replied as he returned the picture. He looked at his neighbor. “What’s your problem?”

Felicia wrinkled her forehead. “Because of you, I’m grounded from The Parlor for two nights.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. She always blamed him for one thing or another. “What’d I do now?”

“You made me yell out about French-kissing Randy. My mom got mad, so now, I’m grounded.”

Before Scott could respond, Janet Woods, a petite woman in her early forties, entered the living room. Like her daughter, she had long eyelashes, keen eyes, and a strong jaw which expressed her activeness and enthusiasm for life. She wore her nursing uniform. Since her husband’s death, she returned to her career as a registered nurse and was employed at North Hillside Hospital. This week, she was working the day shift.

She smiled warmly. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. I just told your mom about the door handle last night,”

“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to fix it right now,” Scott replied. Felicia’s mom was like a second mother to him. For the first eight years of his life, she babysat him during the day while his mother worked to help pay for their house bill. Scott would fix anything for Felicia’s mom. He wanted to follow his dad’s example and help Felicia and her mother as much as he could.

Janet creased her brows in a teasing manner. “Does your eagerness have anything to do with your football game?”

Scott patted his stomach. “I need to keep myself fit.”

She smiled. “Well, you better get started then.” She moved into the kitchen and gestured at the kitchen door that led to the backyard. “The key won’t turn the lock anymore.”

Scott set his small toolbox on the white linoleum floor, took the key from Janet Woods, and placed it inside the lock. When the key wouldn’t turn, he said, “The lock probably needs cleaning. I’m out of solvent, so I’ll run to the hardware store and buy some.”

“Here’s some money,” Janet said as she handed Scott a ten-dollar bill that he shoved into his pocket. As usual, she said, “Keep the change.”

Scott headed for the business center, taking the same route he had taken with Felicia last night. After purchasing cleaning solvent at Orson’s Hardware Store, he chatted with Mr. Orson, a friendly man in his late sixties.

Twenty minutes later, Scott returned to his neighbor’s house. Mrs. Woods’s car was gone. Scott didn’t bother to knock. He entered the house and walked straight to the kitchen. He removed the lock, soaked the parts in the cleaning solvent, and scrubbed the surfaces with a toothbrush. When the tumbler was thoroughly dry, he lubricated the components.

Several minutes before ten, he tightened the final screw of the door handle and pocketed the five-dollar bill Janet had left on the kitchen counter for him. He hurried through the living room, anxious to get to the football game. Felicia was still sitting on the couch, watching television and pouting with her arms crossed around her chest.

*****

After another physical football game, Scott and his friends rested on the freshly cut lawn with a slight grin on their faces. The last fifteen minutes of the game had ended more like rugby, throwing lateral passes while running down the field.

A gentle breeze penetrated through their sweat-soaked T-shirts and cooled them. Scott looked over at Brett and Lance, curious as to how they had fared with Destiny and Margie. He didn’t ask. Neither did anyone else. The boys all waited for Karl who always asked the questions. They never had to wait long.

Karl leaned forward. “How did it go with the girls last night?”

Brett and Lance had offended the girls. Brett had been too anxious to get his hands all over Destiny’s lower half as they necked on the grassy lawn inside the park. She slapped him, calling him a jerk and then stormed off. Faring no better, Lance had killed a spider while he sat on top the picnic table talking with Margie. That single act sent Margie into a rage. She yelled that if everyone kept killing insects, they’d soon become extinct.

The guys laughed, except for Troy who frowned. “Dude, why’d you do that? You know how much Margie cares about the animals.”

Lance glared at him. “If you think you could do better, why don’t you make a move for her?”

Troy shook his head. The idea of talking to a girl caused the sensation of a cardiac arrest. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“Dude, you’re useless. First, you ask to walk her home and then you swing by the park and see what she lets you do.”

Unable to resist a joke, Karl replied, “And if you do, make sure you don’t kill a spider.”

Troy growled, “I wouldn’t do that to her.”

Adam plucked a blade of grass and stuck it into his mouth as he frowned at Brett. “Dude, you should have told Destiny that her long beautiful flowing hair cascades down her back and her breasts are the perfect size and shape for her delicate body.” As he spoke, his hands showed the curvature of her body, emphasizing the location of her breasts.

Derek grinned. “Dude, we know what you’ve been thinking about.”

“Yeah, but that’s as far as that will go,” Adam replied.

Brett narrowed his eyes. Adam’s graceful words annoyed him. He wished he could recite poetic words as easily as Scott and Adam did. He snarled, “Maybe if you brushed your hair some time, you might get somewhere with a girl.”

Adam smoothed down his reddish-blond hair. It was clean but it was always a mess. He rarely took the time to brush his hair, even when he attended school. His excuse was that he was in a hurry, although he moved slower than a sloth.

“I don’t think my hair is the problem.”

No one made a comment. The guys knew how sensitive Adam was about his acne.

Later that evening at The Parlor, Karl’s eyes followed Scott as he made his way to the table and took the seat beside Brett. “Dude, why do you always talk to Charlie?”

Scott creased his brows, disliking when Karl’s questions were directed at him. “Why don’t you ever talk to him?”

Karl shook his head impatiently. “Why do you always answer a question with another question? Can’t you just answer a simple question?”

Tapping his thumb on the table, Scott looked at Charlie who had witnessed his buddy’s face blown off in Nam while they both raised their head over a trench. To this day, Charlie still woke up yelling, drenched with sweat from his experiences in Vietnam.

Scott studied Karl’s impatient expression. “If it was a simple question, I’d answer it.”

Karl’s left nostril flared as he turned his attention to Matt who didn’t have a problem answering questions and didn’t speak in riddles. Karl retorted, “To get an answer from you takes too much of an effort.”

Derek grinned with superiority. “Not for me, but then I’m not pushy.”

Karl replied, “You’re pretty damn pushy in football.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “You want a scholarship, don’t you?”

The girls arrived at the right moment, easing the tension between the boys. Destiny surprised Scott by sitting beside him again but on his opposite side, away from Brett. To his disappointment, Margie also sat beside him.

Destiny bent forward and whispered, “Last night, while I was lying in bed, it hit me. It was you who told Brett what to say. Don’t bother denying it because I remember him hesitating and glancing behind me before he made a comment.”

Scott looked at his hands instead of down her low-cut lavender shirt that clearly displayed her cleavage. The conversations in the restaurant sounded muffled while Mariah Carey’s song “Vision of Love” was playing on the jukebox. Feeling eyes on him, Scott looked up. Adam was giving him an envious glare. Scott didn’t look at Brett. He could already feel the fiery darts hurtling into the side of his head.

Scott inhaled slowly, wondering how he could free himself from Destiny’s attention again. “You’re very observant.”

She smiled charmingly with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I didn’t know you noticed me so…thoroughly.”

Scott understood her meaning and his mind accelerated into fast motion as she moved closer.

She whispered, “What would you have said?”

Intentional or not, her breasts brushed against his arm while her breath warmed his earlobe. He moved back and turned to face her, studying the application of her makeup. The dark eye shadow, pink blush, black mascara, and heavy eyeliner was as extreme as usual.

He whispered the first thought that popped into his brain. “Your makeup is very colorful.”

Destiny gasped, almost afraid to ask. “Do you mean that in a good way or a bad way?”

Scott rubbed his chin as if thinking. “You have a fair complexion with a shade of pink. Your makeup should be subtle, not dramatic.”

Destiny’s face changed from confusion to quizzical to disbelief, and finally, to horror, comprehending the implication of his statement. She jumped up quickly, about to die from embarrassment.

“Pamela, we need to leave…now!”

Her best friend glowered. “I don’t want to leave.”

“We have to,” Destiny demanded as she hurried over to her friend and grabbed her arm.

They headed for the door as Destiny whispered something to Pamela who replied loudly with contempt, “Who cares what Scott says?”

Everyone at the table looked over at Scott who raised his eyebrows, pleased that at least Adam was looking happier.

As soon as Destiny was gone, Margie touched his left arm. She looked perplexed as if she’d been thinking about something for quite some time. “Are you really a hunter? I just can’t picture you being a hunter.”

Scott looked into Margie’s hopeful eyes. “I have no problem with hunting as long as it’s done legally.”

Her expectant expression vanished. She frowned, turning her back on him. Scott leaned back in his chair confidently. He had once again thwarted Destiny and Margie’s advances.

Unfortunately for Scott, some girls aren’t easily pushed aside.

On Wednesday morning, at 8:30, Scott was making his way to Klein’s Drug Store to meet Destiny. She had called ten minutes earlier when he was about to leave for the hardware store to buy a new float for the toilet in the hallway bathroom. According to Destiny, it was of the utmost importance that he met her.

Scott crossed First Street while Destiny fidgeted in front of the store. He approached warily. The morning breeze effortlessly lifted her dark hair. A faint trace of makeup had been applied onto her face. When she moved toward him, he nearly stopped dead in his tracks. He suddenly understood the urgency of her request. She wanted his input on the application of her makeup.

Destiny smiled. If she noticed his pensive expression, she didn’t mention it. “Thanks for coming.” She paused, giving him a strange look. “I never really noticed how handsome you are. Navy blue is your color.”

Ignoring her comment, Scott cleared his throat, hoping his instincts were wrong. He asked, “What’s going on?”

She pulled her hair into a ponytail, twisting it around nervously. He hid his grimace when she said, “I need your help choosing the correct makeup for me.”

When he remained quiet, she added, “Last night, I thought about your comment. You said I had a fair complexion with a shade of pink. That’s when I realized you know exactly what color makeup I should use.”

Scott sighed quietly, getting rid of Destiny wasn’t going as smoothly as he had hoped. He gestured south toward the library. “Come on. I know the perfect book for you.”

Since his attempt to stop Destiny’s attention was losing steam, Scott decided to avoid The Parlor that evening and spend his time with Felicia at her house. Actually he enjoyed spending time with her. In fact, he was more comfortable with her than any one of his football buddies.

Felicia looked happy to have his company. She made popcorn and asked, “Do you want to watch Some Kind of Wonderful?”

Knowing that was her favorite movie, Scott replied, “Sure, why not.”

“Great.” She jumped to her feet, pushed in the video, and sat beside him on the couch.

They watched in silence, eating popcorn, until the scene about the two friends kissing in the mechanic’s garage. Felicia breathed in excitedly. “This scene reminds me of our kiss inside your garage.”

Scott frowned. “Our kiss was nothing like theirs.”

“Maybe not, but even though you’re one of my best friends, I can’t forget our kiss.” She clutched his arm. “This is my favorite part of the movie.”

Scott scowled. “I know. You tell me every time we watch it.”

“Don’t you like this part?”

“It’s okay,” Scott replied, thinking he’d much rather be kissing the girl in the park than watching some other guy kissing a girl.

Felicia rolled her eyes as she pressed the rewind button to watch the scene again. “Scott, you know nothing about romance, and the fact that you don’t have a girlfriend proves my point.”

Scott opened his mouth, about to comment she didn’t have a boyfriend either, but he closed it. She’d blame him. When she pressed the rewind button a third time, he said, “If you keep rewinding or fast-forwarding your tapes, it tightens them and they don’t last as long.”

Felicia laughed. “You would be more concerned about a tape than love. Like I said, you know nothing about romance.”

At eleven-thirty, Scott went home and crawled into bed, excited about seeing the girl in the park tomorrow. He remembered the sensation of her touch, expensive dress, blue eyes, innocent expression, and her small breasts. He finally fell asleep two hours later with visions of the girl rolling around inside his head.

That night, he dreamt. In every direction he turned, there were two naked beautiful breasts. He longed to touch one, but all the while, he was fighting an inner struggle to keep his hands off. He finally gave into his resistance and caressed one. As soon as he squeezed the mound of flesh and rubbed the nipple, the breasts disappeared and two uniformed cops, a male and female, appeared. They handcuffed him, pushing him forward and away from a girl. Scott turned, wanting to know who the girl was. With sadness, he noticed it was the girl from the park, slowly drifting away.

The sadness jolted him awake. He glanced at his clock radio which glowed four in the morning. He placed his hands in front of him, twisting them slowly. He couldn’t shake off the feeling of being restrained and the unhappiness he felt when the girl floated away.

Scott overslept which put him behind schedule. Not only that, his mom insisted he mow Mrs. Whitfield’s, Mrs. Morgan’s, and Felicia’s front lawns before playing football. He would have given a smart remark, but he couldn’t afford to be grounded on the day he was going to meet the girl. Controlling his anger, he glanced at the clock in the kitchen. In fifty minutes, he needed to be at North Hillside Park.

He refused to eat breakfast and rushed outside. While he retrieved the lawn mower inside the garage, he calculated he could finish with the first two front lawns in thirty minutes.

Like clockwork, half an hour later, he moved onto Felicia’s lawn. As the morning sun beat down on him, sweat flooded under his armpits. His T-shirt clung to his perspiring body. He groaned, finally admitting he was going to be late.

Felicia was sitting on her front steps when he finished her lawn. She gave him one of her mischievous looks. “Hi, Scott.”

She followed him into the garage and placed her hand on his arm. “If you keep mowing the lawns with a wet T-shirt that emphasize your muscular body, I’m going to have a fight on my hands, trying to keep the girls away from you.”

Scott shoved the mower into the corner. “Very funny.” He turned to leave. “I’ll see you later.”

Felicia smiled; embarrassing him was one of her favorite past times. She yelled, “If I’m black and blue the next time you see me, you’ll know I was defending your honor.”

Scott grinned, pulled his watch from his pocket, and opened the front door. He rushed to his bedroom. There was no time to take a shower. He grabbed another navy-blue T-shirt from his dresser, thinking what Destiny had told him. He rushed across the hallway to the bathroom where he washed his face, his chest, and his underarms.

When Scott finished, he hurried back to his room, grabbed the poems he had written. After putting them inside his pocket, he moved toward the front door, ignoring his mom who sat on their old green sofa in the living room.

Megan noticed him and scrambled off the couch. “Scottie, play.” She grabbed his hand, trying to drag him into the living room.

Scott lifted his sister, tossed her carefully into the air, and caught her. “I can’t play now,” he mumbled as he placed Megan on the floor. He met his mom’s gaze. “I’m late.”

His mom pushed herself off the couch.

The morning sun cascaded through the front window of the living room, brightening the room, giving the illusion of cheeriness between mother and son as they regarded one another.

His mom inhaled softly as she approached him. “Since you missed your breakfast, take these two granola bars and this water bottle with you.”

Scott stared at the food, knowing she was trying to sound nurturing instead of emotional. His mom never gave him a simple hug or showed him any affection. Instead she’d counter her feelings for him with another action. The sight of food made his stomach churn. He reached for her peace offering. “Thanks.”

His mom swallowed as an affectionate and loving expression crossed her face. She mumbled, on the verge of tears, “Scott, I…I really do appreciate everything you do.”

Scott eyed his mom. His empty stomach stirred with anxiety. She was giving him one of her vulnerable looks. He took a deep breath. Any sudden show of affection during her emotional phase would result in a sobbing breakdown. Determined to avoid that unpleasant crisis, he quickly gave a humorous remark. “I know, and I’ll try and appreciate all your reminders too.”

When she smiled, the knot in his stomach lessened. He hurried to the front door. “I’ll see you later, Mom.”

Scott left the house, walking quickly to the park and the girl. He sighed with relief. He was getting better at diverting his mom’s emotional crises. As he made his way to Seventh Street, he wondered if all mothers were as hard to decipher as his own. His stormy relationship with her consisted of battles, demands, and the avoidance of reoccurring bouts of sadness.