Re-introducing the Boy

The boy and my twitter-patted state were long forgotten in the 24 hour after math...even longer, now that I think about it, because what I now felt was different.  I was trying to be the rock my family needed and on the surface I was doing well.  Underneath, I was crumbling and desperately needed a rock of my own. 

The boy is re-introduced to the story...

Tragedy struck on a  Saturday.  I think the boy came over that Sunday evening, but I can't be sure.  He said, "I don't know what to say or do," and hugged me like I wasn't fragile and breakable, the way I felt inside, by fiercely as if he might not ever let go.

My cousins were staying with my dad and I.  I was operating on autopilot.  The baby was still in critical condition.  My mother was still gone.  My grandfather, the pillar of our family and retired minister, was questioning every ounce of faith he had within him.

The boy had a bag.

"I feel silly giving this to you now," he said, "but I thought of you when I saw it and now I know you need it."

It was a simple athletic logo sweatshirt.  The kind that gets softer with each wash and wear, in my favorite shade of purple with a touch of comforting heather gray. 

"It's like a hug all the time." he said, "and I brought movies for the kids.  Funny ones.  To distract them.  My little brother helped me pick."

That sweatshirt and those movies were my life line and I clung to that boy for dear life.

Sometimes

Sometimes it hurts to feel,
Sometimes you feel because it hurts,
Sometimes hellos are hard,
Sometimes goodbyes are harder,
Sometimes you build walls to protect,
Sometimes the walls break,
Sometimes you can't forget,
Sometimes you don't want to remember,
Sometimes there is a tug of war in your heart,
Sometimes you know where you belong,
Sometimes all you need is home.

Rough sketch after a day at home and a week of memory slicing. 

The After Shocks

He said "No," but it wasn't a statement, it was a one word prayer, a plea.

The events that followed are a little hazy in my mind.  At some point I got dressed and tracked down my dad.  We dropped my friend off at her aunts house in town.  We arrived at the hospital at the same time as my younger cousin (who my Aunt had been going to pickup) and my Uncle dropped to his knees right there in the parking lot.  It seems like all of this took hours, but in reality I know it only took minutes.

The baby was with her, just two.  So was the dog.  The baby was brought to the emergency room in her car seat by two hunters, alive, but barely.  My mom was working (as a nurse) that day.  She didn't even recognize her.  The baby was immediately shipped to a bigger hospital with pediatric specialists.  My mom and uncle went with.

The rest of us were left to grieve and comfort my Auntie's other two children.  The rest of the day was a blur.  It was an earthquake of epic proportions and we would deal with the aftershocks for years to come.

Cold Water

So I said yes, against my better fourteen year old judgment and with that one word we belonged to each other (in a loose sense of the word).  I was his.  He was mine. 

Life continued on pretty much as usual.  Our best friends started dating each other to spend more time with us.  I had a high school sweetheart who was completely enamored with me.  He knew my family.  I knew his family.  His parents approved and both my mother, second mother (Auntie) and father approved.  Life was fun.  Life was easy.   Weekends involved movies, football games,  cruising, a big family dinners.  During the week, we walked to class together, ate lunch together, and worked on our homework together while watching Scooby-Doo.  We were just kids. 

One long weekend in early October, the boy was asked to tour a college with a friend who was several years older than he.  After encouragement from his friend, his mother, and myself, he agreed to go, though college and adult choices felt a long way off for him. My best friend and I decided to have a girls weekend complete with snacks, a sleepover, and movies.  The boy called, they arrived safely and I told him to let us have our girl time and to go have fun.  We stopped at my grandma's to chat with my Auntie (the baby on my mom's side of the family) and my grandparents, wait for my mom to give us a ride home, and eat candy corn (a family favorite). 

When my mom arrived, we stood on the sidewalk chatting before parting ways.  My Auntie told us to be good and have fun as she walked the short distance to her own home and family.

I awoke at what I thought was a very early hour, based on my late night movie watching, to the phone ringing repeatedly.  My mom was at work and my dad was out doing chores.  I figured it was my mom or the boy calling as I fumbled sleepily to the phone. 

When I answered, I knew it was not that kind of phone call, and was as brutally pulled from my sleepy state as I would have been had someone thrown a bucket of cold water at me.

It was not my mother. 

It was not the boy.

It was my uncle.

Go find Grandpa.  There's been an accident.  Auntie's dead. 

Just like that.  The water had been thrown.  I froze.

Go find Grandpa!  He's hunting near your house.  Go find Grandpa!

My friend was now awake, but somehow knew to just follow.  We jumped in the farm pick up and took off down the driveway.  I only made it a quarter of a mile, before I found him.  I flagged him down and said, "Uncle called, there's been an accident.  You need to call right away.  He said Auntie is dead.  That can't be right, can it!?!  That can't be right!?"

"No." was all he said, but I barely heard it because he was already gone.

Tired

I am tired, stressed and emotionally drained today. Suffice it to say it was a tough day at school (work).  It pains me to be witness to the suffering of others.  I am so very thankful for the parents who raised me and the safe, happy, place I now call a home; with my own children and hubby is where I will be tonight. With that said, I will continue my story tomorrow.

I Said, Yes...?

Within a few short weeks, the boy and I were inseperable.  His motorcycle was cool, his red shoes were unique, and his hair color was temporary.  He walked me to class each morning and gave me rides to my grandparents afterschool.  We went to a movie and another football game or two.

On September 5th, sitting in the driveway  at my parents house, he asked me to be his girlfriend.  I could still swear that the phrase going through my head was, "not yet;" that I was thinking I'm having fun, but I'm not ready to be someone's girlfriend...I haven't even asked my date if I can date yet!  However, what I said was, yes.  I said, yes!?!

A month later, we shared our first kiss in the porchlight.  It was short, sweet, and innocent...everything a first kiss with your high school sweetheart should be.  He then whispered, "Do you know, I love you?...(silence)...well, I do."  To which I replied, "I know."

I was not ready to reciprocate, nor was I ready for the event that would shake my young life to the core.

Phone Calls and Falling

The rest of the summer found me fending off phone calls from the boy at every turn (ok not every turn, but frequently enough to know he was still interested...very interested) despite my attempts at aloofness.  I used many excuses not to go out with him, the most freqently used being, "My dad won't let me."  Now that I think about it, aside from his initial caution, I never did ask my dad for his permission!   The story may have been altered drastically if I had!  After one particularly tempting invitation (a movie date to the newest Julia Roberts flick), I told him I was busy re-decorating my room.  I actually was!  He took this to be on the same level as the old excuse, I'm washing my hair, and laid off the phone calls for longer than usual.

And then, school was back in session.  With that first Friday night came our small town's firsts home football game.  Everyone, who was anyone, was at that game.  I of course was no exception.  Neither was the boy.

At some point, he caught up with me and never went away.  I'm still slightly-but-not-really mad my obnoxious friend (at the time), begged for his jacket when he was so clearly not into her.  As the game came to a close, I headed for the gate and my ride, my Auntie.  The boy was clearly not done with this night and asked if I could come for a motorcycle ride with him.  (Of course, I could not without permission from mom!).

The boy had some guts...he came to my grandparents home, where he officially met my mother, Auntie, grandmother, and grandfather just to ask permission to take me on his motorcycle.   As if his healthy fear of my father wasn't enough!

I got permission.   I went. 

Standing in the porch-light, of my grandparent's iconic Victorian home, the boy gently placed a helmet on my head and adjusted it carefully under my chin, while my mother, grandmother, and Auntie spied on us from the window (my Auntie later gushed about the sweetness of the helmet adjusting).

Not only did he get permission to take me on his motorcycle , but he also received permission to take me home (in his car) that night.  I lived 20 miles from town and he lived 30 in the opposite direction.  It would be the first of many rides home in the weeks to come.

The phone calls were now something I waited for.  I was falling for this boy...but the story, our story, was still just beginning.