Tricks. Part 5

Wait and see what the doctor says.

Could be lots of things besides ...

Doctor?

Is someone hurt? Sick? What?

I push through the door. "Lots of things besides what?" My eyes whip back and forth between them.

Both their faces are the color of old paper. Almost, but not quite, white.

Jack recovers first. Not important, son. I've just been having some problems with indigestion. Went in for tests. Could be an ulcer.

Or maybe just your mother's cookin'. Nothing to worry about.

Then why is Mom wearing worry in two long horizontal lines across her forehead and two short vertical creases just above her nose? She's easier to read than a comic book.

Right Now I don't really want to read her, at least not all the way to the last page. So I'm relieved when she reaches deep down for some humor.

You want to blame my cooking?

Then take me out to dinner.

The garage door slams and in marches Cory. He's thirteen, a skater, and thinks he's tough.

I let him maintain the fantasy.

Cory may be pus.h.i.+ng six feet tall, but he's a little kid inside.

We all clam up immediately, something Cory totally misses as he launches a verbal upchuck.

I can't believe it! They outlawed boards at the park. Something about liability. d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l!

Mom sucks in her breath, and Jack jumps up from his chair. What did you say, young man? You apologize to your mother right this minute! His face is bright red. But he doesn't look sick.

Cory does not apologize. He stomps into the living room, muttering a long string of very bad curse words. Hmph ... mother ... sucker ...

hmph ... have to if ... Hey, did he say something about me?

Jack trails him, and Mom and I follow. We are just in time to see Jack grab Cory by the collar.

He spins him around until they're face-to-face. This is still my house, young man. Now you apologize.

There is something mean in Cory's eyes, something I don't remember seeing before. But Jack is in charge. Cory lowers his glare to the floor. Sorry. Now let me go.

He tempers his tone. Please.

It's Almost Seven By the time I pick up Ronnie, who claims the front seat like she owns "shotgun." d.a.m.n, the girl is fine, in a short denim skirt and skimpy lavender tank top. Oh, Ronnie and her tanks.

Wave nice to my mommy, she says, turning to do the same.

Then she yells out the window, Don't worry, Mom. We won't stay out too late. Cross my heart.

Now, a mean whisper. Let's go!

She doesn't have to ask twice.

Last thing I need is her mom smelling the bud in my pocket.

I aim for the freeway. "You look great." Compliments are good ice- breakers. Ronnie is the ice queen.

But tonight she seems almost thawed. Not quite warm, but not completely b.i.t.c.hy. She sniffs the air. Smells like you brought the party. We've never gotten high together. First time for everything.

By the Time We reach Frozen75, we've def gotten high together. This guy I work with scores really good bud, and he's not above dealing a little to me. "So what do you think about the smoke?"

The ice queen has defrosted all the way to room temp. She laughs.

It's awesome. Then she reaches over, touches my leg. Tonight will be fun. Thanks for taking me.

Her hand strokes my thigh gently.

Which raises my heart rate, which raises several questions.

Why me? Why now? Why go out of her way for tonight? But one of those questions will do for now.

"I ... I have to ask. Why me?"

Out of the corner of my eye (I don't dare look away from the road), I can see her shake her head. You really don't know, do you? Cody, I've been in love with you for a very long time.

A Poem by Eden Streit Being in Love Means hard questions.

Will I? Won't I? Should I? Could I? Yes? No?

You?

Me? There is no me without you. Is there a you without me?

And if we're truly one, how will I breathe when circ.u.mstance pries us apart?

You are my oxygen, my sustenance, the blood inside my veins. When we touch, you are my skin, hold all my joy inside of you. When you go, I wither.

Eden

Sat.u.r.day Evening

Papa is officiating a wedding. Mama, of course, went along. Few enough excuses to get all dressed up around here.

Eve put on her Sunday best and went too.

The bride has a really cute little brother, just about a year older than Eve.

The groom has a nice-looking brother too, but I'm not the least bit interested.

I've got someone I'd much rather see, so I begged off. Told them I didn't feel very well. G.o.d is going to strike me down for sure if I keep lying this way.

But I've got at least three hours to spend with Andrew. There's a park right down the street from our house.

It's a short walk on a cool night, but by the time I reach Andrew's truck, I'm hot all over. From the inside out.

No One Around I slip into the Tundra un.o.bserved.

As the interior light goes dark, I move into Andrew's arms, accept his gentle kiss. But we don't dare stay here. "Let's go for a drive. Can't believe how much I've missed you."

He grins and puts the truck in gear.

It's only been four days, you know.

I slide my hand into the warmth of his.

"And all I could think about was you."

True. Too true. In cla.s.s. PE. The library.

At home. Bible study. The dinner table.

Faces. Whiteboards. Gym mats. Smudged together. Bells. Laughter. Curses. Blurred into white noise. Locker room armpits. Floor wax.

Gourmet cafeteria. Marker ink. All smeared into senseless potpourri. Four days, the only clear picture, Andrew's face. The only sound I wanted to hear, his soft h.e.l.lo. The only scent my nose kept sniffing for, alfalfa green.

We Drive into the Foothills Andrew knows this area well. He turns up a dirt road, slick with spring melt ice.

Unlikely we'll run into anyone back here.

Certainly not any old spy from Papa's church.

Andrew parks. Pretty tonight. Looks like you could reach out and touch the stars. Come on. He tugs me into the chill March air, lifts me into the bed of his truck. There's a double sleeping bag there. We climb inside, and he slides his arm around my shoulder, pulls my head against his chest. Nice. He sighs. Very, very nice.

Suddenly we're kissing, beneath an ocean of distant suns. Can't believe it's me here, in this amazing place, with this amazing guy.

I want him to hold me forever, never let go.

I feel like I'm in a movie. Unrehea.r.s.ed words tumble out of my mouth. "I love you."

There Said it. Didn't really mean to, but now I've gone and done it. I tense, waiting for his response. It's swift. Oh G.o.d, Eden, I love you, too. How did I ever live without you? It's like I was missing a huge part of me. The best part of me.

Until I found you. I want ... I want ...

He loses his words. He never does that.

I kiss his temples. Close his eyes with kisses. "What? What do you want?"

His eyes stay closed. I stare up into the night as he says, I want to be with you always, to share forever with you. I want to give you more than I have to give now-security, a comfortable life. He pauses. Considers.

Decides to finish. I want to take from you what I've no right to take. Not now. Not yet.

But that doesn't make me want it less....

I Get What He Means And as much as I would like to chalk it up to him being a guy, truth is I want it too. At least I think I do, and only when I'm this close to Andrew. When I am, G.o.d forgive me, I want to know what it means to give myself to him so completely. Want to feel what it's like when it's absolutely right. Not that I've felt it when it's wrong, or felt "it" at all. But I don't want my heart to feel wrong about my body feeling good.

I have no doubt it will feel incredible with Andrew.

"I want to too. But I'm scared. I've never ..."

I know. I know you haven't, and I know you're scared. I'm scared too. You might not believe this, but I've never either. He stops. Smiles. Don't tell anyone, okay?

When you're ready, when you trust me enough, I want you to be my first. My only.

I So Want to Be His first. His only. I so want him to be mine. "I promise to be your first.

"Your only. If we just had a little more time, I would be those things tonight... ."

No. Not tonight. Not in the cold, hard bed of a pickup truck. When we do it, it will be in a warm feather bed, with soft quilts and pillows you fall into. I want it to be perfect. And if we don't get it right the first time ... He lets me finish.

"Practice makes perfect?" We laugh together. Easy. Meant to be. And I know the first time someone makes love to me, it will be perfect. Because it will be Andrew.

We Should Head Back But I can't. Not quite yet. I need some answers that will prove he means what he says. "So why did you wait? And how did you know the right person was me?"

I know all guys are supposed to be s.l.u.ts or something. But s.e.x with just anyone never did seem exactly right to me.

Maybe it's my Catholic upbringing, or h.e.l.l, who knows? Maybe I need v.i.a.g.r.a already. He laughs. Nah, that can't be the problem. When I'm with you, I don't need a pill to want to make love to you.

He always says the right things.

Maybe he should be a politician.

As for you, I suspected you might be the right person the first night we met.

You were so sure of yourself, your beliefs, and you didn't let me sway you. I loved your self-confidence, your obvious loyalty.

Your solid sense of right and wrong.