The Canyon

Prompt: There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in--Leonard Cohen

I shivered and stared at the long crack, which started halfway up my wall and ended at the floor, and imagined I was a teeny-tiny ant. No, smaller than an ant. An amoeba or something, and the crack was a gigantic canyon carved deep into red-brown mountains. I could usually wish myself into any world I could dream up, but this time was different. Her shouting was louder. Scarier. Just when I got to the point where I could almost imagine hiking down into the canyon, just when I could almost smell the dirt and hear the wind in the trees, I snapped back to my mattress on the dirty brown carpet in this freezing room in this smelly old apartment. I wasn't usually scared, but this time, I was. Part of me wanted to open my door and sneak down the hall to see if things were okay, but something deep inside told me to go exploring the canyon instead.

Mother screamed and something hit the wall so hard that if I had been down in my wall canyon, I would have turned the sound into thunder. Why couldn't I disappear this time? What was wrong with me?

Daddy's low voice rumbled, and I thought about thunder again. If thunder had a voice that could calm lightning down, it would sound just like Daddy. Still, I wished he'd stop talking. It never helps. Thunder is just noise. It's harmless. Lightning, though...lightning can burn the house down. It can kill you.

"Don't be so stupid, Libby. She's not lightning and she's not gonna kill anybody."

Sometimes saying things out loud makes me feel better, like I can make it real. I have to be careful what I say out loud, though, because if some of the things I think really happened, I'd live in a world with no lightning. Maybe that might seem like a relief, but without lightning, there'd be no thunder. Then where would I be? In some orphanage run by scary nuns like Mother is always threatening to send me to? No way, Jose. I'll take my chances with being zapped.

I don't know how long I slept, but when I woke up, my room was dark. The street lamp outside my window was busted out ages ago, so no light came through the cracks in my blinds.

Stupid, I thought as I remembered we didn't have electricity. I should have taken a shower while it was still light.

The whole apartment was quiet, and I wondered if it was safe to make my way to the kitchen to find something to eat. Sometimes after a big fight, Mother and Daddy went to their room for a nap. Sometimes, they left me all alone in the apartment and would be gone until the next day. If either of those things happened, I'd be safe. My stomach grumbled and I thought about what I could make myself for dinner. Maybe I could bring a spoon and the peanut butter back to my room. And Daddy's thermos. I could fill it up with water and bring that back, too, because peanut butter always makes me thirsty. I opened my bedroom door and listened. I held my breath and imagined my ears growing as big as a bat's. Bigger. As big as Dumbo's. So big, I could hear Mother blinking if I concentrated hard enough.

I was about to step into the dark hallway when I remembered the last time I thought it was safe after a fight. I walked into the kitchen and froze when I saw her sitting at the table. She was smoking a cigarette, the ashes a long, grey snake. The heavy green ashtray sat in front of her, heaped with a miniature mountain of butts. Her eyes were far away and she didn't seem to notice me. I turned around to go back to my room, but before I could take a single step, the ashtray smashed the wall next to me. Ashes stung my eyes and the ashtray clanked to the floor in three big chunks.

"See what you made me do," she screamed after me as I ran back to my room. Somewhere between between the kitchen and my bedroom, I had an accident.

“Stupid baby,” I whispered as I quietly clicked my door shut.

"No way, Jose." A grumbly stomach wasn't worth the risk. I shut my door and moved back to my mattress. I climbed under the old blanket and wrapped myself up like a burrito, only I left my face poking out so I could see and breathe.

After a few minutes, I got tired of lying in the complete dark. The stick on the blinds was missing, and if you pulled on the string, the blinds went up all crookedy and got tangled, but even a little light from outside would be better than sitting in a freezing cave. When I got the blinds up as far as I could, I went back to my mattress and stared at the crack. At first I had to stare so hard my eyes hurt, but after a few minutes something happened.

A thin thread of golden light started at the top of my wall canyon and moved like the sun all the way down to the bottom. I watched, not breathing, not blinking, until my eyes burned and I had to squeeze them shut against tears. When the light hit the bottom of the canyon, it got a little brighter and moved back up to the top of the crack. Warm, golden light soaked the wall like some kind of weird paint.

"I must be dreaming," I thought. I walked over to the wall, reached my hand toward the light, and pulled it away. It was warm! How could that be?

The light kept moving up and down the crack, getting brighter each time it came to an end. After a while my whole room was filled with light as warm and bright as the sun. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back. The sun made orangey-red patterns behind my eyes. My face was close-to-a-campfire warm. Keeping my eyes closed in case opening them made this wonderful dream go away, I lowered myself to the floor and sat cross-legged. I didn't think anything at all as I let the sun wrap me up. I just sat there feeling safe and warm.

Wind whistled through treetops and I opened my eyes. I wasn't in my room anymore. The dirty carpet had turned to dirt underneath me. I was in my canyon. I had managed to wish myself there after all!

"Woo-hoo!" My voice bounced off the steep canyon walls. I jumped up and down until I ran out of breath, got dizzy, and had to sit down. The canyon in my imagination was so much smaller than this one was. In my mind, I was able to throw a stone from one wall and it would hit the other. This one's walls were too far apart for that. I dug my feet into the powdery, hot earth and wished I was wearing shoes instead of just old, holey socks.

In geography, we learned that The Grand Canyon was carved by a river over the course of billions of years. Just thinking about all that water made my throat burn with thirst. I scanned both directions, looking for signs of water. Nothing. I'd have to go exploring. Either that, or try to wish myself back home and risk an ashtray to the head in the kitchen.

I hadn't been walking all that long when I heard a sort of trickle-splash coming from around the bend. I tucked my head and ran as fast as I could, ignoring the fact I learned in science: Water out in the world usually isn't safe to drink. It's contaminated with all sorts of bacteria that can make you sick or kill you. It didn't much matter, though. I was so thirsty, I would have picked up a dog bowl and gulped it all down.

Around the bend, the canyon spread out even wider and I lost the feeling I was even in a canyon. Now, I was in a in a meadow or prairie or something. I couldn't remember the difference, but it didn't matter. Canyons don't work like that. They don't go from deep to flat just like that, but what did it matter? All of this was in my head anyway. Sure, it felt real, but I knew I was huddled in my blanket in my dark room. This was all just a pleasant dream, and I was going to enjoy every second of it. Starting with the cabin I somehow hadn’t noticed right away.

I didn’t even think twice as I walked up the sturdy front steps. Lacy white grandma curtains hung in the open front windows and the breeze poofed them in and out. The front door was open and inside, dishes clanked together as a lady hummed. Something inside made my mouth water and my stomach grumble. It was too inviting not to go inside.

“Hi, Libby!” The beautiful woman smiled at me like she’d been waiting for me all day. “Come in, sit down. Lunch is ready, honey.”

She gestured at the small table set for two. A loaf of bread bread, still warm-smelling from the oven, sat next to a big pot of something thick and brown. I wondered it if was stew. I’d never had stew before, but always wanted to try it. But as much as I wanted to sit and shove my face full of food, I stood in the  archway between the front entry and the dining room.

“Oh, honey, don’t be shy. I know you didn’t come all this way to just stare at me. Sit, eat!”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” I slid into the nearest chair and tried not to let my mouth water. Why not? Whatever the lady gave me to eat in this dream had to be better than the big Nothing Sandwich I’d have if I let myself wake up.

“I  appreciate your manners.” She took my bowl and heaped the brown stuff into it. “But there’s no need to stand on formality here. You can call me Margot.” She set the bowl in front of me and began filling the second bowl for herself.

“Thank you, M--Margot.” I shoveled a heaping spoonful into my mouth and didn’t even care when it burned my tongue.

I had so many questions. Who was she? How did she know my name? How did she know I was coming? How did she know I was starving?


“Is any of this real?” I dipped a hunk of bread into the stew. Definitely stew.

“As real as anything, I suppose. What’s it matter? Real or not, you’re here now, so you may as well fill that empty belly of yours and get some rest. You certainly deserve it.

The more I ate, the less important my questions seemed, and by the time I finished my second bowl, I had almost forgotten I didn’t belong here. Really, I think I would have forgotten all the way if I hadn’t heard mother calling from far away. I dropped my spoon and stood up so fast, I knocked my chair over.

“I have to go.”

“Nonsense.” she picked up my chair and refilled my water glass. “Of course you’re welcome to leave if you like, but it’d be wonderful if you’d consider staying. Nobody can get you here, Libby. And I promise you’ll always have plenty of food and a warm bed.”

“Libby,” Mother called again. Fainter this time. Like she was walking away from me.

“I don’t know. Mother needs me.”

“I know she does, Sweetie. And if you must go back to her, then go. But you need a mother. Someone to look after you and keep you safe. Someone to be the adult while you get to be a kid. I think you know she’s never going to be able to do that for you. Not her, or your daddy.”

As if he heard Margot say his name, Daddy shouted for me. Louder than Mother, but still distant. Still far away.

“I can’t.” I almost couldn’t get the words out. I wanted to stay so bad it hurt.”I can’t just leave them.” I looked up at Margot and she smiled.
“You already did, sweetheart, and that was the hard part. I promise.” She set a piece of chocolate cake in front of me.

“Libby!” Mother and Daddy called again. Only this time, I could barely hear them at all.

“Maybe I’ll go back later.” I drug my finger through the thick frosting and licked.

Margot smiled, but didn’t say anything.

I closed my eyes and listened for Mother and Daddy again, but all I could hear was the wind in the trees and the sound of Margot’s fork hitting the plate as she dug into her cake.

That's Like Hypnotizing Chickens

Writing prompt: That's Like Hypnotizing Chickens

The rain fell in a steady stream, but Sofia didn't seem to care. The basket hung from the crook of her elbow as she stomp stomp stomped her way through the flooded back yard. Her red muck boots, which she always took extreme care to de-muck before taking them off in the mud-room, were polka-dotted with little spots of mud. A gust of wind shook the trees and it seemed, for just a moment, that it was raining harder than it actually was. She stopped, right in the middle of the yard, and turned her face up to the sky. The cool rain washed the hot tears from her eyes.

It had been two weeks since Dylan had left her and the farm. Of course, she didn't realize at the time that's what he was doing--leaving. He told her he was going into town to pick up some lumber. He was finally going to fix the hole barn's roof. She watched him attach his wallet chain to his belt loop and shove the old brown wallet into his back pocket. She had given him that wallet for their third wedding anniversary. Leather was the traditional gift for three years, and back then, they were both still trying to conform to the standards of marriage, though he never was good at keeping track of what he'd gotten her, so sometimes he'd repeat gifts.

"That wallet's near to bursting," she said. "I don't know how you can sit on that thing to drive. What do you keep in there anyway?"

"Noneya, woman!" Dylan winked a crinkly blue eye and smiled warmly at her. "I don't ask you what you carry around in that giant purse of yours, I'd appreciate the same courtesy about my wallet."

It was a familiar routine with them. He liked to think he was being clever, being coy, but she knew the truth well enough after all these years. He was a paper hoarder. He collected scraps of paper the way her grandmother's sister had collected stray cats. He kept grocery receipts from four years ago, bills, and credit card statements for credit cards they didn't even have anymore. If someone gave him a business card, he'd keep it in a stack with all the other cards. Eventually, he'd forget who gave him the card in the first place. One of his favorite things to keep was old lists. But not his lists. He kept lists that other people lost. Mostly grocery lists, abandoned in the bottom of the shopping cart. Eggs, cheese, shoe strings, apples, sponges, shampoo. Sofia used to ask him why he kept those random lists, but she'd long since given up trying to talk sense into him. Now, she was just glad that he was able to contain a huge portion of his paper collection to just his wallet. When the wallet got too full he'd pull out some of slips of paper and stash them in one of  his unlocked lock-boxes. He always kept them unlocked because he knew just as well as she did that there really wasn't anything worth keeping in there. Certainly not worth keeping secret anyway. Turned out, the man kept all his secrets in his heart and head, where she could never get to them.

Sofia wiped her face and continued on her way to the coop. How long had she stood there, face upturned to the weeping sky? Fifteen seconds? A minute? Three minutes? It was as if the drops falling on her face had hypnotized her for a spell. No matter. The eggs had to be collected, rain or no, and standing around like a damn fool, replaying the last time she'd seen her husband wasn't going to change the fact that he was gone.

The chickens squawked and beat their wings as she approached.

"Hey there, lovely ladies," She greeted in return. "What do you have for me today?"  She closed the gate behind her and gently pushed Jenny Blue out of the way with her foot. Jenny Blue was the only of the the chickens who seemed to like her. Anytime Sofia came into the coop, J.B. was at her heels. More like a puppy than a chicken.

"It's about time I start selling your eggs, chickies. I just don't eat enough of them to justify keeping them. And it'd be nice to have a few extra bucks now that..." Sofia lost the thread of her conversations. She was talking to chickens, as if they could actually understand her. As if they gave a damn whether she ate their eggs or sold them.

Dylan had a saying when he thought things were pointless or silly: It's like hypnotizing chickens, he'd say.

The chickens watched her gather their unformed young and put them into her basket.

"I know what you girls are thinking. My putting one foot in front of the other, gathering up your eggs, trying to keep the farm from collapsing down around me...it's like hypnotizing chickens, isn't it?" She took a deep breath and blew it out. "I suppose you're right, but what's the alternative? Give up and run away, like him? Someone's gotta tend to you, you know. So how 'bout a bit of gratitude, ladies."

The chickens blinked. They weren't hypnotized and they didn't care whether she was tending to them or not. But no matter. They eggs needed collecting, regardless.

Your Heart Will Guide You True--Listen to It

Prompt: Your heart will guide you true - listen to it.


We were leaving Santa Fe. It was a warm, spring day and we had spent the day at an art fair, then we had lunch at a little dive. I even remember what I ordered. Migas made with blue corn chips. I didn't like them.

For years, I'd been asking for a dog. My husband was a cat person, and I married into three cats. We had been married for ten years, and I was ready to finally get a dog. But, we were renters. And we already had three cats. We weren't super financially secure. There were a million reasons not to get a dog.

After lunch, we got back on the highway to head home. My husband and I had been sniping at each other a bit, and the mood in the CR-V was tense. Not hostile. Not angry. Just...tense. He drove past a beat up truck on the side of the service road with a handmade cardboard sign that said simply PUPPIES in large, scrawly, black letters. My heart soared, but I didn't ask if we could stop. Without looking at me, without saying a word, my my husband turned around.

We parked off to the side of the service road and approached the dirty man who was sitting in the beat-up truck. His plates were expired.

He was trying to get rid of two puppies--Bilbo and Frodo. They were fuzzy and sweet and the puppy breath almost made me die of happiness. One of the pups, I don't remember which, was black. I picked him up and my heart swelled. Then it soared. Then it broke in a million pieces. My heart spoke directly to this dog. His heart spoke to mine. It was like our souls recognized each other. I set him down and picked up his tan brother. He was cute, with a little black robber's mask, but my heart didn't react the same to him. So I passed him off to our seven year old son and picked up the black puppy again. Again, my heart swelled-soared-shattered-spoke.

This dog was mine. I was his. There was no way around it. He called to me, and my husband, from the side of the road in the middle of the desert between Santa Fe and Albuquerque. I couldn't leave him. I couldn't.

Because we had been at an art festival, we had a little cash. We got in the CR-V to discuss what to do.

"I need him. My soul recognizes him. Please, Stirling." My voice was on the verge of cracking.  He nodded and pulled out his wallet to see how much cash he had. I pulled out my remaining cash.

I called our landlord. "Please, please let us get this dog. He's a shepherd-lab mix, and he needs a home. Please." The landlord agreed.

Stirling and I pooled our cash. It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough by almost half. But there was no bank anywhere near. I knew if we drove away, we'd never come back for the dog of my heart. We approached the man with the two fluffy puppies.

"This is it. We don't have any more money. If you just can't do it, we understand, but this is all we have."

The man dropped his cigarette and stubbed it under his boot. "Which one do you want?"

Stirling looked at me, and without hesitation, I picked up the black one. I scratched the tan one and thanked him for letting his brother go. I thanked the man for negotiating with us.

I rode in the back seat, little Bilbo or Frodo in my lap, and my heart settled into a happy rhythm. By the time we got to the pet store in Albuquerque, the dog had a new name: Harvey. Harvey the Wonder Mutt...dog of my heart.

Tomorrow will be the one year anniversary of his death, and my heart still calls for him. It always will. I miss Harvey every single day.

Writing Prompt Monday: No Matter How Hard I Try

The writing prompt: You are a teenager trying to rebel, but no matter what you do, your parents aren't getting upset.

I took a deep breath before turning the knob and pushing through the front door. There was going to be hell to pay, no doubt about it. But I really didn’t care. In fact, I welcomed it. I was as excited for the backlash as a starving man for a cheeseburger.

It’s not so much that I was looking forward to getting yelled at or punished, I was just eager for some sort of reaction. My whole childhood had been spent trying to get their attention by doing good things, positive things, and my efforts had always been met with disappointment or criticism. Nothing I did was ever right. No matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t trying hard enough. No matter how good I was, I wasn’t good enough. So screw it. I knew it was immature and totally predictable from a psychology standpoint, but I didn’t care. If they were going to treat me like a rotten kid, I might as well just be a rotten kid. Maybe then they’d wake up from their dream world and see that I’m actually a really good person.

Mother was in the kitchen, literally pulling a tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. Put her in a poofy dress and a pair of heels, and she’d be a regular June Cleaver. Mrs. Mary Housewife, that was my mother. She was so perfect, it was borderline insane. People weren’t really supposed to be like her. Never a hair out of place or a smudge of lipstick on her teeth. Always gorgeous. Always smiling. Always pushing me to do and be better. God, I resented her.

“Hey, Susan!” Mother’s name sounded foreign in my mouth.

Mother set the cookies down on the cooling rack and turned to look at me, Barbie smile glued to her face. “Hello, dear. How was your sleepover?”

She didn’t even glance twice at my hair. What was going on?

“It was good. Leslie and I had a great time doing each other’s hair.” Maybe baiting her was immature, but how could she ignore the fact that my once long, strawberry blonde hair was now short and Smurf blue?

“I see. Well, perhaps Leslie can come over here next time. Maybe she can help you study for your biology final.” She put another tray of cookies into the oven busied herself removing the finished cookies from the pan. “Would you like a cookie, honey? They’re still hot and gooey.”

“I’m not hungry,” I mumbled as I left the kitchen and went to my room.

The next day at school, Leslie and I stood at our shared locker. Kids shouted and shoved each other around us and locker doors slammed shut in the symphony of high school.

“Hey, Regina, nice hair!” Greg was the hottest guy at school, and though his locker was just three down from ours, he’d never said a word to me.

“Thanks.” I felt heat rising to up my neck to my cheeks, and I brought my hand up to my head. I really did love it, even if it was totally different. Leslie smiled like a dope and busied herself pretending to look for something in the locker.

“Why the sudden change?” Greg slammed his locker and sauntered toward ours. He reached out his hand and stopped just short of touching my hair. Electric currents ran from his fingertips to my head. When he pulled his hand away, disappointment gnawed at my heart.

Be cool, Geena, be cool! I cautioned myself. But how the hell was I supposed to be cool when Greg Owens was talking to me?

“I just got tired of my usual look, thought it was time for a change.” I pulled books out of my locker and hugged them to my chest. “I also thought it’d tick my parents off, but it didn’t.”

“You’re kidding, right? Regina Cabot, honor student, yearbook editor, and student council president actually wanted to piss off her parents? How’d that work out for you.”

Shame swirled in my belly like an angry serpent. He listed my accomplishments as a matter of fact, but to hear them out loud like that made me realize how much energy I had always put into pleasing my parents instead of living my own life and finding my own path.

“I thought they’d flip their lid, but neither one of them mentioned it all weekend. Not one single word. Even when I left blue stains on the shower floor.” Oh, God! Did I really just talk about taking a shower in front of the most gorgeous guy in the world?

“Why were you trying to upset them?”  He leaned on the locker next to mine and bent in toward me a little, as if he had been my best friend for years instead of a hot guy who completely ignored me. Is there a word for feeling flattered and uncomfortable at the same time? Unflattable maybe?

“It’s dumb,” I hesitated, but he waited patiently. “Nothing I ever do is good enough for them, and I’m just sick of it. It’s like they see me as some major screw-up, and if that’s what they think, then I might as well show them what that looks like. I mean, I’ll get in trouble either way, so what do I have to lose?” The words rushed out like a flood before I could moderate or weigh them.

“Maybe I can help. If you go out with me, you’re sure to piss them off.” A crooked smile raised one corner of his lips and his green eyes danced with mischief. It was true. Going out with Greg would definitely drive them up the wall. Greg with the attitude. Greg with the leather jacket and motorcycle. Greg with the 80’s rocker hair that was so retro but absolutely perfect on him.

“Yeah,” I tried to sound casual, “I think that might help.” The bell rang but neither of us moved.

“We’re going to be late, Geen.” Leslie slammed our locker.

“I’ll catch up,” I said without looking at her. She sighed and sprinted down the hall, leaving me and Greg almost alone in the nearly deserted hallway.

“So, I’ll pick you up at seven?” His hand came back up, and this time he ran his fingers through my short hair. I tried not to shiver when his finger brushed against my ear.

“Yeah. Seven is great.” The bell rang. For the first time in my life, I was late for class, and I didn’t care.

At ten after seven, Greg rumbled his motorcycle up my driveway. I had spent the last thirty minutes watching for him from my bedroom window. I hadn’t told Mother or Daddy that I was going out. I wasn’t allowed to date because they thought boys would distract me from my studies. If I had said I was going out with Greg, I’m sure I would have been met with the expected lecture about rules and responsibility, but the expected lecture was not what I was after. No, I wanted full-on World War III.

My reflection smiled at me. I looked fabulous! Since I knew I’d be riding on the back of Greg’s motorcycle, I decided against a skirt and went with a pair of black skinny jeans and a fitted hot pink tank top. The pink shirt contrasted sharply with my Smurf hair and the whole outfit made me feel powerful. My parents would hate it.

I ran down the hallway and past the living room where my parents sat reading the paper. No joke, my parents still subscribed to and actually read the town newspaper like it was 1965 or something.

“I’ll be back later!” I shouted as I neared the front door.

“Just a minute, young lady.” Daddy’s voice was stern. “Come in here.”

I rolled my eyes and went to the living room, ready for a fight.

“Where are you going?” Mother didn’t even bother to look up from her paper.

“Out.”  I looked Daddy in the eyes and searched for some reaction, but there was nothing.

“With whom,” he asked.

“Greg. He’s outside waiting for me, can I please go now?”

He pressed his lips into a thin, white line and I braced myself for the incoming nuclear attack. Outside, Greg revved his engine and honked his horn. Oh, that was sure to get my parents. Anytime we watched a movie with a guy picking up a girl by just honking the horn, I was always lectured about how they would never allow such a disrespectful punk to take me out.

“It’s a school night, you know,” said Daddy.

“I know.” I put a hand on my hip and sighed deeply

“Okay then. Have fun.”

“You’re going to let me go?” As excited as I was about the idea of riding off into the sunset on the back of Greg’s bike, I never expected to actually get to go. I thought for sure this would freak them out enough to lock me in my room until I was twenty.

Mother turned the page of the newspaper and remained quiet.

“You look lovely. Have fun.” Daddy picked up his newspaper and continued reading.

“Okay. Good night, then. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” It was a last ditch effort to rile them up.

“Then you better take your key with you.” Mother laid the newspaper in her lap and smiled at me in a way I hadn’t seen in about a million years. “Your dad’s right. You look lovely, dear. Now, don’t keep your young biker friend waiting.”

Without another word, I turned and left the house. Tears burned my eyes and I blinked them back. What was I upset about anyway? Wasn’t this exactly what I had always wanted? Mousey Regina Cabot was going out, on a school night, with the most gorgeous guy in school. And my parents didn’t even give me a curfew. It was more than amazing. It was a miracle. And it was scary as hell. Did they not love me anymore? Had I done something to disappoint them so much that they decided the best thing they could do was write me off? I hated them for trying to ruin my night like this.

“Wow! You look amazing, Regina!” Greg held a helmet out to me. I considered turning it down, but I wasn’t stupid. I slipped it over my head and climbed on to the back of his bike. The vibrations rumbled up my belly and into my head.

Greg backed down the driveway and as we roared past my house, I took a final look to see if my parents were peeking from a window or the front door. They weren’t.

I held onto Greg’s waist more tightly than I needed to and rested my head against his back. I don’t know why my parents suddenly stopped caring about what I did or how I did it, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. I was in charge of my own life. I could make my own decisions. And maybe, if I didn’t have to worry about getting yelled at for a bunch of stupid crap, I would have more energy to do the things I really enjoyed.

Greg pulled into a parking spot and helped me off the bike. I took off my helmet and handed it to him so I could try and fluff up my plastered down hair.

“Don’t worry about it. You look great.” He tilted my chin up and kissed me lightly on the lips. My first kiss.

My heart raced so hard I thought for sure it would break my ribcage.

“You hungry?”

“Yeah.” My reply came out a breathless whisper.

“This place has the best burgers. Let’s eat and figure out what to do with the rest of the night.” Greg pulled me to his side and wrapped his arm around my waist as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to skip the burger, get back on his bike and leave everything behind. I wanted to see the world with him. I wanted to kiss under the stars. I wanted to be wild and reckless. But that’s not what I was going to do.

“I have a Lit. test tomorrow, and I really need to review. Could you take me home after this?” We were settled into a booth in the cafe.

“You serious? I thought you wanted to freak your parents out.”

“I do. Or I did. I don’t know anymore. But yeah, I’m serious. I want to make sure I do well on my test for me, not for them. So, even though it makes me sound like a hopeless nerd, I do want to go home after we eat.”

He smiled and took my hand from across the table. “If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do. But maybe we can eat slowly?”

“My parents always complain that I’m a terribly slow eater,” I replied.

“I figured this was too good to be true, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you serious,” he asked. “Regina, you have to know you’re like the most beautiful girl in school. I’ve been wanting to find a way to talk to you since I moved here, but I figured you wouldn’t give me the time of day. I didn’t even think you knew my name.”

“Wait, what?” I bit my lower lip and stared at him, trying to find a crack in his lie. Only, he didn’t seem to be lying. He was sweet and nervous and sincere. “You didn’t think I’d go out with you? Why in the world not?”

“Because you’re so...you. So smart and busy and, well, sort of perfect. And look at me. You have to admit, I’m not the preppy kind of guy I figured you’d go for. But when you changed your hair, I realized that maybe there’s a side to you that I didn’t know before.”

“This is so weird.” I took a long drink of water and tried to think of the best way to say what I was thinking.

“What is? Me?”

“No. This whole situation. I’ve been crushing on you like a fan-girl for months now! But you never so much as looked at me and I figured you were just way out of my league.” I blushed. “I can’t believe I just told you that.”

“Scoot over.” He came around the table and slid into the booth next to me.

“This is a weirdly poetic situation, isn’t it? We could have been coming here, together, for months if either one of us had just gotten past our fear and said something to the other.” His arm was heavy and comforting around my shoulder. Heat radiated off his neck.

“It’s weird alright. But good.”

“So, even though your parents aren’t mad about you seeing me, you want to go out again?”

I looked into his green eyes and my heart soared. “Yes. Definitely.” This time, I lifted my face to his and kissed him. My second kiss.

Our food came and we ate slowly, nibbling and laughing our way through the night, until we both agreed it was time to go.

“You’re gonna rock your Lit test tomorrow,” Greg said, helping me off the bike. “Let me know how it goes.”

“Thank you for understanding.” I hugged him tightly.

“Nothing to understand. You have to do what you have to do. I’d be a jerk not to support you.” He hugged me tighter and I felt safe and warm encircled in his arms. I didn’t want him to let go. But eventually, I had to.

“I had fun. Thank you for dinner.”

“See you in the morning!” He swung his leg over the seat and the engine rumbled to life. “I’m not leaving until I see you’re safely in the house. I’m a gentleman like that.”

In the house, I leaned against the door and listened to him ride away until I couldn’t hear him anymore. The television was on in the living room. My mother was lying with her head in my father’s lap as they watched some crime drama.

“Did you have fun?” Mother asked.

“Yeah. A lot.” My lips still tingled from our parting kiss.

“You’re home earlier than I thought.”

“I have a test in the morning I need to study for.”

“Well, goodnight, dear.”

“Night.”

I never figured out what made my parents let go of the reins so suddenly, but I’m glad they did. I aced that Lit test, by the way, along with all the rest of my finals. And the best part is, I did it for myself, not to try and please them. Greg and I have been going strong for nearly a year now, and sometimes he still looks at me like he can’t believe I picked him. I know exactly how he feels.