Crushed

[In honour of my 25th blog entry, a short story.]

He'd already rung the doorbell when he realized he had no idea what he was going to say. Going to her house after school had seemed like a good idea the whole time he'd been cycling the roughly three kilometers that separated their homes. That would be his home, a small two-bedroom apartment in a three-story walkup, and hers, an actual house, just outside the city but not really in the country. If he were older, the difference would've been obvious, but kids in seventh grade didn't usually notice such things. Zits got noticed. Hair that stuck up when it should've stayed down got noticed. And flood pants definitely got noticed. But of social stratas, he was, as yet, blissfully unaware.

So it wouldn't be accurate to say that his apprehension had anything to do with the whole "Rich Girl, Poor Boy" thing. Nor would it be right to really call her rich, or him poor, except in terms relative to each other. No, what caused him to break out in a cold sweat and made his heart skip a beat during those first few seconds after pushing the small white button and hearing the corresponding ding dong echo from within the house, was that he didn't really have any right to be there. He hadn't called her first, he hadn't told her at school that he might ride to her house later on, and he'd never come here before so why the Hell was he there? Sure, it'd become almost expected that they'd talk most days during recess, despite the heaps of abuse he was taking from his friends for spending his free time hanging out with, not just a girl, but Yankee Doodle Dandy (it turns out it's not easy being an American-born kid attending a Canadian school, he'd learned vicariously). And he'd even gotten into the habit of getting to school much earlier, of late, once he figured out that her bus got there about forty-five minutes before the bell rang, which sometimes amounted to nothing because she wasn't on the bus (getting a later ride from a parent, it would turn out) or because she'd come off the bus with this girlfriend or that one and head off with nothing more than a look (if that) in his direction. But somedays he'd just happen to bump into her as she came down the steps through the folding door, and they'd talk about stuff while the schoolyard slowly filled up around them, whether he noticed it or not. Clearly there was something going on, but neither of them had addressed it yet, and he couldn't help but think that if he did, it'd disappear just like those things you see out of the corner of your eye, that are never there when you turned to look at them.

None of that school business, though, was quite the same as biking to her house, unannounced, and ringing her doorbell! He knew, as a flurry of sounds inside the house moved closer and closer to the door, that he'd put something in motion that was probably going to roll over him and leave him bruised and beaten down and sorry he'd ever made such a stupid move. Case in point: in his mind's eye, while peddling along highway 4, he'd imagined her opening the door and smiling to see him, but now it dawned on him it would probably be one of her parents! It wasn't bad enough he had nothing good prepared to say to her; what the Hell could he possibly come up with to open a conversation with an adult he'd never even met? He'd just started to consider whether he had time to bolt to his ten speed, get on it, and get out of sight before being seen, when the door opened.

And so he found himself face to face with a woman much younger than his own mother, but apparently as kind, based on the quizzical but not perturbed look on her face.

"Hi, can I talk to... I mean, that is, would it please be possible to.." he blurted out, immediately reminded that he had no idea how to say I've no business being here but I'd be ever so grateful if you'd just let me talk to your daughter without coming across like an idiot. Which, of course, he now knew he was.

But Cupid took rare pity on him that day, and the woman merely smiled and said, "I'll go get her. Would you like to come inside?"

Since he couldn't do the math quickly enough in his head to figure out which was worse: standing in her hallway, the unforgivable invasion now complete, or making her put on shoes and maybe a sweater in order to outside and deal with this heathen, he opted to go with what he thought would be more polite, and said, "Thanks, ma'am. That'd be great!"

Years later, he'd learn all kinds of things about women keeping men waiting, and jokes made about women having to put faces on, but in this simpler time he had no idea what to expect. He wondered if maybe she'd refuse to see him, and he'd be sent home after being served a glass of milk and a cookie, as consolation prizes. Or maybe she'd tell him what a fool he was for bothering her, and to please stop annoying her at school while he's at it. He'd have been on surer footing exploring the surface of Mars (at least he'd read a few books and comics set there!).

But when she appeared in the hall mirror he'd been looking at without realizing he was looking at it, all such thoughts evaporated and he thought, She's wearing different clothes than she had on in school today! Which was quickly followed by, How come I remember what she was wearing? and then by, And I'm in exactly the same clothes. Is that bad?

"Hey," she said, with an almost smile or maybe he imagined it. "What brings you all the way out here? Did you ride your bike? Tell me you didn't walk!!"

"No, I biked," he said, relieved beyond words that she wasn't visibly freaked out. "It's not that far, really. You could probably bike to school if you wanted to."

"My parents wouldn't want me biking on the highway, even though it's not really all that busy. Plus I kind of like taking the bus, since I get to sit with some of my friends."

"Makes sense. So anyway, I was wondering, what with the Fair starting up next week, if you'd like to go? With me, I mean. I think my mom could drive us there and back, if you wanted to go, that is."

He'd blurted it out pretty good, all things considered, he thought. It was like diving off the high board at Northside Community Centre: you either walked to the end of the board and jumped right away, or you accepted the scorn of the kids coming up the ladder behind you and ended up going back down the way you'd come up (trying to squeeze beside the kids as they called you every name in the book). He'd never had to endure that, since he wasn't particularly afraid of heights, but he'd seen it happen often enough and had actually even taken part in the teasing once or twice. But this was a hundred times scarier than jumping into a pool from twenty feet up, and he hadn't really believed he'd get the words out, until he did.

"The Fair? Oh, uh, sure, I guess. I'd have to check with my parents, and my dad's not home from work yet. How about I let you know tomorrow at school? It should be okay but I really need to ask."

"Great! Well, I guess I should get going. I'm sure my mom'll be wondering where I am for dinner soon. Say 'bye' to your mom for me, OK?"

"OK, see ya!"

The ride home, which he'd more than half-expected to be a death march, was done in record time. He felt like he could've biked all the way to Toronto if he'd wanted to, he was so pumped up. Somehow he knew, but didn't really understand, that he'd crossed a threshold that was as common as it was indescribably personal.

He'd toss and turn in anguish, long into that night once the thought occured to him, that maybe she'd used the I have to ask my dad who's not here right now angle to avoid turning him down on the spot and would instead say the next day that she couldn't get permission. But like so many (though not all) of his worries, that one would turn out to be groundless. They'd go to the Fair together, and laugh easily at each other's jokes, and tell stories, and almost get put on a ride that someone had just thrown up on (luckily she'd see the puke before either of them could sit down in it), and sometime late in the evening, before the appointed hour to go home, he'd ask her if she'd like to start going together. And to his dying day, he'd remember that she said Yes but wouldn't really seem to put the same weight on it that he did, as if going with someone was simply something you did, instead of being an event of cosmic proportions that required the universe to stop spinning for a second or two and take notice!

And some good days would follow, and then a black day would arrive when she'd tell him that her father's research job was taking the family to the States, and so she'd be gone by midway through the summer, but they could still write and be friends forever. And he'd feel the bottom fall out of his heart, and wonder why anyone ever fell in love if it always ended this way, after a few short months of bliss.

For years afterward, they'd write letters back and forth, but fewer every year, until eventually they stopped. He'd date a few girls from time to time but it'd be ten years before he'd unlock his heart enough to feel that way again, and then when he did take that chance, he'd move Heaven and Earth to make sure his second American love didn't get away. But that's another story, for another day.