It was a hot September day when Brandon and I left Ms. Dicely’s class for lunch. I was 14, and in those days what everyone called a “prep.” My family had more money than most, and it showed in my clothes: khakis, cross-trainer tennis shoes, a new and clean white t-shirt and even a sweater-vest. My hair was very short, almost cropped, and worn in that southwestern pacific spikey style so common in those days. It was unbleached, demonstrative of a conservative and traditional ideology. Brandon wore clothes that were more common in this society: poorly fitted bluejeans, worn sneakers, and a too-large black t-shirt with some rock band on the front. I do not recall what the topic of the conversation for the day was, but as we headed out for the nacho truck I gave him my number, confident that I had made my first friend in high-school.
That night I sat at my desk in my room reading “The Lord of the Rings,” a ritual which I had decided to make annual. My room still had its fresh-off-the-market beige paint, but it made up for it with an antique heavy wooden desk painted forest green (my favorite color) with a game of tic-tac-toe carved into it by yours truly years ago when I was bored out of my mind writing lines as a punishment administered by my step-dad. I had won, of course. Above the desk was a poster of Link from the Zelda games, standing heroically with Princess Zelda in one corner and the evil Gannondorf in the other. My bed was a queen-size with forest green and burgundy sheets, a heavy and plain comforter, over which was draped a blanket depicting a pack of wolves under a full moon in a rocky forest backdrop. The blanket was the only gift given to me by my step-grandmother which I ever really liked. I loved that blanket. My night-stand matched my desk.
I heard the phone ring downstairs and shortly there was a knock on my door. When I opened it I saw my mom with the cordless phone held against her chest to block the receiver.
“There’s a girl on the phone for you,” she said with a curious and excited look on her face.
“A girl?” I asked incredulously. “Thanks, mom.”
I took the phone and closed the door.
“Hello?” I asked warily, sitting on a corner of my bed.
“Is this Michael?” came the voice of a young girl whose own boldness apparently shocked her to the point of shyness.
“Yes. Who is this?”
She giggled as young girls do, although there was a sort of quiet confidence in her voice. “Rosalie.”
“Uh … hi,” I said awkwardly, not sure what to think.” “What’s up? I had only a vague idea who she was. I didn’t pay any attention to girls. They were no fun. Why was she calling me?
“How are you today?” she asked, apparently wanting some small talk.
“I’m great! Just reading “The Lord of the Rings.”
“You’re reading!?” she asked, her turn to be incredulous.
“Yeah. I’ve read it seven times already, this’ll be the eighth. It’s my favorite book.”
“Do you read a lot?” She sounded like she was having a hard time getting used to the idea. In high school, in Vallejo, CA, nobody reads except for a few losers (a clan of people which, by my dress and manerisms, I clearly was not one of,) and especially not for fun or interest.
“Yeah, I like good stories.”
There was a long pause.
“Are you okay?” I asked, not sure what else to say.
“Well,” her voice had taken on that confident shyness again, “I just called because I was wondering … would you go out with me?”
Ah … there it was. Okay … what to tell her … ?
“Uh … I don’t think so … my mom won’t let me have a girlfriend until I’m sixteen.”
“Oh …” she sounded surprised and disappointed … and hurt. “Well, do you do everything your mom says?”
“I’m supposed to. I love my mom.” Good job, Mike. I haven’t lied once. Awkward silence. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t like you or anything,” vague enough thing to say to a teenage girl, what does “like” mean anyway? “I just don’t want to upset my mom. A happy mom keeps a happy home.”
I was downstairs now, in the kitchen where my mom was making dinner … baked chicken. It would be dry. She always dried it out too much. I covered the receiver and whispered to my mom from across the counter, “Call my name like dinners ready.” She gave me a funny look before she caught on.
“Miii-CHAEL!!!”
“Sorry, gotta go. Dinner’s ready. See yah ’round.”
“Oh …” more disappointment, “bye.”
“Bye!” I said, trying to sound friendly.
The phone beeped as I pushed the off button, signaling the end of an unwanted yet flattering ordeal.
“Who was that?” my mom interogated curiously, her eyes narrowing protectively.
“Some girl I hardly know who wants to go out with me.” There was no pride in my voice, only distaste.
“Did you tell her that your momma says no?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I don’t want you worried about women until you’re at least sixteen.”
“I know, mom. That’s what I told her. When’s dinner gonna be ready?”
“In about two hours. I’m putting the chicken in the oven now.”
I quickly rummaged through the cupboards, making sure there was plenty of apple juice. I would need it in about two hours.
Later, back in my room and two pages into “A Shadow From the Past” I heard the phone ring again. This time my mom didn’t even come to the door.
“Miii-CHAEL!!!”