Chapter 8
959 Words
Chapter 8I hugged Rocco goodbye at seven o’ clock, wished him a goodnight, and watched him drive away in his new big boy pick-up truck to his house three blocks from mine.
He honked, and I waved, smiling. But I wouldn’t sleep unless I could say what I really wanted to say to him before my head hit the pillow. It couldn’t wait until I saw him in class tomorrow.
I turned and looked at my house. I knew there would be consequences if my mother found out that I had stayed out after hours. But something sharp struck me and I set off down the street barefoot in the direction of Rocco’s truck idling at the four-way stop sign.
Out of breath, I rapped on the closed window, waving crazily and grinning like an i***t. He braked, powered down the window and stared at me, confused and amused at the same time. “What are you doing?”
“I wanted to tell you something…” I stopped to catch my breath.
He waited for me to continue, hanging his head out of the driver’s side door.
“I have something to say.”
The smile in his eyes was contagious. “What is it?”
I took a deep breath, exhaled. Held his boyish gaze. “Stay.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t want you to leave. Will you please stay a while longer?” I was panting, almost pleading. “Please?”
He parked his mud-encrusted truck in my parents’ long driveway and we sat on the front porch for an hour longer.
We practiced our secret friendship code: bumped closed fists, and interlocked our fingers, turned our hands sideways and slapped each other’s palms.
“I think this handshake thingamajig changes every time we do it,” Rocco said, laughing.
I kissed his cheek when he turned his head toward me. “It still means the same thing to me…every time.”
He nodded, heaved a sigh. “Me too, I guess.” He pitched me a cheeky smile.
“I don’t want to think about anything else right now: Not school, or my parents, or what time it is.” I paused. “Can we just sit here together?”
He drew me into his big arms, my head falling across his beefy shoulders.
I didn’t want to think about anything else at the moment but Rocco, the smell of his cologne and the sound of his breath slowing down.
I watched him in the dimly lit porch light as he raked a hand through his hair and scrubbed the wiry Chia Pet growth of beard budding along his jawline. He was handsome.
Our bodies had taken the shape of young adult men, I noticed, and it frightened and enlightened a small part of me at the same time.
It was almost nine when the front door opened behind us and my mother came out onto the porch. Rocco slid away from me quickly at the sound of my mother’s authoritative voice, ordering me to come inside. “You’ve got school tomorrow, Jay. It’s almost bed time.”
Heat and embarrassment flushed my face. I turned and rolled my eyes at my mother. “Seriously, Mom?”
Ignoring me, she turned to Rocco and thanked him for coming to dinner.
“I should be thanking you, Mrs. Kirkman.” He stood. “It was good.”
“Just good?” There was an interrogative tone to her voice.
“Mom!” I said.
She waved at me. “Let’s go, Jay. It’s past your bedtime.”
“I’m not a kid.”
“Under this roof—”
“You’ll abide by our rules,” I finished, mockingly.
She gestured to me in her schoolteacher manner. “Hurry up. Morning will be here soon. You’ll be cranky and won’t want to get up.”
I sighed and let out a loud exhale. “Parents,” I said, “the reason we desperately want to escape.”
I reached a hand out to Rocco. He looked down at it, and then up at me, perplexed. I wanted to hug him, but after our conversation I respected his public boundaries. Guarded, he reached for my hand and shook it.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, stepping off the porch and ambling down the driveway to his truck. He yelled back at my mother, thanking her again.
She smiled and strolled back inside, shutting the door, and watching us from behind the curtain.
I waved at Rocco and watched him drive off for the second time that night.
Until tomorrow…
* * * *
An hour later, after I showered and brushed my teeth, I drifted off, dreaming about everything I wanted to tell Rocco tonight but couldn’t.
The end of our four years together was drawing nearer, two months away.
I saw myself walking across the gymnasium stage to accept my diploma. No more lunch period together, or skipping gym class and hiding in the restroom, wasting the full fifty-minutes smoking pot or looking at porn on our iPhones.
I’ll miss the summer nights when you’d climb the arbor in the backyard, trampling my mother’s peonies to naked stalks, and sneaking in through my bedroom window.
You said you wanted to talk about us. But I suspect you wanted more. I appreciated the subtle way you told me you liked me, through your lingering gaze, or the way our fingers touched when we’d sit on the bed or walk down the street, side by side.
I admire the way you respect me, never took me for granted, although our long- distance relationship will hurt me every day we’re not together, seeing your kind face, or hugging you. I will miss your laugh; it sounds like a foghorn, but I like it.
I am excited to experience new things, meet new people. Nobody can replace you, nobody will. But I don’t even know what we are: Just friends? Boyfriends? It feels wonderful, whatever the hell it is. I don’t want it to end.
We wrestle with our differences every day. I am at a crossroads, and don’t know what to do when I know the end of this chapter of our lives is almost over. Just like that—everything changes.
I’m going to miss you, Roc.
- Writer
