I told Chris I was coming over to watch some movies with him before the dance. It was the most hilarious thing. I was sitting on one end of the sectional couch and he was sitting on the other, meaning there was room for at least five teenagers to sit between us. His parents were on their way out, having a big night on the town, but before they left, his mom was stuttering something to us. Something about how we weren't supposed to make out. She was deadly serious.
I was incredibly insulted by that insinuation. I just about yelled at her, “Do you think I'm going to make out with your son? Seriously?” There's a whole slew of other things I could have retorted when I think about it. Snarky things like, “Does Chris have that sort of track record? I wouldn't have thought.”
But her husband took her by the arm and led her from the house saying clearly, “They aren't going to do anything.”
He was right.
Although, I did pick out Chris' clothes for the dance. I had done so countless times for girls. It was my first time doing it for a guy and I rather enjoyed the experience. It was obvious he had utterly no interest in choosing his own clothes, so his letting me do it was not something he did to show a preference for me. He would have let anyone who had an interest take the job.
And I took him to the dance.
I didn't think he would slow dance with me, but I recall him asking me a few times, and I hardly ever remember feeling so happy and calm with anyone. I felt like I was dancing on a cloud.
After the dance was over, we put hearts all over Careen's boyfriend's truck. It was adorable.
Remember what I said about sliding? Well, everyone was horsing around in the parking lot by this guy's truck and I did a baseball slide. I was supposed to go home with Careen that night, but I was bleeding from my knee quite seriously with blood dripping down my leg. Chris intervened and took me to his car. I had been wearing sandals, but in the dark of the car, I took them off and replaced them with a pair of socks and my orange boots. He drove me back to his house.
“Just go up to the door and call for my mom. She won't be asleep, and she'll fix you up.”
I didn't like going into the house by myself, but Wyatt was in the backseat and Chris had promised to drive him home. I was bleeding badly enough that I couldn't argue with him. I needed a bandage, so I hobbled over to the house and knocking on the door, called for Chris' mother.
I showed her my leg and she sat me down in the bathroom and clucked over me like a mother hen asking me if I was okay at every little phase of bandaging my knee. She finished and the pressure of the bandage really set me straight. Then another sensation bubbled up to the top of my senses. I still didn't feel good. I lifted up my skirt and I had bloody skid marks all the way up my thigh.
She had been putting away the medical supplies when I showed her the second injury, which she wrapped like an army nurse who has seen worse cuts and had more to see before her shift was over. It happened so quickly, I don't even remember what she did.
She put away the supplies and I limped into the living room. Chris was back and was watching something on TV with his father while I took stock of myself. I still wasn't feeling good and I slid my hand into my sock to find yet another cut that was filling my orange boot with blood.
I called for Chris' mother as I thought that was the appropriate thing to do since I still felt like quite the stranger in their house.
She replied without getting up from her room, “You know where the stuff is.”
It was to be a perfect template for my relationship with her.
About the Creator
I write novels like I am part-printer, part book factory, and a little girl running away with a balloon. I'm here as an experiment and I'm unsure if this is a place where I can fit in. We'll see.