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I stood, putting some distance between us. “Because from the minute I stepped into that fort, I became bound to you and you to me. And I want the cabin and the cottage.”
He said nothing, but closed the distance between us, pulled me to him and held me there for a long time. After that night, Brock pulled away from me. It wasn’t lost on me that it was the day after my fifteenth birthday. Four years to the day…I met him on my eleventh birthday, and I lost him on my fifteenth.
2005
Sitting at lunch,my pizza went untouched. I’d had a thought in class, an idea for a shoe. Chewing on the tip of my pencil, the image formed in my head before I started sketching. My black rim glasses slid down my nose, but I was too engrossed in the design. I wanted to design clothes. Much of what I wore, I had designed and made.
Mom called me eclectic…quirky. They were compliments in my opinion. Practically born with mismatched socks, she always teased. I was a little left of center, moved to my own beat. I learned it from my mom, Mother Nature incarnate. She owned a small florist, loved gardening. She rarely wore shoes, preferred flowing skirts and tank tops. She too moved to her own beat. That wasn’t always popular, standing out, particularly in high school, where everyone was so determined to blend in. It wasn’t without its problems. I’d gone home many times with tears rolling down my cheeks. Sometimes, I even pondered losing the colorful clothing, taming my wild dark brown curls, conforming. Those thoughts never lasted long because Mom was my biggest cheerleader. She encouraged me to just be me, whoever that was. Find where I belonged and stay true to it, and anyone who had a problem with it weren’t people I wanted in my life anyway.
I glanced up when Brock walked into the cafeteria. It was like I had a sixth sense when it came to him. He looked good. His brown hair…calling it brown didn’t do it justice. It was like milk chocolate laced with caramel. Like when we were younger, it was always just a bit long, curling around his ears and at his neck. He had developed a way of walking, a confident kind of swagger that came from someone being completely comfortable in his own skin. He had a smile that was rare these days, but, when bestowed, could stop hearts, and eyes that shifted between gray and green, depending on his moods.
He’d been my best friend, and now he was my crush. I think every girl in high school had that one crush, their very own version of Jake Ryan fromSixteen Candles, but unlike a John Hughes’ movie, most of the time, he really didn’t know you existed. I’d stopped existing for Brock at fifteen. He wasn’t cruel; he didn’t bully me. He just avoided me.
I’d tried. For a year, I tried to get my friend back, but when Brock made up his mind, there was no changing it. There was a part of me that hated him for that because, for four years, he had been my family. I loved him like it, too, but he wasn’t there anymore.
I smiled thinking about some of our antics. The turkey we’d rescued was safe from being hunted because he’d become a kind of urban legend. It was considered very lucky to spot him, the turkey that roamed the woods of Saratoga Springs, New York.
My focus shifted back to Brock. He disappeared in the food line, so I got back to my design. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look up every once and a while to get a look at him, so you can imagine my surprise when one of the times I did, it was to find a pair of gray eyes looking back. The connection didn’t last long before he looked away. Those glances always hurt the most because I knew Brock, knew he was hurting too, but for whatever reason, he wanted distance. I didn’t like giving up, but sometimes, you had no other choice but to let go.
After school, I grabbed a pumpkin spice coffee at the local café, before taking a stroll down Main Street. I had homework, but I loved this time of year. It wasn’t cold enough yet, summer refusing to give way to fall, but the garden committee had filled the pots lining the street with mums. Cornstalks framed many of the doorways of the shops in town. In a few more weeks, the temperatures would drop. Pumpkins would be added to the décor, kids would be discussing their Halloween costumes.
I was walking back to my car and heard the shout. I glanced over at the garage and saw Brock in one of the bays. His back was to me, but I’d know him anywhere. I hadn’t known he worked there. I wondered what his father had to say about that. I knew part of what kept him away from me was his dad. I worried about him, knew that his dad was abusive, but Brock was older and bigger and could take care of himself. He wasn’t that eleven-year-old anymore.
I was feeling more nostalgic these days because I was leaving at the end of the school year, moving into the city to attend NYU. A part of me knew when I left, he wouldn’t be here when I got back.
Gym class. Ihated gym class. We had a uniform, heather gray sweatpants and a navy blue tee. I added to my uniform, a little splash of color down the side hem of the pants, a small bedazzled happy face on the tee. And, unlike my fellow classmates, who wore the most expensive sneakers the season demanded, I had a pair of white running shoes that I spiced up with buttons I’d been collecting.
Walking into the gym from the locker room, I saw Brock immediately. Standing by the bleachers, his sweats hung low on his hips, his blue tee looked almost painted on. He was only eighteen, but he had the body of a man. It wasn’t a surprise some of the girls in class were standing with him. Ella and Samantha were two of the more popular girls in school, cheerleaders, in the running for homecoming court. They were pretty, their blonde hair long, shiny and straight. Watching them, they had a way of looking at Brock through their lashes that was both adorable and sexy. His friend, Declan, was saying something. They were a study of opposites. Brock with his dark hair, smoldering gray eyes, and broody and distance personality; whereas, Declan was blond with blue eyes, and always the life of the party. Like now, Declan was cracking up, but Brock didn’t laugh, he didn’t even smile, but he did grin. I was bitter about Declan because I’d been replaced. I didn’t dwell on it often, but when confronted with it, I could admit I didn’t like it or Declan.
The teacher walked over, blowing his whistle to get everyone’s attention. “Tag football, mixed teams. Who wants to be the team leaders?”
The dreaded practice of picking teams; an antiquated tradition that should be banned because it only fostered the separation between the popular kids and the outcasts. It wasn’t a surprise when Ella’s hand shot up right before Declan raised his own. Great. With those captains, I was sure to be the last one picked.
Ella picked Samantha. Declan picked Brock, big surprise there. I listened as other names were called, the cushion of people separating me from being the last man standing growing smaller and smaller. Another reminder of how my world had changed because never would I have been last picked with Brock. He was the frick to my frack, but now, I was the one on the outside looking in. My gaze dropped to hide my anger. I chewed on my lower lip and wondered if it was too late to say I had my period and nasty cramps, so I could get excused to the nurse’s office. Most male teachers, as soon as you said the dreaded p-word, had them talking over you and waving you away. As if the condition was contagious.
“Cedar.”
I was pulled from my thoughts when I heard my name, but I was so distracted I didn’t know who called it. Then I glanced around the gym to see there were still several people yet to be called. I had to be daydreaming because in what universe was I picked before Layla, and Grant, he was a first string football star?
“Are you coming, Babe?”
My head snapped to Declan, but my eyes didn’t stay on him because I caught sight of Brock. It was how he was looking that I knew he’d been the one to suggest me. I should be grateful to not be the last one picked, but it felt more like charity and coming from my one-time best friend, it hurt…and pissed me off.
“He picked mefor gym.” I told Mom later that day, while we worked in the garden. “Three years and suddenly, I’m visible again.” Yanking the band from my hair, I redid the knot it was in.
Mom stopped cutting, dropping her hands in her lap. She was smiling when she looked over at me. “You think he hasn’t noticed you?” Her eyes moved down from my lime green bedazzled tee to my cut off jean shorts that I’d sewn black lace to the bottom of. “How could he not notice you, Cedar?” She touched my cheek, wiping a bit of dirt from it. “You’re beautiful, you’re unique; you’re a diamond in a sea of sapphires.”
Unwavering, her belief and love in me. Humbling at times. The back of my eyes burned. “I get it from you.”
Her head tilted back, her melodic laugh filling the air but that quickly her expression changed and her laughter died. “You’re more confident than I was. You believe in yourself more than I did. That’s why I know you’re going to be okay, because you’re already so confident, even at eighteen.”
I had her to thank for that, my rock, and my biggest cheerleader.
“I know you’ve missed him, but I do believe whatever kept him away, he thought he was doing the right thing,” she said.
“I know. That’s what makes it so hard to be angry.”
“He’s older now, maybe he’s come to realize that when you live in the dark, you shouldn’t shut out the light.” She started clipping some lavender.
