Saturday, February 23 – 7:30 PM
Maria
I lean my head against the ice-cold window and stare out into the darkness as streetlight after streetlight flies past. Tina has the heat up way too high in the car, and the cold feels wonderful against my skin.
Looking out into the night and seeing nothing but the occasional, deep orange flashes of the passing streetlights is somehow very soothing. My thoughts are all jumbled and disorganized, and I need to figure out what I’m feeling.
Owen intentionally ran into that jerk back on the slope. I don’t doubt it for even a second. He saw the guy trying to push me around and mess with my mind, and he came to my defense.
He protected me. Nobody but Tina has ever done that for me before.
“So, how’d your snowboarding go?” calls out Tina, breaking up my thoughts just as I thought they were finally making sense.
“It was good,” I mumble, still staring out into the night. It’s snowing, and tiny white dots glitter in the headlights and then vanish into the darkness as they zip past.
“Just good?”
“Once I calmed down, Owen and I got along pretty well,” I continue, seeing that she’s not going to let the conversation go. “We went over onto one of the blue slopes on the eastern ridge. He got a lot better.”
“Ahh...”
Tina turns on the windshield wipers and goes silent for a long time before speaking again. I watch the wipers flop back and forth... back and forth... It’s oddly relaxing.
“Maria, is there something you’re not telling me?”
I sigh and rub my eyes, trying to break the hypnotic spell of the wipers.
“Yes, there is.”
“Well then!” she exclaims, her interest piqued. “Do I nag you about it, or do I wait for you to break down and tell me anyway?”
I laugh weakly and shake my head. She’s right; I’ll probably crack and confide in her soon enough. Right now, though, I don’t understand the muddled feelings bouncing around inside me. The fear and worry I felt when I saw Owen knock over that a*shole on the slope, the excitement of him coming to my aid... I don’t care so much that he did it, as that he was willing to. Even more, though, I’m still nervous about how a snowboarding collision triggered a flashback! Even when I think I’m strong, the nightmares are still hiding and waiting to sneak up on me.
I need time to think before I tell her anything.
“Alright... wait it is,” she says, sounding a little disappointed, and she drives in silence the rest of the way home.
We go our separate ways when we finally get back to the apartment. Tina still has homework to do for tomorrow, so she locks herself away in her bedroom. I get in the shower, crank up the hot water until I’m nearly suffocating in the gloriously thick steam, and feel my fears wash away along with the sweat and grime of the day.
Maybe I can trust Owen. Maybe he’s different from the others—different from Darren in particular—and doesn’t just want to hurt me. When I finally get out of the shower, I know what I need to do. I can’t believe I’m going to do this, but I have to.
I need to talk to Owen. I need to find out why he tried to protect me.
It is dark downstairs, and I tiptoe quietly down and into the kitchen. Tina’s coat is hanging on the back of the closet door, and I start to rummage through its pockets.
Crumpled chocolate wrappers, loose change... eew, a used tissue... where is that sticky note?
“Are you looking for this?” calls out Tina from behind me, and I nearly leap into the air from surprise.
I spin around and see Tina lying on the couch with her pathology textbook and a clip-on reading light. She holds up the ripped, yellow sticky-note between two fingers as if tempting me to come get it.
“Yeah, that’s what I was looking for,” I answer embarrassedly. “Sorry that I went snooping in your...”
Her face lights up, and she excitedly cuts me off and leaps up from the couch.
“Maria, that’s wonderful!” she gushes, and she crosses the apartment in a flash and hugs me tightly. “Look at yourself! Seriously, look at what you’re doing! You’re calling a guy!”
“I... well, maybe?” I stammer. Truthfully, I hadn’t planned that far ahead. I just... well, what else do I want his number for if I’m not calling him? Why would I even go looking for it? Damn it, I’ve managed to confuse even myself now.
Tina holds out her hand and sitting in her outstretched palm is the tiny shred of yellow paper. As I reach out for it, though, she pulls it back and shakes a finger at me.
“You have to do two things for me if you want it, though!”
I groan. I should’ve known there would be a catch. There always is.
“Number one, you have to promise to tell me what happens.”
“Oh Jesus, Tina! I’m not trying to go on a date; I just want to talk to him!”
“Doesn’t change anything!” she answers in a light, sing-songish voice.
I sigh in exasperation. “Okay. Fair enough—I’ll tell you what happens.”
That should be easy. I just want to talk to him, so there won’t be anything to tell.
“Good,” she chimes happily, and then quietly adds, “For number two: you have to promise to be careful with yourself, okay?”
I roll my eyes at her and scoff.
“Tina... what do you think I’m going to do? Have sex with him? Hell no! I just want to talk to him.”
“I wasn’t talking about sex at all,” she chirps, sticking out her tongue at me, “but the fact that you just considered the option makes me a happy, happy girl.”
She winks at me as she hands me the tiny shred of paper, and then she skips back to the couch and buries herself in her textbook again. I briefly debate continuing the argument—maybe pointing out that I hadn’t considered having sex with Owen whatsoever—but I think better of it in the end. There’s just no winning an argument with Tina.
Instead, I go straight back upstairs and grab my phone.
“Six zero seven...”
I sit cross-legged on the carpet and wrap myself in a blanket as the phone rings. The room suddenly feels very cold to me, and I start to shiver.
One ring... two rings...
My thumb shoots out and disconnects the call.
“Shit... why am I so nervous?” I mutter to myself, but I already know the answer.
I dial his number again, but this time I can’t even get my shaking hand to hit the call button. I grind my teeth in frustration and try to push the nervousness and fear into the back of my mind, but the back of my mind is already full of even scarier emotions.
I can’t do it. I can’t call him.
I curl up on the carpet, frustrated and upset with myself, and I cover my head with the blanket. I want to strangle myself for being so worthless, but instead I just lay on the floor as a wave of humiliation washes over me. Now what am I supposed to do?
I stare down at the little yellow slip of paper, and my spirit lifts as I see his e-mail address.
I can handle that. E-mailing him is so impersonal, so aloof and distanced, that even a wimp like me can do it. I do wonderfully over e-mail because I don’t have to see the other person stare at me.
I still agonize over the e-mail for an entire hour before I finally send it, though.
“Hey... it’s Maria. Just wanted to say hi. What’re you up to this week? Coffee maybe? Let me know.”
I immediately shut off the computer, turn off my phone, and leap into bed. I don’t want to even look for his answer until tomorrow. If I stay up and wait, I’ll worry about the possible responses—all the terrible, hurtful things that he’d never actually say, but could say if he wanted to hurt me—and waste the entire night.
I just want to go to bed proud that I’ve taken my biggest step in seven years.