A World Without You. A. S. Peterson
“Great.” She jumped to her feet, pushed in the video, and sat beside him on the couch.
They watched in silence, eating popcorn, until the scene about the two friends kissing in the mechanic’s garage. Felicia breathed in excitedly. “This scene reminds me of our kiss inside your garage.”
Scott frowned. “Our kiss was nothing like theirs.”
“Maybe not, but even though you’re one of my best friends, I can’t forget our kiss.” She clutched his arm. “This is my favorite part of the movie.”
Scott scowled. “I know. You tell me every time we watch it.”
“Don’t you like this part?”
“It’s okay,” Scott replied, thinking he’d much rather be kissing the girl in the park than watching some other guy kissing a girl.
Felicia rolled her eyes as she pressed the rewind button to watch the scene again. “Scott, you know nothing about romance, and the fact that you don’t have a girlfriend proves my point.”
Scott opened his mouth, about to comment she didn’t have a boyfriend either, but he closed it. She’d blame him. When she pressed the rewind button a third time, he said, “If you keep rewinding or fast-forwarding your tapes, it tightens them and they don’t last as long.”
Felicia laughed. “You would be more concerned about a tape than love. Like I said, you know nothing about romance.”
At eleven-thirty, Scott went home and crawled into bed, excited about seeing the girl in the park tomorrow. He remembered the sensation of her touch, expensive dress, blue eyes, innocent expression, and her small breasts. He finally fell asleep two hours later with visions of the girl rolling around inside his head.
That night, he dreamt. In every direction he turned, there were two naked beautiful breasts. He longed to touch one, but all the while, he was fighting an inner struggle to keep his hands off. He finally gave into his resistance and caressed one. As soon as he squeezed the mound of flesh and rubbed the nipple, the breasts disappeared and two uniformed cops, a male and female, appeared. They handcuffed him, pushing him forward and away from a girl. Scott turned, wanting to know who the girl was. With sadness, he noticed it was the girl from the park, slowly drifting away.
The sadness jolted him awake. He glanced at his clock radio which glowed four in the morning. He placed his hands in front of him, twisting them slowly. He couldn’t shake off the feeling of being restrained and the unhappiness he felt when the girl floated away.
Scott overslept which put him behind schedule. Not only that, his mom insisted he mow Mrs. Whitfield’s, Mrs. Morgan’s, and Felicia’s front lawns before playing football. He would have given a smart remark, but he couldn’t afford to be grounded on the day he was going to meet the girl. Controlling his anger, he glanced at the clock in the kitchen. In fifty minutes, he needed to be at North Hillside Park.
He refused to eat breakfast and rushed outside. While he retrieved the lawn mower inside the garage, he calculated he could finish with the first two front lawns in thirty minutes.
Like clockwork, half an hour later, he moved onto Felicia’s lawn. As the morning sun beat down on him, sweat flooded under his armpits. His T-shirt clung to his perspiring body. He groaned, finally admitting he was going to be late.
Felicia was sitting on her front steps when he finished her lawn. She gave him one of her mischievous looks. “Hi, Scott.”
She followed him into the garage and placed her hand on his arm. “If you keep mowing the lawns with a wet T-shirt that emphasize your muscular body, I’m going to have a fight on my hands, trying to keep the girls away from you.”
Scott shoved the mower into the corner. “Very funny.” He turned to leave. “I’ll see you later.”
Felicia smiled; embarrassing him was one of her favorite past times. She yelled, “If I’m black and blue the next time you see me, you’ll know I was defending your honor.”
Scott grinned, pulled his watch from his pocket, and opened the front door. He rushed to his bedroom. There was no time to take a shower. He grabbed another navy-blue T-shirt from his dresser, thinking what Destiny had told him. He rushed across the hallway to the bathroom where he washed his face, his chest, and his underarms.
When Scott finished, he hurried back to his room, grabbed the poems he had written. After putting them inside his pocket, he moved toward the front door, ignoring his mom who sat on their old green sofa in the living room.
Megan noticed him and scrambled off the couch. “Scottie, play.” She grabbed his hand, trying to drag him into the living room.
Scott lifted his sister, tossed her carefully into the air, and caught her. “I can’t play now,” he mumbled as he placed Megan on the floor. He met his mom’s gaze. “I’m late.”
His mom pushed herself off the couch.
The morning sun cascaded through the front window of the living room, brightening the room, giving the illusion of cheeriness between mother and son as they regarded one another.
His mom inhaled softly as she approached him. “Since you missed your breakfast, take these two granola bars and this water bottle with you.”
Scott stared at the food, knowing she was trying to sound nurturing instead of emotional. His mom never gave him a simple hug or showed him any affection. Instead she’d counter her feelings for him with another action. The sight of food made his stomach churn. He reached for her peace offering. “Thanks.”
His mom swallowed as an affectionate and loving expression crossed her face. She mumbled, on the verge of tears, “Scott, I…I really do appreciate everything you do.”
Scott eyed his mom. His empty stomach stirred with anxiety. She was giving him one of her vulnerable looks. He took a deep breath. Any sudden show of affection during her emotional phase would result in a sobbing breakdown. Determined to avoid that unpleasant crisis, he quickly gave a humorous remark. “I know, and I’ll try and appreciate all your reminders too.”
When she smiled, the knot in his stomach lessened. He hurried to the front door. “I’ll see you later, Mom.”
Scott left the house, walking quickly to the park and the girl. He sighed with relief. He was getting better at diverting his mom’s emotional crises. As he made his way to Seventh Street, he wondered if all mothers were as hard to decipher as his own. His stormy relationship with her consisted of battles, demands, and the avoidance of reoccurring bouts of sadness.
5
Briana
Ten minutes before ten, Briana wiped the perspiration off her forehead as she entered the park. She wasn’t sure if she was sweating from the sun’s heat, her nervousness about seeing the boy again, or her fear that he might not show. She strolled to the swings. Over the past two days, her every thought had been centered on the boy. She had filled three pages in her journal with a detailed description of the boy’s unruly long brown hair, his tattered clothes, his kind and gentle eyes, and the tenderness of his voice. While she shied away from most people, this boy was different. The feelings she associated with him were comfort, safety, and excitement.
Briana sat on a swing, pushed of the ground, and felt a bit rebellious, a new feeling for her. She rarely disobeyed one of her parents’ rules. Well, I’m not really disobeying now either, she told herself.
Her parents continuously mentioned no one was allowed inside the house when she was home alone, but they never mentioned she couldn’t leave. Briana took a deep breath as her chest gave an unfamiliar twist of anxiousness. This was the first time she had a reason to be this technical about a rule, but she wanted desperately to see this boy again whether her parents approved of her action or not, even though the boy seemed like an illusion that she had created to cope with Minnie’s death. As a young girl, she had invented an imaginary friend to deal with her loneliness, and that’s what it