admitted. “She’s just great, but …”
But.
That monster of a word.
He pushed the sandwich aside; it was intact except for the half-moon that represented his only bite.
“It’s all over between Jane and me,” he said, finality in his voice like the slam of a door. “She wanted to know what had happened between us.And what could I say? I don’t
know
what happened, Dad. I just …”
“You just don’t feel the same way toward her,” I said, trying to be helpful.
“Right,” he said. “I feel like a rat …”
“You should feel like a rat,” I said.
When he looked up in surprise, I said, “You can’t help what happens to your emotions, Mike. Not at your age. Not at any age, I guess. It would be terrible to fake it with Jane or anybody else. If you didn’t feel bad about it, you’d really be a rat.”
He looked at me, and I felt again that fleeting moment of sharing. It wasn’t triumphant this time, like the basketball sinking through the hoop, but it was a sharing, anyway.
“Poor Jane,” Ellie said later when I had brought her up to date.
“It was inevitable.”
“I wonder what the next one will be like,” she said.
“Like all the others,” I said. “Except the next one will probably have another word instead of
wow.
”
I heard that
wow
again a week or so later when I stopped by a downtown drugstore for an evening newspaper.
“Hi, Mr. Croft. Wow! It’s cold, isn’t it?”
I didn’t spot her at first. My glasses were fogged. And the stools at the soda fountain were occupied by teenagers wearing the same navy-blue jackets and faded jeans. But I’d have known that
wow
anywhere, and then I saw her waving.
Someone abandoned the stool next to her, and Isat down. “Hi,” I said, groping for her name and then pinning it down: “Jane.”
A sundae, strawberry apparently, stood before her; it looked regal and frigid and gaudy. I shivered from the cold that had followed me into the store, and she sat there, spooning ice cream into her mouth.
“How’s your sketching going?” I asked, signaling the clerk for a cup of coffee.
“To tell you the truth, I haven’t done much, Mr. Croft. Like, I’m not too ambitious. I guess I lack motivation.” She sneezed and wiped her nose with a tissue.
“Well, you have plenty of time to develop ambition.”
As usual, I burned my tongue on the coffee.
“How’s Mike?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“I hate myself,” she announced, taking a huge bite of ice cream dripping with syrup. “I promised myself I wouldn’t mention his name for at least six months, and here I am, wow, asking about him.”
“Never hate yourself, Jane. You’re too sweet a girl for that.”
“Not many people think I’m sweet,” she said, tossing her hair, revealing again the sprinkle of acne. She sniffed. “And I’ve got a cold on top of everything else.”
I wondered: Where’s the summer girl, the girl who went to the beach with Mike and splashed in the water, bikini clad and tanned and lovely?
“You’re not a mess, Jane. You’re pretty and talented.And someday you’re going to knock some fellow off his feet.”
She looked up, smiling wanly. “You’re a nice guy, Mr. Croft.”
Not really, I thought. I had been her enemy for a while because she had threatened Mike’s scholarship. And I had gritted my teeth at all her wows. And I felt sad now about it all.
“I wish there were something I could do, Jane,” I said, turning toward her. Despite the eyes that were bloodshot from the cold and the reddened nostrils, she was still lovely, those television commercial teeth and that shining hair. The sadness grew in me because I wished with all my heart that I could make her happy and knew there was no way for me to do so.
“There’s nothing anybody can do, Mr. Croft,” she said, “but thanks, anyway.” She finished the sundae, licking the spoon, and then groped in her handbag for another tissue.
She got up from the stool and looked at me again,
But.
That monster of a word.
He pushed the sandwich aside; it was intact except for the half-moon that represented his only bite.
“It’s all over between Jane and me,” he said, finality in his voice like the slam of a door. “She wanted to know what had happened between us.And what could I say? I don’t
know
what happened, Dad. I just …”
“You just don’t feel the same way toward her,” I said, trying to be helpful.
“Right,” he said. “I feel like a rat …”
“You should feel like a rat,” I said.
When he looked up in surprise, I said, “You can’t help what happens to your emotions, Mike. Not at your age. Not at any age, I guess. It would be terrible to fake it with Jane or anybody else. If you didn’t feel bad about it, you’d really be a rat.”
He looked at me, and I felt again that fleeting moment of sharing. It wasn’t triumphant this time, like the basketball sinking through the hoop, but it was a sharing, anyway.
“Poor Jane,” Ellie said later when I had brought her up to date.
“It was inevitable.”
“I wonder what the next one will be like,” she said.
“Like all the others,” I said. “Except the next one will probably have another word instead of
wow.
”
I heard that
wow
again a week or so later when I stopped by a downtown drugstore for an evening newspaper.
“Hi, Mr. Croft. Wow! It’s cold, isn’t it?”
I didn’t spot her at first. My glasses were fogged. And the stools at the soda fountain were occupied by teenagers wearing the same navy-blue jackets and faded jeans. But I’d have known that
wow
anywhere, and then I saw her waving.
Someone abandoned the stool next to her, and Isat down. “Hi,” I said, groping for her name and then pinning it down: “Jane.”
A sundae, strawberry apparently, stood before her; it looked regal and frigid and gaudy. I shivered from the cold that had followed me into the store, and she sat there, spooning ice cream into her mouth.
“How’s your sketching going?” I asked, signaling the clerk for a cup of coffee.
“To tell you the truth, I haven’t done much, Mr. Croft. Like, I’m not too ambitious. I guess I lack motivation.” She sneezed and wiped her nose with a tissue.
“Well, you have plenty of time to develop ambition.”
As usual, I burned my tongue on the coffee.
“How’s Mike?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“I hate myself,” she announced, taking a huge bite of ice cream dripping with syrup. “I promised myself I wouldn’t mention his name for at least six months, and here I am, wow, asking about him.”
“Never hate yourself, Jane. You’re too sweet a girl for that.”
“Not many people think I’m sweet,” she said, tossing her hair, revealing again the sprinkle of acne. She sniffed. “And I’ve got a cold on top of everything else.”
I wondered: Where’s the summer girl, the girl who went to the beach with Mike and splashed in the water, bikini clad and tanned and lovely?
“You’re not a mess, Jane. You’re pretty and talented.And someday you’re going to knock some fellow off his feet.”
She looked up, smiling wanly. “You’re a nice guy, Mr. Croft.”
Not really, I thought. I had been her enemy for a while because she had threatened Mike’s scholarship. And I had gritted my teeth at all her wows. And I felt sad now about it all.
“I wish there were something I could do, Jane,” I said, turning toward her. Despite the eyes that were bloodshot from the cold and the reddened nostrils, she was still lovely, those television commercial teeth and that shining hair. The sadness grew in me because I wished with all my heart that I could make her happy and knew there was no way for me to do so.
“There’s nothing anybody can do, Mr. Croft,” she said, “but thanks, anyway.” She finished the sundae, licking the spoon, and then groped in her handbag for another tissue.
She got up from the stool and looked at me again,
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