28
I walked Jeannie home later that night. When we got to her house, we stopped and she turned and faced me.
“You’re always taking care of me,” she said.
“Not always,” I said.
“I’m serious,” she said. “You took care of me on the river. You defended me from Croy.”
She seemed kind of intense. I didn’t know what to say. I was a little uncomfortable.
“You like me,” she said. “Don’t you?”
“Sure,” I said. “I known you since first grade.”
She stood close to me, looking at me. I realized I was supposed to do something.
“I mean, you really like me,” she said.
“I do,” I said.
She sort of lunged forward and put her arms around me and raised her face. I realized I was supposed to kiss her. So far in life, I’d had more fights than kisses. She pressed herself hard against me. A feeling of, like, overheating flashed through me. I felt a little short of breath.
“Show me how much you like me,” she whispered. “Kiss me.”
I stared down at her face. Her eyes were closed. I realized I didn’t quite know what I should do. Some of the women my father and my uncles brought home had kissed me on the cheek. I knew I shouldn’t kiss her on the cheek. Okay, I thought, and took in a breath and bent down a little and kissed her on the mouth. She kissed back hard with her lips tight together. It hurt a little where the inside of my lip was pressed against my teeth.
I felt more of the overheating feeling. But not much else. No stars fell. No skyrockets. No moon-beams. No music. She kept pressing against me. I didn’t think this was going the way it should. I liked her fine, but not the way I think she wanted me to. And I thought we might be making a mistake that we weren’t really ready to make. On the other hand, there was that overheated feeling and the sense that I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
She broke off her kissing and leaned back with her arms still around my waist and looked up at me.
“My mom doesn’t come home until eleven,” she said. “You want to come in?”
From off to one side, where there was the me that always looked on calmly, I heard myself say, “Sure.”
My voice sounded kind of hoarse, I thought.
Chapter 29
“No surprise there,” Susan said. “A young woman with an abusive absentee father whose mother feels a woman is incomplete without a man.”
“I was a little surprised at the time,” I said.
“You were fourteen,” Susan said.
“I was,” I said.
The sun was now entirely behind the low buildings in the Back Bay, and the people walking past us in the Public Garden looked like people going home from work.
“So here she is kidnapped by her brute of a father and the handsome young Galahad comes galloping”—Susan smiled—“or in this case, mostly drifting downriver and saves her.”
“My strength was as the strength of ten,” I said. “Because my heart was pure.”
“Sure it was,” Susan said. “And then you defend her honor from a local bully.”
“It was probably mostly about my own honor,” I said.
“Probably,” Susan said. “But she almost had to fall in love with you.”
“Or what she thought was love.”
“Shrinks call it cathexis,” Susan said.
“Cathexis?”
“A powerful emotional investment in something or someone, which in fourteen-year-old girl terms feels like love, but probably isn’t.”
“You were once a fourteen-year-old girl,” I said. “Did you do a lot of cathexis?”
“Several times a year,” Susan said. “But I was, of course, always waiting for the one.”
“Are you making sport of my obsession?” I said.
“I am,” Susan said. “How did it work out after that night?”
“Not too well,” I said. “She always sat beside me in study hall. She wanted to hold my hand if we walked anyplace. She started talking all the time about us. ”
“And that wasn’t what you wanted.”
“No. She was a friend, but not the only one. Sometimes I wanted to play ball or hang with
I walked Jeannie home later that night. When we got to her house, we stopped and she turned and faced me.
“You’re always taking care of me,” she said.
“Not always,” I said.
“I’m serious,” she said. “You took care of me on the river. You defended me from Croy.”
She seemed kind of intense. I didn’t know what to say. I was a little uncomfortable.
“You like me,” she said. “Don’t you?”
“Sure,” I said. “I known you since first grade.”
She stood close to me, looking at me. I realized I was supposed to do something.
“I mean, you really like me,” she said.
“I do,” I said.
She sort of lunged forward and put her arms around me and raised her face. I realized I was supposed to kiss her. So far in life, I’d had more fights than kisses. She pressed herself hard against me. A feeling of, like, overheating flashed through me. I felt a little short of breath.
“Show me how much you like me,” she whispered. “Kiss me.”
I stared down at her face. Her eyes were closed. I realized I didn’t quite know what I should do. Some of the women my father and my uncles brought home had kissed me on the cheek. I knew I shouldn’t kiss her on the cheek. Okay, I thought, and took in a breath and bent down a little and kissed her on the mouth. She kissed back hard with her lips tight together. It hurt a little where the inside of my lip was pressed against my teeth.
I felt more of the overheating feeling. But not much else. No stars fell. No skyrockets. No moon-beams. No music. She kept pressing against me. I didn’t think this was going the way it should. I liked her fine, but not the way I think she wanted me to. And I thought we might be making a mistake that we weren’t really ready to make. On the other hand, there was that overheated feeling and the sense that I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
She broke off her kissing and leaned back with her arms still around my waist and looked up at me.
“My mom doesn’t come home until eleven,” she said. “You want to come in?”
From off to one side, where there was the me that always looked on calmly, I heard myself say, “Sure.”
My voice sounded kind of hoarse, I thought.
Chapter 29
“No surprise there,” Susan said. “A young woman with an abusive absentee father whose mother feels a woman is incomplete without a man.”
“I was a little surprised at the time,” I said.
“You were fourteen,” Susan said.
“I was,” I said.
The sun was now entirely behind the low buildings in the Back Bay, and the people walking past us in the Public Garden looked like people going home from work.
“So here she is kidnapped by her brute of a father and the handsome young Galahad comes galloping”—Susan smiled—“or in this case, mostly drifting downriver and saves her.”
“My strength was as the strength of ten,” I said. “Because my heart was pure.”
“Sure it was,” Susan said. “And then you defend her honor from a local bully.”
“It was probably mostly about my own honor,” I said.
“Probably,” Susan said. “But she almost had to fall in love with you.”
“Or what she thought was love.”
“Shrinks call it cathexis,” Susan said.
“Cathexis?”
“A powerful emotional investment in something or someone, which in fourteen-year-old girl terms feels like love, but probably isn’t.”
“You were once a fourteen-year-old girl,” I said. “Did you do a lot of cathexis?”
“Several times a year,” Susan said. “But I was, of course, always waiting for the one.”
“Are you making sport of my obsession?” I said.
“I am,” Susan said. “How did it work out after that night?”
“Not too well,” I said. “She always sat beside me in study hall. She wanted to hold my hand if we walked anyplace. She started talking all the time about us. ”
“And that wasn’t what you wanted.”
“No. She was a friend, but not the only one. Sometimes I wanted to play ball or hang with
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