something.
He’s been so moody, Mom! And he won’t tell me what I did. It’s so unfair.”
“What makes you think it’s
something you did?” Mom asked me, looking me straight in the eye. “Did you do
something wrong, Hope?”
“No!” I protested,
clutching one of the pillows tight to my chest. “I’ve wracked my brain, Mom.
All I can think of…”
I stopped, not even
wanting to say it out loud.
“Go on,” Mom urged.
“…is that he’s tired of
me. I mean, who am I, right? Just some hick girl from Alabama. He’s probably
gotten bored of me.”
My body sagged, my head
drooping to my chest as I thought about this possibility. It seemed to be the
only thing that made sense.
Mom gently lifted my chin
so she could look me in the eye. “Hope, did Michael try to avoid you? Did he
move his seat in class, or try to eat with someone else at lunch?”
“No,” I admitted
grudgingly.
“Have you gotten too
clingy; maybe thinking of him as more than a friend?”
“No!” I protested, my
cheeks burning. “It’s not like that, Mom! We’re just friends.”
I saw her lips twitch.
“It’s not funny!” I
shouted, burying my face in another pillow.
“Oh, Hope, honey, I’m not
laughing at you, I promise. It just seems to me that you are awfully unfamiliar
with teenage boys. They go through their moods, and then some, just like the
rest of us do. And if I understand the situation as you’ve described it, he
might have an awful lot of pressure on him, having to fend for himself. From
what you say, it doesn’t seem to me like he is trying to end your friendship.
Whatever it is, he’ll get over it. Just give him his space. You’ll see; when
Monday rolls around I bet everything will be back to normal.”
I sat up again, looking
at her skeptically.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“But why’d he have to be
so mean, Mom? It makes me so angry !”
“I don’t know, Hopie,”
she said, using her old nickname for me while she smoothed out my hair. “But
when I get angry I like to take it out on my rowing machine.” She glanced
across my room to the treadmill she’d bought, sitting forlorn and forgotten in
the corner, strewn with rejected clothing. “You haven’t even touched your
treadmill. It’s been weeks,” she noted in a neutral tone.
I felt my chin rise
defensively. “I’ve been busy.”
She skewered me with one
of her looks again. “Hope, I know you love to run. Is there something about
this treadmill you don’t like? It still has the tags dangling from it. I could
return it if you aren’t going to use it.”
I fought against myself
but couldn’t keep from blurting my response. “It’s just…just…the only reason I
ran on a treadmill is Dad wouldn’t let me run outside. Ever.”
The air was still as she
considered this new information, her face a carefully composed mask.
“What do you mean?”
I didn’t want to add to
my father’s long list of apparent parenting failures, but there was no way I
could get out of this one.
“He thought it was too
dangerous for me to be alone. So I couldn’t even walk myself to school, let
alone go outside for a run.”
For a split second I saw beneath
her composed veneer, saw the shock and anger she felt toward my dad. But just
as quickly, it was gone. I knew then that I could never tell her about the
Cupid-Gram Dad had sent me – she would seriously lose it. So I stayed silent
until she stood up, brushed off her slacks and moved quietly to the door. She
made one parting shot as she left me to brood in my room.
“Well, nothing’s stopping
you now.”
*****
I stretched out on the
front steps, eyeing the little cul de sac with a bit of trepidation. Of
course, my mother was right. It was unfortunate that Dad had kept me under
lock and key. But that was all over now, and I hadn’t even taken advantage of
it.
“No time like the
present,” I muttered to myself,
He’s been so moody, Mom! And he won’t tell me what I did. It’s so unfair.”
“What makes you think it’s
something you did?” Mom asked me, looking me straight in the eye. “Did you do
something wrong, Hope?”
“No!” I protested,
clutching one of the pillows tight to my chest. “I’ve wracked my brain, Mom.
All I can think of…”
I stopped, not even
wanting to say it out loud.
“Go on,” Mom urged.
“…is that he’s tired of
me. I mean, who am I, right? Just some hick girl from Alabama. He’s probably
gotten bored of me.”
My body sagged, my head
drooping to my chest as I thought about this possibility. It seemed to be the
only thing that made sense.
Mom gently lifted my chin
so she could look me in the eye. “Hope, did Michael try to avoid you? Did he
move his seat in class, or try to eat with someone else at lunch?”
“No,” I admitted
grudgingly.
“Have you gotten too
clingy; maybe thinking of him as more than a friend?”
“No!” I protested, my
cheeks burning. “It’s not like that, Mom! We’re just friends.”
I saw her lips twitch.
“It’s not funny!” I
shouted, burying my face in another pillow.
“Oh, Hope, honey, I’m not
laughing at you, I promise. It just seems to me that you are awfully unfamiliar
with teenage boys. They go through their moods, and then some, just like the
rest of us do. And if I understand the situation as you’ve described it, he
might have an awful lot of pressure on him, having to fend for himself. From
what you say, it doesn’t seem to me like he is trying to end your friendship.
Whatever it is, he’ll get over it. Just give him his space. You’ll see; when
Monday rolls around I bet everything will be back to normal.”
I sat up again, looking
at her skeptically.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“But why’d he have to be
so mean, Mom? It makes me so angry !”
“I don’t know, Hopie,”
she said, using her old nickname for me while she smoothed out my hair. “But
when I get angry I like to take it out on my rowing machine.” She glanced
across my room to the treadmill she’d bought, sitting forlorn and forgotten in
the corner, strewn with rejected clothing. “You haven’t even touched your
treadmill. It’s been weeks,” she noted in a neutral tone.
I felt my chin rise
defensively. “I’ve been busy.”
She skewered me with one
of her looks again. “Hope, I know you love to run. Is there something about
this treadmill you don’t like? It still has the tags dangling from it. I could
return it if you aren’t going to use it.”
I fought against myself
but couldn’t keep from blurting my response. “It’s just…just…the only reason I
ran on a treadmill is Dad wouldn’t let me run outside. Ever.”
The air was still as she
considered this new information, her face a carefully composed mask.
“What do you mean?”
I didn’t want to add to
my father’s long list of apparent parenting failures, but there was no way I
could get out of this one.
“He thought it was too
dangerous for me to be alone. So I couldn’t even walk myself to school, let
alone go outside for a run.”
For a split second I saw beneath
her composed veneer, saw the shock and anger she felt toward my dad. But just
as quickly, it was gone. I knew then that I could never tell her about the
Cupid-Gram Dad had sent me – she would seriously lose it. So I stayed silent
until she stood up, brushed off her slacks and moved quietly to the door. She
made one parting shot as she left me to brood in my room.
“Well, nothing’s stopping
you now.”
*****
I stretched out on the
front steps, eyeing the little cul de sac with a bit of trepidation. Of
course, my mother was right. It was unfortunate that Dad had kept me under
lock and key. But that was all over now, and I hadn’t even taken advantage of
it.
“No time like the
present,” I muttered to myself,
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