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Authors: Jennifer Coburn
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seen, and have favorite teams of sports we never saw. Of course, as my father’s apprentice, Todd could make furniture. He was one of a small group of American teens who spoke Russian fluently. He played piano, bass guitar, saxophone, and harp. And he knew every plant and flower indigenous to the state of Montana, if not the entire country.
“Todd, relax,” I said, thrilled to be his confidante. “You never even studied for the test. You’ll buy one of those books, bone up on your vocabulary.”
He sighed, then feeling guilty for monopolizing the conversation, switched gears. Todd penetrated me with his gaze. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
“See, I think you have a great vocabulary. I love your vocabulary.” I giggled.
“I love the way I feel when I’m around you, Mona. It’s so easy hanging out with you.”
I adored my new role as his girlfriend. He was without a doubt, mind-blowingly amazing, and if he chose me, then I was wonderful by association. If he thought I was beautiful, I must be. After all, he was the genius. “I love your smile,” I said somewhat clumsily, afraid to overwhelm him with the tidal wave of things I loved about him.
“I love everything about you, Mona.”
“I love everything about you, too.”
“I love you,” he said for the first time.
“I love you, too.”
Long after I’d graduated from college, I went to New Haven, Connecticut, for an engineering conference, and visited the Yale campus. I smiled with deep regret that Todd had never discovered that the students there ate Big Macs and wore hooded cotton Mexican tops just like his. Many of the kids wore frayed denim, hemp chokers and peasant shirts just like we wore. Commune chic.
We didn’t celebrate Christmas at our home in Missoula because the adults felt the holiday had become too commercial. Instead, we made half-inch stars from tin foil and cellophane and hung hundreds of them with fishing wire from the ceiling. Freddy set the lighting so the stars would gently illuminate, creating a “winter nights” theme inside the house. My father and Freddy made a sheet-thin moon from quarry rock, and backlit it with blue. We strung freeze-dried berries and wrapped mistletoe in ornate handmade lace bows and knotty silk ribbon. The kids painted clay peace signs in rainbow colors and made God’s-eyes from homespun, vegetable-dyed yarn. It looked like the holiday spread when House & Garden meets Mother Jones .
The only gifts we were allowed to buy were books. Everything else had to be made by our own talents. I saved up enough money to go to town and buy Todd the Barron’s SAT study guide, then Asia helped me make a ceramic coffee mug for Todd’s late nights of studying. I painted bright pink bitterroot blossoms on it before glazing it. He carved a chess set for me because we spent so many hours playing the game. In fact, we used chess as an excuse to stay up late and fool around after everyone else had gone to sleep. The first time we had sex, we tiptoed out of the house and into the barn, after the others had retired. Our excuse — as always — was an intense game of chess.
Todd and I talked about getting married after he graduated from Yale, which I think we both knew was more of a sweet fantasy than a realistic plan for our futures. I always figured he’d meet a blond, blue-blood from Yale, marry her, and have 2.3 kids. I was going to be a singer with an edgy alternative rock band, which now seems such an alien idea I can’t even believe it was once mine. Though I realized Todd and I would probably go our separate ways, I always assumed we’d remain lifelong friends, which I suppose we did. I just never imagined that his life would be so short.
Chapter 10
Never bring flowers.
—Maximum for Him, October
Unless they’re for Claudia Schiffer.
—December amendment
The pounding on the door made my heart jump. My pulse raced; a layer of sweat appeared on my skin. It was the hour of reckoning. Seven. Dog time.
“Todd, relax,” I said, thrilled to be his confidante. “You never even studied for the test. You’ll buy one of those books, bone up on your vocabulary.”
He sighed, then feeling guilty for monopolizing the conversation, switched gears. Todd penetrated me with his gaze. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
“See, I think you have a great vocabulary. I love your vocabulary.” I giggled.
“I love the way I feel when I’m around you, Mona. It’s so easy hanging out with you.”
I adored my new role as his girlfriend. He was without a doubt, mind-blowingly amazing, and if he chose me, then I was wonderful by association. If he thought I was beautiful, I must be. After all, he was the genius. “I love your smile,” I said somewhat clumsily, afraid to overwhelm him with the tidal wave of things I loved about him.
“I love everything about you, Mona.”
“I love everything about you, too.”
“I love you,” he said for the first time.
“I love you, too.”
Long after I’d graduated from college, I went to New Haven, Connecticut, for an engineering conference, and visited the Yale campus. I smiled with deep regret that Todd had never discovered that the students there ate Big Macs and wore hooded cotton Mexican tops just like his. Many of the kids wore frayed denim, hemp chokers and peasant shirts just like we wore. Commune chic.
We didn’t celebrate Christmas at our home in Missoula because the adults felt the holiday had become too commercial. Instead, we made half-inch stars from tin foil and cellophane and hung hundreds of them with fishing wire from the ceiling. Freddy set the lighting so the stars would gently illuminate, creating a “winter nights” theme inside the house. My father and Freddy made a sheet-thin moon from quarry rock, and backlit it with blue. We strung freeze-dried berries and wrapped mistletoe in ornate handmade lace bows and knotty silk ribbon. The kids painted clay peace signs in rainbow colors and made God’s-eyes from homespun, vegetable-dyed yarn. It looked like the holiday spread when House & Garden meets Mother Jones .
The only gifts we were allowed to buy were books. Everything else had to be made by our own talents. I saved up enough money to go to town and buy Todd the Barron’s SAT study guide, then Asia helped me make a ceramic coffee mug for Todd’s late nights of studying. I painted bright pink bitterroot blossoms on it before glazing it. He carved a chess set for me because we spent so many hours playing the game. In fact, we used chess as an excuse to stay up late and fool around after everyone else had gone to sleep. The first time we had sex, we tiptoed out of the house and into the barn, after the others had retired. Our excuse — as always — was an intense game of chess.
Todd and I talked about getting married after he graduated from Yale, which I think we both knew was more of a sweet fantasy than a realistic plan for our futures. I always figured he’d meet a blond, blue-blood from Yale, marry her, and have 2.3 kids. I was going to be a singer with an edgy alternative rock band, which now seems such an alien idea I can’t even believe it was once mine. Though I realized Todd and I would probably go our separate ways, I always assumed we’d remain lifelong friends, which I suppose we did. I just never imagined that his life would be so short.
Chapter 10
Never bring flowers.
—Maximum for Him, October
Unless they’re for Claudia Schiffer.
—December amendment
The pounding on the door made my heart jump. My pulse raced; a layer of sweat appeared on my skin. It was the hour of reckoning. Seven. Dog time.
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