it really wasn’t like him to keep things from her. But that night, the pot was available, and he needed to be a little wild.
They’d all been to Lori Amandie’s party. Lori was his girlfriend all senior year, and when she brought him outside to the back porch that night, he expected she just wanted a little private time. Instead, she said, “We need to back off a little, Will. We’re heading in two different directions, and I don’t want to hold you to a commitment you might regret.”
“You mean that you might regret.” He was hurt. He felt like he really loved this bright, pretty girl. From the first time she’d appeared in his government class, breathlessly explaining her lateness by some silly excuse the teacher had happily swallowed, Will had had no doubt that he wanted to be with her. Now he felt as if he’d just been some sort of practice boy, someone to sit with at lunch, an assurance of a busy weekend, protection against the overtures of less desirable boys. A guarantee of a worthy escort to the Senior Ball, but not worth restricting her social life at Purdue.
Will had stared off into the darkness. “Fine. Whatever.” He’d left Lori on the back steps, her face charmingly puzzled, as if surprised that he was unhappy with her. Apparently in her deluded view, he should have been glad for the parole. For the first time, Will understood what the poet said about there being in every relationship the lover and the beloved. He’d smacked his open palm against the porch post and gone to find D.C.
He meant to go home, to get into bed before his mother could notice the beer on his breath. He wanted nothing more than to bury his head in his pillow and let the unmanly tears make their silent way out, to burst this suppurating blister of feeling. Instead D.C. winked at him, oblivious to the anger on Will’s face, and put his hand in the deep pocket of his baggy green pants, showing Will just the edge of the plastic zipper bag. It seemed the perfect retaliation. Lori was madly anti-drug, president of the high school’s chapter of Teens Against Drugs. Screw her.
Will nodded and the three of them got into Mike’s car to find a secluded place to enjoy the dope. All year long his friends had made fun of him because of his loyal prohibition against smoking, calling him “wuss” and “whipped.” Though his pals kidded him, they’d respected him for his acceding to Lori’s wishes. Even now, the invitation to smoke had been made out of politeness rather than any expectation that Will would say yes. The surprise on D.C.’s face made Will scowl and refuse any explanation for his about-face. Soon enough, they’d figure it out. Figure out that he’d been dumped.
But he still couldn’t tell his mother that, even though he knew in some way it might comfort her and make her less worried. Kiley hadn’t cared for Lori, which made Lori’s rejection all the harder. For some stupid reason, Will dreaded his mother would bad-mouth his ex-girlfriend. He wasn’t ready to hear, “You’re probably better off without her,” which is exactly what he’d been trying to tell himself. But it wasn’t Lori’s fault he’d smoked the dope; it was his own misguided rebellion.
He kept his eyes on his empty plate, afraid to make eye contact with his mother, because she would see that he had something on his mind. She almost always knew. It was like his brain was visible to her. A tightness to his smile or hollowness in his voice, and she’d jump on him. “What’s the matter, honey?” It was a miracle that, distracted as she had been with the legal ramifications of his smoking the dope, she’d evidently chalked up his glumness to that too. Not to a breakup with his girlfriend. She didn’t mention Lori, even in passing. Will supposed she thought, out of sight, out of mind.
Kiley put down her knife and fork. “Pop asked me to see about selling the boat.”
His mother’s voice yanked him out of his reverie and Will
They’d all been to Lori Amandie’s party. Lori was his girlfriend all senior year, and when she brought him outside to the back porch that night, he expected she just wanted a little private time. Instead, she said, “We need to back off a little, Will. We’re heading in two different directions, and I don’t want to hold you to a commitment you might regret.”
“You mean that you might regret.” He was hurt. He felt like he really loved this bright, pretty girl. From the first time she’d appeared in his government class, breathlessly explaining her lateness by some silly excuse the teacher had happily swallowed, Will had had no doubt that he wanted to be with her. Now he felt as if he’d just been some sort of practice boy, someone to sit with at lunch, an assurance of a busy weekend, protection against the overtures of less desirable boys. A guarantee of a worthy escort to the Senior Ball, but not worth restricting her social life at Purdue.
Will had stared off into the darkness. “Fine. Whatever.” He’d left Lori on the back steps, her face charmingly puzzled, as if surprised that he was unhappy with her. Apparently in her deluded view, he should have been glad for the parole. For the first time, Will understood what the poet said about there being in every relationship the lover and the beloved. He’d smacked his open palm against the porch post and gone to find D.C.
He meant to go home, to get into bed before his mother could notice the beer on his breath. He wanted nothing more than to bury his head in his pillow and let the unmanly tears make their silent way out, to burst this suppurating blister of feeling. Instead D.C. winked at him, oblivious to the anger on Will’s face, and put his hand in the deep pocket of his baggy green pants, showing Will just the edge of the plastic zipper bag. It seemed the perfect retaliation. Lori was madly anti-drug, president of the high school’s chapter of Teens Against Drugs. Screw her.
Will nodded and the three of them got into Mike’s car to find a secluded place to enjoy the dope. All year long his friends had made fun of him because of his loyal prohibition against smoking, calling him “wuss” and “whipped.” Though his pals kidded him, they’d respected him for his acceding to Lori’s wishes. Even now, the invitation to smoke had been made out of politeness rather than any expectation that Will would say yes. The surprise on D.C.’s face made Will scowl and refuse any explanation for his about-face. Soon enough, they’d figure it out. Figure out that he’d been dumped.
But he still couldn’t tell his mother that, even though he knew in some way it might comfort her and make her less worried. Kiley hadn’t cared for Lori, which made Lori’s rejection all the harder. For some stupid reason, Will dreaded his mother would bad-mouth his ex-girlfriend. He wasn’t ready to hear, “You’re probably better off without her,” which is exactly what he’d been trying to tell himself. But it wasn’t Lori’s fault he’d smoked the dope; it was his own misguided rebellion.
He kept his eyes on his empty plate, afraid to make eye contact with his mother, because she would see that he had something on his mind. She almost always knew. It was like his brain was visible to her. A tightness to his smile or hollowness in his voice, and she’d jump on him. “What’s the matter, honey?” It was a miracle that, distracted as she had been with the legal ramifications of his smoking the dope, she’d evidently chalked up his glumness to that too. Not to a breakup with his girlfriend. She didn’t mention Lori, even in passing. Will supposed she thought, out of sight, out of mind.
Kiley put down her knife and fork. “Pop asked me to see about selling the boat.”
His mother’s voice yanked him out of his reverie and Will
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