Read Online What It Was Like by Peter Seth - Free Book Online Page B

that’s going to happen.”
    She drew a slight breath.
    â€œDon’t you feel it?” I continued. “That you and I are –”
    She put her finger up to my lips to sssshh me. “Don’t let’s get ahead of ourselves,” she said softly.
    I took her hand away from my lips and held onto it. “That’s OK,” I said, agreeing with her. “I’m not worried.” I don’t know why I was saying such things to her. Looking back, I guess I said them because I was able to . . . because I felt them. Before my brain intervened with its usual doubts and second thoughts, I just said what I felt.
    The outside world had pretty much disappeared. We had moved into what we later came to call The Zone: everything except the two of us faded away into some kind of out-of-focus, irrelevant unreality. The only real thing was Rachel-and-me, together-as-one, in The Zone.
    â€œYou’re not like most of the guys that Stanley hires,” she said. “You’re not –”
    â€œA dumb jock?” I finished her sentence.
    â€œI wasn’t going to say that,” she said, pushing her arm against mine. “I was going to say that you were different, but there’s also something very familiar about you.”
    â€œI’ll take that as a compliment,” I said.
    It seemed like the most natural thing in the world, to open up to each other.
    â€œSome people say that I’m spoiled,” she said, looking down, playing with one of her fingernails. “And they’re probably right, to some extent. But I don’t really care. They don’t have to live my life: I do. Everyone expects me to be one way, this perfect princess way, but I’m not that way at all. I just want to live the way I want to live. Is there something wrong with that?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “Not at all,” encouraging her to continue.
    â€œI am a very good daughter,” she insisted. “At least I try to be. But my parents expect me to go to college and marry some nice, rich doctor and live in the suburbs and have babies and join a country club, and I’m just not going to do it. Does everybody have to be the same? I mean, is that some kind of rule ?”
    â€œNot if you don’t want it to be,” I said. “If that’s what you want.”
    â€Finally, what other people say really doesn’t matter all that much,” she said, carefully brushing an ant off the bench. “People will say just about anything, so you have to be ready to ignore everybody and just listen to yourself.”
    Our conversation opened up, just like a flower in one of those time-sped-up films.
    â€œGo on,” I urged her.
    â€œPeople expect you to be one way when you’re really another way inside,” she said.
    â€œSome people have to put up fronts,” I agreed. “To hide what’s really inside.”
    â€œBecause they’re secretly ashamed of who they really are, and that no one would ever fall in love with them, or care about them.”
    â€œSo everyone is, on some level, pretending to be someone they’re really not,” I added, following her train of thought.
    â€œThe potential for misunderstanding is incredible, isn’t it?”
    â€œIt’s a miracle any two people get together at all!”
    â€œYes,” she smiled bitter-sweetly. “An absolute miracle.”
    She was so lovely and fragile even as she was trying to seem strong and self-assured. She was certainly beautiful and confident, but I couldn’t help but see something wounded, something secret inside her, deep inside her. Something a little dark and vulnerable that I thought I could reach. I wanted to say the right thing and keep her interest.
    â€œMy parents fight some,” I said, trying to sympathize with her. “But I don’t think they’d ever divorce each other.” I didn’t say: Who would ever want either