Kay and I had a lot in common. We were the same age. We were both spending far too much time waiting for the phone to ring. I was tall, she wasn't. I had straight hair, she had huge hair, and lots of it. I loathed the idea of being somebody's "girlfriend." Kay was always somebody's girlfriend. I was bookish, she was athletic. (Never mind about our having a lot in common.)
The summer before, she and I and my brother went to the Warm Springs reservation together. She knew all about it - how to get there, what to do when we got there, what to bring with us ... We hung out at the pool, and I got a fierce Nordic sunburn while she tanned and flirted with the lifeguard. Or, maybe he flirted with us. Whatever actually happened that day, it was baffling for me, and too hot. In a lot of ways.
When I came home to Educated David that winter, Kay was living in our family's house, and so, like a lot of other people throughout the years, was temporarily a sort of sister to me. This one was the sort of sister determined to introduce me to the real world and pull me out of my naivete. She felt sorry for me. I don't know if she thought of me as Mabel, and My David was no Frederick, but Kay was the sister with the snapping fan. "No, No! There's not one maiden here, whose homely face and bad complexion have caused all hope to disappear of ever winning man's affection." Kay was pretty sure that if a guy was appearing at the edges of our beach, he needed to be fended off in no uncertain terms.
* * * * *
The retreat was at my parents' beach house, which meant that people were piled onto cots and into nooks and crannies, sleeping in sleeping bags and using the little gazebo house and the decks and walking to the beach together. Energetic, rowdy, thoughtful, good young people everywhere. In my memory, they're a background noise. They made the scene, and in the scene there were only two players. I was there, and there was the guy who was far from being unnoticed.
I ignored my mother, who was making comments about having "twins joined at the hand." I consigned the other observers to their seats in the audience. We joined in with everything, but we were really in our own universe of dawning, lovely, happy knowing. We knew. We were sure. We had been on precisely three actual dates, but we knew. All those letters had introduced us, each to the other's soul, and we knew.
After watching us for about a day, Kay couldn't stay in her place in the audience seats anymore. "Could I see you for a minute?"
She led the way into the "red bathroom." The house had been designed as a show home for a development that never developed, and in the master bath there was a black toilet and matching sunken tub, flanked by mirrors on two sides. The sink fixtures were gold, and the carpet was the same splashy, Vegas style red and black and gold pattern as in the master bedroom. The phone was red.
We got in there, and she turned to me and said, "What are you doing?"
I didn't look into any of the gilt mirrors to confirm this, but if I looked like I felt, I looked smug. "Doing?"
"You barely know him!"
"I know him."
"Seriously. You shouldn't put all your hopes in this one guy. You still have another year and a half of school, and you don't know what might happen. He could really break your heart."
Clearly, she couldn't actually see him.
"He won't."
I went back out into the living room, rejoined Warm David, and folded my hand neatly into his. We'd noticed, during the drive to the beach, that there was exactly enough room for my forearm to fit in his, where it rested on the console between us. A perfect fit while holding hands, just like everything else.
The retreat was at my parents' beach house, which meant that people were piled onto cots and into nooks and crannies, sleeping in sleeping bags and using the little gazebo house and the decks and walking to the beach together. Energetic, rowdy, thoughtful, good young people everywhere. In my memory, they're a background noise. They made the scene, and in the scene there were only two players. I was there, and there was the guy who was far from being unnoticed.
I ignored my mother, who was making comments about having "twins joined at the hand." I consigned the other observers to their seats in the audience. We joined in with everything, but we were really in our own universe of dawning, lovely, happy knowing. We knew. We were sure. We had been on precisely three actual dates, but we knew. All those letters had introduced us, each to the other's soul, and we knew.
After watching us for about a day, Kay couldn't stay in her place in the audience seats anymore. "Could I see you for a minute?"
She led the way into the "red bathroom." The house had been designed as a show home for a development that never developed, and in the master bath there was a black toilet and matching sunken tub, flanked by mirrors on two sides. The sink fixtures were gold, and the carpet was the same splashy, Vegas style red and black and gold pattern as in the master bedroom. The phone was red.
We got in there, and she turned to me and said, "What are you doing?"
I didn't look into any of the gilt mirrors to confirm this, but if I looked like I felt, I looked smug. "Doing?"
"You barely know him!"
"I know him."
"Seriously. You shouldn't put all your hopes in this one guy. You still have another year and a half of school, and you don't know what might happen. He could really break your heart."
Clearly, she couldn't actually see him.
"He won't."
I went back out into the living room, rejoined Warm David, and folded my hand neatly into his. We'd noticed, during the drive to the beach, that there was exactly enough room for my forearm to fit in his, where it rested on the console between us. A perfect fit while holding hands, just like everything else.
* * * * *
Eventually, everyone but the family went away. Kay went with them. Determined David stayed. He had told me, on the way to the beach in the little red Opal (a car which conveniently holds only two people), that he had already decided to make sure of how I felt, and then tell my parents how we both felt. He had decided to do it during that weekend. After the audience went home, that is exactly what he did.
Eventually, everyone but the family went away. Kay went with them. Determined David stayed. He had told me, on the way to the beach in the little red Opal (a car which conveniently holds only two people), that he had already decided to make sure of how I felt, and then tell my parents how we both felt. He had decided to do it during that weekend. After the audience went home, that is exactly what he did.
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