Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Love Story Part 13

“Oh…Hey…Your mom wanted me to look for you. I saw your pile of clothes by the dock and didn’t know where you had gone….” He started rambling like he tends to do. Most people would think he might be in a state of perpetual discomfort but that is just my dad.

“Well it’s getting late so you should probably head up to the house soon…” He finished.

We were already out of the pool and getting ready to hop the fence to get back to the other side.

“Hey….how did you get in there anyway?” My dad was now extremely intrigued with our situation which I think made Mongoose more uncomfortable but I knew that we weren’t in trouble or anything.

My dad wasn’t the bad cop type. He wasn’t the good cop type either. He was more of the non-existent cop. He worked so much when I grew up that we never developed any sort of relationship beyond, “Dad will you buy me that sweater?” “Yes.” He didn’t care one bit that Mongoose and I had snuck into the community pool. He just smirked as we explained that we hopped the fence, giving us a nod of approval for seemingly “living on the edge.” My dad was a 20-year-old frat boy trapped in a 45-year-old lawyer’s body.

After he left we headed back toward our clothes and up to the cabin. Mongoose slept on the floor while I slept on the fold out couch next to my younger sister and brother.

The next day Smalls and Kennedy showed up and Mongoose and I were grateful for the freedom of Smalls’ car. We drove around town getting soft-serve ice cream and enjoying the sunshine. It was a lazy few days where the blinding summer sun blots every picture and memory. The stickiness of skin and the shock of lake water were added to that small trip to Chelan.

Once Chelan was over we started to feel the absence of summer camp in our lives. There were only a few weeks until Mongoose started college and the threat of separation forced Mongoose and I to spend as much time together as possible.
Mostly I remember those summer nights. Mongoose would almost always come to my house in Yakima since he lived farther out of town and there was nothing to do amongst the tumbleweeds. After eating dinner and playing badminton in the backyard or watching a movie Mongoose and I would head to the front yard after the sun had gone down. We would sit on the grass and talk. Oh how we loved to talk.

Eventually grass would get pulled from the ground and shoved down shirts or messed into one another’s hair. We dubbed them the “grass wars” and we would wrestle trying to avoid the itch of green blades that would torment our skin. Of course there was kissing. There was always kissing. There was also star gazing and quiet moments where I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

It was during those nights spent on my front lawn that I realized I loved him. I remember kissing him and thinking in my heart, not my head, but my heart that I loved this boy. I loved this boy who listened to my rambling opinions and who thought that my enthusiasm was charming. I loved this boy who would bare his own soul to me unafraid of any sort of “manliness” that could be lost. I loved this boy who made my my skin prickle and my heart jump just when he looked at me. I could tell he loved me too. It was the way he held my hand and when he would write silly poems or sing songs for me even though he couldn’t really carry a tune.

But how do you tell someone you love them? I hardly even said “I love you,” to my family. They can be scary words but I was sure that I wanted to share them with him. But fear won out and I decided I would wait until he said it first. I just wasn’t brave enough.

Click here for Part 14

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