Apples to Ashes
Line in the Sand
I had another dream that night, but this time he wasn’t in it. I was all alone on the top of a mountain with miles of wilderness all around me. When I looked out on the horizon all I could see were trees, enormous pine trees that shook and swayed as if caught in a violent wind, but the air was eerily still and warm. The mountain sloped on all sides except for directly in front of me. There it was a straight shot down to a rocky stream. I leaned forward with my eyes on the stream. I leaned a little further, and a little further, and just a little bit further until the stream was rushing towards me. I woke up before I hit the ground.
The next morning was unusually cold, and I had to walk to school. “I’m sorry Trina,” my mom had said the night before, “but you’re going to have to brave it. I’ve got a seminar over in ‘Frisco tomorrow morning and I have to take the 5:15 train. You think you’ll survive the walk to school?”
I’d assured her I would, but as I stepped out the door that morning into 54˚ weather—which was bitterly cold for an autumn day in California—I knew I was in for one hell of a walk. 12 long blocks separated me from Grand Heights High, and each one seemed harder to trek through than the last. My fingers were numb and I felt all the color drain from my face. I was cold, pale, and cranky, and I wanted nothing more than to make it to school alive and sane.
Soon the lion’s den that was my high school loomed in the distance. I joined the stream of bodies flowing towards the front doors, grateful to be just like everyone else for that moment. I was just a few yards from the main stairs when I thought I heard someone call my name. I briefly scanned my surroundings, not exactly anxious to stop and chitchat. Seeing no one I knew, I continued on. Then I heard my name again, louder this time. I stopped in the middle of the stairs—much to the dismay of a couple who hadn’t foreseen my move and nearly plowed into me—and turned away from the front doors. Then I saw Jacob rushing up the stairs.
“Morning,” he said breathlessly. I could detect a slight pinkness in his cheeks and ears beneath his bronze complexion. White wisps of air crept from his mouth as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Hey...are you all right?” I tried not to seem too concerned but I couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty seeing that he was in his present state because of me.
He took one final erratic gasp of air before resuming his normal breathing pattern. He mustered a dimply smile and said, “Never better. I can always use a good run.” He patted his stomach as if to insinuate there was actually something there to be burned off by a morning sprint.
“You know, you didn’t have to run like that,” I said. “We’re going to see each other in Spanish anyway.”
“Yeah, I know...but you looked like you could use some company, and I needed some company. And now,” he said, nudging me forward so as to go with the dwindling traffic trickling past us, “both our problems are solved.” He smiled again, because the nudge had been so casual and so friendly and he probably didn’t even think twice about it; his only intention was to keep me moving forward. But that gentle touch right in the small of my back ignited a fire within me. I thought again of the hill and knew that innocent gesture had pushed me just a little further down it. I knew I’d drawn another notch, an ugly blotch on my clean, pure slate, but I didn’t care. I just didn’t care, and I didn’t care that I didn’t care, and it felt damn good.
__________________________________***
During physics, I didn’t waste any time gazing longingly at Bobby, whom I’d once believed to be the most gorgeous member of the wrestling team, or at Tyson whom I’d liked from fourth to eighth grade. In photography class, I hardly listened to my group’s plan for our upcoming project. During math, I ignored Kenley and Mrs. Blanchard in favor of entertaining my own fantasies. I first sketched a heart in my notebook; it was something I did often before with no meaning or any real motivation except to cure my boredom. But this time, it meant something. This time, I could fill it with something. I first wrote my name and proceeded to add a little plus sign right below it, but just as I was about to write Jacob’s name, I froze. No, I thought, I can’t let this go any further. This is getting crazy. This is getting pathetic. This is getting out of control. I erased it vigorously, hoping to convince myself that by doing so I could actually erase him from my mind. I failed miserably.
I got to Spanish class early again that day. I sat on the side of the room which faced the door so I could monitor everyone’s comings and goings—especially their comings. The moment I sat down, I felt myself become more and more nervous. I gnawed on my lower lip and flipped through my text book aimlessly, hoping to distract my mind and ease the anxious anticipation which bubbled within me. Again, I failed. Every time someone entered the room, my heart fluttered like a spasmodic butterfly. I must’ve looked up at the door a dozen times before I trained myself to ignore the commotion people made upon entering the room. There’s no need to be nervous, I told myself, but I knew that was a lie. Soon the frequency of students lowered and it seemed that all who were going to show up had already shown up. There were only a few empty seats left in the room, with one of them being right next to me, and the tardy bell was due to ring at any moment.
I thought maybe Jacob had ditched, or had faked an illness so he could be sent home. After all, I hadn’t known him until the previous day, so I had no idea what kind of student he was. Maybe the real reason I’d never seen him before was because he cared so little about school that most of the time he didn’t bother to show up. I didn’t know who he was, which made it even worse that I cared so much about his presence. Then, just as the bell rang, I looked up at the door and saw him stroll in. He handed Mr. Romero a note and calmly walked over to the available seat next to mine. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” he murmured with a crooked smile. “I got held up at the nurse’s office.”
It was slightly maddening and fascinating how conversation between the two of us was so effortless for him and yet such a major happening to me. I didn’t tell him this, of course. “What happened?” I asked, trying to hide my worry without sounding uncaring.
“Let’s just say my chicken patty was grayer than usual,” he said. He placed his hand on his stomach and said, “School lunch is killer. I should start bringing food from home. It wouldn’t really taste any different but at least I won’t have to stand in line.”
I giggled like the helplessly smitten schoolgirl I was turning out to be. At that point, it didn’t matter whether or not what he said and did was funny. If had read me a line from the Bible or recited a mathematical formula, I still would have giggled because he had awakened such liveliness in me that I could not contain it.
“You sure do get a kick out of everything, don’t you?” he remarked. “I mean, I could probably tell you that I broke my foot, and you’d still crack up.”
“That’s not true; I’d be very concerned,” I said gravely while trying to suppress another surge of giddy laughs.
He smiled warmly and said, “I know, I’m just messing with you. Truth is...I think your laugh is kind of cute.” His cheeks flushed the way they had that morning in the biting cold, except the classroom was toasty, almost sauna-like. In all that warmth, I felt my own cheeks grow brighter.
I wanted to tell him how cute his dimples were and how funny I thought he was, but a strange sensation in my stomach made me do otherwise. It wasn’t butterflies, and it wasn’t indigestion—it was pangs of guilt which relentlessly surged through my body. I thought of how disappointed my mom would be if she saw me shamelessly flirting like this. I thought of how carelessly I was jeopardizing the dream which she’d had when she first joined our church, and I couldn’t bring myself to continue this potentially devastating tango with Jacob.
Once my cheeks had cooled and my smile had faded, I robotically thanked him for the compliment and told him I had to focus on my work, and he should do the same. Bewildered and slightly hurt, he said, “Sure,” and turned away from me.
It killed me to treat him in such a cold manner, but I knew I had no choice. I couldn’t let myself fall any further; I had reached my limit, I had drawn a new line, and I swore to myself at that moment that I wouldn’t cross it.
The next morning was unusually cold, and I had to walk to school. “I’m sorry Trina,” my mom had said the night before, “but you’re going to have to brave it. I’ve got a seminar over in ‘Frisco tomorrow morning and I have to take the 5:15 train. You think you’ll survive the walk to school?”
I’d assured her I would, but as I stepped out the door that morning into 54˚ weather—which was bitterly cold for an autumn day in California—I knew I was in for one hell of a walk. 12 long blocks separated me from Grand Heights High, and each one seemed harder to trek through than the last. My fingers were numb and I felt all the color drain from my face. I was cold, pale, and cranky, and I wanted nothing more than to make it to school alive and sane.
Soon the lion’s den that was my high school loomed in the distance. I joined the stream of bodies flowing towards the front doors, grateful to be just like everyone else for that moment. I was just a few yards from the main stairs when I thought I heard someone call my name. I briefly scanned my surroundings, not exactly anxious to stop and chitchat. Seeing no one I knew, I continued on. Then I heard my name again, louder this time. I stopped in the middle of the stairs—much to the dismay of a couple who hadn’t foreseen my move and nearly plowed into me—and turned away from the front doors. Then I saw Jacob rushing up the stairs.
“Morning,” he said breathlessly. I could detect a slight pinkness in his cheeks and ears beneath his bronze complexion. White wisps of air crept from his mouth as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Hey...are you all right?” I tried not to seem too concerned but I couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty seeing that he was in his present state because of me.
He took one final erratic gasp of air before resuming his normal breathing pattern. He mustered a dimply smile and said, “Never better. I can always use a good run.” He patted his stomach as if to insinuate there was actually something there to be burned off by a morning sprint.
“You know, you didn’t have to run like that,” I said. “We’re going to see each other in Spanish anyway.”
“Yeah, I know...but you looked like you could use some company, and I needed some company. And now,” he said, nudging me forward so as to go with the dwindling traffic trickling past us, “both our problems are solved.” He smiled again, because the nudge had been so casual and so friendly and he probably didn’t even think twice about it; his only intention was to keep me moving forward. But that gentle touch right in the small of my back ignited a fire within me. I thought again of the hill and knew that innocent gesture had pushed me just a little further down it. I knew I’d drawn another notch, an ugly blotch on my clean, pure slate, but I didn’t care. I just didn’t care, and I didn’t care that I didn’t care, and it felt damn good.
__________________________________***
During physics, I didn’t waste any time gazing longingly at Bobby, whom I’d once believed to be the most gorgeous member of the wrestling team, or at Tyson whom I’d liked from fourth to eighth grade. In photography class, I hardly listened to my group’s plan for our upcoming project. During math, I ignored Kenley and Mrs. Blanchard in favor of entertaining my own fantasies. I first sketched a heart in my notebook; it was something I did often before with no meaning or any real motivation except to cure my boredom. But this time, it meant something. This time, I could fill it with something. I first wrote my name and proceeded to add a little plus sign right below it, but just as I was about to write Jacob’s name, I froze. No, I thought, I can’t let this go any further. This is getting crazy. This is getting pathetic. This is getting out of control. I erased it vigorously, hoping to convince myself that by doing so I could actually erase him from my mind. I failed miserably.
I got to Spanish class early again that day. I sat on the side of the room which faced the door so I could monitor everyone’s comings and goings—especially their comings. The moment I sat down, I felt myself become more and more nervous. I gnawed on my lower lip and flipped through my text book aimlessly, hoping to distract my mind and ease the anxious anticipation which bubbled within me. Again, I failed. Every time someone entered the room, my heart fluttered like a spasmodic butterfly. I must’ve looked up at the door a dozen times before I trained myself to ignore the commotion people made upon entering the room. There’s no need to be nervous, I told myself, but I knew that was a lie. Soon the frequency of students lowered and it seemed that all who were going to show up had already shown up. There were only a few empty seats left in the room, with one of them being right next to me, and the tardy bell was due to ring at any moment.
I thought maybe Jacob had ditched, or had faked an illness so he could be sent home. After all, I hadn’t known him until the previous day, so I had no idea what kind of student he was. Maybe the real reason I’d never seen him before was because he cared so little about school that most of the time he didn’t bother to show up. I didn’t know who he was, which made it even worse that I cared so much about his presence. Then, just as the bell rang, I looked up at the door and saw him stroll in. He handed Mr. Romero a note and calmly walked over to the available seat next to mine. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” he murmured with a crooked smile. “I got held up at the nurse’s office.”
It was slightly maddening and fascinating how conversation between the two of us was so effortless for him and yet such a major happening to me. I didn’t tell him this, of course. “What happened?” I asked, trying to hide my worry without sounding uncaring.
“Let’s just say my chicken patty was grayer than usual,” he said. He placed his hand on his stomach and said, “School lunch is killer. I should start bringing food from home. It wouldn’t really taste any different but at least I won’t have to stand in line.”
I giggled like the helplessly smitten schoolgirl I was turning out to be. At that point, it didn’t matter whether or not what he said and did was funny. If had read me a line from the Bible or recited a mathematical formula, I still would have giggled because he had awakened such liveliness in me that I could not contain it.
“You sure do get a kick out of everything, don’t you?” he remarked. “I mean, I could probably tell you that I broke my foot, and you’d still crack up.”
“That’s not true; I’d be very concerned,” I said gravely while trying to suppress another surge of giddy laughs.
He smiled warmly and said, “I know, I’m just messing with you. Truth is...I think your laugh is kind of cute.” His cheeks flushed the way they had that morning in the biting cold, except the classroom was toasty, almost sauna-like. In all that warmth, I felt my own cheeks grow brighter.
I wanted to tell him how cute his dimples were and how funny I thought he was, but a strange sensation in my stomach made me do otherwise. It wasn’t butterflies, and it wasn’t indigestion—it was pangs of guilt which relentlessly surged through my body. I thought of how disappointed my mom would be if she saw me shamelessly flirting like this. I thought of how carelessly I was jeopardizing the dream which she’d had when she first joined our church, and I couldn’t bring myself to continue this potentially devastating tango with Jacob.
Once my cheeks had cooled and my smile had faded, I robotically thanked him for the compliment and told him I had to focus on my work, and he should do the same. Bewildered and slightly hurt, he said, “Sure,” and turned away from me.
It killed me to treat him in such a cold manner, but I knew I had no choice. I couldn’t let myself fall any further; I had reached my limit, I had drawn a new line, and I swore to myself at that moment that I wouldn’t cross it.