Time Lifts the Light

The next morning I took the bus to school. I waited nervously at the stop, praying that D.B.'s car wouldn't clunk around the corner. I felt uneasy - guilty almost. He had lost it at dinner last night and I felt partly responsible.

The air tasted crisp and cool - as if October was slowly stalking Colorado. I had to dig the school-issued black tights out of the bottom of my closet that morning to cover my naked legs. I had put the blue plaid scarf in my bag, just in case.

My stomach twisted.

"You're being stupid," I said aloud.

"I agree!"
"Totally."

My head shot up. No. This was exactly as I had feared. The ugliest, dirtiest, most beat-up red sedan on the face of the earth had pulled up across the street. The horn honked once, twice, three times and D.B. stuck his head out the window.

"I saved you shotgun!" he called. "Get in!"
"No," I replied cooly. "I'll take the bus, thanks."

There was a brief pause in which D.B. abruptly sat up straight and faced forward, his hands clenching tightly on the wheel. I distinctly heard Mikey's voice - slightly muffled from the back seat - calling, "Oooooh!"

"Are you mad or something?" D.B. called.

I sighed. Yes, I was upset... but I had no real reason to be. I debated staying silent for a split second before finally rolling my eyes and shuffling across the street. As I closed the car door behind me, D.B. spoke sternly.

"I think I know why you're angry and I'm sorry."
I couldn't think of anything to say.
"I'm going to give you the same speech I gave Kim and Mike. Is that okay?"
"Yeah..."
D.B. cleared his throat, tapping his fingers idly on the steering wheel. "As you know, I am a very private and naturally secretive person." He spoke with the air that he'd rehearsed this many times beforehand. "Last night I overreacted. I felt like things were out of my control and I handled it poorly. I - uh - I'm really sorry and I hope you never have to see me like that... ever, ever again."
I smiled shyly.
"Uh, the end," he finished. "Are you still mad?"
"No," I replied, maybe a little too quickly.

D.B. started the car and took off toward school.

"You're still mad," he commented. "But that's okay."
My face flushed a deep red. "I'm being selfish," I muttered.
"Yeah, you are."

Kim snorted from the back seat and I looked at D.B., surprised. He only shrugged as he stopped jerkily in front of a stop sign.

"But it's natural to be curious. I have secrets - you want to know them. If I were in your position, I'd be selfish, too."

I absently played with the hem on my skirt. I was having great difficulty determining where I stood in this conversation. Was I the victim? The attacker? Wait... Was I still supposed to be angry?

"I need a haircut."
"Shut up, Mikey."
"Well, I do!"
"They're having a moment, dumbass."
"Only saying..."

"Don't worry," D.B. laughed. "Moment's over."
"Yeah..." I muttered. "Completely over."

The mood lightened considerably as Mikey burst into an energetic round of "Danny Boy". We were thrown around as D.B. swerved all over the street, groaning in agony.

"Oh, Danny boy! The pipes, the pipes are calling!""
"Mikey, I swear, I will crash this car!"
"From glen to glen -"
"I'm doing it, choir-boy! Right into that house!"
"And down the mountain side!"
"Go to hell, you sadistic bastard!"

I suppose the rest of D.B.'s day continued normally (scolded by Mr. Cross, doodled an aquatic scene on the palm of his left hand, slept) but mine dragged. I couldn't concentrate. There were so many scars, so many secrets. They ate at me.

"D.B.?"
"Yeah?"
"What happened in Portugal?"

His pencil snapped. The blood left his face.

I wondered lazily if a single question was going to make D.B. faint in the middle of the art room. It took a moment before he was able to blink away the surprise from his eyes.

"P-Portugal?"
"Yes."

I couldn't back down now that the question was out.

"Are we friends, Daniel?"
He swallowed with great difficulty. "You're asking me another one before I answered the old - "
"Daniel."

He stared blankly at his painting. He was still working on the one of Kim and Mikey on the roof of his car. Somehow, I could feel the cool air through the canvas. I could taste the excitement and the care-free dancing and most likely, in Mikey's case, a small splash of cheap wine. D.B. set his pencil down and went back to blankly mixing paint.

"We're friends," he said.
"Okay, then," I responded, hardly a whisper. "That's all I needed to - "
"I died in Portugal," he interrupted numbly. "Do you want to go to Homecoming with me?"