Heart Beat

I stand stock-still in the football field, staring at Timmy and Hunter’s retreating forms. he didn’t say a word to me. He wouldn’t even LOOK at me! He’s never in his life, not even with all the things we’ve been through, ignored me that way. My face feels hot and wet, and I realize I’m crying. I want nothing more than to run to someone who can make it better. but who can you run to when the only person who knows how to make you stop crying, is exactly the person you’re crying over?
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Sitting on the floor of my bedroom with my phone in my hand. I’ve been trying to call Timmy for three hours now. each time, it rings for a few seconds then goes straight to voice mail. I know he’s ignoring my call. flipping over my phone, I quickly type: We need to talk. About half a minute later, my phone buzzes in my lap. What. is all it says. I try to call him one more time. It goes to voice mail. I sigh and text back: Why are you mad? This is just one of the billions of things I’m dying to ask him. I check my phone; no reply. putting my head in my hands, I sit and wait.
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It’s been half an hour and I’m still waiting the same position I started. still no reply. I’m not sure why I keep waiting. Alex is at the park today, and I could just go hang out with him. Timmy’s probably just going through puberty…Mood swings and all that jazz. I could get up right now, turn off my phone, and enjoy myself at Sandcastle. But I try calling Timmy one more time. It rings for a long time, but he finally answers.
“What.” he says, his tone harsh. I’m suddenly not so sure of myself.
“We need to talk. Why are you mad?” I hear him snort angrily.
“We have nothing to say to each other.”
“Well I have something to say to you!” I hear him sigh.
“What. Hurry up, I’m busy.” He says.
“Um…I think—“ And Timmy hangs up on me. In the middle of my sentence. When I was trying to tell him…Who even KNOWS what I was trying to say?!
I flop backwards onto the floor, hitting my head off of the corner of my metal-framed bed. I groan from the impact and rub my temples. Kelsey was supposed to come over today, and she could get here any second. As if summoned by my thoughts, my best girl friend bangs open my bedroom door and leaps into my room holding a dozen bags of sugar-coated gummy candy. It’s traditional that we ALWAYS eat gummies when we hang out in my room together. Gummy worms, gummy bears, gummy cokes, gummy everything!
She sits down without a word and we rip open the first bag. It’s little gummy Mountain Dew bottles. Sinking my teeth into the neck of a bottle, I close my eyes and grin.
“Oh my gosh, KELSEY! It tastes like Jesus!!!” I grab another gummy and stuff it into my mouth, laughing. Kelsey looks at me, eyes crossed and wide and mouth full of brown-copper gummy cokes.
Conversation turns to talking beavers, whether or not Jimmy Moore looks like a goat, and summer camp. And before we know it, Kelsey’s brother is in the driveway honking his horn and yelling out that window that if she doesn’t hurry up, he’ll burn her shin guards and lucky soccer ball.
Kelsey and I look at each other and a quick exchange is made through the eyes. Kelsey jumps up without a word and races to the minivan, her brother pulling out of the driveway before she can even get the door shut.
I’m all alone again, and Timmy still hasn’t texted me back. He’s always been my best friend. Kelsey is my best friend too, but I’ve always been closer to Timmy…And now he’s not even talking to me. I groan and throw the empty gummy wrappers away in the metal trash bin by the bed. I think about Timmy. When we were in the fourth grade, we made a photo album thingy together. It’s in the desk drawer at Timmy’s house, but I have a copy of all the pictures in it. Going to the dresser, I reach my hand underneath it as far as it will go. Feeling around on the floor, I pull out a battered shoebox filled with old photographs and newspaper clippings. I take the lid off the box and dump everything on the ground.
There are pictures of us in swim suits in his backyard, his daddy holding the hose and shooting icy water at us. There are pictures of us taking naps on his living room couch. There are hundreds of pictures and memories in this shoebox, but I’m not really looking at any of them. Instead, I sift through the filmy papers until I find the one I’m looking for.
In the photo, taken last summer, the sky was a deep green flecked with grey-looking clouds. It was raining so hard that you could see the droplets bouncing off the sidewalk. Timmy was standing there, soaked, with his arms around my waist. I was looking up at him through my bangs, equally drenched, with my hands clasped together around his neck. The corners of my mouth were curved in the most subtle way, like I didn’t want anyone to notice that I was smiling. He had a tiny smile on his face, like it didn’t get any better than that moment, right then. I suddenly realize how close we are in the picture…Almost as if we are more than best friends…Almost as if that’s what I want; to be more than his friend. A tremor rocks my heart and I realize I’m crying. And I realize…that that’s exactly what I want.
Still sniffling, I search around in my desk until I find a thumbtack. I hold the photo against the headboard of my bed, and stick the tack into the top of it to hold it there. I look at the picture for a moment longer, and then turn away.