Wall Flower

“And this is my wife, Danielle.”

I attempted to hide my shock, though I was sure they saw it anyway.

Danielle smiled at her husband before she hugged me. Her baby bump made it difficult; it’s why she was laughing when she said, “Sorry for the baby bump. It gets in the way, huh?” She stopped embracing me and smiled. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you. Your sister mentions you so much.”

I smiled at her when she pulled away. She was beautiful and glowed like every soon-to-be-mother did. And Kevin, her husband, was overjoyed – anyone could see it. It escaped me, however, when I first saw him and when his younger brother arrived at the wedding and hugged his sister-in-law.

I looked at Joe – an unmarried, happy-for-his-brother, proud uncle. He simply smiled at me and joined the conversation his brothers, sister-in-law (and, just for me to clarify and remind myself, not his wife), and Cassandra were having.

The wedding was coming to an end and people were beginning to leave. Joe and his party were staying until everyone left to help my sister and brother-in-law get their things to the airport before they went on their honeymoon. (My sister thinks she has to take three large bags on her honeymoon and she thinks it’ll fit in her tiny Volkswagon Bug).

“Cassandra,” I whispered. She sat beside me while Joe sat on the opposite side.

She glanced at me and saw my desperate expression. She got up, I followed her action, and we excused ourselves.

I dragged her to the restroom. She checked all the stalls to reassure herself that no one was in them and that no one would be listening to our conversation.

“Shouldn’t I be the paranoid one?” I asked her while purposefully avoiding the mirror. “I’m the one who wanted to come here and speak with you privately.”

She realized what she was doing and walked out of the handicap stall. “Just checkin’,” she muttered. She went to the mirror and checked her dress. “I thought I felt it rip. Talk, I’ll listen and examine my dress.”

At first I was quiet, although that did not alarm my friend; she expected me to be quiet at first. I simply watched her check all areas of her dress for any tears or mishaps. I did not want to look in the mirror; I did not want to see what a discomfited five foot eleven (six foot one in these bloody heels) awkward girl looked like.

“Ope, there it is!” Cassandra squeaked. She had twisted herself in an uncomfortable position with her left arm raised high, head twisted around to look at her side, and other hand pulling the fabric closer to her. I momentarily wondered why she didn’t just look in the mirror. It would have saved her the discomfort.

“He’s not married!” I blurted out and sighed heavily. I hung my head and let my hair cover my face like an orange curtain. I wrapped my arms around myself and cradled my elbows before leaning against the wall nearest the mirrors: my classic “I’m trying to hide” position. I was in this position when Joe walked in and I’d probably be in this position when Joe leaves.

Cassandra was still in her strange position. “No, he’s not,” she said with some uncertainty. She shuffled her feet so she was facing me while still examining her tear – which barely qualified for a tear: It was just a string hanging off the seams. “Did you think he was?”

“I thought he and Danielle were married,” I said. I came to a realization and made a face at myself. “I thought his purity ring was his wedding band.”

He showed me his costume made purity ring his parents gave him. It had 1 Corinthians 13:8 written on it in beautiful lettering. I knew that verse right away; I was sure most did: 1 Corinthians 13 was the “love chapter.” That particular verse in that chapter says, “Love never fails.”

“Why do you sound so upset that he isn’t married?” Cass asked me as she stood straight. She twisted her back and I heard it pop. It echoed. “Surely most girls our age would be ecstatic and giggly finding out that a guy like Joe isn’t married after all.” An evil grin appeared on her face. “I would think that since you like him you’d -”

“Yo te cortaré,” I said to her in Spanish. (I had taken Spanish all four years of high school and frequently went with my Spanish teacher on MexiCali trips, like the one Joe had just come back from.) Translated my words were: “I will cut you.”

She gave me a face and she smoothed her dress down with her hands. She was lucky she had some meat on her bones and had more of a figure than I did, even if she was not completely skinny.

“If more people only knew how strange and sometimes violent you truly are,” she chuckled and crossed her arms across her chest.

“I can see your boob crack,” I muttered. She pulled the front of her dress up. “Good. We don’t want guys to be lusting after your physical aspects now do we?”

“Nope,” she said. “Especially not after me, though guys hardly ever go after me.”

“Nick was smiling at you a lot,” I said under my breath. “And he kept his eyes on your face, not your chest. I find that charming.” The last part came out a little sarcastic, though I did believe it to be a plus in my book (of spells).

“I don’t want to talk about my love life, I want to talk about yours,” she said loudly and I glared at her. “I know you are starting to like him – he may not, nor do his brothers, but I know. What I don’t know is why you’re not relieved that he isn’t married.”

“It was easier when I thought he was,” I said forlornly and looked down at her feet. “I don’t want to like him, necessarily. I want to focus on God right now - especially going into college, even if it is Christian.”

“Joe’s Christian,” she said to me. “He’s not going to pull you away from God.”

“We’re talking as if he likes me.” I paused for a moment. “I know after today I’m not going to see him again.”

“That’s a little unrealistic. He’s your brother-in-law’s best friend. And Joanne’s friends with him and his brothers.”

“I hadn’t met him when they were engaged or when they were dating.” I could tell that she was in agreement with me. “It doesn’t matter; my feelings don’t matter. He’s a great guy and loves God. I’m going to the Houston College of Performing Arts next week and I’ll go on with my life with you and me and my poem-like mind.”

“That’s a good attitude, I guess,” Cassandra said, and she looked back in the mirror. She pretended – let me say again: pretended and failed – to mess with her straightened sandy colored hair in order to appear unsuspicious.

“Fine, you do not have to tell me.” I stood up straight and went to the restroom door. “What you are hiding is of no interest to me. I’ll even say it in Spanish so it will be clear: Tus palabras no me interesan.”

“Claro,” she replied. (We had Spanish together). “Espérame por favor.”

“Wait for you? I’m not waiting for you,” I said as I opened the door. I, like a juvenile, stuck my tongue out at her and stormed off.

I tried not to figure out what was swirling around in that secretive mind of hers, though it was most definitely a wasted effort. My thoughts were: WHAT IS SHE HIDING?!

I found out what she was hiding.

As I transported the few boxes I had full of my belongings I noticed a familiar hair-cut and side-profile a few cars down from me. I watched as he, with his back turned, walked over to the same volleyball court that was in front of the building my dorm room was in and go into the building across from it. He tripped in the sand of the volleyball court on his way to the building.

I continued to stare long after he went into the building. My arms ached from holding a box filled with random sentimental items like a photo album, a giant folder of blank sheet music and used sheet music, and lastly half of my books. I already took the box filled to the brim with books (books for fun and for school) up to my room with the help of my dad.

Joe walked out of the building across from mine.



“What’cha lookin’ at Loraine?!” my dad shouted into my ear. I jumped out of my freckled skin and stared at my father with wide eyes, still too shaken up to grimace at him.

“Nothing, Daddy,” I replied quietly. I saw Joe walking up and, when he passed the row of cars that came before the row my car was in, suddenly stop dead in his tracks. He stared straight at me with surprise, shock, and a smile.

“Oh look, it’s Joe Jonas,” Cass said with mock shock. She sounded like a robot. “Who knew he was going to be attending this college that we happen to go to?”

“I have an idea,” I muttered and grimaced at her ten times more maliciously since the fright my dad caused me had worn off. I put down my box to cross my arms.

“Loraine!” Joe shouted happily before tackling me with a hug stronger than a bear could give. “I hoped I would see you today!”

“Did you know I was going here?” I asked him. My voice was a little airy because he had nearly knocked the wind out of me with that hug of his.

“Yeah, Nick said Cassandra told me you were attending here after Garret’s wedding,” he answered, and he looked over at my parents. “Afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Fontaine.”

“Hi there cumquat!” my mother shouted with glee and I tried not to groan, but a girl could only do so much.

“Mother,” I groaned. “Not the cumquat thing.”

My mother nearly dropped my school bag on the floor but luckily – and I mean luckily because I had a couple snow globes in it (not enough room in the boxes) – I caught it just as she hugged Joe and shook him side to side like a dog with an unfortunate chew toy in its mouth. I yelped slightly when my mom hugged Joe because she knocked me onto my knees on her way to attack – I mean hug him.

“It’s so nice to finally meet my son-in-law’s childhood friend!” she shouted in his ear. I stood up and found Joe with wide eyes and gasping for air. “Cumquat you can call me Lari!”

My mother’s name was Lari Fontaine and my father’s name was Kelsey Fontaine. No one can imagine how many times people thought my mother was my father and vice versa when I tell them their names and don’t have pictures to depict who is who.

“Okay,” Joe managed to say. “Nice to meet you Lari.” He gave me a look that screamed “Help me! I can’t breathe!”

Welcome to my life, I thought but didn’t say aloud.

She let go of him and he sucked in a big lungful of Houston, Texas air. My mother simply just giggled the way she almost always giggled and called for my father. He was taking out the last thing I brought with me back home from Westlake, Texas: my large suitcase filled with all my clothes. I called it a miracle of God when I was able to violently shove every bit of my clothing (shoes not included) into the giant rolling suitcase.

“Call me Kelsey,” my dad said to Joe as they shook hands. I almost laughed at Joe’s relieved expression. I can imagine what he was thinking my dad would be like after meeting my wild, harebrained mother.

Fortunately for Joe my dad was much calmer than my mother. He was still loud, however, as evidenced by the yelling in my ear and scaring me spitless.

“You need help, Loraine?” Joe asked me. “I just finished getting my stuff into my dorm. Single bedroom, thank You God.” He looked up at the sky (symbolizing him looking up at heaven) with a cheesy smile and a thumbs up. I merely grinned in return. “Where’s your dorm?”

“In the building across from yours,” I said. “I saw you walking out of it before you came over.”

He pointed at my building. “Seriously? Awesome.” He grabbed the suitcase as my dad closed the trunk of my car and dusted off his hands, though there was no dust. He tried to grab my school bag with the snow globes in it.

“Hey,” I protested.

“Lil’ lady,” he said to me. He sounded like a cowboy from one of the many western movies my dad loves to watch. “Let a manly gentleman much like muhself help ya with that thar bag ya got thar.”

I gave him a look. “Are you calling me weak?”

I saw Mom put her hands on her hips from the corner of my eye. “The boy’s trying to be a gentleman, Loraine Jane -”

“Dear God, please no.”

“- Fontaine!” Mom finished despite my praying. I groaned.

“Cute,” Joe laughed. He took the opportunity to grab my school bag from me when I was wallowing in shame of my name. “What’cha got in here?”

“Snow globes,” I muttered and began to walk. “Thanks for assisting me.”

“No problem Loraine Jane Fontaine.” He was trying to hold in a laugh.

“¿Tú también?” I asked before groaning once more. I began walking forward whether he followed me or not. “Claro que si. Esto día no terminaría sin alguien decir mi nombre como -”

“You speak Spanish?” he asked as he tried to keep up with my quick retreat.

“Yes,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself the way I always did. “I was just complaining about you also teasing me for my name. I said, ‘Of course my day will not end without someone saying my name like’ - and then you interrupted me. I was going to say without saying my name just to tease me.”

“Don’t worry,” he replied. I looked over at him. We were not perfectly at eye level; he was still slightly shorter than I. “I like it. I think it fits you, actually.”

“That’s what Cassandra says.” I sighed. “My room is on the top floor, room 138.”

He chuckled once as we walked past the volleyball court and into the building. “Like 1 Corinthians 13:8. Funny. That’s my favorite verse. It’s on my purity ring.”

I sighed and gave him a halfhearted grin. “Yeah, I remember.”

(Dear God, oh your sense of humor: Putting me in the same college he goes to, having the college assign me to the building across from his, and letting me have the room I want – with just me and Cassandra – with a number that represents his favorite chapter and verse. You’re so funny. Sorry if I am getting sarcastic with You. You know how I am. Amen).

After dropping off my things and a quick reunion between Cassandra and Joe he and I walked back to mine and my parent’s cars to say goodbye. Cassandra’s parents had already said goodbye to her when she walked out the door with all her things packed (which is why she didn’t come back down with Joe and me). Her parents couldn’t drive down with her because they work on weekends (it was Saturday now). We stuffed as much as we could into both our cars but the big boxes were shoved into my parent’s car without a fuss.

I may complain but I love my loud, obnoxious, insane parental units more than I can possibly say – and I am good with thinking of words to use. It comes with being an aspiring poet.

I knew my mother was going to cry. I knew my father was going to tear up and try to hide it in the comical way he does by pretended to blow his nose loudly on a bandana that he carries around. (He always has bandanas in case he feels the need to dress like a cowboy. He says it’s because he lives in Texas that he feels the need to be like a cowboy). I knew I would cry oceans of tears; however I did not expect the homesickness to begin before they drove away. I already felt lonely, scared, and questioning whether I had enough pairs of socks.

Then my parents covered my cheeks in kisses before getting into their car and beginning the almost six hour drive back home to Westlake. I knew how boring that drive was and thanked God I did not have to make that long commute twice. (Last night we stayed in a hotel near my new college so they could rest before making the drive again).

“Don’t worry,” Joe said. I jumped; I had forgotten he was there. “After the first month, more or less, the homesickness will go away.” I nodded and wiped my puffy, red eyes with the back of my hand. My cheeks were warm with embarrassment. “It happens to every freshman. Not so much me when I was a freshman though.” He struck a super hero pose with his hands, clenched into fists, on his hips and turning his head to look off into the distance.

“Yes, because you’re Superman,” I replied sarcastically before sniffling.

He smiled. “How’d you know?!”