Let It Pour

I think what the worst part may be is that I was close enough that I could have done something. I knew how much he struggled with it in middle school, but when everything changed we were two of the those changes. I don't know if it was him as much as it was me that changed, but I know nothing was the same after eight grade. I sometimes felt guilty right after we stopped talking to each other, but over time he just faded into my past, and I was able to just forget about him. I believed that was the best thing for both of us. That was, until a month,when I was put into Jonathan's group in English. I could see how much he was hurting. I could see how bad things were for him. I saw all of that, but I didn't do a single thing.

I met Jonathan when we were eleven. His family moved into the house across the next door to mine halfway through the summer before sixth grade. My parents insisted on us doing the kind neighborly thing. That is, making a basket of homemade cookies and parading next door the first night they moved in, dead set on becoming besties with the new family. It's pretty much a joke, right? It's like those made-for-tv movies where one joyful family consisting of a mom, a dad, a daughter, and a cat have a family move in next to them that consists of a mom, a dad, a son, and a dog. Then they become best friends and the daughter and the son grow up and get married, showering the parents with grandkids galore, making everyone happy. Hey, even the cat and dog get along!

Except no, it wasn't like that, at all. As we get ready to make the trek across our yard and into the Great Unknown my mother coos over just how cute that new neighbor boy is. "Have you seen him?" she asks in a hushed whisper as she takes a batch of cookies out of the oven. "He is just adorable Chris! Wait until you meet him." She gives me a wink then and breaks into a quiet fit of giggles.

It's how my mother always used to be when I was younger. Being an only child, and a shy child at that, I had a lot of free time around the house with nobody except myself to keep me entertained. Naturally, who else became my best friend except dear old mom? Although I think old is the wrong description for her. Right now I'm eighteen and she's only thirty eight, so when I was eleven she was a mere thirty one years old.

Thirty one and convinced she was the only one fit to be my best friend. You see, mom is fashionable. She's beautiful and even if she's a bit corny she's smart and she cares about me. None of that mattered to me at eleven though. The only thing I knew the summer I was eleven were shorts that even though were size 9 hung on my waist, tank tops, and scraped knees. I was about to start middle school and mom was excited; more excited than I was, I think. She wanted to take me shopping, buy me bras and heels, allow me to become a woman. I know her intentions were good, but my thoughts were still hung on how many newts I could catch at the creek down the road and whether I could climb higher into the big tree on the creek than Clayton Jones could.

To say I was a tomboy wouldn't be far off, but to say I was awkward would be hitting the nail on the head. I was skinny, long-legged, knoby kneed, and while my blonde hair fell in waves around my face down to my lower back, a pair of glasses constantly threatened to slip off the bridge of my nose. All I wanted from life was adventure, which caused a lot of the arguments between mom and I back then. She wanted to make me a woman, I wanted to stay a kid.

"Do I have to go with you to meet them?" I ask my mom. While waiting for her reply I find a scab on my elbow and set to picking it off, which by the look on her face, grosses my mom out. Good, maybe it will gross her out enough that she'll let me skip out on the whole new-neighbor business deal. Matt from a few houses down told me there's supposed to be a massive numbers of cicadas hatching from their larva shell tonight anyways. That sounds so much better than living room talk.

"Yes Chris, you do. I want our whole family there to greet them, and I think the boy is about your age. He's going to need a friend here, especially since it's summer and there's not school for him to meet people yet, okay?" she smiles at me warmly, coming around the counter in our kitchen to give me a hug. "Why don't you wash up? We're going to head over in a few minutes."

I agree even though I'm not happy about it. I couldn't believe my mom wanted me to befriend the new boy. I couldn't believe she wanted me to go meet him and talk to him when I look like this. I peer into the mirror in my bathroom, pushing my glasses up farther onto my face and trying to tame my hair, even just a little. Everything I try to do is no hope though. My glasses refuse to stay in the correct place and my hair stubbornly remains wavy and frizzy. The scrapes and grass stains that cover my knees won't fade no matter how hard I scrub, and even my hands are permanently darker than normal.

With a sigh I grab a fresh pair of frayed denim shorts and a yellow tank top, pausing to throw on one of the sports bras my mom bought me earlier in the summer. Back then I despised those things, but honestly I was trying a little to impress the mystery boy. My mom gives me a once over and nods appreciatively before calling my dad's name down the hall. A few minutes later we're making our way across the yard to the house next door.

A lady opens, a smile on her face and a small baby bump just showing under her shirt. "Hello," she says with a warm smile. "I'm Natalie Day. It's nice to meet you." The adults shake hands and Mrs. Day takes the tray of cookies from my mom, inviting us inside.

"Where is your husband?" mom asks. "We would love to meet him too. All the men on our street get together and grill for the fourth," she suggests, the fourth only being a few days away at the time. In the kitchen I can see Mrs. Day stiffen a little before turning around with a sad smile on her face.

"Um, my husband died four months ago," she replies, causing my mom to gasp and clamp a hand over her mouth. "It's just me and Jonathan now. Plus the little one on the way. I'm not quite sure if it's going to be Elle or Michael yet, we're waiting on that."

"Oh my God, I - I'm so sorry," my mom stutters, clearly flustered. "I wouldn't asked if I had know. God, I'm sorry."

"Really," she reassures."You couldn't have known, I get it a lot. How about Jonathan comes down and he and Christina can get to know each other? Jonathan, come to the living room, we have company!"

A few moments later he enters, taking a seat beside his mother as I sit beside mine. We sit in an awkward silence, trying to look everywhere except at each other while our parents talk and when they suggest I take Jonathan outside to show him the tree house on the fence line between our two houses it takes a moment for either of us to move.

"This was built before we moved here," I explain as soon as we're both sitting in the tree house. My dad reinforced it though so I could have it. There's an entrance on both your side and my side, but I've never gotten to use it with anyone before because the people who used to live in your house didn't have any kids. It could be fun though. We could pass notes and play games and stuff up here."

At eleven Jonathan was just about as awkward as I was, and I think that's what put me at ease with him. The person my mom had described as so cute turned out to be just another boy to hang out with, only better because this time he was in the same boat I was, entering middle school not comfortable with the limbs he occupied. Besides, we had a tree house that we were about to start sharing. How much better could it get?

"That sounds like a lot of fun," he answers. "I don't know anyone here except for my grandparents that live about ten minutes away, so if you want to pass notes or play games or whatever I'll be glad to. I could always use a friend." He smiles at me shyly and I grin back, vowing to never put on another sports bra just to visit this boy. We were going to be best friends.

"Have you ever seen a cicada larva ditch it's shell and dry out it's wings so it can fly?"

"No, but it sounds really cool," he says, but I'm already halfway down the ladder on my way to Matt's house for the hatching.

"Well come on then!" I call up to him, waiting for his feet to hit the ground when he comes down the ladder. "One more thing though," I tell him, spitting on my hand and holding it out to him like I'd seen the guys down my street do when making promises. "Best friends?" Jonathan grins at me and does the same, shaking my hand with enthusiasm.

"Best friends."

We used to be so carefree back then and I've lost track of how many times I've wanted to go back to those long summer nights when the only thing that mattered was where the next exciting thing was taking place.