Dear Olive

Olive’s house was the next to last one on the left. It was several stories tall and impossible to miss, because of all the homes on Sedgewick Drive it was the most decked out for the upcoming holiday. The Parker's did not know the meaning of the word restraint. Olive’s father, Edward was a contractor and owned his own business. Her mother, Danielle was a general surgeon at the local hospital. They were both pillars of a community that was already rich with politicians, lawyers, and bankers. They set an example for modern urbanity and enjoyed every minute of it.

I had attended several of the parties that they hosted at their home for the local elite. I was certain that Danielle made a face every time she wrote my address on an invitation in her loopy feminine script. The cramped apartment that I shared with two roommates wasn’t a place that she had ever visited. Her nose took on a slight crinkle when Olive talked about the leaky kitchen sink or the neighbor that blared Beethoven until 1:00 am.

“At least he has good taste,” Danielle would remark as an awkward laugh shook her frail shoulders. I didn’t know that I had ever heard the older woman sound truly joyful. Her thin wavering voice had been proud, satisfied, and boasting, but not once had it taken on the inflection of true happiness. I wondered if Edward had anything to do with that, but never felt that it was my place to ask. Despite any perceived flaws, Olive loved her parents. I had reminded myself of that fact at least 10 times a day for the last 48 hours, but the knowledge did nothing to ease the ache in my chest as I came closer to her house.

Her walkway had been well salted and the front steps had been brushed clear. Even on a snowy winter night, Olive’s front porch looked like a place of respite. The dark wood and wicker furniture recalled warm days spent sipping cold glasses of ice tea. Olive and I had spent more than one summer afternoon sprawled out on the well cushioned love-seat when we were kids.

My Grandmother was the Parker’s cleaning lady and my legal guardian after my parents passed away. She couldn't afford daycare during the summers, so she bundled me into her old red jeep and brought me with her to the five or six houses she cleaned a day. I was reasonably well behaved, but bored when I trailed after her through the stuffy old mansions carrying a bucket of soapy water or a roll of paper towels. I was 11 years old when my grandmother started working for the Parkers. The first time I laid eyes on Olive she was peeking at me curiously through the rungs in the second story staircase. I was vacuuming, because my Gram didn’t believe in lazy children, when I caught sight of a mass of bushy brown hair and a pale freckled face.

I had reached an age when an adolescent boy starts to be much more interested in girls than he wants to admit. I made a point to introduce myself to the pretty gangly 10-year-old that I saw almost every day that summer. Sooner than later I had a shadow named Olive that followed me around the house. Her parents were rarely home and if they did notice that their little girl had made a new friend, it didn’t seem to faze them.

I didn’t get a real “talking to” until my Gram caught me in Olive’s room. She’d opened the door and let a little shriek when I bounced off Olive’s bed at the speed of light. My hand had been exploring the smooth plane of Olive’s stomach and I was certain my Gram had noticed. My worst fears were confirmed when she sat me down that evening and started to ramble on about “girls,” “being in love,” and “taking precautions.” If there was anything more embarrassing than having a 72-year-old woman try to have the sex talk with me I had yet to experience it.

Almost five years after we first met, Olive became my official girlfriend in all the traditional corny ways that included: social media, telling her parents, and wearing my high school football jacket. Her parents had pulled a few strings almost a year before that enable me to attend the same private school that Olivia did. I knew that had been more Edward’s doing than Danielle’s. Edward was a hard-working self-made man and appreciated my meager, salt of the earth upbringing. He wanted to give me a leg up in the world and I’m sure that he also knew that I was sweet on his daughter. He was always extremely kind to me, despite having the usual “If you touch my daughter the wrong way, I’ll kill you,” conversation. After he’d threatened my life, Edward cuffed my shoulder like a buddy. Then he sauntered away with spring in his step, no doubt happy that he had completed his fatherly duty.

I kept my promise not to touch Olive in the wrong way, but I certainly managed to find ways to touch her in all the right ones. I stole kisses every chance that I could in hallways, behind bleachers, and under the light of a full moon. I slowly discovered every one of the thousands of freckles that were sprinkled all over her skin. I uncovered every slight dip and curve of her slender frame that she always called, “boyish.” I proved to Olive that she was 100 percent feminine and that I loved every inch of her.

She seemed to love me back just as much, which was why it scared me that I hadn’t heard from her in nearly two days. In the almost 11 years that I had had known her she had never ignore a call or not texted me back. I was concerned and could think of nothing else to do, but go to her parents’ house. It was Christmas break at the college that we were both attending and we had planned to spend it mostly together. She wanted to visit her parents for a few days, which I understood, but then I didn’t hear from her on Saturday or all day on Sunday. We hadn’t argued and I couldn’t think of a single reason why she wouldn’t talk to me.

So, I took a bus from the inner city where I lived to the wealthy suburban jungle of my childhood and knocked on her door with a shaking hand. When it opened at last, my entire body tightened from head to toe, until I saw that it was, Danielle. She looked unpleasantly surprised to see me.

She somehow managed to look down her long nose at me,despite being several inches shorter as she said, “Charles, I expected that you would be by, though I did not anticipate you at this hour. I’m afraid that Olive is resting, poor dear. It was an exhausting weekend for her as I’m sure you can imagine. Going through the change is routine these days, but it still took a lot out of her. Was there some message I can take?”

The words slipped easily from her crimson lips and I wanted to slap her. She was obviously taunting me and being a first-class bitch. Olive would never go through the change, especially without speaking to me first. I was confident that Danielle was just trying to get under my skin in a harsher way than usual. So, I didn’t give her the juicy response that she probably wanted. Instead I tried to look past her and muttered, “I just want to be sure that she’s safe and please tell her to call me when she gets a chance. I was worried that she’d had an accident.”

“Oh no accident. Just an early 21st birthday present from her father and me. I’m sure that she will be in touch when she feels a bit better. I am sorry... to spoil the surprise for you. I’m sure she would have wanted to tell you herself,” Danielle said coolly.

I ignored her yet again, because I knew Olive better than she did. I knew her almost as well as I knew myself. Neither of us had wanted to be reborn. We had sworn that even if we were the last ordinary people on the face of the earth, we would never be like them. So, I turned on my heel to walk back to the bus stop and wait.