Chapter Three.
Lyrical - December
Wisconsin needed a therapist. It couldn’t decide what the weather should be like from year-to-year.
Last winter, we didn’t have snow until February, and even then, it barely covered the ground.
Apparently, this winter made up for it because we experienced three decent snowfalls in ten days, and I lamented that my three-year-old boots chose today to develop a tear.
Walking down the sidewalk, my head down against the harsh whipping wind, I watched my steps carefully, working to avoid the wettest areas and to keep from slipping on the patches of ice. Not a day you wanted to walk anywhere, but with nothing in the cupboards I needed to get some groceries.
It took me a minute to hear someone calling my name. When I finally heard it and looked up to see who it was, I wished I hadn’t.
Jesse.
Since we finished the project for English last month, I worked hard to avoid him.
“Lyrical! What are you doing out here in the snowstorm?”
I didn’t exactly have a choice. If I didn’t go to the food bank now, we wouldn’t have anything to eat for two or three days except for instant coffee and a few toaster pastries.
My teeth chattered. “I need to run an errand, and then I’ll head home.”
“What errand could be so important you’re out in this shit?” He frowned. “And where’s your hat? And your gloves?”
“I forgot them this morning.” A lie. Dad took them since he shoveled sidewalks for the lakefront families for cash.
Within seconds, he unwound the scarf from around his neck and wrapped it around mine, looping it tightly to lie over the gap at the front of my coat.
Before I knew it, he’d pulled my hands from my pockets to put his gloves on me, followed by the knit hat from his head over my head, my hair wet from the snow.
“Let me give you a ride home.”
“Thank you, Jesse, but I really have to get to the store before it closes.”
“Store?” He glanced around us, the frown on his face deepening. “The grocery store is the other way.”
“I’m not going to the grocery store,” I mumbled.
His head recoiled slightly and tilted to the side. “The only other stores out here are a shipping station, a printer, and an insurance agent.”
Going around him, I ducked my head down as I walked around him. “Thanks for the hat and stuff. I’ll get them back to you tomorrow at school.”
My skin flushed, not because of the cold, but because of the embarrassment.
It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t understand.
I could have been clearer. But my feelings for Jesse weren’t as platonic as I’d tried to convince his mother they were, and I found myself vain enough that I didn’t enjoy drawing attention to the chasm between our social status.
My parents weren’t lazy and living off welfare, nor were they addicts.
They worked hard. Both worked factory jobs, but they paid minimum wage.
To supplement, Dad did odd jobs for the beautiful people who lived on Lake Drive for extra cash, and mom worked a second job cleaning offices at night.
There was also my part-time job, but my boss rarely let me work over twenty hours a week.
There wasn’t ever anything extra, and we needed to stretch the money we made.
When I entered the food bank, I got the impression there was someone behind me, so I held the door for them without looking backward. When I heard the murmured “Thanks,” I whipped around to find Jesse hunched into his jacket behind me, snowflakes dusting his hair.
“Are you following me?” My words came out sharper than they should have, but I was tired, cold, and I had to walk home yet, not to mention my feet were wet and going numb. Plus, now he was here, witnessing my life in its ugliness.
His eyes found mine, then looked around the spartan room.
Metal, no-nonsense shelving stretched down ten separate rows holding nonperishable foodstuffs, necessary household products, as well as personal products.
Along the back wall stood a cooler with cold items, which some days was nearly empty.
Like today, when families would have rushed in early to get milk and things like that for their kids.
The faster I got this done, the faster I got out of here and home, where I’d be safe to wallow in my frustration and a few tears. Nothing reflected the divide between Jesse’s world and mine better than this right here.
Deciding ignoring him was the best way to go, I put a box of lasagna noodles in my bag, then a jar of sauce, and made my way back to the cooler for a bag of mozzarella cheese.
I went over to the day-old bread rack and grabbed a loaf.
Finally, a quick swing past the fake wagon built into the side wall with a few fruits and vegetables left.
Since they were out of meat sauce, we’d make do with zucchini lasagna.
Making my way up to the counter with my bag, my stomach plummeted to the soles of my feet. Natasha and Soleil, two of the beautiful people from school, volunteered today. Could my mortification get any worse?
Soleil blushed as she took my bag from me, checking off my items. However, Natasha geared up to make a scene. I watched Soleil repackage my bag, wishing she worked faster. There were only four items. How much time could it take?
Speaking to Soleil, she said, “I can’t wait to go home tonight. Our housekeeper is making us chicken cordon bleu with real mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, and triple chocolate cake for dessert.
I noticed the irony of Natasha bragging about her fancy meal, despite supposedly wanting to help the less fortunate, as she volunteered at a food pantry. The whole scenario was ludicrous.
Mrs. Faulkner, one of the church ladies who helped run the food bank chose that moment to bustle up to the counter, her demeanor so cheery it was the direct opposite of the venom I faced at the counter and the weather I would soon face outside.
“Hello, Lyrical! Did you walk all the way in the storm today?”
“It wasn’t so bad.” I have been lying too much lately. To her. Jesse. Myself. It was exhausting.
She clucked her tongue in chastisement as she looked out the window. “This storm is getting worse. You’re going home, girls. Do you need a ride, Lyrical?”
“Thanks, but I’m good.”
“You really shouldn’t be walking in this.”
“She won’t be, ma’am. I’m driving her.”
Natasha stood behind Mrs. Faulkner with a mixed expression of fury and horror. The idea of Jesse giving me a ride sent her to the verge of a stroke.
She gathered herself. “Hey, Jesse! I didn’t see you there. I’ve been meaning to speak to you. The Snow Ball is just two weeks away, and I was wondering—”
“Sorry, Natasha. I already have a date.”
“You… you do?”
“Yup.” His hand reached out for my bags from Soleil. “You two drive safely.”
“We will,” Soleil chirped.
Silently, we walked out of the store side-by-side.
When we reached the curb, he put his free hand to the small of my back and steered me toward his car.
Too cold and too mortified, I allowed him to open the passenger door, usher me inside, then once I was safely within, he closed the door on me and rounded the back of the car.
With my grocery bag behind his seat, he started the car and turned the vents for the heat in my direction.
Rather than buckle up and head out, he exited the car, brushed off the accumulated snow from the short time we spent inside, and then returned to the driver’s seat.
“Buckle up, Lyrical.”
Like a zombie, I buckled my seatbelt, then turned my head to watch as the world moved past my window while he drove.
When he pulled up to the curb in front of our apartment, he put the car in park but made no move to get out. I tried to pull on the door, but he put out a hand to keep me in place. “Lyrical, look at me.”
Everything in me wanted to open the car door and run away. Too proud to actually follow through with my impulse, I compromised by looking down at my hands, now nicely warmed by his gloves.
My nose stung. My throat constricted. Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks, and I fought to hold them back.
“Please, Lyrical.”
A strangled sound came from inside me. Something broken and desperate, but still I resisted his request. Two fingers reached for my chin and gently turned my face toward him. “Don’t you dare let Natasha make you feel small,” he ground out.