Loved - A Novel (4 page)

              “I shouldn’t have told you,” she said, trying to brush it off.  She took a big bite out of her pepperoni slice.

              She thought she could have protected me by not telling me like I was some silly little girl. My mind was screaming. 
Shouldn’t have told me?! How about shouldn’t have done it! 
She knew how I felt about Paul, how rare that was for me and how important he was. I had no words. What I really wanted to say would have had
no effect on her. It was beyond my vocabulary or my level of strength to make her understand who I thought she really was. I could call her all the names I wanted to but in the end, she would probably just smile and tell me it was sad that I didn’t understand the world better—that I was so naïve.

              So I didn’t say anything at all.

              I didn’t say anything that day, the next day or the next week. We just stopped being friends. My eyes had been opened to her and my other friends and my parents were relieved. Meredith and the girls, on the other hand, were so supportive of me and their values were more in line with mine, anyway, so I focused on spending more time with them. 

              Our split affected us in very different ways. Without Crystal pulling me down, I soared. Without me building her up, she sank. I quit seeing her in the halls at school and eventually I heard she’d dropped out.

              I felt so powerful. I learned I could close my heart to someone. She no longer had any effect on me. I didn’t have to wonder if I was cool enough or fun enough, I didn’t have to fight all her boys for her attention or fight her for the attention of a boy. I didn’t need her to get to Nashville and I didn’t want her cheap brand of sex. But I would carry with me some of the lies she taught me about love. I had bought some of her propaganda and it had caused a shift within me. It was another type of power I was learning to use, only I could choose when and how to use it.

              I still talked to Paul on the phone.  I knew better than to believe everything Crystal had
said and there was definitely a part of me that wondered if it was really true. Plus, I needed Paul. He was part of my future, my life in Nashville. I couldn’t bring myself to ask him about it. If I could just believe that it never happened or if it did, that it wasn’t his fault, I could keep him. I would fall asleep at night imagining I was successful in Nashville, that he and I were in love, and that
everyone knew us as that awesome, adorable, tour-manager-or-whatever-couple. He fit perfectly into my life plan.

              Paul came to visit me in Westville the next month, the day I took my SAT’s. I was a nervous wreck. It was maybe not the best day for him to fly in as I found myself distracted by my excitement and I needed so badly to do well. According to the requirements for the Early Admission program, I had to get at least an 1110. That was the magic number:  1110. I did not want to be stuck in Westville for another year so I wished with every answer that I filled out with the No. 2 pencil for an 1110.

              Paul was there by the time I got home from the test and it was nice to put my worries aside and relax with him.  It snowed a lot, so we didn’t leave the house much. Instead, we watched movies and played pool in the basement. We laughed a lot and flirted. He was very affectionate and I didn’t mind at all. At night I would sneak down to the den, where he was staying on the sleeper sofa. We would kiss for a while before I would tiptoe back to my room, being careful to avoid the creaking top stair.

              He didn’t ask about Crystal at all. I mentioned casually that we hadn’t been hanging out and his response was that she didn’t seem like the kind of friend I needed. He really believed in me and like so many others, he saw her as trouble.  That was all I needed to hear.

             
March, 2000.

              I went to Nashville a second time for an interview at Belmont, another program requirement. I sat in a room with all kinds of fancy recording equipment that I had only seen before
on TV, hoping I looked very collegiate in my navy sweater and a khaki skirt. I sat up straight, crossed my legs, and rested my hands in my lap. Determination and infatuation took me over and later I couldn’t remember a single thing I said to the guy.

              Afterwards, we took a formal tour of the school and the recording studio. The halls were lined with gold records: Reba McEntire, Tricia Yearwood, Vince Gill and so many others. I couldn’t believe that this place existed somewhere outside my dreams, that these could be my halls and that this could be my life. I thought about the students there, the large number of people who loved music as much as I did, who wanted to make a life out of it and how I wanted so badly to be a part of such a community.  At home, I was the only person I knew who was like that.

              Paul took me to dinner and then to his house. My parents said I had to be back to the hotel by midnight. Paul and I put on a movie in his bedroom but we talked and kissed through the whole thing, my white halter-top coming off in a moment of passion. I lay on the bed in my jeans and bra, feeling exposed but not quite nervous about it. He lay next to me, propped up on one elbow as he ran his fingertips over my bare stomach.

              I felt safe. I trusted Paul. I hoped this might blossom into a relationship. I had enjoyed daydreaming about it but I didn’t feel any more invested than he seemed to be. I didn’t want any more from him than he was willing or able to give.  We enjoyed spending time together, we respected and admired each other and the rest would happen as it happened. I kissed him again and then turned away from him to put my shirt back on, laughing lightly; he drove me back to the hotel where my parents were waiting up for me.

              One day in the spring, I got a letter in the mail that I knew was my SAT scores. I believed I was a smart girl but I didn’t work as hard as I could have in school and I had been so nervous and distracted the day I took the test. I tore open the top of the envelope with my thumb. I unfolded the letter and my eyes flew over the page for the place where there was a number
printed.

              1110.

              I was in. I was leaving for Nashville in six months. I quit my after school job as a hostess at Applebee’s and didn’t participate in cheerleading or ballet for the rest of the year.  This was my last semester of high school and I was going to enjoy it for all it was worth. 

May, 2000.

One day, when I was driving my brother home from school, he told me that some guy in his class wanted him to tell me “hello.”  His name was Chase.  I didn’t know who he was but I was excited and surprised, even, that someone had noticed me. The next day Chase asked him to tell me “I love you” from him. I had to figure out who this guy was!

              Later that week, my brother and I were leaving the school parking lot when he pointed and said, “Hey, that’s Chase.” I followed his finger to a guy wearing silver pants and a black long sleeved shirt. He had brown hair with blonde streaks in the front, which on him managed to look more punk rock than preppy. He was walking down the sidewalk with a friend,
talking and laughing.  As we drove by, he saw me and started fanning himself as if to say, “She’s so hot.”  He didn’t know I could see him.

              I was certainly curious. He was cute, he was different and
he was interested in me.  I wanted so badly for someone to know that I was different, too.  Maybe he could tell I didn’t belong there.

              A few days later, I dressed up for an after school field trip to Pittsburgh with the French Club.  I was wearing a turquoise and black paisley silk skirt and a sheer black shirt over a blue tank top.  I liked to think I was on the cutting edge of fashion without drawing too much attention to myself but that day I was feeling a little extra bold. I put blue food coloring streaks in my hair, and though blue on blonde looks more like green, I went with it anyway. When I got home that night my brother gave me a note, folded into a small square.

Kim,

Before I start, let me say the green is beautiful in your hair.  I realize I know nothing about you, but I know I want to.  And I know I don’t know what makes you tick, but I plan on finding out.

I don’t really know what to say.  I mean, I guess it’s up to you for what happens next.

555-0352 (ask for Chase)

“I wanna be the last thing that you hear when you’re falling asleep.”

I love the Counting Crows.

<3,

Chase

              Of course I would call him. He wanted to be the last thing I heard when I was falling asleep! Who says that?  To someone he’s never even met! I was excited about the prospect of romance—real romance.  With someone who quotes beautiful lyrics and wears silver pants and likes when I do something ridiculous like dye my hair green. Someone with whom I could be myself.

              I called him the next day after school. I was beyond nervous, my heart pounding so loudly I was worried he would hear it over the phone. 

              “Is Chase there?” I asked the woman who answered.  I waited for her to get him.

              “Hello?”

              “Hi.  This is Kim.”

              “Well hello!”

              “Hello.”  I smiled.  This was going well.

              I told him about the French Club trip. He told me about his guitar playing, the songs he was writing and how he hated school and found it completely pointless. I told him I missed doing theatre because I didn’t have a show that spring. He said he had seen me in the school’s production of
Poe’s Midnight Dreary
the previous fall before he knew who I was. He had a friendly voice and an offbeat sense of humor. I sensed complicated emotions swirling beneath his casual words.

              He invited me to a show he was playing at a small theatre in town. It would be the first time we met in person.  I already had plans that night but I wouldn’t have missed this for the world so I rushed over, on my own, as soon as I could.  I was late and when I walked in, he was alone on the stage, sitting on a stool with an
acoustic guitar in his lap. I was wearing my favorite shirt, a soft sea green knit, jeans and my silver fairy charm on a chain that I wore almost every day.

              He announced to the dark crowded room that he would play just one more song. Someone made a disappointed sound, to which Chase replied, “Dry your eyes, kitten.”  Then he played a Black Lab song:

She walks through the gates of the country, hands at her side

And I smile as I watch her walk by

Somehow I see there are ships in her eyes

She’s better off now

              I was impressed with his voice, his song choice and his charm. I was smitten. 

              We went on our first date a few nights later. We walked down to the lake and sat on a weathered bench by the dock. He anxiously
picked at the peeling white paint.
I was also nervous but I hoped I was better at hiding it. 

“So you grew up here, at the lake?” he asked.

“Yeah, I have like a hundred cousins and all my uncles have boats. We spent our summers on the lake, swimming or tubing or watching the fireworks at the park.”

“That’s so nice. You’re lucky. Our family is… Well, I don’t see anyone much except Mum and my brother. And my brother and I aren’t very close.”

He put his arm around me and I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling the sun on my face. I didn’t know what to say back. “I’m sorry,” or “that’s awful,” seemed so cliché, so I just looked up at him into his big blue eyes. 

I’m sorry
, I thought.
That’s awful. But now you have me.

Then he kissed me. Despite my nervousness, I felt very comfortable with him. It was as if it was a first kiss and a thousandth kiss at the same time.

              Back at my house, we watched my favorite movie,
Playing By Heart
. We were both more at ease now. Our kiss had broken the ice and we were beginning to settle into each other’s company.
I didn’t want the night to end. I wanted to look into his eyes, kiss him and
be with
him forever.

              He nicknamed me Kitten and called me only that. We had so much to say to each other, like we’d been quiet our whole lives until we met. It was as if I had underestimated how hungry I was for a companion, how much I needed to be understood, to be pursued, to be seen and to be reflected in someone’s eyes. And he fed that hunger with his words, both verbally and in
the letters we exchanged between classes when we passed each other in the halls at school.

Kitten,