Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac (14 page)

“Right. I’m sure he’d like to thank you, though.”

“Next time,” James said shyly. “I don’t always go over so well with people’s parents.”

I led James to my room and located his shirt in the back of my closet. As I handed it to him, my hand brushed up against his forearm, but James didn’t seem to notice.

“Thanks,” he said.

We were both standing in the entrance to my closet, which was a walk-in. James was looking around when he said, “What is that?” He pointed to a stack of CliffsNotes on the top shelf.

“I know. It’s very scandalous. In my defense, I can’t remember buying them.”

James set down his shirt and took the top booklet off the stack. “
Slaughterhouse Five.
For God’s sake, who buys CliffsNotes to
Slaughterhouse Five.
”

“Apparently that was the kind of girl I was.”

“The very bad kind,” James said. He picked up his shirt and moved to leave my closet.

James had run hot and cold in the months since I had met him, so I’m not exactly sure what possessed me to do what I did next. They say that people who have had brain injuries sometimes suffer from strange emotional outbursts, and I guess this would qualify. “Do you remember what you asked me back at the hospital?”

He didn’t answer.

“When my dad came in?”

He still didn’t answer.

“About kissing me and if you had permission?”

“Yeah,” he said in a low voice, “I remember.”

“Well, you would have had it.” I took a deep breath, and then I added, “I’m not with Ace anymore.”

He took my hand in his and said, “Naomi, don’t you think I knew that?”

Then I kissed James, or he kissed me.

(Who knows how these things start?)

And then I kissed James again, or he kissed me again.

(And if you don’t know who started it, it’s hard to know what came next.)

And I and him, and him and me.

(I will always remember that he tasted like cigarettes and something passing sweet, which I could not quite identify.)

Andiandhimandhimandme
.

(And so on.)

It might have gone on like that forever except that Dad knocked on my door. “Kiddo?”

James and I broke apart, and I told Dad to come in.

“I didn’t know you had company,” Dad said.

“I don’t, not really. James just stopped by to pick something up, and I didn’t want to bother you if you were working. You met James at the hospital, remember?” I went on and on. Even though we hadn’t been doing it or anything, I knew that that kiss was written all over my face. Also, I couldn’t stop smiling.

Dad nodded distractedly. “Oh hey. Yeah.” Dad reached over to shake James’s hand. “Thanks for all your help, son.”

James nodded. “My pleasure. Well, I’ve got my shirt.” James held up the shirt, presumably for Dad’s benefit. “Guess I’ll be on my way. See you in school, Naomi.”

“I’ll walk you out,” I said.

As I walked James to the door, he whispered to me, “Is that gonna cause trouble for you?”

“My dad’s cool.” I really didn’t care if it did anyway. “Whenever I break one of Dad’s rules, I can always claim amnesia.”

“I believe you used it with the CliffsNotes, too,” James pointed out. “But—”

“Don’t deny it, Naomi. It really is a good, all-purpose excuse. Robbed a bank? ‘But, officer, I didn’t
remember
I wasn’t supposed to rob banks.’ I wish I could use that one, too.”

“What would you use it for?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Things. Mainly things I’d done in the past, but you never know what might come up.”

At the door, he kissed me again.

When I got back to my room, Dad was waiting for me. Of course, he wanted to know if I was seeing James, but I wasn’t sure of the answer to that yet. “Not technically.”

“He’s very handsome, and he looks older than you, if I’m not mistaken. Both of which do not exactly recommend him to me, your dear old dad. I assume you know what you’re doing though.”

I nodded.

“In any case, I came to talk to you about the wedding.” He said that they were planning to have it at a hotel on Martha’s Vineyard the second weekend of June. It would just be me and him; Rosa Rivera and her two daughters, her sister, and her brother; Dad’s mother, my grandmother Rollie; and “significant others of the aforementioned.” He said Rosa Rivera wanted me to be a bridesmaid along with her two daughters, which struck me as ridiculous.

“But, Dad, I barely know the woman!”

“You’d be doing it for me, too.”

“Not to mention who’ll be left to watch the wedding if nearly everyone’s a bridesmaid?”

Dad said that wasn’t the point.

“It wasn’t that long ago you were lying to me about even having a girlfriend, and now you want me to be in your wedding. It seems fast and unfair, and…”

“And?” Dad prompted. “And what?”

I thought of when James had said “screw the past,” how right that had felt. I was moving forward with James, and Dad was moving forward with Rosa Rivera, and screw whatever had come before. I was going to be all about
now
, about
am
, about
present tense.
“Tell Rosa Rivera I’m happy to be her bridesmaid.”

Dad’s stunned look was pleasurable in and of itself. “I thought we were in for the long haul on this one, but I guess not. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled, but why the sudden change of heart?”

I felt reckless and happy, so I kissed my father on the cheek. “Oh, Dad, what possible difference can
why
make anyway? Just go with it.”

My phone rang. It was Will, so I told Dad I had to take it. Dad just nodded. I could tell he was still dazed by my turnabout. I vowed to do it more often.

“You sound different,” Will said skeptically. “Your voice is all full of…I don’t know what.”

I laughed at him. I liked being unpredictable, unreadable.

“It’s that cat James,” he said simply.

This seemed to come out of nowhere. I hadn’t mentioned James to Will since that day we picked him up. “Sort of,” I admitted. “What makes you say that?”

“I have eyes, Chief. I saw your play. I read the program. If you’re in love, I’m happy for you. You don’t have to hide it. He certainly seems more interesting than Zuckerman.”

“I’m not in love,” I said finally. “I like him.”

“There’re those rumors about him—”

I interrupted. “I don’t care about any of that. It’s in the past.” It was my new philosophy. It had to be.

“I heard he used to be an addict and that he got thrown out of his old school and sent to—”

“Did you hear me? I said I don’t care.”

“I’m not gossiping,” Will said. “I’m only watching out for my friend. Personally, I think it’s better to know more than less. I’m not saying you should listen to any of the crap the kids at Tom Purdue say, but it might be worth addressing with James—”

“Christ, Will, would you stop being such an old man? You’re worse than my father,” I snapped. “I haven’t even gone on a date with James yet.”

“Sorry,” he said coolly.

“Why are you calling anyway?” I snapped again.

“I don’t remember,” he said after a pause. “I’ll see you at school.” He hung up the phone.

I was thinking how Will pulled things backward when what I needed was to be in this moment, now, when my phone rang again. I didn’t recognize the number, but I picked up anyway.

It was James.

“Did you get in trouble?”

“Not really.”

“Good, because I was thinking I could take you out this Saturday.”

Saturday was my seventeenth birthday. I had planned to go out with Dad for dinner, but I could always cancel that. I had dinner with Dad all the time.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said.

Dad gave me my present right before James was set to pick me up.

That year, the book he gave me was blank. The cover was made from taupe suede, and a leather cord wrapped around it so that it could be tied shut. The edges of the pages were gilded. He inscribed it “Write your life. Love, Dad.” For a variety of reasons, the gift offended me, and I briefly considered throwing it in the trash before just deciding to bury it under my bed among the dust, widowed socks, and other lost things.

Dad asked me what I thought of his selection.

“I would have preferred a novel,” I said.

“You didn’t like it?”

“I think it’s in somewhat bad taste to give an amnesiac a blank book.”

Of course, that was what I wanted to say. What I actually said was “It’s nice, but I doubt I’ll have much time for writing in it.” This was true enough, too.

Dad smiled and said, “You will. And you’ll want to.”

That seemed unlikely. Writing has always seemed such a backward activity to me, and that was most definitely not the direction I wanted to go. When my parents were still the Wandering Porters, I thought of summer as the living time; the rest of the year was the backward time, the writing time.

The doorbell rang, and it was James. He was wearing his corduroy jacket even though it was too light for the season. He was so handsome I nearly wanted to swoon. The word
swoon
had never even popped into my head before I saw him that night, let alone as something that I might do.

He smelled like soap with only the faintest hint of cigarettes. He was holding a wrapped CD, which he handed to me.

“How’d you know it was my birthday?” I asked.

“I didn’t. This was sitting on your doorstep. Happy birthday anyway. What is it?”

I tore open the paper. “Just a mix from my friend.” The CD liner read: “
Songs for a Teenage Amnesiac, Vol. II: The Motion Picture Soundtrack
, Happy 17th Birthday. I Remain Your Faithful Servant, William B. Landsman.” There wasn’t even a playlist; he must have run out of time when he was putting it together. I tossed the thing on the bench in the hallway.

“We could listen to it in my car,” James suggested.

“Okay.” I shrugged. Will usually had good taste in music, and the songs wouldn’t mean anything to me anyway.

James put the CD in the car player, but no sound came out. “This player’s old, and it can be a little spastic with home-burned stuff.” James popped the CD out and handed it back to me. I thought about throwing it out the window; I was still pissed at Will from yesterday. Instead, I just slipped it in my purse.

James hadn’t mentioned where we were going, and as part of my new life philosophy I hadn’t asked.

“Aren’t you curious where I’m taking you?” he said in that low voice of his.

“No, I trust you.”

We were stopped at a red light. He turned to stare at me. “How do you know I’m trustworthy?”

“How do I know that you aren’t?”

James abruptly pulled the car into another lane. “We’re going to California, right this instant.”

I didn’t blink.

“If I drove you to the airport and told you to get on a plane to California, you’d follow me.”

“Why not?”

“Unfortunately, I’m only taking you to dinner, Naomi. Maybe a movie. If I’d known it was your birthday, I would have planned something more exciting.”

But just being with James was exciting. I liked that his past was as much a mystery as mine. I liked that he might do anything at any moment. I liked that he didn’t expect me to behave any specific way. I liked that he believed me when I said I would take off and go to California.

“Maybe I’ll have to take you to California sometime?”

“What’s in California?”

“Kick-ass waves. I’m an amateur surfer and the Atlantic don’t really cut it,” he said. “My dad is, too. He lives in L.A.”

“Are you from there?”

“The thing is, I’m not really from anywhere, you know what I mean?”

I did.

“But yeah, I lived there for a while. Until I came here to live with my mom and my grandfather, and…I’d like to go back there for school. To the film program at USC, if I get in.”

On the way to the restaurant, it had started to snow.

By the time the movie was over, the town was a different place, the negative image of itself. I felt almost newborn myself, like it was my first winter ever.

“I wonder if there’s enough snow on the steps at school for us to go sledding,” James said.

We left his car at the movie theater and walked over to Tom Purdue, which was about a mile away. I was freezing, but I didn’t care. I bet the weather was worse in Kratovo.

We trudged across the campus to the entrance of Tom Purdue. We stood at the bottom of the steps, which were entirely blanketed by snow.

“This is where we met,” I pointed out.

“The lengths a girl will go to to meet a boy,” he deadpanned. “We need sleds.”

I told him I didn’t know where we could find any.

“No, like cafeteria trays or garbage can lids or something. Unfortunately, school’s closed.”

Luckily, I had my yearbook keys. I ran inside and located two plastic lids right in the front hallway.

“Let’s go,” I said. I didn’t bother to mention to James that I was supposed to be avoiding sports on account of my head. I didn’t really care.

My first few times down the hill I couldn’t really control the “sled,” and I got sent down at strange angles.

James was better than me. He showed me how to position my body and back so that I was in the middle and leaning forward. My next attempts were better.

“Who needs the Pacific?” he yelled.

We sledded down the steps until eleven-thirty. It was like meeting him over and over again.

We sledded until I couldn’t even make one more trip up the stairs. My cheeks were flushed, my lips were chapped, and every part of me was wet or sticky with snow. I was so cold, I was past feeling cold at all. I lay down in the snow at the bottom of the stairs. I felt like I was becoming an ice person and that when it became warm again, I would probably melt and disappear.

James kept sledding even after I had stopped. He went up and down five or six more times before parking himself at my feet. For the longest time he only looked at me.

“Lying there, you look like an angel,” he said softly.

I didn’t speak.

“Funny thing is, I don’t believe in angels.”