My Stupid Girl (21 page)

“I’m ok.” Lucy answered in a low tone. 

“What’s all this?” I saw a silhouette walk
over to where Lucy was sitting. “Who drew these?” Mrs. Peterson’s voice was
filled with awed respect.  

“David did. I didn’t even know he could
draw until I opened these.” Lucy’s voice, I was glad to hear, held the same
tone of awe as her mother’s.

“Wow. You know, Luce, he is a strange boy
isn’t he? He has all these talents hiding in that quiet, private little
person.” Now her tone was warm and motherly. I had heard people speak to lost
puppies and kittens with the same voice.

“He is,” was all Lucy replied. There was a
moment of silence before her mother spoke again.

“So. Do you want to talk about it?” She
spoke like she had asked this question before, and had gotten shot down. The
unspoken, “NOW will you talk to me?” hung in the air.

“Mom, I don’t know what to do.” I saw Lucy
put her arms up in the air in bewilderment, then heard them hit them against
her legs as she dropped them.  

“About what?” 

“About him!” Lucy’s arm shot out, pointing
at the pile of pictures.

“What about him?” Mrs. Peterson almost
sounded amused. I felt like that might have been a good sign. But I couldn’t
spend too much time making sure, since most of my energy was focused on not
moving. At all.

“Honestly Mom, I don’t know what I want.”
Lucy sounded frustrated.

I felt myself getting heavy up on this
little ledge. My hands were starting to get sore and sweaty from hanging on so
tightly.

“Why do you feel like you have to make a
decision?” Her mom was answering each question or statement with another
question. Classic therapy move.

“I guess I want to feel like I’m going
somewhere.”

“Lucy Peterson, you’re 17 years old. Where
could you possibly be going?” Her mom laughed but Lucy clicked her tongue
irritably. 

“I’m sorry honey.” Her mom was still
chuckling. “Have you talked to David about these pictures? It looks like he is
really trying to make things right.” 

“I haven’t yet. I just don’t know what I’m
going to say.” Lucy said. “Seriously, Mom, how do I forgive him for kissing that
girl?” Her voice sounded hard and bitter as she spat out the words “that girl.”

“You mean, Rachel, my dear.”

“Ugh.” Lucy countered her mother’s
correction with a grunt before replying with real words. “Why are you acting
like I’m obligated to forgive them, either one? I mean, they just do that,
behind my back, and then David doesn’t call me for a month and I’m supposed to
just poof--” Lucy snapped her fingers “--forgive them?” She stopped as suddenly
as she’d begun, all her energy spent spilling out that one key question in her
mind.

The room was quiet. I could see thru a slit
in the curtain that her mom was considering her daughter’s question seriously.

“Well, let me ask you this, Lucy. Are you
content just receiving forgiveness without giving it?” 

“What?“ Lucy whined.

“Well?” Mrs. Peterson asked again,
patiently. I waited, but heard no response. Lucy’s mom continued, “Forgiveness
is a two-way street, my dear, for everyone of God’s creatures. If you say that
you won’t forgive them then you are saying you know better than God.” She
paused, and I saw her silhouette reach over and pick something up, handing it
to Lucy. 

“Look at this picture, Luce. He drew
himself with the word moron on his face.” They both laughed before she
continued, “that’s pretty telling of his understanding of the situation, isn’t
it?” No noise again, but then I saw Mrs. Peterson reach over and hug her
daughter, stroking her hair a little. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought Lucy
might be crying. I am the biggest idiot in the world.

“It hurt, what he did, so much.” Lucy spoke
into her mother’s shoulder; I could barely hear her. “Rachel is so beautiful,
mom. He made me feel like a idiot.” I could see that she was still holding the
picture her mom had given her. 

It took all of my energy not to jump off of
the window and grab Lucy and tell her that she was the most beautiful person in
the world to me. 

“You’re also beautiful, sweetie,” her mom
told her simply. “Rachel’s beauty doesn’t negate yours. And, from the look of
things, David is trying very hard to show you that he knows he was wrong.” I
suddenly realized that Lucy’s mom knew exactly what I had done. I contemplated
opening up the window and making a quick escape. This was killing me.

“So I just forgive him? How do I do that
when I feel so angry?” I knew Lucy was saying all this because she knew I was
listening to them, but it didn’t stop me from straining to hear her mom’s
reply.

“Forgiveness is not a feeling dear;
forgiveness is a choice. You’re going to have to choose to forgive.” 

“Choose.” Lucy spoke faintly. 

“Some of the hardest decisions we make are
when choice directly opposes feeling.” Lucy’s mom treated each word with
measured respect, making sure Lucy heard and understood. “Listen, daughter of
mine, it comes down to this: if we want to be forgiven we must first forgive.
Some people call it ‘you scratch my back,’ some call it karma, and we know it
as the Golden Rule, loving your neighbor as yourself. You can’t get forgiveness
without giving it.” 

“I know.” Lucy sounded defeated; I knew how
she felt. I thought about how much more her love would mean if she decided to
forgive me.

I wanted Mrs. Peterson to leave so badly.

I want to look Lucy in the eye and tell her
how amazing she was.   

But I had to just continue straining to
maintain my hidden perch next to a cold window.

“Oh hun, I don’t want to sound preachy, but
you might as well learn this lesson now. Life happens, Lucy. This isn’t going
to be the only time someone is going to hurt you, and it won’t be the first
time you’re going to have to choose to forgive them. And it’s something you’ll
have to keep choosing, as long as you know him, because the feeling of hurt
doesn’t just disappear. It’s hard, arduous work to continue to choose
forgiveness, Lucy.”

The room rang with these words. They seeped
through the thick curtains and struck me, hard. They hurt; they stung. I
thought about my own struggles and what my grandmother had said to me earlier
that day. 

“Will it get easier?” Lucy asked weakly.

“Well, yes and no.” I heard her mom smile.
“Some days it will feel like you’ve completely

forgiven him and other days you're going to
feel like you have to make that choice again, to not hold it over his head and
not to be angry with him. Some days you’ll do better than others, but you’ve
got to keep trying. That’s life, that’s how we learn baby girl.” 

I saw Lucy curl up and lean into her mother
again. They sat in silence for a minute, before Mrs. Peterson spoke again. This
time her voice was musing, thoughtful.

“I’ve been wondering though, what on earth
made him kiss Rachel? I mean, he seemed like he was so into you. It just
doesn’t make sense to me, Luce. From what your father and I saw of him, he
doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to do that.” Lucy didn’t move but I could see
her outline stiffen slightly.

“I think he thought I was flirty with the
other guys there.” Lucy’s response was so low I almost didn’t catch it. 

“Ha, well that makes sense.” Her mom
replied through another bout of chuckling.  “Now, don’t get angry at me, miss.”
She playfully scolded Lucy as her daughter turned around in indignation. “It’s
not okay, what he did, but you were absolutely flirting with those other
guys.” 

“You weren’t even there, mom!” Lucy was
offended.

“Ah, Lucy. You are extremely friendly,
which is an amazing thing. But let’s face it, you’re an only child. I don’t
think you realize that what you mean as friendliness can easily be taken as
something else entirely. I see it all the time in church.”

Mrs. Peterson then left us alone, although
I didn’t realize it until I heard the door shut. I wanted to put my feet down
but was afraid that Lucy would snap at me again. So I kept them up, sweat
dripping down my face from having a winter jacket on and doing a balancing act
on this ledge in a heated house. 

Nothing happened.

I kept waiting, hoping Lucy would open the
curtain and release me from the windowsill prison. Finally, I decided it was
probably safe to draw the curtain. I looked over to where Lucy was sitting. She
had her head in her hands.

“Can I please get off of this window?” I
pleaded with her. “My butt is killing me.” 

She stood up, walked over to her desk, and
wheeled her computer chair over to the window for me. I sat down in it quickly,
keeping my knees up to my chest so that my feet wouldn’t touch the floor.

“I know it’s silly, but it helps me not
feel guilty about breaking the rules. I’ve never had a boy in my room before.” 

I looked around her room. It looked like a
hurricane had hit it. There was stuff everywhere: empty soda cans on the
nightstand, books scattered across the floor, and she must not have owned a
hamper because there were more clothes on the ground than in her closet or
dresser, combined. I could tell because every drawer was open.

Her walls looked amazing though. There was
one full wall dedicated to words she had cut out of magazines. It must have
taken her a lot of time, cutting and taping, fitting the words together on the
wall like a big puzzle. They all said things like “love” or “beautiful” or
“adventure” or something. Every word on the wall could have been used to
describe her. Plus, they were different colors, sizes, fonts. It was really
neat. 

The wall next to the word wall was covered
in little hooks. There must have been thirty of them. Each hook held a long
line of large shiny beads and they were all placed strategically so that where
one ended the other would begin. It looked like she had taken one of her mom’s
old beaded curtains from the 70s, chopped it up, and hung it on her wall. The
other two walls had paintings, maybe by Mrs. Peterson. I recognized the brush
strokes; they looked similar to the one I had admired the last time I was here.

Lucy’s walls were painted a sage green
color, and her bed was crowned with a huge white headboard. Her unmade bed was
smothered by billowy folds of a bright blue and orange bedspread, orange
sheets, and a completely random red bed skirt. It was so different from my
beige room and black comforter. In my room, nothing was out of place. I hated
the feeling of chaos and lack of control that came with things strewn around.
But Lucy looked completely at ease with her room like this; she didn’t even
look like she cared that I saw it like this.

“So, you heard all that?” She was looking
down at her hands as she asked. I reached over to her, picked up the hand she
was concentrating on and brought it up to my lips. I kissed her knuckles and
looked her straight in the eyes.

“Lucy.” I didn’t know what else to say, but
in that moment I felt like her name was enough.  I moved my hands to her hips
and steered her over to me, readjusting my pose to Indian-style, and sitting
her so she was perched on my crossed legs. I put her head on my shoulder and
realized that I was really stupid for not doing this the second she had come to
talk to me in the alley.

“I’m sorry, David,” she whispered in my ear
as she put her arms around my neck, not moving her head from my shoulder. Her
breath tickled before sending a buzz down my spine. I felt like I was home in
her arms. 

“Oh hush.” I squeezed her tighter. 

"You know, David, the worst part was
that Rachel got to kiss you and I didn’t.” She looked heartbroken and it made
me feel weak.

"You’re right." I whispered
honestly. It was the first time I had put my face down, ashamed. I had told
myself I wasn’t going to do that, but before I could correct myself Lucy caught
my chin and lifted it so my eyes were inches from hers. She put her left hand
on my right cheek and her right hand on my left cheek. I grabbed for her left
hand but she shook it off. She didn’t lift my hair up; she just held my face in
her hands, looking at me, considering me. 

“I missed you, David.” She bent slightly
and kissed my forehead; then she kissed my nose. I put my face up towards her
even more, inviting her to kiss my lips. She smiled at me and bent her face
down and kissed me gently.

There was no urgency on her lips; they were
meek and hesitant. It was a small kiss, but filled with more passion than
Rachel’s. Even though it was short, it was sweet and sincere. Lucy dropped her
hands and climbed off my lap, turning my chair around and wheeling it towards
the window. 

“You should leave; I’m feeling guilty!” She
laughed when she saw the smile on my face.

I pulled up the glass and leaned out the
window to get back on my ladder. I was pleased to see my friends had kept it
there for me, even though they were nowhere to be seen. I hadn’t really
expected them to stick around for an hour in the freezing cold. 

“I have an idea,” I said, taking one long
look at Lucy before I descended, “how about you just agree right now to be my
girlfriend? Then I won’t have to agonize over it.” She laughed and kissed my
nose again.

“Can I answer that stunningly romantic
request tomorrow?” Her voice was high and happy, which gave me a boost of
confidence.

“Does that mean you’ll be calling me?” I
asked, reaching my face into her warm room and giving her lips another light
peck.

“I will call you in the morning.” She kept
giggling as she shut the window quietly and drew the curtains closed, not
waiting to see if I made it down safely. I guess I earned that.

Once on the ground, I picked up one end of
the ladder and headed back towards my car, dragging the ladder along and
practically skipping like a complete idiot. I didn’t even care if I got caught
now. I turned the corner, where I saw Johnny and Isaiah in my car, heads back,
sleeping.