“No, it’s okay. It’s something I talk about. We don’t really keep secrets or hide things in my family,” he says. Maybe I’m jaded, but my mind immediately throws up a dozen flares ready to call him on that bullshit statement. It’s not possible for a family to be that honest. Everyone has secrets.
“That’s novel,” I say, not really masking my cynicism.
“I guess,” he says, with a sharp laugh. “But…it’s sort of sad that you think that. I don’t blame you. Most people do. I guess I mean it’s sad that most people think being honest is strange. I just feel like even the ugliest truth feels a whole lot better than carrying around the weight of lies.”
His argument resonates with me, and even though my instincts are still to reject it, I tuck what he said in the background, on top of that pile in my head of reasons-I-should-respect-Houston.
“In that case, I’d like to hear your story…Leah’s story,” I say, giving in to my natural tendency to charge forward and question, to test his open-and-honest policy.
“Bethany moved here her sophomore year,” he begins, and I don’t know why, but hearing her name hurts inside, as if her name instantly makes her more real to me, even though I never met her. “Her parents got divorced, and she wanted to stay with her mom, and since she had family here—”
“Aunt Jody,” I fill in the blank.
“Ha, yes. Aunt Jody, and about a dozen other people,” he chuckles. There’s a longer pause as he breathes again, almost as if he’s gathering breath to save himself from suffocating through the rest of his memories. “Bethany was pretty much the hottest girl ever to step foot in our school. She had this long dark hair, and a body…”
“Uhm okay, you can skip the locker-room talk. I’m a girl, so not really interested in hearing about her body,” I say, not wanting to get the details on Bethany’s ass and tits.
“Haha, right…well, I noticed her…pretty fast, almost the minute she finished registering for school. I saw her through the office windows, and waited in the hallway until she exited with her school map and a schedule in her hand,” he says.
“And let me guess, you guided her to her class…and asked her to the prom, and the rest is history,” I say, not really sure why I’m rushing him, or why I’m jealous. I’m jealous; mother fuck.
“Uh, no. I walked up to her, and before I could get a single word out, she held up her hand and said ‘Not interested,’” he says. Now I regret dismissing Bethany so quickly; I actually feel kind of proud of her.
“Romantic,” I tease.
“Indeed,” he says. “But I kept trying. I walked up to her every time I saw her, and every single time, she shot me down. When her mom dropped her off in the morning and I saw her outside, I’d ask. When I happened to be behind her in line at lunch, I’d ask. In biology—every single day—I’d ask. She always said no. I was relentless!” He almost seems proud of his portfolio of rejections. It’s so odd.
“Why not give up?” I ask.
“Because Bethany was the one,” he says. I can’t help it, and I laugh harshly. That whole concept of the one—it’s preposterous. And the one, when you’re what? Sixteen? Uhm, no. Just…no.
“I know it sounds crazy. And really…at the time, I wasn’t thinking she was the one. I just knew there was this really hot chick at school that I couldn’t stop thinking about, and the fact that she didn’t want me was killing me,” he says. “And then one day, she said yes.”
“Just out of the blue, just like that?” I respond, suddenly hooked on this melodrama from Houston’s past.
“Just like that,” he says, practically holding his breath before letting out another laugh. “Okay, so maybe she had a flat tire in the school parking lot, and no one was around to help…and maybe I said I would if she agreed to dinner.”
“So you extorted her into dating you,” I say, sitting up again in my bed, and smiling. I’ve been smiling through most of this conversation, and it strikes me that I haven’t smiled much since I’ve been home.
“Wow, that sure makes me sound like a creep,” he says.
“If the shoe fits…” I tease.
“Anyhow…” he shrugs off my remark, but his voice is a little more guarded when he continues, and I feel badly that I took things too far. But he’s still sharing, so I admonish myself in my head and vow to be good for the rest of his story. “I had these big plans. I was going to take her to this big fancy restaurant on the top floor of the Marley building downtown. You know…one of those places that has waiters standing behind you the entire time, waiting for you to need anything. Only the day I went to pick her up, my shitty-ass car blew up.”