Memory Lane

Chapter Forty Two

We are in the home stretch! Only a handful more chapters to go...

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"It looked as if a night of dark intent was coming, and not only a night, but an age. Someone had better be prepared for rage." - Robert Frost

Memory Lane: Chapter Forty Two

A few weeks pass since the party and Vermont quickly enters stick season; where all of the fall foliage has fallen off of the trees, encasing the ground in a pile of dead, rotten leaves while the snow has yet to fall. It has always been one of my least favorite times of the year; this faux season that we've created where the world is drained of all color and the sun barely shines. It can be hard to smile.

Right now, though, it feels like I have a lot to smile about. My relationship with Jesse has become stronger every day since I opened up to him about the crash. We still attend the support group each week, but now I feel freed to actually open up and share with everyone else. I don't feel the need to hide behind this secret anymore. Each time I do speak in group, it gets a little easier. I'm sure having the warm, comforting hand of the man I love gently rubbing my knee helps the process.

The girls' and I are closer now, too. It's as if sharing that secret only solidified our friendship even further. The party felt like the night my life was going to change once again for the worst; instead, the events of that night just changed it for the better. It forced me to take the opportunity to share my secret with the people closest to me.

Tonight in particular feels special; after being together for a little over a month, Jesse realized he has yet to take me on a proper date (since playing pool or sharing a plate of loaded tots at The Oven Bird does not count, despite Steven once saying it did). So, after a rough week at school filled with various quizzes and exams, Jesse is taking me out on a proper date tonight.

I want to say that I had that fairytale moment again, just like the night of the party, where I walk down the steps and into an awestruck Jesse who takes me on his arm and takes me to his truck where we ride off to an expensive dinner. Instead, he's laying on my bed while I put on my makeup as we both wait for me to drive us to a steakhouse on Main Street that he has a coupon for. We're high school students with no job between the two of us.

"Your bookshelf is coming along nicely," Jesse notes.

I watch from the mirror as he rolls onto his elbow and pushes off of my bed. His black socks contrast against the pink shag carpet and his steps are heavy and reveal just how big of a man he is. He stops in front of the bookcase, studying the shelves that I have slowly been building since moving here to Bennington.

Right in the center, awaiting a protective case, is the signed collection of Robert Frost poems that Jesse got me for my birthday. Somehow, it came out unscathed in our run from the cops the night of the party. Not a single barb from that damn murder bush stuck in the cover or the spine (better my legs than the book, I suppose). Fortunately, the damage to my legs wasn't so bad that it hindered my healing process. I went to the doctor that same week, got a different brand of medicated lotion, and fixed them right up.

Jesse runs his finger slowly across the spines of the books, pulling a few out here and there to study the cover and even read the back. I pause from putting on my makeup and watch his subtle expressions as he goes through the books. A lip purse here and there, a few small smiles and hums of approval, and every now and then a twitch of his brow as he comes across something he doesn't know and probably doesn't understand why I would be interested in. (Most guys don't understand the fantasy genre).