Spark (19 page)

I can’t think of anything else reassuring to say, and besides, I’m getting a little jealous, so I just turn up the music and she gives me a grateful smile.

              We stop at the deli for some sandwiches, even though neither of us is really all that hungry.  We sit there in silence for while, nibbling on our food, which gives me time to admire Dani’s idyllic looks.  It sounds absurd, but she truly looks like a goddess.  Her hair is a design of perfect blonde ringlets, hanging to the center of her back, interwoven with some darker strands that set off the lighter ones like caramel on chocolate.  With her slightly upturned nose, creamy complexion and perfectly arched eyebrows, she could rival anybody on the cover of the latest fashion magazine.  Her eyes, though, are her best feature.  They are large and brown with a hint of green around the edges, gold flecks inside, rimmed with blue glittery eyeliner.  I realize I am staring at her and she curls up her lip on one side.  “What?”  She says, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

             
I shake my head.  “Nothing…”

              She pouted a little bit, lifting one eyebrow, the gesture of someone who was used to being looked at, and sort of enjoyed it.  “Do I have something on my face or what?”  She was good at deflecting an awkward moment, even though it was likely only awkward for me.

              “No… you ok?”

              She tilted her mouth.  “I guess.”

              “You want to talk about it?”

              “Not really.  It is what it is.”

              “She’ll come out of it,” I say, and Dani gives me the sweetest look, which I enjoy—for the moment.  I know it won’t last.  She’s the only girl on the planet who can completely wrap me around her finger, then have the nerve to tell me I’m cutting off her circulation.  She’s like my mom’s chocolate fudge—so sweet it makes my belly ache when I’ve had too much.

              I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you the history of Dani and me.  We met each other when we were assigned to be lab partners in biology class, sixth grade.  This was a very big deal, because somehow, the fact that we had dissected a night crawler together brought us closer together, mainly because we both hated every minute of it.  

When I turned thirteen, I developed a major crush on her.  She didn’t know it—or care, for that matter—but after the accident that put Tess in a coma that year, we started talking and hanging out with each other, which satisfied my need to be near her, even though I was clearly only buddy material.  After a while, she started collecting boyfriends like charms on a bracelet, and I pretty much gave up any hope of being anything more than a friend.  When she tried out for cheerleading in eighth grade and made the squad, it was all over but the crying.  She was on the fast track to Popular, and I was still the same old Zach. 

              Somehow we managed to stay friends.  I was her closest confidant—I can’t tell you how many nights I sat listening to her tales of woe, from cheating boyfriends to girls that talked behind her back, to having not a thing to wear to the dance.  It wasn’t until the night of Homecoming sophomore year that things started to change between us. 

              She’d just turned sixteen and her parents finally allowed her to date.  Braden Cooper, a senior football player who had enormous forearms, a year-round tan, and spiky blonde hair, had asked her to the dance.  He was the poster child for jocks everywhere.  I didn’t understand what any girl would see in him, but he’d captured Dani’s interest because he was a small-town celebrity and he had a nice car.

              Anyway, she sent me a text around 10:00 p.m. that night that they were “somewhere out in the boonies,” that Braden had given her some peppermint schnapps, and she wanted to come home, but he refused to take her.  I wondered how she was texting me without him knowing, but then she said he’d gone to take a leak and had “gone to paint something on the tunnel.”  She had told Braden she was cold and wanted to stay in the car.  She was drunk, clearly, because her texts were nearly incoherent, but somehow, I got that much out of her and I knew the tunnel was a popular hangout. 
I’ll be there
, I told her, wondering how I was going to manage the confrontation, hoping that I’d get lucky and there wouldn’t be one.

              When I got there, some other cars had shown up and a crowd of Beautiful People were leaning on the hood of Braden’s car drinking beer—two other guys and a girl with jet black hair and tattoos that I didn’t recognize were standing nearby.  One of them glanced over at me with an obnoxious laugh.  “What are you doing here?  Get tired of studying for your science test?”  A ripple of laughter.

              I mustered something like courage—adrenaline-inspired resolve, at best.  “Where’s Dani?”

              “What’s it to you?”  Braden asked, swilling from his can, then tossing it aside.

              I didn’t want to let him know that she’d texted me, but under the circumstances, I didn’t have a choice.  “She sent me a message that she felt sick and wanted to go home.”

              “Leave it to Mr. Good Guy to swoop in and save her,” Braden scoffed.  The others snickered.

              I started to walk over to the car, then thought Braden might get all bent out of shape if I touched it, so I stood there dumbly for a few seconds, waiting for someone to give me permission, trying to decide what to do.  They just stared at me.  That's when Dani got out.  “Let’s go,” she said.

              I was fully expecting Braden or one of his other minions to pounce on me, but thankfully, they let us leave in peace.  Dani was shivering when she got in the car, and she reeked of alcohol.

              “How much did you drink?”  I asked.

              “I dunno…one or two, I guess.”

              “One or two what?  Bottles?”

              “Leave me alone,” she mumbled, leaning her head against the glass.

              I was worried about taking her home in that condition, so I decided to pull over at the park for a while and let her sober up.  Her parents weren’t expecting her home until at least midnight anyway, since they’d given her special permission to be out late for Homecoming.  I groped around in the back of the car looking for a bottle of water I’d left there the day before and gave it to her.  “Drink this, it will help.”

              She took a couple of sips, then contorted her mouth into a frown.  I thought she might be going to throw up, but then she just threw her arms around me and pulled me awkwardly closer.  “You’re the best, you know that?”  She slurred.  “I love you, man.”

              After hanging there for a few minutes, she got a semi-serious look on her face.  “Do you have any regrets?”

              “What do you mean?”

              “I mean regrets—in life—you know.”

              I considered this for a moment.  Of course, there were things I’d done or said in life that I wished I hadn’t.  Like telling dad I hated him once in the heat of an argument over some television show I was watching that he didn’t approve.  When regret delivers a physical stab of pain, like it did right then and there, you know it’s for real.  Because my dad was gone now, and I could never take that back.  “Yeah, I guess.  I told my dad I hated him once.”

              “That’s nothing.  I’ve told both my parents that more than once.  They know I don’t really hate them.  It’s just they make me so mad sometimes you know?”  She snuggled her face into my shoulder.  “Anyway, that’s not what I meant,” she said, with a furtive grin.

              My chest was starting to sweat under my shirt, and my mouth was getting dry so I grabbed the water bottle and took a drink.  “What do you mean then?”

              She placed her hand on my chin, turning my head toward her.  “I mean, I only have one regret.”

              I was really getting nervous by this time because I was starting to feel warm all over and my stomach had this tingly ache that crept down my legs.  “What’s that?”  I asked, shifting my body in the seat to ward off the weird feelings that were taking over.

              “I just wish I’d kissed you first,” she said, coming closer.  Her face was right in front of me, and even though it smelled like schnapps, I forgave her for it because I was numb with shock by that point.  Plus, I was struck completely speechless, which was a good thing, because she planted one on me, right then.  It was a little sloppy and slippery, but man, I didn’t care.  I had wanted to kiss her for
four years
.  Perfection wasn’t an issue.

              “Big mistake,” she half-whispered.  “Not doing this sooner.”  Then she ran her hands up my leg and I thought I was going to pass out on the spot.  When her hand got to my groin, I had a flash of lust that made me want to climb over that seat and wrap myself around her.  She had rendered me completely senseless. But then I thought about something my dad had told me once.  “Remember,” he’d said.  “A girlfriend is a friend first.  Don’t ruin it because you want something more.  If it’s meant to be, it will happen.”

              I came to my senses, somehow, and placed my hand over hers.  “Dani…”

              “What?”  She asked, innocently, her eyeballs sloshing in her head. 

              “You’re not exactly in your right mind right now.”

              “I’m fine!  Really…”  She started in again, with her hands.

              I found myself saying, “Seriously, let’s talk about this tomorrow,” but boy was I fighting the urge to say nothing and just go with the moment.

              She huffed and leaned back in her seat.  “What’s wrong with me?”  Those pouty lips were coming out in full force.

              “Nothing—you’re beautiful—you’re my best friend… and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

              “Oh come on,” she said.  “Haven’t you ever heard of friends with benefits?”

              “Um, no. Not really.” 

              “Well…”  she said, leaning on me again.  “What do you think?”  She traced her finger across my chest.

              “Dani, you have no idea how much that idea appeals to me, but not like this.  Not when you’ve been drinking.  What if you regret
this?
”

              “I won’t.”  She flashed a gorgeous grin and I found myself raising my hand to touch her hair.  I could smell her perfume then, a musky floral scent like some exotic lily wet with dew, in a forest.  I couldn’t resist any longer.  I put my hand behind her head.  I kissed
her
this time, softly and tentatively, in quick romantic spurts.  Then I lost all composure and simply covered her face, her hair, her neck with my lips, over and over.  I knew we went too far because the car windows started to steam up.  I wanted to continue, but the voice of reason in my head told me to stop, which thankfully took over just in time, because all of a sudden she gagged, flung open the car door and threw up, all over the ground.

              And that was the extent of Dani and Zach as the hot couple about town.  That night in the car was our understated little secret, pushed under the rug, from that moment on.  She went on her usual quest to find the perfect guy, and I became the best friend, once removed, who knew way more about her than I should, yet swallowed my pride because I cared more than she would ever know.

*

After the epic fail with Dani, I buried myself in schoolwork and books, while Dani hooked back up with Braden.  I was furious at Dani for getting back together with him—I mean, seriously, who does that, after the guy acted like such a jerk?  I wanted to ask her that very question, on numerous occasions, but never got up the nerve.  To do so would breach the unspoken pact we’d made to never talk about what happened that night, after rescuing her from the date from hell.  It was just as well, though, because I really didn’t want to talk about it.   It was embarrassing and we had managed to still stay friends like before, which made me wonder if she even remembered the incident.  Could it be that she’d been so drunk that the whole evening was a complete blur?  That would explain, I guess, why she was so natural around me, her same, comfortable self.  I, on the other hand, was carrying around a hefty piece of baggage, filled with guilt, shame, and, yes, regret.  Even though it was a really nice memory for the most part, I still regretted doing it in the first place.  It wasn’t my style.  I’d only kissed two other people in my life.  I hated that Dani had probably far surpassed that number.

              So, as I said, I decided to stop thinking about it and work on the pursuit of knowledge.  I read everything I could get my hands on—from Socrates to Stephen King, Voltaire to Mark Twain.  Looking back, I know that was just my way of re-connecting with my dad, who loved books.  He had been gone for several years at that point, dying way too young of a bad heart.  I found myself, one rainy Sunday morning, sitting on the floor of our attic, going through the boxes that contained his things.  I sorted through old yearbooks, basketball trophies, and pictures until late in the afternoon.  Finally, in the bottom of one of his boxes, I found a worn copy of H.G. Wells’s
The Time Machine. 
Immediately intrigued, I sat there until dinner time reading the entire book.  And it was this moment more than any other I had experienced with my dad that drew me deeper into the labyrinth that was his mind.

              In the book, the precocious Time Traveler attempts to explain the sensation of time travelling to his friends, describing how the days seemed to speed up and blur into one another, how he felt like he’d fallen into a “helpless headlong motion.”  And then comes my favorite line:  “I saw the sun hopping swiftly across the sky, leaping it every minute, and every minute marking a day.”

              I carried the book with me everywhere, keeping it in my backpack at school, taking it out from time to time to recall a particular passage, or to make a note of some observation.  I probably read the story from beginning to end at least three times.  And in all that, I began to imagine, myself, what it would be like to travel through time.  Where would I go?  What would I do?  Would I change a mistake I’d made in the past?  Would I look with fear upon what was to come?  I thought of Ebenezer Scrooge and when the Ghost of Christmas to Come took him to the foot of his own grave. 
While everyone knows he will die
, I thought,
to stare straight into the cold hard reality of it is too close for comfort.