shocking to everyone because he was always in such great shape. He ran. He biked. Ate well. Didn’t smoke. And then one day, it happened and that was it. He was gone. He and I were close so it really hit me hard.”
“I know what you mean.” I say it quietly, almost to myself.
“I know you do.” He puts his hand on my arm. “Morgan, I never said how sorry I was about your mom. I was too young and stupid to say anything to you back then. We all were. Everyone just tried to pretend it didn’t happen. I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for you. I mean, it was hard for me to lose my dad when I was 24 but you were just 13 when your mom died. That’s a tough age to lose a parent.”
“Yeah, it was. I pretty much shut down after it happened. I stopped going out with my friends. I didn’t go to school functions. I just took care of my dad. He kept telling me to go out and be a normal teenager, but I didn’t. I don’t know why. I guess I felt bad for him, stuck taking care of a teenage girl. Mom was supposed to take over during those years, you know? So anyway, instead of going out like everyone else, I stayed home and made dinner, did laundry, took care of the house.”
I can’t believe I’m telling Brad all this. Why am I doing this? I never talk about this stuff. With anyone. And now that I’m talking about it, I realize it’s really depressing. I smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “But doing all that made me more responsible than most people my age. So that’s good.”
“Morgan, if I’d known you were sitting home by yourself like that, I would’ve come over. I would’ve made you go out. Even if you wouldn’t have dated me, we could’ve at least hung out together. I only lived a few blocks from you.”
That’s right. Brad lived just a few streets over. I remember driving by his house one Friday night when his parents were out of town. I was a sophomore and he was a senior. He had a huge party, and when I drove by, I saw Brad standing next to this girl who was in my Spanish class. I wondered how she even got invited, given that he usually only invited other seniors to his parties.
“Your house is the white one with the two garden gnomes in front, right?”
He nods. “That’s the one. The garden gnomes blew away in a storm a few years ago. We never found them and luckily, my mom never replaced them. I hated those things. I always felt like they were watching me.”
“You said our houses were only a few blocks apart, so how do you know where I lived? I mean, everyone knew your house because you always had parties, but how did you know which house was mine?”
“I had a paper route when I was 12 and your house was on my route.” He sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. “And when I was 14, I might’ve rode by there a few times on my bike checking to see if a certain girl was around.”
“You really did that?”
He laughs. “Yeah, I was a total stalker. I’m surprised your dad didn’t go yell at my parents.”
“So my dad saw you riding by?”
“He caught me standing on the sidewalk, looking up at your window. He sat me down in the garage and let me know his daughter would not be dating for a very long time. But he was nice about it. And then he gave me a can of Coke and a popsicle and sent me on my way.”
I’m completely dumbfounded. How did I not know all this was going on?
“How long were you biking past my house before my dad talked to you?”
“That whole summer. Not every day. Just now and then. But your dad didn’t talk to me until August, right before school started.”
“What did you like so much about me? I never even talked to you.”
He gives me that great smile again and says, “I liked your hair. It was always really shiny. Boys are attracted to shiny things.”
I laugh. “Besides my shiny hair, what else did you like?”
“You always dressed nice, like in skirts and colorful dresses. Compared to you, the other girls looked
“I know what you mean.” I say it quietly, almost to myself.
“I know you do.” He puts his hand on my arm. “Morgan, I never said how sorry I was about your mom. I was too young and stupid to say anything to you back then. We all were. Everyone just tried to pretend it didn’t happen. I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for you. I mean, it was hard for me to lose my dad when I was 24 but you were just 13 when your mom died. That’s a tough age to lose a parent.”
“Yeah, it was. I pretty much shut down after it happened. I stopped going out with my friends. I didn’t go to school functions. I just took care of my dad. He kept telling me to go out and be a normal teenager, but I didn’t. I don’t know why. I guess I felt bad for him, stuck taking care of a teenage girl. Mom was supposed to take over during those years, you know? So anyway, instead of going out like everyone else, I stayed home and made dinner, did laundry, took care of the house.”
I can’t believe I’m telling Brad all this. Why am I doing this? I never talk about this stuff. With anyone. And now that I’m talking about it, I realize it’s really depressing. I smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “But doing all that made me more responsible than most people my age. So that’s good.”
“Morgan, if I’d known you were sitting home by yourself like that, I would’ve come over. I would’ve made you go out. Even if you wouldn’t have dated me, we could’ve at least hung out together. I only lived a few blocks from you.”
That’s right. Brad lived just a few streets over. I remember driving by his house one Friday night when his parents were out of town. I was a sophomore and he was a senior. He had a huge party, and when I drove by, I saw Brad standing next to this girl who was in my Spanish class. I wondered how she even got invited, given that he usually only invited other seniors to his parties.
“Your house is the white one with the two garden gnomes in front, right?”
He nods. “That’s the one. The garden gnomes blew away in a storm a few years ago. We never found them and luckily, my mom never replaced them. I hated those things. I always felt like they were watching me.”
“You said our houses were only a few blocks apart, so how do you know where I lived? I mean, everyone knew your house because you always had parties, but how did you know which house was mine?”
“I had a paper route when I was 12 and your house was on my route.” He sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. “And when I was 14, I might’ve rode by there a few times on my bike checking to see if a certain girl was around.”
“You really did that?”
He laughs. “Yeah, I was a total stalker. I’m surprised your dad didn’t go yell at my parents.”
“So my dad saw you riding by?”
“He caught me standing on the sidewalk, looking up at your window. He sat me down in the garage and let me know his daughter would not be dating for a very long time. But he was nice about it. And then he gave me a can of Coke and a popsicle and sent me on my way.”
I’m completely dumbfounded. How did I not know all this was going on?
“How long were you biking past my house before my dad talked to you?”
“That whole summer. Not every day. Just now and then. But your dad didn’t talk to me until August, right before school started.”
“What did you like so much about me? I never even talked to you.”
He gives me that great smile again and says, “I liked your hair. It was always really shiny. Boys are attracted to shiny things.”
I laugh. “Besides my shiny hair, what else did you like?”
“You always dressed nice, like in skirts and colorful dresses. Compared to you, the other girls looked
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