Two

Owen’s father took him to the Downtown Video Saturday afternoon to rent a videogame.  While they were there, Stewart ran into one of his old friends from high school.  The man made the usual comments, told Stew he had a fine looking boy, asked how the wife was, and they started talking about their days in high school.  “God,” the man said, “those were the days, right?  I miss being a kid. Being a kid was so easy.”

Owen wanted to punch the man in the face.

The next week crept by at the pace of lightening.  Half of the time each day, Owen would dream about how he would sweep the lovely Elizabeth off her feet, ala Prince Charming, and he sometimes wondered just where he was going to get a pumpkin-shaped crystal stagecoach.  This was the part of his week that disappeared whenever he blinked.  The other half of his days was spent on how big of a fool he could make of himself.  He dreamt up all kinds of horror scenarios.  What if he said the wrong thing?  What if he wore the wrong shirt?  What if he forgot to wear pants?  What if he wet his pants?  What if he wet his pants and they were the wrong pants?  He just knew he was going to embarrass himself, and time made him suffer each second like it was a day, sometimes a whole week. 

Two nights before the dance, he had been lying in bed for two and a half hours, unable to sleep as he stared at the ceiling and wondered if he could stash an extra pair of pants somewhere in the school gym.  The only break in his angst came when Bret had stumbled into the room an hour earlier.  Bret had tried to be as quiet as possible, but being gawky already, whatever substances he had abused just made things worse.  He bumped into Owen’s bed, jolting it enough that Owen would have woken up anyway, and then he bumped into his own bed.  Then he swore, and he managed to fumble his shoes around in the way that made the most noise possible.  Then he said something along the lines of ‘forget it,’ only with fewer letters, decided not to bother struggling with pajamas, and crawled into bed in his boxers.  Owen had to bite his pillow to keep from laughing as he watched the whole thing from the corner of his eye.

Then he had watched his brother silently for a while, wetting his lips to ask a question, but always backing down before he could.  He had waited too long, and he wasn’t even sure Bret was still awake.  “Bret?” he asked quietly. “How can I tell if a girl likes me?”

Bret mumbled something through his pillow.

“What was that?”

“If you’re talking ‘bout that Liz chick, she asked you to take her to your dance thing.  I think she likes you.”  His words came out annoyed and slurred, like the words of someone with a hangover.

“You think?”

“Do you want me to call and ask her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then shut up, and go to sleep.”  Bret rolled over and slammed a pillow over his head.  His cussing softly faded into snoring.

Owen sighed and folded his hands under his head.  He shut up, but he couldn’t go to sleep.

Finally the big day arrived.  All day, starting in the morning, Owen’s mental rehearsal took center stage in his head.  He even got yelled at during second period for not paying attention while wooing his lady in his dream world.  When he got home, he could barely eat anything for dinner, playing with his food as he dreaded the night ahead; his dream world had turned into a nightmare.  After being relieved from the table by his mother, he spent an hour and a half in the bathroom making sure he looked flawless.  He styled his hair into the perfect number of spikes, and he cleaned off his nicest pair of sneakers.  He put on a dark orange shirt, button down, and he messed up tying his tie eight times before he finally got it right.  He even put on a pair of jeans without the legs unraveling or any other holes. He took a look at himself in the mirror, and he half smiled.  Well, this is as undorky as I’m going to look.

He strolled into the kitchen, and he held out his arms to present himself.  “Well?” he asked hesitantly, like he was expecting a rejection.

As his mother stood up, she tried to fight the huge smile crossing her face, but she couldn’t hold it back for long.  She clasped her hands together, pressing them to her lips momentarily, and then she stepped up to him.  She fidgeted with his collar for a second, before touching him on his cool, still youthful cheeks.  Resting her hands on her son’s shoulders, she smiled down at him.  “You look very handsome.”  Something in her eyes reflected the kitchen light.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing.”  She swallowed.  “It’s just, well, it’s your last junior high dance.  My little baby is going to be grown up so soon.”

Owen smiled.  It was the only thing he could do besides blushing. 

Then Bret added his own touch to the family moment by slapping Owen on the back as hard as he could.

Owen turned to give his brother an evil look.

            Bret just grinned obnoxiously.  “You ready to go?”

“I guess,” Owen wheezed.  The fear was starting to grip him again.

They said their goodbyes to their mother, and Bret didn’t say anything until they got to his car.  As soon as the door slammed, he started coughing and gagging like he was dying.  “Just how much cologne did you put on?” he gasped between chokes.

“Only a fourth of the bottle.”

“You’re kidding.  Hey—” Bret sniffed. “That’s my cologne!”

“I’m sorry,” Owen said hurriedly.  Normally he would have just laughed, but his nervousness about Liz overtook him. “I should have asked.  You’re not—you’re not mad are you?”

Bret started to grumble.  He usually yelled, at least for a second, and he had a good mind to do so this time.  He couldn’t remember what it was, but Owen had taken something of his without asking only a week before, and Bret was still ticked about it, whatever it was.  An expletive was just about to leap from his mouth when his eyes fell over their little brother.  The boy was rubbing his palms up and down his jeans, wringing his hands, and darting his eyes back and forth between the window and his wrists.  A small smile forced its way onto Bret’s face.  “Nah, I’m not mad.

“You’re trying real hard to impress this girl, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Owen gasped. “I really like her.”

 “Have you even had a girlfriend before?”

Owen looked away, and even though Bret kept his eyes on the road, he could tell his brother was blushing. 

“Come on,” Bret pushed. “Tell me.”

“Well, I had some in like third, fourth, and fifth grade, like everyone does, but never a real girlfriend. Not a girl that would, you know, I could do…stuff…with.”

Now Bret was really interested.  “Stuff, you say? What kind of stuff?” 

“You know!  Stuff stuff!” Owen snapped, annoyed more at his embarrassment than at his brother. “That couples do. Nothing dirty, I just—(sigh)—Davey always talks about what it’s like when him and his girlfriend make out.  I’ve never even been kissed.  I just think it would be cool to find out what it’s like.”

Bret clinched his mouth shut, but little, high-pitched noises came from his throat.

“What?” Owen demanded.

“It’s nothing,” Bret smirked.

“Tell me, you jerk.”

“I don’t want to say. You’ll hit me.”  Bret giggled.  It was never good when Bret giggled.  Bret had an evil giggle.

“Yeah, I probably will hit you. What is it?”

Bret almost didn’t get it out over his chuckling.  “You’re just really adorable right now.”

Owen’s hand slapped Bret’s chest like a whip, and he shouted, “Shut up!” while Bret fought against his laughter to keep the car on the road.  

When the small brick school came into view, Owen’s heart leapt into his throat.  Lined up the sidewalk were minivans and other nice looking vehicles of parents dropping off their kids.  All the cars looked expensive, shiny, and new, but here he was in his brother’s nasty, broken down car.  He told himself it was stupid to be embarrassed about it, especially since he loved the car and nobody would care, but as they rounded the circle drive to the front, he didn’t need rational reasons to worry.  His brother was blasting The Clash as loudly as possible, and the ‘Bretmobile’ drew lots of attention.  Owen felt all the eyes like sleet stinging his face on a winter day.

Owen bit his lip. All the kids glancing back at them looked nicer than he did too.  He started to wish he hadn’t worn jeans, even though he had never put on a clean shirt for a dance before now.  He thought about telling Bret not to stop, to just keep going, and to take him back home.

But Bret slammed on the breaks in front of the school so suddenly that the seatbelt tightened around Owen’s chest. Owen gagged a little, and he drew his choking out as long as possible to put off opening the door.  He could feel Bret staring at him, and he had to look at his older brother. “Well, uh, thanks for the ride,” Owen stalled.

Bret sighed, lowering his head before shaking it. “Look, Owen, stop being so nervous, all right?  Just be yourself.  Calm down.  You’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.”

“You will be.”  Bret held out his hand.  “Good luck tonight, kiddo.”

Owen took the handshake.  “Thanks.”

The car behind them honked loudly, the driver shaking his fist, but Bret just flipped the man off.  He wasn’t going to drive away until Owen was at the door.  Owen wasn’t sure what to think about that. On the one hand, he was glad Bret was supporting him; on the other, he couldn’t run away and hide in the parking lot until the dance ended. 

Owen could hear the music as soon as he reached the school’s door. Inside, the junior high looked like every other junior high dance he or anybody else had ever been to, and the familiarity of everything calmed him down.  The open cafeteria doors where the cookies and punch lay, the junior high kids walking around talking, the thumping bass and strobe lights coming out of the gym—they all comforted him, if only a little bit.    The brutal plainness of everything—the only decoration for the lobby was a piece white paper with 8^th Grade Spring Dance written on it—helped him build up his courage.

But it all came crashing down in a mangled flying train wreck once he spotted her.

She had her back to him, but she still looked right through him.  His lower lip started to twitch; he had already forgotten everything he wanted to say to her.  He thought it started with “Hey, you look nice,” but he wasn’t sure any more.  For some reason, all the words in his head only had one syllable—and most of those weren’t even real words.

She was wearing a black dress, a shiny one, with thin straps so he could see almost all of her shoulders where her shimmering black hair didn’t cover them.  He wiped his palms on his knees.  He had never drunk in his life, but he felt like he needed a beer.  Okay, Owen.  I’m gonna go over there, and I’m going to be charming, witty, and she’s going to totally dig me.   He took a deep breath.  Here it goes. 

The first step forward was terribly difficult, but the next one came easier.  The one after that was even easier.  Another step, and then another. He was actually starting to feel a little confident, telling himself, Yeah.  Yeah! I can so do this!  He walked like James Dean, or the Fonz, or some other embodiment of cool.  I can totally do this!

Everything went perfectly, except that he walked right past her and into the gym.

He blinked.

Then he slapped himself in the head.  He leaned against the cold gym wall, and he slapped himself again.  This time it was so hard the back of his head bounced off the bricks.  “Why did I do that?” he exclaimed.  Then he rubbed the back of his head.

“Do what?”

Owen jumped and spun to his left.

Davey just laughed.  He was munching on a cookie.  “Paige isn’t here yet, but I saw your girl just outside.  She was waiting for you. I’m surprised you got in without seeing her.”

“Oh, I—I don’t know how I did either.”  Owen tried to play it cool because if Davey smelt his weakness, Davey would figure out the most embarrassing thing to do to him, and of course do it. 

“Come on,” Davey said, hitting Owen’s chest with the back of his hand.  “Let’s go talk to her.”

“No!”

Davey eyed him.

 “I mean, I just got here. I want,” Owen wiped his palms on his pants, “I want to check things out first.”

“It’s lame,” Davey said, suspicious. “Just like every other time. Now let’s go talk to your lady.”

“I—” Owen didn’t have a good excuse, but Davey interrupted him anyway.

“Why do you have to act so weird around this girl?”

“I really like her, okay?” Owen snapped.  “And I—I don’t want to come off as a total dork or something around her.”

Davey ‘awed’ and put a hand on Owen’s shoulder.  “You are a dork, man.  But you’re going to seem like a bigger dork if you came to the dance and still stood her up.  Be a man, and talk to your lady.”

“But I—”

Davey sighed harshly, grabbed Owen by the back of his shirt collar, and dragged him out of the gym.  When they reached Elizabeth, Davey tossed Owen at her.  Somehow Owen managed not to fall into her.

“Look who I found!” Davey exclaimed with a huge grin on his face.

“Hey, Owen,” Elizabeth said.  She smiled a little, but she blushed and quickly looked down at the floor. 

“H-hey,” Owen said. His voice came out dry and raspy, and he watched his foot kick at the tiles.

Then there was silence.

Davey sighed.  He stabbed Owen’s side with his elbow. Owen just rubbed the spot and mouthed, “Ow.”  Davey rolled his eyes.  Davey really wanted to slap him. 

“So how about Mrs. Bitters’s class? It really sucks, doesn’t it?”  Davey said, desperately trying to get some kind of conversation going.  To his surprise, it actually worked. He got some idle chitchat out of the two, even though he practically had to move their mouths for them, but, thankfully, Paige arrived before they started talking about the weather. 

She hugged Davey tightly and he hugged her back.  They made goo-goo eyes at each other for a little bit, Paige letting her hand fall into Davey’s, and Owen glanced up at Elizabeth to see her look away.  He felt like he should say something to her.  If Davey and Paige were making her anywhere near as uncomfortable as they were him…  He bit his lip, and he thought of something witty.  He cleared his throat to get her attention.

“So…”

“So…”

“This, uh, this is fun.”

“Yeah.  Fun.”

They both nodded.

I am so stupid, Owen thought, masking himself with a smile.  He knew she thought he was stupid too.  He wished he could punch himself in the face.

“Hey, Owen,” Paige said, snapping Owen out of his trance of self-loathing, “you want to come with me to get some punch?”

“Huh?  Why can’t Davey do it?”

Paige sighed.  Davey stopped his hand from slapping his forehead.  “Come on!” Paige ordered, and she grabbed Owen by the wrist and dragged him towards the cafeteria.  Owen stumbled over his feet as he tried to keep up, and he wondered how Paige, wearing a dress and high heels, still managed to drag him around.

“You’re kind of hurting me,” he said as he was thrown into the cafeteria. He caught himself on the table.  “You know, I’m really getting tired of people throwing and dragging me around like some kind of doll!”

“I’m sorry,” Paige said, “but you were being dumb.  What is wrong with you?  Why aren’t you talking to Elizabeth?”

Owen blushed and shrugged.  He rubbed his arm. “I don’t know,” he said meekly.

Paige smiled.  It was the same type of smile Bret had in the car.  “Aw,” she said, and she put her hands on Owen’s shoulders. “You’re shy!  Owen, that is so cute.”

“Sure. Whatever.”  I really hate being cute. 

“Well, don’t be shy.  She really likes you.  You just need to calm down and be yourself.” 

“Well, how do I do that?” 

Paige started towards the cups of punch, and Owen had to follow her.

“Just be yourself, but also be sweet.  Tell her she looks nice.  Comment on her hair or something.  And then ask her things like what her favorite movies or television shows are.”

“We could talk about music too, right?”

Paige eyed him.  “With your taste in music? No.”

“Well, I like Blind Melon,” Owen said defensively.

“Who?”

“Early Nineties? Bumblebee girl?”

She gave him a stare so blank he almost heard crickets chirping.  “Never mind, just be yourself.  You’re a nice guy.  Let her see that.  And dance with her. You’re acting like she has cooties or something.”

“She’s a girl. You mean she doesn’t?”

Paige smiled, and she put a hand on Owen’s cheek.  “See, that’s how you should act around her.  Cute and charming.  Be yourself.”

 * * *

As Elizabeth listened to Davey, who had his arm around her like a used car salesman, she tried not to chuckle.  “I’m serious about this,” he said. “I think you’re going to have to just wrap your arms around him and force your tongue down his throat. I can’t guarantee he won’t spaz out, but, hey, it will be really funny.”

“Well, I don’t want him to spaz out.”

“I’ve known him for a long time, and if he’s anything, it’s spastic. And—uh oh, act casual. Here they come back.”

Paige and Owen walked up, and Paige started to say something, but, in an intentionally obnoxious voice, Davey blurted, “So, I think the Blues have a shot at the Stanley too, Liz.”

Liz blinked. “The what have a shot at the who?”

 Davey glared at her.

  “Oh, uh, yes,” she suddenly stammered, realizing she was supposed to play along, “I think they do too.”

“Liz and I were just talking. About hockey. This whole time. And not about how Owen’s a spaz or anything like that.  Heh heh.”

“Davey!” Paige exclaimed, hitting her boyfriend in the stomach. 

He laughed as he doubled-over and groaned with pain. 

All the blood in Owen’s body rushed to his face, and he tried to hide it again by turning to the floor.   

Elizabeth swallowed the knot in her throat, and she took Owen’s hand gently in hers.  He blasted her with this shocked, frightened expression, like he was about to have a panic attack.  “Well, I don’t think Owen’s a spaz,” she said, even though it looked like Owen was about to spaz out all over the place.  She smiled sweetly at him.  Those big saucers he had for eyes were kind of cute. “I think he’s very sweet and charming.”

Owen smirked.  “Thanks.”

Davey blinked.  “Are we talking about the same Owen?”

Paige hit him again.

 * * *

They went into the gym after that, and the dancing part went okay.  It was junior high; the dancing rarely got more complicated than putting your hands on the girls hips while she draped hers over your neck.  The witty conversation, however, was harder.  In fact, it went horribly. It was like Owen’s tongue had organized a revolt against his brain, causing him to say exactly the wrong things at exactly the right times.

One time, after a really sweet slow song, their eyes met, and he said, “Your hair looks really good tonight.  What did you do different?”

Another time he said, “I like your dress.  It makes you look thinner.”

“You smell reaaall good.”  This one was followed by creepy guffaw that should have come from a hillbilly.

His personal favorite, though, was, “I like your eyes.  They’re brown and, uh, big.”

Owen really just wanted to go beat his head against the bathroom wall.  He didn’t know why she was still putting up with him.  Even he was thinking about ditching himself to go dance with someone else.  He was rooting for her to do it. He wouldn’t have even been offended.  He didn’t blame her.  He actually thought she was stupid for sticking around.  He sighed.  They were talking about the weather.  The weather!  He just wanted to shout every swear word he could think of and slam his head in a locker.  Repeatedly.  For the love of Shannon, the weather!

Owen was really glad whenever a slow song came on.  He didn’t have to listen to himself say stupid things during slow songs.  He looked at the clock, and the big hand was getting close to the twelve.  Soon the dance would be over, and he hadn’t come close to impressing her. All he had done was convince her he was weird.  As she put her hands on the back of his neck and he put his on her hips, she was just close enough that her sweet breath kissed his cheek.  He sighed. 

“What is it?” she asked quietly as they started to sway to the music.

“Huh?”

“You sighed.  What’s wrong?”

He sighed again.  He didn’t care anymore.  He just didn’t care what she thought.  “It’s just, I, uh, I really like you.  I think you’re just this great, sweet, pretty girl, and I don’t even know why you would come to the dance with a loser like me.  And I, all week, I had all these really cool things to say to you, and I just wanted to sweep you off your feet, you know?  Like a real Prince Charming or that guy from Dirty Dancing.  But instead, I just stuttered and mumbled and buh-buh-buhed all night like a real idiot.  I’m real sorry, and I understand if you never want to talk to me again.” 

He felt weird and weak inside, but part of him felt a lot better.  After unintentionally making a fool of himself all night, purposefully making a fool of himself was a great relief.  He looked into her eyes, those beautiful brown eyes of hers, and he just knew it’d be the last time he’d get to.  His heart sank, but he half-smiled anyway.

Then she did something unexpected.  She reached over, let her hand touch his, and she squeezed it tightly.  “Owen, I think you may be the sweetest boy I have ever met.”  Then she leaned over—down, actually, since she was wearing high heels and was taller than Owen anyway—and kissed him on the lips. 

He blinked.  It was like she had just shot him, but in all the good ways.  It sent a warm, almost electric feeling through the corners of his lips that spread through his cheeks, and then rippled over his entire body.  At first he just stood there, stunned, and she took a step back, thinking she had done something to startle him.  Then a smile crossed his lips, and he whispered, “Well, that was cool.”

She half smiled.  “What?”

“Seriously, I think that was the coolest thing that’s happened to me all day. Probably all week.”  He paused, thinking it over. “Maybe all month.”

            She started laughing, and he did too.  The slow song ended, but she didn’t let him go.  That made him smile more.  The ‘DJ’, MC Principal Polsgrove, announced it was the last song, so he was going to make it a good one.

“I hope it’s ‘No Rain’,” Owen said.  “That would make this perfect.”

Her mouth dropped into an O.  “That’s my favorite song. How did you know?”

Now he looked stunned.  “I didn’t. I just really like Blind Melon.”

“Get out! I thought my sister and I were the only ones who had ever heard of them in this town!”

“Wow! I thought Bret and me were the only ones who listened to music that old.”