Eternal Spring (A Young Adult Short Story Collection)

  Instead of looking at my mother I look in the stands at Kimberely Mierson, my current girlfriend. Why isn't Reyna my girlfriend? I'm not sure. Maybe I'm too afraid to lose her friendship. Or maybe I'm just plain afraid.

  The rest of the inning is a blur. I throw six strikes so fast that my arm gets a little sore. I know better than to rub my shoulder in public though. Besides it being bad luck, my mother would be in the dugout before I could say 'Bengay,' making sure I was okay and demanding the trainer give me something so my performance doesn't suffer.

  Instead of massaging my shoulder I plopped down in my seat, crossed my arms and closed my eyes. Then I thought about La Cienega's smile.

  La Cienega's Smile

  Weeks after that first encounter in English class, we sat together on the merry-go-round in the playground.

  "I dare you to kiss me," Reyna said suddenly.

  "What?" I said, nearly choking on my tofu turkey wrap. I wasn't a vegetarian or anything, but Reyna was. And there was just something about her that made me want to be wherever she was and do whatever she did. That included eating this disgusting concoction.

  "I said I, dare you to kiss me."

  "I heard you, but…but why?" I really couldn't believe what I was hearing. Did she really want us to kiss?

  Reyna drew in a breath and made her cheeks big like a blowfish. She always did that when she needed to think. She held her breath for several seconds then let it out as she said, "According to my sources, we're the only two sixth graders who haven't had a first kiss. Most everyone in our class has gone beyond kissing."

  I stared at her, completely confused. I remember totally not understanding what she meant by 'beyond kissing,' but I knew I wanted to try it. And I wanted to try it with her.

  "I mean, I know you would rather kiss Amanda Stratfield, but I figure you can practice on me. That way, when you finally kiss Amanda, you'll be really good at it."

  I didn't really want to kiss Amanda Stratfield. She was actually kind of annoying, the way she always asked me stupid questions about baseball just so she could have an excuse to talk to me. I mean, really, she doesn't even know what a sacrifice fly is. Reyna does. She would never ask me that.

  "Um…" I managed to say. I couldn't think of anything else. I didn't know what I was supposed to say in this situation.

  "We can go behind the slide if you want, so no one will see," Reyna said.

  "Um…okay."

  Reyna grabbed my hand and pulled me to a secluded spot behind the slide at the edge of the playground, a spot hidden from the rest of the field. And then we did it. We kissed. We kissed a lot. Reyna was a little bit of a perfectionist, so I knew we’d be at it for a while until we got it just right.

  "Did you feel that?" she asked me after our fifth attempt at a successful kiss without teeth getting in the way.

  "What?"

  "A flutter in the pit of your stomach. I felt it in mine."

  I closed my eyes and thought about it. Yeah, I’d felt the flutter. Whatever it was, I had felt it everywhere.

  "Yeah, I felt it, too," I said.

  "La Cienega just smiled."

  I looked at her and smiled. I couldn’t stop smiling. I probably had the biggest, stupidest grin on my face. But I couldn't help it. I was just that happy. "You always talk about this Cienega person. Are you finally gonna tell me who she is?"

  Reyna sat cross legged on the ground and pulled me down next to her. She closed her eyes and rested her head on my shoulder. She seemed as though she was being transported to another time and place. I just sat there, quietly waiting for her to speak. And secretly hoping that soon the kissing would start again.

  "In my village in Puerto Rico," she finally began, "there was this old blind woman named Milagros. That means Miracle, you know?"

  I nodded as if I knew. I really didn't.

  "It was an appropriate name. She was the miracle of the village. If there was someone having a hard time paying their bills, they would miraculously find a wad of cash under their door. If someone didn't have enough to eat, they'd miraculously find a bag of rice and a chicken on their doorstep."

  "Wait, a live chicken?"

  "Yes, a live one. That's how we roll in Puerto Rico." She laughed for a moment and then suddenly became serious. "Everyone knew the gifts came from her. She was so giving and caring. She took care of everyone. She even tried to take care of my mother when…when she got sick." Reyna paused for a moment as if holding back tears. "After my mom died, I thought my world had ended. I thought I would never be happy again. It actually made me mad to pass Milagros on her porch every day and see her smiling at nothing. I honestly believed that no one in the world should be happy, because my mother was gone." She paused again and took a deep, calming breath. "Anyway, one day I got too angry to hold it in. I marched up to her and asked her why in the world was she smiling? Actually, I think what I said translates more accurately into, 'Why the hell are you smiling?' But do you know what she said?"

  I shook my head.

  "She said she smiles because she's blind."

  I looked at Reyna oddly.

  "Yeah, I was confused too. But then she said, 'It's not what you see that makes you truly happy. What you see may not always be there. Oh, but how you feel never has to go away. There's nothing better than that tingly happiness that courses through your body and lands in your face, causing your cheeks to rise into a smile. Because I'm blind, I don't get distracted by what's really there and what's not. I get to have that feeling all the time.'"

  I sat in silence for a while as I let those words sink in. I had to admit, those were probably the most beautiful few sentences I’d ever heard in my life. No wonder the words had stuck with Reyna for so long. But I was still confused about something. "Rey, I thought you said her name was Milagros. Where does La Cienega come in?"

  "That was her nickname," Reyna said. "It's not actually even a real word, but it's roughly translated to something like 'the marsh.' I used to sit on her porch for hours and watch the sun rise or set over the marsh. It was beautiful and peaceful and made me feel like…like…home."

  "Well, we have marshland here. This is Charleston, after all. Do you feel at home here?"

  Reyna shook her head. "It's not the same. Yes, there is marshland here, but this isn't an island. There’s something different about living on an island. There's something different about the feel of the wind, the smell of air and the taste of the breeze. The sunset on an island surrounds you and feels like warmth is hugging you."

  For a moment I thought she was getting confused in the English language. Her English was nearly perfect since her father was American, but sometimes I noticed she couldn't exactly translate things the way she wanted. But after I thought about it for a moment more, I realized she had said exactly what she meant. I also realized that one day I was going to help her have the feeling again.

  Top of the Seventh

  The sixth inning still brings no score. We are still ahead one to zero.

  I find myself hoping the other team will hit a home run or something and take the pressure off of me. Then I can fake some shoulder strain and get out of the game. I will head out to the locker room and sneak off to the surprise I had for Reyna. Yeah, that can work. I just have to get out of here.

  I throw a fastball straight down the middle. Just as I thought, the batter hits a long one down the left field line. The ball is so out of here. But then Derek suddenly turns into Spider-man and nearly scales the wall to make an incredible catch.

  The crowd explodes in applause. The batter is out.

  This means I have to continue my perfect game. I catch a glimpse of Sam in the bleachers. She’s standing with her hands on her hips and glaring at me as if I’ve just beaten a baby seal with my bat. My behavior is unacceptable to her. Somehow she knows what I’m trying to do. She’ll kill me if I ruin this chance at a perfect game. She already told me at the beginning of the season that there’s a brand-new Mustang convertible waiting for me if I a
ccomplish this. To be honest, this game means more to her than it does to me.

  Returning to the dugout, I try to block out Coach, who is yammering in my ear about being only nine outs away from making history. No high school student has ever pitched a perfect game against a college team. Even though this is just an exhibition game, I’m sure it’ll be on the local news tonight. It might even make the national news.

  I’m not sure why I’m so on today. Why can't any of the College of Charleston players hit against me? It's like I'm unstoppable, and I'm not even trying that hard. I don't even want to play. It was a last-minute addition to our schedule. I had my day with Reyna all planned when Coach called me in his office yesterday afternoon and told me I would be pitching.

  At the beginning of the game, I just wanted it to be over as soon as possible. That was why I kept throwing strike after strike. But by the bottom of the fourth, when no one had made it on base, I started hearing whisperings of a perfect game. And now, I start to feel the pressure of the possible perfect game.

  I lean my head back and close my eyes, trying to drown out all the sounds of the cheering fans, the crack of the ball against the bat, even the sound of cleats on grass. These are sounds that I usually love. But today, I just want it to be over. I have to get to Reyna. I can't let her down again… I shudder at the thought of the last time I’d let her down.

  Seventh Grade Dance

  I'm not in love with Reyna. At least, that's what I've been telling myself for the past five years. Even though she was my first kiss due to a little playground experiment in the sixth grade, and even though she was the only person who actually knew me…the real me, I loved her like a friend and nothing more. Or so I thought.

  I thought taking her to the seventh grade dance would be no big deal. But if she was only a friend to me, why was it so hard to ask her to go to the dance in the first place? Why did my palms get sweatier than a pork chop wrapped in plastic on a porch every time I thought about asking her? Why did it take me two days to gather up the courage? And why did my heart nearly stop when she took a deep breath and blew out her cheeks after I finally did? While I stared at her with her cheeks puffed out, I knew she was searching for that tingle in her stomach. She always looked for some feeling or sign from La Cienega in order to know whether to do something or not. I sure hoped La Cienega wasn't taking a nap or something and would send her the sign she needed.

  Truth is, I wanted to feel that tingle too. The last time I'd felt it was when we’d kissed on the playground the year before. We'd never tried anything else since. Reyna was so convinced I liked Amanda and not her. I don't know why I never corrected her. Maybe this would be my chance. Maybe I would get to kiss her at the seventh grade dance and if I felt that tingle again, I would know. I’d know for sure she was the one.

  Instead of responding with a simple yes or no, Reyna said, "Are you sure, Scottie?"

  "Yeah, I'm sure. I want to take you to the dance."

  She sighed and said, "Does your mother know?"

  My mother. Samantha Kincaid. She was a like gale force wind of hate and irrationality. The only time I ever spoke to her was about sports. Even in the seventh grade I knew not to give Sam too many details about my personal life. She would just find a away to criticize me.

  "Yeah, sure, she knows," I lied. Of course my mother didn't know. If she knew I was contemplating going to a dance with a black person, she'd probably pack me up and ship me off to some sort of ridiculous and unnecessary sport camp until I changed my mind. She'd done it before. When I told her I wanted to quit track for baseball, she sent me to a sprinting camp in Oregon. I didn't even know there was such a thing as a sprinting camp. Anyway, I didn't change my mind. And when she saw how fast I could pitch, she was the one who cleared off a space in our trophy room for my future baseball trophies.

  Reyna smiled and said, "Okay, let's go." It was the happiest I'd ever seen her. She almost skipped off to her next class.

  But things didn't go as planned. The dance never happened.

  I remember getting Coach to help me rent a tuxedo. That was something Sam would never agree to, so I knew not to even ask. The most formal piece of clothing she owned was a pair of running shoes my little brother Stu spilled glitter on.

  The night of the dance, I put on the suit and held Reyna's corsage in my hand as I stared in the mirror. I looked like a complete dork. What other seventh grade boy would wear a tuxedo? Most of the other boys didn't even have real dates. They were just planning on showing up and hanging against the wall for most of the night. I was making too big of a deal about this. Reyna would think I was crazy.

  I quickly stripped, threw on a pair of khakis, a Carolina Panthers jersey, and the tuxedo jacket. I stared at myself in the mirror again. I looked pretty good, if I do say so myself.

  Next it was time to get Sam to take me to school. Unfortunately, I was only thirteen, which meant no wheels. Sam still held a lot of power over my life. If I was sixteen and had my own car, I would have just driven myself. I would have snuck out the window if I had to. But at this age, I needed her permission.

  "Can you give me a ride to school?" I asked Sam as she sat on the couch watching a game on ESPN.

  "School? Why do you want to go to school? It's Thursday night," she said without taking her eyes off the television. She was watching Duke play and wanted to make sure they lost. She hated Duke. They rejected her college application because the fact that she could run a four-minute mile didn't outshine her lackluster grades. Sixteen years later, she was still holding a grudge.

  "There's a dance tonight. I want to go." I was way too innocent back then. I should have concocted some story about a mandatory basketball practice or something, but I never expected the evening to proceed as it did.

  Sam tore her eyes away from the television and looked me up and down. "You look ridiculous," she said before turning her attention back to the TV.

  I sighed. "Mom, are you gonna take me or not?"

  "Six minutes on the clock. Just wait ‘til the end of the game." She waved me off.

  In a basketball game, I knew six minutes on the clock could very well be fifteen or twenty actual minutes. I went upstairs to obsess over my look for another twenty minutes.

  When the game was over, I went back down. "Can we go now?" I asked her.

  She was in the kitchen making one of her God-awful protein smoothies. The way she angrily slammed cabinets shut, I knew Duke must have won. She was in a really bad mood. "You're not going anywhere, Scott."

  "Why not?"

  "I did some research. Made some calls. You're going with Reyna Lewis?"

  "Yeah, so?"

  "Unacceptable."

  "Why?" I asked, completely in shock. How had she found out about Reyna? I bet she called Coach. Sam was a pro at spying on me. I should have told him not to tell her anything in case she asked.

  "Don't be stupid, Scott. She's a gold-digging whore. All she wants is your money." This was typical Sam speak. She had this idea in her head that I was worth millions in future sports contracts.

  "I don't have any money, Sam. I'm only thirteen. She's my friend. She's my best friend. I promised her."

  Sam turned on the blender. She probably didn't hear a word I’d said. When she finally turned off the blender, I repeated myself but she didn't care. She poured two glasses and sat down at the table.

  "Sit," she said, placing a glass of the disgusting protein junk in front of me. "Drink that. Then we're going for a run."

  "No, we're not. I'm going to the dance."

  "The hell you are. Dating a girl like Reyna could ruin your persona and irreparably damage your future earning potential. It's out of the question. Drink."

  Tears stung in my eyes. I absolutely refused to let her see me cry. To avoid an onslaught of tears, I chugged the protein drink just to distract my emotions. When I finished, she proceeded to lecture me about my responsibilities as a future professional athlete and how I had to lay the groundwork now in order to have
a successful future. An hour later, we went for a run and I never made it to that dance.

  The next morning at school, I waited for Reyna by her locker. She took one look at me and then chose a different route to her first class. She could avoid me for first period, since we were in different math classes. But she'd have to talk to me in English.

  All through first period, I rehearsed what I would say. I had to figure out something to tell her that would make her forgive me. That something didn't include what my insane mother had said. I thought she’d be even more hurt if she knew how my mother felt about her.

  So instead, as soon as she entered English class, I said, "I'm so sorry, Rey. I got caught up playing video games and totally lost track of time."

  She stared at me incredulously. "Video games?"

  I nodded.

  "Which one?" She crossed her arms and stared at me.

  She knew I was lying. She had to. I was such a bad liar and she knew me so well I wouldn't be able to lie to her if I'd planned it for weeks. She was sure to see through this last-minute fib.

  "Grand Theft Auto," I said, naming the first game I could think of.

  She raised an eyebrow. "Grand Theft Auto? You hate Grand Theft Auto. You say it's depressing."

  She was right about that. We'd had a conversation about it almost a year ago. How did she remember things like that? She’d caught me lying and I had no idea what to say. Instead, I just stood there with my mouth hanging open.

  Reyna rolled her eyes and stormed off to the other side of the room, away from the seat next to mine where she always sat.

  Before sitting down, I went and placed her corsage on her desk. "I really am sorry, Rey," I said before taking my seat.

  I spent the entire class period staring at Reyna as she stared at that red hibiscus. The flower was actually called La Flor Maga and was the national flower of Puerto Rico. I had to have it specially ordered.

  Reyna continued to avoid me for the next two periods. But at lunchtime, she sat down in front of me and said three little words that I’d been waiting for all day. "I forgive you."