Goodnight to My Thoughts of You

  Chapter Seven

  The Park

  I was tardy once again for my AP government class. I had a huge project due in a few days. My grade in the class was a low C, and this project was essential for my final grade—and college scholarships. I had to prepare for a team debate on the topic of abortion. Along with my debate partner, Kevin, I had been researching for months in order to defend the pro-life position. The more I researched, the more seriously I regarded this opportunity to inform my classmates of the truth about abortion procedures and the benefits of alternative solutions for unwanted pregnancies.

  At first I chose the topic merely because of my religion and my parent’s political affiliation. But then my friend Juliet had an abortion. She was awake for the whole procedure. She called me the evening after her abortion and told me all the gruesome details. She was a tough girl, but that night on the phone she was just broken. I listened with a detached horror as she whispered her story over the phone. She should never have gone through that. I felt terrible because I had introduced her to the guy who got her pregnant. He gave her money for the abortion, and they never talked again. Weeks later, when Juliet and I were tanning at my pool, she said, “You know, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about my baby.” She still called it ‘her baby.’ I loved her, and I did not judge her decision. She did what she thought was best. But I wished that there had been some other option for her. Something she would not regret.

  Kevin and I had to present arguments for our opinion and rebuttals to the opposing side’s arguments. I was nervous. At least I still had one more week to prepare.

  Unfortunately, I was just a tad bit distracted from my schoolwork. I had my mind on overload, replaying all my conversations with Paul, every look and touch he gave me, every word he and I had said, and all the words I wanted to say.

  Then there was the issue of being grounded. I had never been grounded before, so I didn’t know if Mom would follow through or not. But I had to change her mind about Paul. If my mom disapproved, she might say something cruel and embarrass me in front of him. Or worse, she might go into one of her angry rages and completely scare him away.

  By Monday evening she had cooled down enough to talk about the note she had left on my bed.

  “Miriam,” she said, “If this is God’s will, Paul can be open about it with the pastor and get some advice about the whole thing.”

  “Paul thinks it looks bad. He doesn’t want to let anyone know until I am out of the youth group.”

  “See, Miriam, that just proves that this is wrong. You tell Paul that if he doesn’t say something to the church about this, I will.”

  I gasped. “Mom! You can’t!”

  “Then he has to.”

  “I thought you would be happy for me, and now you are ruining my life! I shouldn’t have told you anything!”

  She gritted her teeth. “You tell Paul to tell the church!”

  “Don’t you understand? We have to wait till I’m 18! I don’t want to hide it anymore either, Mom! I wish everyone could know! But I’m 17!”

  “You tell him to talk to Bob. Or I will.”

  “OK. I’ll tell Paul. Don’t say anything, Mom. Just—don’t you dare say a thing.”

  “Fine.”

  “Ugh!” I ran upstairs to my room and slammed the door.

  Then I opened it again and yelled, “Am I grounded?”

  “Yes!” she called.

  I slammed the door as hard and as loud as I could, which wasn’t nearly hard enough because the wind held it against me, and that made me even madder.

  I found a note on my car when I went off campus for lunch the next day.

  Mimi,

  Hi. I’ve been thinking about you. Meet me in front of the school at 3:00 if you can. Hope you are having a great day.

  Paul

  I was scheduled to go to work after school. I worked as a receptionist for a dermatologist. But I did need some extra time for my project. I called my boss and said I had too much schoolwork, and I couldn’t make it that day. I felt a tinge of guilt.

  School was out at 2 o’clock, and I went to the school library and worked on my project until 3. I walked slowly from the library down the long hallway of Building A, wondering whether or not he would be there. I scanned the boulevard for his car as I approached the edge of the campus. Ah! He was there. Waiting for me. And my heart was beating like crazy—it was way louder than my guilty conscience.

  “Hi!” I shouted and waved.

  “He-llo!” He smiled. He got out of the car and opened my door for me.

  We stopped for smoothies and then drove to a nearby park. I could smell the hot playground sand, and I ran to the swings.

  “I bet I can swing higher than you!” I said.

  “Oh really?” He swung as high as the trees and then jumped off, landing in the sand. Then he ran up the slide and came back down on his feet like a surfer.

  He had a blanket he had bought in Mexico in the trunk of his car, and we spread it out on the grass and sat down, enjoying the shade. I held my smoothie with both hands, trying to look dainty and take sips without slurping.

  “So you are going off to college in the fall,” he said after a while.

  “Yes, I’m so excited. I can’t wait to live in the dorms.”

  “Yeah, dorm life can be pretty crazy. There will be lots of guys giving you lots of attention.”

  “Yeah right!”

  “You know it’s true, Mimi. You know you’re beautiful.”

  “You think I’m beautiful?”

  “And more.”

  I wanted to kiss him.

  “You …” I started. He casually rolled up his sleeves, because it was hot out, revealing his tan, muscular arms. I had to look away.

  After a while he spoke again. “How long will it take you to graduate?” he asked gently, watching me as I stared off in the distance.

  “Four years, probably.”

  “Four years is a long time. You think you can finish in three?”

  “No!” I laughed. I thought he was joking, but when I looked at him, he was serious.

  “Some people graduate in three years.”

  He got up and walked over to a picnic bench and sat down on the top, with his feet on the seat, and looked down at me.

  “My dad told me a story today,” he said. “He told me about a girl who got married right when she turned 18, and after about 10 years, she left her husband. She said she never got to live her life.”

  “That’s sad. Was she a Christian?”

  “I think she was,” he said. “I want you to go to college and really live your life. Go out with nice guys, have fun with your roommates, go out on the weekends.”

  “Paul—I want to see you, not other guys.”

  His eyes looked surprised. Was I being too blunt?

  “You can drive down to see me on the weekends, right?” I asked.

  I could tell by the look on his face that he had never thought of visiting me while I was away at college. I was hurt. I needed something concrete. Something reassuring.

  “Paul, can I ask you something?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Remember that postcard you sent me from your soccer ministry? I was so excited when I got it, but you sent one to Bianca too. Did you send one to everybody in the youth group?”

  “No, just you two.”

  “Why just her and me?”

  “I didn’t want it to be too obvious…”

  “Obvious that…?” I prompted.

  “That I was thinking about you. Ever since I saw you pray for Nico that one night at Starbucks, I knew that you were different. In a good way. God is real to you. God owns your heart. It’s like, when you pray, you see his face.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You brought me there with you.”

  It was exactly how I felt when he prayed. Again, I felt like we were related, like I had known him since the beginning of time. When I looked at hi
m, I saw his shining spirit. When we talked and laughed, it was as if our souls danced and played together. I could see him when I closed my eyes, and I could understand him when he was quiet.

  I wanted run my fingers through his dark hair and kiss him.

  Instead, I lied down on the blanket and put my hands behind my head. I thought to myself, “Ask me now. Just ask me to marry you today, and I’ll say yes. I will never leave you.”

  He drove me back to my car, which was still in the student parking lot. As I climbed out, I told him how busy I was with my pro-life project. I walked around the car and leaned into the driver’s window.

  I smiled at him. “I won’t be able to hang out much this week. But definitely call me, you know, when you think of me.”

  “So in five minutes?” he said quietly under his breath. He was looking down at the steering wheel, and then he lifted his blue eyes to connect them with mine. It was the first time he had freely said what he felt about me. The first time he let down his guard to admit that he liked me.

  “Sure, call me any time you want.” I don’t even know what I said after that. And I don’t remember getting into my car or driving away or what happened next. Because all I could think about was his affectionate words and his sincere eyes.

  It was one of the sweetest things I’d ever heard. For the rest of the day I replayed the scene in my head over and over again: me getting out of the car, leaning over to say, “Bye, call me when you think of me,” and him exhaling, saying, “So in five minutes?” His eyes, his skin, beautiful.