Forever Together

tolino

Dedication

For my wife Milena

and my daughters Christine and Anna-Maria.

Without all of you this could not be possible.

Author’s note

Thank you for purchasing this book. So many emotions from losing my grandmother Anna Alberico played a significant role in the story Forever Together.

I hope you will enjoy it along with my other stories.

B. S.

Forever Together

One

I first ran across Elle in the second grade. Her family moved in from Chicago about the middle of the year. This was probably the worst thing they could have done to her; there was no way for her to form friendships with kids who had already established tight cliques. She knew this, intuitively, as all kids do. Because of this she wandered the halls at school in a desolate cloud, forlorn expression on her face, shoulders slumped. No, I'll take that back; her shoulders never slumped. Such an action was below her. Her shoulders would have slumped, had her pride allowed it. I remember feeling a bit sorry for her; but I kept my distance; she was, after all, nothing more than a girl.

Nevertheless, I remember being fascinated with her. She was a cute kid; a scrawny thing with almost spindly limbs. If I had thought about such things, it would have been easy to predict that she was going to be beautiful when she grew up. She had high cheeks and a moderately full mouth that usually exhibited an incredible smile. She wore her curly hair down around her shoulders. But above all this, what really made her cute then (and gorgeous now) was her eyes; they were grey with a touch of a glow in them, a kind of radiance that I'll never be able to explain. It was one of those things where the whole was greater that the sum of the parts; it was more than the way the corners were always turned up in a grin, or the alertness that they betrayed; those things added up to something prettier, somehow.

We were in several classes together that year and the next. Matter of fact, since they seated us alphabetically, we were in close proximity quite often. However, we both maintained a cold demeanour towards each other. Fascinated as I was, I could not allow myself to be caught looking at her, wondering about her; eye contact was strictly forbidden. At that age, no one wanted anything to do with the opposite sex, and heaven help you if you were caught interested in a member of the other side.

The first time we spoke to each other was a disaster. We were in the lunch line, alphabetically, waiting to eat whatever it was that they fed us. My shoes always found a way of being untied, no matter how often I tied them. I tripped over one of the strands and fell against her, knocking her off balance; she in turn splashed her bowl of soup all over her white denim skirt. She spent only a precious few seconds in shock at the mess before turning to me, furious.

You jerk, look what you did!

Had I been smart, I would have apologized and helped her clean up. I was not intelligent, though; I was a fifth grader.

Stop whining, stupid. It'll come off. Besides, it wasn't my fault.

My mom'll kill me!

Those eyes turned angry, boring into me.

And it was your fault.

Was not! Take it back.

Was too.

She stepped forward and pushed me. I stumbled back a few steps, but maintained my balance. Now I had a problem. I knew I'd get into trouble if I retaliated; there was a serious penalty for fighting, but I couldn't let a girl get the best of me, not in public, not just in public, but in front of the whole school. I made my choice, balled up my right hand, and buried it in her stomach.

This is the breaking point for most girls that age. After the first punch, their courage turns to tears. Not Elle, though; she was in obvious pain, that I could see in her eyes, but she stayed on her feet. She took a second to regroup, and then, with a grace and efficiency of movement that most karate masters don't achieve, she brought a perfect right hook across my jaw.

A bolt of pain shot across my mouth and cheek. I was stunned; I had prepared myself for victory, not for resistance, and certainly not for that. Again I stumbled back, losing my footing. I fell into somebody's arms; who, I'll never know. She advanced on me for another shot, jaw set, arms by her sides but ready to strike. Had Mrs. Henderson not stepped between us, I have no doubt in my mind that Elle would have trounced me.

I was right - I got in trouble. Fighting was not a charge a student could plea bargain with. The no-nonsense policy demanded that we were both punished, regardless of who was at fault. The disciplinary measure at the time was isolation; each classroom had a booth that allowed you to listen to lectures but cut you off from the contact of your peers. Not that this was all that bad in itself, but there was the humiliation to deal with. There was a slight problem, though; they only had one isolation booth, and two of us. Quickly realizing that it would be worse to force us to remain in each other's company, they crammed us in that little booth together.

At first we ignored each other, both of us fuming at the indignity of the situation. We would hear it on the playground, later...

Jeff and Julie, sitting in a tree, K-i-s-s-i-n-g...

We sat in silence and listened to our math teacher drone on about equivalent fractions. We remained this way for about half an hour, buried in our books as an excuse not to make eye contact. I sat there, infuriated at her for getting me into trouble, trying to devise a way to escape the ragging of my peers, when I heard her sniff as if her nose was running. I looked at her and saw a stream of tears running down her right cheek. My anger suddenly dissipated, and I was about to reach out to her; when she noticed me watching her she turned the other way.

Fine, if she was going to be like that, then I didn't care, I tried to be angry again, but another sniff from her prevented me.

Everybody called her Julie (I started to call her Elle later).

Julie.

No response.

Hey, Julie, I didn't hurt you too badly, did I?

That sissy punch? Don't be silly.

Her diction was crisp and her voice strong, not irritatingly high like some.

I decided not to let her bait me.

Then what's the matter?

She didn't want to surrender.

Nothing

I started to speak, but decided to wait. A few long moments passed. I had almost decided to abandon my chivalrous endeavour, turning my attention back to fractions, when she capitulated, turning to face me.

I've never been in this much trouble before. My mom will kill me.

She sniffed again, almost dramatically.

Don't worry. Mrs. Henderson won't send a note home until your third time in the booth. Your mom doesn't ever have to know.

She allowed herself to meet my eyes. There was genuine worry there.

"Really?' she said

Really.

Suddenly her world looked less bleak. The worry crept off of her face, replaced, ever so cautiously, by the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. For some odd reason, that incident had endeared me to her. She took a liking to me, probably because I was one of the few people (excluding teachers, as if they were ever counted as people) who had a kind word for her. She had seen something in me that I didn't know existed: tenderness. Of course, this was a bad thing for me. It was highly un-cool to be tender, and I couldn't allow myself to exhibit any more of it if I expected to keep my friends. At least, that's what I told myself. But Julie was persistent, and persuasive; I had not met anyone before that was just fun to be with, and easy to laugh with.

She had taken the leap, with nothing to lose. I decided that it was worth the risk that I would be running; I crossed over and began talking to a girl. I feared alienation, but instead I became a trend setter. With my friendship with Julie came a tolerance, if not acceptance from the others.

I guess that was the beginning of our friendship. It was awkward, acceptance or not, but we didn't let it bother us. She was a little tom-boyish, as her fighting ability proved, so she didn't mind the rough and tumble war games we played. Now that I think about it, maybe the other boys didn't accept her, but feared her; they knew what she was capable of. Then again, maybe it was a respectful awe they had for her.

I quickly learned that she and her mother lived only two blocks from my house. Southern suburbia was quite safe at that time; a child of no more than five could walk the streets at eight at night with no problems at all. Once outside, he became the child of the collective mother was formed by all the inhabitants of all the homes in the area. If there ever was to be a problem, it would be quickly solved by the nearest 'mother', be it a sixteen year old neighbour or the sixty year old man-across-the-road.

Our mothers held this assurance close to them, and because of it we were able to make frequent, if not incessant, trips back and forth.

It was here that I learned the art of compromise; I allowed myself to get talked into a game of house quite often. It wasn't the game that mattered anymore; it was the ability to spend time with her that was important. She'd do the same with my games too.

Of course, we found non-gender-specific activities as well; we could always find refuge in a swing-set, or at the park. There were a plethora of adventures to be had, whizzing down the streets of the neighbourhoods in fast cars (bikes with banana seats), or exploring the forests and jungles (clumps of trees) between subdivisions. No child, male or female, wanted to miss these escapades, and Julie was the perfect companion, always ready to go anywhere, anytime. Again, it was the companionship that made the difference; Julie was the best part of the adventure.

The jungle gym was never quite ready to fly to Mars unless she was there. A trip through Hell would have been pleasant, as long as we could have gone together, and as long as we could have made it back by dinner, and when it rained, there were quiet afternoons inside somewhere, checkers or chess (she taught me, but I slowly met my teacher at her level); and not so quiet afternoons, tickling and wrestling and laughter and giggles. Once in a while, if we both felt daring enough, there would be a cautious game of doctor.

Yes, we were both old enough to know better, but that's what made it so much fun... Besides, it was, uh, educational.

Worse than that, I remember a certain summer when we were eleven. Eleven is a weird age; I had just begun to discover girls, and yet I think Elle had come to the full realization that boys could be something more than... just boys.

In the woods near our house, on a lot that is now a subdivision of its own, there was a rather secluded lake. One sultry afternoon, Elle and I were braving all the dangers of these woods when we stumbled across this lake. The water was clear, obviously brook fed, and shaded by all the surrounding trees. Someone had built a rickety pier; Elle walked out on this pier and dipped her hand in the water.

It's so cool. If I had a swimsuit, I'd jump right in.

I had one of my brilliant ideas.

Why do we need swimsuits?

What are you going to do, jump in with all your clothes?

Rather than answer her, I pulled my shirt over my head and began to untie my shoes. Elle considered for a moment, and then flipped off her own sneakers.

I was careful to avert my eyes while she finished stripping. It was difficult, but I was very proud of myself for not succumbing to the urge to sneak a peak. I mean, we were hardly children anymore; Elle was now a young lady. Not only would she expect to be treated as such, but she would act as such, too-

Jeff! You've, uh... grown.

As ambiguous as the comment was, what she meant was clear. I was not surprised to find that I was not at all embarrassed; I don't think I've ever had anything to hide from Elle. But her remark couldn't go unavenged.

You pervert, I accused,

tackling her around the waist and dumping us both in the lake.

We played in the lake together for the better part of two hours, racing, playing tag, splashing each other, and just generally goofing off. Afterwards, we sunned ourselves dry on the dock so that our parents would never discover we'd been swimming.

It was that kind of trust and carelessness that made our childhood together so wonderful. Sometimes I look back, and I realized how much I miss it. It was great; Elle and I simply did everything together.

We shared secrets and told stories, halved the pain and doubled the joy.