The Boiling of the Bones

6. Secret Garden

My parents backed off the all-out assault and tried a more subtle, psychological approach. They left a few college applications on my desk, University at Buffalo, SUNY Geneseo, St. John Fischer College, MCC. At least they were realistic enough to pick schools I could get into.

They began making casual offhand remarks like;

"It's good to get applications in early."

"You ought to apply to a few schools, so you have a choice."

"You may not get your first choice so keep your options open."

Mom even promised she'd buy me a car when I was accepted into college. I could have probably even gotten something nice, a brand-new Lexus or BMW.

Now don't get me wrong, it's not that I didn't want a fast car, let's be real, I was a male teenager and loved driving as much as the next guy. The thing was, I just really, really didn't want to go to college. I resented the way it was dangled in front of me like a carrot. I liked to make decisions on my own terms, not because my parents worked their master plan from every angle until they found the right leverage to gain the necessary traction to make me conform.

My parents were used to getting things their way and never gave up. They were always right, and they were relentless. You couldn't talk to them like adults. If you didn't see their wisdom and conform, the conversation quickly broke down to argument, shouting and then personal insults and name-calling.

It's funny, everyone thinks a lawyer is so smart and so perfect at everything, but my dad can be a real jerk and frankly a big baby and a sore loser if he doesn't get everything exactly his way. Especially when he's drinking. He drinks too much, and even more so at times when he's already having an attitude problem. Alcohol certainly didn't make him any nicer.

All I could think of all week was Sophia stuck dating a jerk she didn't even like. How tragic would it be if she ended up married to him? I hoped she'd find the will power to stand up to him. But mostly, I hoped I could win her over for myself. She was so beautiful; I barely knew her, and I'd totally connected with her and was already falling hard for her. Not only was she gorgeous, and extremely talented, but once you got to know here, she was kind, sympathetic and understanding.

Saturday rolled around and I woke early. I had butterflies in my stomach wondering if she'd be there. I hopped on my bike with my guitar strapped to my back and pedaled strenuously. It was about an hour ride, and I was anxious to get there as fast as I could.

I rounded the bend at Mendon Ponds and looked for her.

There was nobody there.

The grassy hillside was empty. My spirits sank.

I leaned my bike against a tree and locked it up.

I took a relaxed stroll through Woodchuck Hollow, then doubled back around to check if she'd come. Nope. Eight am came and passed. I followed a muddy trail around Hundred Acre Pond. I kept walking, one trail after another for several hours, returning frequently to see if she'd made it.

Maybe she wanted to come but couldn't get away. Maybe she'd show up the following Saturday, I feebly attempted to persuade myself. I was already so smitten; I'd come back looking for her every weekend until the end of time.

I wondered if I pushed too aggressively to get her to dump her boyfriend. I shouldn't have told her what to do, presuming I knew better. I hated when other people told me what to do. I should've respected her enough to let her live her own life. I got that sinking feeling once again realizing I might never see her again.