Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

26. Loiter (Part One)

The limo drops us off at Patti's house, where Moth's parents are waiting to take him home, and the porch light waits illuminated for Patti. My mom is at home, expecting me at 11:00pm, and probably the only thing that's waiting for Thatcher is his jalopy.

"Would you like a ride home, Janie?" Moth's mom asks.

"We live in the same neighborhood," Thatcher answers, "so I can take her."

"Oh, great. How convenient. Okay, well, be safe kids," Moth's mom says as Moth winks at me before stepping into his car.

Patti must be exhausted, because she's already halfway up the walk to her house; and Thatcher and I are left alone to walk to his car. My hair is falling, so I start working on pulling out all of the bobby pins as I make my way into the front seat, careful not to accidentally break anything, since his car is essentially a moving assortment of scrap metals.

When he turns the key in the ignition, the clock displays the time: 10:16pm. We have fourty-four minutes to kill. I should be excited, but for some reason, I'm even more nervous about being alone with Thatcher now than I've ever been before. Probably because we've kissed now, so the secret is out. Before, we were each wearing masks, hiding all the vulnerable, scared parts of ourselves, but now there's nothing to shield us from each other. My heart's an open wound, and Thatcher has the power to heal it or make it worse. And that's scary.

I've never really had any close relationships with boys before. I never had a friend who was a boy before Thatcher and Moth. I've certainly never had a boyfriend. No brother. Not an uncle in the family. Grandpa died of an aneurism before I was born. I don't even have a father figure in my life. My dad walked out on us when I was six months old and never came back. I once asked my mom about him, and she told me that they had been dating for months when she found out she was pregnant. That's when she also found out that he already had a family and a wife in the next town over. Apparently, he left them, and came to live with Mom and take care of me. But it all got to be too much, my mom said, and she figured out that he was sneaking off to reunite with his other family. She gave him an ultimatum, and he gave her back his keys.

I don't ask about them anymore, though when I was younger I used to fantasize about having siblings. I don't care now. They aren't family. My "dad" chose not to be in my life, and from the sound of it, I'm better without him. According to Mom, he moved out of state with his family—away from any temptations of coming back to my mom—a few months after he left. At least, that's the reason he gave for not sending a check to help with me. "I'm in the middle of moving, but I'll reach out with a check once we're settled," he apparently texted my mom. Moving must take a long time, because Mom has yet to see any help from him.

Without a dad around, I don't know what this is supposed to look like. What is it like when two people care about each other? Knowing Thatcher's background, he probably doesn't know either, but he must have a better idea than me, because he reaches over to hold my hand.

The uncertainty melts away. Who cares what love looks like on other people, we will create our own image of love as we build up to it. And for us, it starts with theater scenes and kissing on the dance floor and holding hands.

"Is this okay?" he asks, squeezing my hand. He doesn't take his eyes off the road.

I laugh. "We've kissed, so holding hands is totally fine. I like it."

He smiles, and moves his thumb over my hand. That must be his move, because he's done it a few times now. But I like it. It's comforting, sweet, and simple. Like the boy himself.

We head back over the bridge to our part of town, crossing above the river that divides us from Moth and Patti, and I lean back to look up at the sky. It's clear, and the moon is halfway between new and full. My breath fogs the glass, so I roll my head on the rest to face Thatcher. There's nothing particularly special about the moment on its own, but all the parts of it—Thatcher's hand, the clear moon, his funny car, my post-dance glow—bring such a huge smile to my face that I barely even notice that he isn't heading directly to our little neighborhood.