Clouds In My Coffee (4 page)

“Well, we have moved onto third base, but that’s very recent, and don’t you
dare
tell a soul!”

I smirk, still twisting the ring. “Who would I tell that you probably haven’t told already?”

“Shut up,” she says, giggling. “But it feels so good, I gotta tell you.”

“Finger banging feels good?”

She blushes appropriately as she glances over at the stoplight we’re at. “It’s not just
that
part,” she explains, “It’s also when he, you know, puts his mouth...down
there
.”

I feel my eyes widen. “He ate you out?”

She nods, wall to wall smiles. “Yeah, and I got to tell you, I think I might’ve had a climax.”

“Are you shitting me?” I’m all ears now. I sort’ve live my sex life vicariously through Kim. “What does it feel like?”

“Well, it’s sort’ve a tingly feeling down there, you know?”

“Well, no. I
don’t
know, which is why I’m asking you.”

“Do you mean to tell me that Erik hasn’t even been down your pants?”

Okay so now I feel like I’m on the defensive, plus I’m not about putting my business out there like she does.

“Once. But not for very long.”

“Did he finger fuck you?”

“Eww, no! What’s the point? I don’t get it.”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s the point’? It feels good for one thing and you can’t get pregnant for another. Have you even touched his pecker?”

I feel my cheeks warm with embarrassment and I’m tempted to tell her that we have, in fact, dry humped once, but I decide it’s best to change the subject quickly. “No, and can we please talk about something else?”

She quickly starts prattling about who all (of social importance) will be at the bonfire tonight. Of course she mentions Marshall Rydell, giving me a sly look when she does. Kim is convinced that Marshall has had his eye on me ever since he broke up with Angie Linton a few weeks back.

“You know Angie had to start counseling when she didn’t make the varsity squad, didn’t you?”

“No! For real?”

“Yeah. Keith told me. His mom and her mom are best friends and she said it just crushed Angie when she didn’t make varsity cheerleading going into her senior year. And, on top of that, Marshall breaks up with her, I mean come on! That’s really harsh. But, I wouldn’t feel badly about it if I were you.”

I turn quickly to look at her. “Why should I feel badly?”

“Well, you know,
you
probably took her position on the squad.”

“Me? Maybe it was
you
who took her slot.”

“Don’t think so. Keith says that Marshall put in a good word for you.” She follows that up with a wink.

“He probably just felt guilty about practically mowing me down the day before tryouts.”

“Don’t be so sure,” she says, pulling the car into a parking space at the school football field. “Time will tell.”

I slip the silver ring off of my finger and toss it into my purse. I tell myself it’s because I can clap better without it, but deep down I know it’s more than that. Kim locks our purses in the car and we head off to take our coveted places with the rest of next season’s varsity cheerleaders.

Suddenly, I know that my life is changing and I’m ready for that. I am energized by the knowledge that I am part of an elite group, even if others see it differently. Making the cheerleading squad has made me feel as if I belong; it reassures me that I fit in socially. Just the way Mom said it would.

Kim drops me off with just ten minutes to spare after the bonfire.

The late May night still has a bit of chill in the air, which isn’t all that unusual on the high plains. I notice that Erik’s car isn’t in his parking space and then remember that his gig doesn’t end until midnight. He’ll be rolling in soon, not that he has a curfew like I do, but he knows my mother works late on Friday nights and that’s usually when we hang out and...make-out.

His father doesn’t inflict a lot of rules on Erik, mostly I think because he trusts him to behave reasonably and maybe because Erik’s mom died when he was only six and his father had to raise both Erik and his older sister, Donna, by himself. Donna is four years older than Erik and, until she went off and got married a year ago, she pretty much ruled the roost there. Now, it’s just Erik and his dad who works nights as a security guard at the state mental facility in Evanston.

I change into a pair of sweats and pull on the Foghat tee shirt that belongs to Erik. It’s the most comfortable tee in my possession. He bought it when we went to see them live in Casper last summer, but I don’t think he’s ever worn it. I pretty much claimed it once we got home.

It had been the first time that I’d gotten stoned on weed and I have to admit it was a very cool experience. We’d gone with a couple of his band mates from Roxy and their girlfriends. Erik and I had been the youngest, but still, we held our own when partying with the others.

I lay on the couch and try to watch television, hoping that it will keep me awake until I hear Erik’s car come down the lane.

The next thing I know, Mom is coming through the door. “Are you still up?”

I blink up at her, rubbing my forehead. “Fell asleep waiting up for you,” I lie.

“Did you have a good time, honey?” she asks, peeling her shoes off and looking kind of beat.

“Yeah, I actually had a great time. I got asked out.”

Her eyes light up like a Christmas tree, and suddenly she looks as if she’s getting her second wind. “Really? By whom?” she asks excitedly.

“Marshall Rydell.”

Bingo!

“Oh Cece! He has to be the biggest catch at your school, baby. That’s fantastic.”

“Mellow out, Mom. I turned him down.”

“What? Are you crazy? Why would you do that?”

“Why do you think?”

It’s her turn to roll her eyes at me, not even trying to hide her disappointment. “I can’t believe you’re so serious with
that
boy that you’d turn down an opportunity to socialize with someone like Marshall.”

“Look,” I reply, finally hearing Erik’s car coming down the paved road from the highway. “This is something that I’ll decide... It has nothing to do with Erik. I just need some time to figure things out for myself with no interference from you, Kim or anyone else for that matter.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, but it’s there. “You know, honey. For being sixteen years old, you have a big heart and I guess I can’t fault you for poor judgment up to this point. You’ve never given me any cause for concern—well except for my worrying that maybe you and that—Erik—are getting too serious and maybe taking things too far, if you know what I’m getting at.”

“I do, Mom,” I interrupt feeling my face flush. “There’s no cause for worry. I mean, we’ve not done anything that should cause you to worry, alright?”

She nods. “Okay then.”

Thirty minutes later when I know Mom has gone on to bed, I take another peek outside the living room window. I can make out the dull red glow of a joint. Erik’s laying back on the picnic table star-gazing and getting high.

I quietly slip out of the door and head across the drive to where I can now smell the pungent smoke of weed. Erik looks beautiful in the quiet darkness that is sprinkled with light from the stars and the occasional streetlight.

“Hey,” I call out softly. “How was your gig tonight?”

He doesn’t flinch or startle when he hears me because he’s just that mellowed out by now. And it’s not just the weed; music is Erik’s soul and no matter how loud or fast the beat is, it serves to calm him when it’s done. I’ve watched in amazement as his band belts out cover songs by the likes of J. Geils, Foghat, Led Zeppelin, and the Stones.

“It was pretty far out,” he replies, offering me a toke on his joint. I take it from him and inhale deeply, sucking it in and holding it, and then slowly exhaling the smoke. It calms me at times, too. When I need calm.

Like now.

“Yeah,” he says, taking the joint back. “We fucking blew up ‘Black Dog’ and we’re going to have ‘Stairway’ ready for the next gig in three weeks. You oughta come with me for that. It’s a pretty big deal. We’re playing at the Battle of the Bands in Salt Lake City. I think we have a pretty good chance of nailing it. Winning band gets three thousand bucks.”

“You doing all cover songs?” I ask, stalling for time until I got to the issue that brought me over to him in the first place.

“Naw, I’m singing solo on the song I wrote for you, and Dave wrote an original piece we’ve been working on that should be ready by then.”

Shit.

Erik wrote a beautiful ballad for me called ‘Rainy Day Sunshine’ and it totally blew me away the first time he sang it for me. He can play the guitar some, but I haven’t heard it played with the full band in session with him on drums singing vocals.

“So, will you come with us?”

“I can’t, Erik. I’m sorry.”

“Why? You grounded again, Cece?” he asks, giving me a wicked smile.

Damn.

“No—the thing is, I’ve been asked out by someone else. That’s what I came over here to tell you. I mean, I wouldn’t accept a date with another dude—and I
didn’t
, it’s just that well . . . in the future I may want to accept a date with him—or maybe with someone else and I just don’t feel right doing that without discussing it with you first.”

He takes a long, deep toke off of the joint and looks away from me, his brow furrows I can tell.

“You gonna bogart that joint, or offer me a hit?” Maybe it will help mellow me a bit. This isn’t coming easily.

He hands me the joint, and I take a long hit, handing it back to him.

A moment passes by. And then another.

“So that’s it, huh?” he asks, flicking the roach into the gravel where his car is parked and he finally looks over at me.

The pain I see in his eyes feels like a knife twisting in my gut. I love Erik - but I’m not sure that I’m “in love” with him. I mean, I have nothing to compare it to because it has always been just him and me. “Answer me,” he says, turning away and I can hear his voice crack a bit. “I want you to tell me that we’re done.”

I feel the tears welling up in my eyes because it
is
tearing me up seeing what I’ve done to him, but it’s not
him
that I’m unsure of—it’s me.

Totally me. And how fair is that?

“Erik,” I nearly whisper, “You will always mean so much to me and I will always care for you. I just think—maybe we should see other people. I mean we’re totally into different things now, and we don’t seem to have the same interests anymore. But I still want us to be friends. Please?”

I’m pleading with my words and with my voice, wanting desperately to be able to smooth things over as best as I can because when he hurts, I hurt. He matters to me and he always will.

“Friends huh?” he remarks, looking at me and for a second, I think I see tears in his eyes.

I turn from him and dig down into the pocket of my sweats, pulling the silver friendship ring out that he’d given me. I hand it over to him and he takes it, not recognizing what it is for a moment, and then looks back over at me, rolling it between his fingers when he realizes what it is.

“You didn’t have to return this,” he says. “It was a gift—something for you to keep. From me.”

“I know,” I reply, “But it kind of represents a commitment between us that—well, that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“It’s a friendship ring, Cece. I thought you just said that you wanted us to be friends?”

“C’mon Erik, you know what that ring meant. I
do
want us to be friends. Friends forever, but I can’t wear that ring anymore.”

I watch as he raises his arm, and pitches the ring into the blackness of the night. “Problem solved,” he says, launching himself off of the picnic table and now standing before me, his hands on his hips.

“I can’t believe you did that,” was the only thing that came out of my mouth as I study him.

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound upbeat. “I get it. No strings, no commitment, spread our wings and take whatever direction we so choose. I’m hip, babe.”

I swallow nervously, not fully comprehending his sudden mood change, and hoping like hell that he is sincere and sees it as the best recourse for us both.

“So we’re still friends then, Erik?”

“Fuck you, Cece.”

It’s the first week of June and the varsity cheerleaders are sponsoring a “free” car wash to raise money from donations for our contribution to the boosters.

We’re in downtown Evanston, which consists of just a few blocks of businesses. The Uinta County Herald newspaper has allowed us to hold the car wash in their parking lot. Some of the football players came to help. Marshall Rydell being one of them.

Kim is busy washing a van with Keith, and Catie and I are working on trying to wash an old Studebaker station wagon when Marshall approaches us, giving us both a dazzling smile.

“Cate, looks like you could use a break. Why don’t you let me take over for you?” he offers, giving her his signature wink.

I watch as Catie blushes and makes haste to hand him her sponge, taking off for the picnic table where refreshments are set up.

“Gee, Marshall. Didn’t you think maybe I could’ve used a break?” I tease, washing the rear passenger door with my soapy sponge.

He smiles and starts washing the driver side door right next to me. “We’ll take a break together as soon as we finish this car,” he announces with a grin.

“Oh yeah? You running this thing?”

“Naw, just giving you chicks a little senior supervision is all. I mean, you support us when we’re out on the field, the least we can do is help out with your fundraiser.”

“Isn’t the football team doing a fundraiser?” I ask, quirking a brow at him.

“Hell no. We’re up at six-thirty every morning at the field for training and practice until damn near noon. You wouldn’t want us to over-do it now, would you?”

I grace him with a smile, shaking my head. “No. We couldn’t have that. I’m surprised you’re able to help out right now.”

“Well, I figured I have to get your attention somehow after you blew me off at the bonfire a couple of weeks ago.”

I feel my forehead knit in feigned confusion. I know what he’s talking about, but I just didn’t expect he’d be back again after I politely declined his invitation to go out, explaining that I was seeing Erik at the time.