Don't Look Back (8 page)

And so begins our innocent love story. As the weeks go on, we blossom, and the relationship grows. The four of us are inseparable over the summer, and we spend all of our free time hanging out. Innocent kisses, hand-holding, and hugs soon turn into deeper kisses, lingering embraces, and exploring hands. We kiss for endless hours until our lips are swollen. At the disco, we become experts in the art of slow dancing. Being around him gives me butterflies in my stomach; I always want to be close to him.

As time goes on, I start to call him Matthew. I decide it sounds more mature and special. Everyone else calls him Sully, but to me he is more than Sully.

On a few precious, warm summer days, we take the train out to the seaside or meet by the river and go swimming. Seeing Matthew in his swimming trunks is a rare treat, and I enjoy feeling his bare skin on mine as we play around in the water. We seem to find any excuse to touch, curious yet shy. In the evenings, we start to spend more time as a couple away from Terry and Diana. We go to Matthew’s house, as his mum works a lot. We listen to music, read together, or lie next to each other on his bed, talking. It is during these quiet moments that our bond grows closer, forever connecting us.

Matthew has taught himself to play the guitar, and sometimes he plays for me. He shares how tough his childhood has been, how mean kids can be about his darker skin. I have never given any thought to this, but hearing him speak, I am touched by how much the name-calling has affected him. He has felt inferior and self-conscious most of his life. My heart aches for him because he is handsome, smart, talented, and a beautiful person inside, too.

He doesn’t know or remember his dad, and being an only child, he feels responsible for taking care of his mum. She is seldom home, working at the local supermarket during the day and a pub at night, struggling to make ends meet. They don’t have much, and I know Matthew is sometimes embarrassed about the clothes he wears and that he can’t afford to take me to the cinema. I tell him I don’t care. I love being with him and spending time with him; it doesn’t matter what clothes he wears or where we go. The summer of 1984 is by far the best summer of my life; at least, it is until my mum
remarries in September.

I haven’t been paying too much attention to the fact that my mum is getting serious with her American boyfriend, and when they announce they are getting married, I’m not too thrilled, but at the same time I don’t think it will affect me much. It isn’t until after their expedited wedding that they break the news to me that we’re moving to California in November, in two months’ time. My mum can’t contain her excitement; it is the only thing she can talk about, and there isn’t an ounce of regret in her voice. It’s as if she can’t wait to escape the confines of Harptree. I hate them all for ruining my life; I especially despise my dad for divorcing mum, because if they were still married, this wouldn’t be happening. He doesn’t want me; he is already remarried and happily living with his “new” family two towns over. His rejection was humiliating, unforgivable. This isn’t fair, but unfortunately, there is nothing I can do to stop it.

The night I find out we are moving away, I run out of the house screaming at my mum after an enormous fight. I cry all the way to Matthew’s house. When he opens his front door, I am distraught, sobbing and out of breath, tears streaming down my face, and he pulls me into a protective hug, trying to calm me down. We lie together on his bed for what feels like hours before I am able to tell him what has happened; all the while he holds me tightly, stroking my hair, telling me that everything will be okay.

When we start to kiss, I forget the horrid circumstances that brought me here, becoming swept up in the taste and feel of Matthew. I allow
his hands to explore a little further, enjoying his touch and the feel of his body pushing against mine. Tonight when he walks me home, it is late, well past my curfew time, but I don’t care. We walk quietly hand in hand, and in the alley beside the house, he kisses me goodnight so tenderly that it moves me to tears again.

“It’s okay, Kate, we can write to keep in touch. I’ll find a way, and as soon as you turn eighteen, you can move back here and we’ll get married. They won’t stop us, they can’t stop us,” he whispers, trying to console me again, pulling me up against him. All I can manage in reply is a sniffle. My heart is breaking. Four years I will have to wait until I am of legal age. Four years we will be separated. To me, four years is an eternity.

CHAPTER 9

The Kiss

My final weeks in England are a complete blur, the goodbyes to my family and friends so painful that the memory is hidden away somewhere deep within me. Once we settle into our new California home, I send letters to Matthew and Diana, and so begins the exchange of air mail correspondence every month or so.

At first, writing is easy; Di and Matthew are my constant, my rock, everything that is familiar and normal. But as the months progress, my letters grow shorter, and it takes longer for me to reply. I am caught up in a new way of life, a new school, new friends, and new boys. I miss Matthew, but the life I once had in England no longer exists for me. For Matthew and Diana, life in Harptree continues
without me.

I switch from being the awkward, shy girl in the shadows at Anderson James Senior School to one of the most popular girls on campus at North Valley High School. I am like a shiny new toy, and everyone wants to play with me. Suddenly I am considered “cool,” and my clothes are six months ahead of the fashions here. The boys fight over who is going to take me on a date, and the girls want to be my new best friend. The transition is stressful on my young spirit, and yet exciting, too. I am a hormonal teenager dealing with extreme circumstances, desperate to fit in, torn between who I once was and who I am becoming, adapting as best as I can. I often feel like part of me is left behind, still attached to England, unable to break free. It is overwhelming. During those times, I find myself writing to Matthew or Diana.

The problem with writing to Matthew is that I find myself unable to tell him everything that is going on in my life, and it becomes almost a chore to plan a letter that won’t hurt his feelings. I miss Matthew, I love Matthew, but Matthew isn’t here, he isn’t physically present. Other boys are—cute American boys with their accents, flashy cars, and suntans. I resist at first, but eventually it becomes impossible. Soon our correspondence lapses into longer periods of silence, and Di mentions less and less of Matthew in her letters. Eventually, she doesn’t mention him at all, and before I know it, I become caught up in new friendships, romances, homework, and Friday night football games. The last piece of mail I receive from Matthew is a birthday card in September of 1985. No letter, just a
card signed “M.” We don’t even manage to survive a year.

A year and a half after moving away, we return to England for a vacation to see our extended family in the summer of 1986. I am so excited to be going home, and I write to Diana in April, once we book our flights. We have plans to be in Harptree on Friday and Saturday, and that will be my only opportunity to see her during the two weeks we will be home. Diana writes back, thrilled about my upcoming trip, and says she has made plans for us to go out on Friday evening with Terry and his brother Joe.

My heart sinks when she doesn’t mention Matthew, but I know I am the cause of this. I haven’t heard from him in eight months, and I haven’t bothered to reply to him, either. I manage to keep him out of my mind by dating someone new every couple of months. When I start to become bored with the new boy or find myself comparing him to Matthew, I move on to the next one. I convince myself that going back to Harptree will be good because I can prove to myself that my feelings for Matthew are a silly, childish crush and nothing more.

I could not be more wrong. From the moment I step back into Harptree, everything reminds me of him and of how much I have missed my home. We are staying with family friends who live across the street from our old house. Everywhere I look has a memory that includes Matthew. As I walk to Diana’s house, it seems that with each step I take, I am walking in the shadow of a memory. I can hear our laughter, I can feel us holding hands, feel us running
down the street chasing the ice cream man, and I can feel us kissing in the dark under the street lights. We are everywhere, yet nowhere at all.

I turn the familiar corner to St. Bernadine’s Close, adjusting the heavy bag on my shoulder full of clothes and makeup, and continue all the way to the end of the street. I arrive at Diana’s white front door and ring the doorbell. I hear her scream from upstairs and then watch through the obscured glass of the door as Diana’s silhouette rushes madly down the stairs to greet me. Our friendship has not suffered; despite the hardship of being pen pals, we somehow have managed to survive, and I know we will remain lifelong friends.

We giggle while getting ready to go out. Diana is obsessed with my new American clothes, trying on everything I have brought with me. Diana hasn’t changed at all since I left, with the exception of being almost sixteen. I, on the other hand, have changed a lot. The California influence makes me appear out of place. I am tanned, bleached blonde, and now about five feet six inches tall, towering over poor Diana. My hair is teased and sprayed in a big eighties style, and I wear a lot more makeup than most English girls do. I suppose I have blossomed, and I am no longer the simple, plain young girl who said goodbye to Harptree. It feels amazing to be back with Diana; as much as I like my new American girlfriends, nothing compares to being with someone you’ve known forever.

By the time we finish getting ready, I have put Matthew out of my mind and can’t wait for the night to begin. Jenny snaps a couple of pictures of us with her new camera before we leave for our
night on the town. We are off to a club and a couple of pubs. I have forgotten that the social scene is drastically different here. As long as we look sixteen, we can get into pubs and drink—so different from the strict laws in California that I’m starting to become accustomed to. I am home, and tonight I am going to get a taste of what my life would be like if I had stayed here.

Terry and Joe call round, and after quick hellos we walk up to the town, chatting and catching up. They are both shocked at how different I look, which surprises me, as I don’t think I’ve changed that much. Apparently, I have underestimated my transformation. We call into the Ole Magpie pub on the way, their usual Friday night first stop. After one drink, we move on to the next pub, St. George’s in the Town Square, which I recall being a very popular hangout. The place is packed, and we end up standing in a corner, practically yelling at each other over the music and loud voices, attempting to have a conversation.

I find myself scouring the room for a familiar face. What does he look like now? Is he here? Why hasn’t anyone mentioned his name? As I search through the smoke-filled room, I recognize a few faces in the pub. Some of my old school mates come up and say hello, others smile and wave, keeping their distance. The girls give dirty looks while the boys stare. Alas, Matthew is not one of them. I start to feel uncomfortable. I expected to fit in here, this is my home, but it appears I don’t belong here anymore, and the realization hurts. I start to wonder whether I belong anywhere. Two drinks leave me feeling a little lightheaded, so when
it’s time to go to the club, I am glad for the fresh air and the short walk through town. I hope they will clear my thoughts and sweep away my negative feelings.

The club is amazing, definitely not something I’m allowed to experience in California, and a million times better than the school discos I attended. Lights and lasers project everywhere, dancing off the mirrored walls and ceilings to the beat of the music. The deep bass thumps loudly as the DJ plays the latest sounds. Booths surround the dance floor on two sides, and a large bar spans the entire length of the building on the other side. Upstairs is a large, casual seating area as well as pool tables, video game machines, and bathrooms. Diana and I hit the dance floor straight away when Wham’s “Freedom” comes on, and Terry and Joe head upstairs for a game of pool. We don’t see them again for the next hour or so until we leave the dance floor, exhausted and sweating, in search of refreshment.

Joe, pulling some connections with the DJ, has managed to secure a booth for us for the rest of the evening. The booths, large semicircular black couches with tables in the center, are built on a raised platform with a decent view of the dance floor. Each one is large enough for eight or ten people to sit comfortably. Diana and I pop out occasionally for a dance whenever a good song comes on, leaving Terry to contentedly watch us come and go while enjoying his beer and people-watching. Joe has caught the attention of a couple of young ladies, and he is busy entertaining them at one side of the table. I admire his flirtation skills as
the three of them head to the bar to get a round of drinks.

Joe skillfully maneuvers his way through the crowd to the front of the bar, and I watch him greet a tall stranger. I can’t see much except the backs of their heads at first, then Joe turns and points toward me. As the guy he is talking to turns my way, I see Matthew staring at me. The look on his face is disbelief, shock—his jaw drops open. Matthew leans over and says something to Joe, but it’s impossible to read his lips from so far away. Joe throws his head back and laughs in response, and then replies with a nod of his head. Joe grabs his drinks and starts back toward the table, leaving Matthew and me still staring at each other, our eyes held by some unseen force. My heart is pounding; the sleeping butterflies have awoken and are fluttering throughout me. I feel a surge of adrenaline in anticipation of him following Joe to the table.

Out of nowhere, a short brunette girl next to Matthew puts her arm around his shoulder, snapping his attention from me. Fixated on them, unable to look away, I watch as Matthew pulls away from her, says something, then roughly grabs her by the hand as they abruptly leave. Just like that, in a flash, he is gone. I am dumbfounded and paralyzed. I can’t speak, I can’t get up and follow him, I can’t even move. As Joe approaches the table with our drinks and his lady friends in tow, all he can do is shrug his shoulders in response to the silent question in my eyes. He and I are the only witnesses to what happened.