Far From You (5 page)

When I got home,

I called Blaze

and we talked.

Well, I talked, shouted, and screamed.

He listened.

When I finally

shut up for a minute,

he said,

“You can play your music for me anytime.

You don’t need that church messing with your mind

anyway.”

“Blaze, please don’t.”

“What? It’s the truth.

I swear, that place is like a cult.”

And here

was the damn splinter,

getting deeper,

hurting more and more.

I’ve learned

the best thing to do

is change the subject.

“I know I can still play my music,” I told him.

“It’s just not the same without Claire.

But how can we ever play again?

She called my music crap.”

“I’m sorry, baby.

I’m sure she’ll get over it,

and you’ll be doing your thing together again soon.”

Blaze is right

about a lot of things.

But I was pretty sure

he wouldn’t be right

about that.

Friday at school

was weird.

Weird like

mashed potatoes

without gravy

or

a hot dog

without mustard.

It wasn’t

how it was supposed to be.

I couldn’t figure out

if Claire and I

were fighting

or fine

or what?

I went to the library

at lunch

and worked on

a science project,

while hoping

I wouldn’t be gravyless

for long.

When Dad got home from work,

he yelled at me

because I had forgotten to pick up

his dry cleaning

on my way home

from school.

His green eyes,

with big, dark bags

underneath them,

scowled at me

as he told me

how much the family

needed me to be

a team player.

“Dad,” I screamed, “I didn’t forget on purpose!”

Then I ran up the stairs

to get ready for my date,

thinking what a

rotten coach

my father

made.

That night,

Blaze picked me up

looking like

he just stepped out

of
Rolling Stone
magazine.

Hot.

“Blaze,” Dad said, coming up behind me at the door,

“want to come in for a few minutes?”

“He can’t,” I said.

“We have, uh, dinner reservations.

Bye.”

I stepped out

onto the porch

and shut the door

behind us,

before they had a chance

to say anything else.

“You in a hurry?” he asked.

“And should I take that as a good sign?”

I smiled. “In a hurry to get out of there, is all.”

He pulled me close,

gave me a squeeze and a kiss,

and whispered,

“I’m excited to be with you, too.

I love you so much, Ali.”

And in that moment,

knowing completely and fully

that no one

understood me

or loved me

more than Blaze,

I heard my soul whisper

yes.

Italian food

is Blaze’s favorite.

I remember that night so clearly;

I can smell the oregano and garlic

and hear the buzz of conversation

wafting through the restaurant.

We talked and laughed

over plates of

angel hair pasta piled high

with tangy marinara sauce

and fresh parmesan cheese

sprinkled on top.

Blaze twirled the noodles

around his fork, and I thought,

Those noodles are like me,

wrapped around

Blaze’s little finger.

We shared a bowl

of spumoni ice cream,

one bite for him,

one bite for me,

and so on,

until the little silver bowl

sat empty

between us.

When I pulled his gift

from my coat pocket,

he smiled

like a five-year-old

on Christmas.

“Happy birthday.”

Blaze dreams

of the day

he rides off

into the sunset

on a Harley,

so I was thrilled

to find

the vintage

Harley Davidson key chain

on eBay.

He turned it

over and over

in his hands,

admiring its beauty

and the words

I had engraved

on the back.

Another year ahead.

Ready, set, go.

Please take me with you.

Love, Ali.

Then

Blaze’s hands

reached across the table

and cradled my face.

“Of course you can come with me,” he said.

An image of me and him

on a Harley,

riding far, far away,

popped into my head.

And I wished

I had bought him

the motorcycle

to go along

with the key chain.

With happy hearts

and stuffed bellies,

we left the restaurant

and walked out

into the drizzly night.

As we approached his car,

Blaze pulled me to him

and kissed my neck,

sending tingles

up

and

down and sideways

through

my

body.

“I got us a room,” he told me.

“At the MarQueen Hotel.

We can stay for a few hours,

then I’ll take you home.”

I kissed his delicious lips again

and tried to imagine myself

tangled in sheets

with the boy I love

in the old and charming

MarQueen Hotel.

“That’s sweet,” I said.

“Your first time should be sweet,” he said

as he unlocked my car door,

“like freshly baked cookies.

Or spumoni ice cream.

I want it to be special, Al.”

And when he said that,

for some reason,

I thought of Mom

and those cookies she’d made me

on that miserable day.

Suddenly,

no matter how much love

was in my heart

for Blaze,

I felt

empty.

As empty

as the ice cream dish

we had just

left

behind.

I should have felt

good.

Happy.

Excited.

I wanted to feel

good.

Happy.

Excited.

The look on Blaze’s face

told me he felt

good.

Happy.

Excited.

But when we walked into

the lobby of the hotel

and I saw a happy family—

a mom, a dad,

and two girls—

I felt scared.

Sad.

Confused.

I watched

as the girls each took

their father’s hands in theirs,

pulling on them,

as they begged him

to take them

to the Space Needle.

He laughed,

then gathered them

up and into his arms

and told them

he promised to take them

in the morning.

I thought of Blaze

holding me

and caressing me,

and told myself

it would make everything

better.

After all,

the world outside

the MarQueen Hotel

would surely

disappear

while we lost ourselves

in each other.

But as I looked around

the lovely lobby,

I knew we would end up

back there to check out

and head home.

And that’s when

it hit me.

No matter what changed

in a hotel room

between me and Blaze,

everything else

would stay

exactly

the

same.

When I told him I wasn’t ready,

and that I might have been doing it

for all the wrong reasons,

he told me he understood.

He told me I needed to be 100 percent sure.

He told me he would wait until I was 100 percent sure.

“You’re really okay with it?” I asked him

as we sat in the car before going home.

He shrugged.

“I love you.

So I’m okay with it.

As long as it’s you making the decision.

Not your dad.

Not your friends.

And most of all,

not the everyone’s-a-sinner preacher at your church.”

“Come on.

It’s not even like that at my church.

How can you talk like that when you don’t know?

You’ve never even been.”

“I know I don’t need God, Ali.

And I don’t need a bunch of people telling me I need

God.”

“You make it sound like God is a bad guy.

He’s not bad.”

Blaze sighed as he started the car. “Let’s get you home.”

As we drove in silence,

panic expanded

in my chest

until I almost

couldn’t breathe.

First Claire.

Then Dad.

Now Blaze.

I reached over,

took his hand,

and placed it on my

rapidly beating heart.

“Please tell me we’re okay,” I whispered.

He pulled the car over

to the side of the road,

reached over, and kissed me—

a long,

slow,

wet,

beautiful

kiss.

“We’re better than okay,” he told me.

“Believe me?”

And of course,

I did.

Because the other choice

was pretty much

unthinkable.

Blaze’s dad

was a bad, bad

beast

of a man.

Blaze hasn’t told

me a lot.

But enough

for me to know

he was hurt

on a regular basis

and has

a few scars

to show for it,

though more inside

than out.

I think he

blames

God,

because it’s hard

to blame

the one

who really

deserves it.

What I believe

is that life

is music and fabulous fall foliage,

but it’s also cancer and wars.

That’s just how it is.

Maybe God could do better.

But shit, so could we.

The next morning

when I woke up,

I called Blaze

to tell him how much

I loved him

and appreciated him.

I told him

a lot of guys

wouldn’t have been

as understanding

as he was.

He said

that’s because

a lot of guys

are assholes

and he swore to himself

he’d never be

like that.

After we hung up,

I found Dad

on the couch,

holding Ivy.

Just him

and her.

I watched them

from around the corner.

He stroked her head.

He played with her feet.

He picked her up

and held her tightly

against him.

Part of me

wanted desperately

to join them,

while another part

wanted to turn and run

and never

come

back.

When I was little,

I loved doing puzzles.

There was this

ABC puzzle

I played with

all the time.

I always got the

M
and the
N
mixed up.

I’d try

and try

and try

to get the

M
to fit in the
N
spot.

I’d spin it

this way

and that way

until I finally

got up

and walked away.

Right then,

in that moment,

watching them together,

I felt like the
M

trying to fit

in the
N
spot.

And once again,

I walked away.