Songs For Your Mother Gordon MacMillan (good books for 7th graders .txt) 📖

Chapter 3

At some point, I must have fallen asleep, and when I awake I am alone in the bed. I open my eyes, and I lie there as light splashes in through the curtains. I can hear Lauren moving about, and then she walks into the bedroom holding two cups of coffee. She is wearing a blue blouse and jeans. Lauren looks at me for a moment and smiles and hands me a cup. One thing that hasn’t changed: Lauren is as stunning in the morning light as she was last night.

‘Sorry, you were sleeping, and I needed to get ready to put my degree in English Literature to good use and serve quality vegetarian food. It’s the UCSC dream,’ she says.

‘It’s the global dream.’

‘True,’ she says, smiling.

‘What time is it?’ I ask.

‘A little after eight.’

Unlike last night, everything this morning is hurried, and the meter is in the red. These are our final moments together, two people pausing, pushing against the current in life’s fast-flowing stream before we are swept forward. Somehow it never matters how good the previous evening was, how long you talked into the night, the morning is awkward. Sobriety and daylight bring a new perspective that often feels like the battle between imagination and reality. It’s the space between those two forces, and the balancing of them, where a life of possibility exists. Lauren pulls the curtains open as I sip my coffee. She stands in the doorway as sunlight streams into the room.

‘I don’t want to seem like I’m rushing you, only those vegetarians are unforgiving about timekeeping,’ she says.

I reach for my shirt on the floor, and I pull it on. Under the covers, I wiggle my shorts on as Lauren smiles, amused at my morning modesty. I swing my legs out of bed and slip on my jeans.

‘Look, I wanted to say…’ I start, and Lauren waggles her finger. I’m about to do my mini-speech. The one about how we had a great time last night, and that you’re different and that it meant something. Only this time it’s true. This morning I feel something more substantial than the need to sprint to freedom.

‘Let’s talk outside,’ Lauren says and smiles. She picks up my cup and walks back through to the kitchen. She starts to run water and wash the cups. I grab my Converse, laces still loosely tied, work my feet back into position, and walk into the sitting room.

‘Is it okay if I use the bathroom quickly?’ I ask.

‘Go for it,’ Lauren calls back.

Back in the kitchen, we’re done. Lauren grabs her bag from the counter and opens the door. I follow her outside and rest against the wall as she locks the apartment. I follow her down the steps and across the paved garden, past the fountain, and out through the gate.

I am going over my speech, as we walk. What I don’t want to do is walk away, more than anything else I don’t want it to end like this.

‘I, um…’ and I am in the process of cranking up my speech again when Lauren shakes her head, and we come to a halt, and face each other.

‘I know you have a speech, and I have one too. I’m taking home field advantage and going first.’

I nod, and I am nervous. I wanted to go first even though I am not precisely sure what I want to say. I only know that I want to say something that means something. I don’t want to let this end without acknowledging that Lauren and the time we’ve spent together has meant something. I don’t want it to be another story that gets told about that one time in Santa Cruz, California, that never came around again.

‘Go for it,’ I say.

‘Funny – as you know, and for a moment there, I knew what I was going to say, I had it all figured out. Last night was different, right?’

Lauren looks at me, and I nod in agreement. It was different, it felt significant, and I am about to jump in and say this, when Lauren mouths ‘home field’ and presses on. ‘And life isn’t always like that, and now we’re here, and you have this solo road trip going on and, I don’t know, you can tell me this is crazy but you can come back if you want to. You don’t have to, but you can. We could try that,’ Lauren says.

‘That isn’t crazy at all. Last night was different, and I’d like to try,’ I say.

Lauren smiles when I say this, and she reaches out her hand. I hold it as she continues to speak. ‘I don’t know what will happen. Maybe something, maybe nothing, maybe we’ll get sick of each other after three days together,’ she says.

‘I don’t think so,’ I say.

‘I don’t either, but I wanted to say it, to put it out there, to manage expectations. Why don’t you go off and do what you have to and then make up your mind,’ Lauren says.

‘I don’t need to make up my mind,’ I say. ‘I’m coming back. Let me give you my Twitter, Facebook, Insta, and WhatsApp so there’s zero possibility that we can’t find each other,’ I say.

Lauren shakes her head, smiles. When she does that I am momentarily confused. I’m trying to work out what’s going on, and then I get it. It’s that gap between imagination and reality again. Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith to get there.

‘No names or numbers,’ Lauren says.

Even though I know exactly why she is doing this, and understand why she is imposing these limits and rules, I fight against it as I don’t want to take any chances.

‘I don’t even know your last name,’ I say.

‘I know, but I think you get why it has to be that way,’ she says.

I nod when Lauren says this. Like I said, I get it.