True Hollywood Story of a Yagwit

It was the fall of Nineteen Ninety-Five when I met him coming down the stairs scarcely dressed believing no one would be around. He hits the last step before realizing I’m standing in the foyer. There were only seconds before I rushed into the next room pretending not to be utterly mortified. I heard footsteps enter the room. He spoke briefly. I was unable to respond. My embarrassment so great my mouth felt as if I had gorged on a lemon. I could feel my face getting hot. I managed an awkward gesture that was more stupidity than wave. I never turned around. A huge relief came over me when I heard the front door open and close again. Who was this stranger? Why is he in my aunt’s house with barely a stitch of clothing? Why am I still thinking about him? This was the day, the first day of my life. An entire month passes before I see him again. It’s Thanksgiving now. My aunt introduced us. We both act as if the previous incident hadn’t occurred. I notice he is smiling a bit to much. My discomfort was obvious to only us. I found it slightly irritating that this was a source of amusement for him. I was also intrigued that he remembered me. I had never been this unnerved by anyone. I am made of steel due to my scattered upbringing. The aunt he was living with had spent five years raising me before my mother managed a bit of sobriety. She had found another stray. He was tall, dark hair, perfectly tan with crystal blue eyes. He winked when he caught me staring from across the dinner table. The slightest glace rendered me speechless. I was loathing myself every second for needing to know him. No one had ever mattered before. The consequences for closeness were too great. I had everything to lose. Still I couldn’t stop myself from pursuing this idiocy. It was the same for him. We took chances, accidently running into one another. I managed to make it through the holiday. An agonizing three weeks pass waiting for Christmas. The seventy one point nine mile drive from our home to my aunts seemed to never end. Finally we arrived. My sister unpacks the car. I mumble something about a twisted ankle abandoning her to look for him. My stranger, Chris. I didn’t know him enough to be this……mad. Two months, ten words, one wink, and days trying to make sense of it. I opened the door to find him talking to everyone. He is polite, but different this time. I absolutely show no emotion about this crushing devastation. I spend the week with my family shopping and planning dinner. It is the night before our big feast. Everyone had gone to bed hours earlier. I am alone. I’m still thinking about Chris. I know I’m not imagining all the instances of smiling, having to get by me in the small stairwell, and seemingly waiting for me each time I was to visit. I’d had enough. I quietly made my way to his room. I couldn’t take this anguish any longer. He sits up quickly, but settles realizing who I am. I ask one question, “What happened?”. He sighs then begins to explain. He is turning eighteen soon. It is no longer possible to see each other. It’s not an excuse; even I know he’s telling the truth. I don’t know what to say. I’m fourteen. It’s never going to happen. We talk all night. It feels like I’ve always known him. I sneak back to the downstairs couch as dawn breaks. I’m lost now. I see no point in celebrating. I just want to hide. I avoid Chris for two days. I couldn’t bear getting any closer to him. His birthday was to be my death. When it is time to leave he shakes my hand. I feel a piece of paper. Quickly I shove it into my pocket. My mother is unaware of my feelings. She wouldn’t allow it. She was over compensating for lost time. She was too unpredictable to test. I checked the letter obsessively until I reached my grandmothers. She lived behind my aunt. My mother wouldn’t be suspicious of my wanting to stay. I tell my mother goodbye while disregarding her husband. I read the three page letter slowly. It’s very sweet. I’m waiting for the BUT. I’m shaking. The last line on the last page, “I need you too.”. It’s what I told him after he said I was to young. It was New Years Eve. I had to see him. We waited again until everyone was out to be together. We secretly dated the entire year. I had only thoughts about Chris. I went to my “grandmothers” as often as possible. He led everyone to believe he was working when we would meet. The year seemed like minutes. It is already September. I arrive home from class. It’s a very ordinary day. I look through the kitchen for a snack. No surprise, the fridge is sparse. On the kitchen table I find a short concise note. It reads, “KRISTI, I KNOW!” I can’t feel my legs; this only means one thing, back to parochial school a state away. I knew she would be home soon. She wasn’t the type to calm down after thinking about a problem. It had brewed all day. It was time for the worst. She said everything I knew was coming but didn’t want to hear. I had to end it or she would turn Chris in. I would be forced to move south to finish school. She knew I was failing. I never struggled before. At least public school was easy. It bored me greatly. I begged her to let me stay. I promised to work on my grades. I told her I wouldn’t see Chris. I had to lie to him. I told him I was addicted to drugs. It was the only way he would disapprove of me. It was over. He would be safe from my mother. And I would have time to find a way back to him. Months passed. We barely spoke. It killed me every time he called. It would again be Christmas that brought us together. I was sure after the time spent apart he would bring someone to dinner. I didn’t worry about the long drive this time. I didn’t care if we even went. We pull in the drive. I help my sister with the gifts. I’m in no rush. I may disgrace myself in front of everyone I’ve ever known tonight. I don’t speak to anyone after entering the house. I just want to see who he has brought to MY families Christmas dinner. I’m angry without right. Instead he is there alone. He is waiting for me. I can’t pretend anymore. I hold onto him like he had been missing at war. Eyes pop out of heads, jaws drop. My mother doesn’t make a scene. It’s the only thing we share. We can effortlessly be cool as ice. We talk everything out. He forgives me no questions. He asks me to marry him. I’m fifteen now. I say yes before he finishes. I tell my mother the news. She shocks me when she silently agrees. Her husband wants all her children to leave. I am the last obstacle to stifling his dribble. She calls Chris to tell him she will consent. I again care for nothing. I plan a wedding in five months. We married in March Nineteen Ninety-Seven at a church built by my grandfather, twenty days after my sixteenth birthday. My family wore black. It was not a joke. Only his sister attended. Neither of us noticed them. We spent a quiet three months together before we found out I was expecting. Our daughter was born in December of ninety-seven. Those three months were the last time it was quiet. We have four other children together. We have been defying the odds for thirteen years.

The End…..So Far