When I think of her house, I mean if I associate any particular house with her, I always think more of where I saw her when she baby-sat, which was just a couple blocks down the street. That house wasn’t too much different from her own; I mean at least in terms of its size and how fancy it was.
Laura had let me come into that house plenty of times, but I always had to wait outside awhile. I’d stay in the dark until after the parents left and she’d put the kid to sleep. That usually took at least an hour, and I’d always hide out back—in the alley, actually, where there weren’t any lights at all. I’d just sort of hang around waiting, near all the dark garages, and feeling the breeze blowing through the alley, but also feeling this terrific sense of expectation, you know, so I never felt bored or lonely. I’d wait until I saw the parents drive out of their garage—I’d hide there in the dark—and after they were gone I’d sneak into their yard.
Of course, Laura really would take an extra long time to let me in, not because she was ignoring me—I mean, I knew she was just as crazy to make out as I was, and she’d even send me these sexy little texts to keep me from dropping dead out there—but the truth is, she totally loved this little kid she baby-sat for. His name was Joey and she talked about him all the time and told me how wonderful he was—like even when he peed his pants it was the most charming thing in the world. I must say she was sort of a sucker for always reading him one more bedtime story, which of course meant, like, five more, and giving him snacks and whatever else he wanted to eat, and sometimes I would sneak up and watch through the window as she played clappy games and stuff with him, and I swear it was like she was Joey’s frickin’ mom or something, though to tell the truth, I had never seen a real mom love a kid that much. Maybe a few moms, but not too many, and because I had nothing to do but wait I would even sort of fantasize that Laura and me were actually married and she’d, like, given birth to our son, who of course was supposed to be Joey, and that would keep me sort of occupied while I waited at the window, until she actually put him to sleep and shut out the lights in the house.
Then my phone would buzz and she would whisper, “Come in now. Meet me around back.”
She loved inviting me there because she loved secrets; she told me she loved knowing that nobody would ever find us out.
When I came up to the back steps, she’d be standing there with a big smile on her face. The lights would be off. She’d take my hand and pull me inside. We’d stand there in the living room and start making out. I’d kiss her like I was glued to her, smelling the crazy good perfume she wore. It was incredible.
And then I’d start.
I’d start telling her how wonderful she was.
I must have told her ten thousand times.
“You’re wonderful and beautiful; you’re wonderful and beautiful. . . .”
I hope sometimes I was just thinking it and not saying it, because I know how tiresome it can get hearing the same compliment over and over. That’s another thing my mom had told me. She said it might be good if I came up with something fresh once in a while, because you know, always saying the same thing kind of wears it out.
But I couldn’t help it. It was true. And even now, standing under the windows, I still said it.
You’re wonderful and beautiful.
Some of my friends—well, my friend Carol, who I’ll tell you more about later on—had asked me what I saw in her.
“Everything,” I told him.
He looked surprised.
So did my mother, when I told her.
But my mother actually understood; she wasn’t reacting like my friend, who maybe saw some flaw in Laura I couldn’t see or just didn’t like her because, you know, she was always pretty quiet and serious, and that could make her seem sort of superior.
Not that he ever really said what the flaw was, because of course I asked him. He agreed she was pretty, but he said he knew how to read people—he was always bragging about this intense ability he had to read people—and he said it was her personality that had the flaw, not her face or anything, but he could see it in her face every time he looked at her.
The flaw, I mean.
I swear, I didn’t know what he was talking about.
I’ll agree she had a withering look. She really did have, sometimes, what people call a withering look. Once she shot a look like that at Carol, and he said to me afterward, “Whoa, man! Does she think I’m nothing?”
My mother never even met Laura, I mean except maybe once in a hallway for, like, ten minutes, because my mom was rarely around my house. Things were already pretty bad with my dad, and on a couple of occasions, after big fights, she’d leave for a few days to stay at her mom’s, my grandma’s. I talked the most to my mom during those times—I’d go over there, and talking about Laura kind of got her mind off things with my dad.
I did have a picture of Laura, and my mom agreed she was beautiful. Very beautiful. You see, my mom has an open mind about beauty and isn’t hung up on stupid garbage like my idiot friend, who was probably just jealous anyways.
My mother told me a million things.
It was late now. I didn’t know how late. It had that after-midnight feel, though, with no cars coming by. It was even cooler, too,
