If Only I Had Told Her(8)

Autumn pulled away and ran, ran away from me like she never had before. She never looked back, never waved for me to follow her.

Inside, the four of us had cake. It was dry in my mouth. My mother asked why we were so quiet and we both said, “I’m tired,” at the same time. We startled and looked at each other and away again. I did not protest when she left for next door soon after.

It was not until New Year’s Day brunch at her parents’ house when I saw the light bruises on her arm that I recognized how terrible my big move had been. I’d assaulted her. I could see myself in her eyes, desperate and grasping, pathetic without being pitiable. It was all I could do to not bolt off the couch and give her the space she must have so desperately wanted from me.



At school, Jack asked about my break. He’d called twice over the holidays wanting to hang out. I’d told him both times that I was with Autumn, that we had plans the next day too. When he asked, there had been curiosity, even hope in his eyes, like I would have good news about Autumn.

I started to tear up. It wasn’t an all-the-way cry, because I was fighting it, but it was close. It was one of the worst moments of my life.

We were in the locker room, right before second period. Jack looked around, panic in his eyes. I expected him to abandon me. Instead, he laughed loudly, punched my arm, said, “Oh yeah? Let’s take this outside,” and hurried me out.

There was a quiet place that he knew about behind the dumpsters. Other kids seemed to too. There were a couple of cigarette butts and lots of candy wrappers on the ground. He listened to me talk for the whole period. I laid it all bare, and afterward I felt marginally better.

We sat shoulder to shoulder, huddled together against the cold.

I said, “I don’t know what to do. She was my best friend.”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t have a best friend either.”



After that, I left Autumn alone. Until Valentine’s Day.

There was this fundraiser. For two dollars, a red or white carnation would be delivered with a card to the person of your choosing. The banner said, “White Carnations Are for Your Friends!” leaving us to figure out for ourselves what red ones meant. I sent Autumn two carnations, one white and one red, one with my name and the other signed “Your Secret Admirer.” I overheard The Mothers saying that Autumn had received a total of four red carnations signed exactly that way. No one sent me anything.

At the end of February, Mom came and sat on my bed.

“Heeeeeey, kiddo!” For her sensitive talks, Mom always tried to catch me at the end of reading in bed, right before I turned out the light.

“What is it?”

She sighed and put her hand on my foot.

“You know Claire and I always hoped that you and Autumn would be friends, but we wouldn’t force it on you.”

I had no idea where she was going with this.

“If you and Autumn have grown apart, we understand, but I wanted to know if you’re okay with your friendship with Autumn. You’ve seemed down lately.”

I thought it was painfully obvious how I longed for Autumn. The idea that anyone could not see it stunned me.

Perhaps that’s why I snapped, “What friendship, Mom?” and returned to my book.

She must have been surprised, because I’d read a few sentences before she spoke again. “Sometimes brothers and sisters go through phases when they aren’t friends, but they still love—”

I dropped my book and stared at her in horror. Her face went through a series of emotions like they were projector slides: surprise, amusement, joy, and then sadness. Deep sadness.

“And sometimes,” she continued, “really good friends go through periods when they aren’t that close, and that’s okay. They still care about each other. Later, maybe they become close again, or maybe they become something more than friends. Maybe.”

I tilted my head to show her that I was listening.

She said, “The thing to do is focus on what makes you feel good about yourself, like school and soccer. You have your new friend Jack. You can remind yourself, ‘Autumn is where she wants to be right now, and that’s okay. I’m still great, and I’ll be around if she needs me.’ Hmm?” She squeezed my foot again.

“Okay,” I said. “A bit after-school special, but thanks.” I shrugged and let her hug me.

After she left, I turned out my light and thought about her advice.

It made sense, because it wasn’t that different from what I had thought before, though I had overshot the goal. I needed to get cooler. Soccer was the best path forward to looking more manly. I’d show Autumn that I wasn’t a loser without friends; Jack and I would make more friends somehow.

I’d met my father twice before at that point, and he was very tall. The pediatrician said that I would be tall too, that it was only a matter of time. Time was what I needed to become a better version of myself. While Autumn ignored me, I’d transform myself.

So though it hurt whenever I was near her, I ignored that and stared at her out of the corner of my eyes like an addict desperate for a fix. But I gave Autumn time, and I gave Autumn space, and I worked on myself.



The next Valentine’s Day, I sent one anonymous red carnation to Autumn, and I sent one white carnation to Jack signed, “Paola.”

He whacked me with it at lunch as he sat down beside me.