Georgianna
“No, Howie. No.”
“Aw, please?”
I shook my head slowly but firmly. “No. I refuse to stay if you turn that crap on.”
Howie pouted. “Georgie, please? You know I can’t ever use the downstairs stereo unless everyone’s gone. Please, just one song?” he pleaded. I shook my head again.
“No. Look, I don’t care if you want to listen to the stereo, I just won’t listen to that. You turn it on, I leave.”
Howie sighed and crossed his arms, trying to look really hurt but both of us knowing it was a big act. We had been arguing over whether or not he would turn on his shitty music, namely Gloria Estefan. I’m open to most things, but I could not and would not listen to Gloria Estefan. I hated her with a passion. I knew he’d put up a fight and try and get his way, but I also knew (as did he, whether or not he’d admit it), that eventually I’d win. “Why are you always such a brat?” he muttered. I shrugged.
“Because much like the baby of the family,” I said pointedly, “first born children are almost always brats.”
Howie stuck his tongue out at me. “That’s obvious. And what did Gloria Estefan ever do to you, by the way?”
I got up off his bead and went to kneel by the cabinet that held all his tapes. “Because being that this is the first time I’ve seen you in two months this argument is something I really want to go through, again. I’ll find something we can both agree on,” I offered, perusing the rows. “No...no...no...,” I rejected, dismayed that a year of post-high school life hadn’t opened his eyes to anything new and great (namely, stuff I listened to).
“What about Prince?” he suggested. I shrugged halfheartedly, still scanning. “OK, well then...what about this, New Edition?” I gave him a withering look. “OK, maybe not.”
“Here, we’ll go put this in,” I said, taking out Boyz II Men’s II. He sighed.
“But I just listened to that this morning.”
“Yes, but did you listen to it on the precious downstairs stereo?” I teased.
“No, but still. I already listened to it.”
“But it’s the downstairs stereo!”
“Yeah, but what about some MJ? You like MJ.”
I shook my head again. “I’m not in the mood for Michael Jackson, I’m in the mood for Boyz II Men,” I told him. “Come on, you’re wasting precious time. Just see it my way and it’ll be fine.” I flashed him a big grin.
He let a tiny smile escape and I knew I had him. “Fine,” he conceded, “but don’t think you’re going to be getting your way all the time now just because I never see you.”
“Don’t worry, I do.” We laughed and headed for the door just as we heard another door open and close downstairs.
“I’m home!” came his mother’s voice. I turned to look at Howie, who sighed again.
“Damn,” he muttered. I looked at him disapprovingly.
“Howard. Such language.”
He grinned, then called, “Hi Mom!”
“Hi honey. Is that Georgianna’s car out front?”
Her voice was coming from the stairwell so I peeked my head out Howie’s door and around the corner. “Yes, it’s me, hi Mrs. Dorough,” I called down, smiling. She smiled back.
“Hello, dear, how are you?”
“Great. How’s the middle school?”
“A little wild but fine. Are you staying for dinner?”
“Um, I’m not sure.” I looked back at Howie, who smiled.
“That’s a record,” he whispered and I held in a laugh - Howie’s mom, without fail, always insisted I eat while I was there. “I’m taking George out tonight, Ma,” he called. I looked back down the stairs.
“I guess I should take him up on it when he offers to pay,” I said, “but thank you for offering.”
She kept her smile. “Another night then?”
“Definitely. I’m back home so I’ll be around a lot.” She nodded and I went back in the room, putting the tape in his stereo and setting the case on top of the cabinet before plopping on the bed. Before taking a seat on the floor Howie automatically straightened the tape case a little. I had to smile. He was so organized. So opposite from me. I always had to drag him away from my desk whenever he came to visit - he told me it hurt him to see such a disaster area. I usually told him to shut up.
“So another summer full of hanging out with you, huh?” Howie asked after we had been listening quietly for a few minutes, trying to sound disgusted. I nodded.
“Unfortunately.”
Howie smiled. “Damn.”
I smiled back. “Yeah, well, you’re no prize either.”
“It’s so great to have you back, Georgie. I missed you.” His tone was sincere and it widened my smile.
“I missed you too.” It was at times like this - when his face was all cute and smiley - that I had to fight the urge to lean over and kiss him. It wasn’t hard, though, I had fought that urge so many times over the years that it was old habit.
Even if I had never wanted to have anything to do with Howie, God had other plans in mind for me. It seems like there is no time I can think back on in my childhood that doesn’t have Howie starring somewhere. We were never doing the same thing, but things that always ended up being tied together. In first grade he was the official classroom straightener-upper while I was the official hamster keeper. Many afternoons Howie and I would be working earnestly together - him restacking construction paper and me making sure that Fredrick’s lettuce was arranged neatly and his water bottle wouldn’t leak into his shavings overnight. In sixth grade Howie was Safety Patrol captain while I headed up the Service Squad. High school was even more intense. He’d star in the play while I stood offstage and made sure that everyone was costumed and make-upped correctly. As secretary of both our class and National Honor Society I was constantly giving him announcements to read on the weekly school news show he reported for. It was me that knelt near the foot of the stage at most of his performances in our talent nights and variety shows, taking snapshots for Yearbook. As Spanish Club president he frequently came to me (this time as Art Club prez), to design fliers and posters for their various events. No matter where I turned Howie was there and I know it seemed the same to him.
But it wasn’t just all this shared class participation that truly sparked our friendship, although it would probably have been enough on its own. Back in seventh grade, before we were together at every turn, a crazy little thing called love threw Howie and I together. Not love for each other - it turns out my older brother Mark had quite the interest in Howie’s sister Polly after seeing her again at the supermarket one day (they had attended high school together too). Mark had asked Polly to do something one Saturday night but she was staying at home with her youngest brother. Mark found out that her youngest brother and I were in the same class and suggested that he bring me to occupy her brother while he occupied her. Polly was all for it and so it was settled. At first I had complained when Mark suggested it, but as I checked Howie out in math and social studies I grudgingly admitted to myself that he was sorta cute and started getting a little excited - after all, it was almost like I’d be going on a date too, just an unofficial one, and I wasn’t supposed to be on one of those til I was at least sixteen. That night Howie and I wandered the mall as our older siblings saw a movie. We checked out every store that appealed to us, talking and laughing as we did. I found out we had almost everything in common (well, everything that was important to twelve-year-olds, anyway) - favorite movie (then it was Return of the Jedi, I think), favorite color (still and always purple), favorite singer (at that time the Gloved One), and favorite TV show (The Cosby Show, although he’ll deny it now and claim something more “guy”). Six months later the relationship between Mark and Polly was long since over - six years later Howie and I were still hanging at the mall together at 19 (him), and 18 (me).
As I watched him stretch out on the floor and stare up at the ceiling I thought about how much I loved him and for how long I had. That very first night we hung out he had stolen my heart and had been holding it - unknowingly - ever since. He had always been different than almost all other guys. Oh sure, I teased him and told him it was because he was a mama’s boy (which he has always been), but he’s just so feeling. I’ve seen him cry and he’s one of the very few people in this world outside of my family I’ve felt comfortable crying around (rarely, of course, but the fact that he’s seen it at all is amazing). He’s one of the best listeners on the planet, I’m willing to bet, plus he has a really subtle sense of humour that never fails to cheer me from even the foulest of moods. All through school I heard excited whispers from all kinds of girls I didn’t know about Howie. I knew he was aware of the flurry but he never showed it by acting conceited - in fact, he had stayed with his girlfriend Jessica in high school three long years (very long years from my standpoint), and had always been loyal. My friends knew how close we were and every once in awhile tried to coax an admittance of love for him out. But I always shrugged, not wanting to discuss how I felt with them - after all, they didn’t know the real Howie so they wouldn’t understand it even if I tried to explain. And even if they would have understood, the only person that ever heard about any romantic interest (I always had some sort of little crush on someone else too), I might have towards someone was Howie. Thus, no one but my journal knew.
A pillow hitting me interrupted my thoughts and I looked at Howie, who was grinning again. “Wake up.”
“I am awake, reject.”
“Fine, loser, where do you want to go for dinner?”
I shrugged. “Wherever, I don’t care.”
Howie sat up. “Of course you care, you always care.”
He was right. “I do not, I never complain,” I argued and he laughed.
“No, I wouldn’t call it complaining. Subtle and repeated hinting, yeah, but not complaining.”
I threw the pillow back at him. “Shut up. Fine, what say you we hit Hard Rock? It’s a Tuesday night, it should be pretty dead.” That didn’t matter much to Howie, he loved people, but I personally hated crowded spaces. I got really self-conscious.
“Sounds good to me,” he agreed, grabbing for his shoes and puting them on. I continued to lay on the bed til he was done. He stood over me with an expectant look.
“No one’s bringing the food to you, Princess,” he told me. I held out my hands.
“Pull me up,” I instructed. He rolled his eyes.
“Get real.”
I continued holding my arms out and put on a big smile. “Fine, pick me up and carry me.” With a laugh Howie strolled out of the room. I wasn’t worried, he always did that. “Hey!...hey!!!...” Usually after two hey’s he was back. I waited in silence a moment but he didn’t come back. I sat up. “Howie?”
“Gotcha!” he declared, stepping back in. I shot him a dirty look and charged at him, but he picked me up and slung me over his shoulder, carrying a laughing me downstairs and out the door.
Chapter 2
