chapter 2: among the ripples

Trinity's Point of View

The sky laid out before me was like a big fuzzy blanket; there were stars speckled all over it like buttons sewn to fabric. The surrounding darkness reminded me of my life: unknown and mysterious.

Thick fog made for a darker twilight. The usual kaleidoscopic sunset was nowhere to be found. As the heavy wind swirled around me in great waves, I tried to ignore the distant yelling and car horns blaring and focus on the reason I came out here.

Having my own balcony is really nice, especially on nights like these when I long to taste the bittersweet air and watch the world with a careful eye. Past the violence and obscurity, maybe I can look through the mist and find the genuine reason I don't have a steady boyfriend. I tell myself that it's because I haven't found the right one, but if I asked the stars, they would tell me it's because nobody wants me. Where is he? I want to question the sky. Where is the perfect one for me?

It seems like it's only when I'm outside that I care about love, or even dream about it at all. When I do, though, I get so caught up in it that I start to feel depressed. Too many things are happening around me. Most of the girls at my school have paired off and have done so much more with their boyfriends than I could ever imagine doing. I don't want to be, but I find myself feeling jealous. I watch them kiss and hold hands with envy. I hate to admit that I have virgin lips-I've never been kissed. By age sixteen there's some sort of law that says I should have gone out with someone by now, and kissed them. I've learned that I can't choose how I feel, but I can choose what I do about it. If only I was in love with someone. I'm starting to feel desperate, and I don't want to be. I don't want my first relationship to end in heartbreak because I didn't know just how I felt about them. Then again, I'm always told that as a teenager, I don't exactly understand what heartbreak is yet. Sometimes I wonder how old you have to be to actually fall in love.

I sighed and reached my hand out to the willow tree near my balcony. Making a fist, I grabbed some leaves off a vine and held up my hand like I was serving them on a platter. Taking a deep breath, I blew them softly off my palm and watched as they drifted in an imaginary dance to the surface of our swimming pool below. I listened close enough, and could almost hear the sound of the water being awakened.

Still, there's got to be some guy out there that was made for me to eventually find and grow old with. Being sixteen, I suppose, does make a difference. I have almost my whole life laid out before me to find him. I'll wait. If the right one is out there, he's waiting for me right now too. We've both got to be patient.

ooo

I awoke restlessly from an unintentional sleep, wind and cold slapping my skin. I held up my hand and looked at my watch. It read 12:06 A.M. In front of me I could just make out the faint frame of my balcony. The door to my room was open, so I slowly got out of the lawn chair, looked at the sky, and went inside, closing the door behind me. The air inside was warm and solid and my skin burned a little with its contact, but it felt good. The room was dark except for the small lamp illuminating my dresser and bed. It was quiet except for the constant yelling of my parents downstairs. My favorite book, "All Creatures Great and Small" by James Herriot, was laid out on the bedspread, my reading glasses in their case next to it. I changed into my cloud pajamas and crawled under the covers. I sat up, put on my glasses, opened the book, and began to read.

The story told of a young animal doctor seeking work in Darrowby, England. Of course he finds it eventually, and enjoys it very much. Most of the book is a collection of short stories about his adventures as a veteran. It seems like it's a rule for all stories to end happily ever after, even if in reality it would never happen that way. If my life were made into a story, I definitely wouldn't live happily ever after. At least, not if this fight keeps up like the others have.

It all started three years ago, when my father forgot to do the taxes. I was fourteen when my parents had their first fight. I remember it like it was yesterday. My mom yelled at my dad until she couldn't any longer. Just when she was catching her breath, he apologized sorrowfully and promised never to forget again. She forgave him hesitantly. When I was fifteen, it became worse. Now that I'm a year older, my mother is fed up with my dad's forgetfulness, and I'm starting to get worried.

I just heard a door slam. If anyone left, it would be my mother. If anyone left, I would want it to be my father. He's a great parent, but when it comes to doing things, he usually either forgets or can't finish for some reason. I've found, though, that I never get my way. So if things turn out the way they usually do, that was my mother putting all her anger into the slam of our front door.

I couldn't stand being oblivious, so I slowly pushed the covers off my body, threw on my slippers, and shuffled far enough down the stairs to see my father, hunched on his recliner, head in his hands. Through my heavy breaths I heard soft crying.

I think this is how all of my parents' fights end up. It's usually over little things that shouldn't make a difference. They rarely fight about big things, unless you count the taxes. If little things end up like this, I hate to ask how big things would end up. But my mother always leaves like this, and every time returns. She'll be back. Just as always.

I turned, trying not to watch any further, and sifted back up the stairs. Turning off my lamp, I kicked my slippers into a corner and crawled under the covers. I temporarily forgot my book, which was thrown haphazardly onto the floor along with my glasses. I closed my eyes but I couldn't find sleep. If it weren't for the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling, I wouldn't have been able to recognize when my eyes were open and when they were shut. I leaned over and pulled the string on my small lamp, turning it on. I pulled my phone off the receiver and slowly pressed it to my ear. The beeps hurt my head, but soon it started ringing and Donna picked up.

"Hello," came the tired voice, more of a statement than a question.

"I can't sleep," I sighed wearily. "I'm tired, but I can't sleep."

These calls are frequent. Though Donna and I are different in many ways, this isn't one of them. Her parents are major alcoholics with more than just drinking problems.

"Tell me about it," she agreed. "My parents fight so loudly that I can't fall asleep. My eyes keep closing, but then my dad yells again."

I shifted on the bed, pulling the phone with me. "Well, I don't know where my mom is. All I know is my dad's downstairs crying."

"God," Donna whispered in the same tone of agony that I felt. "Nothing is ever right with our parents, is it?"

"Nothing," I agreed slowly.

Silence rolled in and the voice on the other line was no longer speaking, just holding her breath. Faint sounds of yells and calls from the background were heard from my end of the receiver. Then I heard something that I usually never hear. Donna was crying.

"Why does it have to be like this?" she pouted. "It's not fair."

"I know," I answered, trying to soothe her the best I could.

"Why us? Of all people, why us?" wailed my best friend-my only friend.

I was never good at making friends. I'm shy and I hide my face in the crowd. Usually nobody comes near me because I have never bother to go near them, but deep in my heart, I want them to notice me. So far, the only person who has actually stepped out and talked to me was Donna.

A small tear slid down my cheek as I told Donna I didn't know why things were the way they were.

ooo

As I dove into the shimmering water, I felt peace. I swam beneath the fathoms, and upon reaching the bottom of my ocean, turned on my back to peer at the sky. I found comfort as I looked through the crystal shield at the sun's rays, dancing among the ripples.

My mom isn't back. What if, just what if, she won't ever be? For some reason, all the tears that I could possibly cry were cried last night, and now I don't have a single tear left. I feel numb, like there's nothing left inside of me to have feelings. My father mopes around but rarely do words escape his lips. He keeps telling me that if anyone calls for him, to tell them he's not home or that he's taking a shower. I feel like telling someone about this, but Donna wasn't home when I called and she's the only one whom I'd be able to talk to.

The perfect mirror was shattered as I swam to the surface. Gulping in air, I looked around. My street was deserted. Everyone has somewhere to go except me. I thought Sundays were for lying around and enjoying the last of the weekend, but besides me, the only person I can think of doing that right now is my father. He's not home, and he's not shopping, so he must be at the bar. In his eyes, alcohol is the only form of remorse when everything else has failed.

Slowly I kicked over to the edge and climbed out of the pool. I made water footprints as I adjusted my bathing suit and walked, dripping wet, to the lounge chair. I laid down on it with ease, since there already was a towel draped over the arms. I put my sunglasses on and reached for my crossword puzzle magazine and pencil. I was in the middle of trying to figure out another word for 'foundation' when I heard something.

"Hey man! What's up?" somebody said.

As I turned my head, the voice transformed into a face - Donna's. She was dressed in a white tank top with a fat purple cat on it. A see-through beach bag containing sun tan lotion, hair ties, sunglasses, and a brush was hanging near her knees. Neon green flip-flop sandals were thrown nonchalantly on her feet, and her toenails were decorated with a bright pink polish called, "Plastic Flamingo."

"You weren't home when I called," I said, removing my glasses and placing them atop my head.

"Yeah, well," Donna smirked. "I had to go get some groceries and stuff." She rolled her eyes, set her bag down, and lay on a chair next to me.

I looked at her. My lips tried as hard as they could to at least muster a smile, but nothing came.

"What's going on with your mom?" my best friend asked sympathetically.

I wrote 'base' in number three across and explained that she wasn't back yet, not daring to say she might never be.

Donna's hand found her mouth almost immediately after the words slipped out of mine. "That's awful," was all she could say, but it was enough.

"I really don't want to talk about it," I sighed and set the magazine down on the concrete next to me.

"It's okay. I know how you feel," Donna made me smile for probably the first time that day. Usually when someone says that, you know they just made it up, but Donna's been though so much that I could almost bet money on the possibility that one of her parents has run away before.

She noticed the look on my face and laughed. "What?" She slowly took off her tank top and tossed it to the side, revealing a stringy sky blue bathing suit in two tiny pieces. I felt dull, laying there in an all sea green one piece.

"So, you want to race?" she asked, getting sun tan lotion out of her bag and smoothing it over her legs.

"Twice around?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer, and held out my palm.

She squirted a blob of sunscreen into my hand and nodded. It's always two times around the pool, I'm not quite sure why. Maybe because once is too easy and three times is too hard.

I rubbed the lotion over my arms, stomach, and legs.

Donna threw her hair into a messy bun and stood up.

Having done this so many times, we both took opposite ends of the pool.

"On my count," I announced, and counted to three. I think she jumped on 'two' but I don't know. I count pretty fast.

The water felt cool but heavy as I brought my arms out and up in big arcs, my legs kicking furiously behind me.

Two times I swam around the rectangular perimeter of my pool, gasping for breath with each turn of my head. When my eyes cleared of the chlorine, I grasped onto the edge and looked up to Donna.

"You won," I laughed and feel onto my back, floating away from her slowly.

"As usual," she boasted jokingly, hands on her hips.

Donna's much faster than me in a lot of things, especially swimming.

Today was turning out like all the other Sundays in my life. Donna comes over. We race. Next she's going to do a cannonball into the pool and yell 'banzai.'

"Banzai!" came the voice, then the splash.

I shielded my face with my hands, but it was no use. Donna came up laughing.

I love to see people laugh. Their faces light up and they laugh so naturally. Everyone has his or her own unique laugh. Sometimes I think that's the only special thing about me.

Then there are all the other Sundays when it's raining and the pool isn't an option.

Donna still comes over, but we usually play Monopoly. Monopoly is one of few things that I can do, or in this case play, better than Donna.

She always buys the lest expensive properties, and then gets mad near the end of the game because she gets barely any money back for mortgaging them. Whenever she lands on Boardwalk, then, she doesn't have enough money for it, even after mortgaging all of her property. She really hates that.

We play Clue sometimes, but that's another story.

No matter what, though, we both take the time out of our schedules to see each other on Sundays. Usually that's not too hard, considering we both are single and go to parties rarely.

Donna knows she's always welcome to my house for a swim. It's a plus that she can read my mind.

ooo

I don't know why it is now that I realize I have a crush on someone. He's been in my class for years. I've known him even longer, but not like a friend. Just like someone who you know is alive, but you don't pay much attention to. Which is what makes me clueless as to why I've figured out now how I really feel about him. Now all I can think about is what he's wearing, how he smiles, and when he looks at me, what he may be thinking.

I've never felt attracted to anyone in my life. This feeling is completely new to me. I hope it's love, because otherwise it's just lust. What bothers me is that I don't know what it is. I want it to be true love, but I'll never know for sure, really. Only if I ask him out and he says yes and I get that feeling in my stomach that feels like butterflies fluttering around wildly, will I finally know for sure if it's true or imitation love.

Donna is a problem-solver and if she thinks she knows the answer to something, she's about ninety-nine percent right.

"Write him a note," she urged me.

The problem is that little one-percent that could be wrong. Suddenly, though, it's a must that I find out if Michael has feelings for me.

My hand shook a little as I wrote. Donna, who sits behind me, read every word. In between sentences, I glanced at Michael to make sure he wasn't suspicious.

In his locker was where I put it. I slipped it in between lunch and Science. Nobody was looking, luckily, except for Donna. I think everyone was finishing his or her lunch. I put it in and walked briskly to Science, as if it was no big deal. But it was, it really was.

Dear Michael,
How are you? I am fine. This is Trinity Jhones from your class. I would love to go out with you sometime this weekend, if it's all right with you, that is. I'll see you in Science, so if you want to do something, tell me. Thanks.

Trinity

Still I don't know where this feeling came from, but hopefully my intuition is correct and I really am in love. Maybe it's the fact that I've waited so long.

I guess he finished his lunch late too, because he walked into the classroom and up to me immediately. My heart pumped in my chest.

"Hi," I choked, unable to say more.

"Hi," he replied, mostly mocking me.

We stood there in silence for a moment. My eyes searched around, unable to look into his. I bit my lip as I always do when I get nervous, and brought my eyes level with his. I never thought I'd love three words in the English language so much. As his lips formed them, my heart stopped.

"How about Saturday?" he asked, smiling.