Eighteen Years Ago

On the next Saturday, I loaded my lawnmower into the back of my pickup truck and headed to Stan’s place. My heart hammered against my ribs as I thought about Stella and our kiss. Would she be there? I could hardly wait to see her again.

I pulled the truck into the driveway, all the way to the back by the garage, and unloaded my equipment. Stan came out a few minutes later to chat. Stella followed, a camera slung over her shoulder. While I mowed the yard, she snapped pictures of me, of the trees and the spring daffodils. She moved with confidence, taking time to find the right angles or waiting for clouds to pass so the subject had the proper lighting.

When I finished, she met me at the back of the house. She had her hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. The heavy kohl eyeliner was gone, and her face glowed like it had been freshly scrubbed.

“Did you get some good pictures?” I asked and rubbed my sweaty palms over the thighs of my jeans.

“I hope so. I won’t know until I develop the film.” When she bent to advance the film on the camera, I caught a whiff of her shampoo. She squinted up at me. “Do you want to see some of the shots I took last weekend with Stan?”

I followed her into the house, where Marianne gave me cookies and milk and Stan paid me for the yard work. Lanie lounged on the couch, watching TV and chatting on the phone. The long, curly phone cord stretched all the way from the kitchen into the living room. We ducked under the cord and headed upstairs to Stella’s bedroom.

The room was messy with clothes strewn across the furniture and tossed on the floor. She cleared a path to her bed and bounced down on the edge of the mattress. A red-and-blue comforter with race cars covered the sheets.

“That’s an interesting choice for a girl,” I said.

“I think this is usually a boy’s room,” she replied. “But the other room is pink and frilly, and it was more Lanie’s style than mine.” She leaned back on her hands and stared at me. “Marianne said I could paint it, but I don’t really see the point.”

I stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Are you allowed to have boys in here?”

“My foster parents are very progressive.” With her right hand, she patted the mattress at her side. “Have a seat.”

Photographs lined the walls from floor to ceiling. I pointed to a set of black-and-white glossies. “Are all these yours?”

“Yes. What do you think?” A note of suppressed eagerness hovered in her voice.

Several shots of the covered bridge captured my interest. They were gritty and grainy and taken from the sandbar in the middle of the river. “These are good. I mean, really good.”

“Thanks.” Genuine pride glowed in her face. She bounced off the bed and came to my side. “Stan helped me develop the film. He’s got a darkroom in the basement; did you know that?” I shook my head, more captivated by her shining violet eyes than anything concerning Stan. She touched my arm, directing me to the next set of pictures. “I took these at that dairy farm down the road.”

“Renshaw’s,” I said. I’d worked there for the summer a few years ago.

“Yes. That’s the one.” Red barns, round haybales, and wood fences had never looked so beautiful. “Stan showed me how to capture the light to get the best effects. I waited for hours to get this one.” The photo featured a closeup of cherry blossoms. Each bloom was clear and bright, like you could feel the petals through the picture.

“You’re really talented, Stella. You should enter these in one of those magazine contests.”

“Really? Do you think they’re good enough?” Her complete lack of self-confidence squeezed my heart. She’d probably never had anyone compliment her on anything before now. How many people had passed over her intelligence and talent due to her circumstances? My chest tightened with a new emotion, one I’d never felt before and would never feel again.

“I think they’re fantastic. You’re amazing, Stell.” Without thinking about the consequences, I pulled her into a hug. The curve of her cheek pressed against my sternum. I wanted to keep her here, like this, forever, where I could protect her. Her breath warmed my chest. The scent of her shampoo teased my nose. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It felt good, right. I never wanted to let her go.

“Don’t let me interrupt.” Stan’s deep voice startled us. We sprang apart, looking guilty, even though we’d done nothing wrong. A quirky smile lengthened the lines on his face. He had one hand in his front jeans pocket and a beer in the other, despite the mid-morning hour. I’d never seen him without a beer in his hand, but I’d never seen him drunk either. Unlike my mom, he handled his liquor well.

“We were looking at her photos,” I stammered, heat scalding my face. “I was telling her she’s really talented. She should enter one of those contests.”

“I agree. I’ll see what I can do about that.” With his free hand, he clapped me on the shoulder. “Marianne has lunch on the table. Why don’t you join us, son? And we can talk some more about this.” Lunch with the Hudgens was always a treat and better than scrounging up baloney and cheese at my house with my drunken mother and angry father. I nodded. Stan’s smile grew larger. “Great. Stella, why don’t you run downstairs and help Marianne set the table. I want to talk to Owen for a second.”

My stomach clenched with dread. Stan wasn’t a particularly threatening kind of guy, but I respected him and didn’t want to disappoint him. “If it’s about Stella, I swear nothing has happened between us.” Although, I had a feeling things were about to change on that front.

“It’s fine, Owen. You’re not in trouble.” Sincerity warmed his eyes. “Just take it easy with her, huh? She and her sister have had a rough time of it. Stella may act tough, but she’s really very fragile underneath the surface. You’re a good kid, Owen, in spite of your family, and I know you’ll treat her with the greatest respect.”

Stan was one of the few people in my life who knew my situation. When he offered to pay me for doing odd jobs around his place, I knew it was merely an excuse to get me away from the less-than-ideal environment of my parents and brother. And he’d always been willing to listen to my troubles when things got too intense at home.

“And if you’re going to have sex, be sure to use protection, okay?” This last statement sent the fire of mortification into my face. He threw his head back and laughed. “Yes, Owen, I know what it’s like to be seventeen and in love. Now, come on. Let’s go eat.”

Was that what this was? Love? I stared at Stella across the kitchen table. She kept glancing at me every few seconds, like she thought I might suddenly evaporate into thin air. Each time our eyes met, a pink flush colored her cheeks. I’d never seen her smile so much. Her grins were contagious, and soon I was smiling back. Lanie chattered about a pair of shoes she’d seen in a magazine and the Backstreet Boys. There were a dozen conversations going on between the five us, lots of laughter, and a general feeling of comfort. For a brief moment, I withdrew from the chaos and took time to enjoy the sensation. This was how I’d always pictured family life, something I’d never gotten from my home. Something I never knew I wanted until now.

“It’s going to be eighty degrees today,” Stan said. “You kids should take a swim in the river. I know it’s not summer yet, but it’s a great day, and the water’s warm enough. What do you think, Owen?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” I said, trying not to picture Stella in a bikini but failing miserably.

“I’ll pull the innertubes out of the garage. It’ll be fun. Maybe I can drag Marianne down there.” He nudged the bowl of mashed potatoes toward me.

“I don’t see that happening,” Marianne replied as she placed another piece of ham on my plate. “But you guys knock yourselves out.”

In the end, it was just me and Stella and Lanie, splashing in the water, laughing, and floating until our fingers wrinkled. That day stuck in my memories forever. Later, when I was locked up, I’d close my eyes and draw upon the sounds of water running over stones, Stella’s laughter, and the feel of warm sunshine on my face. Remembering kept me sane and got me through the hard days. Loving Stella had sent me to prison, but remembering Stella had kept me alive.