Chapter Twelve
Marla
I punched my pillow like it was my little brother. Michael had ruined everything. What should have been a beautiful ending to a wonderful night had been turned into some kind of somber, serious moment that left an empty, worried feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Tank had been so torn up. I could see this whole situation was eating at him. And the boy so hated disappointing anyone. Here he was being pulled in a dozen different directions, and it was all my fault somehow.
Flopping over onto my side I tried to force myself to relax. And failed miserably. What made it worse was that I really couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Amber was so wrapped up in Jason. She’d never understand. My friends at school, Mary, and Carla, they wouldn’t believe me. And if they did, the word would be all over school within half a minute.
Jason would have loved that. Finding out his best friend and his sister were together by overhearing whispers in the hall.
But then, we’re not together, I reminded myself. Sending another sad thought through me. Not really. We were just two people who might, sort of like each other. Two people who passed each other secret smiles.
It was enough to make a girl cry herself to sleep.
Sighing, I turned onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. My mind wandering into the night. Thinking about what it felt like to trace the rough calluses on his hand. The way he made me laugh when he stole my piece of pie. The way I felt safe and protected when his arms wrapped around me. I thought about the sad look that passed behind his eyes when he talked about his father.
Every moment was relived a hundred times as I tried to come to grips with my messed up life.
He was right, I realized. We really didn’t know each other. Not like we should. Oh sure, I knew his favorite band. I knew that he liked working with his hands and that he was good at it. I knew the way he smelled. I knew that he was happiest around my family or up on a roof somewhere, swinging a hammer.
But I didn’t really know what he thought about things. Like this not going to college idea. Where had that come from? What was he thinking?
I was sure that he had his reasons. I just didn’t know what they were.
See, that was the kind of thing a girlfriend would know. But then, I wasn’t a girlfriend. What was I to Tank?
The realization of just how far apart we were hurt inside. We were just friends, after all, I realized. Until we shared our inner most secrets, we would only really be casual friends, and I wanted so much more.
The thought made me laugh. I couldn’t imagine Tank ever really sharing his innermost secrets. It sounded too girly for someone like Tank.
But somehow. I knew with everything we had. That we wouldn’t really be together until we did.
And what does he know about you? Flashed into my mind. What have you ever really shared with him?
The thought sent a guilty burst to my heart.
I’d kept my feelings about him secret for so long that I’d never shared anything. Not really. I’d never told him about what it meant to me knowing that he was always there. The rock. The one person I could always count on to be steady and sure.
I never told him about the way my world would light up when he smiled at me. One of those patented Tank smiles that made me feel special. Like I was important.
None of it. I’d kept it all buried for my entire life. Terrified that if he knew, he’d laugh and my life would be utterly and completely ruined.
A sudden strong urge washed over me. I had to tell him the truth. All of it.
Jumping out of bed I pulled out the desk chair and sat down. I could do this on the computer. Send him an email. But this needed to be more personal. More just between him and me. Something not tainted by the internet.
Pulling out my bottom drawer, I searched until I found my stationary and smiled to myself. The pink paper looked way too young. But no way was I writing this on notebook pages.
Besides, it was the words that were important. We couldn’t be alone. Not really. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t tell him what I thought.
Arranging the paper, I began to write a letter. A love letter. The kind of letter that could not be seen by anyone except Tank.
At first, my fingers refused to work. It was like pulling a wagon uphill. Impossible to get it started. But finally, my shoulders relaxed, and I let myself go.
It took me half the night, and a dozen failed attempts to get it just right. I purposely didn’t dot my I’s with little hearts. I didn’t use text abbreviations. No OMG’s or LOL’s. I decided to try and make it look as mature as possible. Like a woman’s letter, not a little girl’s.
Who knew that being honest and open was so painful? But I did it. Laid my soul out there.
I told him everything. The way I would always remember each and every time he had rescued me. From the first grade playground to Justin Weber. The way he made my insides flutter just by walking into the room. How I couldn’t stop myself from smiling when I thought about him.
The mundane things were covered. Things like the fact that I preferred History over Math. Or that I really didn’t like my mom’s meatloaf. Something I knew for a fact we would disagree on.
I told him of my hope of going to college and becoming a teacher. But the thought of leaving my family terrified me. I know, not really romantic or exciting. But the truth. I talked about how much I wanted a marriage like my parents had. Fun, loving, and the two of them against the world.
Of course, I talked about how his kisses sent me into a different universe. About how handsome I thought he was and how I liked the new scar on his forehead because it made him look a little dangerous.
I almost told him what he did to my body, but I was smart and stopped myself from becoming too graphic. I didn’t want to scare him away. Besides, some things needed to be said in private. Not on paper.
Almost everything was put into that letter. Every part of me. Pages and pages of the true Marla.
When I was done, I looked at the blank part on the last page. How do I sign it? I wondered, then smiled to myself. Don’t be ridiculous. He couldn’t read this letter and not know the truth.
So, I simply wrote. “Love Marla.”
There, my soul felt lighter. It was as if a heavy burden had been pulled away, freeing me to be me. No matter what happened from here. At least the truth would be out there. He would know me. The true Marla.
Smiling to myself, I climbed into bed and fell asleep immediately. One of those deep, contented sleeps.
This letter would be the first step to bring us closer together, I thought. I just knew it.
The gray light of a drizzly morning pulled me up out of my sleep. Saturday, a day of catching up on all the things not finished during the week. A day of chores and homework.
I thought about the letter sitting on my desk. A surge washed through me. A need to give it to Tank. I needed to do this, I told myself. Hoping to convince myself that I was doing the smart thing. My heart told me otherwise. This might be a huge mistake.
Sighing, I hurriedly got dressed, putting my hair up in a quick ponytail. Never again was I walking downstairs with frizzy morning hair.
My pulse raced as I thought about Tank reading the letter. A part of me wanted to watch his face as he read it. To see every thought and emotion as he saw them. The other part of me wanted to be about ten miles away when he read it. Preferably in a deep dark cave.
I’d just gotten downstairs when the side door to the garage opened, and Tank stepped in. My heart jumped. Just like it did whenever I saw him.
He was wiping his dirty hands on a rag. One of Little Johnny’s cloth diapers. Dad said they made the best garage rags. His large hands mesmerized me for a moment. Catching at me and not letting me look away.
“I was changing the oil in your mom’s car,” Tank said when he saw me look at his hands.
My mind jumped around to a dozen different thoughts as I tried to pull myself together. It was now or never, I thought, as I quickly looked around to make sure no one was in the area.
Taking a deep breath, I held out the pink envelope and said, “I wrote this last night.”
His brow knitted in a deep furrow. I could tell he was wondering why in the heck I would write him a letter. We lived in the same house. But he shrugged his shoulders and turned away from me.
“Put it in my back pocket,” he said. “I don’t want to get it dirty.”
My cheeks flashed to raging heat as I swallowed hard. Gathering up every ounce of courage I had. I slipped my hand and the letter into the back pocket of his jeans.
It took every bit of control not to linger there for the rest of my life.
“Thanks,” he said as he turned back to face me. “I’ll read it later. Your dad wants me to restack the wood pile.
I nodded my head, which was basically all I could do at this point.
“Um ... Okay,” I was able to mumble. “Um ... I’ve got to go help my mom.”
My stomach felt tighter than Fort Knox as I scurried to get away.
‘Calm down Marla,’ I told myself as I rushed to the kitchen. I knew that I was going to be a bumbling idiot all day until I knew he had read the letter and what he thought. It was going to take every bit of concentration not to go running to check on him every ten minutes.
Time itself was going to come to a screaming standstill until I knew what he thought. And there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.