Chapter 8

Dana's turn:

My Ed. I think about him a lot. Guys. With Mom I saw a lot of guys, some of them around Ed's age. I saw a spectrum. I know that there are guys who'd NEVER consider a relationship with a girl my age for any of a number of reasons, law, religion, moral compass, whatever. And there are guys who'd have had me upside down with my legs spread in five minutes, law or no law.

Ed's somewhere towards the first group. I know the word – conflicted. There's the part of him that fears the law. I understand that. It's a fearsome law. The moral code, though, that's something else.

I think I broke through on that one. You see, in his mind, Ed will consider that he and I are married. He's going to see this as Ed and Dana, 'til death us do part. Even that 'what God has put together' part.

If I was a manipulating little bitch, and believe me, I know they exist, I'd have Ed where I wanted him – blackmail, as hard as I wanted to push him.

I'm not a manipulating little bitch. I know what I am, in a lot of ways. I think I'm more mature in a lot of ways than a lot of girls my age. I don't hold illusions about relationships between men and women. Mom gave me lessons on that. On the other hand, I may be more immature than those girls. I haven't been in and out of 'love', mooning over one boy after another, getting rejected, getting used at various levels.

'Used'. There are so many ways girls get 'used'. Yeah, okay, everybody wants to think it's about sex, and that's a BIG one, but what about being used because having YOU around makes up for the one HE can't get, or you are just a stepping stone or a temporary interest as HE continues on his path to enlightenment. Which hurts worse – a broken heart? A broken hymen? A broken reputation? I think they ALL hurt. I know Mom hurt as many as hurt her. Can't be good.

Ed. Ain't gonna hurt Dana. Gonna worship Dana. And Dana's gonna worship him right back. I daydream about it. I mean, this is a guy who spent a day at the other end of the sofa while I read the stuff for a literature lesson. What was HE doing? Reading. Or when he got up, I found him at his radio, headphones on, doing Morse code with somebody who knows how far away.

This is a guy who spends an afternoon with me and a camera, shooting waterfowl pictures. This is a guy who'll play cards with me, or yesterday, show me how to program a computer, at least the first steps of programming a computer. Or how to cook. Even stupid grilled cheese sandwiches. Who will take me to a park on Saturday and watch me playing a scratch game of soccer.

So Gramma said to me, "Dana, you spend every evening at Edward's. I worry."

"Gramma, Ed's my best friend."

"I don't want you to be a pest."

"Ed would tell me. We get along well together." There are questions I would ask if I were in her place. She doesn't ask them. I find that curious. "We just sort of fit together. I find that his interests are enjoyable. He seems very happy to bring me along with him. I mean, he wasn't going out drinking and partying before I showed up, was he?"

"No. Edward has always been a good boy. Now he's a good young man."

"That's what I mean, Gramma. I've seen too many of the other kind, and not just Mom's friends. I see the same thing with guys closer to my age. And girls. Ed lets me feel safe."

"Good," Gramma told me. "I don't know if you'd be as happy relying on me to take part in your life. I'm having difficulty walking very far, and you know ... I'm old, Dana."

"You're my Gramma," I said. "I don't know where I would be without you. And I will do anything for you."

"You do already, baby. You're good about keeping house. You're a big help."

"Then just let me take care of things," I said.

I am a good girl, I tell myself. And I am telling the truth. Without Gramma, I'd be in foster care somewhere and I wouldn't have Gramma and I wouldn't have Ed.

School. Just school. It didn't take long for the teachers to determine that the new girl from Texas wasn't going to be a problem. They give me my lesson and I pass the tests. I do have to pay attention in class, though, because in some cases I'm the choice of last resort when they question the class about the lesson, as in, 'I guess I'll call on Dana. She'll have the answer.'

I catch the science teacher, Mister Henry, after class one day. "Mister Henry, do you have a minute?"

"Sure, Dana. Problem?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes." Yes, I really DO use language like that. My great-grandmother's an English teacher. It's genetic, okay?

"In what manner, then?"

"You call on the other kids for an answer, and when none of them can give it to you, you call on me. I..."

"You're catching grief for being smart, then?"

"Yessir. That's what's happening. I'm sorry..."

"Dana, don't be sorry. Not for telling me. And please, please, PLEASE don't be sorry you're smart. You get this subject easily. Some of those kids don't care, and even if they did, they'd never replicate your abilities."

"You make me feel good about it," I said.

"I'm a teacher. I'm supposed to make my students feel good about learning. With you, it's easy. With some of my other students, I am very happy when they do well and I try to make that known as well. It's the best part of my job, Dana."

"You're a good teacher, sir," I said.

"I'll keep your problem in mind, Dana. I'll try to do something different, okay?"

"Thank you, sir."

That evening, I related the conversation to Gramma and to Ed.

Yes, I went to Ed's. Every night, you know. It's like that. It's like the air I breathe. Better yet, I think it's like the air HE breathes as well.

How do I put this? I hate the term 'I did 'im.' I'm having a period, and I won't let him do things to me, but that doesn't stop me from WANTING to play with him, and I love sucking him. I feel powerful, that I can give so much pleasure to this guy that I love. Trouble is, he harbors the thought that he's exploiting me.

"You don't have to do that, Dana. I love you. It's not about whether or not I get my rocks off."

I wrinkled my nose. "I hate that term. And what if it's about Dana getting to play with something that she really enjoys? It's not all about YOU, you know..." I love it. And when the period's over, I'm thinking ... He's got condoms. I'm on the pill. And I have determined that my virginity belongs to the guy I love.

Friday. I'm home. Four-thirty. No Ed. He never works past four. Text. 'Where are u?"

"Work. Call u in a bit."

Where's my Ed?

He says he's going to call. He calls. "Hi, my Dana," he said.

"Ed, where are you?"

"I'm at work. We had a little fire in the server room. My whole plant network's down."

"That sounds really bad."

"It's like the apocalypse for an IT guy. We have to get everything in here restored. We lost servers. Drives. Routers. Cables. That whole schmeer."

"Are you coming home soon?"

"Probably not until later. Pretty late. I'm a mess. I'm full of soot and burnt plastic and stuff. I have to get this old stuff pulled out so we can start the repairs."

"Gee," I said. I wanted to say 'baby', but I caught myself before I did. Gramma was sitting across the living room from me. "I guess I need to go take care of DC, huh?"

"Yeah, punkin," he said. I know he's soft-pedaling too. Probably got people around. "You have a key. The place is yours if you need it."

"Okay. Text me when you leave the plant. I'll fix you a snack."

"Thank you. Lemme go."

"Okay, Ed. Be careful."

I related the conversation to Gramma. "He says it's like the end of the world for IT guys. I'm gonna go take care of DC. And when he says he's leaving, I'm gonna go fix him a snack, okay?"

"You treat him like more than a friend, Dana," Gramma said.

There. It finally came out. I was wondering. Fortunately, Dana has prepared for this eventuality. "Gramma, he is more than a friend, if you mean that 'friend' thing that kids do. He treats me well, helps me when I need it. So I think that fixing him a snack is small payment."

She smiled at me. "Just so you recognize it. Good people do not use their friends."

"That's why I'm fixing him a snack. And DC is used to a routine. If I show up and feed 'im and pet 'im, it's a good thing. Being kind to cats is good for my karma."

"And being kind to Edward?"

"Good for both of us, Gramma."

Uncharacteristically I did my homework at Gramma's. She looked over my lessons briefly. A steady stream of 'A' papers told her what she needed to know about my schoolwork, as did, I'm sure, the occasional call to friends who still taught at that school.

"I'm very satisfied with your schooling," she told me.

"I'm not," I said. "I feel like I'm idling. Some of the things Ed shows me, they kind of let me open up the throttle. It feels good to stretch."

"You seriously think you could be further along?"

"I am further along, Gramma. That conversation with Mister Henry, for example..."

"Let me see what I can do, Dana," she said.

After I closed my books up, I retrieved Ed's apartment key and went over. DC met me at the door. When he saw I was headed to the kitchen, he rushed ahead of me, meowing insistently. I gave him a can of food, rinsed out and freshened his water bowl, and left him a little dry food for snacking at his leisure later. Yes, the cat's spoiled.

I smile. I think Dana's getting spoiled, too. But here I am in this empty apartment and it smells of that cologne that Ed and I picked out together.

I flop back into his recliner and smell him. My eyes close. Darnit! I miss Ed. Okay, Dana, get control of yourself. I sit up. I need to go to Gramma's. After all, I'm only supposed to be taking care of the cat, and later I want to be here when Ed gets home.

The evening drags without Ed.

Almost ten o'clock. Text message. "I'm leaving now. Be home in a bit. I'm a mess."

"Gramma, if it's okay, I'm gonna go to Ed's and fix his snack."

"Okay, dear."

So I know his weakness. Toast the bread for a couple of sandwiches. Mayo. No mustard. Plain ol' American cheese doesn't cut it. He's got Swiss. And braunschweiger, which I thought was totally disgusting until he talked me into trying it. "Just once."

And water over ice with a little lemon juice.

And by the time I'm putting the wraps on that, I hear his key in the lock and peek around the corner to see him.

"Hey, princess," he says. "Told you I'm a mess."

He was. Smudged. Streaked with black, oily residue and white powder and totally disgusting looking, so I didn't hug him while I kissed him.

"Baby, I missed you."

"I miss you too, baby," he said. "I missed our evening together."

"You wanna go shower first?"

"I think it best."

"Do that. The sandwiches will wait." I looked at his clothes. "Just put those things in a pile for later."

"I need to go back first thing tomorrow, baby..."

"Nooooooo."

"It's a mess. Lemme go shower. I'll tell you about it while we eat."