Chapter 34: Coming Home

Friday, September 24, 1982

The school was awash in red and white. Nearly everyone was wearing at least one of those, many both. Particularly the girls, who could manage red and white outfits more easily than most of the boys. I wore a red shirt with khakis, but had white tennis shoes, so I fit right in.

The teachers seemed as distracted as the rest of us. We were on the modified pep rally schedule, but it felt like they weren’t even trying to keep us focused. By the time the bell rang to let us head for the gym, I imagine everyone but the most hard-core nerds — me, first go-round — was more than ready.

When we came in, the dance team was already dancing and the cheerleaders were standing together in a knot discussing something or other. Even as short as she was, it was easy to pick out Jessica, since every other cheerleader was focused on her. I could make out Linda, who was — surprisingly — in the inner circle. Sam was there, too, though more towards the periphery.

I had no idea who Jessica was dating. But, then, neither did most of the school. That would be revealed tomorrow at the dance, if not before — but why would she reveal it a day early? I think the cheerleaders must have known, but they weren’t telling. Either that, or Angie was fibbing about the girl-talk grapevine’s lack of knowledge.

We took seats midway up the bleachers. By this point, our expanded circle of friends took up several rows. If first-go-round me had been at this pep rally, he’d have been off on an edge, a party of one. Here I was, surrounded by literally dozens of close friends. Night and day difference.

We yelled, we cheered, we sang the ‘Alma Mater’ and the ‘Fight Song’. We screamed on cue when Brett declared we were going to win. We were all in, this year. If Memorial had been lousy this year, most people would’ve been pretty loud anyway. After all, it was Homecoming, and we usually played a school we could beat. But this year had a different feeling. Different better. Everyone seemed to feel it, not just Angie and me.

I was a bit amazed when Tony won Homecoming King. Much less amazed when Cheryl won Queen. Another very different feeling. I was friends with the Homecoming King, this time around, and knew — had hugged! — the Homecoming Queen. Outlandishly different from my first go-round!

The game itself was a party. Or a snoozer. Or both.

It was never close. We scored twenty-one points in the first quarter and fourteen in the second. Spring Woods never even crossed midfield in the first half. Cal was on fire. Andy was on fire. Other players were on fire, too.

We played the second string in the third quarter. Then the third string. Then whoever they could find who was somewhat associated with the team.

The game finished forty-nine to twenty-eight, which was far closer than the game really was. You don’t pound district schools into the ground, even if you can. It’s frowned upon even out of district, but it’s never okay when it’s within our extended family.

Jasmine and I did a lot of smooching during the game, but mostly we just watched and celebrated. And I celebrated having moments like this with my girlfriend, and my best friend — the sister whose very existence was a miracle all its own — and with my friends, who meant the world to me.

Angie and I just hugged and smooched on the way to bed. The adrenaline had worn off and we were ready to try to sleep so we’d be full of energy tomorrow. I thought I’d toss and turn at least a little, but I didn’t. It took me just a few minutes, then I was out like a light.

Saturday, September 25, 1982

I woke around nine, a luxurious and unexpected amount of sleep. I skipped the shower until mid-afternoon, figuring I’d get cleaned up then.

When I went out to the kitchen, I found Mom there, reading the paper — looked like recipes — and sipping tea. No sign of Angie, and Dad was likely at his desk paying bills or the like. Or maybe reading a book.

“Morning, honey,” Mom said, smiling, looking around her paper.

“Morning, Mom,” I said, fetching some cereal and tea for myself. Two years ago, Mom would’ve teased me endlessly about tea, but it was simply natural now. Even with Diet Coke now available, I hadn’t started drinking it all that much yet. I would, but it was new, and I was biding my time.

“It’s funny,” Mom said, setting her paper down. “Two years ago ... this was a big thing. You. Angie. The dance. I had so many misgivings. The funny thing is ... I think I was right to have nearly every misgiving I had. All the things that worried me ... well. You won’t talk. Angie won’t talk. But you’ve told us enough. Yet ... now ... it doesn’t bother me.”

“Mom, I’m sorry that I’ve disappointed...”

“No,” she said, cutting me off with a little more force than usual. “That’s the thing. You’ve never disappointed me, really. Oh, the thing with the bicycle and no helmet, fine. But this one’s about me. I was fixated on the wrong things. You’ve done things that would’ve made me blow a fuse, back then, but you are a really good person. The same goes for Angie, of course. Oh, maybe I’d be even happier if you hadn’t done them — if you’d followed what I still think is the right order — but ... I think that, and then I think ‘Would Candice even be here?’ And ... that alone gives me pause. Perhaps it’s God using the materials at hand to make things turn out right.”

That little line of thought led to ‘Candide’, of course — led to everything having a purpose, led to God’s refusal to help out people in terrible situations being somehow ‘good.’ I rejected it for that reason, but it gave Mom hope and comfort, and I could hardly disagree with that. Nor could I completely cut out that sort of reasoning from my own life. It’s human to look for meaning in what might just be random chance.

I nodded to Mom. “I can’t answer that, of course. Maybe she would. Maybe she wouldn’t. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about that.”

“Me, too.” She sighed. “Sometimes I still ... well, you know. I think you’re both growing up very quickly, but ... I want you to grow up. That’s why we did this. We didn’t have kids to not let them grow up and be their own people. And ... you’re both growing up well, which is — of course — what we wanted.”

“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you and Dad are my parents, Mom. That’s just one reason why.”

She sniffled suddenly. “It’s going to be hard when you move away. Both of you. We’ve said it before so many times, but ... it’s still only two and a half years and it feels like Angie has been part of us forever.”

I nodded. “She has a way of doing that, I agree.”

Mom looked at me. Maybe a little ... well, sharply isn’t quite right, but ... focused. “Are you ... do you ... um. I know some kids get hotels after dances. And, I don’t think you’d need one. Camille and Francis...”

“We’re not, Mom. I’ll be home,” I said, smiling.

“Why? I mean ... you’ve gone to Dallas, and Corpus Christi, and...?”

“Because ... it doesn’t feel right, yet. To either of us. Oh, we’d like to, and not for the reasons you worry about. Or used to worry about. Just ... closeness. But ... this is home. That’s her home. I think ... we’ll maybe do something special for Winter Formal. Almost certainly for Prom next year. Maybe something else. This? This is still just a high school dance. We’ll have four this year, five if some seniors invite us to Prom, which is entirely possible.”

“You know you could. We wouldn’t say anything.”

“I know, Mom. And it means a great deal to me. But ... not this time.”

She sighed. “Good. Steve ... you’ll find this out in ... well, years. I hope it’s quite a while away yet. Letting go is hard.”

So much of me wanted to tell her that I knew. That I really knew. No guessing, no teenage know-it-all ‘I know what you mean,’ but the been-there-done-that of a man who had kids older than I was right now. But I couldn’t. Not now. Especially not now.

“But you don’t have to let go, Mom. You just hold on a little more loosely, that’s all. I’m always going to be your son. Angie’s always going to be your daughter.”

She nodded. “I know that. But you’ll go have your own home, your own family, your own life. We’ll mostly have to let go.”

“I’ll have my own home. That doesn’t mean this won’t also be home. And you and Dad will always be part of my family. Think about Grandma, or Grandmother. They’ve let go, but they’re very much part of the family. I’m sure they’d be even more a part of the family if we lived closer, but still.”

She sniffled again. “How did we get so lucky?”

“I don’t know, Mom. I could say it’s God’s plan, but that’s not an answer, is it? Even if that’s completely true, why did He plan this for you, but not for other parents? For me, but not other kids? I don’t know. I just know that I’m as lucky as you are, and Angie’s as lucky as I am.”

She went from sniffling to a full-blown cry. I got up and went around to hug her. She cried for a bit, then calmed down, sniffling, blowing her nose a few times.

Dad popped in, having heard it. “Is something wrong, honey?”

Mom smiled. “No. It’s ... we were talking about family, and how lucky we all are. And it got me all teared up.”

“That’s a fine thing to get all teared up about, love. We really are so very lucky.”

“That’s what I said, Dad,” I said, nodding. “We’re all just ... in the right place, with the right people.”

Just then Angie walked in and needed the whole thing explained. That got her to crying, which got Mom to crying, so Dad and I got to do some more hugging and calming down, as well as some sniffling ourselves.

I don’t think Mom missed that I was hugging Angie almost the way Dad was hugging her. But ... I also don’t think she missed that ‘almost’ part. And, now ... well. As she’d said earlier, two years ago was very different from now. What might things be like a year, or two years, down the road? I’m pretty sure she knew that, for our own reasons, we were content to wait and find that out for ourselves.

I took my shower mid-afternoon, got all cleaned up and dried off and into my outfit, fetched Jasmine’s corsage, then headed for her house, promising that, yes, we’d make sure to get pictures. Francis would undoubtedly take some, and Mel and the social committee had gotten a professional photographer lined up, too. There’d be a charge for those pictures, of course, but that would make it a fund-raiser, and likely a lucrative one.

Two years after that first Homecoming, things were different. I took Jasmine to Steak and Ale — not Brennerman’s, but not Pop’s, either. We were all on our own dates now, not a group date. Our relationships were different, and our dates matched that.

As usual, we talked about nothing and everything. The game, our tournaments, what the spring musical might be, how classes were going, colleges, the upcoming PSAT and then the SAT. Life. Friends. Love.

Mundane and magical, together. I’d told Mom that our home would always be my home, and there was no question that was true. My wife and I had very much had a home, but Mom and Dad’s house was always ‘home,’ too, for me. Never for her, of course. Maybe that was part of the problem, but — like most things — it was a symptom, not a cause.