Crickets and Peanuts

"I can't take you home like this. You're sobbing Beth. Stop telling me nothing, what's the matter with you?" It's hard not to ache at the pain in his voice. He knows exactly what is eating my heart out, but I have to be the one to say it. As the minutes of silence wore on, the only noise being my choked out sobs, he pulls into the Griffen's Store parking lot. The moon is bright tonight; its light almost encourages me. I wish it would act like a real friend and swallow the words I know I have to say, never letting them be heard. I turned my swollen eyes to meet his soft blue ones, "This is really happening, isn't it?"

James and I met in the agriculture hallway of our high school. He had a bowl hair cut that stopped just under his tiny ears, and a major crush on my best friend. She introduced us and it began. He left his friends early everyday to come see me, until finally he met me at our spot to get lunch together. He sat on my right, just inches from my elbow while we talked. Soon he was making himself late to class just to walk me to mine and texting me every day after school. I noticed his elbow began to brush mine while we talked, as if our gaining friendship was eating the space between us. We fell hard; we fell fast.

"I-I think s-so." He spoke the words as if they wouldn't let go of his tongue. Even at this very moment in time I know I will never forget this look on his face. It's a mixture of anguish and awe, as if even he couldn't believe his own words. He was confirming my fear; his last heartbreaking syllable had continued down his cheek in what turned into a river of tears. I watched them fall. I finally had the courage to say it, we had grown apart, and it sucked. I move over as close to him as the car would allow, trying to catch every tear that left him. How can I do this? How does one watch their rock crumble? I cup his cheek, trying to find words to comfort him, but only manage to come up with a stupid cliché, "James, it is going to b-," He cut me off, glaring,”Don't."

 His face has slimed up has we grew together. His 15-year-old cheeks were so chubby, and bright red, when he asked me to be his girlfriend. It was a normal day after lunch. We walked upstairs together to my class, laughing about some dumb joke I messed up by telling the punch line too early. I nearly ran into a giant senior, while James continued laughing at my expense. We reached the corner of the hallway; the first bell rang over head. We stifled our last giggles, shared our normal side hug. I turned to go to my class, stopping when I heard his voice behind me, "Oh hey! Beth?" When I looked at him again his cheeks were already turning colors. It sounded as if the question had almost slipped his mind in our fits of laughter. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

"Don't you d-are tell me it's going to be oka-y. Ever." His voice cracked twice. The tears had already soaked the collar of his while shirt, but still they fell. I wrap my arms around him, hoping they give some sort of comfort. He rests his head over on the top of mine, pulling me practically into his lap. My heartbeat thumps so loudly in my ears our sniffles are muffled. I feel a lump forming in my throat. Scared it might be our dinner, rather than a sob, I reach for the door handle. He grabs my arm to keep me there. He cups my cheek, just the way that makes me melt every time. The knot was defiantly a sob. I close my eyes, letting the warmth of his hand sooth my nerves and jumpy heart. He leaves his hand on my cheek while I whisper, "It's so hard to see you hurting."

"You don't WANT to know. Not really." I was completely sure of that sentence. We were sitting against the wall at lunch. He had pushed up my sleeve to draw on my arm and found that it wasn't blank. Until then, I had kept all my secrets from him. He didn't need to know, and I knew he wouldn't want to once he did. No one ever did. The cuts on my wrist. He tried to grab my arm again. He begged me to explain why. What could I tell him? It made me feel better? Could I tell him I liked to bandage the cuts, because I could deal with them so much easier than the scars on my heart or the memories that haunt me? Absolutely not. I knew for sure he would think I was crazy. I just told him how it hurt to look at myself. He took my arm in his hand and I let him. He pulled my sleeve up and I let him do that too. He stared at them for what seemed like forever, tracing each old scar and each new cut. And then, he pressed his lips to the top cut. I looked up at him, taken back. "You are beautiful and I will help you understand that."

"What happened to us?" I can't find an answer for him. I open my eyes, brush some bangs from his, staring. Terrified that if I spend even a moment blinking he will vanish. His eyes start to fill up again. It hurts too much to see again so a turn from him, reaching into the pocket on the back of this car seat. My hand brushes a plastic bag and a pull it out; double-dipped chocolate covered peanuts. A sure cure for sad times. I turn back into my seat, handing him the bag. He chuckles, kisses my cheek, pops a few into his mouth. He turns on the car, rolling all the windows down then cuts the engine. Cricket songs layer over frog calls, pouring into the car cap. James pours a couple peanuts into my hand. We rest our seats all the way back, just listening. I rest my hand on the counsel between us. His fingertips trace patterns on the back of my hand. The moonlight outlines his arm behind his head, messy bangs sticking up all directions, moving cheeks as he chews. He is staring out the window, yet I still see the exact moment his eyes start to fill up again. My mind races to find an answer, anything to make his pain go away. I contemplate telling him it was a mistake and we could make it work, but he knows me so well. The lie would never get by him. I weave our touching hands together. “James?” He turns to me,” I love you.”

I was so nervous the first time I told him that. I had tried to work up the courage to tell him the previous weekend, but it was not until we were late for class and practically running down the hall that I had enough nerve to say it. He had already said it to me, but I couldn't yet. What is love? I thought for sure we were way too young to know. When he professed that emotion to me, five months prior, all I said was thank you. I literally said thank you, yet he still pursued me. He stayed, despite the piece of work I turned out to be. I thought I had found the love of which story books were written. We leaned against the wall, collecting our breath outside my class. He must have seen my hands start to shake for he took them into his own. He searched my brown eyes for some clue as to what was wrong. His concern for me made the words just pop out of my mouth. His face lit up brighter than any Christmas tree. "James, I love you."

"Thank you" I wanted to both kiss him and punch him for making me laugh.  He's always made jokes at the stupidest times. Nevertheless, we giggled through the sadness in the air. He leaned over the center counsel, kissing the tip of my noise just as he's done so many times before. The thought of our routine comes to mind. The pattern our lives have fallen into for the last four years. Mine revolves around him, his revolves around me. But after tonight that will change. My body starts to shake so hard my teeth chatter. Panic runs ramped through my thoughts. Knowing exactly what's happening, he looks me straight in the eyes. I feel the warmth of his hand on my neck. He speaks with gentle kindness, "Buttercup, you've got to breathe okay? Don't panic on me. Breathe."

"Sometimes I- I just... can't.... breathe." I finally got the words out. We were sitting in his car, just outside of the fair grounds. He was seeing the first of many panic attacks I had while we were together. I sat wrapped in a tight ball in the passenger seat. My teeth chattered, my body shook, my arms were numb, and my vision was black around the edges. We went to the fair, but the nighttime crowd had blown me into full panic mode. I threw up in the grass just in front of his car. I remember him staring at me, no doubt at a loss as to what he should do. He put a hand over mine, asking if that was okay. I shook my head to say yes. Eventually I could feel my hands again, my breaths came easier. I intertwined my fingers with his, letting myself fall over onto him. He wrapped his arms around my little body, and I cried. That night we drove to the end of a dead end rode and we talked. I told him about the most painful night in my memory. Something clicked. Abuse is hard to understand, but that night he understood my vices a little more. He told me he loved me even more. The next morning, he checked my wrist at school. I remember feeling so warm inside when he said, "I am so proud of you."

"You're my best friend, what am I supposed to do?" I see the hurt fill his eyes as with every syllable. I know he won't have any more answers than I do, but I have to ask anyway. He pulls me back into his chest, where I soak his shirt again. I feel his fingers twirling around pieces of my hair, leaving light little patterns. He rests his head against mine again, sniffling too. My chattering teeth joins the crickets for a while, fading out as the panic starts to leave. We stay pressed together until my body stops shaking, and then he breaks the embrace. He peppers kisses on my forehead, over my cheek, and down the side of my neck. He finally puts one on my lips, but it tastes like a goodbye. I pull away to bury my face in his shirt. The fabric is wet but like a terrified toddler I stay there, hoping tonight will turn out to be just a bad dream. He cradles me in his arms; he sighs as he leans back into the car seat. I listen to his heartbeat, tapping my finger to the little tune until it lulls me to sleep. An hour later he wakes me up, kissing the top of my head. I find myself staring again as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, longing to take the last few hours back. He starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot. His fingers intertwine with my own on the ride home. While the car idles in the driveway, we share one last kiss under the stars. We hug one more time, lingering a few moments in the warmth of one another. He wipes a tear from my cheek when we finally pull away. It was the only form of goodbye we could muster, so he presses his lips to mine in what turns out to truly be the last. Gravel crunching under his tires is the only sound I register as he pulls away. My best friend starts the drive home, glancing in the rearview, with tears still falling and hurt still dancing in his eyes.