Lost

Reba inspected the burger in her hands, sniffed it, took a tentative bite. Her friend Mary scrutinized her carefully. They met at the local burger joint after school. Mary broke the procedure. “What are you doing?”

           Reba wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Are they supposed to be green?”

           Mary shook her head in dismay. “If you get the avocado sauce, duh.”

           Reba sat the burger back to its wrapper. She sipped the soda. “Oh, that’s right. Why can’t they just call it avocado? Why is it always some dorky name? ‘Mexican Splash’. Sounds like a bathtub or something.”

            Mary shifted, “I hear Steven and Melody broke up.”

           Reba sipped again. The friends  neared the end of their high school adventure—both girls tall, obsessively thin, fastidiously dressed, perfectly coiffed, Reba the redhead, Mary the brunette. “Stephen shouldn’t chase high school girls. He’s like twenty-two or three. Something.”

           Mary rolled her eyes, licked her lips. “He is so good looking. He has hair most girls would die for. It’s like to his shoulders.”

           Reba thought about Steven. He stood nearly six-three, thin, athletic in a way. His blond hair framed his rectangular face, lessening the angular features, but his graceful moves intrigued her. He glided. “I heard he quit college. His parents are really upset.”

           Mary raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

           Reba turned a lip. “My mother knows his parents. He just up and quit. No reason.”

           Mary swallowed, coughed, fluttered her fingers in front of her face. “Excuse me. What about Melody? Isn’t she living with him or something?”

           In thought, Reba motioned with an index finger to her chin. “I don’t know exactly. A friend told me Stephen kept this large, framed photograph of his previous girlfriend in his bedroom. I forget her name. Classmate. They went to college together, maybe lived with him. But she split. My mother said Stephen was too moody. He bounced between off the wall hyper and down in the dumps, depressed. Drank, I think. He could be impenetrable, withdrawn.”

           Mary took a bite from her cold cheeseburger. She rarely finished them. Placing the food on its wrapper, she closed the paper around it. “Maybe drugs. Did he do drugs in school?”

           Reba laughed. “If not, he was the only one in that club. Yeah, he hung with that art-drama clique. The girls went goth, and the boys fumbled over each other, pretending to be grown up and all that. All giggles. Where was she going with this thought? The path diverted. “So, mother goes on. She loves to gossip about kids, I know. To set them up as illustrations for losers. She tells me Stephen’s parents are heartbroken. He’s an only child. Had some trouble with the law. His dad was always bailing him out of something. I guess Melody just had enough of it.”

           Mary knew Melody only through mutual friends. “Her father is a doctor.”

           Reba reflected, “Not that it matters. Aren’t Steven’s parents educators?”

           Mary nodded. “I heard something like that. I don’t know. You might be interested in Steven. Good looking. Parents take care of him. Just have to get past the picture of the old girlfriend in the bedroom.”

           “What makes you think I’m taking a day trip to his bedroom, picture of not? And what is so special about the picture? Is she naked?”

           Mary grinned. “How would I know? I don’t even like art galleries. Shows how your mind works. All I know, I haven’t seen him for maybe a year. Around Christmas. He was at a party. Just said hello, but he was off in his own world. Withdrawn. I don’t even know why he was there. Just a downer.”

           Reba offered a coy grin. “Cute. Maybe that’s it. He’s not the only boy to quit college. Too immature. Their brains are oatmeal.”

           Mary agreed. “Seems that way. My father told me to keep them at a distance. Stay focused. But I see Stephen’s side of it. Yeah, he is a mental pudding, lost at sea and all that. Some boys just can’t get a bead on life. How far do you get not disappointing your parents?”

           Reba nudged her meal away. “Nowhere.” She searched for an analogy. It came to her, “Like shadows. They are never far behind in the daylight, and well, if you can’t see your shadow you probably should. It’s like that. I think ‘College here I come.’ My father told me that if the only reason he went to college was to get away from home, just move out and save the money.”

           Mary appreciated the sentiment. “I heard something similar. I heard Stephen’s parents saved money for his college since he was a little kid. They must be disappointed.”

           Reba understood, “Sure. Parents are better off not knowing what their kids do.”

           Mary flashed on a few of her indiscretions. “Not like they escaped being kids and living the secret life from their parents.”

           Reba recalled her father telling her what his father told him, “Turn eighteen and good luck.” She wanted to share some aspect of this. “It was different. I think those old people didn’t need to live through their children. Make sense? It’s like they can’t let go.”

           Mary smiled. “I’m not having children. You can’t win.” She paused. “I wish I could say Stephen will be OK, or Melody. Terrible things happen. Parenting is a drag. My mother has a friend who never had kids. Too busy with career stuff. She got married to some high-strung, all-career guy. I asked her if this friend regretted not having children. She laughed. Her friend told her that her only regret was not leaving some kid all her crap to get rid of. Isn’t that funny?”

           “I suppose it could be. I just have these romantic notions about a wedding, having children. Different world. Just stuff to fantasize over. Not Stephen’s problem, or Melody’s now. You just have a good time and think it will last and last. Maybe he knows what’s next. Plan B and all that.”

           Mary stood. “My grandfather told me that life straightens you out.”

           Reba rose. She closed a thought, “I wonder if Stephen misses being ten.”

           Mary placed two one-dollar bills on the table as she snatched her bill. “Who doesn’t? I loved being ten.”

           Reba turned toward her. “Wait, you didn’t know me then.”

           “Exactly. And Stephen was fourteen. Lot easier for all of us. When I was ten, my prince charming rode a white stallion and carried me off to his castle. The fantasy ended there. He was a perfect gentleman. Maybe Stephen moves back home. Who knows? I want to care, but I don’t.”

           Reba and Mary walked to the cashier. Reba thought. We complicate life. No fairy tale. How do you always make the best decisions? She handed a ten-dollar bill to the older woman behind the counter. Reba’s mother gave her money that morning. So easy. I could thank her.

           “See you later.” Mary turned to leave. “My parents are expecting me.”

           Reba pocketed the change. “Right. Later.” Her mood darkened. Always a later, right?