The Memory Book(54)

“Tell me.”

“When…” he started, and cleared his throat. “The summer after eighth grade, when I called you. And I asked you to go to Molly’s to eat dinner with me. On, like, a Friday night. And I told you I would pay for it with my allowance. And you said… Are you remembering this?”

“Oh!” I remembered. Kind of. I remember he was acting weird on the phone, and a couple of weeks after that he avoided me, but then the whole thing kind of blew over. “I thought you were just scheming something, like a prank or something. And I thought you were mad because I didn’t want to come.”

“I wasn’t mad, Sammie.” Coop looked back at my house. “But my feelings were hurt.” He cleared his throat again. “My widdle feewings. Eighth-grade feelings,” he added. “Ha-ha.”

“Oh!” I said again, and got out, leaning on the open door. I thought I knew what Coop was saying, but I wasn’t sure, so I said, “Well, damn, Coop. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, laughing it off. “It’s fine. I was just remembering that. Trip down memory lane.”

Mom had opened our front door, waiting.

“See you soon?” I asked, because we were both uncomfortable.

“See you soon,” he answered.





OOOOOOHHHHHH


Oh. Coop had been asking me on a date! Oh my god, that’s adorable. If only you could have seen what Coop was like then. The kid wore a different color sweat suit every day of the week. Like, he was that guy. The guy who wears sweat suits. As we all were. I mean, but Coop grew out of it ha ha ha and I did not. But anyway, I had no idea. I’ll tease him for it later.

Or maybe I won’t tease him. I don’t like the idea of making him embarrassed. I don’t like seeing him, you know, hurt.

But between you and me, that is so funny. I didn’t know he could have ever had those kinds of feelings for me. Probably because I was the only person with a vagina that talked to him on a regular basis. As National Geographic tells us, those kinds of feelings develop when you put two heterosexual people who aren’t related to each other in the same room, and Coop and I were in the same room a lot.

Then he went into the same room with a lot of other vaginas and got over it.

Is it weird to put Cooper Lind and vagina in the same sentence?

But yeah, even if I had noticed then, I don’t think I could have gone on a date with Cooper Lind. I was too busy smashing my face into pillows and reading about Druid Wars.

God, I am remembering the whole thing now. How strange I thought it was that he would call me and ask me to go to Molly’s, rather than just coming over and opening the fridge and putting two hot dogs in the microwave, like he normally did.





MRS. TOWNSEND: THE SEQUEL


Mrs. Townsend appeared from out of nowhere from behind the fish tank at Dr. Clarkington’s office today, this time in a blue sundress, and at first I thought I was imagining her. But no, it was the real Mrs. Townsend, with her every-good-clean-smell, her hair now woven into long black braids. When we hugged, a belly emerged.

“Baby Mrs. T?” I almost screamed, because I have the tact of a fired circus clown.

“Baby Mrs. T,” she said, laughing. “His name will be Solomon.”

“After Song of Solomon?”

“The Toni Morrison book, not the Bible.”

“Good.”

“I promise you, he won’t turn into a snobby New York kid. So help me god I will make sure that he eats gluten like the rest of the world.”

“Why would he be a snobby New York kid?”

“Greg and I are headed to Manhattan. He’s getting his PhD at Hunter.”

Everyone I like goes to New York. I decided to be okay with that. “And what are you gonna do?”

Mrs. T looked around her in fake panic. “Oh no, I won’t have a Sammie to mentor. What will I do?”

“Yeah, who—who—who’s going to send you emails at three in the morning asking for a letter of reference?” I finally got out. I had started not to get so embarrassed about my choppy speech. You just kind of have to plow through it.

Mrs. Townsend leaned her elbow on the betta tank, tapping at the swimming forms. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, I’m going to have this baby, then I’m going to work in the Admissions department. And then I’m going to raise this baby, and then I’m going to retire. That is, unless, the climate changes as drastically as they say it will in the next twenty years. In that case, Greg and I are going to move back to the top of the Green Mountains, and we’re going to raise orange trees.”

“Orange trees in New England?”

“You’re going to want to get above sea level, believe me.”

“Can I come?”

Mrs. T took me by both shoulders. “If you have a useful skill, yes.”

“I can drink an entire gallon of chocolate milk in one sitting.”

“You’re in,” she said, and we laughed.





TEXTS FROM STUART SHAH, NPC EDITION


You have to hand it to him, the man is a natural writer. Though he asks the same question every morning, I have never received the same text from Stuart twice.


Stuart: how are you feeling today?