Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac(63)

Actually, Ace was a great doubles partner: not selfish, not trying to go for every shot, instinctively knowing when I could reach the ball and when I couldn’t. We were a good team. We won more than we lost, which was saying something considering how little practice time we’d had.

We enjoyed each other on the court, too. Like if the score was forty–love, Ace might make a joke and say something like, “Forty—and maybe it’s love, but probably not if she dumps you on homecoming night.”

“Ha,” I said.

One day I wore those tennis sweatbands on the court. I held up my wrists and said to him, “Notice anything special about me?”

Ace whistled and said, “The guy who got those for you must have been some romantic.”

It was all sort of corny, but we amused each other. It was easy to remember why I had liked him in the first place.

We were in the athletic department van on the way back from a match when Ace said to me, “I heard about James.”

“Yeah,” I said, hoping he would leave it at that.

“Maybe you could go up to visit him?”

I told him that I already had, but that we were basically taking some time off from each other.

Ace nodded. He said, “I can tell that you really love him. I know what you look like when you’re in love. I know you.”

Then Ace apologized. “When we broke up, I might have said some things that weren’t very nice about you. I’m sorry for that.”

Of course, I had forgiven him ages ago. I told him I was sorry, too. “Things hadn’t been going well for a while, had they? Even before my accident, I mean?”

Ace smiled that dopey grin of his and just shook his head.

The third week of May, I was helping Alice paint the sets for her new play, a production of Hamlet, when James sauntered into the theater.

I hadn’t known he’d be back that day.

James was still handsome as ever. Less emaciated and that was good. He asked me if I wanted to go get coffee somewhere. I told him I had to finish painting first, which I did.

At the coffee shop, he told me about Sweet Lake, and I told him about my pictures.

He told me he had quit smoking, and I told him I was letting my hair grow out.

He told me how he’d made friends with a girl called Elizabeth while he was away, and I told him how I had sent Chloe an Emily Dickinson poem last week.

“Which one?” he asked.

“‘I’m Nobody.’ It’s sort of a nickname she has for me. We read it in Mrs. Landsman’s class, so I photocopied it and sent it to her. When I was a kid, I always loved getting stuff in the mail, didn’t you?”

James nodded.

Soon after, we ran out of things to talk about.

Our moment had passed somehow. I was different. He was, too. Without our “madness” (how else to put it?) to unite us, there wasn’t anything much there. Or maybe too much had happened in too short a time. It’s like when you take a trip with someone you don’t know very well. Sometimes you can get very close very quickly, but then after the trip is over, you realize all that was a false sort of closeness. An intimacy based on the trip more than the travelers, if that makes any sense.

Whatever it was, I knew he felt it, too.

He drove me back to my house.

“You still have paint on your palm,” he observed. “Like mine, the first time we met.”

“Except that was your blood, Jims,” I pointed out. “This’ll just wash out, you know?”

“True, true. But it healed pretty quick actually.” He kissed me on my cheek.

I went to prom by myself, but I ended up hanging out with Yvette and Alice.

The first person I ran into was Ace. His new girlfriend was a tennis player from another school. Ace introduced me in the following way: “This is Naomi Porter, my ex-girlfriend and current mixed-doubles partner.”

“Probably more information than you needed,” I said to Ace’s girlfriend, rolling my eyes.

Will was there with Winnie. He was wearing a powder blue tuxedo, and she looked teeny tiny in a matching powder blue vintage tulle dress with a full skirt. (Personally, I’m too tall for most vintage clothes.) It was a lot of blue, but they looked adorable. Will and I never got a chance to talk. At one point, he winked at me from across the room; I winked back.

He was a good boyfriend to her. He brought her punch, made sure she had a seat when she wanted one, and watched her purse when she went to the ladies’ room.

He was a good boyfriend to her as, in some universe elsewhere, he might have been to me.

14

ROSA RIVERA, MY DAD, AND I WERE WATCHING A nature program. Dad still watched them, though he watched fewer now, and when he did, it was with Rosa Rivera or me.

In any case, this particular one was about porcupines. So the guy porcupine will sing a song if he wants to mate, and if the lady porcupine’s not in the mood or would prefer a different porcupine, she pretends not to hear him before running away. And sometimes he’s completely the right porcupine, but she’ll run away anyway because she’s not ready. But if he’s the porcupine for her and the timing’s right, they stand up and face each other, eye-to-eye and belly-to-belly. They really take the time to see each other.

“This is so sweet,” Rosa commented. “He is showing her the respect. Why don’t you do that to me?” She turned Dad to face her, porcupine-style.