Lisa Schroeder - The Bridge from You to Me

It’s tuesday. Tomorrow morning, Benny leaves for Atlanta.

After we’ve eaten dinner, I call his mom.

“I can’t say good-bye,” I tell her. “I’m sorry. I’d probably lose it.”

She chuckles. “It’s okay for boys to cry, you know.”

“I guess. But we’re tough, me and him.”

“You’ve been through a lot together,” she says.

“He’s the best friend a guy could ask for. You tell him I said that, okay? And I’m gonna miss him like crazy.”

“Now who’s . . . Little . . . Miss . . . Sunshine?”

I shake my head. Of course she wouldn’t let me off that easy. “Hey, Benny. Your mom gave you the phone, huh?”

“It’s on speaker,” she says.

“Oh. Right. Well, you guys have a safe trip, okay? And I’ll see you soon. I know you’re gonna bust balls and do what you gotta do to get back on your feet, man.”

“Pynes?” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Take . . . state.”

I close my eyes and put my head in my hands. “It’s not easy, playing without you. But you know we’re doing our best. We’re gonna do everything we can to make it happen, that’s for sure.”

“Believe.”

I laugh. “Oh, you gonna be like Coach now, huh? What was it you said? We’re not a bunch of girls with confidence issues, are we?”

I hear a chuckle. “Take state,” he says again.

“I hear ya, man. I hear ya. Look, I gotta go. Homework’s calling and all that.”

“We’ll stay in touch, Colby,” Mrs. Lewis says. “We’ll try to call once a week or so.”

“Sounds good. Hey, Benny?”

“Yeah?”

“Just so you know, there is one thing I believe in. More than anything else in the whole world right now.” I swallow hard. “You.”

“Bye, Colby.”

“Bye, Benny.”

I set down the phone. And then I let myself lose it.

TUESDAY

“You seem down, Lauren. I’ve heard the bake sale was a huge success, so it can’t be that.”

“No. It’s not.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I was thinking about the time I got lost in the grocery store.”

Dr. Springer smiles. “Ah. I think everyone has one of those stories. Tell me yours.”

When I started coming here, because Josh and Erica made me, back in August, I wouldn’t have told her. But it’s easier now, talking with her. I’ve told her more than I ever thought I would.

“It was a few days before Valentine’s Day. I was around six or seven, so I knew it was a special day. A day of love. We went to the drugstore to buy boxes of valentines for my school party. As we were heading toward the register, I saw a huge display of candy. You know, boxes and boxes of hearts. And I wanted one so badly. I wanted someone to love me enough to buy me one of those boxes of candy. I asked my mom if she would buy me one, and she said no.

“She tried to pull me along, away from the display, but I was mad. I didn’t want to go. I wanted a box of candy. I never threw fits about that kind of thing, ever, so I don’t know why it made me so upset.

“Finally my mom said, fine, you stay there, I’ll go get the other things I need, pay for everything, and come back for you.

“I stood there and tried to imagine what the chocolates looked like. What they tasted like. Were they all the same or was each one different? I kept trying to think of a way to get my mom to buy a box. I got so excited when I had the brilliant idea to ask my mom if she’d give me money so I could buy one for her . I’d tell her I wanted to get her one to show how much I loved her. That way, I could at least see the chocolates. And maybe, I thought, she’d be nice and let me have one.

“But she didn’t come back. At least, not as quickly as I thought she would. So I went looking for her. And I couldn’t find her.” My throat tightens. Tears prick the back of my eyes.

“Just as I was about to find a store employee and let them know I needed help because I was all alone, my mother showed up. I started crying when I saw her and tried to hug her, but she wouldn’t have any of it.”

“Did she say anything?” she asks.

“Not right away. She marched to the car with me running after her. I kept telling her how sorry I was. Over and over again. Once we were on our way toward home, she told me, ‘Love isn’t about chocolate. Love is about listening to your mother and being a good girl. And next time she tells you to do something, you better do it. Or you’ll have to go find someone else who will love you.’”

I look out the window, blinking the tears back.

“Not a very loving thing to say, is it?” Dr. Springer says.

“No.”

“What caused you to remember that? Do you know?”

I clear my throat as I look at Dr. Springer. “She called my aunt and uncle and told them she’s moving. All the way across the country. I was thinking about how she’s finally following through on that threat.”

“Did she say why?”

“No. But she didn’t ask me to come with her.” I lean forward. “Do you think it’s because of the social worker?”

“Actually, there’s been an interesting development. Did you know Matthew’s father was seeking custody?”

My hand flies to my mouth. “No. I had no idea.”

“Do you know him?”

“Yeah. His name’s Dwight. I like him. He’s a pretty nice guy. Owns a landscaping business and lives next door to his parents, in an older neighborhood. He was around a lot until one day, early in the summer, he just . . . wasn’t. She wouldn’t tell me any details, only that they’d broken up.”

“Well, Matthew is apparently living with Dwight now.”

“Oh my God. Are you serious?”

“Yes. I don’t have any details to share. I’m sure you have lots of questions, but that’s all the information I have.”

I try to take it all in. What it means. For Matthew. For my mom. For me.

“I’m going to call Dwight when I get home,” I tell her.

“Maybe Josh and Erica will drive me up to Washington to see Matthew.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“But that means my mom is going to North Carolina alone,” I say, thinking out loud.

Dr. Springer doesn’t say anything. She probably knows I’m trying to process it all. Mostly, I just keep wondering the same things: Why does my mother want to go so far away? Why doesn’t she want me to go with her? I don’t understand. Does she really hate me that much?

I wish I could turn off all my feelings. Why can’t I be more like her? I don’t want to care, and yet I do. How is it so easy for her to simply not care?

The more I think of her just up and leaving me, forever, my chest tightens. I close my eyes as a couple of tiny tears slip out. Quietly. The same way my mom wants to slip away, right out of my life.

We’re going.

In two short weeks, we’re going to the state championships. We won last night’s semifinal game in overtime, with a field goal.

I gotta say, it was pretty damn sweet.

The game was a couple of hours away, but it seemed like the entire town caravanned there with us. The stadium was packed.

When we got home, it was late, and everyone was dogtired. So we agreed to meet up tonight to celebrate. We’re going back to Murphy’s Hill. It’ll be the first time we’ve all been there since Benny got hurt.

After I wake up, I go to the kitchen to get a bottle of water and find Dad at the kitchen table with his laptop. Scattered all over the table are college brochures.