Levi was back quickly. He tapped lightly on the door to announce his presence, and walked in. He had found the small first aid kit my mom kept tucked away under the bathroom sink. He pulled the chair up to where I was lying and carefully lifted my arms out from under the covers. I watched him without speaking as he applied Neosporin to the cuts on my hands and then wrapped each in gauze. He tucked my arms back under the covers one at a time. We looked at each other for a moment, without speaking. Levi reached out and gently traced his hand from my forehead to my cheek.
Exhaustion began to wash over me. I could feel my eyelids become heavy. I gave into the fatigue and allowed my eyes to close and sleep to take over. The last thing I remembered was feeling Levi’s warm, soft lips on my ear, as he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
6
I slept deeply and dreamlessly that night. I finally rolled out of my bed when I heard my mom’s car pulling out of the driveway to go to her one o’clock appointment. I stumbled groggily toward the kitchen, where I poured myself a bowl of cereal, and then returned to my room to watch TV. As I walked back toward my bed something caught my eye. On my desk was a small box wrapped in red paper. I picked it up curiously, turning it over in my hand, and slowly tearing off the wrapping. Inside was a cotton candy pink iPod, with a note that read simply:
Forgive Me
. I felt my stomach twist as images from last night’s fiasco intertwined with flashes of Levi’s perfect face. I switched on the iPod and scrolled to a page of playlists, the first one read:
Beautiful Chelsea
. I sat down on my bed, putting on the headphones and listened to a compilation of lovely and soothing music as I chomped on my cornflakes.
Desperate to put the horrible events of the previous night behind me, I decided to bite the figurative bullet and call Toby. I dialed his number, listening to his phone ring four times before going to voicemail. I left a message imploring him to call me back. Then just to be thorough, I texted him with a concerned note. Next, I checked my voicemail, hopeful that there would be a message from Toby. Instead there was one from his mom reminding me to meet her at the yogurt shop that afternoon. I’d almost forgotten about my new job, which would have made for an awkward entry on the old resume. I felt better after hearing from Toby’s mom. If Toby was in actual danger, I rationalized, surely his mother wouldn’t be thinking about training a new employee.
Yogurt Heaven was a franchise that had hit its peak in the early nineties, and now just eked by with sugar hungry customers who happened to be trapped in the mall. If you are picturing one of the now trendy, modern Asian inspired, top-it-yourself yogurt shops, wipe that image out of your mind and replace it with a rudimentary image of a polar bear with wings and a halo; said angel-bear being the Yogurt Heaven mascot. Clearly all polar bears love artificially flavored frozen desserts with stale crumbled cookie toppings. Yogurt Heaven was located just inside the mall’s official food court, wedged tightly between a McDonalds and a Hotdog On a Stick. The front façade was reflective of its early nineties heritage with checkerboard tiles and light pink and turquoise lettering.
Toby’s mom met me in front of the store and quickly introduced me to the daytime manager, Kat, before running off to get her nails done. Kat was in her twenties. She had short spiked hair dyed fire engine red. Her nose, ears, lip and both eyebrows were carefully adorned with piercings. She looked like she had partaken in a bit too much of the Yogurt Heaven merchandise as she was about a hundred pounds overweight.
Kat showed me around the store, describing listlessly the appropriate protocols for yogurt and topping distribution. After explaining how to work a somewhat unsophisticated cash register, she leaned her body against the counter declaring me officially trained.
“It’s a really easy job. A retard could do it,” she said unenthusiastically.
“What should I do if there aren’t any customers?” an important question I thought, considering we hadn’t had one since I’d been there.
“Whatever. I usually bring a book.”
Sweet, I thought, this was looking up to be an ideal summer job, “When do I start?”
“Well, Marcy was hoping you could start right away. Like tomorrow, actually. Toby just bailed to his dad’s or some shit, so we’re down an employee,” she explained, pulling out a piece of paper with my schedule handwritten on it. I felt the knot that had been growing in my stomach all day release a bit with this new information about Toby’s whereabouts.
“Looks good. Thanks for showing me the intricacies of your fine establishment,” I said with renewed enthusiasm. She rolled her eyes at my lame attempt at sarcasm.
“Yeah, see ya,” she shrugged. I guess personality is not a requisite for this job.
I got home that evening just as my parents were sitting down for dinner on the back deck. I joined them, filling my plate with barbecued chicken, rice, and salad. At my announcement that I had scored a job, they both looked exceptionally pleased; especially my mom who I knew had been dreading pushing the subject with me. My dad began an impromptu lecture on the Cuban Missile Crisis. He was a professor of History at Santa Juanita Junior College, with a particular interest in all things politically charged. I’d grown up listening to my father’s dinner table diatribes on the ills of American capitalism, and was prepared to throw in my own two cents soon as he paused for air.
The doorbell rang and my mom hurried to get it. Seconds later, Levi appeared on the deck with my mom at his side. I felt my cheeks blush as I quickly introduced him to my dad. He graciously accepted the offer to join us for dinner and my mom bustled to fill him a plate. My heart was racing as my mind quickly ran through a list of questions, including but not limited to: 1. Am I so furious at Levi that I can ignore his serious hotness? 2. Why is he at my house? 3. Does my hair look okay? The third question seemed to demand an unreasonable proportion of my attention.
My parents kept Levi taking with a series of questions about everything from his first childhood memories to how he felt about the current state of global warming. They did this with everyone, their motive being sincere interest, rather than any kind of screening for potential predators. My mom was a therapist, so it was in her blood to be nosey. Although Levi avoided looking at me, like my Medusa eyes might turn him to stone, he didn’t seem to mind the interrogation. I sat frozen through the whole encounter, begging mentally for my parents to not embarrass me beyond repair.
When dinner was finally done, Levi pushed back his chair, “Chelsea, go for a walk with me before it gets too dark,” he said, finally making eye contact.
“
Fascinating,” I replied sarcastically, “I would never have guessed that you’d be afraid of the dark.”
Once outside Levi started up the street in the direction of Vistas.
“
Oh, no you don’t,” I said looking at him severely, “I won’t be going back up there without a gun to my head.”
Levi nodded solemnly in agreement and we began heading the opposite direction, down the hill. We walked silently, the space between us filled with tension. When we got to my elementary school, we sat on a picnic table, side by side, staring out at the empty playground. We were in a stand-off, who would speak first?
“
Listen, Chelsea,” he finally said without looking at me, his voice quiet, “I’m really sorry about last night. It was wrong of me to involve you in all that. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I hope you know that.”
I swallowed, silent as I tried to calm my anger. I turned to him, my expression cold, “Why didn’t you warn me about what was going to happen? I mean, the masks, it was like something out of a nightmare,” I took a breath to stop my voice from becoming jagged with looming tears, “and what about poor Toby? Is he even okay?”
I watched Levi’s jaw tighten. He didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he looked directly at me, his eyes fierce, “You’re something else, you know that Chelsea? You’re worrying about Toby?” he sounded disgusted, “Was he worrying about you when he left you alone at that concert? Do you even know how many freaks were at that place? And what about last night? When he tried to run away and leave you alone with those men? Was he worried about you then?” He got up and walked about ten paces away from me. He put his hands on his head and looked up at the sky. I could hear him take a long deep breath. He turned around then, his face calm once more. He walked back to me, moving my legs apart and positioning himself between them. I shivered slightly as he put one hand on each of my thighs, pressing gently, but firmly with his thumbs, “I would never leave you like that.”
You’d think I would have taken the opportunity to point out that he had, in fact, left me alone, both at the concert and with the black masked quartet of kidnappers. But instead ,I just nodded silently, too confused by this turn in the conversation and too distracted by his touch to speak. When I finally found my voice, after several moments of intense silence, I simply mumbled, “I don’t care about Toby.”
“
Good,” he smiled for the first time. I could feel the tension beginning to break, “That whole thing was between me and Toby. I apologize for involving you.”
“
Apology accepted,” I smiled back.
Levi slowly took my hands in his, turning them so he could look at my palms. I had replaced the gauze covering my cuts with smaller and more inconspicuous flesh colored bandages. He carefully peeled back one of the bandages, revealing a deep gash. He sighed lightly and replaced the bandage. He looked into my eyes then, as he tenderly kissed first my left palm and then my right. Thousands of goose bumps materialized on my legs and arms.
“
We should get going,” he said quietly, still looking deeply into my eyes. I got down from the table and he took my hand in his as we began to walk away from the school. We walked without speaking for a couple of blocks, and then he turned to me to ask, “Does it hurt?”
I was confused for a second, then realizing he was referring to my hands, replied, “Oh you mean my stigmata? Nah.”
Levi began to laugh, “I thought there was something very biblical about you,” he joked, “I’ll be really impressed when you show up with a crown of thorns.”
The conversation on the rest of the walk home was light. I apologized for my parents’ interrogation which he claimed to have not minded. He asked me about school and friends. I tried hard to concentrate on talking coherently, which was difficult as I was fixated on the fact that my hand was in his, distracted by how smooth and warm his strong hand felt. I began to walk a little slower, hoping to extend the feeling for just a bit longer. But soon we were back at my house.
“
Do want to come in?” I asked when we reached the front door, hoping that I didn’t sound as desperate as I felt.
“
Wish I could. I’ve got to help my father with something. What are doing tomorrow? Can I take you out?”
What I wanted to do was jump up and down and scream like I was a finalist on American Idol, but instead I played it cool and said, “Sure. That’d be fun,”
“
Okay, I’ll pick you up at six.”
“
10-4,” I said, feeling immediately like a big dork. He smiled at me, touched the side of my face lightly and headed for his car. I turned to walk into the house but remembered something, “Levi,” I called, “Thanks for the iPod. That was way too generous.”
“
Do you like your playlist?” he called back from the side of his car.
“
I love it,” I said, which was the truth.
“
Then it was worth every dime.” He smiled, got in his car and drove away.
7
The next twenty-two and a half hours were pure torture. In fact, a water boarding session at Gitmo may have been less trying. Okay, fine, I’m exaggerating, but my point is all I could think of was seeing Levi’s perfect face again. When I wasn’t over the moon, ecstatic about that happy prospect, I was utterly anxious that he might not show up at all. So when the door bell finally rang the next evening I practically did a full-on victory dance before dashing down the stairs.
When I opened the door the face before me did not disappoint. Levi was just as flawless as I had remembered. He was wearing a deep blue Henley shirt with just the top button undone, and a pair of relaxed khakis, (Abercrombie, if you’re interested), that fit him to perfection. I was sure he must have heard my tiny gasp.
Levi brought his hand from behind his back and handed me a single white calla lily, “For you,” he said lightly, smiling warmly.
I commanded myself not to blush, “Hey thanks,” I said casually trying to sound like this was the kind of thing that happened to me regularly and not just in my Harlequin romance style daydreams.
We walked out to the car after Levi had made a point of greeting my parents and promising to have me home in time for my curfew. I could tell this confused them to no end, as I didn’t actually have a curfew; they’d given up on that sort of thing with my sister.
Before starting his car, Levi turned to me and looking me up and down and said, “Wow Chelsea, you look amazing.” No amount of restraint could keep my cheeks from turning bright red.
“
That’s unfortunate, I was more going for disturbingly hideous,” I said hoping my joke didn’t totally belly flop.
“
Yeah? Sorry then, you failed,” he laughed and started up the car, “Just can’t take a compliment gracefully, huh?