Catching Up to You

Kendall

May

            I couldn’t do my homework. As I sat at the dining room table trying to finish up the last English essay I’d ever have to write as a middle school student, my mom was shuffling haphazardly through our kitchen cabinets looking for that tray. You know, that tray. The tray that her special dish cannot be made without? That tray.

            Pots and pans were clanking together as she desperately searched for it. With every clank it seemed my essay got shorter and shorter. She’d asked me if I’d seen it. The one with the purple and green flowers. Of course I hadn’t. I’d found that no one but my mother ever really knew what our serving trays looked like, yet she thought a dish was not complete unless that particular tray was used. Whatever.

            “Oh!” I heard her shout. I looked over to see my mother’s legs poking out of our kitchen island cabinets. I heard another few clings and clangs and then my mother emerged from the cabinet. “I left it at Beth’s! Remember? I made fruit pizza for Colt’s birthday.”

            That made sense. We were always heading over to Beth’s for some dinner or party. That’s what two families do when they’ve lived next door to each other as long as ours have. Beth and my mom, Jen, have lived next door to each other on Key Street since before I was born.

            “You want to head over there and get it for me?” Mom asked, grabbing my scarf off the kitchen counter and tossing it over to me. It was the middle of April in Trinkett, Massachusetts and we were in that stage where we weren’t sure if it was warm or cold regardless of what our thermostats told us.

            I jumped up. “No problem, I’ve got it,” I said. I didn’t bother grabbing a coat or anything. I’d be outside for less than a minute. I did bother to run my fingers through my hair when I caught my reflection in the window though. It looked especially mousy from sitting around all afternoon.

            “You should wear a sweater—”

            “No worries, Mom! You just finish making the cream cheese sauce. I’ll get the tray.” I headed straight for the door before she could ask any questions.

            I can’t say my haste to head over to Beth’s was because I never passed up a chance to help my mother. That would be a vicious lie. The truth was I never passed up a chance to see Colt Benson, Beth’s son. Well, not when it was as simple as this, at least. My best friend, Lina, said I had a thing for him. The thing is, the thing I had for him was much more than a thing.

            I jogged down our front steps and across our lawns in no time at all. I remembered the days when I would run across the lawn daily to go on adventures through the woods with Colt. The trek was so familiar I could make it with my eyes closed.

            As I approached Beth’s steps, I could hear shouting. This could mean two things. One, Colt did something wrong. Or two, James, Colt’s dad, was around. I guessed it was the former because I didn’t see James’ silver Jetta in the driveway, and because Colt misbehaving was something he’d done his whole life.

            I rang the doorbell. I’d heard Beth shouting at Colt hundreds of times just like he’d heard me getting it from my parents. We’d learned to be unabashed about it around each other.

            The shouting didn’t stop as Beth made her way to the door and as she got closer I could make out some of the words she was saying. She can’t believe… Education… Most important thing…