With several pairs of eyes on me, and my embarrassment building by the millisecond, I silently prayed someone would do something. As if reading my mind, Rylie quickly pushed his paper dinner plate off the table. The crash that ensued was surprising for a paper plate, and the splatter of spaghetti across the dining room floor gave me just enough time to escape through the side door. Braden tried to catch my arm as I slipped out, but I eluded him, too embarrassed even to talk to him.
I ran to my parent’s car, and found that the door was locked. It was freezing outside, I could not bare to go inside, nor could I stay out in the cold. Because my house was not far I decided to walk home. I knew Rylie would figure it out, and make sure Mom and Dad were not worried.
By then I was crying. Tears were spilling down my face and I could barely see. I was humiliated beyond belief, and extremely uncomfortable, something that was not yet remedied. I had only walked about 100 yards from the driveway, but with the noodle in mind, and the discomfort it was causing nearly unbearable, I stopped walking, dried my eyes on the hideous orange sleeve and started blowing my nose into it. I blew, and blew, and blew. And yet the noodle stayed, lodged right into my nose. I decided to employ the disgusting, but useful “snot rocket” method, to try and get it out.
I stuck my pointer finger on one nostril to hold it closed, and then blew with all the force I could muster. The noodle shot out my nose, and landed on a black basketball shoe. Seeing a shoe startled me, and I looked up. Walking out of the bushes was the boy I did not recognize from the house, the one in the Yankees hat…and I had just blown my nose on his shoe.
I felt the blood drain from my face. How, in one night, could I be so totally and completely embarrassed? I looked at him, for the second time that night I was frozen in place and absolutely horrified at what I had just done. He glanced down at his shoe, then up at me, and laughed.
The light sound of laughter must have snapped me back to mobility because as quickly as the blood left my face it came back, and I knew then I had only one option left—run! So I did. I turned as fast as I could, almost too fast, I slipped a little on the gravel, but did not stop moving. I ran at a full out pace, grateful for the months of practice. I did not look back to see if he followed me, just kept on running until I reached the door to my house, and only then did I stop long enough to get the door open, then I sprinted up the stairs to my room.
I slammed the door shut behind me, and flopped down on my bed. My blood was pumping, and I had enough adrenaline that I could have run a five minute mile. At that point I was not sure if I should cry or laugh. The whole night seemed unreal. I looked over at the vanity and saw the bright orange sweatshirt, my messy hair, tear stained face, and burst out laughing.
There was only one thing I could do. I stripped the sweatshirt off replaced it with a warmer jacket, and went back downstairs, made a pit stop in the kitchen for matches, then went out to the trash barrels on the side of the house.
In Salmon, the homes are spread so far apart that it is not realistic to have a garbage man pick up trash. Most the people are farmers and would have to haul cans several miles out to any main roads. So, instead you have two options, you can haul your garbage to the dump yourself, or you can burn it on designated burn days. My family opted to burn it, so we would not have to store trash or make lots of trips to the dump. So, I went out to the burn barrels, and lit that orange sweatshirt on fire.
It was extremely therapeutic watching the sweatshirt burn. I stared at it, watching the fire dance over it and change the orange to black. I watched as it crumbled into nothing, and wished the whole evening could just disappear from everyone’s memories as quickly and thoroughly as that sweatshirt had burned. I knew that was wishful thinking, and yet I was starting to feel better.
As I started back to the house I heard the gravel crunching in the driveway, and knew that Mom, Dad, and Rylie were home. I waited in the shadows of the big pine trees that surrounded our house until Dad shut off the engine, and everyone started to climb out.
Mom would be furious with me, Dad sympathetic, and Rylie highly entertained. I knew if I was going to rectify the situation I would have to make a peace offering to Mom, and fast.
“Hi,” I said just loud enough for the three of them to hear me.
Mom jumped, and turned on me like I was a predator, “Kate, you scared the living beegeezies out of me. You can’t do that to someone.”
“Sorry Mom. And, sorry about tonight. I hope I did not embarrass you too much.” I paused there, and waited for some sort of sign or indication of how she was feeling about the whole evening.
She sighed, and her shoulders drooped a little and I knew she was at a loss for what to say, and was disappointed that I would behave that way in front of her new friends. I could not imagine what kind of lecture Rylie had gotten on the way home for making a mess with the plate. I made a mental note that I owed him big time, and jumped in with my peace offering for Mom.
“So, Mom, I burned the sweatshirt, and thought since I clearly do not have much of anything to wear that we could go shopping tomorrow. I know you wanted to go Saturday, and since it does not work for me, I just thought…”
I trailed off because the expression flitting across my Mother’s face were captivating. First she had a look of surprise, then elation, and then suspicion. “Ok, but I have a meeting tomorrow evening, so could you miss your last class tomorrow, we could get an early start so I can be back in time?”
I knew missing the class could be fine, but that meant I would miss practice as well, and it meant no time to come up with an excuse to get out of the shopping trip. However, it also meant peace with Mom, something that was rare. “Sure, I am ahead in that class anyway.”
I glanced over at Rylie, saw the amusement flicker across his face and knew he was picturing me spending hours shopping with Mom, wishing I was in class. He gave me the look that said I better plan on talking tonight, and he disappeared into the house.
Satisfied that I was going shopping tomorrow and that should be penance enough for what happened at the Prigmore’s Mom walked into the house. That left me and Dad on the driveway. He had not said a word, but had heard the whole conversation between Mom and I.
“So, want to explain to me what happened tonight?” He asked in his easy going manner that left you feeling comfortable and wanting to open up. I knew this was why he made such a great doctor. People trusted him, felt comfortable in his presence, and told him the truth, which made diagnosis much easier.
“Do you have time?” I asked, and smiled, crookedly up at him.
He lifted his eyebrows, and cocked his head to the side, “Hmm, this should be interesting.”
I told him the whole story, from dressing like that to spite mom, the mocking of the adults, the noodle getting stuck, the situation in the bathroom, then all those guys from school walking in and me looking horrible, then the snot rocket on the mystery boy’s shoe. I told him how I ran all the way home, and then how I burnt the sweatshirt.
By the time I finished the story Dad was laughing hard, so hard he started coughing, choking, and sputtering. His laugh became a wheeze, the kind that made you laugh too because it was so funny to watch him laugh, and then he finally stopped.
“You deserve it,” He said with a grin, he was shaking his head from side to side, “next time, humor your mother and dress appropriately.”
I smiled and secretly hoped there would never be a next time.
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