Kaleidoscope

eight

“Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit”  - e.e. cummings

Kat stepped out into the pale afternoon light and held the door open for Jesse.

“Wow. That was great,” she said as they started to walk down the street. “To be honest, I didn’t even know arcades still existed. I thought they were, like, an urban myth from the nineties.”

“Almost.”

Kat shot him a sideways look. “You’re still smirking,” she said. “Oh, come on. Was my victory dance really that bad?”

“Well, it wasn’t awful. It was… “

“Interesting?” She suggested.

Jesse shook his head. “Bizarre,” he said. “Like an urban myth from the future.”

She laughed. “Enough with the snark. It’s not like I’ve had a lot of practice. I never made it to prom.”

“Neither did I.”

Kat’s expression grew serious again. “You didn’t go to prom?” She asked.

“Yeah. I mean, no. I mean, yes, I didn’t go.” Jesse raised his eyebrows. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“It just - it seems like kind of a waste.”

Jesse’s skin prickled. On prom night, he’d stayed at home, trying to clean up the mess in the kitchen. His mother had burned the pancakes that morning. She’d just stopped moving, stopped caring, from one second to the next - her bad spells did that to her sometimes, just wiped her out as if she’d been drugged. Or poisoned.

Of course he’d stayed at home. If he’d gone to the dance, the sight he came back to the following morning could have been far worse than a scorched kitchen.

Jesse hadn’t considered it a waste at the time. But his mother was dead now. And everything he’d done for her was a waste.

Kat didn’t pursue the subject. She sighed and tossed back her hair so that the wind rippled through it. “Seriously, though,” she said. “Was I that bad?”

“Honestly?”

“Be my guest.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Huh.” She made a face. “That’s going to be awkward when I get to the party.”

Jesse stopped walking.

“What is it?” Kat asked, turning around to face him.

“Sorry. I forgot about that.” He kicked at the ground. “Didn’t mean to trash your self-esteem.”

“No, it’s all right. I don’t mind. The party is supposed to be fun, isn’t it? It’s just a friendly thing, not a big show. I’m sure nobody will expect me to dance.”

“Yeah. Of course.” He leaned his weight on one leg, drew patterns on the pavement with his toe. “But, you know - dancing can be fun, too. It’s a party. You’re supposed to dance. You’re supposed to stare at somebody you like across the room and have a drink and make awkward small talk until you feel good enough to ask them…”

He forced himself to stop. Jesus. When did he become such a blithering romantic?

Kat didn’t seem to notice his embarrassment. Her clothes rustled softly. Jesse, still looking at the ground, guessed that she’d folded her arms in defense.

“Well,” she said quietly. She didn’t go on. Maybe she couldn’t.

Jesse raised his head, studied her face. The line between her eyebrows had deepened. Her fingers tugged anxiously at the ends of her hair. It didn’t take a university degree to notice that she was upset.