The Policy

Jul 14, 2008 - 22:25 PM PST

“Alberta?” I could almost see the map, measured and labeled out in her blue saucer eyes.
“Yes.”
“How long? The summer?” I said nothing and she sighed, “longer.” There was no need for me to nod.
“For at least a year, to work.” I confessed. Many cars passed by her concrete steps before she said anything.
“It was almost seven months ago.” She would not turn to face me. I wanted to see her pink lips, pouting and trying not to cry. I wanted to pick up each tear from her eyelids and lick them from my fingers. Her cheek would be soft and warm against my calloused palms, sweating slightly in the June heat. School had ended yesterday.
“In my car.” I added thinking of the Mustang.
“The one I helped you fix up.” I knew the tears were flowing now.
“Angela, I will visit. I will come back, and visit.”
“I’m sure your family will like that,” She turned to face me. She always cried with poise, not defeat. The creases of her eyes hardened as she spoke, “I don’t really like the weather here. It is too cloudy, too often.”
“What?”
“I think I’ll go to Europe... Spain. For a year or so, to travel.”
“Oh.” There was a new map in her eyes now, measuring the distance from my car to the airport, and from there to London or Paris or Frankfurt. She was never one to let hope wear down time in waiting.
I felt a pang of failure at her decision, “So, what would that mean.” She feinted confusion. I explained, “For us?”
She had a timer in her eyes, “Prom is tomorrow night.”
Suddenly Alberta seemed farther away.
“Till prom then?” my voice cracked.
“We’re taking your car.” She bit her lip and with last note of regret, “Alberta?”
“You know I would rather visit Europe, but-“
“I would rather you would rather be here.” She had turned again, “Your car then?”
I nodded, without poise.