Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [24]
We arrived at the cemetery before I could do anything stupid. It consisted of about three dozen ancient tombstones, mostly too eroded to read. Whatever farmer owned the property kept the small plot mowed.
Sage found a bare patch of earth and spread out our post-Thanksgiving feast. I choked down a prepackaged corned beef sandwich while Sage gulped down two sandwiches and a bag of chips.
There was something very natural and insanely frustrating about being here, quietly eating with Sage. I tried to put my finger on it. Maybe it was the silence. When was the last time I’d just sat quietly with someone? Certainly not around Jack. Or my mom. Or Brenda. Silence with her had always been awkward; I’d always felt like she was bored.
But with Sage, we didn’t talk and it was okay. Two good friends, enjoying each other’s company.
“Penny for your thoughts, Logan.” Sage leaned against a tree, smiling at me. Her reddish-brown hair contrasted against the yellow leaf that was stuck on top of her head. With her freckles and tomboyish ways, she looked like something out of an Outdoor Missouri ad. Maybe without the purple jacket.
“C’mon, Logan, what are you thinking about?”
And that was the frustrating part. I didn’t want to be friends. I didn’t want to be the guy she leaned on, the rock in the storm, the best pal who was always there for her. Well, I did, but I also wanted to kiss her. I wanted to take her face in my hands, press our lips together, and enjoy another type of silence.
“It’s nice out,” I said. “Warm for this time of year.”
Sage stood up and dusted off her legs. Then she joined me, sitting back against the rotten rail fence around the cemetery.
“Logan, can I ask you a personal question?”
Never, ever a good sign. “Yeah?”
“Tell me what happened with you and your old girlfriend.”
“That’s not a question.”
“Will you tell me what happened?”
I didn’t want to talk about it. I’d only ever talked about it with Laura. “Why?”
Sage touched my cheek lightly. “Because you’re my friend, and I want to know.”
I could have reminded her that she was keeping secrets, but I didn’t. “She cheated on me. We broke up. End of story.” C’mon, let’s play the quiet game.
Sage tucked her long legs up under her chin. “There’s more to it than that,” she prodded.
“You really want the whole sorry episode?” When I’d told Laura what happened, I’d summed everything up in one sentence: Brenda cheated on me. Why did Sage want to know more than that? And why was I about to tell her? Maybe I wanted her pity, or I thought that if I told her my secrets, she’d be more open with me.
Mostly, I think I just wanted to vomit out the whole humiliating incident. Lance it like a boil. Purge my breakup like a bout of diarrhea. The fact that I was thinking of my ex in terms of gross bodily functions was probably a sign that it was time to move on.
Sage nodded, staring at me with wide eyes.
“Okay.” I tried to keep my voice steady. If I was going to tell this story to Sage, the last thing I wanted was to sound whiny. “Brenda and I started going out in ninth grade. We’d never dated anyone else. She’s the only girl I’ve ever kissed. And that’s all we ever did.”
Sage’s eyes got wide. She must have thought I had more experience with girls. I wished I’d kept that detail to myself. Sage might not be a virgin. I’d just made myself look inexperienced and awkward.
“Anyway, we’d been together for three years. We were going to go to Mizzou together. Live in the same dorm.” I paused. “I thought, you know, we were in love. I was stupid.” I let out a fake, sarcastic laugh. This was sounding a bit too much like poor, poor Logan.
“You weren’t stupid!” yelped Sage suddenly. “Don’t ever think that.”
I reddened at the compliment. But Sage was wrong. I’d wasted almost all of high school feeling giddy and in love with a girl who didn’t even like me enough to tell me she didn’t like me.
I walked away from Sage and sat down near Ida Woodlawn (1899–1960, loving wife and mother). I closed my eyes to the world and continued.
“Then I was a