The Bet:
Sometimes the only consolation when you are going through a
trying, heartbreaking experience (like accidentally hiring a painter with
advanced Parkinson’s disease) is telling yourself, someday this will make a great
story, when I’m far away from it, when I have perspective, when I’ve scraped
all the paint off the carpets.
Actually, it wasn’t too long after the incident of The Bet that I had some perspective, but
things had become torn that couldn’t be mended, including a best friendship and
a budding romance, and I wasn’t entirely guiltless in the rending process.
I first met, shall we call him Bruce, when I was a toddler.
He lived across the street in housing for the submarine base at Gales Ferry,
and his dad looked like the Gingerbread Man in his khaki Navy uniform. For a
couple of years I trailed around worshipfully behind him and his older brother
until both families moved away. We were reunited in San Diego around third
grade, and it was soul-buddies at first sight. We went to church and Sunday
school together, ate grape jelly bread and Lipton soup afterwards. We read his
Peanuts cartoon collection on our stomachs and watched monster movies. I was
allowed to walk the mile to and from his house alone (those were the days!) and
we took toothbrushes and hiked deep into Kate Sessions Canyon to scrape fossil
scallop shells from limestone cliffs. We fantasized about our imminent dinosaur
discovery. Storybook stuff, that lasted for three or so years, till Bruce’s
family moved away to Virginia.
Bruce and I wrote letters back and forth for sixth and
seventh grade, and I joined his family for a couple weeks of summer vacation in
Cape Cod. More storybook stuff—young teens swimming and sunning and sailing up
and down the river at South Yarmouth, giggling and digging up clams, falling in
serious like. By the time I left, he’d gathered the courage to twine our feet
in front of the TV, which to an eleven-year-old girl was heady stuff.
After another two patient years of exchanging letters, we
dared call ourselves girlfriend and boyfriend to our friends. The summer post-ninth
grade, I planned to go out to the Cape again, and everyone speculated on what would emerge when we
childhood sweethearts reunited. I didn’t know the speculation on his side of
the relationship involved a specific goal—shall we call it second base?—and a
token financial bet—something like five whole dollars? Until the moment when
his friend spilled the beans (definitely on purpose and to cause trouble) we had
a wonderful romantic time: hand holding, arms around each other, moonlit
strolls on the beach, me being carried in his strong arms and tossed into the
water. And then I found out. I was shattered, confused, angry, embarrassed—no
doubt as I was meant to be. I left for home without acknowledging Bruce’s
stumbling, red-faced apology. I was thirteen and naïve about “boys will be
boys.” I think the money bothered me more than the goal. When his turncoat
friend began writing me love poems, I realized how I’d been duped into
rashness—but by then it was just too awkward. From three thousand miles, I had
no idea how to patch things up or if I even wanted to. So I was left with the
loneliness and the heartbreak of losing my best friend and first boyfriend for
no good reason.
These are the kinds of raw emotions that make for strong
stories and real characters, even if we squirm as we inject a little bit of
ourselves and our memories of pain onto the page.
Thanks Liz! Carey here - I LOVED this heartwrenching story and can't wait to read what Liz comes up with next.
Liz Coley's short fiction has appeared in Cosmos magazine and speculative fiction anthologies. Her passions beyond reading and writing include singing, photography, and baking. She plays competitive tennis locally in Ohio to keep herself fit and humble.
With a background in science, Liz follows her interest in understanding "the way we work" down many interesting roads. Pretty Girl-13's journey into the perilous world of dissociative identity disorder is one of them.
Thanks Liz! Carey here - I LOVED this heartwrenching story and can't wait to read what Liz comes up with next.
Liz Coley's short fiction has appeared in Cosmos magazine and speculative fiction anthologies. Her passions beyond reading and writing include singing, photography, and baking. She plays competitive tennis locally in Ohio to keep herself fit and humble.
With a background in science, Liz follows her interest in understanding "the way we work" down many interesting roads. Pretty Girl-13's journey into the perilous world of dissociative identity disorder is one of them.
Praise for PRETTY GIRL-13:
“Unflinchingly honest and brilliantly conceived. This book will haunt you.” (Lauren Myracle, New York Times Bestselling author of Shine and Bliss )
Get it: Amazon B&N Add to Goodreads
4 comments:
Aww, Liz. That breaks my heart. A bet??? Those jerks. :(
Boys. And they think girls are complicated.
Thanks for sharing your heartbreak with us, Liz. I have a 12 going on 13 boy...think I need to share this story with him to start a discussion. Boys have no idea how an innocent prank can stay with a girl her entire life.
I have a copy of Pretty Girl-13 and I can not wait to read it!!! :D
Liz,
I agree with Lorie. That IS heartbreaking. Do you ever wonder what happened to him? And as much as I feel for the young girl you were, I also feel awful for him. He was probably coerced into it by his friend who had his own little agenda. Poor kid.
Thanks so much for stopping by and sharing your story with us! I definitely need to put PRETTY GIRL-13 on my TBR pile. Yikes. It's gonna topple soon. :-)
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