IX. Out of the Woods

It all came to an end in July of 1992, or at least it seemed that way to me as that was it when I tried to call her and she never picked up the phone. Her mom did, and James did, but she didn’t and no one would tell me why. They just said they would tell her I called. I stopped calling for the rest of the day and instead I called the local radio station and dedicated a song to her. I had forgotten that she didn’t listen to that radio station so she never heard the dedication or the song, which was a tune that I associated our relationship with, not fully aware that by doing that, I would hate a particular song by Chicago for all eternity.
I played my Nintendo, I worked on a few models, I even tried to write a poem or two for her, since I had ever only given one to her, why not a new one?

The writing took forever, or just felt that way and when I looked at it I wanted to say it was the best thing since Yates but deep down I knew it was more on the lines of Poe: while it talked of deviation and emotion it also screamed of desperation and confusion. I gave it to her on Wednesday night, in the few seconds I saw of her as she avoided me. I was sure that it wasn’t because of something I had done, it was because of something I had not: I was not there emotionally and, like before, the mask on my face fell and I was so despondent but unable to tell her why and what do all teenagers do in the face of confusion?
We do two things: collapse in sorrow, or we try to avoid it.
Or, maybe that’s just me.

I sat on one of the swings in front of the grade school and waited for Rebekah to arrive. Sure, I could have hung out in the pit—a recessed area of the hall across from the library—or I could have gone up to the fields in the meantime but I was fine with sitting on the swing.
It was cool and quiet with the crisp, fall air that was a reminder that colder days were on the way. I shuffled my feet back and forth, not really swinging but kind of like a sway. I kind of thought that she wouldn’t show though. Maybe she had told her parents and they instantly nixed everything sight unseen of me. That was understandable. Perhaps Jeannie had told that it wasn’t a good idea and as her younger sister, she took the advice. Lastly, Paul might have told her a few lies. I was being paranoid because I expected it to crash and burn: it had been what always happened when I got hopes up but didn’t know how to proceed.

I took a deep breath and again thought that if it wasn’t meant to be then it was okay, I mean our ages weren’t an issue, but our grade levels were to everyone else. Jason was right, people would stare. Students would gossip. The school administrators would have us called onto the carpet as some strange case of what not to do. We had broken the unwritten rule and, somehow, the genie would have to be stuffed back into the bottle.
“May be for the best,” I lamented to myself, “do I really want to put her through everything?”
“Hi.”
I looked up to see Rebekah walking up to the swings.
“Hello,” I replied as I got up from the swing.
“Been waiting long?”
“No.”
“I would have come up earlier, but I had to wait to let my parents know I was going to the game.”
“Not a problem.” I took a few steps towards her and held my hands out. “Thanks for coming early. We have some ASB activities to do before the game.”
“Counting the attendance per class?”
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Jeannie said she wasn’t looking forward to it.”
“Neither am I, as I have no idea who’s in the freshman and sophomore classes.”
“Well, you could always look at someone, and if you don’t recognize them, give a point to each of those classes. It’s bound to come out even, somehow.”
“Great idea.”
Rebekah took a step towards the swings and sat on the one I was on earlier.
“Of course, you could just say the seniors won, right?”
I walked behind her and lightly pushed at her back.
“True, not like anyone would want or could do a recount. It all depends if Nick brings the tickets to give out.”
“Jeannie said there was going to be a raffle too.”
“Yeah, that’s what the tickets are supposed to be for, they place them in the jars.”
“What’s the prize?”
““We never got that far,” I said with a slight sigh.
“There’s no prize?” Rebekah asked as she leaned her head back a little.
“Besides points going towards winning the spirit stick?”
“Yes.”
“The winner gets four jars of tickets.”
“You could bronze them.” She replied with a quick look and a grin to me.
“Maybe some gold plating around the top?”
“Even better.”

We stayed on the swings, talking, until I noticed members of the Pep Band and other students walking past us. We made the trek towards the football field. I used my ASB card and paid for Rebekah to get into the game.
We walked around, kind of aimlessly, as I admit I had no idea where everything was.
“Eric!”
I looked all over for the voice calling me.
“He’s over there,” Rebekah pointed to Nick who was next to a parked car.
We walked over as Nick opened the hatchback of the car.
“I brought the jars and tickets. We’re going to need a table. Richard should have it procured in the concessions stand.”
“They’re not open just yet,” I replied.
“Just knock on the side door.”
“How are you doing?” I asked as he handed two jars to me and then lunged deep into the trunk.
“I’ve been better, but thanks for asking. Just don’t want to see that asshole tonight.”
“He’ll probably avoid you.”
“He better,” Nick replied. “Can I ask you to take these?” He handed over four rolls of colored tickets to Rebekah. She nodded in reply. Nick then grabbed two more jars.
“Let’s get the table.”
“I think we should set up near the concessions stand.” I advised as we lugged everything pas the concession stand and placed them on the ground.
“I thought so too. Have Richard and Molly worked on the poster?”
“I’m not sure. The pep rally was cancelled this afternoon, so I didn’t get to see them.”
“Cancelled?”
“A poster caught on fire,” Rebekah stated.
“Cool. I wish I could have seen that.”
“You and everyone else,” I replied.
We acquired the table from the concessions stand and set up our “ticket table” a few feet away—maybe a little close, but perhaps just enough to help each other: students in line for concessions would see the table, and if they came to us first, maybe they would get a coffee.
Eventually, Molly and Jeannie came up with the posters, clipboards and the class information.
“Becky, what are you doing here?” Jeannie asked.
Nick attempted to ignore the conversation as he briefly looked at me and then walked towards the concessions stand. “I’m going to grab some chairs.”
“Just trying to get a few pointers on how to win an election next year.”
“Have a president who likes whiskey,” Molly replied as she handed me one of the clipboards. “Juniors on the left, seniors on the right.”
“Did we ever decide what the price for winning was?” I asked as I picked up the other clipboard with the freshman and sophomore lists.
“Besides winning the spirit stick and bragging rights?”
“Yes.”
“Nope,” Molly replied.
“They get the four jars,” Jeannie responded as she taped one of the posters to the table.
Rebekah shrugged her shoulders.
“Can we at least gold plate them?” I asked as I looked back at the football field.
The game started an hour later and by the middle of the first quarter the jars were pretty much empty—maybe it was a bad spot to be at, perhaps because we never really got to announce it due to to the lack of a pep rally or maybe because we were going against Davenport, our county rival, that everyone was too busy cheering on the team. I thought that was okay. We had, maybe, thirty tickets, most of them from the senior class.
“Remember what I said earlier? Rebekah asked as she stood up and shivered due to the cold.
“About what?”
“The tickets? That you should just award it to the seniors?”
“I am slowly thinking that. I’ll have to announce it during halftime.”
“Out on the field?” She looked toward the game and then sat back down.
“Yep.”
I was not really looking forward to announcing who would win. I mean, the award would be honest, but this like the third year in a row that my class had won Spirit Week. We usually won during the pep rally air band competition. I had no idea what we had planned for that year. The present spirit week tally was the juniors, seniors, freshman, and the sophomores taking fourth place. The difference between first and second was dependent on how many juniors came over and dropped a ticket in, and only seven had.
“If they do this next year, it’s going to need to be done earlier in the week.”
“No one would hold onto their ticket. Well, I would. I’d have it my purse.”
“I’d laminate mine, maybe put it on a piece of yarn with some macaroni.”
“Like a grade art class necklace?”
I stood up and pantomimed placing a long necklace over my head,
“Then spray paint some tortellini shells to go around it.”
“They have to be in gold.”
“Of course. We could also use some gold foil around the ticket.
“Mrs. Wollweber would approve,” Rebekah replied with a smile.
“We’ll make it a fashion statement.”

As halftime approached, there were a few who approached the table but only one came and placed a ticket in the jar and that person was a sophomore, I think. We did a final count with the senior class winning the vote tally.
“Now to make it official and announce it.”
Nick ran up to us as we dumped all of the tickets into one of the jars.
“How did it go?”
“We won.”
“No one’s going to accept that,” he replied.
“I know, I remember last yeas decision too.”
“What happened last year?” Rebekah asked,
“Some say it was ballot-stuffing,” Nick said as he ripped the posters off of the table.
“What was it really?”
“Someone lost the lists and just made up a number,” he replied as Rebekah remove the jars from the table.
“Is that why there was a fight after the game last year?”
“There was a fight?” I asked. “I always seem to miss those.”
Nick raised his eyebrows as we picked the table up and quickly transported it to the concessions stand.

The three of us then ran to the center of the football in time to meet up with Molly who had a microphone ready.
“You’re live.”
The issue at that moment was that the team and most of the crowd were gone for halftime. There were also people darting around to prepare the for the announcement and procession of the homecoming royalty. Like most Presidents, my announcement would fall on a lot of deaf ears.

“I’d like to take this time to announce the winners of the 1992 Spirt Week competition, winning it by a margin of five points: The Seniors!” I raised my hands high, but felt a tug right arm, like it wouldn’t raise high enough for a moment. I looked to my right to see I was holding onto Rebekah’s hand and she was on her tiptoes.
“The Senior class has won the Spirit Stick!”
There was more clapping and a few boos as I turned the microphone off and handed it to Molly.
I turned to Rebekah to apologize for yanking her hand high, “Sorry about that,” and that’s when I realized that I was holding onto her hand in the middle of the football field. In front of the whole school.
“Shhh,” Rebekah whispered as she reached up and kissed me.