Nothing Happened

When I get to Sarah’s house I have to call so my grama knows that nothing happened.

On a sunny summer day I walk there. She answers the door. I call. Nothing happened.

Bye Sarah’s mom. We leave. We know the neighborhood and are together, best friends. We walk, we talk, we laugh. About school, and boys, and music, and parents, everything we know and everything we don’t, nothing. Nothing happens.

We ring doorbells. No answer. Our friends aren’t home. Nothing happens.

We go see a boy, Coach’s son, because he’s cute and lives nearby. We walk there. We ring the bell. Coach answers. Son does not. Dang! Oh well. But you can still come in for a little while. Something happens. We do.

We go into a room. And stand around and chat. About the season, about school. We laugh a lot. Nothing happens.

Then it gets to be a while. Goodbyes. We leave. Nothing happened.

We start to walk again. It is getting dark but not dark yet. It is very quiet, peaceful. No one is out just now. A car drives right up to us and quickly halts. Someone gets out and makes us get in.

Our mothers ask us where we were. We tell. What were you doing there? Nothing.

You’re not allowed to go into anyone’s house. But we didn’t. It was Coach’s house. But it promptly doesn’t matter. Anyone means anyone. You can talk outside but not inside. Okay. Sorry. We were worried sick driving around looking for you! I called your phone. I didn’t know it. We didn’t know. Well now you do. More words. More of the same words. A lot more of the same words. Silence. I think are we in trouble. They sound too exhausted; I know we are not.

We get to my grama’s curb. Bye Sarah and Sarah’s mom. My grama sees me and decides I need more of the same words, for more time, until all our stuff gets in the car, until we do. I’m sure I will never go on a walk again. By choice or otherwise.

Bye Grama. We leave.

 

I start a blog 12 or 13 years later and think about how at the start of our season Coach half jokingly asked all us girls before practice if we had all bought our sports bras. Eeeeeeeew, scrunched up faces, laughter, middle school girl attitude, hands covering nubs. He can ask, he can ask, I said, calm-down hands up. His team, of girls, who wear bras. Logic. Should this have tipped me off? On? Back? Forward?

We played the season. Nothing happened.

 

When I am 17 or 19 my grama says I shouldn’t go walking around her neighborhood alone.