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So I stood up, took in the sight of his smug grin, walked up to him, and sent a swift knee between his legs.
Full confession, I had no idea that would hurt a boy so much. I’d seen it while secretly watching an action movie from behind the sofa while Mom and Dad cuddled during their standing Tuesday date night in the rec room.
Terence doubled over, but (fortunately) my aim wasn’t great, so he quickly recovered. He stood back up, the rest of the class in silent awe behind us.
In those days, I was a hair taller than him. He looked me in the eye, straightened his shoulders, and stretched out his hand.
“Friends?”
I’d stared at that hand. I can remember it to this very day.
I took it, and I shook it.
“Best friends. What’s your name?”
The question had thrown him off guard. He stumbled to get the words out. “Ter…Ter…”
And so Terence became Ter-Ter and my best friend. We’ve seen each other more days than we haven’t seen each other in the nineteen years that have passed since.
And that’s why his comment about cosplay is weird. I’ve been to several, he has not, and I know it. If Terence is blushing over it, then something else is going on.
When Terence blushes, his neck goes bright red, and flames of it grow up the sides of his cheek. He’s like a big lump of coal thrown in the fire. He’s helpless to its assault.
And that’s what’s happening right now. He is ripe for the teasing.
“Ter-Ter…”
“Don’t do that.” He points a finger in my face.
“It’s not me, it’s you!”
He turns and marches into his house, and I follow behind, releasing myself from the confines of the roller skates before I enter the door.
I can push Terence because we’ve been friends forever, but I still won’t wear roller skates inside his house. I know his limits.
He stomps into the kitchen where I know he’ll huff for a couple of minutes. He hates the fact that he publicly blushes, but he’ll get over it while he makes some tea. Once the kettle on the stove sings out its whistle (Terence doesn’t believe in electric kettles), then he’ll be back to himself. It’s a routine we play out at least every week.
“Come here, Ranger!” I clap my hands once.
The border collie perks at the sound of his name and trots to my spot in the living room. I’m pretty sure this sofa has a dent the size of my butt from the number of hours over the years I’ve sat in it drinking a cup of tea, or chatting about big life plans, or crying about some guy who broke my heart when actually I wasn’t that into him at all…
See, I’m not good at love stuff. That’s not to be confused with not wanting to love—I love love!
But there’s a pattern. I find myself stuck in these relationships where I’m pretty sure the guy doesn’t really like me for me, and I don’t let him see who I really am anyhow, and then time seems to pass and I get used to him being around. We have fun together and I forget the fact that I’m not showing my true self, and he balks at the little pieces I manage to show.
And then I find myself again on this sofa with a big cup of tea, a pile of tissues, and Terence’s sympathetic-but-knowing face.
I think I might be done with that pattern, at least for a little while. I’m throwing myself into new adventures, new exploits, new feats with reckless abandon!
Terence sets down the steaming tea in front of me. “Now will you tell me what this roller derby business is about?”
I lift the cup of tea.
“Don’t drink it yet. It’s still too hot for you.”
“The women I’ve met this week are delightful, and I want to stay in shape.” I sip the tea. “Ouch!”
“I told you it was still too hot for your oversensitive tongue. There are lots of ways to stay in shape that aren’t teams of rolling menaces throwing themselves into you.”
