Chapter Ten

        “You did awesome up there, Rae! Thank you for saving me!” Vivian jumps up and down. Her long, blond hair flying with every move, her white, angel-like face lightens and reddens with excitement.

        Louis lights a cigarette, “Was that song your original?” He gives me a half-smile and looks at me playfully, waiting for my answer.

        I nod. Erik has his arm around my neck, smiling. Richard stops talking with whoever he was talking to and walks toward us.

        “Rae,” he looks at me and announces, “it was great to see you fighting back your fears. You know, when people are not thinking about themselves but others, they do not feel the fears. By the way, I love the song.”

        I thank him and turns to Erik, he Is still smiling.

        “Any comment?” I ask.

        “I know you can do it, Rae. I’m so proud of you,” he chuckles, “is that enough to satiate you?”

        I nod. Together the five of us head to our bus and laugh all the way until we get onto the bus and Vivian falls asleep.

        Vivian is so tired that she decides to cancel the plan. She promised me that we are going to have a Girl’s Night after the Party because I told her earlier that I want to tell her something about Erik.

        “Sorry, Rae, probably this weekend?”

        “Sure. Call me when you get home.”

        Vivian waves me good-bye and drives away.

        Louis and Richard decide to stay and drink some wine or something, so it is Erik’s job to take me home.

 

        On the car, the beautiful song “Way to Blue” is playing. Neither Erik nor I speak during the ride. Sometimes he looks at me from his driving mirror and gives me a quick smile. We both have so many thing that we want to say to each other, but it is dangerous to talk while driving, so we both shut up.

        When we finally get to my house, we park at the front yard for a while. But instead of talking in the car, I prefer to talk inside the house. So I ask him to stay. At first he hesitates, but then he just smiles at me (he is always smiling) as to make sure that he can really come in.

        When we step inside the house, my mother is watching the television, and she hears our footsteps and turns around to face us.

        “Hey, Erik. Oh, hello, sweetheart.” She greets us.

        “Hi, Mom.” I give my mother a hug and sit down next to her on the sofa.

        “Good night, Mrs. Landelle.” Erik says politely and sits down beside me.

        “Oh, please just call me Cecilia,” my mother says, it seems like the word “Mrs.” Is far too old for her. I think so, too. The time does not seem to have the power to wipe the fairness and loveliness away from her. She looks young.

        “How was your day, Cecilia? I hope you had fun today and do not feel too lonely since I kidnapped your little Rae.” Erik asks, showing his humorous side, but not without respect.

        “Well, it was really a good day. Did you both have fun?” She seems happy because of Erik calling her “Cecilia”.

        “Yes,” finally my turn to reply, I tell my mother with a giant grin, “it was a beautiful day.” After sending a quick wink at Erik, I stand up to get some Oreo and three glasses of milk from the kitchen.

        “Thank you, little sheep,” my mother says when I hand the milk and Oreo to her. Erik murmurs a little “thank-you” and takes his food from my hand.

        Erik, my mother, and I spend about an hour watching the television and talking. Erik and my mother have many things to talk about such as how cute Rae is and I think she is going to make it big (well, I overhear them when I go wash my glass after I finished the milk). They seem to have so many things to talk about.

        “Mom,” after listening to them talking nonstop about me, I suggest that Erik and I should go upstairs.

 

        “To be honest, I think you really did great tonight. It was . . . new, it’s like you had changed into a whole different person up there. I was touched by the lyrics and . . . it was just great.”

        “Thank you, Erik,” I say. We are now on my bed, leaning together on my pillow. He is trying to find a chance to poke my nose and (or) stomach. I giggle when he finally gets a chance and quickly, gently pokes me.

        “Hey, maybe we can write a song for ourselves,” he suddenly suggests, shooting a glance at my white Casio.

        “Well, why not?” I say, jumping down from the bed, he follows. We stand in front of my desk. I pull out a piece of white paper and two pens.

        He picks up one of the pen and starts writing.

 

        Boy: When I look at you,

            I feel my heart,

            Beating like it never had.

            I try to find an explanation,

            But there is nothing at all,

            I cannot tell how it is like,

            To have a girl like you.

 

        I take another pen.

 

        Girl: When I see you,

              I cannot help but feel,

              Like I am the luckiest girl in the world.

              I try to convince myself.

              But it is even better than that,

              I want him to know,

              To know my true heart.

 

        “Well, that sounds nice so far,” Erik says, giving me a hug. Then we both hear it. The rain.

        “It starts raining.”

        “I know.”

        “How are you going to get home?”

        “Driving.” He shrugs.

        “No, it is dangerous,” I start thinking, ”is your family home?”

        “No. They are not. They live in London and France, it all depends on the seasons. But they will come back here four times a year.”

        “They don’t live with you?” I ask with surprise.

        “No. My father’s family is originally from London and my mother’s is from France. They want to live at the countryside. But when they come to America they will stay for a month.”

        “Don’t you miss them?”

        “Yes, but we talk on the Internet almost every day, so it is fine.”

        “Awww . . . poor Erik. If I ever leave my mother for such a long time I’ll die. I’m always worrying about her.”

        “I understand.”

        The first thunder occurs. I shake with fear and grab Erik’s hand. Ever since I was three, I have been afraid of thunders. I was once scared by the sound and could not sleep the whole night.

        “Can you stay?” I have a feeling that there will be more thunders and I probably cannot sleep tonight without someone to talk to.

        “Yes, Rae,” he whispers, “you are afraid of the thunders? That is new for me.”

        “Yes.” I reply. We are sitting side by side in front of the piano. I am holding the paper and a pen. Erik had already put the pen down and now he starts playing Chopin.

        “Then don’t be. Listen to the piano and relax, don’t think about the thunders.”

        It works. I listen to his Chopin, enjoying the notes. When he is in the middle of the song, he turns his face around and looks me into the eyes.

        The kiss starts soft. Erik’s hands are still moving on the piano. Then the song ends and he places a hand on my cheek, the usual place.

        He uses his nose to touch mine. His finger brushes through my neck and to my shoulder. Then he stops, because he figures out that I try to poke his stomach. He grabs my right hand (the one I use to poke him) and gently kissing my fingers.

        “Do you want to sing the song again and see if the lyrics and song work?”

        “Yea.”

        So then we sing.

        Erik has a beautiful voice. His voice melts my heart. He takes my hand play with it, smiling as I hear another thunder and slide into his arms.

        “You don’t need to take a bath?” I suddenly ask.

        He laughs, ”If you want me to.”

        “Sure,” I say, “after we both finish we can sing the song again.”

 

        Half an hour later we are lying on my bed.

        “I can give you my bed,” I tell Erik, “I can sleep on the ground, you know. I love to sleep on the ground, and I’ve got a set of pillow and sheets and everything . . .”

        Resolution: Erik sleeps in my bed. I get to sleep on the ground. I always sleep on the ground when Vivian comes to sleepover. I do not like to sleep with people on the same bed, except for my mother. I can probably break my own rule for Vivian sometimes, too, because she is a girl. But Erik? Even though I like him so much, the answer is still no doubt a NO.

        But the rule totally breaks when the thunders become more and louder. I have no choose.

        I slide into the bed, softly shaking Erik’s shoulders. The thunders keep shouting outside the window.

        “Erik, I am afraid.” I whisper.

        “Rae.” His only respond is to hug me, pulling me closer to him and gently kissing my forehead.

        “I don’t like thunders.” I tell him.

        “I know, I know,” he says patiently, petting my back, “everything will be alright. There is no need to worry, huh?”

        I nod. Erik’s soft, sweet breath is on my neck, creating a awkward but nice feeling. I realize that he is asleep. His hands are still holding me, there is no way I can get out, and I do not want to, either.

        We cuddle to sleep until the next morning.

 

        The dirty clothes that I hanged on the back of my chair last night were washed and folded nicely on my desk. So are Erik’s clothes. My mother was in the room when we were asleep.

        Sitting on the table, I take a bite at the chocolate cookie my mother made and find it tastes surprisingly good. Erik sits right in front of me, and my mother sits in the middle between Erik and I. She smiles at both of us. I know she has something to tell us. I am waiting to see what she will say, and I know she cannot hide any longer.

       “You two were so cute last night. I was there to check if Rae is crying because of the thunders,” she says, winking at us.

        “Mom!” I cry out, “I’m no longer a little kid anymore, I won’t cry because of thunders.”

        “But you were afraid,” Erik adds.

        “Well, thank you!” I say, my mother is now laughing.

        “I was glad to find that you two weren’t naked on the bed,” my mother keeps on, taking a bite of her own sandwich.

        “MOM!” I yell, face blushing. Erik’s smile becomes wider.

        “Of course not, dear Cecilia,” Erik says, all gentleman-like. He takes another piece of cookies, “and this tastes great.”

        “Oh, thank you, young man,” my mother loves it when people praise her cooking skills.

        “Yes, it tastes great,” I say, trying to change a topic. I really do not want to spend the whole morning talking about last night, and I definitely do not want to see our breakfast time becomes a brunch.

        Lucky me, everyone finishes their meals and I can finally leave the table.

        “I will do the dishes,” I say.

        “I can help,” Erik tells me, already grabbing his own dish and heads toward the kitchen.

        “No, no, no, no!” I say, laughing and trying to take his dish.

        My mother laughs, “You are like old couples fighting for some daily little things. That looks so cool.” She talks like as if she wants Erik to be my husband and wants him to move to our house immediately.

“I’m still too young to take about marriage, dearest Mom,” I sigh, giving her a sad little smile (it is not like I am really sad, I am just trying to make my mother laugh here).

“Well, that is right.” She agrees.

Erik had already got my dish and his own to the sink without me noticing.

I run toward to attack him, but he fights back with the bubbles the soap makes on his hand. Game over. He is the winner.

        We finish the dishes and are ready to leave.

        “Do we need to meet Richard at the music hall today?”

        “Yes. We’re going to meet him this afternoon. Is that okay for you?”

        “No problem.” I reply. Then we both sit on the sofa and watch the television (again) with my mother.

        Well, it is my ideal “home”, now that there is finally a male (a.k.a. Erik the big brother), but there is still the father missing. My mind starts running and the graphic mind of a family with a father, a mother, a brother, and a little kitty invades my brain . . .

Reviews

[R J Askew]

I especially like this line, which made me smile: 'The thunder keeps shouting outside the window.'

As for that Erik, kissing and playing Chopin at the same time! Quite a talent!

The last graph is most moving for me though. The absence of a father is behind so much in your story.

[Singer-Songwriter - Miya]

Moving on . . . to Vol. II, written in Erik's point of view, and the setting is in winter. :-)