Page 7 of When We Were Younger

When I turn around, I'm faced with six feet of solid man. Flannel stretched across a broad chest, short beard, long dark hair tied into a knot near the top of his head, flyways framing his grown-up face. He's bigger than I remember, all man now, but his face still hosts those boyish features. The dimple on his left cheek, his sparkling caramel eyes, it's like I stepped into a time machine. My body goes taut, and I know my mouth has dropped open because it suddenly feels extra dry. I try to allow my brain to catch up with my body so that I can form words–or maybe break into a run and never look back–when a half smile teases at the corner of his lips.

Ten years, two simple words, and I melt into a puddle of want and grief.

"Hey, Dorothea."

4

STEPHEN

Age Seven

It's hot. The air feels steamy, the way the bathroom does after Mom takes a shower and dries her hair in the morning. I tug at my t-shirt. It’s my favorite one with the surfing skeleton on the front, but wish I could take it off.

I can’t, though. There’re still big guys carrying boxes into the new house. Mom says it's not polite to take your shirt off in front of strangers.

This house is so much bigger than the apartment in Nashville. There's a porch with six steps. Steps I've been walking up and down for the last million hours while the truck in the driveway gets emptied out. There are no cars driving on the street. I bet if I asked real nicely and promised to be careful, Dad would let me ride my bike in the street by myself. He'll tell me not to tell mom, that it'll be our little secret because I'm a youngman, and young men are allowed to do dangerous things as long as they're careful.

Mom and Dad made such a big deal about moving to this new house. They thought I'd be sad about leaving Nashville, but I don't care. Nashville is loud, and it's quiet here. That's the first thing I noticed about it when they brought me here to see it and pick out which room would be mine. It's so quiet, you can hear the bugs buzzing around. I like that. I have a jar in my backpack with a stick and some grass in it so I can catch some bugs and keep them in my room.

Delilah was sad. I felt bad for my big sister. She cried. She didn't want to leave her friends. She didn't want to go to a new middle school. She didn't want to pick a new room. That made me happy, because that means I got the better room, the one with the window that faces the backyard. I'm going to ask Mom and Dad for a telescope for my birthday. I'll tell them it's because I want to look at the stars.

I do want to look at the stars, but I also want to keep an eye out for any bears that might come out of the trees back there.

"Stephen!" Mom smiles as she crosses the grassy lawn. I think it will be nice to have a lawn. I wonder if Delilah will play tag with me out here or if she'll pretend she's too cool.

"Hi Mom. When's lunch?" I ask, hoping she says soon and that it will be pizza.

"Soon, honey. I just ordered some pizzas," she says, and I punch the air. Heck yeah, I love pizza for lunch.

And dinner. And breakfast when Mom is away and Dad is in charge.

"Stephen, sweetie, I was walking by next door. There's a kid your age over there! You should go say hello. Maybe you two will be in the same class."

I shrug. I don't know if I care who's in my class. No one in my old class ever played with me. I don't think anyone in my new class will want to play with me either.

"Go on, Stephen, don't be shy. She was in the yard on the side of the house. I think she might have been digging for worms. You love digging! Run on over and introduce yourself. I'll call you when the pizza gets here."

Mom pushes me towards the house next door, and I shove my hands into my pockets as I go. The fence to the yard next to ours is open, so I don't knock on the front door. I just shuffle back there towards the sound of someone humming.

The kid next door has yellow hair with blue clips in it and she's wearing a pink dress. Pink is not my favorite color, but I can ignore it because Mom was right. The girl has a shovel and is on the ground digging a hole in a patch of yard where there's no grass. If she likes to play in the dirt, it doesn’t matter that she’s a girl. Maybe she's allowed to ride her bike in the street, and we could ride together.

"My mom told me to come say hello," I say, and the girl doesn't look up from the hole she's digging.

"Are you digging for worms?" I ask, and the girl sighs.

"I'm trying, but there's no worms. I think the ground is too dry. I keep digging and digging, but nothing is coming up!" She wipes her dirty hands on her stomach, getting brown spots all over her pink dress. I kneel next to her.

"I could help, if you want," I say. The girl hands me her shovel.

"Thanks. I'm Dorothea. Dorothea Lynn Hart, but everyone calls me Dottie," she says as I take over the digging.

"Dorothea," I say, and she nods. I've never met someone named Dorothea before. It's a cool name. I like the way it sounds, like it’s supposed to be part of a song or something.

"I'm Stephen. Stephen Christopher Hudson. Everyone calls me Stephen." I try to keep shoveling, but the pointy end is getting stuck on something. It could be buried treasure, but it's probably a rock.

"I like your shirt. Do you know how to surf?" she asks. I look down at my shirt, and I think about telling her that I do. She might think I'm cool if I can surf. But Mom says I shouldn't tell lies, even small ones. So, I tell the truth.

"No. Do you?" I ask, and she takes the shovel back from me, shoving it hard into the ground and pulling up. She grunts, and a rock flings out, flying a few feet in front of us. She is super strong.

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