S t a c y

     We stood behind a tree. Music playing in the background and warm summer air playing with us. The big oak trunk hiding our childish giggles. Zachary holding up a small plastic cup with jello in it. The green jiggle made me already queasy. What would a country wedding be without underage drinking?

     Taking out a yellow one, Zach counted to three and we downed the putrid tasting things. I'd never even consumed vodka, so much as a whole shot of it mixed with artificial lime. We both coughed and peaked around the tree.

     "The bartender is awesome," Zachary grabbed two water bottles filled with yellow liquid, "Your family is awesome."

     I shrugged, "Meh. I get wine every so often. It's not as vile as that though."

     He laughed, "Okay Miss 'Oh no Zachy! I can't drink! Maybe the next party!?' you're so easy when you're tipsy."

      "Easy? I bet you I can drink that whole bottle in a minute Mr.Graser." I tried.

     Shoving it in my hands, he was smug, "Okay then, go for it Mrs.Graser."

      I stopped, the bottle cap in my hand, opening pressed to my mouth, "Mrs.Graser?"

      Realizing his words, he turned a rosy pink, "Well. Uh, heh. Sorry Stace. "

      Before chugging the entire bottle, I grinned at the thought of the potential last name, "Stacy Graser sounds nice. It's smooth on the tounge."

     He caught me before a dizzyness took me to the ground. The threat of the light pink turning to brown was thrown out. Saved by inches, I was brought back up to see stars and have an urge to vomit in the woodchips. Nearly hitting Mr.Grasers polished shoes.

Memory 07

     The mistletoe was hung in the archway. I'd wanted Zach to magically step under it with me, but he was nontheless humoring the fact of it. Scoffing at the leaf before flopping onto the couch.

      An abundance of decorations where dug from the depths of the basement. The tree up, Christmas lights strung, and garland around every surface. The television played Elf in all its glory.

     Like an agreement, we both sat on opposite sides of the sofa, leather being cool under my shirt-turned nightgown. I knew immediately from Zachary's sigh, he knew that I was freezing, getting up to grab two comforters from the linen closet.

     "Thank you." I let my beam warm him up.

      Images from my dream tainted how I looked at him in that moment. His half smile and stifled laugh was coated in the shadows. I'd wondered now if that's what he saw.

     "Shit." He breathed out.

     A car was in his snowy driveway, "My dad is here."

    My heart fell, "What about me? Zach, what if he sees me!?"

     Panicking, he went to the door and pressed his back against it to stop his father, "Linen closet okay?"

    Nodding, I slid into the small space and shut the door just as the cold draft from outside hit. A grunt of an greeting, and a rustle of plastic bags made me hold my breath.

     The door never closed. Coughs and opening of cupboards made the whole mood crushed. More stale than the bread that was on the counter. I heard the awkward settle of the floor, clutching the borrowed fabric on my shirt. Bringing it to my gaped open mouth to silence any noise.

     "Your mother-" He started in.

      I could sense the immediate hatefullness from the boy, "Don't talk about her. You can't talk about her."

    "Don't be disrespectful Zachary Graser! I am your father and you cannot treat me like this." His dad snapped.

     Scoffing, I heard footsteps on the hardwood, "Can't treat you like what? Do you really expect me to be nice? You abandoned  me for some whore who only wants your money."

     "I'm sorry. If you assume that I think myself a wonderful father, you're wrong. That's what I'm trying to fix. I just need you to stop being a stick in the mud." Mr. Graser seemed different now from our other encounters.

     "Okay, shoot. Couldn't possibly be worse than when you forced me into therapy." Zach's snippiness made me proud.

     "You are a very smart kid, despite what your friends and family tease. All your assets are in different trades. College is closing in. And I know you aren't concidering it."

     "It hurts to think you're alone here. I called your mother with her leftover credits. Son, please, come live with me until you decide you want to go to school. We can sell the house-"

      Zachary cackled, "I refuse. Mom will be out in five months. I am not leaving her alone. We are not selling the house where our family grew."

     His father took the time to listen. Not like other fathers though, he could be stern and lovable. His personality and Donna's where mixed right into Zachary. The more attitude coming from his dad, I was greatful for his family.

     Even Josh was cool, the biggest crush in the world being used on him when I was in seventh grade. Knowing full well that freshmen don't date middle schoolers. In later years, he'd drive us to movies, and tease us. Joining along the three musketeers every now and then.

     Will's dad and mine where more close than Zachary's where. Although at cookouts they all drank and played horse shoes, my own father was geeky and worked for a tech company, Will's worked for a community college.

     Of course, Mr. Graser prefered his real name Frank. I'd never gotten used to that. I'd see the man frequently, he'd be a driver and we'd hang out in the store he owned. 'Young Love' was always a common phrase when he was near. His man to man talks to Zach where always humorous. The boy would come back to me with the story he was just told, asking if I'd really like a kiss on the cheek every time we greeted or not.

     Frank would walk around the kitchen when Donna and I would bake, claiming that we needed to stay in there and make him food forever.

     I couldn't picture the burly man after I'd died. What was his reaction? Did he hug his wife? Did he cry?

      "Is therapy working at least?" His dad tried to make things lighter.

      "Not really." Zachary answered.

      He sighed, "I love you kid. Take care and call me sometime. As little as you might think, I miss you."

      The front door closed and the area was filled with silence all except for Will Ferrell on the television.

     "Do you need a hug?" I asked, still stowed away in the linen closet.

     It took him a moment to reply, "Yeah."