Running Barefoot
Page 46

I followed him out, my dad and my brother completely unaware that I was leaving. Samuel had picked up his stride and was a good ways in front of me when I exited the barn. Obviously, he was done here. That was it? He was leaving without more than a nod to me? He would probably be gone the next day without giving me another thought. Suddenly, I was very angry and more than a little hurt. Impulsively, I bent down and scooped up a big handful of snow, punching it into a sloppy snowball. I launched it as hard as I could at Samuel’s retreating form.
I am not athletic in the slightest, and I can’t throw a ball to save my life, but for once my aim ran true, and the hard-packed snowball plowed right into the back of Samuel’s head.
He turned, stunned, his hand rising to his head and brushing the snow from his short black hair. I picked up another snowball and chucked it at him, too. He ducked, but I had another one ready to go right on its heels. That one struck him in the chest, snow plastering the front of his shirt where his jacket lay opened, and dripping down his neck. Samuel stared at me as if I had lost my mind. I definitely wasn’t laughing.
“Josie! What is wrong with you?” He stuttered in disbelief.
“What is wrong with me?!” I cried back. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with me, since you’re so eager to get away from me!” I shook the snow from my hands and shoved them under my armpits, trying to warm them, the cold ache in my fingers in accord with the sting of tears threatening my eyes. Samuel walked back towards me, closing the distance between us until we stood face to face.
“I thought you were my friend!” I sputtered angrily. “Last night you didn’t even come say hello – today you’ve acted like we’re almost strangers, and now you’re just walking away without so much as a “hey Josie, how are you?” It’s been two years and seven months since you left, and I’ve thought of you every day. I’ve written you dozens of letters.” I shook my head in bewilderment. “We were friends Samuel! We were good friends!”
Samuel sighed heavily and shoved his hands fiercely into his coat pockets. He cocked his head and stared at me for a moment, his expression undecipherable. After what seemed like a lifetime he spoke, and his voice was gentle.
“I’m sorry Josie. You’re right. We were friends. Good friends.” He sighed and turned away slightly, kicking at the snow at his feet. “Do you know how old I am, Josie?” He asked me, looking back at me seriously.
“You’re twenty-one,” I shot back.
“Yep, and you are?”
I waited without answering, knowing what was coming.
“You are sixteen-years-old. It’s inappropriate for me to be anywhere near you.”
I groaned loudly and threw my hands in the air. My physical and intellectual maturity, along with my sensitive nature and my love for English literature should have made me a prime candidate for romantic daydreams and girlish drama. But though I had fallen unabashedly in love with Jane Eyre’s Mr. Rochester and Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy, the boys I attended school with held little appeal. I felt decades older than my classmates, and I possessed a certain seriousness and reserve that must have made me seem unapproachable and snobbish -Sonja always said I had an “old soul.” I kept to myself for the most part, took care of my dad, read my books, played my piano, and spent time with the Grimaldi’s. When I was forced into the company of my classmates, I kept close to my cousin Tara, who liked me despite my peculiarities. But I’d never felt like I belonged. Hearing Samuel tell me I was way too young to be his friend just made me want to scream.
“What does my age have to do with us being friends?” I repeated aloud. “You don’t just come back after all this time and act like you never knew me. Last night… I couldn’t wait to see you, to talk to you…and you just…left! That was cruel, Samuel. You may have outgrown me, but would it have hurt you to say hello, to talk to me for a minute?”
Samuel scrubbed his hands over his face in frustration. “Last night you didn’t look sixteen,” he said tersely.
“What does that have to do with anything?” I replied, aghast.
“I was looking forward to seeing you too, Josie. But…..after seeing you play at the church, I thought it wise to stay away from you because I care way more than I should,” Samuel bit off reluctantly.
My heart stuttered in my chest, and I stared at him, uncertain how to respond. He stared back at me, hands in his pockets, feet spread wide, brow furrowed. The expression on his face was so precious and familiar that I laughed and reached up to smooth the deep groove between his scowling eyebrows. He jerked back as my hand touched his face, and his hand snaked out and wrapped around my wrist.
“I didn’t lie when I told you I would never forget you, Josie. But it can’t be like it was. I guess you’re right. I’ve outgrown our old friendship.” His mouth twisted wryly, and he dropped my wrist suddenly. “Take care of yourself, Josie. It’s been really nice seeing you.” He turned without further comment and crunched across the snow without looking back.
I watched him walk away and amazingly enough, this time it hurt even worse than when he’d left the first time. This time I had no illusions about the future. There would be no letters and no comfort in delusions. Samuel was as gone to me as my mother was. The next morning his truck was no longer parked in front of his grandparent’s home. I took his letters from my desk drawer and his picture and the necklace he’d given me from my treasure box. I put everything in an old shoebox and put it on the highest shelf in my closet. I slid it to the very back and shut the door firmly.