Don't

By Charlie Mann

What happens when you fall in love twice, at the same time, with twin sisters? "Don't" takes the old love triangle plot in new directions with love, loss, success, failure and plenty of mischief along the way. There is more than meets the eye with the Brogan twins and one lucky young man got to know them better than anyone else. This is his story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9781105808531

Book preview

Don't

DON'T!

Charlie Mann

Copyright

Don't is a work of fiction.  Names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2012 by Charlie Mann

Cover design by Charlie Mann

Book design by Charlie Mann

Author photo by Thaddeus Mann

This book was written using OpenOffice

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.

Printed in the United States of America 

ISBN 978-1-105-80853-1

Dedication

To the friends who have encouraged me and especially to my wife, who served as cheerleader during the writing and editor and critic afterward.  This book would not be what it is without you!

0

I always wondered what became of Mandy.

She was the most unique woman I have ever known.  Though many would criticize the use of the word woman to describe someone who lives so young in most of my memories, they didn’t know her like I did.  No one did.

I guess I should mention that she was my first love and one that I held close to my heart in the years since, despite the fact that I married her sister.  There are others who would make the same claim – about her being their first love or one that stayed with them, not the sister marrying part. 

But they didn’t love her like I did.  No one did.

1

I don’t remember the first time I met many of my childhood friends.  For some, it seems that they were always there, while others sort of faded in.

Mandy I remember like it was yesterday, only better.

I was sitting in Mrs. Shmeckle’s seventh grade class (not her real name; we called her that because of her prominent freckles and the way the letter ‘s’ always came out as ‘sh’ for her (we loved to hear her tell us to sit down); her real name must not have been as interesting or at least not as fitting because years after her departure, everyone, adults included, referred to her as Shmeckle.  The guidance counselor, who had neither a memorable real name, nor any distinguishing characteristics worthy of rechristening, and thus is only known by profession in this narrative, stepped in with two brown haired girls in tow.

My eyes immediately fell on the one in the earth-colored jacket.  In a word, she was flawless.  As I scanned each of her features, I could find no detail that I could imagine improving upon.

‘This is Susan,’ the counselor said.

In that instant, all I could think was that my future wife’s name was Susan.  Silly as it may seem now, it was anything but then.  As previously noted, it was also prophetic, even if it would not seem so mere seconds later.

‘And this is Mandy,’ she continued.

At that moment, I learned that the name ‘Mandy’ was actually the world’s shortest incantation and that the manifestation of said spell was some sort of stroke, affecting the parts of the brain responsible for blinking, keeping saliva inside the lips and rational thought.

Also the mental processes involved in not falling out of one’s chair.

So, in a matter of seconds, I had met the love of my life and my future wife.  I had also made a fool of myself and brought suffering to the sharp bony protrusion at the base of my spine.

My world had changed, for better or worse – or both.

2

My second memory of Mandy is even more permanently burned into my mind, and heart, than the first.

Over the several days between my pseudo-seizure in the classroom and meeting her in person, I'm sure I spent every waking hour thinking about her and immeasurable effort trying not to get caught stealing glances in her direction.  I probably stared at Susan quite a bit, too, remembering the prophecy and trying to imagine how different I would have felt if there had been only her.  Or maybe I just couldn't decide what made one more appealing than the other and was gathering evidence.

Yeah, evidence.

But all of that is conjecture.  I am sure it happened, but have no real recollections between her arrival in Mrs. Shmeckle’s class and the afternoon by the creek – those days are like paper-cuts between two amputations.

I didn’t often go into that part of the woods.  I really didn’t care for the thought of what might be nesting in the hollows beneath the tree roots and cared even less for what might lurk in the dark mud and murky waters.  Like most boys that age, I would never admit this and thus occasionally found myself there.  Such was the case when Brian and I cut behind the Shell station on that fateful Friday afternoon.

I don’t know what exactly we had in mind when we got there.  It could have been sharing a dip of Skoal or maybe some of the whiskey that he been known to commandeer from his dad and fill his thermos with; it could have even been the well worn artistic prints we admired on occasion – I really liked the one with the cowboy hat and heels. 

I do know that the one thing I feared most about being near the creek was ‘the Crane’.  The Crane was a rope swing suspended from an I-beam that extended from the side of an old railroad bridge.  Someone had tied a hook onto the bottom of it on which you could wedge a shoe while holding onto a knot further up.  The first time I saw it, there was a platform on one side.  Swinging out, the hope was to end up close enough on the return arc to grab one of two sections of pipe mounted to the platform to pull back up.  Later, another platform was erected on the opposite side with similar hand holds, reducing the chances of missing; though I had only done the Crane a half dozen times or so, I had never had to drop and only heard of someone else doing it once.  But I always knew the next time would be the one.

I never did the Crane when Brian and I went there alone; he was enough of a friend not to push me to do it.  Some might have thought he was scared, too, but I knew better.  I was certain that none of my friends had the kinds of fears I had.  They never cried, had skid marks in their underwear or talked to their stuffed animals, either.

Brian was different from the rest, though.  His dad left when he was 3 and his mother passed three years later, leaving him with her cousin.  At the age of 7, he lost her to a restaurant owner who wanted a wife who could cook and waitress, but did not think a small boy’s dish-washing skills were worth the room and board.  After that, he was taken in by neighbors 'temporarily'.  When his dad had a change of heart and tracked him down, the ‘temporary’ parents realized they were not ready to lose him to someone who had already failed him once.  Though they were beyond the ideal age for rearing children, life had dealt them a hand that they were now heavily invested in and wanted to play to the end.  Over time, his dad proved himself sincere and committed, but all agreed that Brian did not need to be rushed into another major change in his life.  So, Brian of the single mother, semi-orphanhood and abandonment now had 3 parents and 2 homes.  Not that any of it mattered; he always appeared to be the coolest of cats regardless of what life threw at him.  He nonchalantly charmed the girls, made good grades without obsessing over the occasional B and was above average in most sports.  I remember thinking he was compensating or something, but if so, that was a mechanism I could have benefited from.

I suppose we were both pleasantly surprised to see the Brogan twins in the woods that afternoon, though I, for one, was not happy to see them on the Crane.  Girls can be so much worse for peer pressure than guys, even without trying – a simple look from one of them puts all chants of ‘chicken’, ‘sissy’ and ‘momma’s boy’ to shame.  In addition, they have the idiomatic ‘hair-flip’ thing, which is completely unfair.  And later, breasts, which further tilts the scales.

Fear, instinct and common sense compelled me to turn and run, but something stronger slammed the door on them and drove me forward.

Brian moved forward, too, but with less impetus.  As much to my surprise as anyone else’s, I strode right up the platform and grabbed the swinging hook Susan had released from the other side.  Without missing a beat, I not only stepped off, but put a little spin into the jump – a real no-no – and let out a yell as I arced through the air.

I soon realized the foolishness of this move as I felt my heart drop to my crotch; to counterbalance, my stomach shot up into my sinuses.  I thought of the terrifying drop that might follow if the length of my arc grew too short to grab something on either side; I thought of the dark, snake infested water that would end the drop; I thought of getting stuck in the black paste at the bottom of the creek and not making it back up (though the fall was really not that great, nor the creek that wide, nor had I ever seen a snake).  But I had more important concerns, like preparing for the possibility that my rotation would be at the right point for grabbing a hand hold when I reached the other side.  Of even greater importance was looking cool for my women.

I was fortunate in the former regard, but even so, was unable to do more than stop the spin for the return trip.  Reaching my starting point again, I hopped off cleanly, trying not to betray any clue that I had done other than what I intended, and handed the rope off to Brian, who had no choice but to step off on it.

He had enough sense to avoid the extra acrobatics.  After his crossing, Mandy went and I made another trip, this time one-way.

‘That first swing was awesome,’ Mandy said.  ‘You do this a lot?’

‘Not too much,’ I answered, very proud of myself. ‘I’m still getting the hang of it.’

‘Well, you seemed like you knew what you were doing.  Can you give me a few pointers?’

I wanted to say yes to anything she asked me, but also didn’t want to end up in the creek.

‘Nah,’ I said, ‘I really need to work on it some more before I’m ready to pass it on.’  Way too cool.

She nodded agreement and I looked around for more praise.  Brian said nothing, per the Guy Code ('Thou shalt NOT do or say anything to make the other seem cooler when members of the other sex are present' – Chapter 1, Paragraph 3, Subsection D).  Susan did the 'hair flip' thing, tossing her locks to one side in a move that was full of some mysterious meaning and nonchalant at the same time.  It is also a form of non-verbal expression that is totally unfair in its gender bias.

When I gave up trying to milk my cool props, I turned to see Mandy go out on the Crane with a spin like nothing I had ever seen.  She reminded me of a figure skater on one of those mad tornado-like twirls they do.  At the other side, she stuck out both an arm and a leg to catch the first pole and stop her rotation, letting out a sharp yelp as they made contact.  I cringed in sympathetic pain.

Back on our side, she did not have enough momentum to get a good grasp and I, again fighting better judgement, reached for her.  The only thing that kept both of us from plummeting was  Susan grabbing hold of both me and the pipe.  The only thing keeping the three of us from going in was Brian anchoring the chain.

Somehow, we all managed to get back on the platform and I intended to give a slight nod and ‘thanks, brah’ to Brian.  He had just saved my life and I had to show my gratitude without admitting that I needed the help.

Mandy threw her arms around Brian.  ‘Wow, that was close.’

Girls didn’t have to try to be cool.

Brian reciprocated the hug and smiled at me over her shoulder.  I knew at that moment that I should kill him, but since he had just saved my life, I just skipped the nod and thanks and called it even.

I really didn’t know how to kill him, anyway and was sure I would not get away with it if I did.  I imagined, though, that a little time behind bars and perhaps a tattoo and earring would make it much less of a chore to act cool – a lot of girls go for the bad boy image.  Having to explain that my ear is bandaged because my mom ripped out the earring when I got paroled might work against that end, though.

Susan's response to the event was another hair flip.  I once asked Mandy if all girls were born with this talent.  Her response was to do a hair flip just as good as her sister's; I think Mandy used it less because she was more the heart-on-her-sleeve, straight-forward type than Susan, though each disproved stereotyping every time I tried it.  If I am ever exiled to a desert island with only a mirror in my possession, I plan to spend the entire time practicing this gesture and will use it as my first response to my rescuers, should they ever come.

Susan, per Mandy's instruction, took the next turn and went off with an impressive spin, body leaned back almost parallel with the water.  She showed no fear, no excitement, just an absolute confidence that she had things under control.  I have always admired, envied and hated that in her.  Don't ask me to explain that combination of feelings; you either get it or you don't.

None dared to try topping it in crossing to the other side, where Susan set the hook, cueing us to settle in without discussion.

I was sitting on the far platform, back to a tree, legs bent.  Brian was opposite me telling a joke about a rabbit and a dragon; he had a knack for comedy; I was less skilled at the art, always laughing in anticipation of the punchline and losing my train of thought.  Mandy, stretched out to my right, Brian's left, seemed to be enjoying his humor, while I was getting just as much out of seeing her laugh.  She had a nice smile that only grew more attractive as it progressed into laughter.  It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.

She was obviously interested in one of us, but each time I settled on which one, she would give a look or say something that made me start thinking the other way.  The emotional ping pong game was maddening; should I revel in where this was going or do something drastic to change its direction?

Susan remained quietly off to my left, sometimes sitting, mostly standing and keeping slightly more distance than would have perfected our square.  She wasn't shy and easily entered into the group dynamic when called on.  It just seemed like she had nothing to say, or maybe just didn't care to take part in whatever was playing out and spent as much time gazing out over the creek as she did focused on the rest of us.  The strength she exuded and total lack of insecurity, obvious in the way she never overdid anything, was very attractive, just not in the same way Mandy's bold manner was. 

It is probably a poor analogy, but Susan was like an addiction, a barely noticed comfort when present and overwhelming longing when not.  Mandy, on the other hand, was like the flu: totally taking over everything in waves with interludes of transitioning from the memory of the last episode to the anticipation of the next.

I don't think Hallmark has cards to express those kinds of feelings.

When Susan finally spoke unprompted, it was motivated by hunger.  We all agreed that hot dogs and ice cream sounded good and Brian (with his generous allowance) offered to buy.  Another point for him.

Susan crossed first.  I was glad to see Brian step up to grab the Crane when it swung back.  This would leave me one on one with Mandy.

'We should do this again,' I said.

'This or something else,' she replied.  'I hope you guys have more fun stuff than just swinging over a creek.'

'Of course we do,' I said, though I could think of nothing.  This was not New York City.  It wasn't even Boise (no offense to the Idahodians).  'You guys live nearby?'

'Yeah,' she said.

We stood there for a moment.  Me, waiting on her to finish answering; she, readying for the Crane.

She grabbed it and hopped off.  As my eyes followed her arc, I noticed something on the edge of the other platform.  Two guys, high school age, each holding on to one of Susan's arms.  Brian was nowhere in sight.

I was simultaneously concerned for Susan, for obvious reasons, and Mandy, who did not have a place to land safely.  My worry was misplaced.

Grabbing a tight handhold on the rope, she leaned back, swinging her legs up and into the face of one of the guys, screaming 'ass-face' as she did so.  The kickee fell back, holding his face in his hands, while his partner grabbed Mandy's leg.  I'm not sure what he planned to do at that point, if any plan existed, but it didn't really matter.  The extra couple of seconds he held her there was enough for her to use the leverage to get her right leg over and around his head, turning herself upside down in the process.  The natural reaction of letting go of the leg only allowed her to interlock them behind his neck as gravity initiated her return swing.  Though he was larger, her weight pulling so high up on his frame created a lever that was beyond his ability to resist.  He went over, reaching again for her legs in desperation.

He did a near belly-flop landing at the edge of the creek with a 'Thwack!' sound.  I had no idea that mud could erupt in such a fashion.  It was then that I saw Brian scrambling up the slope just above the point of impact.  I guessed he had either been pushed or somehow escaped in that direction.

Mandy, on the other hand, went screaming down tail first, hands in the air.  She landed as close to the middle as I could perceive.  I was too busy watching her and wondering how to be a hero without getting wet to think about the Crane.  When it came within reach, I did not have time to react.  I watched it stop and return to the other side, where the other guy stood, blood dripping from his nose and mouth.  This time, Susan was absent.  I checked back down the bank, but only saw Brian scrambling up and the belly-flopper peeling himself free of the black paste.

As the Crane arrived at the other side and Ass-face grabbed it, I saw her.  She had been awaiting the opportunity that had just come.  I tried to scream, 'No!', but it was too late.  She timed it so perfectly that he was off the platform and planting his foot in the hook when she tackled him.  The pair did a three-quarter spin before going into the drink about half-way between Mandy and his mud-clad partner, now standing on dry land.

My mouth was open so wide that I must have looked like one of the faces on the water gun game at the carnival.  Where Mandy had done something extreme in a situation with no good options and maybe a second to choose her action, Susan had made a conscious decision to do something incredibly brave when she had a perfectly safe course of action in running or hiding.  Watching this, I knew there was no reason I should have been more obsessed with Mandy, but reason has much to do with respect, envy and admiration and very little to do with love, attraction and obsession.

When the Crane returned, I grabbed it and stood looking down for a moment before hanging it and carefully descending the slope.  I reached bottom as Mandy was nearing the bank.  I clenched my jaws, took a breath and began trudging through the muck with my hand extended.  Mandy took the hand and pulled me in, laughing hysterically.

Between Susan's heroics and Mandy forcing me into a swampy baptism, my choice in sisters was fast swinging in the other direction.  I came up out of the water faster than I went in, sputtering and shaking.  'Dumb bitch!' was all I could muster as I tried to spit the taste of stagnant fish urine out of my mouth.  I went to push her back in, but pulled back at the last minute, unable to lash out physically at a member of the 'weaker' sex, even one who deserved it.  Instead, I slogged out of the marsh and up the bank sounding like a drunken Daffy Duck.  Mandy raced after me and caught me under the bridge, turning me to face her.

I got no more than the 'w' in 'what' out when her lips mashed against mine.  It was not a passionate kiss by later standards and was fairly close to the least romantic situation in which I have ever been kissed, but it ushered me into a new stage in life.  Despite my taste buds' attempts at rejecting their vocation permanently, the sweet flavor of her kiss came through.  And the fact that her lips barely parted did not hinder the sensation that took over my entire mouth and, finding that insufficient to contain the experience, propagated throughout the rest of my body.  I was no longer angry, wet, dirty or anything else; the physical world ceased to exist outside of the point where our lips met.

I have no idea how long it lasted.  Remembering it years later, I know time dilated in a big way, but have no way of knowing precisely how much.  All I know is that when it was over, I was breathing heavily and seeing Mandy in a way I had never seen anyone before: she was more real, more vital, than I ever imagined anyone could seem to another person.

In a perfect world, such a key event would have been savored and relished before returning to the rest of my life, but this was not such a place.  Possibly to avoid a confrontation on the other side or maybe just to rejoin us, Susan swam the greater distance to our side and followed the path we had taken under the bridge.  I saw her and then caught sight of Brian crossing above us.  Mandy took a step back and put a finger to her lips, gesturing for secrecy.  I nodded dumbly in agreement.  I would have done the same if she had asked me to build a life sized Eiffel Tower out of Jello or grow an extra nose.

'You guys OK?' Susan asked.

'Yeah,' Mandy replied, far more nonchalant than I could manage for at least the next month.  'You?'

Another hair flip.  Even wet, it sufficed as an answer to whatever question was asked.  'Let's go eat,' was all she said.

3

To my knowledge, Brian didn't know about the kiss under the bridge.  I was fairly certain that Susan did, though I couldn't say how I knew.  As to how she knew, she could have seen it and said nothing or Mandy could have told her, but my money would have been on her just sensing it. 

In any event, I did not tell.  I would have kept the secret just because Mandy asked me to, but my desire to not ruin any chance at a repeat performance was just as much a motivator.  Also, I did not want to breach the subject and give Mandy a reason to tell everyone how inept I was at the act; I have never asked for an evaluation of my technique nor has one been volunteered, but I am certain that my first smooch left something to be desired.  It still remains as one of the top 10 from my perspective.

Not from a lack of desire on my part, our lips remained separated for several weeks.  Most of the time, Susan was there and often Brian, too.  But on the occasions when we were alone, she did not offer and I was far too scared to initiate.

I still enjoyed her (their) company.  Mandy had taken a clear and decisive lead in the contest for my heart, but Susan was still something larger than life to me, something I wanted to be close to, if not in physical contact with; again, the admiration versus obsession thing.

The four of us never returned to the Crane as a group, but we did have several outings to the Dairy Barn, saw a movie and rode on the Brogans' dirt bikes.  We shot pool, played ping pong and threw darts in Brian's dad's basement on rainy days.  It was a good time for all, even if I secretly wanted half of us to go away so the other half could explore the finer points of love.

By the time it finally came, I thought the kiss at the creek had been a fluke that would never be repeated.  Mandy and I had been alone in their den most of the afternoon as Susan and Brian worked on a three dimensional model of a town for some book we were reading in English class.  We were watching Scooby-Doo, a childish indulgence I never apologized for, even then.  It was the one where Don Knotts was a motorcycle cop in Juneberry and confuses his RPM and MPH gauges.

'You didn't make too much of what happened, did you?' She asked.

I knew exactly what she was referring to, but pretending not to allowed me to downplay the importance of it.  'What?'

'The kiss...'  she dragged out the word melodiously.  'It was no big deal, right?'

Of course it was.  'Of course it wasn't.'  A part of me was dying and I was hoping it would take the rest of me with it.

'So it wouldn't be a big deal for it to happen again?'

I think I felt every possible emotion at that point and a few impossible one.  But I knew what I wanted and would deal with the ramifications later.  'Sure.' I said.

It must have been the right answer, because she kissed me.

Time was less distorted and I was more aware of the world beyond our pie holes this time.  It was a much longer kiss and was repeated several times.  When we were done, she pushed me back on the floor and rested her head on my shoulder with a hand on my chest.

'I don't know about you, but it was my first kiss,' she began.  'I like you and I think I love you, but I don't want you to think we are going together because of that.'

Some things never change, and then, as now, I had no clue as to how women operated or why they did so in such strange ways.  If men are from Mars, women are from some twisted parallel universe in which up is down and dental surgery is a form of entertainment.

'I love you...'

I knew it came out wrong.

Actually, it came out right, which was wrong.

Maybe I was from a perpendicular universe in which stupidity was a virtue.

She propped herself up on an elbow and kissed me again.  Brief and light this time, but still very tender.  There was nothing condescending in it.

'I know.'  She got up and turned toward Mr. Knotts and the pesky kids.  'I wanted you to be my first kiss... and my second.  Brian will be my third.'

I tasted the soft serve from earlier, only it had soured somewhat in the intervening hours.  Again, the allure of death was there, but the dude with the sickle preferred to watch me suffer.

'I gotta go.'

'I understand.'

I tried to keep my head turned away as I walked around her, afraid that if our eyes met, I would cry.  But I couldn't help myself.  I stopped at the door and looked back.  She did not turn away from the TV, but I could see the hint of a tear forming in her own eye.  It was an opening I wanted to take to turn the situation around, but there was nothing in me that could handle the possible tortures that could accompany that.

I think I mumbled 'please' as I turned and walked out.

I went back out to the Crane for the first time since the kiss under the bridge.  It seemed appropriate.  I was hurt, but did not cry.  I felt nauseous, but kept everything where I put it.  I was angry, but did not yell, kick or throw anything.  I had nothing to lose and nothing to fear, but I did not hop on the Crane in reckless abandon.  I just sat and stared at nothing and hoped that I would wake soon and find that I was six years old and cared for nothing more than going down the slide at the park or playing Old Maid.

Time passed and I wondered how long I could stay there.  I didn't want to go home or anywhere else.

Eventually, I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Susan.  I had nothing to say to her, but didn't want to admit to any of what had happened.  I struggled to say something to make things seem normal, but there were no words.

She sat down behind me, facing to the side and put an arm around my chest.  Neither of us spoke.

It was then that the tears started flowing down my cheeks.  I did not sob or break down.  I just wept silently while she sat patiently, holding me close.  She did not look at me or even acknowledge my tears.  When I was done, I wiped my face and turned toward her.  She kissed my forehead, gently and warmly, but in a way that seemed very safe.  'You're OK,' she said reassuringly, then got up and walked away.

'Susan.'

She turned back and tilted her head inquisitively.  Once again, I had no words.  She smiled slightly and did a hair flip.  Then she disappeared into the woods.

And I knew she was right.  Whether she meant I would be OK or that I was an OK guy or OK in her book, I was OK.

I also understood even more why I felt such a pull toward her.  She may have been from some parallel universe, but things were as they should be there, more so than in the one I knew.

4

I did not want to be anywhere near Mandy for some time and liked being around Brian even less, especially when all he talked about was the two of them.

I felt differently about Susan.  I began to appreciate her company more.  We became the kind of friends that rarely occur and when they do, can be more intimate than lovers.  I could not fully define the relationship, but it made me very happy.  Though she did not spill her heart out to me, she did not hold anything back, either.  It was complete honesty without the need for full disclosure.  I was often tempted to tell her everything I thought and felt, either to bring us closer or ease my own insecurities, but her calm demeanor and restraint was appealing enough that I mimicked it.  Most of the time, it was just about having someone to be close and safe with.

But that was not all of it.  Susan was (and is) the most capable person I have ever met; anything she set her mind to was within her reach and most of it was creative and interesting.  She had amazing skills  painting and sketching, but what I liked most were her comic strips, probably because they were so personal.  For someone so introverted, who rarely joked around in real life, her insights into situations and talent with word play found release in this art form.  Sharing that with me made me feel more special than Mandy's kiss, in some ways; unlike her other projects, the comics were safely locked away and I never saw her share them with anyone else.

We had fun, too.  Riding the dirt bike with Mandy was thrilling, but sometimes the thrill was too much.  She was good, but never worried about where the laws of physics overruled her riding skills.  Susan was better and knew just how good she was.  I could ride with her and enjoy the speed and the rush of pushing the bike to its limits through the trails without fear of serious death or injury.  Even now, the memory of holding her close and feeling her body tense as she controlled the bike, the air blasting in our faces, the smell of two-stroke fuel and impact of the seat as we skipped across the uneven terrain is one of my favorites.  The bike also had the advantage of getting us away from company I did not want to be with; Susan knew this instinctively and volunteered this option often.

But there was no way it could go on like that forever.  Susan and Mandy were too close to make it practical to be friends with one and not the other.  Mandy  tried to rectify this situation on several occasions.  The one that I remember best was when Susan and I were on our way through the kitchen to the back door and Mandy was sitting at the table.

'Hey, dude!' She said to me.

'Hey,' I replied without looking in her direction.

The look of happiness I usually wore around Susan faded when I saw her; she rose, blocked my path and with her fingers, pushed the corners of my mouth up into a caricature of a smile, which she mimicked on her own face, head tilted slightly to exaggerate the ridiculousness of it.  'Hang on to that smile for me, would-ya?'  The smile became slightly more natural on my face and, in response, hers, too.  We all need the clowns to make us smile, I thought.

I looked up at Susan, who was standing by the back door watching the scene.  I raised my eyebrows as if asking a question without words.  She replied by flipping her hair and heading out the back door.

We rode separately that day out to The Floor.  It was the site of some old structure, but the stories of what it might have once been run the gambit.  Because there was no trace of the building above the concrete foundation (there was a small basement room that was completely devoid of anything) and no sign of any roads that had ever led there, I preferred the ones about a secret government installation. 

There was nothing to explore, nothing to climb and really nothing to look at, but it was a great place to ride (or skate, if you preferred).  There was a large ramp that may have been used for forklifts or trucks to drive into the main floor and various places where the ground rose and fell, level with the concrete at one corner and lower at the opposite vertex, creating a nice place to catch air, even at modest speeds, and best of all, a section of floor with the old asbestos tiles that were not only slicker than the concrete, but made satisfying squeals when the back tire lost traction.  I kept my hotdogging to amateur levels, but still had a blast.

After a few jumps and serious wear to the rear tires, we stopped, facing each other.

'You need to work things out with Mandy,' Susan said.

'I know.  It's not easy.'

'As easy as you let it be.'

I still wasn't sure what she knew and still wasn't going to talk about it in detail.  'I thought things were going to work out differently.  She gave me every reason to believe that.'

Susan revved the bike a little.  'It didn't.  But it shouldn't be all or nothing.'

My response came too quickly to filter.  'I was in love with her.  It's hard not to be that any more.'

She revved again.  'She still loves you.'

'If she did, she wouldn't be with him.  And I don't love her like that any more.'

'If you didn't, you wouldn't care.  You didn't fall out of love.'

'Maybe,' I replied.  'But I don't love her like I did.'  A little lower, I added, 'I love you more now.'  As soon as I said it, I feared her response, but there wasn't much of one.  She looked away when I said the words and kept her head down as she spoke, but nothing changed between us.

'I think you love her just as much, it's just that you have a lot of hurt covering up that love.  I think love is a lot more permanent than people think – loving someone else doesn't diminish the love for the first person; it just puts it in a new perspective.  It doesn't go away with hurts; it's just that they can't find the love any more, other stuff obscures it.'

Diminish.  Obscure.  I am sure that I sometimes paraphrase conversations in retelling, but I know she used those words because of how deep it sounded to me at the time.  They say shallow brooks are noisiest; if that is true, then Susan was a big lake, silent in her depth most of the time.  I had seen some of what was below the surface, but I knew there was more than I could ever see.  There were enough deep recesses in the lake bed to hide things that would never be found.

'I don't know,' I said.  But I did.  She was right.  I hurt because I still loved and though the love I felt for Mandy was stronger than anything I had ever felt, I had something else to compare it to now.  I thought that maybe I did want to be close to her and that maybe I could get past things, but I also knew it would be very hard, especially if that meant Brian being a part of the deal.

'Okay.'  Susan said.  She knew nothing more needed to be said.  She revved the bike, gripped the front brake and let the clutch out, spinning and smoking the rear tire before letting off the brake and launching.  She hopped off the floor to the right, got some distance and spun the bike around facing the ramp, tearing up the loose dirt in a rooster tail.  Then she got a good head of steam and flew at the ramp, winding the bike up and shifting like a pro.  The air she got coming off the ramp was impressive and she let out an out-of-character scream as she flew across The Floor, making it more than half way across before landing, whipping the bike back 90 degrees and heading back in my direction, where she yanked the bike around to a hard stop three feet from where I was parked.  I smiled and acknowledged her skill with a nod.  She replied  with the maddening hair flip and took off more slowly toward the path home.

5

'He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot,