Page 20 of Hey Girl
“Dah, dah, no…let it be. Just let him exist in your environment. That’s step one in getting used to someone. Simply allow yourself to be in their presence without feeling the need to interact and entertain and you’ll find you’ll acclimate so much more naturally,” she advises. “And in return, allow him to explore your space and learn about you by getting acquainted with the things that you love.”
Half an hour. I can do this.
I take a cautious sip of the hot tea and am pleasantly surprised. It has a bold taste but a calming smell. Even when I’m not sipping it, I hold it close to me because I’m enjoying the smell. It’s like chamomile but with vanilla and something else.
I sit and listen as Kimberlee regales me of the wonder that is Chris.
“He’s always been pretty hyperactive, which was overwhelming for even his father and me,” she gestures at herself. “We’re pretty mellow people so it was a surprise to produce such an energetic young kiddo. We took him outside quite a bit so that he could stimulate and burn it all off. And when he did things like cannonball into the mud or soak wads of toilet paper and throw them at the wall to see if they would stick, we just shrugged it off as him expressing himself. It was when it came time for mainstream schooling that it came to our attention that something was a little off. He was in the principal’s office more than he was in class and all the teachers expressed concern, so we took him to a therapist who had a few ideas.”
I feel myself oddly relax into the couch, still clutching the amethyst and the tea mug mind you and let her tell me stories about the energetic drummer I’ve been intrigued with who both confuses my senses and warms my heart…like this tea…it’s giving me the warm fuzzies.
“When he was eight, his Uncle Tommy did us the major disservice of buying him a drum kit.”
I feel a small smile tug at my mouth at the visual of young, crazy, chaotic Chris going to town on a set of drums.
“No one slept for about seven months, but it gave him an outlet to channel his energy and emotions,” Kimberlee goes on to explain. “The six hours a day he was on the drums, we simply resorted to earplugs, and during the time he wasn’t, well, he wasn’t completely calm, I don’t think that’s possible for him, but he was definitely more relatable. Oh!” she seems to remember something. “And we had a code word that we used when he would get a little out of hand that you can feel free to borrow, darling.”
“Mom, we’ve been here for forty-six minutes!” Chris complains as he paces behind the couch I’m sitting on. “When are you going to get to my good qualities, so she knows it’s okay to date me, for crying out loud?”
“Chris-”
“I’m getting impatient! I’ve looked at all her magazines so many times that I’m certain I can make a flourless white chocolate torte fit for the holidays, a centerpiece that will make Martha Stewart weep, and how to make a glitch-free camping trip - whoa, we should go camping! That’ll relax Rebecca and we could make our own-,”
“Kumquat!” Kimberlee barks.
Chris stops talking and draws in a deep breath through his nose and slowly lets it out.
Huh. I think I will take her up on using that nifty nugget.
Kummmmm-quaaaat…I like that word. It’s dirty, somehow. And I like Chris…a whole bunch of bananas I like him. When he calms down and takes a seat next to me, I’m drawn into his greeny-greens that sparkle like the ocean at sunset…and his golden hair that looks like rays of the sun flickering over the sand. And his scruffy jaw…I want to touch it.
I reach out and start stroking his stubble. It’s pokier than Iggy but softer than Howie. I liiiike it.
I feel goooood. I’m so relaaaaxed. I want Kimberlee to stay forevvvverrrrr.
Chris
“Mom,what the hell did you give her?” I ask, trying not to panic as I look into Rebecca’s dilated pupils behind her lenses.
“She gave me an am-a th-th-thi….an am-a th - she gave me a rock!” Rebecca triumphantly holds the purple crystal aloft, answering for my creepy hippy witch mother that’s clearly drugged her.
“Relax, relax…” my mom waves her hands in a downward motion. “The tea just has an herb from my garden that’s very calming…”
“You knoooow…” Rebecca draws out from her relaxed position, still clutching both the hippy crystal and her mug. “I just remembered I once had a weeeird reaction to St. John’s Wort. It’s ama-z-z-ing how you can remember things when you’re sooooo relax-x-xed.”
“Mom,” I snap my head back over to her. “Was there St. Witches Wort, or John’s Worth, or whatever in your tea?”
“Well…yes,” she hesitantly responds as she regards Rebecca with a quizzical look. “and also some valerian root from my garden. Maybe the combination gives Rebecca a… different reaction?”
“Is it squishy in here, or is it me?” Rebecca asks, looking thoughtful. “I feel super squishy.”
“Mom, what did you do?” I ask, as I gingerly take the mug from Rebecca’s hands to place on the coffee table. No more of that shit for her.
“Nothing!” My creepy mother defends. “I was just trying to help her relax.”
“Allergies are a thing, you frickin’ loon,” I scold her. “What if you’ve poisoned her? What if she goes into angioplastic shock or whatever?!”
“Anaphylactic,” Mom corrects me.