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I know I should start talking about Susan and Jerry Peterson now, but I'm not going to yet. They are one of those things that I would prefer to keep locked up forever, and I still haven't decided if I'm going to share what actually happened with the pair; but they were the back-drop of so many other events that they do merit an introduction. Just, not yet.

So I'll tell myself that I'm not finished with life before the Petersons. I fudged over four entire years of Holly's and my life, not because nothing important happened, but because I needed to set the record straight about our Nana; she wasn't such the villain I let myself believe she was, and I could let that association concrete itself. Like I said, my judgment may have been right, to a degree, but it was also extreme.

But Nana wasn't the only person I judged unfairly. Gerard, too, I pushed away without a fair hearing, and the crimes I had imagined for him were far less damning. I suppose I had my reasons at the time, which were only fortified by his reluctance to come forward with his. Maybe, if I had gotten over myself long enough to just think, I would have understood it a little -- after all, I was going through the same thing, thinking all the same thoughts; it's just that we reacted to ourselves, and thus each other, very differently.

It was our -- Holly's -- eleventh birthday party; just under a year before Nana got sick. Of course, Holly and I weren't speaking to her, but that didn't stop the woman from throwing a fantastic party, or inviting all of our friends and their parents. And it was a wonderful party; it's too bad it was ruined almost from the start.

The difference in our female guests' maturity -- both physical and emotional -- was on grand display an hour into our festivities, when half of them began giggling cruelly, while the other half stared at Holly in mortified silence. The boys present, of course, were grossed out and embarrassed, excusing themselves from the room en masse at the sight of blood seeping through Holly's jeans. Holly ran out of the room, hysterical, and I gave chase, shouting to Nana that everyone had to leave right away. I stood with Holly in the washroom as she tore off her clothes and wrapped her hand in toilet tissue. I should have seen this coming -- I had my first period the week before, and it seemed we were cursed to follow on each other's heels in everything -- but at our party? I looked up at the ceiling, through it to whatever imagined part of the sky I thought God might be sitting, and rolled my eyes at Him.

A part of me was mirthfully thankful, on Holly's behalf, that Gerard hadn't been there to witness all the commotion. And then it dawned on me -- where the Hell was Gerard?

"I don't know," Holly cried, still frantically wiping at herself, and asking me without words how I could possibly think of that now -- and why I hadn't realized it fifteen minutes ago, like she had.

"Here," I ordered, taking the tissue from her and flushing it down the toilet. I finished wiping her clean with a face-cloth and fetched a pad from the cabinet below the sink.

"I'm not wearing a diaper," she protested.

"It's not a diaper." I snickered. "And it's either this or bloody jeans for a week. Hold that there, I'll get you some clean clothes." God, I deserved this. It would be the last time I let Holly doze off in Health class and finish her homework for her.

"What happened?" Nana was waiting in the hallway when I came out of the washroom. "Is everything okay?" A little exasperated, I simply flashed her Holly's ruined underwear on my way to our bedroom, rolled my eyes again as Nana sighed with relief.

After Holly's "problem" was resolved, and our disappointed guests were ushered out of the house with placating slices of birthday cake, we decided to go to bed early. "Why didn't Gerard come today?" I wondered aloud. I stared past Holly's head, as though the darkness in our room had the answers I was looking for.

"I don't know," Holly repeated. "Maybe he got the flu." Now there was some resenting wishful thinking if I'd ever heard it.

"He didn't call." I shrugged.

A moment later, so did Holly. "Boys don't make any sense."

"Neither do you," I pointed out.

She rolled over to face me. "Of course I do. I'm the only person in the world who makes sense." I laughed at how matter-of-fact she was being, but I couldn't fault her logic for the life of me. "Happy birthday, by the way," she said, kissing my cheek.

I glanced down the bed, where she was trying to be subtle about clutching at her abdomen. "It wasn't, really, but happy birthday to you, too."

The next day was the last day of school before winter break, and Gerard was back at our side, his token innocence and his token ignorance shining together in his smile. I suppose it's just a law of nature that the two go hand-in-hand, just as knowledge was the first sin in the garden of Eden -- I had decided I was old enough to start reading the Bible during my intermittent visits to church, but that's another story.

And it went on like this for more than a year; Gerard would stand as our faithful friend for a long time, then disappear without warning and return without explanation. Not that we ever asked for one, but it certainly would have been nice. He would talk our ears off during class, then eat lunch by himself, or come to our house every day for a week only to dodge our phone calls on the weekend. He was becoming fickle, one moment our best friend and then a complete stranger the next. Holly was right -- boys didn't make any sense; and as time went by, I wanted less and less to do with them. In hindsight, this was probably one of God's least subtle hints. Still, damned if I knew what He was hinting at at the time.

I mentioned that I had pushed Gerard away, but that wasn't until after he began drifting away on his own. I saw what it was doing to Holly, being so unsure of where we stood with him at any given moment, and I didn't like it. Her moods seemed to shift almost as much as his, and even at twelve years old I knew that it couldn't be healthy. In the end, I don't know which of us cast the last stone; all I knew was that if Marie and I somehow weren't enough for her, Gerard would have been the next person Holly would turn to at Nana's funeral, and he was nowhere to be seen because one of us -- and I'm honestly not sure if it was him or me -- had decided he wasn't welcome.

Description
I know I should start talking about Susan and Jerry Peterson now, but I'm not going to yet. They are one of those things that I would prefer to keep locked up forever, and I still haven't decided if I'm going to share what actually happened with the pair; but they were the back-drop of so many other events that they do merit an introduction. Just, not yet.

So I'll tell myself that I'm not finished with life before the Petersons. I fudged over four entire years of Holly's and my life, not because nothing important happened, but because I needed to set the record straight about our Nana; she wasn't such the villain I let myself believe she was, and I could let that association concrete itself. Like I said, my judgment may have been right, to a degree, but it was also extreme.

But Nana wasn't the only person I judged unfairly. Gerard, too, I pushed away without a fair hearing, and the crimes I had imagined for him were far less damning. I suppose I had my reasons at the time, which were only fortified by his reluctance to come forward with his. Maybe, if I had gotten over myself long enough to just think, I would have understood it a little -- after all, I was going through the same thing, thinking all the same thoughts; it's just that we reacted to ourselves, and thus each other, very differently.

It was our -- Holly's -- eleventh birthday party; just under a year before Nana got sick. Of course, Holly and I weren't speaking to her, but that didn't stop the woman from throwing a fantastic party, or inviting all of our friends and their parents. And it was a wonderful party; it's too bad it was ruined almost from the start.

The difference in our female guests' maturity -- both physical and emotional -- was on grand display an hour into our festivities, when half of them began giggling cruelly, while the other half stared at Holly in mortified silence. The boys present, of course, were grossed out and embarrassed, excusing themselves from the room en masse at the sight of blood seeping through Holly's jeans. Holly ran out of the room, hysterical, and I gave chase, shouting to Nana that everyone had to leave right away. I stood with Holly in the washroom as she tore off her clothes and wrapped her hand in toilet tissue. I should have seen this coming -- I had my first period the week before, and it seemed we were cursed to follow on each other's heels in everything -- but at our party? I looked up at the ceiling, through it to whatever imagined part of the sky I thought God might be sitting, and rolled my eyes at Him.

A part of me was mirthfully thankful, on Holly's behalf, that Gerard hadn't been there to witness all the commotion. And then it dawned on me -- where the Hell was Gerard?

"I don't know," Holly cried, still frantically wiping at herself, and asking me without words how I could possibly think of that now -- and why I hadn't realized it fifteen minutes ago, like she had.

"Here," I ordered, taking the tissue from her and flushing it down the toilet. I finished wiping her clean with a face-cloth and fetched a pad from the cabinet below the sink.

"I'm not wearing a diaper," she protested.

"It's not a diaper." I snickered. "And it's either this or bloody jeans for a week. Hold that there, I'll get you some clean clothes." God, I deserved this. It would be the last time I let Holly doze off in Health class and finish her homework for her.

"What happened?" Nana was waiting in the hallway when I came out of the washroom. "Is everything okay?" A little exasperated, I simply flashed her Holly's ruined underwear on my way to our bedroom, rolled my eyes again as Nana sighed with relief.

After Holly's "problem" was resolved, and our disappointed guests were ushered out of the house with placating slices of birthday cake, we decided to go to bed early. "Why didn't Gerard come today?" I wondered aloud. I stared past Holly's head, as though the darkness in our room had the answers I was looking for.

"I don't know," Holly repeated. "Maybe he got the flu." Now there was some resenting wishful thinking if I'd ever heard it.

"He didn't call." I shrugged.

A moment later, so did Holly. "Boys don't make any sense."

"Neither do you," I pointed out.

She rolled over to face me. "Of course I do. I'm the only person in the world who makes sense." I laughed at how matter-of-fact she was being, but I couldn't fault her logic for the life of me. "Happy birthday, by the way," she said, kissing my cheek.

I glanced down the bed, where she was trying to be subtle about clutching at her abdomen. "It wasn't, really, but happy birthday to you, too."

The next day was the last day of school before winter break, and Gerard was back at our side, his token innocence and his token ignorance shining together in his smile. I suppose it's just a law of nature that the two go hand-in-hand, just as knowledge was the first sin in the garden of Eden -- I had decided I was old enough to start reading the Bible during my intermittent visits to church, but that's another story.

And it went on like this for more than a year; Gerard would stand as our faithful friend for a long time, then disappear without warning and return without explanation. Not that we ever asked for one, but it certainly would have been nice. He would talk our ears off during class, then eat lunch by himself, or come to our house every day for a week only to dodge our phone calls on the weekend. He was becoming fickle, one moment our best friend and then a complete stranger the next. Holly was right -- boys didn't make any sense; and as time went by, I wanted less and less to do with them. In hindsight, this was probably one of God's least subtle hints. Still, damned if I knew what He was hinting at at the time.

I mentioned that I had pushed Gerard away, but that wasn't until after he began drifting away on his own. I saw what it was doing to Holly, being so unsure of where we stood with him at any given moment, and I didn't like it. Her moods seemed to shift almost as much as his, and even at twelve years old I knew that it couldn't be healthy. In the end, I don't know which of us cast the last stone; all I knew was that if Marie and I somehow weren't enough for her, Gerard would have been the next person Holly would turn to at Nana's funeral, and he was nowhere to be seen because one of us -- and I'm honestly not sure if it was him or me -- had decided he wasn't welcome.