Sarah Cooper
Story 1
The Story of our Lives
August 17th (Age 8)
It really all started when Hannah moved in next door to me. She was probably the most
interesting looking person I have ever met. She had stringy brown hair with one curl by the right side of
her face and two different colored eyes set very symmetrically about her beak of a nose. She was
small, but when she walked into a room everyone just knew.
That first time I met her was at school, she came and sat right next to me in the cafeteria. Now,
I know what you’re thinking, probably something along the lines of, Oh, she sat in the chair next to him,
but you’re wrong. I mean she was literally right next to me. We could have looked like Siamese twins if
we had the same shirt on. From shoulder to hip to knee to ankle we were firmly attached.
I scooted away. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on your point of view) she decided to
scoot with me.
“Can I have your pudding?” she asked.
“You could be more polite about asking,” I said. I paused waiting for her to ask again, more
politely, but she only looked at me with one blue eye and one green eye. I fidgeted and looked away.
“If I give you my pudding will you leave me alone?” I asked my knee (rather rudely in hindsight).
“Ugh, fine don’t be such a baby,” she said snatching the pudding off my tray. She walked away,
smiling at me over her shoulder, at least until she walked into to one of the older kids and they both
toppled over.
I laughed, thinking I probably wouldn’t have to deal with her again anytime soon. I was so, so
wrong.
April 12th (Age 11)
“Stop sniveling and get out of the car,” my mother said. “You’re the man of the house now and I
know you’re sad about your father, but we have people expecting us. We can grieve later.”
“I hate you,” I spit back. “You don’t even care that he died.” The ugly words hit her like a slap. I
looked away.
“You don’t mean that and you will not talk to me that way, young man!” she whisper-yelled, her
face inches from mine. “Now, we are going inside and you will be kind and polite or else, am I
understood?
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, remembering the one and only time I got the belt (it was for telling a lie).
I clambered out of the back of the car. My mother went straight inside, but once I was out of the car, I
couldn’t move. It was a sunny day, and warm. It was the first nice day since winter. I felt like it was a
mockery.
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A hand touched my arm and looked over into two different colored eyes.
“I thought you could use a friend,” Hannah said. I looked at her.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go,” she repeated when I didn’t move.
She took my hand and dragged me over to a pair of bikes and a backpack.
“Follow me,” she said, pulling on the backpack.
“Where?” I croaked out.
“Just trust me,” she said.
We ended up at the cemetery, at my dad’s grave. She pulled out three cups of pudding- one for
me, one for her, and one for him.
She’s the only person who ever saw me cry.
December 23rd (Age 15)
“Jeremy Finch!” my mother’s voice shrilled up the stairs down the hall and under my door.
“Come downstairs and join this party this instant!”
“Coming, mother!” I shouted back, emphasizing mother to make sure she knew I was irritated.
My voice cracked. Hannah giggled, rolling off my bed onto her hands and feet like a cat. She stood up
straight and almost fell back onto the bed.
“I think we made it too strong,” she said, looking at the glass of eggnog we’d swiped. Neither of
us really liked eggnog so we had ended up taking swigs out of the bottle.
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I continued to lay in bed putting off talking to all my mother’s friends. At least they had let me
invite my best friend this year. I never really noticed before tonight, but she was really very beautiful.
She was wearing a black velvet dress that I’m sure my mother thought was too short and her hair was
straight, no longer stringy, except for that one curl. Her nose was much less like a beak. She’d grown
into it. I pulled her back down on the bed beside me.
“Let’s just stay up here,” I said. She curled up next to me. I put my arms around her. We could
hear the noises of the party floating up to us. Usually, I think Christmas music is cheesy and repetitive,
but right then in the semi dark of my room with her, “White Christmas” mixed with laughter and talk
sounded perfect. I closed my eyes.
That was the first time I wanted to kiss Hannah.
May 5th (Age 22)
“Happy Birthday, babe!” Hannah’s voice climbed through the phone. “I wish I could be there to
celebrate with you.”
“I know, I miss you so much. I can’t wait until were in the same place again.”
“Soon. Time will fly by before you know it. Has your mom called?”
“No, she’s not going to either.”
“She might surprise you. I’m really sorry she hasn’t called, hun.”
“It’s not your fault. It is what it is.”
“Yeah. It’s a shame, though. What are you doing to celebrate tonight?” She breathed out.
“Just supposed to go out with some friends, are you running some--?” I was interrupted by a
knock on the door. “Hang on a sec, babe, there is someone here.”
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“Who is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet, let me get to the door first woman.” I said, smiling to myself at her
impatience. “No way,” I said pulling open the door. I dropped the phone to the ground and took
Hannah up in my arms, laughing, spinning her around.
“Happy Birthday, baby,” she said.
July 8th (Age 29)
“Hey, mom,” I said. She looked so much smaller and older than I remembered her. The
fluorescent lights of the hospital sketched out the lines on her face. “Come on, I’ll take you in to meet
him.”
I held her hand as I pushed open the door and brought her inside the dark room. Hannah was
sitting up.
“We named him John Thomas after dad,” I told her.
“He’s so beautiful,” my mother said, “so beautiful, just like you.” She looked up into my eyes, a
tear trickling down her cheek. “I… I… Sweetheart…”
“I know, mom. I love you, too. You want to hold him?”
“I can?”
“Yeah, of course you can, mom. Isn’t he awesome?”
“John Thomas. JT. He’s perfect,” she said. Then, she laughed for the first time in years and
then we were all laughing, looking down at the miracle that brought us together again.
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December 22nd (Age 53)
I glance up at the knock on my office door.
“What’s up, JT?”
“Just wondering if you’re busy right now.”
“A little bit, but if there’s something you want to talk about?”
He paused. I could tell he was nervous. “Why don’t you come in and sit down for starters?”
He sat. I took off my glasses and waited. I imagined Hannah pestering the poor kid with a
thousand questions. She never had any patience.
Finally, JT looked up and said, “How did you know you wanted to marry mom? How were you
sure?”
“Well, JT, I would like to say I never had any doubts, but I was sure I was marrying my best friend
and that I loved her more than anything else in the world. I love the way she always sits too close to me.
I love the way she knows my secrets. I love the way she acts as a bridge between me and my mother. I
love the way she can’t speak when she gets angry about something. I love the way she gets really into
stories that aren’t even any good. All the little things, JT. It’s a cliché for a reason. When I realized I
couldn’t live without her, that’s how I knew.”
JT smiled. “I’m gonna ask Alice to marry me, dad. On Christmas morning.”
I smiled, standing up, “Congrats, son! Make sure you act like you told your mother first though.
She’ll be offended you told me instead. Alice is a very lucky girl, you two are going to be very happy
together, I know it. I am an expert after all.”
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He laughed as I hugged him, tight. My little boy wasn’t so little anymore. He was a man, a man
going to propose and get married and start his life.
September 22 (Age 84)
Hannah and I are sitting, hand in hand on the porch. Our grandchildren are scattered around us.
JT and Alice are on the swing. We just celebrated our 52nd anniversary by telling the story of our lives.
“We have a great life, don’t we?” I ask Hannah, looking into her two different colored eyes.
“Yes, yes we do, Jeremy,” she says. She smiles at me and hands me a pudding.
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