by Jenn Cooksey
Basically, all that means is that this isn’t goodbye. I don’t think I could ever find words to say to you in something as final as goodbye so I won’t even try. It’s just a see you later. And it’s a thank you for taking me with you on the most amazing adventure, for teaching me things I couldn’t have possibly learned better from anyone else or trust more than I do you, for making me feel alive and giving me faith and hope in myself, and everything else that you have already in addition to this new chance to find my feet again, and for being ready and willing to pick my nose for me if I were to ever need you to.
I’ll call or text you when I get home so you know I got there safe, so keep your phone charged and your ringer on, and for the love of God, please wake up.
Love you,
Erica
P.S. You’re not going to believe what I found when I was packing my stuff up, and I took some of them with me because I’m a girl and it’s our right to get overly sappy and sentimental whenever we want, and the ones I took were basically duplicates anyway. I’m leaving it on the nightstand for you. You know, in lieu of cash for last night. (<—KIDDING! Jeez, have a sense of humor, would ya?)
Wide awake, I fold Erica’s yellow goodbye into sixths again and put it back in its home in my wallet behind my driver’s license. I’ve read it countless times since I worked up the nerve to even just touch it. And even that wasn’t until after I finished installing the new radiator. I was planning on just getting road-worthy again so I could go after her as soon as possible, but the truth is, I didn’t have it in me to read what she had to say any sooner. It didn’t make me feel as bad as I expected to feel, though. Actually, some of it made me straight-up laugh out loud. However, sitting barefoot on the shore and looking out at the water while the sun goes down over it isn’t helping me make John Denver stop hauntingly sing “Sunshine On My Shoulders” in my head like he’s been doing since my first read through. Or, you know, help me to not cry with every word.
Rubbing my tearstained face and wiping my eyes, I take a deep breath and remove the shovel from the hole I dug. Then turning at the waist, I pick up the small Spiderman tackle box I’d bought at a Walmart one day a month or more ago so that while on this journey nowhere, I could be prepared for any opportunities I might have to pretend I know how to fish. It’s really come in handy the last week or so when all I wanted to do was sit right in this very spot where I’d laid Erica down the first night we got here while quietly reliving the inherent perfection of it all in my mind.
There wasn’t a single thing about that night that wasn’t exquisite. Unless you count being interrupted and kept from crossing the set boundaries and going against my own rules that I realized in that moment she’s the one exception to. There have been plenty of times I’ve been tempted to really and truly tie myself to her and had to talk myself out of it but… That night, I wouldn’t have. And part of me resents whoever it was deciding they just had to go for a midnight stroll or late night swim in this one small, secluded section of paradise. In a way I’m grateful though because it would’ve made the road ahead of me so much harder to travel now. Not that peering far down the road I’ve already traversed doesn’t too.
She’d found one of her grandpa’s cigar boxes that we used to use as treasure chests. Inside was the disembodied head of a Barbie doll, a handful of plastic army men and plastic poker chips, a couple of Hot Wheels, and a bunch of old, yellowing pictures; the kind of pictures taken with film and an archaic camera. Sorting through them one last time to be sure, I slide the one of just her out of the small stack of the ones going into my Spiderman time capsule. She’s wearing a Winnie the Pooh dress and has yellow daisies in place of ribbons in her piggy tails, and just like her letter, this one is tucked into my wallet and will go wherever I go. The others I picked out— like of Erica tackling me so she can kiss my cheek, and the one with me with my arm around her shoulder as she holds the rose I stole for her from Gladys Kravitz’s favorite rose bush—are put into a Ziploc bag and then into the tackle box along with one of the poker chips, army men, and a car. Once those things are in place, it’s time to add the newer memories.
My ticket stub from Les Mis is put in the Ziploc bag with the pictures so that water will have a harder time damaging any of my priceless artifacts or the letter I wrote in reply to Erica’s. She didn’t do it in mine like I honestly wouldn’t have been surprised about if she had, but I went ahead and cut out and glued together a construction paper flower and taped it in the one I wrote to her. It doesn’t matter if she never reads it; I just wanted to tell her some things I can’t say to her right now. And then finally, I add the little corked bottle of lake water with sand from our spot and the tiny pinch of glitter I sprinkled in it so that it all sparkles like the stars and moon did in her eyes and on her supple skin that night. It all goes into the hole between my feet and is buried deep, hopefully never to be unearthed by any other soul but hers or mine.
Several minutes later, I’m done packing the wet sand down on what matters in my life and back to staring at twilight dance on the water while patting a handful of silty sand into a patty when my phone vibrates with a text.
Erica: Are you awake yet? LOL
Me: Wide awake. Since I didn’t get up until almost 2:00. O.o You can’t be home already though, right?
Erica: No, not yet. I wanted to check in before I pass out like someone I know. :-p I’m really tired. And I think I smell. >_< What are you doing?
Me: Sitting on the shore and playing in the dirt.
Erica: Playing in the dirt?
Me: Yeah, I’m making mud pies. ;-)
Erica: Omg, I used to make those all the time!
Me: Oh yeah. I think I remember you doing that…
20
“The River & The Highway”
—Cole—
“Headin’ out?”
“Huh?” I ask Wyatt, slamming the hood of the camper closed and pulling an earbud out of my ear so I can actually hear him this time, “Sorry, I’m working on going deaf while most music is still worth listening to. You know, every now and then a new artist will pull a gem from their ass, but it just seems like most everything being done now either lacks that little extra something that makes an epic song epic, or it sounds the same, or, it just sucks completely.”
Actually, I’ve sort of embraced the idea that the best way for me to get what I want is with time and being patient so that’s my new theme song. And I gotta say, I really appreciate Guns ’N Roses for giving me something to blow my eardrums out and whistle along with while I check hose clamps and levels of motor oil and coolant, while mentally repeating what I hope is a game winning mantra. What I really feel like doing though is driving all day and night straight back into that shit-hole town, kidnapping Erica, and not giving her a choice. Which, you know, is completely stupid and childish, and it won’t work anyway. I’d only be settling for the role of runner-up and that’s the antithesis of who I want to be in her life. So, if all we need is a little patience, according to Axl, then patience it is.
“Yeah, I guess. I don’t listen to much of anything except country, but even that’s changing.”
I nod in agreement and understanding, and then remember he’d said something I didn’t quite catch because I was chanting while my head was buried in an engine. “Were you asking me something?”
“Oh, yeah. Just if you’re headin’ out.”
“Mmhm, it’s time. Loafing around all summer has had its moments, but now that she’s gone, I’m starting to get antsy without a job to get to. Sounds fucked up just hearing myself say it but, I’m not used to doing nothing…doesn’t feel right.”
“You’re still not going after her, huh?”
“No. I can’t go where she’s going. She wants to try life on her own and I can respect that. And she’s right…we both need some separation. We’ve been together every second for almost three months, so…you know, a little alone time won’t be too terrible.”
“Four years isn’t a lit
tle alone time, man.”
“Yeah, well…you never know. I’m good right now and can say I can do it, but, honestly, if I let myself think too long…I don’t see me making it four years, so the question becomes how long it’ll be before I’m relocating to the Pacific Northwest.” Which I really do not want to do, but, I’ll totally cave. I already know it so there’s no use lying to myself about it. “For now though, I see neon lights and slot machines up ahead…think I’ll see what fortune Sin City has to offer. You guys have a week or so left, right? You should come with.”
“Fuck that. I been there once and that was enough for me. Place gives me a migraine just thinking about the flashing lights and constant clinking noise. And uh…besides, Kylie’s pregnant.”
“Wow. That’s… Wow.”
Not the best as far as congratulations go, but from what I understand of their relationship, this news isn’t exactly something to celebrate. They’ve been together since the beginning of high school—for something like eight or nine years now, and Wyatt told me he and Kylie both feel like they’re just along for the ride in terms of being with each other. Like, they just haven’t been feeling it for one another. This vacation was supposed to be either a rekindling or last hurrah, whichever it turned out to be.
“I know. I’m just as surprised as you. But, who knows, maybe this is what we need, if you buy either of those lines that God has a plan or things happen for a reason. Regardless though, gotta do the right thing, which means Vegas is out for me. You know, she won’t be able to drink with the rest of us and all that secondhand smoke in the casinos isn’t good for the baby.”
“Yeah, you’re right. When’d you find out though?”
“After I got done talking you down from wantin’ to put a bullet in…well, you know. She bought a test when they were in town and I guess took it while we were all howling at the moon. It was sitting on the fuckin’ cutting board on the counter. I mean, who the fuck puts a piss stick anywhere in the vicinity of where food is prepared? Just…unsanitary. Think I’m gonna end up being a better mom than she will be.”
I seriously have no idea what to say here.
Yeah, well don’t look at me. I got nothin’ too.
Oh, NOW you’re at a loss for words. Fantastic.
“Don’t know what to say, huh?” Wyatt laughs at me.
“Not a clue, man, sorry,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck and chuckling at myself.
“Don’t worry about it…I’m really not. I love her, we just need to find the fun again, that’s all. That’s how I’m looking at it anyway. I mean, everyone’s gotta have a silver lining to focus on, and we’ll get back on track. Just might take some time, you know?”
“Well, now you’re singin’ my song, dude, so, yeah, I know. Lemme know how it goes.”
“I will. You do the same, alright?”
“Definitely.”
Guy hugging commences, ends, but ten minutes don’t even pass before I’m fast forwarding through Bill Withers’ “Ain’t No Sunshine” as Axl Rose and I start whistling again. Only this time, the window is rolled down, the wind is whipping in my hair, and I’m rushing ahead in preparation to slow my roll way down and patiently wait.
21
“Home”
—Erica—
College hasn’t been what I thought it would be. Day after day, I’m surrounded by all walks of life and the energetic buzz of hundreds of voices and yet, I feel incredibly alone here. Cole and I talk or FaceTime at least twice a week, sometimes even more, I get care packages from my grandma, go to my classes every day, study in the library when the dorm is too loud for me to understand a sentence without rereading it four times, I have lunch on occasion with my dorm roommate and her friends, I’ve been invited to maybe five parties so far and I’ve been to two, and I’ve even survived sitting in the stands for one whole football game, but… It’s not me doing ninety percent of those things. It feels like I’m living someone else’s life.
“You sure you don’t wanna come with us?” My roommate, Shelby, asks me.
She looks cute, if you’re into Alice in Wonderland and can get past the fact that Alice didn’t wear black stilettos or need white lacy garters to hold up her stockings, and nor did her dress risk baring her butt for all the world to see if she ever bent over. Then again, Shelby will probably blend right in with everyone else at the frat house that’s throwing their annual Halloween party tonight. Plus, she’s part of an ensemble costume, which was always more fun for me than going it solo. She and her friends are going as Alice, the Cheshire Cat, the White Rabbit, and the Mad Hatter so I'm guessing they'll all have a blast looking the part and acting it too.
“Yeah. I don’t really feel like it and I don’t have a costume, so…I’m just gonna stay in tonight and see if I can maybe get through that freaking O-chem chapter.”
“Okay, well if you change your mind, I bought a cave woman costume when Darren and I were still together and were gonna go as Mr. and Mrs. Neanderthal.” She opens the closet to retrieve the costume, and then tosses it on her bed. “You’re welcome to wear it and you know where we’ll be.”
“Thanks. I might stop by later if I don’t go blind reading first.” I’m totally lying of course. I have no intention of leaving this room tonight, or studying anything, especially organic chemistry.
“Cool. Text me if you decide to come…I’ll meet you out front so you don’t waste your night searching for us.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I lie again, “Have fun.”
Shelby leaves and I heave a long-suffering sigh of relief at the click of the door. It’s not that she isn’t nice or is ever a nightmare roommate, it’s just…she’s happily settled into her life here and by doing that, the contrast of me feeling like I don’t belong is glaring.
At first I reach for the drawer of my nightstand, wherein a picture of Holden is stashed away. I keep it there for the times I either need to see his face and be reminded that this is where I wanted to be, or when I just want to cry and indulge my feelings of loneliness. I stop myself though, and remember the package from my grandma that I got a day or two ago but was saving for when I want a taste of home. She usually sends me baked goods and sometimes that’s all I need to keep me from giving in to the temptation hiding within a drawer.
The box is bigger than most she’s sent me, and a small thrill trickles through my body in anticipation of what could be inside. Opening it and seeing the contents, my jaw drops. A gloomy cloud of utter homesickness settles over me, at once overcasting completely the yumminess and sunny memories that UPS was supposed to deliver in the form of cake, cookies, caramels, brownies, and a picture quilt.
My grandma had told me she joined a new sewing group and was working on something she’d never done before. I’m guessing the blanket with dozens of pictures of Cole and me from not only when we were children, but also from our summer trip that are printed directly onto patches of fabric and sewn together is the finished product of her favorite new pastime. A short note she’d written on lilac paper and safety-pinned to the quilt explains she made one exactly like mine for Cole, but I shouldn’t say anything because she’s waiting to send it until closer to Christmas. Although I don’t know how he feels about it really, I think it’s sweet that she’s sort of adopted him and has been sending him little care packages too. I know he appreciates them and devours everything he’s sent within minutes; however, I don’t know if they ever make him long for home like they do me sometimes. Like right now.
All I want is to go home.
Pouring over images spread across my lap and remembering the smell of home, how it sounds, and what it even feels like, I reach for my phone and dial Cole. His phones rings and rings, and after the sixth one, I’m rewarded with only hearing the sound of his voicemail. I hesitate, not knowing if I want to leave a message, and feeling even more alone than before. It’s the first time he’s ever not answered. After a few uncertain seconds, I sniffle and then stutter my way through telling him that I miss
him and just wanted to hear his voice. I can’t be upset with him for not answering. He has a life in Las Vegas now and talking tonight isn’t on the calendar. Tomorrow afternoon is, but tomorrow suddenly feels like a lifetime away.
Knowing this is going to be one of those times I’ll wake up regretting eating every morsel of baked goodness at my disposal in one sitting, I shrug my shoulders and pull the quilt from the box, bringing it up closer to my chin in preparation to hunker down with an entire pound cake and probably two dozen cookies. I go to drop the empty box on the floor beside my bed and hear something slide and tumble inside it.
Great, there’s more…
The small, square, and nauseating, pristine white jewelry box that I dump out along with a sealed manila envelope that has my name written in Holden’s mother’s handwriting on it lands on my lap and I don’t move, petrified of being stung by the deadly venomous scorpion steadily staring back at me. Its beady eyes meet mine and taunt me, daring me to reach out and touch it…to run my trembling fingers over the soft leather and then crack it open to see what it’s made of; to know if what’s in its core will poison and kill off the little of what’s left in mine.