I grab Edge’s hand as the train bolts us through the dark tunnel. The walls outside our window pass by in a blurry mess, but my mind and my heart feel surprisingly clear.
12.
i got your back
One of my earliest memories is my father pushing me on the swing in our backyard, face flushed with his first beer of the night. He’d yell out the name of a state, and I’d have to yell out the capital before I swung back in order to get pushed again. I knew all the capitals by age three. When I got older, every Sunday we’d drive out to the rolling hills of Virginia and listen to old songs on the radio. It didn’t matter how on-key we were, we’d sing along, windows down, the road twisting and turning along with our thoughts. In fourth grade, when everyone was singing silly kids’ songs, I was singing Johnny Cash. I knew the songs came from a different place I didn’t know about, some deep longing I couldn’t really understand, but I saw it through my father. The way his head swayed and his eyes sometimes watered.
It was around fifth grade when we started our secret ice cream trips. We’d leave through the back door while mom was doing the dishes, saying we were going to take a little walk. I was still small enough for him to carry me on his back. I knew I was too old for that, but I didn’t care. I could’ve ridden on his broad shoulders forever. Some nights when it was really late and he could see my light was still on, he’d come in with two bowls of vanilla swirl, and we’d eat them quietly together. Then he’d pull on both my ears and kiss my forehead twice. I always thought Mom never knew about the late-night deliveries, but one morning she said, “I heard a fairy in your room last night! I know it was a fairy because it couldn’t have been spoons clinking against a bowl.”
When I got a little older, he started taking me to movies. Some, like Slumdog Millionaire and The Hangover, we promised to keep a secret. We also watched documentaries, a few boring ones, but one that stuck with me was Food, Inc. It opened my eyes to how food production is run by a few multinational corporations, and how fast food changed the whole game of what we eat. Sometimes uncovering the truth is scary.
I remember the day my father was first deployed like it was yesterday. It was snowing big, wet flakes outside our kitchen window. I was old enough to know that where he was going was very dangerous. I watched him put on his uniform, button by button. When he came to hug me goodbye, he said, “Remember, I’m the only man that will love you forever.”
The first time he came back, his spirit was diminished a little, as if someone had stepped on his soul. But we still drove on Sundays, sang in the car, snuck out for ice cream, and he still pulled on my ears and kissed my forehead twice.
When he was deployed the second time, I wasn’t home to say goodbye. I remember being so mad at my mother for not getting me out of school. I threw some stuff. It wasn’t pretty. I never saw him again.
I always held that against my mother. She robbed me of getting to see him one last time, of saying goodbye. But now, looking at my mother on her perch at the kitchen table, plans and receipts scattered around her, chewing almonds, the sun making a thin glow around her head, I literally and figuratively see her in a different light. Too often the ones we love are the ones we hurt the most.
“I’m sorry,” I say, out of the blue.
“For what, honey?” she says, still focused on her papers.
“Everything,” I tell her. “I’m going to train.” I grab my swim bag.
She looks up and smiles at me. “I love you. And let me guess, then you’re going to see Edge?”
“Yes.”
“I still want to meet him, honey. Everyone likes to walk on the edge every once in a while. Oh, that came out wrong.”
“See? I can’t subject him to the mom jokes.”
“What if I sit there and nod and don’t say anything?”
She’s amusing herself. She circles a number and gathers her papers, tucking her pencil into her ear.
“You can talk. Just be chill.”
“I’ll try. And Tegan?”
“What?”
“I’m proud of you.”
She looks at me seriously, and for a second I wonder if, like the ice cream trips, she knows what’s going on. There’s no way. She has that maternal, all-knowing power, but she’s in the dark on this one.
“For what?”
“You know, moving on.”
“I don’t like that expression.”
“Okay, then I’m happy you’re living your life.”
“Well, we never know when it’s going to end.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Life is short, that’s all.”
“It sure is. I remember changing your diapers like it was yesterday. You had the stinkiest poop in the whole world.”
“Now there’s a topic you might not want to bring up with Edge.”
“What, you mean I can’t tell him you used to projectile poop?”
“Mom!”
She holds up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Go out into the world, be free.”
I nod and turn to leave. Within seconds, I’m out into the world, like she said. But free? That’s still up in the air.
* * *
I get to the pool in a matter of minutes. The woman at the gate smiles at me again.
“Looking good on the laps lately,” she says.
“Thanks. You know, I’ve seen you a million times but never got your name.”
“Sharon Moss.”
“Wait, have I heard that name before?”
“I used to compete, but never qualified for the Olympic team.” She looks down as if slightly ashamed.
“But you won regionals a while back, right?”
“Once.”
For years I’d seen this woman and thought nothing of her.
“I have a picture of you from the local paper in a scrapbook! You look different.”
“Age will do that to you. Also, I got hit by a taxi, twice.”
“What?”
“I kid you not. The world can be cruel,” she says.
“Do you still swim?”
“Yeah. I teach lessons, too, in the off hours.”
“Cool.”
She gives me a look like it’s actually not cool, more like sad. Then she says, “I’ve got a son. He’s been swimming since he was a baby. He’s only ten, but he’s got promise.”
“Promise is good.”
“I heard your coach talking to your mother on the phone. He said you’re killing the times.”
“Kind of, I guess.”
“There’s no ‘kind of, I guess.’ Own it, girl. Or you could end up sitting here, like me.”
“I will. I am, I mean. Anyway, nice to meet you.”
I go to my lane, and it’s calm and perfect. I do my stretches, pull on my cap and goggles, then start with a medium-tempo freestyle. But as I start thinking about everything—Edge, the pilot and his wife, the ghost man, Sharon Moss…I begin to move faster. The crash of my arms against the surface is gratifying, and my breathing becomes more efficient. My flip turns leave a swirl of bubbles that disappear like I wasn’t even there. I don’t stop for 100 meters, and when I finally do, I’m panting. My vision is slightly blurry, but when I peel off my goggles, my eyes focus sharply. A girl stands in the lane next to me. It’s Gwen.
“Hey,” she says. The only word to describe her face is humble, a word I would never have associated with her. I don’t say anything, simply stare at her, until she says, “Can I train with you?”
“It’s a free country,” I say. And just like that, something shifts between us. Like forgiving her has given me the power.
We swim for the better part of an hour, using each other for pace, but not racing. It’s what we used to do when we were on the team together, except it feels more adult now that we’re doing it on o
ur own. Coach won’t believe it.
When we’re drying off in the changing room, she stops and looks at me, tears welling in her sky-blue eyes.
“Morgan’s okay,” she says, “but it’ll take a while for her to recover.”
“I’m glad she’s okay,” I say, zipping up my bag.
As I’m leaving, she calls out my name. “You don’t have to be a bitch to me.”
“You mean like you were to me for years?”
She snorts.
“You know,” I tell her. “My father used to say, there’re three things you need to do in life. Be kind, be kind…”
“And be kind,” she finishes. “But it’s more complicated than that.”
“Not really.”
She starts playing with her hair and gives me a mean look in the mirror.
“Who was the girl?” I feel compelled to ask. “The one driving the car?”
“My cousin Harper, from Baltimore.”
“You should think about who you hang out with.”
“At least I have friends.”
“See? Here I thought you were changing.”
“Maybe I am,” she says, straightening the collar of my shirt.
I could never have imagined this moment happening, and because of that, I say, “Let’s train again. Friday. Same time.”
Her face lights up for a split second, like someone plugged in a lamp, then pulled the cord. She regains composure. “Sounds good.”
I call Jenna as I’m leaving the pool.
“She says I have no friends, so I’m calling you.”
“Who? Gwen? What’s her deal? I can’t believe you’re training with her!”
I try to tell her about the accident, more of what is going on, but Jenna seems not only physically three thousand miles away, but also mentally.
“Are you preoccupied?”
“Sorry, I’m at a breakfast thing for young women in Hollywood. Someone said Jennifer Lawrence was here, and she brought scones.”
“Well, I can’t really compete with that. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay. Bye!”
I hang up the phone and get on the bus toward H Street. I know I’m supposed to be excited to go to LA and visit Jenna, but it feels as if all she cares about are celebrities. She dismissed my whole story, probably because she’s pissed I’m training with Gwen. The two of them don’t have a great history. I know the pilot may have been the wrong guy, but the names are real. They’re happening. I wonder how long this will continue. There has to be an end to it; it can’t go on forever.
This time, the people on the bus look like wannabe businessmen going on their first job interviews. I secretly wish them luck. They’ll need it. We all do.
I close my eyes, remembering my father in the waves, the fingers of the sun behind his head, the frothy, white ocean crashing around him. Our laughter, how it carried with the sound of the gulls who flew in arcs above us. When I open my eyes, I stare out the window, watching all the people go about their day. Some are smiling, even in this heat. Some are sweating, impatient and angry. But Edge is right, all of them are dying. Though hopefully not today.
Someone sits next to me and I pivot my head. Recognition hits me like a foot in the stomach. The ghost man stares at me hard, his black eyes literally inches from mine. I jump up and get off at the stop we’re at, even though it’s not mine.
From the curb, I can see him watching me through the window. His face looks serene. As if he’s accepted whatever fate he has been fighting. I duck behind a streetlight. After I catch my breath, I look back, and the seat he was sitting in is now empty. The bus pulls away.
13.
the people you need are right in front of you
It’s raining today, and I don’t mind, because it has cooled the temperature a little. Edge has come prepared, even though his umbrella is a little wonky. I’m thankful for the excuse to huddle together as we walk to get lunch. I watch the drops on the sidewalk as they splatter.
I tell him about having Sharon Moss’s picture in my scrapbook but never making the connection that it was her at the pool.
“Sometimes you can’t even see what’s right in front of you, huh?” he says.
“I guess you have to look closer.”
“Yeah.”
“Like in the church, when I saw you from behind. I almost left, but something told me to see who you were.”
“Are you happy you did?”
“Yes,” I say, a little too quickly. I feel that familiar swell in my chest and a lightness in my head. I had my doubts about Edge, that maybe he was only hanging around because of the names, as a way to get over Tom. But we’re together, and it feels like both of us don’t need anything more than that.
Minutes later we arrive at what Edge calls the Great Wall of Food Trucks. There are even more at this location. The smells are intoxicating. People are lined up to order even in the rain.
“Today we’re going to get Street Mex,” Edge says. “The recipes go back four generations. It’s the kind of burrito that will change your life.”
“The changing is already happening.”
“Okay, enhance your life, then.”
“We’ll go with that.”
He smiles at me, and in spite of it all, I have this weird sense that everything is going to be okay. Please don’t let me see a name, I think. Or the ghost man. Not today.
We sit on the root of one of the giant, droopy trees that line the park. Edge puts down his jacket for us to sit on, and he rigs the umbrella in the branches above us to create a kind of canopy. We eat in silence for a while, until he says, “Mind-blowing, right?”
“Pretty much. Total comfort food.”
“Yes. And tradition.”
I check the wrapper under my burrito, and so does Edge, and we both smile with our mouths full.
A little kid walks by eating ice cream, his father holding an umbrella over both of them.
“Did you have any traditions? With your dad?” I ask him.
“He’d let me play pinball in the bar while he drank beer with his friends.”
“Oh.”
“It was cool, though. I mean, it felt like I was cool enough to go with him. On the way to the bar, and on the way back, we’d talk.”
“About what?”
“Spiders, wrestling, astronomy. He knew a little about a lot of things. But mostly we’d talk about women, whom he called ‘broads.’ I’d look forward to those talks. Of course, he’d tell me stuff I was way too young to hear.”
“Like?”
“Things I wouldn’t say in front of a nice young lady like yourself.”
I laugh. “A broad?”
“I know, right? But, it’s weird—I have this fantasy that I’m DJing at this huge venue, and my father’s in the front row, looking up at me like, ‘Wow.’”
“I’m beginning to think moments like that are actually possible. What about your mom? How’s she doing?”
“She’s better. But yeah…I wondered if you could help me with something.”
“Of course,” I say. Anything, I don’t add.
He shows me a file on his phone, which is a past-due credit card statement.
“My aunt, she’s on a gambling-and-booze binge at another resort in Virginia. I need to go there, and somehow confiscate my mother’s credit card. As far as I know, it’s the only means she has to rip off my mother. She’s at around six thousand now, but the credit line is seventeen. I swear, I have to get that card back. My mother has enough money problems as it is. She won’t cancel it even though I’ve tried to get her to.”
“So, you want me to go to Virginia with you and steal back your mother’s credit card from your aunt?”
“Basically.”
“Considering what I’ve been up to lately, that seems like a r
egular Tuesday.”
He laughs, and, even in the dim light, his eyes shine. How a person who has obviously had a really hard life can have that much warmth inside him is a mystery, although maybe that’s what gives him the warmth. Someone like Gwen, who’s always had everything handed to her, comes off as cold.
As I eat my last bite, Edge says, “You have your driver’s license, right?”
“Yes.”
“So we just need a car.”
I think about it for a second.
“I could ask my stepdad.”
“Really? I thought you hated him.”
“He’s annoying, but…”
“Okay. A car, and I’ve got money for gas. The thing is, we’re going to have to do it at night. So we won’t be back until super late.”
“I can think of something.”
The rain has stopped. We get up, and I toss my trash in the nearest bucket. Edge does the same but makes it a jump shot.
“Okay, I’ll text you later this afternoon.”
When we part, he kisses me, and we both taste like burritos, but it doesn’t matter. He whispers, “Thank you,” and I whisper back, “It’s nothing.”
As I walk to Larry’s office, I can’t stop smiling. Are we dating now? Does this mean we’ll go further? I’m kind of anxious to go beyond kissing, because it’s unexplored territory for me. I’m guessing it is for him, too.
Larry’s office, which he only uses part time, is in a nondescript brick building, but inside it’s super modern, with gleaming surfaces and abstract art. He’s surprised to see me, and maybe a little nervous when he offers me water, soda, a snack.
“I had a life-changing burrito,” I tell him. “I’m good.”
“Well, next time bring me one. What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath and sigh. “First off, I want to apologize, and it’s not because I want something from you, but I do.”
He laughs. People always laugh when I’m not joking. What’s that about?
“I treated you like crap, and I shouldn’t have.”
“Listen, Tegan, it’s a tricky situation. I get it.”
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