One More Time

by Kat Pace

  The Coupling: An indie horror film coming to a theater near you.

  It was the sunset of our high school years. You know, about to go dark. About to step out into the world of self-discovery. Well, the attempt at self-discovery anyway. But there were some few hours of daylight left. And senior year was golden. It’s what you watch in those ridiculous 90s rom-com movies. TV shows too. Major One Tree Hill going on. It’s all those corny and cheesy romance novels with lusty covers tucked on the YA shelf. You know like what you secretly want to be your life but it never really is. Except it was. It was my high school experience.

  And then the sun set.

  Now I’m sitting in the back of my ride share thinking about how different everything’s going to be in the town I’ve been avoiding for years. Because the same town that gave me everything I ever wanted also took it back.

  Granted the majority of my graduating class doesn’t share in this sentiment. In fact, most of them have never left. Maybe four of us total moved farther west than PA. Most stayed east coast. For the smog probably. They never left. They see each other all the time.

  So yea, reunion my tight ass. Like I said, I’m not fooled. I see through the veil of false nostalgia. I see it for what it really is –an excuse to sip on cheap ass liquor to try and temporarily deceive ourselves into a drunken state of satisfaction. The beer is cheap and so are our dreams. Our integrity. Our sense of self.

  It all costs approximately one beer. Sign me up.

  “Emmy! My baby doll of a daughter. Look at you!” My mother squeals on the front lawn.

  “Hi, mom.” I laugh her off me. She always over hugs. Her hands fall to my shoulders but she still holds me in front of her.

  “Look how long your hair is! It’s growing like a weed. You’re just too beautiful.” She goes on.

  “I look the same, mom. You saw me at Christmas!” I remind her, still laughing. She’s almost near hysterics.

  “You’re right. That’s only seven months ago!”

  “Excellent math,” I smile.

  “Of come on,” she laughs me off. “Here let’s get your bag inside and off to lunch. I called ahead so they have a table ready. No, no, I got your bag. It rolls. I’m not that old!”

  I stand in the yard as she drags my very easy to roll bag onto the porch and through the front door. The screen door slams shut behind her. I’m aware I’m alone in the yard of my childhood home for the first time in years. Another moment that feels like it’s from a dramatic movie. Fair. I take it all in, take in the feeling it invokes. The whitewashed house with gray blue shutters and a closed-in sun porch. A year-round beach house with a pebbled garden and brightly colored potted plants. The feeling is something else, something different.

  Home.

  A smell. The power of a smell. How fucking wild.

  My house smells the exact same way I remember it. Like no time has passed at all. Like years have not come and gone and changed the smell of the house.

  This strange phenomenon stretches to my own bedroom. The entire path to my bedroom really –up the stairs, down the hall, on the left –the entire way smells the same. I can tell my mother has been regularly cleaning (anal that she is). New sheets, new pillows, new everything but the Fray and AAR posters hanging on my walls. They’re not new.

  Old perfumes, headbands, and my high school baseball cap litter my dresser top. The purple flower lei from my senior year luau is still wrapped around the lamp on my nightstand. I leave my bag at the door and sink into my new comforter.

  My mind is still drowning in its own thoughts. Thoughts I forgot about. Feelings I forgot existed. Nerves too.

  My phone loses it with buzzing.

  I jerk awake. It takes a minute for the room to come into focus before my mind catches up and remembers where I am. My room. At home. In New Jersey.

  OMG EM BACK IN NJ

  C u 2nite!!!

  I CANNOT WAIT 2 SEE U :)

  Trix. Meg. Trix.

  They don’t help my nerves. I toss my phone across my bed and decide it’s time to jump my next hurdle. What to wear when seeing an ex: a seminar for the obsessive and pathetic. Join me, won’t you?

  ONE. HOUR. LATER.

  Not ashamed to admit I tried 17 different outfit combos. Boyfriend jeans, cropped T-shirt and Toms for a basic I’m not trying but I’m definitely trying, I just don’t want you to think I’m trying look. Denim shorts with an oversized T-shirt and flops. It says “I’m cute and basic in a girl next door way” right? Yoga pants and sports bra? Too much? Messy bun. Curls? Make up? Bare-face? The possibilities are endless and they fucking matter. The look sets the mood. The entire tone. The look screams what your mouth is too puss to say. Y’all feel me, I know you do.

  HEY LOOK AT ME. REMEMBER ME? LOOK WHAT YOU COULD HAVE HAD/BEEN HAVING THIS WHOLE TIME YOU IDIOT.

  Sometimes, I really hate us women. I’m allowed to say that, because I am one.

  I’m not carrying a torch for him or anything, but I have ran through this day *moment* in my mind more times than I care to admit. Seeing him again. And now, thanks to Trix, I have a heads up. I know I’ll be seeing him. I’ve struck gold in the mine of running-into-your-ex scenarios.

  I settled on outfit #18. Washed denim shorts, not exactly daisy dukes but short enough, with my bikini top that looks more like a sporty bra, and a low scoop neck tank. Hair down with my aviator shades. The best marriage of Trying and I Stepped off the Plane Like This.

  If I don’t stop staring in the mirror, I’m likely to change again. Not only am I out of options to form outfit #19, but I’m also out of time.

  Beach Bonfire

  9:00 PM

  Headlights of parked cars flood the sand. I spot Trix from the edge of the lot. She's tripping over her wedges with one arm holding a red cup and the other flung around Travis. They started dating at 16 when both of them were still painfully awkward. And when they were both done making out with the rest of our friends. The decade under their belt has done wonders. They're still the best looking couple in town.

  They haven’t seen me yet. I watch them, enjoying my last moments of solitude. I admire Trix with her long red hair and fluid dance of a walk. If she had a purple shell-bra she’d be a dead ringer for the little mermaid. Travis was always the hottest jock. The exception to the rule. And only member of our group that was in the Homecoming Court. Dark hair, broad shoulders and a torso that looks like it belongs on a mermaid. Merman? He’s hardly changed –maybe a bit leaner now without all the jock muscle weighing him down. The metallic brow piercing and tongue ring are new developments. They pair nicely with his tats.

  “Hi!” Someone yells.

  “Here! Take this!”

  “HEY!”

  Someone I vaguely recognize hands me a cup filled with what I'm guessing is beer. Must be. It tastes like piss, like watered down piss. No wonder I stopped drinking beer in high school.

  Pieces of driftwood are piled high in a tipsy stack. The bonfire is going to be LIT.

  I cross to Trix and Travis. My flip-flops spray sand against the back of my legs. They scoop me into a three-way hug fest.

  “Emmy!” Trix squeals. “OMG!”

  She hugs me again –a solo hug –and almost knocks me into the sand. I catch a wave of watermelon. Her shampoo or whatever is in her cup, I don’t know.

  “Hey.” Travis smiles.

  “Been a while, Trav.” I say, hugging him too. I catch a whiff of mint. Travis always smells like mint. It’s from all the gum he chews. He does it to mask the cigarette smell.

  “A WHILE?” Trix yells. “Too fucking long.”

  “Yea, yea.” I push Trix off me. “I’m here now.”

  I note how touchy feely they are and it’s like I stepped into a time warp.

  In fact, looking around, I did step through time. It’s picture-muscle-memory. I recognize almost everyone standing on the beach. Older versions of their former selves, but their faces are the same. The guys have thicker beards. The girls have less perky t
its. Some have new tits. Some thinned out and bulked up. Others let themselves go a bit. Clearly not everyone gives a fuck about yoga and veganism.

  People change, but they don’t really fucking change, ya know?

  “So. Did you see him yet?” Trix elbows my ribs.

  “Here we go again.” Travis rolls his eyes. “You’ve GOT to be kidding me.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” I almost laugh. I’ll be defensive if I have to be.

  “Oh, no? Well, we’re about to find out.” Travis nods.

  Trix squeals.

  I follow their eyesight across the bonfire and past the horde of my old high school classmates.

  THE SUSPENSE.

  He’s standing right by the ocean, surrounded by four other guys –two I recognize and two I don’t. The waves smack his calves, slowly sinking him into the sand.

  For fuck’s sake.

  He looks the same but also different. Older. No shit. His lobster-red swim trunks hang just low enough to show off his godlike V. Thanks. A white tank hangs loosely over his torso. He’s gained at least three inches since 18, which is saying something since he was already tall. His biceps have also gained inches.

  A muscly arm runs his fingers through his hair pushing it off his forehead. His loose dark curls stick up in the front until he tucks them behind his ear. Dark tattoos crawl up his left shoulder and spread onto his chest. He’s like a certain member of a certain international boy band. The guy next to him looks at me. He nudges Brooks’s side, knocking the beer bottle from his hand. His head tilts back with laughter and his eyes catch mine.

  I watch his stupid lips curve into the most blinding smile you could ever imagine. The most miraculous thing I've ever seen. My legs actually wobble beneath me. I may as well be wearing Trix’s wedges in the sand. No. I may as well not have legs to begin with. I don’t deserve them.

  I’m eighteen again. A basic-bitch weak-ass teenager again. I watch as he saunters toward me. My body can sense him coming. It snaps to attention, electrifying more and more with every step he takes. I decide I get the vampire thing. Death by vampire. Because if he were one I’d let him destroy me in this moment. No, I wouldn’t let him. I’d beg him to.

  Who’s got time to be the heroine when the villain looks this good?

  Suddenly there’s no beach between us. The beach disappears. There’s just the ocean and the sky and the bonfire. His face extra tan under the eerie orange glow.

  “Emmy Lou.” He says my name through his smile. God my name sounds so good coming from his lips.

  “Jay Brooks.”

  Fuck

  Me

  Now

  Literally, because it’s been twenty seconds and my entire body’s core is longing for his. Longing to sit on his face.

  Figuratively, because well, I’m fucked. No one has ever ever had a hold on me like this. Nine fucking years I’ve been gone. And seeing him again, I don’t think I was ever free. I know I wasn’t.

  “It’s really you.” His voice is deeper than I remember and not as squeaky, smoother. It sounds on your ears like how velvet feels to your skin.

  “In the flesh.” I nod.

  “You look good.” He steps back and looks up and down. Blatantly checking me out. Starting off on the right foot. He’s the literal worst.

  “You look…” I squeeze my lips together to keep from sounding too excited. “Good too.”

  He hugs me.

  The atmosphere shifts into a new galaxy. Goodbye Milkyway. Hello Snickers.

  His aura is intoxicating. And I’m drunk as shit. Not from the half cup of piss beer I just drank.

  “Just get back?” He asks, shifting his weight toward me.

  “This afternoon,” I say. “You?”

  “Yesterday.” Brooks nods.

  A million thoughts are running through my mind. Chasing each other through my mind. Each one fighting for Top Spot. My mouth has forgotten to form words. Maybe it’s his new chiseled frame or pearly white light show going on in his mouth or his ocean dried hair or stupid glimmer of absolute life swimming in the pools of his eyes.

  “It’s been a while.” Brooks’s voice disrupts my daydream.

  “It has.” I agree, biting my lip.

  “Nine years.” I say.

  “Nine years?” He asks at the same time. We laugh. “Keeping count?” He raises his beautiful eyebrow.

  “Like you aren’t,” I roll my eyes.

  “I’ve been waiting.” The glimmer of life in his eyes is surfacing again. But I’m the one who needs to come up for air.

  Why does he say these things to me? The way he says it. It’s a perfectly crafted albeit extremely obvious innuendo. Or maybe I’m imagining it?

  He cheated on you, Em.

  “See you guys found each other.”

  “Didn’t take very long.”

  “Told ya!”

  Alex and Nate appear at our side, standing next to Travis and Trix.

  “Wow, Em! It’s been years! Great to see you!” Alex scoops me into a hug.

  Alex Hannigan, lifeguard. Another member of our graduating class that never left and never wanted to. Also, conveniently, the only Irishman I’ve known that never burns. Damn he’s got a good suntan.

  “I know! Snuck home for the summer.” I say. Brooks’s eyes dart at mine. I can’t help but stare at him.

  “The whole summer?” He asks. Fuck you, Brooks.

  “No! No! She’s only gracing us with her presence for two weeks.” Meg shows up next to me, flinging her arm around my shoulders and kissing my cheek. Red cup in hand, sloshing with what I promise you will be a migraine tomorrow morning. Smells like cherries though. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  “Ha-ha.” I elbow her.

  Meg is my second-best high school friend. Almost an exact opposite of Trix, but somehow the three of us were always inseparable. Meg and Nate started dating during The Coupling, but broke up in college. They got back together about three or four years ago. With Brooks gone, Nate is Travis’s best friend now.

  Meg with her glossy brown bob and petite athletic bod. Nate with his cropped hair and sharp jawline. Really, he’s like runway model level. Another beautiful pairing.

  “Another round?” Nate asks the group.

  They all slur agreement in unison. I have some catching up to do. Trix and Meg lock arms and follow the guys to the jumbled mess of kegs. I start to move, but Brooks stops me. He cuts across my path.

  “Emmy Lou,” he says again.

  I die in response again. It’s a casual death.

  “We covered names.”

  “We did. But I had to double check.” He smirks.

  “Seeming too good to be true?” I ask. Legit, what’s gotten into me? He laughs.

  “Something like that,” he nods. I can’t help but notice he’s still checking me out.

  “You didn’t seem to miss me too much last time,” I say, biting my lip.

  “No idea what you mean,” Brooks grins.

  “You’re still annoying, I see.”

  “You still enjoy it, I see.” He laughs at me and I sigh louder.

  “You’re still the worst!” I roll my eyes.

  “Hey! BROOKS!”

  “Let’s go, Brooks!”

  The guys he left are calling him back to the edge of the water. He glances over his shoulder at them, but I see hesitation in his eyes. It looks like he may say something else, but then a moment later he’s back to his normal self.

  “Don’t let me keep you,” I say.

  “Don’t go anywhere, Ems. I’ll come find you before I leave.” Brooks smiles again and turns to rejoin his group.

  Ems. His nickname for me, because you know Em is just too hard. First time I’ve heard it in years. I don’t have time to say anything as he leaves or call after him. Not that there’d be anything to say. He’s still the same.

  He’s still the one I pushed away.

  He’s still the one who left me.

  But what did
he mean? ‘I’ll find you before I leave.’ Like, tonight? Or in life? Leave like when he dies? Find me alone? Or to tell me something? Find me because he knows I’m lost? Did he say it because he knew that I would obsess over it? Obsess over what he meant by it?

  “That went about as I expected.” Trix says, interrupting my fuzzy brain.