"I'm going outside to wait for Paul," I said, starting toward the door.
"You will do no such thing!" my mother shouted, the veins on her neck bulging.
I just kept walking toward the door.
"Johanna Marie!" my mother's shout morphed into a screech.
"And I said, enough'!" I turned to see my father touching my mother's arm, those words directed at her, not me.
She pulled herself away from my father and started back at me. Her eyes were manic and her voice at full volume. "You will not talk to me like that! Johanna Marie, you get back over here right now or else—"
"Or else what?" I asked as I turned on my heel to face her, to confront her.
"Or else!" she shouted even louder now, then pointed her finger at me, bringing it within inches of my face.
I instinctively cringed. The muscle memory of Paul jamming his index finger hard into my shoulder overwhelmed me. "Get your finger out of my face!"
"Enough," my father repeated, but this time softer, this time aimed at us both. As I looked at my mother, I think we both instantly realized that a Rubicon had been crossed. She had lost control, and in doing so, her illusion of control was shattered. I was her daughter, but maybe she finally realized that it was my life to run, or ruin.
The screen door slammed behind me, and I never looked back.
Paul slowed the Bird down when he saw me standing outside at the end of my driveway, broiling in the July heat. I ran toward him. He gave me a huge hug, lifting me off the ground. Spinning me, spinning me in small circles just like we were dancing.
"Joha, you look great!" Paul's mouth was almost hanging open.
I took over on his open mouth, covering it with kisses. If my mother was watching, even better. The aftermath of the fight and the joy of Paul's hug was too much all at once. It was hot, but these tears were too heavy to evaporate in the steaming Sunday sun.
"Joha, what's wrong, baby?" Paul asked as we climbed into the Bird.
"I just had a big fight with my parents, with my mother," I said, talking through tears.
"What about?" Paul asked as we roared away from my house.
"Nothing," I said, then took a deep breath. "Everything."
"It's going to be okay." He pulled me close, and I buried my head in his shoulder.
"My mom was out of control, but my dad told her to leave me alone." I couldn't get the image out of my mind, maybe because I didn't understand it. "Why would he do that?"
"Maybe you showed him some of that marine toughness he's been grinding into you for years," Paul said, holding me even tighter now.
"I don't know how they stand each other. He's so in control of himself, but she just wants to control me." I felt goosebumps popping up on my lightly tanned skin.
"Hey, you're the science queen. Don't opposites attract?" Paul laughed. "Like us."
I laughed for the first time all day. "Maybe."
"So what's the fallout?" he asked as he wiped the tears from my eyes with his fingers.
"I don't know. Something happened between them, between them and me. It was ugly."
"And you're so beautiful; look at yourself," Paul said. "What's up with that?"
"We went shopping last night in Ann Arbor," I said. "We were out really, really late."
"You tired?" Paul asked as I collapsed against him.
"I just want to get to bed," I said. "Is your mom at church?"
"If it's Sunday, she's at church," Paul said with a smile.
"Well, maybe we could go visit the grandparents," I whispered.
"I think that could be arranged," Paul replied. I rocked back in his arms and studied his face. He had made some changes since graduating. It didn't look like he had shaved since getting his diploma, so a small growth of beard was forming. Just like I had memorized the multiplication tables, the laws of physics, and the design of the ceiling in my bedroom, I was committing every inch of his face to long-term-memory storage. I ran my fingers across his cheek, taking in the texture for the nights I would be alone without him.
"Paul, I'm going to get a job this summer," I said softly, unsure how he would react.
"I hope not working with crazy Kara and her kooky crew at the mall," Paul said.
I paused before answering, wondering why he had thrown in that dig at Kara. "I don't know where yet. I just need to save money for college."
"Let's celebrate!" Paul said as he reached behind the seat. He held the bottle of Stroh's, but I declined it with my eyes. He twisted off the cap and took a gulp. "I salute you!"
"No, don't do this." My voice was firm as I pulled away from him.
"No problem, Joha, I know my limit."
"Zero." I crossed my arms and pouted. "Promise me, Paul."
"That's not fair; it's just one—"
"Zero." I was becoming a clone of my father. Short answers, no discussion allowed.
"Damn it, Johanna," Paul said, sitting the beer in the cup-holder, then slapping his hand against the dash. He roughly ejected the CD out of the player. He let up on the gas. We pulled off the interstate, and he turned the engine off. We sat there for a minute in total silence; the only sound was that of cars whistling by us at seventy-five miles an hour.
He reached into the back and grabbed the rest of the six-pack. He walked in front of the car, the open bottle in one hand and two bottles in the other.
"Paul, please don't be mad," I shouted at him through the open window, trying to avoid yet another terrible and bruising scene between us. "Paul, please—"
I didn't finish my sentence. Instead, I watched Paul pour the contents of each bottle on the ground, a beer river forming by the side of the Firebird. When he was finished, he leaned into the car, getting right in my face. I couldn't believe it; my body was tensing up, fearing the worst, fearing the past was about to repeat itself.
Instead, Paul put his hands gently on the side of my head, and then leaned in to kiss me.
"You're going to be working now," he said with a smile, one breaking out on my face as well. "You owe me five dollars for those beers."
TWENTY-SEVEN
Dear Dead Dad:
It's Paul, again and for the last time. I am writing to say good-bye.
I never got a chance the first time you left, so here it comes.
Good-byes are on my mind. I just watched Brad drive out of my day-to-day life. So this is my last letter to you. I'm done playing pretend with you. I've grown up.
One of the things we did in school was read Hamlet. I got off a lot of good lines, so maybe my teacher thought I didn't care about the play. It's about this kid haunted by the ghost of his father. I just wanted to kick Hamlet's ass, tell him to either shit or get off the pot, make a decision already, move on with your life. It's easy to watch someone else's life crash and burn, harder to watch your own accident up close. You need distance in your life. So, listen: I am done being haunted by you.
Brad left this fine August morning for California. He invited me to drive with him, but I couldn't leave Johanna alone for that long. Brad and I met at Supreme, like we always do. He was well into his third cup by the time I arrived. I grabbed a white cup, filled it with black, and joined him.
"Well, bro, this might be the last time we sit at this table," Brad said, pushing the chair out for me. "The last time we'll drink this fine coffee. The last time we'll enjoy the fragrant secondhand smoke of Supreme Donut. The last time we—"
I interrupted. "The last time we'll hear you say 'this is the last time.'"
He laughed. "And the last time you will tell me not to talk about 'the last time.'"
I held the plain white coffee cup in my hands. It was mid-August and ninety degrees outside, but I felt a chill sliding around my spine. "Kara see you off?"
"Last night." The smile vanished from his face.
"Rough, huh?" I said, sipping my coffee. The weight of the mug was perfect.
"It was a scene. I didn't think it would be that way."
"Really?"
&
nbsp; "I mean, we had broken up before; we knew this day was coming. She thinks I'll meet someone at school and forget about her. I know she'll meet someone here and forget about me."
"I don't think that is going to happen," I said, leaning back in my chair.
"It was like every other time we broke up, in some ways; but there were more tears and less screaming. This time, I think it's over for good."
"You'll stay in touch," I offered, tapping him on the shoulder with a light punch.
"We say that, but it won't be the same. She knows it. I know it."
"And I know it won't be the same with us. No more Supreme meetings, no double dates, just E-mail and phone calls. We'll be connected by nothing but wires," I said sadly.
"I have something to tell you," Brad said with seriousness in his voice that I rarely heard. We shared jokes, insults, and stories: We spoke of motion more than emotion. "I lied to Kara. She asked me if she was the first person that I ever loved. I lied to her; I told her yes. You are my best friend, Paul, and I love you for it. You got me through these past four years. You made me laugh and never let me down. I made a shitload of mistakes in high school, but being your friend wasn't one of them. I am always there for you—night or day, wrong or right."
"I know, bro. I know," I said. Brad's heart was huge: He would always protect me.
Brad smiled; but then he started to cry, although he was fighting it. "I can't cry because that would just create a sixth Great Lake right in the middle of Supreme Donut."
"Why do you care; don't you walk on water, anyway?" I cracked.
"I gotta get going." Brad swilled down the last drop of the Supreme substandard brew.
We walked out to his car. It was jammed full of his life. "You showed me the way." I kicked the tires on Brad's car for emphasis. "I'm gonna save my money, get good grades at the CC, and get into Stanford next fall. Start brewing the coffee. I'll be joining you in about a year."
"What about Johanna?" Brad asked as he opened the driver's-side door.
"What about her?"
"Is she coming, too?"
"I don't know what she is doing, and it doesn't matter. I gotta get out of this place. I'm going to change my life. You get that coffee ready."
Brad wrapped me in a bear hug. "I'm gonna miss you, bro."
He turned the engine on. "Check it out," he said as he pointed to the dash. On it was a picture of the four of us from the prom, pasted there.
"I have something for you," I told Brad as he climbed into his packed car.
"Man, don't do this now," he said with mock anger. "I don't have room for it!"
"You have room for this." I reached into my wallet. "Here."
"What is it?" he asked, slowly taking the object from me.
"Take it, damn it!" I yelled at him. I was losing it. I started walking toward the Bird, turning back to see Brad looking at my going-away gift.
Brad looked at the picture. It was a picture of you, Dad, my only one. It was all I could give him to let him know how much I valued his friendship. It was the last piece of you I could share with anyone.
So I said good-bye to Brad this morning, and it gives me the courage to say good-bye to you now. You are not all around me anymore. Like Brad, you are gone. He'll come back for the holidays; you will not. My life has changed. And I don't need you in it anymore.
You got to say it to me when I was twelve. I turn eighteen in two weeks, and it is my turn to say it to you. I am leaving you; everything is going to be okay with me, trust me.
TWENTY-EIGHT
"Thanks for coming," Kara said as I sat next to her in a booth at the Starbucks in the mall. Her eyeliner and her nose were both running.
"Any time," I answered.
"Jackie and Lynne, they're great; but I don't think they understand like you do," Kara said, the queen of cool was melting in front of me. "I shouldn't bother you with this."
"Like you told me, if you want to be saved, you got to reach out your arms," I said. She laughed, then squeezed my left hand.
"God, I miss Brad," Kara said. "You are so lucky that Paul didn't go with him."
"I know," I said, and slowly pulled my hand away from Kara. If she squeezed my hand again, I would be fine. But if she touched my arm under the long sleeve shirt I was wearing in the August heat, she might touch the bruise Paul made on my arm last night after we fought about how I wasn't spending time with him. Ever since I started working at the bookstore a month ago, we had been fighting too hard and making up too easy. The pain in my shoulder or wrist I could bear, but I knew I couldn't handle my heart breaking again. Paul had gone back on his word to change, and I had let him. We were both liars: Maybe we deserved each other.
"Why do you think Paul really didn't go to Stanford with Brad? If he would have saved the money he spent on his car, on you, and on his friends, I'm sure he could have made it work," Kara said.
"I really couldn't tell you," I replied, the doubt in my voice giving way to more silence. This was the question that I had been trying to answer since December. It was such an easy question, so why was the answer so hard to understand? Did he really stay here because of me? Was it because he couldn't afford it? Could he have even gotten in with his grades? This was a riddle I never successfully solved, because I sensed there was a trick answer. I wanted to believe that he really stayed for me. But even then, as much as that flattered me, it had a downside. When he was frustrated at work or upset about something with his mom, I could almost hear the words dancing on the tip of his tongue or swelling up in his hands, ready to explode: "I stayed here for you; it is all your fault."
I smiled at Kara but could do nothing more than repeat myself. "I just don't know. Leaving home is scary."
"I know the answer," Kara said. "He didn't go, because it was too easy to stay."
"How do you know that?" I looked at Kara with a blank stare.
"I don't know Paul. I only know me," Kara said.
"You, afraid?" I asked.
"Oh, Johanna, you are so funny," Kara said, but she wasn't laughing. "Why do you think I keep getting back with Brad?"
I was mute. I knew better than to go back to Paul, but I did it anyway. The heart knows.
"And all those wild clothes?" Kara continued. "If you try to fit in and people reject you because they think you're stupid, that hurts a lot. So I guess I figured I wouldn't give them a chance. I would just be out there and make them feel stupid for not getting it."
"I never thought you were stupid," I lied.
"Yes, you did, and I don't blame you. I thought you were this stuck-up smart-ass. It doesn't matter, anyway. Nothing matters now that Brad is gone. I'm nothing without him," Kara said, her tears returning.
"Yes, you are something," I said softly.
"What is that?" she asked, barely managing a smile.
I smiled in return. "You are my best friend."
TWENTY-NINE
"Is this why they call it wearing your birthday suit?" Paul said, pressing his naked body up against mine. "Happy birthday to me, and happy anniversary to us!"
I laughed, then reached over to the small table to take another spoonful of the chocolate-chip ice cream. Paul had checked into the hotel room before me and put cartons of ice cream in the sink, the bathtub, and the ice bucket. Let others have champagne; I was in hog heaven.
"Corny!" I said.
"No, horny," Paul said as he moved down on the bed, pressing against me.
"Again?" I shot him the brow, which for some reason cracked us both up.
"What?" he asked with mock shock in his voice. "I told the people at the Guinness Book to be on standby because we were going for a new world record!"
"I think the people next door hate us already."
"They probably think we are praying, since you keep yelling 'Oh God,'" Paul joked.
"No, for laughing so loud," I said. "Anybody can do this, but only you make me laugh."
"Well, but not everybody can do it this good." He pushed out his lips in a
major pout.
I kissed him. "Paul, you don't do it good. You're great."
He brushed his face against mine. "Nice of you to say, but without anyone else to compare me to, you don't have what you science types would call a scientific sample."
I pointed to one of the used condoms in the wastebasket near the bed. "Now, that's a sample."
That did it. We started laughing so much that we fell out of the bed, onto the hotel floor. Despite my best attempts, my schedule at the bookstore called for me to work both Wednesday nights and Sundays starting at noon. Since I lived in fear of my parents walking in on us at my house, Paul decided to post-celebrate his eighteenth birthday, and pre-celebrate our one-year anniversary at the Hilton on Telegraph Road, just outside of the city. We wouldn't spend the night, just a couple of hours; but it was enough.
As I crawled back onto the bed Paul reached over and grabbed his fatigues.
"I have a present for you," he said, reaching into the pocket of his pants.
"What is it?" I sat up on the bed and pulled the covers up in front of me.
"This is for you to wear at school next year." He kissed me, and then he handed me a small jewelry box. He smiled as he watched me drop the covers, and then I carefully started taking off the gift-wrap. I had started saving the paper again.
I opened the box. It was a beautiful, and very expensive, star-shaped necklace.
"This is so beautiful." I kissed him on the cheek.
We were sitting across from each other, our eyes locked and our hearts as well. "I wanted you to have this because you are my star. You are the star of my night and my days."
"It is so beautiful." I couldn't do anything but repeat myself; no other words were worthy of the task.
"I don't need to look at the sky; my star is sitting right across from me now."
I put the necklace on, hoping it would be tight enough to cut off the flow of tears.
He rubbed his hands together. "And now?"
He was expecting a present, but I didn't have one. I looked at books, CDs, and videos, but they just seemed wrong. I guess I was more afraid of upsetting him by getting him the wrong thing than I was excited about getting him the right thing.
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