Skipping Stones

by J. B. McGee

  My elation is obvious, even though I try to contain it. It’s like I just won the first half of a football game. Just because she agreed to try doesn’t mean she’ll do it, but half the battle is won, and I’m not good at losing. When I get up from the chair, I lean over and kiss her forehead. “Thank you.”

  “I said I’d try.”

  I smile. “I know you did. Thank you for that,” I say as I leave the room to get us a piece of cake. The house isn’t that big, so it doesn’t take me long to get there and prepare the slices. Before I pick them up to take them back to her room, I realize I probably need to get some sort of healthy nutrition into her. So I pick up one of the plastic Solo cups from the counter. The blue pitcher of that sweet tea catches my eye. That combined with this cake would probably kill her. I chuckle. Not that it’s funny.

  The refrigerator is right next to me. I swing the door open, and pull the jug of whole milk. Of course they drink whole milk, I think to myself. I pour it and then put it back on the shelf, using my foot to give the door a nudge. I pick up the two plates and two plastic forks that are sitting in a small vase. Nestling the milk in the crook of my arm, I head back to the room.

  She’s propped herself up in the bed on some pillows. I put my plate on the dresser in the corner of the small room. I then take the milk and put it in my free hand and turn towards her. “They say milk does a body good.”

  I love her smile; I love her laugh.

  She mumbles, “I don’t like milk.”

  “What’s that you said?” I tease.

  Her head drops, as if she’s all the suddenly shy. “Well, except in cereal. I don’t like milk.” When she looks up, she almost looks sad again. “But thank you.”

  “You don’t even like milk with your cake?”

  She shakes her head. “Nope.”

  “Okay.” I offer the plate with the larger slice and a fork. After she takes it, I pull the folding chair I’d been sitting in before closer to the bed. “Here’s the cake that might not do a body good, but sure does do a soul good.”

  She scoots over and pats the mattress, “That chair can’t be comfortable. Come sit with me here.”

  Everything in me knows that would look so bad. That I shouldn’t do that, but I want to. Then my brain and logical reasoning wins. I shake my head. “No, I promised about being honorable, too.”

  Laughter erupts, and it suits her. “Like what? Like Scout’s Honor? I’m not asking you to have sex with me. I asked you to come sit with me to have a slice of cake.”

  I hang my head low, partially to try to hide my amusement and the redness I feel on my cheeks. “Temptations. If they came back it wouldn’t look good.” I lift my butt off the chair and scoot it over so that it’s flush with the bed. “How about this?” I ask. “You scoot back over here. Then we’ll be just as close as we’d be, but I’m still keeping myself away from shotguns and things.” I chuckle.

  Her body moves in. “I like that idea.” She nudges my nose with hers, and just before I kiss her an idea comes to me. “Ah. You want me to kiss you?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “How badly?” I ask as I use my fork to break away a piece of the moist cake. “Enough to have a bite of this?” I bring it between our faces, right in front of her mouth. “Mmm. Better hurry before I take it...and that’d be no kiss for you.” I stare at her, refusing to break our gaze. “Five. Four. Three –”

  She quickly opens her mouth and guides the fork in. “Mmm,” she moans as she chews. To say that doesn’t have any kind of effect on me would be lying. I swallow, and slice another bite, but before I can eat it she stops me, still chewing. “Kiss,” she giggles.

  “Ah, yes.” I take her lips into mine. Delicious, red velvet, sweet lips. “That has to be the most delicious kiss I’ve ever had,” I mumble, “and not just because of the cake.”

  The sound of the morning train, the sun rising, the light seeping through the curtains, and the smell of coffee bring me out of a medicine induced state of sleep. In fact, it’s the only way I’ve been able to sleep. It’s rare that I get a full night’s sleep, a night where I don’t wake from a nightmare that’s a reminder of what I’ve lost. Then there are the good nights. The nights where I dream about what I’ve gained. A person who is as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside. My first real boyfriend. My first kiss. My first love.

  I wish he could go with us today. Today is going to be the third hardest day of my life. We’re moving me out of my house. Except it’s not my house anymore. This is my house. I miss my room. I miss my things. I miss my friends. It’s more than just moving, it’s saying goodbye yet again to people I love, accepting that I’ll probably never see them again. It’s almost like them dying. Sure we might be able to send letters and stay in touch, but eventually that stops. Contact is lost, and then we’re left to wonder about them for the rest of our lives. What would they be like, are they happy, are they healthy?

  Maybe in a way, it’s worse than someone dying. The only closure is the last goodbye. The fact we can hug them, tell them how we feel, and wish them well. I didn’t get that opportunity with my parents. Not really. I didn’t know when I told them bye that it would be my last one. The moral of that story is to make every second count as if it’s the last. I always thought that seemed so cliché. Not anymore.

  Sitting up, I let the blood distribute throughout my body before attempting to stand. I throw on an outfit that I’ve learned is acceptable, take my meds, and head towards the front door. I don’t need food or coffee to fill my veins before I go. I need Drew.

  Before I even enter the living room, I can hear Memaw and Papa talking. “I think I hear that Alex,” Papa says.

  I love how he says that before my name, like I’m more than a person to him. For as long as I can remember he has told me that I am his heart.

  “It’s me.” I answer as I enter the room.

  “You’re already dressed?” Memaw asks confused from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, I wanted to go to the creek before we left.”

  “You don’t want to go to the creek.” Papa chuckles and peeks above the newspaper. “You want to go see Drew.”

  I shrug, then nod. “I won’t be long. I promise.”

  Memaw has her apron on, and the stove is filled with pots and pans. She ridicules me, “Alex, you need to eat before you go. You’ve gotten so thin in the last three weeks.”

  She’s right. My clothes hang to my hips. I’m not doing it on purpose. I have no appetite. When I do try to eat, I get full so quickly. Maybe it’s because every time I eat I feel like I’m going to be sick. Maybe it’s because every food I put in my mouth has a memory. It’s too painful to eat. “Not hungry.”

  There’s silence. Awkward silence. I expect for her to continue to fuss at me, but she doesn’t. Papa clears his throat and tells me, “Be back in an hour. Take one of those Little Debbie cakes with you.” He folds the newspaper, puts it on the freezer beside his recliner, stands up, and then takes his mug of coffee that is beside the paper.

  “Yes, sir.” I know I can’t argue with him. I’m just glad I’m not being nagged extensively about eating. I hang my head low as I push the swinging door in the kitchen that leads to the small formal dining room. There isn’t a lot of storage space in this house. They have a wooden cabinet in that room, out of sight from most guests, that house the snacks and other non-perishable items. I open it and take one of the Little Debbie Swiss Rolls and close the cabinet.

  The living areas connect in a circle. So instead of walking back through the kitchen, then the den to get to the back door, I decide to just walk straight through to the formal living room and go out of the front door. It gives them less of a chance to change their mind. I holler, “Be back soon.” The bells hanging from the knob jingle as I twist to open and then close the old wooden door behind me.

  I all but run to the creek. I don’t want to waste time that I could be spending with him. We’ve spent every day here. Some days, we’ve spent all our tim
e here. In our special field, on these rocks. Some days we talk, and other days we just kiss for hours. It’s amazing how I can talk to him, share stories of my life with him. Yet, I can’t do it around people I’ve known for years.

  As soon as the creek comes into view, so does he. He must have heard me because he’s turned, looking at me with the biggest grin. He watches me, amused, as my pace speeds up. I dash into his arms, and he lifts me as he pulls my lips into a kiss.

  Everything in my being relaxes into his arms. His tongue is smooth, his breath is fresh, and his air is warm as our mouths collide. Our tongues dance and frolic in perfect harmony. He sucks on my bottom lip as he pulls back, and makes sure that I’m steady on my feet before he releases me.

  “What’s this?” He takes my Swiss Roll that’s already started to melt in the southern heat. I’m sure our heat has helped that process along, too.

  “Oh.” I hand it to him. “Breakfast.”

  He chuckles. “You brought me breakfast?”

  I smile and shrug. “Sure.”

  He winks. “You’ve forgotten I’ve spent the last three weeks around your family, or do you think I’m stupid?”

  I sit down on my rock, and he sits on the one across from me. I reach down to the pile of stones he’s already assembled. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

  “So let’s start over then.” He teases. “What’s this?” He holds up the cake.

  “A Little Debbie Cake.” I laugh.

  “And whose breakfast is it, Alex?” His smile causes my heart to send pings throughout my entire body.

  I exhale, exasperated already. “Mine.”

  He hands it back to me. “Eat.”

  “Not hungry,” I confess.

  He narrows his eyes. “Is that right?”

  “Yep.” I nod.

  “I love you, Alex.”

  Whoa, where did that come from? I smile. I don’t care where it came from. I’ve been dying to hear those words out of his mouth for three weeks now. “I love you, too.”

  “Please eat. We’re all worried about you,” he pleads.

  “I promise, I’m really not hungry.”

  His grin turns to an evil smirk. “Then I promise, I’m really not in the mood to kiss you.”

  My head jerks to the side. “You wouldn’t.”

  “You wouldn’t.” He turns my words back on me.

  I rip the plastic. It’s not worth it. I have an hour with him. I don’t want to spend it bickering about food. Heck, I don’t want to spend it bickering at all. Or talking. Or skipping stones. Or doing anything other than making out.

  “Good girl,” he says as he offers his hand. I place mine in his.

  “I’ve only got an hour before we leave,” I say as he leads me into the field. There’s no need to remind me where poisonous plants are anymore. I know them all. Before we get to our special spot, I mumble. “I wish you were coming with us.”

  He glances back, his eyes sear my soul. “I know, me too.”

  Our spot is obvious and easy to recognize. The flowers around where we hang out have all been picked. He sits, and then I situate myself in between his legs so that his chest is like a seat back for me. He nuzzles my neck as I eat, whispering things we’re going to do this week, things to look forward to. Promises. And so far, he’s yet to break a single one.

  In what seems like a blink of an eye, an hour has nearly passed. “Hey, it’s almost time for you to go,” he whispers.

  My arm is resting over his taunt stomach, and I can feel his heart beating. “You’re sure you can’t come.”

  “Yeah. It’s just a day, Alex,” he says as he smooths my hair, then kisses my head.

  “I know.” And I do. “It’s just that you make everything easier.” I glance up and into his eyes.

  He lifts my chin and kisses me. “You make everything easier, too.” He taps my nose. “You better go. You don’t want to get in trouble. That’d be three long hours of uncomfortable.”

  I laugh. “Yeah.”

  He wiggles out from underneath my embrace and stands, holding his hand out to mine. I place it in his palm and he pulls me up and into his arms. “I love you,” he whispers.

  Will hearing that ever get old? No. I don’t think it will. “Love you.”

  “See you later, then.”

  I nod. “Later.”

  Dragging myself away is like trying to break a magnetic field. With each step, I feel pulled back. Except, I feel his grip on my arm, and I am pulled back into his arms. He kisses me one more time. “You better go.” He smiles.

  “Then you have to actually let me go.” I giggle.

  He puts his hands up to surrender. “Letting you go now...for real this time.”

  I sigh as I turn. I glance back over my shoulder and give him a wave. “Bye.”

  He puts his hand up as his lips curve into the best smile I’ve ever seen. “Later.”

  As we approach our street, I feel knots forming in my stomach, bricks pressing down on my chest, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I wasn’t supposed to be returning without them. The familiar house no longer feels like home. It’s a structure. What made it a home was the fact that it was filled with the people I loved.

  My dad always did the yard before we left to go on a trip. I expected that the lawn would be a mess when we got here, but it’s not. It’s freshly mowed. I suppose the neighbors have been maintaining our yard. That thought makes my heart warm slightly.

  A few moments later, the van is parked and we are walking up the steps and into the house. Everything is just as we left it. It’s only been weeks, yet it feels like it’s been an eternity. My mom was always obsessed with making sure that we left the house clean. She always said the last thing she wanted to come home to after a vacation was a dirty house. It would be bad enough with all the laundry.

  I can hear my heart racing. Boom ba boom. Boom ba boom. It speeds up with each step I take into the foyer. Pictures line the table beside the staircase. Pictures of me with my parents. The way I remember them, us. Dad was usually telling a joke. With each picture, there’s a memory.

  For a moment, I feel like it’s not real. For a moment, I feel like they are just on vacation. I can hear their voices, their laughter filling the other room. It draws me in, but the closer I think I get to it, the more it fades. I don’t want their voices to fade. I don’t want their memories to go away.

  Papa places his hand on my shoulder. “Alex.”

  When I try to speak, nothing comes out. I clear my throat. “Mmm...”

  “You okay?” He asks softly.

  I nod. The bass in my ear that is my heart tells me I’m alive. The aching in my chest makes me wish I wasn’t. Am I okay? Am I really okay? I’m not sure because nothing about this is right. I strum my fingers on the handrail to the stairs. “I’m gonna go to my room for a minute.”

  I hear the patter of feet behind me. I glance over my shoulder and Memaw is right behind me. “I need to be alone for a few minutes.”

  I can see the worried expression on her face. She opens her mouth like she’s about to speak, but Papa puts his hand on her arm. “Elizabeth, let’s give her space.”

  She gives a nod of affirmation.

  I continue to climb the steps. With each one, it’s like one more shovelful of sand is being thrown on me. I’m being buried alive. When I reach the top, I’m as winded as I would have been sprinting in gym. Except I’ve barely done anything. My room is directly in front of the stairs. The door is open. Everything is just as I left it weeks ago. Bulletin boards with pictures of my best friends. Those make me sad. I miss my friends.

  What makes me the most upset is seeing the quilt that Mom and I made together. The memories of easily making the curtains, but the headache of hanging them. The old joke about how many people does it take to change a lightbulb? For us, it was more like ‘How many Harts does it take to hang curtains?’

  I want to smile. I want to laugh. But I can’t. Instead I find my chin quivering and my t
hroat closing up. It’s all I can do to fight back the impending flood gates that are inevitably about to break. I take a few more steps and pick up one of the photo albums on my bookshelf.

  My friends never understood how my mom and I could be such good friends. We did so much together. We both loved to craft. She taught me everything she knew. Well, except how to hang curtains. But that doesn’t count since she wasn’t very good at that either.

  We scrapbooked together, quilted together, we painted together. She wasn’t just good at one particular thing. She was good at everything. And it’s not like she had someone to teach her. She was self-taught. If she didn’t know how to do it, she’d just go to the library and find a book. She’d read the first half, then get bored and wing the rest.

  I take the album to my bed and sit. Boom ba boom. Boom ba boom. It’s getting louder and louder. I’m not sure I have the strength to do this right now. Why Alex? Why are you torturing yourself? Because that’s what this is. You’re torturing yourself. You know this stuff is going to make you bawl like a baby, yet you’re doing it anyway.

  No. I shake my head, take a deep breath, and open the cover. 1994 Mother Daughter Scrapbooking Retreat. I stroke the photo of us below the title. Our matching t-shirts, arms around each other, smiling for the camera.

  There’s a splatter of wetness on the page. I wipe it away, then swipe away the other tears before they have a chance to damage the only tangible things I have left of her. Why did I think I could do this? I can’t do this.

  I collapse down onto the bed beside the album and let the tears fall as my body starts to tremble. I draw my knees into my chest and rest my head on the page...pretending that it’s her and not a picture, not a memory.

  So many days I’ve fought the sob, the tears. My chin quivers and all it does is make my throat hurt so badly. I wipe them away before they have time to fall onto the album. A moment later, there’s no holding any of it back. Soon, the emotion takes over and I grab a pillow to muffle my bawling.

  For a few minutes I am not able to think. I just exist. Then thoughts re-enter my mind. I’ve gone over this a million times in the last three weeks. I’ve told myself there is no rewind button. Why can’t my mind seem to understand that. There are no second chances. They aren’t coming back to this house ever again. Neither am I for that matter. This is it.