by Jaime Reed
Grandma had said for years that my folks’ marriage was doomed from the start, so the split was a shock to no one, not even me. It was kind of hard to stand on a love based on a John Mellencamp song. There’s this little ditty by the singer called “Jack and Diane,” and wouldn’t you know it, that happened to be the same names of my parents, so of course their fate simply had to be written in the stars, right? They essentially lived out the lyrics in real life: two kids falling in love, running off against their parents’ wishes, and scraping through life as a result.
Too bad the song didn’t mention the part where Diane left Jack so she could “find herself.” Divorce papers were signed, Mom joined a private practice in Santa Barbara, and 625 Highland Drive was now a bachelor pad. And where did I fit into all of this? Sitting with Dad inside a partially gutted home that might never be completed and trying my best to ignore the symbolism. That was best saved for my writing.
“So you’re saying I’m too young to be in love?” I asked Dad.
He guffawed. “’Course not. Any idiot can fall in love.”
“Gee, thanks,” I grumbled.
“Falling is easy, but it’s what you do when you reach the ground that matters,” he continued. “It’s all hearts and flowers in the beginning, but will you stick around when that new car smell wears off and it stops being exciting and it starts feeling like work? Love is not for thrill-seekers, dreamers, or children with short attention spans. And you, son, fit into all three of those categories.”
On that inspiring note, I pointed to one of the brochures for lifeguard and got to my feet. “I’ll go with that one.”
“You need to pick two of them,” Dad said.
“Baseball,” I called from over my shoulder as I made my way to the kitchen.
The place was a mess: old take-out boxes, crushed soda cans, drop cloths, and ceramic tiles stacked on the counter. I swept up some of the garbage and filled two Hefty bags. I hauled the load through the side door, opened the garage, then rolled the plastic trash bin onto the curb, mumbling curses the whole time.
There was nothing worse than being told how to feel, as if my own emotions weren’t enough. I was tempted to call Mom for a sympathetic ear, but that didn’t go well the last time I tried it.
“You kids are so angsty these days,” Mom had said, unimpressed with my plight. “I get it. You honestly believe that you invented loneliness and being misunderstood. Everyone is so fake and they don’t know just how complex the universe is, and we have to experience everything right now or else perish into the abyss of our own wasted potential. You, Holden Caulfield, are no different than any other kid on the planet and your philosophy is as insipid as your social life. Now go outside and play!”
Bear in mind I was fourteen at the time, and I hadn’t had a sit-down with her since—not with that attitude. She saw too much of herself in me, and if you didn’t like your reflection you tended to avoid mirrors. I was her overbite, the mole on the left side of her chin, and the cesarean scar below her navel, all of which she had fixed or removed one way or another. I swear, Wade’s mom and my mom needed to have brunch and swap notes on how to mess up their kids in the cleverest way possible.
I tried to close the trash lid, but the overflow wouldn’t allow it to shut. Bags tumbled to the pavement, their contents spilling out in an odorous burst. I kicked at the side of the bin, slinging trash and hating everything about everything. I was so involved in my tantrum that I didn’t realize I had an audience.
A girl wearing a pink hoodie and a matching bike helmet watched me from the corner. She’d stopped pedaling and waited by the curb. A tan cruiser bike stood between her feet—the kind with a basket on the front that old people and annoying hipster kids would ride on the promenade.
I knew that face, and that height and shape, as well as my own. My brain locked up, caught in the logistics of her being this far from home. Standing on my street. At this time of day.
She wasn’t an illusion or some manifestation. She was real, and above all, she came to me. It wasn’t exactly a song with our names, but it was a sign nonetheless, wasn’t it?
Ellia flashed a lopsided smile and offered the most profound and evocative greeting in the entire English language. “Sup?”
Showing off some fancy vocab of my own, I was like, “Hey.”
Her stare bounced from me to the driveway. “Are you okay?”
“Getting there,” I replied in all honesty.
“I, um … I’m allowed to go outside now, so I wanted to ride around and see if anything’s changed in the neighborhood. Not much, apparently. Stacey said that you lived close to the park, so I figured I’d, I don’t know, do a drive-by.”
I smiled. “On a beach cruiser?”
“Hey, don’t be jealous. This baby can pick up some speed going downhill.” She patted the wide handlebars affectionately. “Since I can’t drive, it beats the heck out of walking.”
“You’re not allowed to drive or you don’t know how anymore?” I asked.
Her attention fell to her feet. “Both.”
“I can fix that,” I offered. “We can go to an empty parking lot and you can practice with my car.” I turned to the black Ford Escort parked in the driveway and cringed.
The thing was twice my age and it only went forty miles per hour before it got the shakes. All the hubcaps were missing. Cotton and foam poked out of the seats and no matter how many tree air fresheners I hung in my car, the interior always smelled like nachos and ranch dressing. Plus, Wade had already called dibs on it tonight, and to avoid getting shanked in the shower tomorrow, it was best that I kept it parked.
Ellia wasn’t really up for the idea anyway. She was shaking her head.
“No, I’m good. I like riding around. I haven’t seen the outdoors in a while and I want to enjoy it.” She tipped her chin toward my house. “So what were you just doing in your driveway? You salty or nah?”
Great. Of all the times I wanted Ellia to come to me, she caught me in the worst light. “I’m not salty.”
“You looked salty to me. Thought you were gonna break your mailbox next.”
I could feel the blood rise up my neck and settle into my cheeks. “It’s nothing. Just my dad getting to me again.”
“You got one of those too, huh? I get it.” She teetered from foot to foot as she rotated the bike in the opposite direction.
I knew my staring was freaking her out. I couldn’t help it. So many questions ran through my head, I didn’t know where to start. I had to say something, anything to keep her around a little while longer.
Unfortunately, I heard the front door open. His heavy footsteps drew closer, but I didn’t look back. I stayed focused on Ellia’s face, her expression changing from playful curiosity to caution. Dark curls that peeked from her helmet had caught on the breeze and danced over her face. I had to remember everything because there was no telling when I would see her again after this confrontation.
Dad stepped in front of me. “Run along, young lady. You got no business being here.”
Ellia’s eyes darted between me and Dad in confusion. “Why?”
“My son’s in enough trouble dealing with the likes of you people, so hop on your bike and don’t come back.”
“Dad!” I yelled from behind his wide shoulders, but I had better odds fighting a brick wall. I knew this was coming, knew seeing her would upset him, but Dad had no right to treat her this way.
Confusion quickly morphed into indignation as Ellia repeated his words. “You people?”
“Go on home before I call the cops.” Dad shooed her off. “Go on!”
She flinched. With watery eyes, she began to pedal away. Not once did she look back, her anger palpable as she struggled to steer herself to gain speed. By the time she reached the corner, she was nothing but a mirage on the horizon, the afternoon sun casting her in a halo of orange light. And then, like in every dream I’d had since the accident, she was gone, leaving no proof that she’d ever been there.<
br />
“Clean that mess up before you come inside,” Dad barked and headed back toward the house.
Wait, slow down.” Stacey’s hand shot out to stop me. “Liam’s dad’s a what?”
“A raaaciiiist!” I dragged out the word and hopped on one foot on her porch.
My leg muscles throbbed, sweat soaked through my hoodie, and I’d probably pulled a ligament pedaling to Stacey’s house. Tears had stung my eyes the whole way.
I’d already called Mom and told her where I was headed, as was part of our agreement for letting me outside. I could only go to familiar places and I knew Stacey’s address better than my own.
Limping back and forth on her porch, I told Stacey everything that happened when I went to see Liam, including the thinly veiled hate speech that led me to her doorstep. When I finished, I let out a long, purifying breath and with it, all the anger that had built up during the half-mile ride over.
“I didn’t do anything wrong and I got treated like trash. This is what I get for taking your advice.” I sat on the top step of her porch and unhooked the chin strap to remove my bike helmet. I patted the silk scarf that I used as a headband to make sure it had stayed in place.
Stacey stepped out and closed the front door behind her. A black maxi dress fit her figure with precision, but the jumbo rollers in her hair killed the wow factor. Maybe she was going on a date.
“El, you might be reading too much into it,” she said, sitting down beside me.
“What other way should I read it?” I sniffed. “I don’t even know that man and he just yelled at me for no reason. He doesn’t want me near his son and the only reason I can see is because I’m black.”
“Oh come on—”
“That would explain all the sneaking around Liam does,” I spoke over her. “I told you he watches my house in the morning, but he never knocks on the door or visits me during the daytime. You should’ve seen his face, Stacey. He didn’t want his dad to know he was dating us people, as his dad called it. Liam’s ashamed of me. I’m a dirty secret!” I wailed.
“Oh my goodness.” Stacey rolled her eyes skyward. “Sweetie, are you trying out for Broadway? Because you’re bringing nothing but drama. Look, Liam may get on every last one of my nerves, but he’s never been shy or quiet about how he feels about you. He’s done everything but post your dating status on the stadium billboard at school.”
“Then why didn’t he defend me?” I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “He was standing right there and he didn’t say anything.”
“I don’t know. Maybe he was caught off guard. Or maybe—and this is just a shot in the dark here—but maybe you should ask him yourself.”
“Uh-uh. I’m done. I tried it your way and went to see him and got told off. I’m not doing that again. Let’s talk about something else, anything else, like why you’re all gussied up. Are you going out?”
“In a bit, yeah. We were getting ready for the Valentine’s Day dance.”
“Oh, that’s tonight, isn’t it?” I’d completely forgotten that Valentine’s Day was this coming Monday. Stacey had told me about the dance going on at school tonight, but it slipped my mind what with all the bigotry and discrimination going on. “Who’s ‘we’?” I asked.
“Trish Montego, Kendra Bailey, and Nina Hahn.” Stacey knew it was helpful to use full names to remind me who our friends were. “They’re upstairs getting ready.” She got to her feet and scooped me up by the arm. “Come in and say hi. They’d love to see you.”
I rapidly shook my head. “I don’t think—”
“Good. You think too much anyway. Now come on.” She opened the door and dragged me inside.
Stacey’s house looked the same as I remembered: gold beveled mirrors with leaves and curling designs, intricately carved furniture, and embroidered cushions. It was smaller than mine, but her folks made up for it in excessive décor. The color scheme alone would’ve given my mom a stroke, but at least the Levines actually used their living room for its intended purpose. Living.
Stacey led me upstairs to her room and I instantly felt nervous at the sound of female voices behind the closed door. I hadn’t had much social interaction and I worked better with one-on-one exchanges. Would I ever get out of that phase, the shy child who hid behind her mother’s legs when confronted with new visitors? There was only one way to find out.
Stacey opened the door and three girls waited on the other side. A thin Asian girl stood in front of Stacey’s vanity putting on makeup. A tall white girl with auburn hair sat on the floor, sliding on strappy shoes. The final one lay across the four-post bed, her bare feet swinging in the air. She was about my complexion, and even laying down I could tell that height was a weak trait. I recognized all of them, vaguely, from Facebook. But not from life.
“Hey, guys! Guess who’s here?” Stacey swung her arms toward me like I was part of a magic trick. A chorus of squeals and shrieks filled the room as the group huddled close and trampled all over my personal space. Voices overlapped and words poured out in a jumble of confusion.
“Oh my god! Ellia!”
“… It’s so good to see you—”
“How’ve you been—”
“… Girl, it’s been a minute—”
“… What have you been up to?”
“… Are you okay?”
“You look good!”
I was getting whiplash from trying to see who was speaking. The volume spiked my anxiety and I prayed that my migraines didn’t kick up.
“We were so worried about you.” The redheaded one—Trish—rubbed my shoulder.
The contact freaked me out, but it was something I needed to get used to. “Really?”
“Yeah. Everyone was talking in school about how you were all disabled and crippled.” The short one, Kendra, was cut off with a jab to the elbow by the Asian girl, Nina.
“Oh sorry,” Kendra muttered sheepishly.
Soon I was being dragged deeper into the room and onto Stacey’s bed. The next twenty minutes contained more rapid catch-up and nostalgia trivia.
“Hey, you remember that time we snuck into that frat party during pledge week and almost got hazed?” Trish asked with a mischievous grin.
“You know that bonfire on the beach at spring break?” Nina asked. “That was wild. I’ll never stay up for thirty hours straight again.”
“I’ll never forget that time when you broke into a run-down department store and stole a mannequin. You almost got arrested for trespassing and told the security guard you were an undercover cop,” Kendra jumped in, her dark eyes full of wonder. “Priceless!”
So I was a party girl and a criminal? Great. Of course, I couldn’t recall any of this, but at least now I knew where Vivian came from.
“Those were some crazy times.” I tried to play it off while glaring at Stacey for putting me on blast.
Stacey mouthed the words “I’m sorry.” No one else knew about my amnesia and I wanted to keep it that way, at least for now.
It’s funny how being surrounded by a group of friends could leave you detached. I wasn’t in the moment, but was watching the scene play out as if on TV or from outside of a window. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get myself to wake up from this daydream and join in. Their heads flung back and their eyes watered with laughter as their teeth flashed. I envied every wink, playful shove, and innuendo that was lost on me.
“You should totally come to the dance with us,” Nina suggested, and the others cheered at the idea. “You can get a ticket at the door.”
“Nah, that’s okay. Maybe next time.” I offered a good-natured smile.
“Well, you have to show up for the Decades Celebration in March. It’s going to be off the chain this year,” Kendra said.
“No doubt.” I slowly slid off the bed to make my escape. “I better get going. Have fun at the dance.”
“Wait. We can use your expertise.” Trish stood and twirled around, her beaded dress flowing around her knees. “Does this look okay?”
“Trish, your whole situation is too much, starting with the makeup. You look like you’re about to announce this year’s Hunger Games. Dial it back. Also, red is not your color, so switch dresses with Nina. She looks about your size. Kendra, wear some heels for height and it’ll show off your legs better. Stacey, wear your hair down, but away from your face and lose the bangles. They’re too bulky. And change clutch bags; yours doesn’t match anything you have on.” I covered my mouth to stop, but only after the words flew out. Where did all that come from?
None of the girls seemed offended and made quick work of the alterations while Stacey looked on with impish glee.
“There she is.” She winked.
“She who?” I asked.
“The confident, take-charge Ellia. Not the sniveling ball of indecision that showed up on my doorstep. Welcome back.” She curtsied.
I was horrified. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Maybe the ‘old you’ is coming back to the surface. This is a good thing, right?” she whispered.
I wasn’t sure about that. And going by my outburst, the rude, bossy, fashion-cop Ellia with a possible criminal record didn’t seem like someone I wanted to be tight with. The more I knew about her, the less I cared to know.
By the time the clothing changes were made and pictures were taken and posted with the proper filter settings, we all piled up in Stacey’s Volkswagen Bug. My bike wouldn’t fit, but Stacey promised that she would come get me tomorrow to pick it up. The commute to my house held all manner of clown-car absurdity, complete with reckless driving and cackling maniacs in the backseat. None of the girls seemed bothered about being an hour late to the dance, so I figured they were going for a grand entrance. I had to admit they all looked hot, so why were they going stag?