18 Things

by Jamie Ayres

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “Number seven on your list is telling people what you really think.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Have you memorized my list?”

  “Call me Rain Man.”

  I shrugged. “Is that another inside joke with yourself that I don’t get?”

  “No, I’m referring to the movie with the savant capable of remembering obscure details.”

  Scanning the street, I checked for traffic before we crossed the intersection. “Hmm, never heard of it.”

  He jumped off his skateboard, then kicked a rock in an outrage that I’m positive was eighty percent fake because he laughed. “We need to have another movie night. That one should definitely be on your list of top one hundred flicks.”

  I let my long hair fall over the side of my face to hide my shame. Remembering our last movie night still caused me to cringe. “Yeah, sure. Back to the list though. I’m the list keeper here, not you.”

  It was true. The Bucs’ Blade had run two bucket list features now. While waiting for class to start, people came up and talked to me all the time about their lists. And when I walked through the halls, I’d often shout things like, ‘Hey, Amy. How’s learning to drive a stick shift going?’ Or, ‘Jack, did you start writing the next great American novel yet?’ It was all a bit surreal going from death threats to the school’s most popular journalist.

  “Chillax. You can keep your title as official list keeper. I’m only interested in two: yours and mine. And as your Mr. Philosophy best friend, my advice for dealing with your mom is to be part of the solution, not the problem. It’s time for a candid convo between the two of you. It may not be pleasant but—”

  “It definitely won’t be pleasant. Nothing with her ever is.”

  “Right, but it’s necessary. If you guys start communicating with each other clearly, you can avoid future misunderstandings, which will help make your senior year the best ever.”

  “Conner’s not here, so it never had the potential to be the best,” I retorted, my voice grim.

  He sighed loudly. “Are you gonna debate every point I try to make?”

  I waved a hand through the air. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You’re a journalist; it’s what you do. But even if it won’t be the best year, it’s your last year of high school, and don’t you want to leave on good terms with your mom?”

  A disheartened shrug was my only agreement. “Listen, if you think telling my mom the truth will help us bond or whatever, you’re wrong.”

  “Well, you love proving people wrong, right? Go home this afternoon and try it. Invite them to the game. I triple dog dare you. And if they say yes, you owe me.”

  Punching him in the shoulder, I said, “Oh, yeah? What will I owe you?”

  He remained quiet for a minute. “I don’t know yet. But I’ll think of something.”

  “Well, if I win, I want you to tell me your number one thing.”

  Everyone in the Jedi Order had completed writing their own ‘18 Things’ list. It seemed my mission not only brought me purpose after Conner’s death, but it brought purpose to them as well. Somehow, we ended up turning a very negative into a somewhat positive. But when it came to sharing time, Nate refused to reveal his top thing to anyone.

  He shook his head, his dark hair sweeping low on his forehead.

  “You are so nosy. No worries though. Your parents will be at the game tonight,” he predicted, skating into the parking lot.

  Twenty minutes later, sunlight flickered on the lake. I shivered in the shallows, pushing our tiny sailboat further into the water. The cold radiating through my legs made me panicky. I knew it wasn’t cold enough for hypothermia to set in, but the expression ‘worried to death’ came to mind. Once, my sixth grade science teacher told the class this story about a man trapped in an unplugged freezer, imagining himself freezing to the point of actually dying.

  Nate shrieked from the cold, snapping me to present, and we both hopped on board. He adjusted the sails, and I was frozen to my spot, my mind calling out ‘mayday, mayday.’

  Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply and breathed in the sea air, letting the sun massage its warmth onto my shoulders. A gust of wind swayed the boat, and I wrapped my arms around myself, rocking back and forth with the vessel, trying to fix my eyes on something steady.

  “Are you okay?”

  Hearing the rush of my heartbeat in my ears, I looked up at Nate for a split second before bending over the ship’s side and puking up breakfast.

  “Here,” Nate said gently, handing me a water bottle.

  “Thanks.” With trembling fingers, I brought it to my lips, then drank. The thought that I’d just barfed into Conner’s remains made me want to vomit again. “I’m never seasick. I don’t know what’s going on. The water’s not even choppy.”

  Eyebrows drawing together, Nate said, “I don’t think it’s the rough sea making you sick. Are you sure you’re ready for this? We can turn back now if you want.”

  “No. We each already paid our twenty dollars for the rental.”

  He wrapped me in a hug, and I squeezed him back.

  “I don’t care about the money; I only care about you.”

  His embrace didn’t comfort me, and I realized probably nothing could in this moment.

  “I know, but I need to do this. Putting it off won’t make it easier. Just give me a minute.”

  Pulling my knees to chest, I curled up in a ball and laid down.

  We were silent, watching the seagulls swoop through the sky, breathing in fresh air as I prayed for strength to help me get through my next task, for peace to know why Conner died.

  Nate opened a bag of chips and munched, and the sound lulled me to sleep, another strange dream invading my thoughts.

  I’m walking home after sailing, everything in black and white. My apartment looks like a haunted house, the interior misty like it’s filled with dry ice. Cobwebs are everywhere, and the air smells like Dad neglected to take out the trash for weeks. The faceless, black-shrouded figure is back, standing silently in the hallway. I move past him and enter my parent’s room. Mom cries on the bed, flipping through old photo albums from when I was a baby. Reaching out, I touch her shoulder and everything turns Technicolor, bursting with life. I turn around and the hooded figure explodes, turning to dust. The dust changes to fluffy, white clouds and carries me outside, everything black and white again. The clouds come up to my knees, and I imagine this is what being on a rollercoaster is like as I ride the floating vapor all the way to school.

  Grand Haven High is covered with dead vines. Dead leaves from dead branches cover the grounds. When I’m at the entrance, I push open the door, and everything turns to vibrant color again. Students fill the hallways, all more beautiful than I’ve ever seen them before. Sun streams through the glass front doors, and this overwhelming feeling tells me all is as it should be. Someone starts chanting my name, and soon everybody joins in. I feel pure love and acceptance for the first time in my life, and tears roll down my face in gratitude.

  I woke up with a start, thickness in my throat.

  “Have a nice nap?” Nate asked.

  Unable to articulate what just happened, the real tears started.

  Nate wrapped me in his arms again and it finally felt right, like my dream of love and acceptance manifested. After a few minutes, he offered me a tissue from my backpack, and for the first time, I looked around. We were out on Lake Michigan now. Unknowingly, Nate had returned us to the exact spot of Conner’s death. There was nowhere to run, but I knew this was fate at work. Taking the water bottle Nate handed me earlier, I dumped the last few sips into the lake before searching for my standard pen and paper in my backpack. I scrawled a note to Conner.

  Dear Conner,

  Thank you for being my best friend for twelve years. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you in the end. I wept for a long time and thought it was the end of me, too. But I know you’d want me to move on. Thinking of your strength and boldness
helps me face each new day. I’m never without you, as I feel your presence all around me. I try to enjoy the blessings of life even more now that I realize what a precious gift it is. I’m not gonna lie. Life still has its challenges and difficulties, but my heart is full of wonderful memories with you, and those serve as reminders that life is good. Thank you for the effect you had on my life. I pray your light will always shine through me so I can make it possible people will never forget you. I love you.

  Yours Forever,

  Olga

  I folding up the paper, placed it in the bottle, then laid it ceremoniously in the lake, something Dr. Judy suggested months ago, but I wasn’t ready then.

  Nate and I watched my message in the bottle bob in the water, and I decided letting go felt like someone stabbing me in the heart.

  “With hardly any wind, it’ll be hard to keep the boat moving back to shore,” I told him lightly, trying to block out the pain.

  He nodded. “I know. It’s weird; it just died down when I got to this spot. But I’m okay with relaxing for a while if you are.”

  I almost laughed aloud. Conner would’ve never let me get away with that. Always the competitive one, he’d want to engage the wind in some fierce battle. “I’m okay.”

  As I leaned back in the boat, I realized for the first time in a long time I truly meant those last two words. The last time I truly felt okay was the last time I was here with Conner.

  Boats raced back and forth across the water, trees waved at me from the shoreline, and the gentle waves lapped against our sailboat, whispering, “Welcome home.”

  Tonight was the biggest game of the season. If the Bucs pulled off a win, we’d make it to the playoffs. We’d been working on the numbers for weeks now, which involved a medley of all the best parts of the routines we did this year. We ran, skipped, and jumped onto the field, shaking our pom poms above our heads.

  The loud music and cool air hit me all at once, motivating to cheer my booty off even more, just to get warm. Everything blurred as we raced into formation. Perfection didn’t even come close to describing my arabesque in the pyramid. They tossed me into the air, and I completed a toe touch before returning to the cradle of girls who caught me.

  I’d never felt so carefree.

  My final move of the night included a round off, back handspring split combo—it still amazed me that I’d somehow perfected that move—and the crowd went wild with their cheers when we finished.

  Over five thousand people attended tonight’s game, a record, and my parents sat among them. Mom and I had our heart-to-heart when I arrived home from sailing. So Nate won the bet, although I had no idea what he’d claim as his prize.

  I spotted him sitting next to Mom and Dad in the stands directly in front of us. My chest filled with warm fuzzies, and I smiled for them alone.

  “Nurture an appetite for being puzzled,

  for being confused, indeed for being openly stupid.”

  —Lee C. Bollinger, 12th President of UM

  University of Michigan

  1220 Student Activities Building

  550 East Jefferson

  Ann Arbor, MI 48109

  The Seventeenth of February

  Dear Ms. Worontzoff,

  Congratulations on your admission to the University of Michigan. It gives me great pleasure to send you this letter, and you have every reason to feel proud of the work leading to this moment.

  In evaluating candidates, the Admissions Committee seeks to identify students whose academic achievement, diverse talents, and strength of character will make them feel at home in this remarkable community academically ranked in the top twenty among the world’s universities. We look forward to you becoming a vital contributor to the University’s mission.

  While the final candidate’s reply date is May first, we would love to hear from you before then. On April sixteenth, your future classmates will visit UM for Wolverine Campus Day, our program for admitted students, and we hope you join them. To register for this event and to connect with other admitted students, please visit our website at http://www.umich.edu. You can also e-mail us with any questions regarding our school. Welcome to the University of Michigan!

  Sincerely,

  Spencer Carver

  University of Michigan

  Dean of Undergraduate Admissions

  With my heart pounding so loud my eardrums ached, I sprinted to the front door, waving my letter in the air with the other unopened mail and squealed, “I’m in, I’m in, I’m in!”

  Dad paused the last episode of the tv series LOST and then wrapped me in a monstrous hug.

  “Congratulations!” He cupped my face in his hands. “Of course, there was never any doubt in this old man’s mind.” He tapped the side of his head. “Especially after your SAT score of 2130; you could’ve gotten into Harvard.” Elbowing me playfully in my side, he said, “Not too late to apply.”

  I mulled that thought over for a second and then sighed. “My scholarship is contingent upon attending college in-state.”

  “I know, but we can work out something, hun.”

  I felt the sincere energy oozing from his words. “It’s okay, Dad. This is what we’ve been working toward my whole life.”

  Mom entered the living room in her robe, toweling off her wet hair. “What are you two going on about in here?”

  I handed over my acceptance letter, and she read it carefully. I expected a formal congratulations. Instead, she clasped her wrinkled hands to her chest as her body shook with happy tears.

  “Well done, Olga. I’m so proud of you.”

  From the time I was a little girl, I’d been waiting to hear those five words from my mother, and I scarcely believed my ears. Yet I had this surreal out-of-body feeling, like I wasn’t here at all, so the emotional punch of it didn’t reach my core.

  “Let’s eat my homemade chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast to celebrate and then I’m calling all our friends and family to brag.”

  Not hearing her talk in her pissed voice after so many months of it felt weird, not that I complained.

  In the kitchen my laptop rested on the small table and I took a seat in front of my computer to blog about my acceptance letter. No sooner had I finished my pancakes, Nate called. Of course, I thought as looked at the Caller ID. Nate was always the first to read my blog, which boasted over one thousand followers these days. I pushed my chair out and stood by the window overlooking our pond, shaking my head and sighing as he rambled on and on about how he was proud of me.

  The feeling was mutual.

  After the Cantankerous Monkey Squad won the Battle of the Bands during the Coast Guard Festival in September, they performed a few more gigs where Alan from Mixed Tape Records brought some bigwigs. By the end of November, they’d signed a contract, each member receiving a thousand dollar advance, but they’d just started recording their new album this past week after school. The plan was to have it done by May. Alan was already busy negotiating a tour for them. The band would be a good match as an opening act for several of Mixed Tape’s well-known bands, and the tour would most likely last the entire summer.

  I knew this meant I should be pulling back. We were both on to bigger and better things. But every time I hung out with him, that became more of a lost cause than ever.

  “So there aren’t many things left on your list, but I thought going on the biggest rollercoaster in the U.S. would be the perfect way to party,” Nate told me.

  I cocked my head to the side, studying Mom at the sink, soaping up dishes. “When?”

  “Tomorrow. If we leave by six, we’d get there by eleven when they open. They close at eight, so tell your parents we’ll be home around one in the morning.”

  “Okay, hang on a sec.” I covered up the receiver with my hand. “Mom, Nate wants to visit Cedar Point tomorrow to celebrate. Can I go?”

  “Cedar Point in Ohio?”

  It annoyed me when she asked dumb questions like that. What other Cedar Point was there? But I h
ad to watch myself. “Yep. It’s number five on my list. Go on the biggest roller coaster.”

  “Oh my goodness.” Mom placed a hand over her heart. “That’d scare the bejesus out of me! What about church?”

  I’d never missed church unless throw up was involved. “It’s a five-hour drive. I can listen to a sermon on the radio or bring my Bible along and have my own church time.”

  She brushed a curl out of her face. “Well, I don’t think they’ll even be open when it’s still winter. It’s usually in the thirties this time of year.”

  True, but spring came early for the second year in a row. Grand Haven already made it to sixty degrees, and since we were heading south, logic told me it was warmer there. Echoing my thoughts, Nate interrupted with an announcement on the other end, apparently still able to hear everything even with the receiver covered.

  “They decided to open it up for the holiday weekend since the weather is so good.” President’s Day was on Monday. “The meteorologists are saying it’ll be a record, averaging highs in the low seventies.”

  Repeating the information to Mom, she still seemed hardly convinced of letting me proceed with our travel plans. “Is anyone else going?”

  “I didn’t ask anyone else yet, but I’ll invite Sean and Kyle, and you can call up Nicole and Tammy,” Nate said.

  “Sean, Kyle, Nicole, and Tammy,” I repeated, not mentioning they actually weren’t confirmed yet. “Please, please, please, Mom, can I go?”

  The sound of the kitchen light buzzed overhead, and I knotted my fingers together, praying she’d say yes.

  “Elizabeth, letting go, remember?” Dad said from his Lazy Boy recliner, reminding her of our conversation in November when they agreed they’d accept the decisions I made now as those of a mature adult.

  So technically, I didn’t need her permission, but internally I did. If that made any sense.

  She stepped forward, drying a coffee cup with her towel, then slid a damp hand over my shoulder.

  “You’re right, John,” she called over her shoulder, then turned back to me. “You’ve worked hard all year and deserve a break. But you should listen to a radio sermon on the way there.”