Finding Goodbye

by Brittany Elise

  “I’ve sent him a couple of texts, but he still won’t reply.” I leaned back into the pillows, gazing up at the pattern of the molding. If I stared at it long enough, some of those shapes would start to form into actual pictures. Just now, I could see the shape of an elephant–complete with big ears and a long trunk.

  “Do you want me to try and talk to him?” She said this nonchalantly, but I noticed her tone of voice had changed when she brought up his name. I narrowed my eyes, watching as she picked up one of the figurines and turned it over in her hands.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not sure I want him to think I’ve been blabbing about what happened.”

  “He knows you’re not that kind of person,” she said. “I mean. It just might help if he also had someone to talk to.”

  “You really like him, don’t you?”

  Beck put the horse figurine down and turned to face me. For once, she didn’t have to say anything; the expression of shock on her face said it all.

  “Oh my God, you do,” I said.

  “Don’t be a smart-ass about it,” she said pointedly, “that’s my job.”

  I laughed. “Okay, but seriously...”

  “I can’t stop thinking about the other night.”

  I cocked an eyebrow, waiting for her to explain.

  “After the whole Rex thing,” she started, “when you guys brought me back here to let me stay, and he carried me up the steps. I know he didn’t really have a choice, but, he also defended me at the Pool Hall, and he was so nice on the beach… No one has really ever been so nice to me before. Not like that.”

  “So tell me why we’re going to this party for you to flirt with some Frat boy when you’re really interested in getting to know my best friend?” I asked her.

  She looked up at me then, her blue-gray eyes softening. “Because he’s interested in you, and because Luke isn’t the kind of guy you flirt with at some party,” she said, shaking her head. “Luke is the kind of guy you take home to meet your parents because you’ve finally met the guy of your dreams.”

  There was a softness to her voice that I hadn’t heard before–hadn’t been aware that she was even capable of possessing a gentle side. Beck was the kind of person that was blunt and borderline tactless; it never even occurred to me that there might be an underlying reason for that. I was learning that people would never stop surprising me on this adventure we called life.

  There was something so unique, and yet so archaic that linked every one of us together. No matter how hard we tried to make ourselves appear to the outside world, there was a part of us that would always be so humanly raw and authentic when it involved matters of the heart.

  ***

  Several hours later, I found myself standing in front of Beck’s full length mirror in her bedroom. My face had a full coat of makeup, and my usual curled hair was now straightened past my shoulder blades. I had to admit, Beck had done a remarkable job; though, I barely recognized the face staring back at me in the mirror.

  I was wearing an emerald green lace top that was tucked under the waistband of a black pair of jeans. “I usually have to roll the pant legs when I wear them,” Beck had informed me, assuring me that this pair would fit me just right. And they had.

  “You should keep that shirt,” Beck said, moving to stand beside me so I could see her reflection in the mirror beside my own. “That green does wonders with your dark red hair. It looks much better on you than it ever did on me.”

  “I couldn’t,” I said, pinching the thin fabric between my fingers. I really did like the top. It was feminine and yet, just a little on the sexy side.

  “You can, and you will,” she told me. “It’s one of my own creations.” She disappeared from my side and went to rifle through her closet for the umpteenth time. I moved from the mirror and sat down on her bed, studying the room while she tossed outfits over her comforter.

  Her loft bedroom had a ceiling that was slanted at an angle, and melded into the walls that were painted a deep shade of plum. She’d told me that they had been a baby-poop-green color before she had gotten her hands on a bucket of paint; making repainting a top priority, and part of her terms of arrangement when she moved in with her aunt. There was an antique Singer table and sewing machine placed beneath her window. A wicker basket full of fabric was sitting just off to its side. Mounds and mounds of clothing were stacked in various piles on the floor. The chaos reminded me of the boxing room in the retail store I had worked in at the mall.

  “What do you think of this?” Beck asked, holding up a black miniskirt and quarter-sleeved black rhinestone shirt that appeared to have holes ripped strategically into the sides.

  “What look are you trying to achieve, exactly?” I asked. That seemed like a safe enough question.

  “I want to be me, but like a vixen version of me.”

  “I think that will do it,” I said. “Did you make that top as well?”

  “Oh yeah, I made the whole ensemble.”

  “You do a really great job with all of this,” I said, gesturing around her room. Beck’s clothes were unique, and edgy. They wouldn’t necessarily appeal to everyone’s fashion tastes, but that’s what I liked about them–and her for that matter. Neither she, nor her clothing was cookie-cutter designs.

  “Thanks,” she replied, “be sure to tell me that in a couple of years when I have my own boutique.” She rifled through her dresser drawer and pulled out a deep red tank top, and then dashed into the bathroom to change. A minute later she emerged in the outfit and ruby-red lipstick. “So?” she asked, turning in a circle to showcase her apparel. “What do you think?”

  “You look amazing,” I told her. “You’ll definitely be turning every head in the room.”

  “Okay, good.” She grinned. She picked up her shiny black purse from the end of the bed, and slipped into a pair of ankle boots beside the door. “Let’s get a move-on.”

  Downstairs, Layla was prepping the kitchen for tomorrow’s baking routine. She did a double-take, glancing over Beck’s appearance as we walked by. “And where are you going dressed like that?” she asked.

  “To a college party, it’s called socializing,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “You did say I should get out more.”

  “Well yeah, but I was thinking more along the lines of joining a book-club, or taking yoga lessons from that nice studio down the street.” Layla turned, stretching out her arm to block the doorway.

  “And on what planet would I agree to any of those pretentious options?” Beck purred innocently.

  Layla’s eyes practically bulged from her skull in exasperation. “Well you do work at a bookstore.”

  “Not by choice,” she said, holding up her index finger. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I’m nineteen; I can take care of myself.”

  “Look,” Layla said, closing her eyes as if to try and stuff them back in their sockets. “Just promise me you’ll be responsible and try to be home at a decent hour. And be quiet when you come in, okay?”

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” I said with a promise, hoping to ease the worry I recognized creasing her brow.

  “Thank you,” she said earnestly.

  “See you later,” Beck said, pushing through the double-sided swinging doors. We left the coffee shop, rounding the corner to the private parking lot out back. Beck pulled the car door open, and leaned over the seat to clear off a myriad of junk that was lying on the passenger seat.

  “I can get that,” I told her, climbing in. I was careful not to step on any of the cosmetic tubes that were rolling around on the floor as I settled in the seat.

  She put the key in the ignition, and the engin
e rumbled in complaint. “You’d think my parents could have sprung for a better car considering they’re doctors.”

  “Is this their car?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, pulling onto the street, “this was my sixteenth birthday present. It’s nothing fancy like the car you drive around.”

  I snorted. “My car was a peace offering from my dad.”

  “Peace offering?” she questioned with a flick of her brow.

  “My car was demolished in the accident… A week after we buried my brother, my dad showed up with my brand new car–completely paid for.” I shook my head, tasting the bitterness on my tongue from the memory.

  “I fail to see where this is a bad thing,” Beck said.

  “My dad left my mom for another woman,” I said. “I think the car was his way of saying sorry that he wrecked what was left of our family.”

  “That’s messed up,” Beck said.

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  “So why didn’t you sell it, and get something different?”

  “Luke talked me into keeping it, actually,” I said. “Believe me, I didn’t want to, but it is a great car. And since I refuse to speak to my father, it’s kind of my way of saying ‘up-yours.’” I shrugged.

  “That’s also messed up.” She laughed. “Like, really.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” I tilted my gaze, staring at my shoes. I knew the way I was, or rather, wasn’t dealing with my father was extremely unhealthy. But just thinking of him and what he had done, caused a heat wave of fury to rise up through my blood. I was a little too good at holding on to grudges, and there wasn’t a single fiber in my being anywhere near ready to forgive him for what happened. Maybe that made me a bad person, but I didn’t care.

  A few minutes had passed, and we were rolling through campus with our digital GPS shouting robotic directions as we drove along. I gazed out at the two-story houses we were passing, each sporting their own Greek symbols and letters. We were close to the Historic district, noting the structure of the surrounding homes. The Historic district was beautiful–gargantuan brick homes protected by elaborate wrought iron fences decorated the town, signifying old-money and last names that demanded respect. I had always felt a little out of place, walking down the sidewalks next to the cobblestone streets. I’d stroll by the magnificent homes after a long run, imagining what sorts of lives were led behind those impermeable walls with their fragrant azalea bushes and flower gardens.

  “What’s the name of this place?” I asked, turning back to the GPS that was now instructing us to turn left for arrival.

  “Omega Pi something-or-other,” Beck said, pulling her car against the sidewalk and cut the engine. I could already hear music spilling from the two-story blue house just up the hill to my right. A group of girls were walking up the drive, arms linked together as if to signify the indestructible nature of their friendship. Or maybe they were as nervous as I felt and were sticking together for support.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked as we got out of the car. I recognized the Omega symbol plastered above the front door. The others were Greek to me (pun intended.)

  “Yeah, it’ll be great,” she said, starting for the drive. “God, I could use a cigarette. Do you have any gum?”

  “Sorry,” I said, patting my empty pockets.

  “It’s okay. I’ll just get a drink and everything will be fine,” she said.

  “Right, because trading one bad habit for another is totally not counterproductive,” I said, teasing her.

  “Bite me,” she said with a chuckle.

  As we entered through the opened doorway, an older song–“Bent”–from Matchbox Twenty was pulsing from the speakers. Girls and guys lined the hall, leaning against the walls like they were part of the decor, talking and smiling with red Solo cups glued to their palms. The scent of various alcohol and stale cigarettes clung to the atmosphere.

  “What’s his name again? The guy you’re looking for,” I said–my mouth close to her ear so she could hear me above the music.

  “Cameron,” she said. “He has brown hair, and the iciest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. He’s a little taller than you, but not much.”

  “Okay,” I said. Everyone here all looked the same–jeans, polo’s, and sweaters–spiky hair and clean-shaven faces. The girls were all tan and had shiny blonde hair. Okay–so I was stereotyping, but I was way out of my realm of comfort here. At least, the new version of me was.

  “Hey there.” A guy with distinguishing moles on his face greeted us. “Can I get you ladies’ a drink?” he offered.

  “Actually, I’m looking for someone,” Beck said, leaning in as the song switched to a Florence and the Machine number. “His name is Cameron. Cameron Paxton.”

  “Downstairs, playing pool,” mole guy said, sounding slightly disappointed.

  “Thanks,” Beck said, and turned to head in the direction he had gestured to. I followed behind her, gripping the railing when we found the stairs.

  The music was less intense from the basement, but a group of guys were playing Guitar Hero over in the corner almost as loudly.

  “Oh-my-God, there he is.” Beck pointed to the guy leaning over the pool table, getting ready to break.

  “He’s cute,” I said.

  “Do I look okay–nothing in my teeth?” She grinned wide, exposing her pearly whites.

  “You’re perfect.” I assured her.

  “Okay, come on.” She grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me over to the pool table. Cameron had lined up the shot, and took it. A couple of guys slapped him on the back after his ball had disappeared from the table into the far corner pocket.

  “Nice shot,” Beck said, straightening her shoulders.

  “Hey, you actually came.” Cameron smiled, twisting the pool stick in his hands.

  “You sound surprised,” Beck returned.

  “I am, but I’m also really glad you did,” he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder. The two exchanged cartoon googly eyes.

  “This is my friend, Darcy,” Beck said, remembering to introduce me.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking my hand. His palm was warm, and not at all sticky from nerves like mine. “Do you guys want to play a round of pool with us? We just started so it’s not too late to join.”

  “Sure, but I’m not that good. You’ll have to show me a thing or two,” Beck said.

  “Great, here–we can partner up. Beck, you’re with me, and Darcy can be with my friend, Eric.” He pointed to the lanky guy across the table.

  “Sure,” I said, reaching for a pool stick. I was starting to relax now that Cameron had been found, and I didn’t have to spend any more time searching through the mass cluster of people upstairs.

  Beck looked at me and mouthed the words ‘thank you’ from across the table.

  “Hey,” the guy named Eric said. “We’re playing solids.”

  “Cool,” I said. A strong odor of cologne was oozing from his pores, like he’d bathed in a bottle before the party. He had a nice smile, and kind eyes, so I tried to ignore the smell as I took my turn at the table. I lined up my shot, and took it.

  Beck was up next, and I could tell she was feigning ignorance as she took the pool cue in her hands. “Am I holding it right?” she asked Cameron.

  “It’s more like this,” he said, pressing his body up against hers as he leaned in to put his hands over the back of hers–showing her how she should hold it. Everyone knew that pool was the ultimate excuse for a guy to come up behind a girl and get close to her without being overly explicit. I swear the inventor must have had that in mind when they created the game in the first place.


  “Is this better?” she asked, leaning into him.

  I had to fight to keep from rolling my eyes.

  “Better,” he said.

  The game went on longer than I hoped it would, but with as much flirting as Beck and Cameron were doing in place of strategic playing, it was honestly no surprise that Eric and I had ended up winning.

  “I win,” I said, after I had carefully knocked the eight-ball into the corner pocket.

  “Technically we won,” Eric reminded me.

  “Right, we,” I corrected, although, I didn’t much care either way.

  “In honor of your victory, let’s go upstairs and get a round of drinks to celebrate,” Cameron suggested.

  “That sounds good,” Beck agreed, looping her fingers through his as we started for the stairs. I used the railing for support, and followed them through the crowd of body heat and stagnant air. There were large blue and red coolers lining the length of the kitchen wall, filled to the brims with ice and cheap beer.

  “There’s a keg outside, if you prefer some fresh air?” Cameron asked Beck.

  “Yeah, sure,” she said. “You lead the way.”

  “Cool,” he said, pushing through the side door that led out to a nice wooden patio. The air was much cooler outside, and though the sun had long since set, the bright stars up above lit our surroundings in low, cool-toned light.

  There was a group of people standing next to the railing, talking and laughing among themselves. Cameron and Eric made their way over to the keg, and filled up two Solo cups. Cameron handed one to Beck, poured himself another, and directed her over to an empty wicker couch with a faded cushion.

  “Do you want one?” Eric asked me, extending the cup.

  “No, thank you,” I said, reaching up to loop my index finger through Gabriel’s class ring. If I never drank again, it would be too soon.

  “All right,” he replied indifferently, starting for the couch opposite of Cameron and Beck’s. I followed, sitting beside him as he took a large gulp of beer.