Chasing Days

by Deirdre Riordan Hall

  “The rush.”

  “Defying gravity.”

  “Breaking rules,” he says. He’s so close his breath is warm against my skin.

  “Pushing boundaries.”

  Just then Berlin appears. His eyes squint with worry. “Augie’s had one too many good ideas tonight. You’re needed on deck.”

  “Shit. I promised his brother I’d look after him.” I remember Grady and Augie’s older brother, Fitzy were best friends before he graduated last year. Sometimes I forget Augustus Parker, an honorary senior, is actually a junior. However, along with other assumptions I've long held, this line in the sand can be crossed or eliminated. He's one of us. A smile blooms on my face. Tonight, I'm also part of this crazy crew, gnawing on the edge of exodus. If even for a few hours, the feeling of belonging is like the moments before taking flight: fluttery, but with a solid place to land.

  I glance around, looking for Teddy again, eager to tell him this and my immersion slash experiment. With beer infused clarity, as the countdown continues, the roles cemented since freshman year dissolve, right before my starry eyes.

  Those of us who were considered dorks, like me and Wayne Chang, are now skating in front of half the senior class and doing keg stands. Watch out MIT. There’s a game of strip poker on the patio and it looks like Heather and Sherman are about to get an eyeful of the star quarter back and Nina’s assets. The jocks/jorks, like Andrew and Wilson, who appear to have permanent concussions, hearts’ are practically bleeding with emotion with an exchange of, "I love you mans." They have tears in their eyes or maybe it has something to do with the smoke pouring out of a barrel in the backyard. Thankfully, there’s no sign of Jaze.

  Our roles deteriorate and for once, it's as if I don't have to try to find a place to fit.

  I’m smiling, practically skipping to find the skateboard and have another go, when I spot Teddy, from behind. He’s half in the shadows and half in the firelight. He hulks over someone in a make-no-mistake they’re making out stance.

  I stare. Go Teddy! Go on with your badass-gay-self! Then the pair shifts. His arms wrap around Gretel. Gretel, last I checked, is a girl. My jaw jackhammers the ground. I turn away. No, it must have been Hansel, her twin. But he’s pouring from the keg as Wayne stumbles away, either drunk or experiencing a massive head rush. I grab the cup of beer from Hansel and chug. He cheers while his sister and my best friend make out. I snake the line of sobriety as I edge toward the pool with the borrowed skateboard in hand.

  I thought Teddy was gay and that was safe. I thought he liked boys like I like red jellybeans and will never play Swan Lake on the piano as well as I’d like, that my name is Willa, I am a girl, and that Teddy would never, ever lie to me. Or omit. Or slap me hard with change.

  Across the pool, Joss's hair blazes red like the flames in the barrel. I drop the skateboard, letting it slide down the cement without a passenger. I bypass the pool. She smiles when I approach, but I don’t stop. I move in close and press my lips to hers. She tastes like taking flight, like wings and feathers flapping, like the ground might rush away from me at any moment.

  Chapter Ten

  ☼

  Friday

  Morning comes too soon. It isn’t that I didn’t sleep, but I went from being wide-awake to operating on an infinite thought loop. It was like my brain occupied the kind of limitless area of a deep space documentary. On repeat, the reel played the soft press of my lips to Joss’s, the way she looked at me with lidded eyes, and how I rushed off, kicking away the rust of shame, suddenly afraid someone saw. It was a flash, that unabashed moment, and then I dropped into the pool and skated until Heather dragged me home.

  As the clock slowly ticked through the early morning hours, I dove from those pulse-quickening thoughts to Teddy… to a void, then it was six-thirty a.m., and I was wide-awake again. Whatever happened for those five lost hours didn’t provide rest and certainly not clarity. My mind spins, possibly unraveling, and I don't need an X-ray to convince me that a balloon is expanding inside of my head, leaving nothing but an ache and stale air. Stupid beer.

  I’m thankful my parents had to go into Boston for a meeting this morning because they, of all people, would see through any pretense of simulated cheer and know why my stomach churns, my fingers shake, and my vision blurs away from twenty-twenty, revealing how deep I am into a hangover. They’d also know exactly what to do, but I’m not ready to cross that divide yet. I’ve only been drunk once before and last night, to borrow the buzzword, was epic, but I'm not interested in repeating that particular kind of liquefaction, ever.

  Through the window, if I didn’t know better, I'd think the yellow house next door was vacant. There’s an uneasy silence at the Westing's residence that suggests discontent and disconnect; it's lonely like an unoccupied model home in a new development. Their house is updated and remodeled compared to our beater, but real estate this close to the coast is prized and the foundations go back decades. The Westing's spring lawn fills in with verdant perfection. There aren’t any missing shingles. Nothing is out of place on the windowsills while ours overflow with spindly herbs and succulents. And Teddy’s car is conspicuously absent.

  Today would be a good day to be a patio potato. Instead, I take a cool shower, failing to scrub away confusion and reveal that moment of exhilaration from the night before. Kissing Joss was quick, but the charge I felt was like a spark, like I was being jumpstarted. However, the battery in me quickly died as I struggled with conditioned shame. Of course, my parents have taught me acceptance, tolerance, all of the -ances against the -isms. But bending gender associations is still an insidious thing. For years, I’d wished that was different, for Teddy and everyone who faces discrimination, but now, for myself too.

  Haters are gonna hate and all that, but I should rise above stigma and rejection. I'd like for my new mantra to be likers gonna like, but I'm not sure how to announce that yet. Maybe I should make a T-shirt.

  When I get out of the shower, beads of water drip down my bare shoulders, trail down my chest, across my belly, thighs, and the long length of my legs to my toes. I sigh. I stare at my naked-self in the mirror and find the answer written in my skin—I must accept myself. My hammer toes, the bumps on my thighs, the pooch of my belly, the truth in my heart, rejecting shame and ignorance. I towel off, feeling suddenly hopeful.

  Then, in the semi-sober light of day, the percentage of my emotions that tie into the explosive fact that Teddy was making out with a girl weighs heavily like rubble, like a city left in ruins. He was with a girl. A female, like me.

  I harrumph around for a minute more, testing out a slice of toast and a glass of water, before grabbing my old skateboard from under my bed, and zipping out into the already humid morning. As I pass Teddy’s house, I plug my ears with music and glide to Puckett, old-school style.

  When I step onto the campus, the atmosphere is different this morning as if the air currents changed: El Niño became el hombre or something. It's as if we fully shed inhibitions and self-doubt and inhabit a place in the stars. Or maybe that's just me and my spaced out dreamscape. Also, it could be the car, on the roof of the school, spray painted purple and gold—Puckett school colors.

  We gather. Stare. Nina is a few feet away, looking offended or bored, like a car on the roof is a personal affront or a daily occurrence. I’m not sure. I remind myself to never not be appropriately awed.

  Grady’s there, his eyebrows knitted together, but he also wears a smile on his lips. Those same ones I long to kiss. He glances at me and his head tilts as though in question before he gazes at the ground and then back at me. Something stirs inside. This is my immersion, before the final exam—me figuring out whom I am. Inconveniently, there are black and white, yes and no answers, fill in the blanks (minus a helpful word bank), and a hefty written response. I didn’t study for this particular test, it’s practical, hands on, live in the moment, raw, real, right now.

  Heather elbows me, bright eyed, like five hours of sleep did he
r more of a favor than it did me or maybe that’s what the beginning of love looks like.

  “Wild last night, huh.” She’s acting normal. She must not have seen Teddy or me. Not surprising since she's fixated on Sherman.

  Revving interrupts the natural progression of our conversation. For a fear splitting second, I worry someone’s going to drive the car off the roof. Then it dies down and the bell rings, indicating the start of the day. There's no action from above and we abandon our watch.

  The Puckett student body slowly filters in. Our sluggishness answers the question what’s the point of actually going to class these last days? It’s not as if we’re absorbing anything new. Then, stuck in a bottleneck by the cafeteria, I have one of those lucid moments when I witness the humanness of everyone around me: the titter of two underclassman laughing nervously, the forbidden look of longing exchanged between a frosh and senior, the shy kid whose name I should know but don’t…

  These bittersweet days are more for us to learn about ourselves than for scholastic achievement. We're here studying who we are apart from and relative to our peers, our best friends, our first kisses, and ex-boyfriends. And it’s not anything a college-educated adult can instruct or test us on.

  But by the end of second period, it’s apparent today is Friday on steroids, or maybe we still have the party in us. The periods creep by, to the dismay of students and teachers alike. After last night, it should be harder than ever to ignore Teddy or give him the stink eye, but he’s not here. Unless he’s stealthily avoiding me. Maybe this Theo character has invisibility powers too. I wonder if kissing Gretel landed him in bed, his or hers, breaking his no absence (and abstinence) streak.

  At lunch, there’s pandemonium as everyone flocks outside. Someone shouts, “He’s on the roof.”

  Elspeth, practically in tears, calls, “Stop him!”

  Berlin shakes his head. “No way. Don't you know the state motto? Live free or die!" They take this up as a chant.

  All eyes are on the broad, flat roof of the school when I spot the motorcycle. Despite the no helmet law in our state, the rider wears one painted to match the car.

  My lips sink into a frown as recognition dawns: the roof is the runway, and the car is a ramp. The Olympic sized swimming pool, this one filled with water, is the target. The ultimate in senior Muck-Ups.

  Oh my.

  I glance around to see who’s unaccounted for. All the usual suspects are in attendance, except Augie. It’s official, he’s certifiable. He might not make it to senior year.

  The bike revs.

  The principal and a few teachers rush out. Whitaker’s arms flap wildly over his head. There’s so much shouting, but I doubt Augie hears it over the rumble of the bike and from beneath the helmet.

  Automatic expulsion, for sure.

  Stillness falls over us, and we hush, watching wide-eyed as he backs the bike up to gain momentum. He twists the throttle and then thunders across the roof, driving up onto the top of the car, flying through the sky like my dad's favorite stuntman Evel Knievel. There’s the silhouette of a boy and a bike against powder puff clouds. The collective hush worries me.

  Certain death.

  Then there’s a whoop, a splash, and a couple hundred pairs of feet rush to the swimming pool on the side of the building. I spot Grady, rushing to help a soaked, but mobile, Augie out of the pool. I question his babysitting abilities.

  Belatedly realizing that he’s in charge, possibly because he didn't plan this afternoon's programming, Principal Whitaker holds everyone back. A couple teachers take his place and he lays into Augie. I don’t want to hear the reprimands; my head is already splitting.

  I go back inside and for a moment, Puckett is my own private sanctuary. There might be one or two other people in the far reaches of the building, but I’m pretty sure Augie commands a packed and captive audience. I lean against a locker, close my eyes, and picture freshman me, walking, bewildered, down this same hall. I crushed hard on Grady, performed a terrible version of Joni Mitchell’s You Turn Me On, I’m a Radio at the talent show, lived in a world where Teddy and I played the lead roles, until Heather joined our club—before she hooked up with Lou for a couple of years. Then it was just Teddy and me being weird for a while. It was all somewhat silly and magnificent.

  A stampede of footsteps jolts me from reverie.

  By the time English rolls around, it's clear Joss isn’t here today either. The two empty seats in the back of Mr. Dicostanzo’s classroom make me wonder if I was mistaken in kissing her.

  Whoever is in charge of the Willa show, less ambiguity, please? My brain and body clearly aren't communicating. There’s a growing chance that Teddy and Joss are together, doing something I didn’t expect either of them to. Maybe Theo whatshisface is making up for lost time.

  Mr. Dicostanzo futilely drills us on analyzing mood and tone in fiction. It may as well be midnight sometime in the future. We stumble around with red cups. We're in college dorms. We’re bagging groceries. We're at job interviews, changing diapers, turning gray and balding. We’re forgetting these years and yet yearning to have them back, or at least the feeling of them. We’ve flopped from high school sweethearts to one-night stands, from dreams to majors, from weddings to births to funerals. Apparently, everyone agrees, because a rhythmic chant starts up.

  “Dic, Dic, Dic…” I’m really not sure if they include the K, but it sure sounds like everyone says dick.

  Some of my classmates pound in time on their desks. Then Asher, Hansel, and a few football players are on their feet, approaching the front of the classroom. The Dictator feebly lifts his hands in protest, as if he knows his days of power are over. They lift him like an effigy and carry him into the hall.

  “Dic, Dic, Dic,” it continues.

  Everyone follows, taking the chant with them. Again, I'm alone. I stuff my notebook into my bag and before putting away my pen, I etch into the desk Willa was here.

  ☼

  My dad is home when I return. His eyes light up when he sees me with my old skateboard in hand. “No ride back and forth to school today?" His eyes shade as though recalling a certain blue Mustang with contempt. "Mom went out to get groceries. She could have picked you up.”

  “I had a ride,” I say, waggling the board. “A good one too.”

  “That’s my girl. Hey, let me see that thing." He heads out to the driveway, and as if he’s still eighteen, steps gracefully from solid ground onto the smooth glide of motion on four wheels. He spins around me. His smile is the smilingest of smiles. I cheer him on.

  After a few runs, he’s out of breath. I join him on the front steps. He claps my knee. “Don’t ever forget how fun that is.”

  “I’ll try not to.”

  “'Do. Or do not. There is no try,'” he says in his best Yoda imitation. “Tell me, young Padawan, how are things?”

  “Crazy.”

  “Underneath that?” he asks as if he knows exactly what they’re like, turning the mood and tone instantly reflective. Even the sky verges toward a vintage soft glow/sepia.

  “Augie Parker, he drove off the school roof on a motorcycle today, or maybe it was a dirt bike. He jumped over a car. I can’t imagine how they got it up there. It’s probably already on YouTube, gone viral. Mr. Dicostanazo was usurped. I defaced school property...”

  The look he gives me is a notch before stern.

  “No one was hurt. On the desk I wrote Willa was here.”

  He shrugs. “Harmless enough. What else?”

  “I sigh. I don’t think Teddy and I are friends anymore.”

  “Why? What happened?” he asks, dismayed.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Go on,” my dad encourages as though I do in fact know why things are falling apart, but just haven’t translated it into English yet.

  “He was gay and then I saw something last night and I don’t think he is.”

  My dad is quiet a moment, then says, “When it comes to that kind of thing, sometimes, it doesn
’t matter what you think. I mean it does, but not as much as you’d like. You follow?”

  I don’t. “It’s just I thought things were one way and they would be for a long time. Forever." My voice sounds small as though fearful of the impossibility of this. "I thought I was the confused one. Out of the two of us, I’m the one who was a few short a dozen, the one with the receiver off the hook, and my slinky kinked, y'know?”

  “No, I think you’re on your way to great things and in the meantime have taken a memorable detour. No, not even a detour. An adventure.”

  “Ha ha. But see, everything, all of a sudden, is different. I just thought it would be, I dunno, the way I thought it would be.”

  My dad sighs. “I’m about to go old guy on you. You ready?” he asks, drawing a deep breath.

  I shrug, not imagining he actually has anything helpful to say.

  “Things certainly won’t go your way. They’ll mutate, disorganize, you’ll lose hours to picking moments and conversations apart, wondering where they went off track. You’ll struggle and fail and cry.”

  “Dad, this totally isn’t helping.”

  “Wait for it… Things will most definitely not go the way you have planned or expect. Not by a long shot. Nope.” He pauses, holding my gaze. “They will be way, way better. At times, they’ll even be epic.” His smile shines.

  I lean against him for a much needed hug and we sit there as the setting sun takes the humid day with it. The pink VW motors into the driveway. I give my dad a little squeeze and say, “Huggy buggy,” before going to help my mom with the grocery bags.

  Chapter Eleven

  ☾

  Friday

  I go back outside for a bulk-sized bag of cat food when the Grapesicle rolls in, clean, as if along with the grime from the winter, Teddy washed away our memories together. I consider slamming doors just to make my point, but then spot Joss in the passenger seat. My stomach flips and then for good measure bounces. Then more flipping. I want to run, but apparently, I traded in my sneakers for moon boots. I float at the sight of her and then land hard at Teddy's grim expression.