His smile fades into grim determination. “No…but I made my final decision. I'm doing it. Student loans, three jobs, whatever it takes." With that, balloons pelt us from every direction.
There’s screaming and hooting, but we're separated.
I rush inside, calling for Teddy. Mayhem busts loose and everyone’s running. No one is sure who’s throwing the balloons and who the target is. The remaining balloons floating around from earlier don’t help matters.
However, I do find Grady and drag him back outside, but Augie isn’t by the tree anymore. Grady gets a particularly large balloon in the chest. He whoops and shouts, "Game on!"
We rush to a concealed spot, only to be bombarded from behind. I’m laughing and screeching as he pulls me out of firing range. I collapse against him and I try to explain, but before I’ve even had a chance to wipe the taste of Joss from my lips, Grady kisses me, not caring if everyone sees. Part of me worries that she’s out there, disappointed and hurt. That isn’t what I want. I want to know who I am and have fun, harmless, senior year fun. Yet, a weight lands on my shoulders, working its way to my stomach. It's okay to kiss Grady in public, but not Joss. The iniquity pushes me apart from Grady and toward the muddy ground, but he catches me.
"Whoa. You okay?"
I thought I was.
Guilt gathers like the clouds; I wonder if I should explain my immersion and conundrum to him. Then it’s like a fire hose douses us, and a waterfall pelts down on us. I shriek and scramble back. Rain falls from above. Whatever parts of us had stayed dry through the balloon fight are now soaked.
Any learning Puckett wants us to do twists up in the wind shunting us into the real world. I don’t think anyone but Teddy is ready for reality and the anarchy today proves that. Thankfully, I still have five more days before I have to make big decisions.
The rain and balloon fight stops as quickly as they had started and then we all go silent, staring intently toward the west where a rainbow arcs across the sky.
Chapter Seventeen
☾
Monday
My parents go all out barbecuing on Guzzi’s last night with us. The charred and summery smells draw me out of my room where I’ve been trying to unsnarl my day: the conversation with Joss and about how she knows about Grady and me. How Teddy told her. Then how she and I kissed. And how being with her feels like the perfect lazy-by-the-lake kind of day. Then Teddy showing so much emotion about his final decision to go to RISD. I meant every pound of pressure I applied when I gave him that hug, but there’s a snaky part of me writhing with jealousy. Ouch, I didn’t see that coming.
Everyone knows what they want to do with the rest of their lives and I can’t even figure out if I’m gay or straight or somewhere in between and how to be totally, truly okay with the answer.
Then Grady pounced on me during the water balloon fight. And of course, Guzzi leaving, everything changing, me included, but also staying exactly where I am because I'm still clueless about knowing what I’m supposed to do next.
My parents, Guzzi, and a few mutual friends lounge on the back patio. A Bob Marley song plays a familiar tune when I finally unglue myself from my sticky thoughts.
“Willita,” my parents’ bestie Nahali says in greeting. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going nowhere fast,” I mutter.
“What's got you down?” she asks, giving me a hug and then holding me at arm's length.
“The end of an era of everything,” I say baldly, unsure why I brought my baggage downstairs with me.
While we eat, stories harkening back to their high school and college experiences volley between my parents and their friends. Nelson goes on about getting his GED and ultimately ending up with a PhD. Then Quinn comments on how he adventured around South America. His tale reminds me of Guzzi's wanderings. His gaze rambles over to me knowingly during key moments in the conversation. Everyone is just trying to help, but their ideas don’t resonate.
“We’re moving this party to the lighthouse,” my mom calls as we clear away the dishes.
“Pack up the coolers,” my dad adds.
“Wait, did you guys—?” But Nahali cuts off my question with another about what to put the leftovers in.
I'd prefer to be solo with my thoughts, but my dad insists I join them so we caravan to the shore and then along the winding road to the abandoned lighthouse.
When we pile out of the VW, the other cars park alongside the grassy curb. Atop the outcrop supporting the lighthouse, the sun sets behind the beacon, rising like a shaft of hope into the twilight sky.
Guzzi and my dad disappear to start a fire closer to the water, reminding me of the blaze from the party last week with the Clearwaters and Grady.
When the flames lick the ridge of sand eroding toward the sea, we all head down, padding carefully along the uneven path. When we reach the sand, my parents join hands. The firelight illuminates them like a soft and warm spotlight.
My mom clears her throat. “We wanted you all, our closest friends and of course our family to join us this evening for a special announcement.” My mother squeezes my dad’s hand.
He nods. “Even though you all know the story, it feels like an official declaration we need to make before we embark on this journey. Over ten years ago, Autumn and I got tired of spending our money on watery swill. We also couldn’t afford the higher range of craft beers so we decided, why not DIY. Many hours, arguments, some tears, blood once—a box of broken bottles—and lots of laughter resulted, all these years later, in a flourishing home brewing business,” my dad says and then adds, “and true to our roots, we're pioneers, never intent to do things the traditional way.”
The group laughs.
My mom goes on, “But now we're ready to take it to the next level. As you also know, our sweet Willa graduates high school next weekend and will be beginning a new chapter in her life. So, with an empty nest on our hands we feel like the time is right to invest our energy in nurturing our other baby.”
“Beer!” my dad shouts.
This brings more laughter, but I want nothing more than to bury my head in the sand. They’re replacing me with a brewery? Watery tears threaten to do battle with rock hard anger.
My mom continues, “Earlier today we signed the purchase and sale agreement for this piece of land along with the structure. By this time next year we intend to have a fully functional brewery, restaurant, and store.”
Meanwhile my dad pries the caps off a new batch of beer. He lifts one bottle as the rest circulate through the group. “The bottle you hold contains our newest brew, Beacon Lager. The buildings in front of you will now forever be known as Beacon Brewery. Cheers!”
Everyone echoes his sentiments.
Bottles clink and there are hugs. I disappear into the shadows. A large mitt lands on my arm and Guzzi guides me farther away from the group. When we’re on the other side of the fire, out of earshot, we plunk down in the sand.
Without waiting for Guzzi’s invitation to spill my thoughts, I barge through the tears that refuse to be held back any longer. “I should be happy for them,” I say through a sob.
“Shoulds don't hold much currency, Willa.”
“I mean I am happy for them. They’ve worked so hard. My goodness they have. I’ve witnessed it. They’re amazing, but it’s like—”
“You’re being exchanged? Put on the back burner?” he pauses, and in my head, I chant yes and yes. After I sniffle he adds, “Set free?”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
He sighs as though settling in for rest, letting me find my way through the tears.
Finally, I say, "I guess when it comes down to it, freedom scares me.”
“What about the alternative?”
“I don’t mean it that way. It’s just they’ve always been there. They’re the best parents ever. No offense to Grandpa. But for all their corniness and progressive mumbo-jumbo they’re happily married.” I think of Teddy's parents.
“You can say
that again. Shit.” He probably overheard their nightly activities, too.
I continue, “They're honest and kind and compassionate.”
“They love you and would do anything to make it so freedom didn’t seem quite so frightening.” His words trip me up.
“Well, yeah.”
“What I want to know is if they’re so great, why don’t you talk to them about this?”
“Because they have a plan and I don’t want to get in the way.”
“You’d never be in the way. Except for the obstacles you create in your mind, but…”
“But I have to figure it out on my own,” I say, the air of revelation breathing understanding into my lungs.
“Difficult, but true. That's about the size of it. That doesn't mean you can't tell them. They'll listen if you ask them to. They're pro listeners, trust me. There are times in our lives when we talk, avoid, and procrastinate until we get tired of our own voices and thoughts, but the truth is, at those times, the knowledge or answers we seek are already inside, waiting to hatch.”
“Are you saying I’m a chicken?” I ask.
“We all are until we lay our golden egg.”
“Worst metaphor ever.”
We both laugh.
“Noted,” Guzzi says.
With the warm fire at our backs, we gaze out into the clear night under the growing moon. I let the lapping water wash away my thoughts, frustration, and tears. Joss’s voice, a memory, reminds me I’m okay. I guess, despite not having a solid plan or knowing where I stand with girls or guys, I am. Listening to the laughter just beyond the crackling fire and the love and support surrounding me warms me from the inside out. I don't feel quite so lost. My dad didn’t send me away to another country to live with my grandmother because he didn’t accept me. My parents aren’t refusing to send me to the school of my dreams because I don't conform to their standards of appearance. I’m not fibbing on declaring my major because I don’t want to disappoint them like Grady.
As if he reads my thoughts Guzzi says, “Actually, yours is a good problem to have.”
He might not be wrong. But a problem still feels like a problem even if it's supposedly a good one to have.
“Those two over there, they're models of unconditional acceptance except they have zero tolerance for hate and ignorance, but even that they treat with compassion. Or a suggestion to meditate or practice yoga.”
“Or drink beer,” I add, following Guzzi’s thread.
“Or that,” he says, taking a sip. He hands the bottle to me. It’s smooth yet bright with a hint of salt, like its namesake. “Like I was saying, they accept you, whatever you decide to do.”
“I think that’s the problem. I’m afraid to commit,” I say, passing the bottle back.
His laughter rolls over the waves.
“What?” I ask, miffed by his deep-barreled guffaw.
“I’m all too familiar with that. But that’s it, when it’s right, when you land on your heart’s desire, you’ll know. Guy, gal, Egypt, New Zealand, piloting a zeppelin, or becoming a street performer.”
“But everyone else has a plan,” I protest, still clinging to my indecision like a crutch.
“It’s not always about fitting in or trying to find your place in the world, but rooting down and making that place where you belong for yourself. I would know. Your parents too. They did a very courageous thing when they had you at such a young age. Listen, opening up to realization and putting it into practice are two different things. Have patience, trust yourself.”
A laugh escapes my lips. “You’re pretty smart for someone who hardly made it through high school,” I say and Guzzi understands I mean it in the most endearing way.
He claps my knee. “About that, I’m sorry to say that I can’t stay for graduation.”
I figured as much, he rarely stays for longer than a week.
“But I reckon you’ve already completed this course in your training with or without the diploma. Don’t get me wrong, graduate. Your mother would destroy my bike if she thought I was telling you otherwise. Just remember, life is one big opportunity for learning and growth.”
“I’m not sure what I’ve learned or how to apply it.”
“Then my assignment to you is to write an essay.”
“Like a college essay? You should have seen my room. White snowballs of crumbled up paragraphs littered the floor.”
“Did you ever finish it?”
“No.”
“So you didn’t apply?”
I shake my head. Guilt lands in my belly like a brick.
Guzzi clears his throat and then is whisper quiet when he speaks. “Are you caught up in comparing yourself to others? Namely your mom and dad and your friends? Or all those shoulds, floating out there, recklessly, in the world?”
I falter.
“Stay in your lane, Willa. Stay in your lane. Be honest now, how about me? Do you compare yourself to me?” he asks gently.
“Well, no.”
“Is that because there isn’t a wall in my house covered in framed achievements?”
“You don’t have a house.”
“Exactly. Willa, eighteen years ago they didn’t know what they were going to do. College and a kid? It’s a miracle you all survived. Shit, I didn’t know what I was going to do until recently. Marriage? Traveling around Europe? Coming back and helping make the brew house and restaurant a reality?”
I interrupt. “Wait, you’re coming back?”
His smile lifts his whiskers. “Yeah. Fiona and I are going to help a while. She’s a numbers person, going to handle that end of things for Autumn and Kurt. It isn’t the corporate world, but she’s happy for the break after the headache of her last job consulting. I'm grunt labor. Getting the place fixed up. We're postponing the wedding until we can have it at the new Beacon Brewery. Right there on the water. Anyway, all that other stuff I did between then and now, I guess I was growing into myself. Learning. Experiencing. Sometimes it was boring; other times the ride of my life. I may not have written an essay or received a diploma, but shit, I could fill a library now.”
“I feel like an empty bookshelf, with no stories to tell.”
“Maybe that’s what you need to do. Get out. See how wide your arms stretch. Visit the world or invite the world to come to you. Send out invitations if you have to.”
My smile broadens. Guzzi gives me a big hug as his words settle over me. I stare up at the canopy of twinkling light above some of it hidden under clouds, wondering just how people learned to steer by the stars, or without them.
When I rejoin the group, there’s talk of repairing the masonry and masterminding a new mash tub for the brewery.
My mom excuses herself and stands next to me while I warm my hands by the fire.
“I’m happy for you guys,” I say, letting out my breath.
She slings her arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. “Happy for us. This is your endeavor too, if you want it to be. I’m not saying not to go down your own path, but you are—the right word isn’t welcome or invited, it’s more than that—invested? I may have had one too many of the Beacon Brews. I want you to know—and I think you already do—that whether you decide to actually leave the nest or stick around, we are behind you completely. I speak for your dad, too.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“And I know you didn’t actually apply to college, though we’re not sure why. We respect you and want to give you the space to figure things out. No badgering or nagging, unless you want us to. But if you need help or a job—” We both laugh. “Whatever the future holds, we’re here, always.”
“I know. I um, actually—”
Boisterous laughter cuts me off. I was going to tell her about my situation, but figure I’ll wait for a more private time.
“I better shut them off and make sure we all make it home safely,” she says, giving me a squeeze. “To the moon and back.”
“To the moon and back,” I reply.
Desp
ite what my mom said about closing the mobile bar, my dad builds up the fire again and before long, there’s a guitar, bongos, and singing and dancing. The night spins away from me and I tell them I’m tired and will walk home.
“Don’t worry, hon, we will too,” my dad slurs, giving me his keys.
Under the cresting moon, I ponder everything Uncle Guzzi said and everything I think I know about myself. I like kissing. I like girls, and I like boys. I like Joss and Grady, but in less than a week we're all going in different directions and it’s foolish to think otherwise. Actually, I have no idea what Joss is doing after graduation; I skated around the subject. I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up at RISD, too.
I'm seventeen and about to graduate. As Uncle Guzzi suggested, I have the first world problem of not knowing exactly what I want to do, but understand despite my own misgivings that’s okay. I have choices, options, and a shining future ahead of me, whatever it may hold. Yet, as my footfalls echo through the tranquil night, I sense fear and ambivalence still trails me like a shadow.
A dim light shines in Teddy’s window when I get home. I consider going over for a heart to heart; I could use another one. Instead, I curl up in my bed and pet the cats. I text Joss Awake?
I go to the bookmarked page on my Kindle, but can’t concentrate. A few minutes later, she types Yeah.
I reply Just wondering, what’s your last name?
Focker. Then a second later, she writes JK. Smith. Seriously. I’m considering changing it.
I reply Lol. You could save yourself the trouble and just go by Joss. One name. Infamous. Joss!
Best idea ever.
Wish I had a brilliant idea for myself. Then I delete it. What are your plans for next year?
Her pause is long enough for me to go to the bathroom. When I get back, a speech bubble waits. Pre Med/Med School.
Really? I don’t want to insult her, but the blue then red hair, kick ass attitude, and general defiance for order made me assume otherwise. This isn't the first time lately that assumptions and ingrained stereotypes I didn't realize I had blast apart.
She writes back Really. How about you?
Chasing Days Page 16