Living Backwards

by Tracy Sweeney

  Looking up at the street sign, blurred by the rain, I knew this was the turn I needed to make. I jerked the wheel roughly, pulling into the darkened parking lot. I didn’t care that my umbrella was at home. I didn’t care that there wasn’t a hood on my jacket. I didn’t care that the rain would turn my hair into a wet, frizzy mess.

  I stumbled out of the car, running up the steps of the building behind a clearly smarter person holding an umbrella. I dashed into the elevator and up to the twenty-seventh floor. Panting and shivering, I rang the doorbell then knocked impatiently.

  When the door cracked open, I was blinded by the glare inside. It got brighter…brighter…and suddenly…

  …Painful.

  I slowly forced an eye open. Oh, God. The spins. It was light out and I still had the spins. I hadn’t had the spins since college after that vodka/grape juice incident when I forgot to add the grape juice.

  Close your eyes. Deep breaths.

  “Whoever’s messing with the curtains,” I began, “please take your torture devices elsewhere. You won’t break me.”

  “Jillian, sweetie, you should at least get up to take a Tylenol and drink some water,” I heard Danielle say.

  Bits and pieces of the previous night came flooding back and I was reminded why my brain was currently trying to force itself out of my skull. Luke was following me to New York. Well, he wanted to follow me to New York, but I wasn’t going to let that happen.

  “Honey, there was absinthe in that punch. You need Tylenol. Maybe a whole bottle of it,” she explained. “Luke feels awful.”

  “Not as awful as I do,” I muttered, throwing a pillow over my head.

  I heard the deafening sound of the bottle of Tylenol shaking near the bed. Each tiny capsule sent a jolt of pain through my skull. Doesn’t that defeat the purpose, Tylenol?

  “Drink,” she commanded, bumping my arm with a bottle of water.

  I opened an eye once again, assaulted by the bright lights and pastel coloring of Danielle’s bedroom. Megan was curled up in a sleeping bag on the floor, arms splayed over her head with her mouth hanging open. If I had a cellphone, I would absolutely snap a picture and assign it to her number or maybe upload it to Facebook. That was what Facebook was for, right?

  “Why does Meg get to sleep?” I whined, seeing three water bottles in front of me instead of one. I chose the middle one. I was a professional.

  “Because Meg didn’t willingly poison herself last night. Care to explain?” she asked.

  “It was the prom. I got drunk. That’s what you do,” I deflected.

  “I don’t know what Luke was thinking,” she added. “Absinthe is no joke. Did you know he had it stashed behind the gym? I’m sorry that I made you go with him. It’s all my fault.”

  I pried my other eye open, focusing on Danielle clothed in her flannel Joe Boxer pjs and still wearing the cheap rhinestone tiara on her head. Her fault? I couldn’t let her think that. This was all me.

  “Danielle, I’m a grown woman,” I replied.

  “Sure, Jillian. We’re all grown women. Pretty soon we can vote,” she deadpanned.

  “You know what I mean,” I sneered, trying to recover from my slip. I was definitely not on my A-game. “I’m just saying that I could have said no if I wanted to.”

  I could have said no to a lot of things.

  “And hey,” I added. “If I hadn’t gone with Luke, you wouldn’t have that nifty crown. Not that it wasn’t deserved.”

  She furrowed her brow as her hand drifted to the crown on her head.

  “Oh, yeah,” I replied, pulling the blankets over me. “That would be his handy work. Ballot-box subterfuge.”

  “Well, that was kind of decent of him,” she muttered.

  “Yeah, he’s a decent guy,” I answered sarcastically. “Listen, I need you to close the blinds so I can get up. I have some calls to make today, so I should probably get home after I become violently sick in your bathroom. Are you going to be around later? I may need to chat with you if I don’t succumb to alcohol poisoning.”

  “Of course,” she replied, closing the curtains and restoring order to my synapses. “Something wrong? Other than the violently sick part.”

  Only everything.

  “No, no. I have to figure some things out and I’ll let you know.” I slowly swung my legs off the bed and felt the thumping in my head immediately. I really needed a steak and cheese sub from Supremes. That always cured my hangovers. I wondered if they delivered to Reynolds. It was a long way from Seattle, but I’d tip well.

  I shuffled into the bathroom while the scraping sound of my feet against the carpet assaulted my ears. I just wanted to rewind the whole evening and pretend it didn’t happen. My stomach apparently agreed as I emptied its contents into the bowl.

  Everything hurt. My stomach, my head, my feet. And then there was the gaping hole in my chest. Oh, Dr. Grayson, how wrong I was about you. I should have been getting a fluoride treatment instead of attending the disastrous prom.

  When I was as cleaned up as I could possibly get under the circumstances, I returned to Danielle’s room to find her lounging on the floor with Megan, both still in their pajamas.

  “Danielle, are you getting dressed now?” I asked, feeling annoyed.

  “No, why?”

  “Um, because I don’t have a ride home,” I replied, wanting to add a “duh” at the end.

  “Oh, that,” she replied. “Luke and Nate crashed at Josh’s last night. When I called Josh this morning, Luke was still there. He said he’d drive you home so that I could rest up. Being Prom Queen is very tiring, Jillian.”

  “Luke is coming here? Why? Why can’t you drive me home?” I exclaimed, considering the state of my appearance.

  “Why can’t you drive me home, Your Highness,” she corrected.

  “I’m not above beating you with that scepter, Danielle. Don’t tempt me,” I warned.

  “So touchy,” Megan added. “Maybe Luke has something that could make our little Jillian a little less grouchy.”

  Oh, we are so not going there.

  “Megan!” Danielle squealed. “She barely knows him! Although, Jillian, you could do worse. I have a feeling about him.”

  “Does Josh know about these feelings, Danielle?” I replied sarcastically.

  “Har, har. I’m just saying be nice to him,” she suggested with a sly smile. “He made me Prom Queen. And he should be here any minute.”

  Flustered, I grabbed my overnight bag and attempted to pull myself together. I was tempted to check my hair in the mirror, but I didn’t think I’d get away with it. The girls barely moved from their spots on the floor, unaware of my inner meltdown. I was about to beg Danielle to reconsider when the doorbell rang. I wasn’t ready to see him yet.

  “Despite the fact that you have pawned me off on someone I ‘barely know’, I will talk to you girls later,” I managed as I slid my sunglasses on.

  My stomach lurched as I took to the stairs. Just to be safe, I said a quick prayer that I wouldn’t throw up in his car before opening the door.

  Oh sunlight, why do you hate me?

  When the hysterical blindness passed, and I was able to actually see Luke, he didn’t seem particularly happy to see me.

  “Hey,” I said, utilizing my stellar vocabulary.

  “Hey yourself,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. An image flashed in my mind of Luke standing by his car the first night I thought he was going to kiss me. He shoved his hands roughly into his pockets just like that and later told me it was the only way to stop himself from touching me. I could feel my cheeks flame just from the thought that he might be trying to restrain himself again. I had to stop thinking this way. It was only going to make it harder.

  I followed him down the walkway and climbed into his car, breathing in the lemony scent. I wanted to commit everything to memory. I didn’t have much time left, and memories would be all I’d have.

  “So, do you want to talk about last night?” he ask
ed, inserting the key into the ignition.

  “Last night is a little hazy for me,” I replied with an awkward laugh. I honestly didn’t know if he was referring to my Amy Winehouse impersonation or his plan to follow me across the country. Neither topped my list of great conversation topics.

  “That’s the problem,” he replied sounding irritated. “I told you not to drink the punch.”

  “It was stupid. Something else to add to the list of stupid things I’ve done.”

  “So,” he added with an uncertain voice, “it didn’t have anything to do with what we talked about last night?”

  It has everything to do with what we talked about last night.

  The words crashed into me like waves.

  You feel it too, right? It’s not just me.

  I never knew it could be like this.

  Danielle told me that in high school Luke was lost, but once he settled in with Jonas he found his place. This time around, I found him and I didn’t want to lose this. Sitting here with my pounding headache, my aching feet and my upset stomach was still infinitely better than my best days before because I was with him. There was no one telling me what the right choice was, though, and I needed help.

  “I just have a lot on my mind,” I replied with a weak smile.

  He pulled up along the curb in front of my house, throwing the car into park. I didn’t want to turn and face him. I’d want to touch him, and I felt so damn transparent.

  “So, I’ll pick you up at eleven?”

  “What’s at eleven?” I asked, wondering if I had committed to something in a less than coherent moment last night.

  “Graduation?” he replied with a laugh.

  “Oh, right. On the back of your bike.” I couldn’t fight back the smile on my face as I imagined myself pressed against him, my graduation gown trailing open behind me.

  “Well, we could always slide into the back of my car instead, but I think your father’s already onto me,” he teased.

  “No, the bike is good.”

  “So,” he began, shifting closer to me as he leaned across the console. I was drawn toward him even though I knew I should just get out. “Eleven o’clock?” he added, his lips grazing, but not quite reaching, mine.

  “Eleven o’clock,” I replied, finding it hard to catch my breath. As soon as I finished speaking, he closed the distance between us, taking my lip between his. He slowly pulled it into his mouth, his tongue darting out to meet mine softly. He leaned into me, pushing me backwards so that my back made contact with the door. As I let the hands on his shoulder snake around the back of his neck, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the last time I’d feel him this way. Even though I knew it was wrong to let it continue in light of my decision, I kissed him back and reveled in the feeling of his hands all over me. I always knew we had an expiration date, but now faced with the reality, I was so conflicted. I couldn’t fathom a life without him, but I couldn’t bear a life where I ruined him. There was too much at stake. I just wasn’t prepared to gamble with his future.

  I had been over it in my mind a dozen times since he told me his plans. I could see us in New York living happily in a beat-up studio apartment with lousy heating. We’d make love in front of a space heater instead of a fireplace. I’d stay up late studying, waiting for his shift at the local bar to end and fall asleep in his arms. We’d sleep late on the weekends, both exhausted from our schedules. We’d watch bad reality television and argue over whether there was any entertainment value in watching a bunch of people starve on an island and argue all the time. We’d love each other.

  But it wouldn’t always be that way. I’d graduate and get a job. There’d be no way of telling if he’d ever be able to manage a bar somewhere, nevermind own one. Could he be happy bartending forever, no college degree to fall-back on? And did I even know where I’d end up? Knowing what I know now, would I settle for writing household tips instead of writing something of my own? Whichever path I chose, I’d have to work hard to get ahead, and he wouldn’t have his own career keeping him equally occupied. Bills would need to be paid and even though the teenage me would have wanted to believe that love conquered all, in the real world love could get complicated when bills piled up. He’d resent me. I’d resent me. We’d break each other, and he would have given it all up for nothing.

  I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t risk it. It would hurt him. Hell, I was hurting myself. But I’d rather die a million times over than be responsible for destroying his future happiness. If someone could just prove to me that my being with Luke would make his life better, no power on earth could keep me from staying with him and never letting him go. But it didn’t work that way, did it? He was only eighteen now. How could I possibly be certain that what we have means the same for him at eighteen as it does for me at twenty-nine? I knew what was out there and what I was losing. He had no idea. What kind of a monster would I be if I removed that choice for him?

  That left me with two options: either hurt him now—a little bit—before we were any deeper into this thing, or be selfish and take what made me happier than I’d ever been in my life, regardless of the fact that I might be stealing his chance at happiness down the line. I hated myself, but there was no other way. So as he kissed me in his lemony-scented car, I tried to burn every sound, every touch, everything into my memory. I needed that even if it was unfair and selfish. When he began trailing his mouth down my neck and I began to squirm in my seat, I pulled away, gasping. It had to stop. I needed to let go.

  “I really need to get inside,” I added nervously. “My dad is probably looking for his binoculars right now.”

  “If your dad was watching, I’m pretty sure I’d be dead already after that,” he replied in a breathy voice.

  “Let’s not test the theory, okay?” I forced a smile as I stepped out of the car. Danielle’s words were on autoplay in my head.

  I’m so glad he’s doing well.

  I’m so glad he’s doing well.

  I’m so glad he’s doing well.

  I wouldn’t let him be my Amy Smart and the mere thought of being the Ashton Kutcher in any situation was revolting.

  I waved back at the car as I opened the door and my heart broke. I could see him so clearly, ducking his head so that he could watch me through the passenger side window. His smile was warm and genuine, but not mine anymore.

  My eyes were stinging by the time I closed the door. I didn’t know how I was going to pull this off. It would involve stretching the truth…a lot. I stepped into the kitchen and saw my mom staring curiously at the cabinets.

  “You know that staring at them will not make the food magically appear on the table, right?” I asked tentatively.

  “Jillian! Baby, how was the prom?” she squealed. “Luke is so handsome!”

  “It was good, mom. What’re you doing?”

  “I’m just pulling a few things together for you to bring to school. You’ll need something to eat your Ramen noodles on,” she teased.

  “God, I hate Ramen.”

  “Give it a month. Tastes great at midnight,” she replied. I wouldn’t call it great, but I had been known to snack on it when I was too lazy to head out for a quick bite. It was actually a college dorm pre-requisite.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Have you seen my admission packet around here by any chance? I think dad had it to fill out the financial aid forms,” I asked. The knot in my stomach grew tighter as I envisioned the impending phone call.

  “I think he left it on the coffee table,” she replied pulling a hot plate from one of the cabinets. That was going in the trash immediately. I started a small fire in our room the first week on campus. Megan almost evicted me.

  Scanning the living room, I found the packet lying on the table as she had said, waiting for me to either do the right thing or screw everything up royally. I pulled out the handbook, flipping to the directory, and grabbed the phone. I had survived my first day of school conversation with Mrs. Jankowski, I was sure I could handle
this. I was, after all, a time travel pro now.

  “Student Life,” the chipper voice answered.

  “Hello, my name is Jillian Cross.”

  “Hello, Jillian. I’m Helena. How can I help you?”

  “Well, I’m currently enrolled in Professor Monroe’s Summer Writing Workshop, so I’m scheduled to move into the dorms on June 12th, but I was wondering if it was too late to apply for earlier Summer Housing.”

  “The deadline to apply for Session I housing was in April,” she explained, “but you’re already registered because your workshop starts before the second session begins.”

  “So what does that mean?” She laughed at my apparent confusion.

  “It means you can move in when the students enrolled for Session I move in. Those classes begin a week from Monday.”

  “Darn. I was really hoping to be able to move sooner,” I explained, my voice quivering as I spoke.

  “Well, the freshman volunteering to help with Orientation Weekend are moving in this weekend. Normally we’re begging freshman to get involved. Interested?”

  Volunteering at orientation? I’d rather gouge my eyes out than play the Name Game with a bunch of strangers while they grill me on where the cool bars are. I could teach them the proper way to shotgun a beer, but I didn’t think that was what they had in mind. I needed to get out of Reynolds, though, and it was the only way.

  “Should I put you on the list for move-in day?” she asked.

  I took a deep breath. There’d be no turning back.

  “Yes,” I replied. “I’ll be there. I’d love to help out.”

  Later that night after convincing my parents that volunteering for Freshman Orientation would hone my social skills, I sat down on my bed and called Danielle.

  “Hey, Danielle.”

  “You mean Your Highness,” she corrected.

  “And you’re high if you think I’m going to say that,” I replied. She was not making this easy. “Listen, I talked to Student Life last night,” I began.

  “Oh, I already called and made sure we were in the same room,” she interrupted. “You could have saved yourself the trouble.”