From What I Remember

by Stacy Kramer, Valerie Thomas

  “So…Luca asked me if I was going to Charlie’s party with anyone.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I said I wasn’t going with anyone.”

  “Oh, Stokes, you shouldn’t have said that. You should have let there be a little mystery. Make him want it.”

  “Shit. Do you think I fucked up?”

  “No. I’m sure it’ll be fine. He’s probably just waiting till the last minute to ask you. All of these guys are so lame.”

  “Totally. Too bad we’re not lesbians. It would be so much easier.”

  Poor Stokely. She’s hopeless at the games. I’ve tried and tried to coach her, but it’s just not sinking in, which is weird because she’s a smart girl. Just really stupid with guys. I don’t know how she’ll ever land a boyfriend. She’s had a crush on Luca forever, but she can’t seem to play it cool around him. Guys love the chase, but Stokely just wants to fall down at their feet.

  “You wanna go swimming?” Stokely asks.

  “Maybe in a little while. I’m starving. What’s there to eat?”

  “Oh my God. You have to check it out. They got the sushi chef from Nawazaka. It’s unbelievable. C’mon.”

  Stokely takes my hand and drags me toward the other end of the pool. Under a large cabana, a whole sushi station has been set up, replete with glass-enclosed cases of raw fish. It’s insane. A sushi chef makes sashimi and maki, whipping it out as fast as he can. People are downing toro and yellowtail like it’s popcorn. Stokely and I squeeze our way through the crowd and pluck a few rolls.

  Susan Miles is standing next to me. She starts to wobble, and then turns and hurls onto the grass. Lovely. Raw fish and excessive vodka don’t go particularly well together. Amy Singer, Susan’s best friend since fourth grade, rushes to her side and holds her hair back as Susan finishes puking her guts out. Several of the waitstaff appear and clean up the mess, even as it’s still happening. Everyone walks around the carnage, not wanting the bloodshed to get in the way of their good time. It’s senior night; there will be plenty of roadkill. Susan just has the distinguished job of being first.

  As Stokely and I head out into the yard, Sandy Lin calls out to me.

  “Lily, did you find out what dorm you’re in? I just heard I’m in Adams House.”

  Sandy Lin got into Stanford early decision, just like me, but the similarities end there.

  “Um, the thing is, I’m actually thinking about taking a gap year.” As soon as I say it, I realize my mistake. I should have just kept my mouth shut and dealt with it later.

  “Really? What are you going to do?” I can tell by the curdled look on her face that Sandy thinks this is the worst idea she’s ever heard. And I have to agree with her. Why would anyone put off the holy grail of Stanford? Trust me, Sandy, I’m right there with you.

  “I’m thinking about traveling to Europe or Asia.”

  Stokes is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. This is the first she’s heard of any of this. First I’ve heard of it too. But I feel like I’ve got to have some kind of story, in light of what happened last night. This isn’t my greatest spin job, but it’s the best I can do on the fly.

  “Okay. Well, that sounds…cool,” Sandy says. Not.

  Stokely steers me away from Sandy.

  “What are you talking about, Lil,” she says. It’s more of a statement than a question. I’m not even sure how I should answer her. I’ve dug myself into this hole and now I’ve got to climb out.

  “I don’t know. I’m just not feeling the whole college thing yet. I think a year off would be good for me. Everyone in Europe does it.”

  “What are you talking about, Lily?”

  “You just said that, Stokes.”

  “I know. ’Cause I don’t know what else to say. I mean, this is crazy talk. It’s so not you.”

  “It’s not like I’m not going to college or anything. I just want some more life experience.”

  “Isn’t it a little late in the game to be deciding this?”

  “It could be good for me, you know?”

  “Not really.” Stokes can tell I am not kidding, and she looks completely knocked out by the news. For good reason. I’ve just done a one-eighty on her. Then again, life did a one-eighty on me.

  Stokely was hell-bent on going to Duke, just like I was hellbent on going to Stanford, and when we both got accepted, by chance on the same day, we burst into tears. Which is not exactly my style, but it was just such a relief, I couldn’t hold it in.

  “Come on, Stokes, let’s go down to the beach.” I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Soon, everything will be public and everyone will be gossiping about me. At least for tonight I want to enjoy my fake gap year.

  I head down the path toward the ocean. Luca’s parents have more money than my dad used to have—that thought goes down hard. Their house is one of those huge glass boxes that look like a modern art museum. It sits on the bluff above the beach, and everything in it is white. Or at least it used to be, before tonight. Luca’s parents made the mistake of letting him host a graduation party, and now everything is covered in a thin gray film of senior night debauchery. But no worries—they can just throw everything out and redecorate tomorrow.

  We walk down the wooden stairs and snake our way to the beach. There’s a bunch of people on the sand, sitting in front of a huge bonfire that two guys continue to feed. More staff. Why couldn’t I be a Sonneban instead of a Wentworth?

  “Yo, yo, Lil and Stokes,” Charlie says as he and Ben Goodman approach us. “What’s up, ladies?”

  Their faces are red from either drinking or standing next to the blazing fire or both. Ben clutches a fifth of Jack Daniel’s. He takes a long sip and then passes it to Charlie.

  “We just threw Billy Stafford’s clothes in the fire,” Ben tells us. And then he and Charlie high-five.

  “Where is Billy?” I ask, not really interested.

  “He’s in the ocean,” Ben says. “Guess he’s going to be there for a while.” This cracks Ben and Charlie up.

  “Have you heard from Max?” I ask Charlie.

  “No. This is messed up. He is seriously missing the dankest party of the year.”

  I’m enraged. I have never been this mad at Max. I would be worried except that I know Max, and it is just like him to disappear on me in my time of need. Plus, if anything happened to him, we would have heard something. La Jolla is the smallest of small towns. News travels at the speed of sound.

  “Let me have some of that,” I say to Charlie as I grab the bottle of JD from his hand and take a long pull on it. Fuck it. I’m going to get wasted. The whiskey burns my throat, but I force myself to keep drinking. I’ve never been much of a drinker. If ever there was a time to start, now is certainly it. I haven’t eaten all day and I can feel the alcohol taking hold right away. I feel lighter immediately.

  Ben and Stokes have gone down to the water to look for Billy. I see Stokes pull her dress off and step into the water. I take a few more sips from the bottle.

  “Hey, Charlie, can you match me?” I take a drink and pass him the bottle.

  “Aw, Lil, you’re talking to the master here.” He takes two and passes it back.

  My turn.

  “You okay, Lil?” Charlie may be drunk, but he knows me well enough to know that something is wrong. I don’t normally act like this, drinking straight out of a bottle, matching Charlie, shot for shot. I’m acting like trash. It’s embarrassing. But I guess that’s where I live now. Might as well get used to it.

  “I’m good,” I say. “Just pissed at Max.”

  “Yeah, he can be an asshole sometimes, you know?”

  I’ve never heard Charlie say anything bad about Max before. He’s loyal to a fault. I wonder if that’s just the alcohol talking.

  “He sure as shit can,” I say.

  Maybe something happened to him. Maybe I’m so caught up in my own stuff, I can’t think straight about Max. Nah, I doubt it. I’m pretty sure he’s just bailed on senior night.
Lately, he’s been sort of cold. I can’t help thinking this is about another girl. With Max, everything is usually about sex or squash. Maybe he’s fucking someone on the squash court. Probably Marsha Spittman. Or, better yet, Lacey Garson. That little bitch. She’s wanted to get into Max’s pants for as long as she’s known him. And, come to think of it, I haven’t seen her here.

  “Screw him.” And that’s when I take Charlie’s face and pull him to me. I kiss him hard. He’s too drunk to protest. His lips are bitter, like vinegar, and his breath is sour. Charlie’s tongue is in my mouth, forceful, poking, like he’s doing root canal work. It’s not particularly pleasant. Nothing like Max, but I’m here. No way out now.

  I take Charlie’s hands that are hanging limply at his side, seemingly looking for direction, and I shove them under my shirt. He fumbles around on my breasts like he’s never been to this place before, like it’s unfamiliar territory. What’s up with that? I thought Charlie was quite the swordsman. Maybe he’s too wasted to know what he’s doing. Or maybe he just can’t do this to his best friend, he’s too good of a person. Not vengeful, petty, or bitter. Like me.

  We make out for a few more minutes, but it’s not working.

  For either of us. I pull away and crumple onto the sand. I don’t want to look at Charlie ever again. What was I thinking?

  Charlie stares down at me, dumbfounded. “What just happened?”

  I can’t help myself, I start crying.

  Charlie falls to the sand beside me. He gently rubs my back. Now, at least, he seems to know what to do with his hands.

  “We made a mistake. We were drunk. It didn’t mean anything. Max never has to know about it. Promise.”

  “That’s not what I’m crying about,” I cough out, in between tears.

  Neither of us says anything as we stare at the fire.

  And then Charlie’s phone rings. He takes it out of his pocket and answers.

  “Max…hey.”

  Charlie looks at me, and I look away. Speak of the devil.

  uenas noches, señorita. ¿Cómo estás?” a man named Augusto asks me, slurring his words. He’s so wasted, he’s about five minutes from falling off his stool. We’re back at Manuel’s bar, hoping he can help us track down Will. He’s so busy with the madding crowd that he hasn’t had time to talk to us yet, so we’re waiting at the bar. I don’t think we’re going to make it home tonight. It’s getting too dark to make the drive now. And the funny thing is, I couldn’t care less. Max is off calling his parents to tell them he’ll be later than expected. Much later. I’m drinking a beer and waiting for Max to return, wishing Augusto would disappear.

  “Yo no hablo español,” I say. I’m not in the mood for a lengthy conversation with Augusto, who may or may not be celebrating his birthday. I glance over at him as he sways precariously. Jesus, I really hope he doesn’t fall over on me.

  Max saunters back from the phone booth, smiling at me. I wonder what it’s like being Lily. Always having Max walking toward you, looking like that. Must be nice. Really nice.

  “Everything good at your house?” I ask.

  “No problemos.”

  “Lucky you,” I say. I don’t think it’ll be quite the same at my house.

  I stand up as Max takes a seat next to Augusto.

  “I’m going to call my mom. I would advise you to move over a few seats. Augusto here is getting ready to take a tumble,” I tell Max.

  “Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”

  And then, as if on cue, Augusto falls over onto Max, and they both go down. Max is laughing.

  “Wow. You called it,” Max says.

  “I’m psychic.”

  Augusto is snoring. Jesus.

  “What are we supposed to do with him?” I ask.

  “Let’s put him in a chair in the back.”

  Max and I drag Augusto to a worn leather chair in the corner of the bar.

  “He can sleep it off here,” Max says. “Go call your mom.”

  As I head into the phone booth, I can’t help thinking that Max is a really decent guy. Possibly even a better person than me. All I wanted to do was run fast and far from Augusto, but Max wanted to make sure he was okay. Do I have everyone else at Freiburg wrong as well? I push that out of my mind as I dial Mom’s cell. I can only focus on fixing one problem at a time. Mom is up. Then I can revisit my social miscalculations from the past six years.

  I never lie to my mom, but there’s a first time for everything, so here goes. I brace myself for the conversation, but she doesn’t pick up, which is weird. She always picks up my calls. I am calling from a different number, so maybe that’s the reason.

  “Uh, hi, Mom. It’s me. I just wanted to let you know that the meeting went kind of late and I’m going to spend the night at Will’s, okay? I’ll call you in the morning.” And then I hang up fast. I’ve just dropped a bomb. She’s going to be, among other things, pissed. Really pissed. I’ve never done anything like this, but maybe it’s finally time I did.

  “So?” Max asks as I slip onto a stool next to him, having passed Augusto along the way, who is curled up on the chair, fast asleep, covered in a colorful blanket. Did Max find a blanket for him as well? Who is he, Gandhi?

  “I left her a message. She didn’t pick up. Second time today. She almost always picks up her cell.”

  “I’m sure everything’s fine. She’s working, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s probably it,” I say. But in the back of my mind, I can’t help worrying that something’s gone horribly wrong in my absence, because that’s my job. I hold things together for my family. But, you know what? I can’t do it forever. They need to learn how to take care of themselves, starting tonight. I’m leaving in less than three months. We’ve all got to learn how to let go, otherwise I might as well just call the whole thing off and go to UCSD.

  I make a decision to put everything out of my head except for the here and now. For one night I want to be totally, unconscionably, downright selfish. Does that make me a bad person? I don’t think so. I’ll deal with everything else tomorrow. Maybe I’m just buzzed enough to pull it off.

  “Manuel says we can crash at his house. On the floor or something. And then we’ll head out first thing in the morning.”

  “Yeah. Definitely,” I say. But I can’t help wondering what the larger meaning is here. I mean, Max and I are spending the night together, in a manner of speaking.

  “Don’t worry. We’re going to get to graduation on time,” Max says.

  That’s the last thing on my mind at the moment.

  “Dos cervezas, por favor,” Max says to an old bartender who’s helping out Manuel.

  I laugh at Max’s accent.

  “What?” Max asks.

  “It’s dos, not does, which are female deer.”

  “Maybe you can give me Spanish lessons when we get back home.”

  “Maybe,” is all I say. But, of course, my mind races with the implications of that innocuous comment. First he mentioned going to the Ken. Now Spanish lessons. Does he think we’ll be seeing each other when we get back home? On a regular basis? I definitely need another beer. It’s been a long night and the buzz is ebbing and flowing. I need to get a continuous flow going or I’m going to pick apart everything Max says, looking for the hidden meaning. I’m sure he’ll forget about seeing me the minute we’re back in La Jolla.

  A shouting match breaks out at the bar. A drunk guy with dreads is screaming at the old bartender. The bartender yells back. He’s a tough old dude. He looks about ready to leap over the bar and smash the guy’s face in. Manuel has one eye trained on the guy, watching. The shouting gets louder, and then the guy with dreads throws a glass at the old dude. The old dude rushes out from the bar, but before he can get to dreadlocked guy, Manuel is there. He’s got dreadlocked guy in a headlock. The old dude is yelling in Spanish. His face is turning red with fury. Manuel barks out orders. The old dude retreats. Manuel drags dreadlock guy toward the exit and kicks him out of the bar
.

  Max and I share a look. I don’t think either of us would want to mess with Manuel. He’s one tough mother.

  Manuel walks over to us.

  “Enjoying the show?” he asks.

  “Totally,” I say.

  “That was awesome,” Max tells Manuel.

  “Just another night in Ensenada.” Manuel laughs. “Dealing with people like that is part of doing business. Don’t own a bar when you grow up, mis amigos. People are loco. And when they drink, forget about it. Do something that doesn’t involve glass or alcohol.”

  “Got it,” Max says.

  “I texted Juan. Didn’t hear back from him. Probably doesn’t want me to know he’s with a guy. I wish he’d just come out already. It would make life a lot easier for all of us. I’m sure if you wander around you’ll run into him. Either way, you’ll crash at our place. I’ll make sure Juan gets Will to the house bright and early, even if I have to go to Juan’s apartment myself in the morning and fetch Will. I’m sure Juan will insist they’re just friends, even if they’re butt naked and in bed together.” Manuel laughs at his own joke. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you guys to the border in plenty of time.”

  “Thanks, Manuel,” I say. “For everything.”

  “It’s nothing. I just hope you’ll come back to Ensenada. And bring your dad.”

  “I’m definitely going to try.”

  “You guys should get out there and enjoy the party. No need to hang around with a boring old man.”

  “You’re the least boring person I’ve met in years,” Max says.

  “I second that,” I say.

  “Okay, now get out of here and have some fun.”

  “All right, we’ll catch you later,” Max says, throwing his arm around my shoulder and leading me out the door and back into the crowd.

  We weave up and down the streets, connected. For Max, an arm around a shoulder probably means nothing. To me, it means everything. A whole new world. My whole body is buzzing from the sensation of being bound to Max. Never let me go, I think.

  “So did you really hate the quote?” I ask Max.

  “What quote? What are you talking about?”

  “The Golda Meir quote. From my speech.” I’ve been wanting to ask Max about it, but I didn’t really feel comfortable bringing it up until now.