by Sara Barnard
I’ve been mindlessly wandering through the trees, waiting for the path to appear, for quite a long time before I realize that I should have found it by now. I hesitate, glancing around me. Have I been here before? These trees look familiar. But then again, trees are trees. They probably all look familiar.
“Don’t panic,” I say out loud. My voice is too loud against the quiet, and it startles me, and then I’m embarrassed.
I turn in a slow circle, trying to think rational thoughts. This is an island. There’s only so much lost I can be. I decide to walk in one direction, back toward where I think the water’s edge is, and then reorientate myself from there.
Except I don’t. I walk for ages and the water’s edge doesn’t appear. Finally, finally, I give in and turn on data while roaming, which I’ve had off the entire time I’ve been in Canada because I’ve got no idea how much data would cost, and I can only imagine how my dad would react if he saw the fees come up on the family data plan. But this is an emergency now. My breaths are coming out all scratchy and my neck feels hot. WhatsApp messages and emails start coming through but I swipe them all away, opening Google Maps and loading up the directions from where I am to where I need to be.
Forty-minute walk. It’s a forty-minute walk. Oh my God. I look at the time again, even though I know what it is: 4:28 p.m. I have thirty-two minutes to get to the boat. The last boat of the day. If it goes without me, I’ll be stuck here, knowing no one, with nowhere to stay.
I squeak out a panicked “What?” at my phone, as if that will change the time or the distance to the harbor. And then I start to run. My rucksack bangs heavily against my back, the sketch pad I’ve been hugging to myself for the last hour slippery in my sweaty hands. After a few minutes I have to stop, gasping and crying, to shove the sketch pad safe into my bag and take out the popcorn instead.
It’s 5:04 p.m. when I come tearing down the road toward the terminal, sweat covering every inch of me, the popcorn bag bouncing in my hand. I’ve lost all sense of pride and decorum and am yelling, “Wait! Wait!” at the boat, which hasn’t left but is fully loaded up and clearly about to depart. Every head in view turns toward me. Smirks. Winces of sympathy. Judgment.
“Don’t worry,” the boat guy says cheerfully as he holds out a hand to me. “You made it.”
I burst into tears as I stumble onto the boat and he recoils, alarmed. “Thank you,” I manage. “Thank you so much.”
I collapse into a seat, fully wheezing, pulling the hood of my coat up over my face to protect myself from the stares even though I’ve never been so hot and sweaty in my life. That and mortified. And tired. And so sick of being lonely in Canada. No one to laugh with in the good moments, no one to yell at when things go wrong, no one to build stories and memories with.
Remember when you almost missed the boat on Salt Spring Island? I’ll say to… myself. Quality anecdote. Truly a keeper.
I want to laugh, but instead I just continue to cry. There on the boat under my hood, the popcorn bag sweating in my tightly clenched fist. I’ve come all this way, and for what? What have I got to show for it? Nothing.
I was meant to be seeing how far east across Canada I could go, and instead I’m more west than I was when I started. Recoiling from the hugeness of the country into the relative safety of the islands at its edges. What have I learned? What have I gained? All these things I’ve seen, the photos I’ve taken… what’s the point? I’m alone in all of them. No one to show them to or share the screen with. I’m creating memories, but they’re just my memories. There’ll be no reminiscing, no anecdotes shared and treasured.
I could have done all of this with Khalil and Beasey, like they’d suggested. The only reason I haven’t is me. Now I’m alone on the boat, sweating and miserable, the wasted opportunity seems huge, and the embarrassment that drove me away seems tiny. It is tiny. Okay, I probably looked a bit stupid, shrieking and running away like that, but is that a reason to exclude myself completely from what could have been something great? No, obviously. One event doesn’t have to define a friendship. Maybe if I’d figured that out in school instead of freaking out publicly every time something went wrong, things might have been easier.
It’s not too late to finally learn this lesson, is it? Come on, Peyton. Learn and grow, or whatever. You don’t have to do this alone.
I pull out my phone and open WhatsApp, looking at the cheerful messages from Khalil. You alive? Beasey says hi! I bite down on my lip. Come on, Peyton. At least ask. Hey, I write. How’s Victoria for you guys?
I watch one tick transform into two, then turn blue.
Hey! Khalil is typing… I wait, hopeful. We’re in Tofino now!
My heart sinks. I’m too late. Oh cool! Have a great time.
We only just arrived today. Here for a few days. You at a loose end? If you can get to Tofino, come join us! There’s a bus from Victoria. We’ve got space in the Airbnb.
Immediately, my head says, Pity invite. It says, They don’t really want you there. It says, It’s a trick.
I shut my eyes, tight, then open them again. I type, Let me find out about this bus…
NOW
TOFINO
The bus ride to Tofino the next day takes almost seven hours, but I don’t mind, even though it’s too bumpy to sketch properly. I sit with my head resting back against my seat, watching Vancouver Island drift by. At some point, I fall asleep, dreaming a series of confused vignettes. Eric and Flick arguing on the Capilano Suspension Bridge. Beasey lounging on the sofa in the empty sixth form common room, his glasses pushed up over his hair. A plane swooping low, wingtip gliding through the calm water of Vancouver Harbor. Me walking alone down a rainy street, looking for someone, though I don’t know who or where I am. Red and blue flashing lights somewhere in the distance.
When I wake up, I’ve got no idea where I am. It takes a while, orientating myself first on a bus and then Canada, then Vancouver Island. I look around and realize it’s a refreshment stop; most of my fellow passengers have gotten off the bus in search of coffee. I stay where I am, because my knees feel weak, my throat tight.
Later, when we arrive in Tofino to a darkening sky, I’m aching all over, tired and grouchy. I’d told Khalil what time the bus was due in and he’d said they’d meet me, but we’re later than scheduled and I’m expecting to have to call him. But when I stumble off the bus, I see not just him and Beasey but Lars and Stefan, too. And beside Khalil is a girl I assume must be Heather, the one he’d detoured to Canada to see. She has bright red hair, a wide smile.
When they see me, a cheer goes up, followed by laughter. I know it’s for effect, as much a joke for them to share as anything else, barely anything to do with the reality of me, but I’m beaming as I walk over to them, shrugging my rucksack onto my back. I want to say, You’re here! You came to meet me! You see me! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you.
“Hi!” I say.
“Hiya,” Khalil says, still laughing. “Welcome to Tofino.”
“Want me to take that?” Beasey asks, hand already extending toward my bag.
“I’m okay, but thanks,” I say, letting myself look at him properly as I speak, bracing myself for the belated awkwardness I’d been so scared to confront. But when our eyes meet, he just smiles a warm, easy smile. There’s a brown smudge by his nose, and his red glasses are slightly crooked.
Something inside me gives a swoop. Possibly my stomach, possibly my heart. Unmistakable.
Oh no.
* * *
The Airbnb that is now also my temporary home is a ten-minute walk away, and they talk over each other the whole way, telling me about their time on the Island—Lars and Stefan had come straight to Tofino from Vancouver, because they’d visited Victoria already—and what they’ve got planned for the next few days.
“This place is blow-your-mind beautiful,” Khalil says. “It’s been two days and I want to move here.”
“You said that about New Zealand,” Beasey says. “Not even just a
town in New Zealand. The whole of New Zealand.”
“I stand by that,” Khalil says.
The Airbnb is right on the coast, and I’m promised gorgeous views across the water in the daylight. There’s a bedroom free for me that had been, in theory, meant for Khalil, who of course has been sharing a room with Heather. (All the “friend” pretense has, apparently, been dropped entirely.) Heather is friendly and cheerful as she shows me around the house, telling me she’s happy to have another girl around, making me promise to tell her if I need anything.
I unpack in the company of Stefan, who sits on my bed chatting happily about the days I’ve missed, asking me about Victoria, if I’ve been lonely on my own or if I preferred it.
“I’m so glad you came!” he says, lightly and sincerely. “We were saying, Lars and me, how it would be cool to hang out with you more.”
For a moment, my brain does what it always does and wonders if he means it, if they really did have that conversation, whether it could possibly be true, but in the same moment I smile at him and he smiles back and I realize—honestly, it’s like a mini epiphany—that it doesn’t matter. He’s saying it now, as part of his greeting in this new town in a country we’re both visiting. It is a kindness, and I can be grateful and happy. It’s allowed.
“Thanks,” I say. “It’ll be cool to hang out with you guys too.”
He grins at me. “All the best people are adventurers.”
Heather appears in the doorway, ducking her head around the door. “What do you fancy doing for dinner tonight, Peyton?” she asks. “We can go out, or if you’re tired, Khalil was thinking of getting takeout?”
“Takeout sounds good,” I say. “And I can go and get it, if that’s okay? I sat for so long on the bus, I could do with a bit of a walk.”
“Cool,” she says. “There’s a grill nearby that does takeout. You and Beasey can go—he knows the way.” When she says this, the corner of her smile twitches, but she doesn’t say anything more, just bounds off into the living room, calling for Khalil and Beasey.
The idea of walking alone with Beasey is as exhilarating as it is terrifying. I find myself staring at my reflection in the bathroom for too long before we go, practicing what I’ll say, how I’ll apologize. But when I see him waiting for me in the hallway, and he smiles and says, “Ready to go?” the anxiety fades. It just does. There’s something safe about him; the Travis I’d imagined in his face that night in the hostel was a trick I’d played on myself.
It’s barely a ten-minute walk to the grill, and we’ve got plenty of time before our order will be ready for collection, so Beasey and I take it slowly, neither of us mentioning how I’d reacted in Vancouver, instead comparing notes on our respective Victoria trips. He tells me about the university Heather goes to, how he and Khalil had stayed in her flat and hung out with her friends. I tell him about Salt Spring Island and how I’d almost missed the boat, and he laughs and tells me that that’s what travel buddies are for.
I sigh. “I know.”
He glances at me, the toque he’d bought in Vancouver pulled snugly over his ears. There’s a question on his face, and I know what’s coming, so I smile a little, preparing myself.
“Is it okay if I ask?” he says, very cautiously.
“Why I was weird?” I’m aiming for ironic self-awareness, but I’m not sure it lands.
He shrugs, pushing his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Well, kind of, yeah. I thought we were all getting along pretty well, you know? And then suddenly…” He shrugs again, more awkward than I’ve ever seen him. “You… well… you weren’t. You just disappeared.”
This is a very nice way of saying, You literally ran out on me and then avoided all of us for the next few days.
“I’m sorry if I freaked you out,” he adds when I don’t say anything. “I would never have… you know, tried anything. If you didn’t want me to, I mean.”
“I know,” I say quickly.
“But you went away,” he says.
“That wasn’t because of you,” I say, hoping the dusk light is low enough that he won’t notice my flaming cheeks. “It was me. I was so embarrassed that I… kind of freaked out a bit? And then I didn’t know how to make it right again. So I stayed away.”
“Because of me,” he says.
“No,” I say. “Look, this is all weird for me, okay? This whole thing. Being here, hanging out with you guys. I know it’s easy for you, but it’s not for me. I’m still trying to figure it all out.”
I can tell he doesn’t understand, but he nods. “Okay. Can I help?”
“You just being a nice guy helps,” I say, then worry it sounds like I’m trying to flirt. “All of you. Nice people.” God, I sound ridiculous. “Friends.”
He’s trying not to smile, and my cheeks burn even hotter. “We are your friends, yeah.”
“Even though I acted so weird?”
“No one cares about that, Peyton, honest. It’s not a big deal. And anyway, we’re all here now, aren’t we?” He waits until I nod before he says, “Did something happen before you left home? Something that made you worry about stuff like this?”
I wonder what he thinks he means by “stuff like this.” “Yeah,” I say quietly.
“You want to talk about it?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can’t tell him. Of course I can’t tell him. Tingles of residual humiliation alight in my chest, shame is a flood engulfing me. That’s all done. It’s done. It’s done.
“Oh, hey,” Beasey says, soft. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”
All I need to say is, I had some friends who turned out to be dicks, what a shame, haha. I could make it sound like it isn’t a big deal and there’d be no need to give any more details. It’s normal to have fallouts, isn’t it? I could just make it sound like one of them. But I can’t. It hurts too much to even pretend.
“Is this the place?” I say, even though it’s obvious we’ve reached the grill because we’ve come to a stop right outside the door.
Beasey nods. “I’m so hungry,” he says, his voice relaxing into his usual casual tone. He gives me a small smile, so full of understanding I have to look away, and opens the door for me to walk through ahead of him.
BEFORE
aka
The one where Peyton finally has friends
aka
And everything works out
aka
lol no
“There you are.” Flick’s voice was a grumble as she threw herself into the chair beside me in the common room at the beginning of lunch, dropping her canvas bag on the table. It was late October, unseasonably warm, and she was wearing a short-sleeved, battered-looking Oasis T-shirt that I would later find out belonged to her mother. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Have you?” I asked, startled. I still hadn’t gotten used to this; not just having a friend but being one. That someone might be looking for me. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t know where you were,” Flick said in her duh voice. “Eric’s home sick today. Well, not actually sick. Just at home ’cause he’s bored of here, he says. He does that sometimes.” She rolled her eyes. “I was like, just come in for me, and he’s all, you’re not worth double English, and…”
I zoned out, even as I nodded sympathetically, because Flick just wanted an audience, not an opinion. It still confused me how casually she shared the way Eric insulted her, as if she didn’t realize it was weird. I’d thought at first she was doing it as a kind of cry for help, but when I’d asked about it she’d gotten defensive and annoyed, so I backed off.
“Where’s Travis?” she asked.
“He had a free,” I said. “So he’s not coming back till after lunch.”
“Okay,” Flick said. “Cool, just you and me.” She smiled, and the moment was so perfect I wanted to frame it and look at it every day. Cool, just you and me. Smile. “Want to go off-site for food? There are a few places down the parade.”
“Sure,” I said. “The deli?” They did doorstep sandwiches so packed with fillings you had to use two hands to eat them. Flick and I could sit on the wall by the parade, eating and talking. I could tease her for not eating her crusts, the way Eric did, but in a nice way.
Flick frowned. “I don’t think I’ve got enough money for there.”
“I’ll pay,” I said. It didn’t occur to me then that the deli wasn’t any more expensive than any of the other places on the parade, and the original suggestion had been Flick’s, so what had she had in mind? All I cared about was the two of us sitting on that wall together.
She beamed. “You’re the best. I’m so glad the boys aren’t here. Let’s go.”
Flick-and-me time was my favorite. More than the group as a whole, more than being with Travis. For all people talk about girls needing boyfriends to validate them, no one really talks about how girls needs best friends for the same reason. Being chosen by Flick meant so much more to me than being chosen by Travis. (Maybe because Travis had been snared by me rather than chosen me, but whatever.) It’s not like Flick and I had much in common—or anything really, if I think about it—but that never seemed to matter. Her attention was like sunshine, and when it was directed at me, I basked.
This was maybe because, a lot of the time, Flick didn’t seem all that bothered whether I was there or not. Even when I was beside her, even when we were talking, her eyes were constantly searching out Eric in the same room, especially when we were outside of college. When he wasn’t around, she was angsty, chewing on her lip, fiddling with her sleeves or the skin around her wrists. But when he was around, she didn’t seem much more settled. Her energy was anxious, her smile too wide. They kissed obnoxiously on the sofa or in the corner of the room, his hands groping her body or wrapped in her hair. Sometimes they’d fight; loud yelling that filled the whole house. Flick would cry on me and I’d appease her, tell her Eric was a twat, an idiot, a dick, even as Casey rolled her eyes behind Flick’s back and shook her head. I thought at the time Casey just didn’t care as much as I did, that she was being bitchy and judgmental—I even liked being the one Flick cried on, thinking it said something about me and my worth as a friend. It took me a few months of experiencing the drama as regularly as clockwork to understand not just Casey and Flick but the whole dynamic.