Day by Day: Book 1: High School

by Taylor Hyer

  Parker smiled, then turned her attention toward the officer. “What now?” she asked, as if she were ready to take on anything.

  Parker

  I felt empowered. I felt like nothing could get in my way. No one could hurt me.

  RJ wasn’t arrested, thank god. He was given a few hours of community service, along with a lengthy punishment from his father. I didn’t see him very much for a couple of weeks, since his dad was very upset with him. He didn’t appreciate the fact that his son sent another person to the hospital with non-football related injuries. Luckily, no one pressed charges, or the story may have been a lot different.

  The weeks that RJ spent being punished with extra days of conditioning, I researched different organizations I could become a part of. I joined a discussion group for teens who had lost one or both parents. This helped me with the grieving process for my mom. Some days were easier than others, and though I knew I would always miss her, I grew happier every day. At first, I was worried about this, but she would have wanted me to keep going. She would want me to live my life and be happy. I was doing it for her, and for all of those that couldn’t anymore.

  The group met once a week, and I made a lot of new friends there. I became really close with the first person I met in the group. Her name was Rosalind, but she preferred to be called “Rosie”. She had short brown hair, and deep brown eyes. She was a few inches taller than me, which wasn’t a hard thing to come by. Rosie’s smile was a bit crooked, but it lit up the room every time. She was always dressed in skin tight jeans and a tight shirt that always showed her cleavage. I was jealous of how tall and curvy she was. Sure, I had hips, but I was a naturally small person, so mine weren’t as defined as Rosie’s.

  Rosie lost her mom a few months before I lost mine. Her mom was a third grade teacher, and she had been killed in a school shooting. I remembered hearing of the school shooting on the news. Over twenty kids and teachers were killed. It was a tragic loss for the school and their community. Rosie remembered her mom as intelligent, kind hearted, and hard working; a lot of qualities that I saw in my own mother as well.

  I’m not sure if Rosie and I got along so well because our moms were killed in similar ways, or simply because our personalities aligned so well together. Rosie was creative, just like my mom and me. She had dreams of being an artist, just like my mom. One day, a conversation we had was the reason my life began to change for the better.

  During the third group meeting, I was hitting a slump. School was finishing up, and I was already ahead, so I didn’t need to take final exams. RJ was still being punished by his father, so I rarely saw or heard from him. We would text late at night when he could finally have time alone, but it wasn’t the same. Our relationship was still strong, but I missed him. I realized I was putting too much of my personal happiness and expectations into my relationship, so the conversation I had with Rosie during that meeting changed everything.

  We were tasked with discussing our hopes and dreams for the future, without mentioning our parents. The prompt was: “What would you do with your life if no one else was here to influence you?” This seemed like a tough task, considering we all had someone to shape us at one time or another, but I went with it.

  I was grouped with Rosie and a few other members that I didn’t know well. Rosie spoke first. “I think I’d still want to be an artist,” she said softly. “Sure, my mom was a great artist, but so am I. It’s something that I appreciate about myself, and something I want to share with the world.”

  “That’s how I feel about my writing,” I included. “I want my words to mean something to someone. It’s a form of art, but I have to help others visualize it a little more.”

  “Y’all should create a book,” one of the group members, Alexis, suggested. “Like, an illustrated book with Rosie’s pictures, and Parker’s writing.”

  “What would we write about?” I asked. “We can’t really turn a children’s book into a novel about how our parents were murdered.”

  “Does it have to be about the murders, though?” Alexis asked. “Maybe it’s about the aftermath of a tragedy. One of those self-help children’s books that make no sense to kids, but actually change adults more than anything.”

  Alexis had a point. I could write for days about overcoming tragedy and adversity. I thought about it for a moment, then turned to Rosie. “What if we interview different people who have endured tragedies or adversities? That way we could include more mature content, and really get our point across. Your illustrations could be put at different points of the book to make it pop.”

  Rosie smiled, and with that, it was settled. We were going to create our very own novel and share so many beautiful stories with the world. This day gave me more sense of purpose. As soon as I got home, I dove into brainstorming. I pulled out one of my blank notebooks and created a list of ideas. I wasn’t up waiting by the phone for RJ’s call; I was finding my own calling.

  When he did call that night, though, I had so much more to say. I spoke so quickly, he asked me to repeat myself multiple times. “Baby, slow down,” he kept saying; but I was too excited.

  “It’s going to be about facing your demons head on,” I said. “I could even interview you and you could have your own chapter!”

  RJ laughed from the other end. “What adversities or demons have I faced?” he asked.

  “Your inner demons of being perfect and constantly trying to prove you’re worthy enough for your dad,” I replied. “The stories don’t have to be about murder and death the entire time. The point is to show that through any type of pain, there can be light.”

  “I’m so damn proud of you,” RJ said softly. “I miss you. Meet me outside in twenty minutes.” Then, with no other words, he hung up the phone.

  RJ

  I peeked my head into Leighton’s room and whispered, “I need your help.”

  “What?” he grumbled, clearly half asleep.

  “I want to go see Parker,” I replied.

  “Bro, let me sleep,” Leighton said. “Dad kicked my ass today. I’m exhausted.”

  “Just cover for me if he asks,” I scoffed.

  Leighton grumbled something under his breath, which I took as an “okay”. I quickly moved down my stairs, avoiding the two creaky steps in the middle.

  I was lucky my car was newer and didn’t rattle or make too much noise when I turned it on. I kept my headlights off until I was out of the driveway, and I kept my music low. My dad had always been a sound sleeper, but I never really dared to test it; especially when I was already in so much trouble.

  The few weeks leading up to this moment were exhausting. My dad barely gave me a day off, and when he did, I was forced in my room like some sort of prisoner. Food was rationed for me, and I was only given a short amount of time on my phone. Communication with Parker was limited, and I worried we would grow apart.

  The opposite happened, though. Parker flourished since the incident at the arcade. The strength I saw within her stuck around, and I was so proud of her. We weren’t able to see each other as much, but when we did, we had plenty to say. She talked about her new friend, Rosie, and how similar they were. She talked about this newfound peace she was gaining within herself. I knew her mom would be even more proud than I was.

  The night she told me about the book she wanted to write, I knew I needed to see her. It was one of the biggest acts of strength I had ever seen from someone, and I just had to talk with her about it. Whether we saw each other or not, my love for her grew deeper every day. The smile she put on my face was permanently there, even when my dad was forcing me to run suicides nonstop for an hour.

  I drove quickly to her house, calling her as I pulled in the driveway. To no surprise, she was already outside like I instructed just fifteen minutes earlier. Parker was wearing plaid pajama shorts and a tight white t-shirt. The outfit hugged every curve on her body, making me sweat with anticipation. I parked my car in a hurry and ran toward her, embracing her in the warmest hug.
Her hair was damp, and she smelled like coconuts.

  Still holding Parker in my arms, I whispered, “You look so beautiful. I missed you.”

  Parker pulled back and looked up into my eyes. Damn, she melted me with that deep gaze. “I missed you too,” she replied.

  I reached down and kissed her. It was a long and passionate kiss. A kiss that said: “It’s been too long; I need you.”

  Before I knew it, the kiss grew in intensity. Our tongues tied themselves together, and our breathing grew unsteady. The small moans that left Parker’s mouth let me know that she needed me just as much as I needed her. Then, the moment that I never thought would come presented itself right in front of me.

  Parker pulled away and grabbed my hand, leading me toward her home. As we entered the side door into the garage, I noticed her dad’s truck was missing. Parker must have noticed me looking, because she said, “He’s out of town for the week visiting family with Jackson. I told him I needed to stay for finals and my group meetings.”

  My palms began to sweat, and I hoped she wouldn’t notice as she held on so tightly. Was this actually going to happen? I always imagined that one day it might, but I never pressured her. Everyone assumed we already did it, but we were waiting. We knew we were in love, but there was no rush. Parker had gone through so much; it wouldn’t be fair of me to expect her to open herself up to me like that.

  Parker led me up the stairs and into her bedroom. It smelled like freshly baked cookies, and I noticed a candle burning on her nightstand. She kept her lights off, only allowing the candle and the hallway light to guide our vision.

  Parker turned toward me and looked up. Our eyes met, and I knew it was time. I leaned down, slowly wrapping my arms around her hips and pulling her toward me. Our lips met in a hesitant, but loving way. Then, any hesitation that flowed between the two of us completely disappeared. Our bodies molded into one as we made our way to Parker’s bed.

  My hands wandered along her body, taking in every curve. Her body was so soft and smooth; I never wanted to stop touching her. We slowly took each other’s clothes off. I started with her shirt, then kissed my way down her torso and pulled her shorts down. Parker followed along and slowly pulled my shirt off. I was wearing sweatpants, so they were also easy to pull off.

  We rolled around so I could be on top of her. Parker’s chest was quickly moving up and down; her breathing unsteady. I knew mine was just the same. The lights gave just enough sight of her beautiful silhouette. I continued to kiss her all over, fueling my own body with how good she tasted. My heart was pounding. I had never felt more alive.

  “I need to hear you say this is okay,” I breathed heavily into Parker’s ear.

  “Please don’t stop,” she moaned back. “This is more than okay.”

  I bit at her neck, causing her to release another one of those heavenly moans. Everything about the moment felt right. I had never felt that good before, potentially because it was worth the wait.

  Sweat dripped from our bodies as we thrusted and moved around. Parker’s nails dug into my back as we gained a rhythm. It was as if we had done it a million times. Our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, and I never wanted the sensation to end.

  We lied naked together for hours after we were finished. I traced my fingers along her body, stopping at sensitive parts so I could feel her tremble against me once more. I constantly teased her by whispering in her ear and ultimately giving her chills.

  We had both had sex before, but this time felt different. It was probably the first time either of us had sex with someone we actually should have been with. The first time with someone we truly loved and saw a future with. I had never seen a future with any other girl I had been with until I met Parker.

  “I feel safe with you,” Parker said; the ultimate compliment from someone who had been hurt so drastically in the past. “You feel like home.”

  Parker

  RJ left my body trembling. He left me wanting more. I always imagined our first time would be special, and I was not disappointed. Every inch of me was chilled to the bone. I couldn’t stop shaking as I reveled in what happened that night.

  “Will you stay with me tonight?” I asked, breathing in RJ’s ear.

  I felt his body shake. “I’m all yours.”

  I fell asleep shortly after, and when I woke up, RJ was gone. A note sat on my nightstand that read: I didn’t want to wake you, but I wanted to get home before my dad woke up. Call me when you wake up. I love you.

  I reached for my phone and did as he said, quickly dialing his phone number. He answered on the second ring. “Good morning, beautiful. I’m sorry I left. I didn’t want to wake you. You were just so peaceful.”

  “Thanks, baby,” I responded. “Last night was amazing. Did you get home before your dad found out you were gone?”

  “Yes I did,” RJ said. “Last night was perfect. It was everything I had hoped for and more. You’re perfect.”

  I could feel myself blushing, as I typically did when RJ spoke to me. I kept reimagining the night before in my head; replaying each moment to make it last. “I want to do it again,” I said abruptly.

  “I’ll come over tonight,” RJ responded quickly. I smiled, feeling the sensation he gave me all over again.

  For the three days that my dad was gone, RJ snuck over to my house after his father went to sleep. Somehow, my dad was able to leave me alone after everything that happened; perhaps because I was great at convincing him I was okay. It also probably had something to do with the fact that RJ beat him senseless, and that was almost enough for my dad to know I was safe. RJ’s dad on the other hand, did not quite understand how someone could just beat a “random guy at an arcade” up and not face any consequences.

  We spent the nights together, naked and intimate; learning every inch of one another's' bodies. Then, RJ would sneak back to his house before his father woke up. He was never caught. In those nights, I had never felt safer and more at home.

  My dad called every night to make sure I was okay. He was willing to leave, but he still worried about me. Little did he know, I was as safe as I possibly could be. RJ and I were connecting on new levels, and I was grateful for my dad’s absence.

  Spending time with RJ gave me even more inspiration as I thought about the novel I was going to write. I thought of the people I could find to ask their stories. I knew I would need to research people in the area with strong stories of adversity. I would look for local news, and try to contact those who were involved. It wouldn’t be too challenging, considering everyone’s business was always in the news.

  After my mom passed, we were contacted countless times by different reporters trying to get a quote for their pointless articles. I could see it: Family loses Mom; how tragic. Let’s pick at their grieving to expose it. How relatable we would be.

  My dad refused to speak to anyone. He kept saying, “I won’t let those people take your mother and turn her into an irrelevant story.” I knew that I needed to gather the truth from the people I would be writing about, and I would need to do it respectfully.

  I was more determined to show the readers that even through adversity, there could be a light at the end. The moment I knew my mother wasn’t going to live was the worst moment of my life. During that time, I didn’t think it would be possible to move on, but I tried to surround myself with positivity. I tried to push past all the pain, and honor my mother’s legacy.

  Within this book, it would encapsulate so many people. They would stay timeless because they would be expressed into words forever. That was what I liked about writing and novels in general; they were limitless. They were endless. I wanted the idea of pain and adversity to be just the opposite: It didn’t always have to be there; we were allowed to heal and grow.

  I decided I would start each chapter with a little backstory. I would introduce the person I would be writing about, and what they have had to face in their lives. Then, in an interview style of writing, I would include information on their
specific tragedy or adversity. I decided an interview would be best to show that I was not twisting their words or using them to develop my writing any further. I wanted the novel to be as authentic as it could possibly be.

  For the weeks following, I researched different people I could interview. I was able to contact over a dozen people, and almost all of them were willing to meet with me. I became a frequent patron at a local coffee shop fifteen minutes from my house.

  “Parker, who are all of these people you are talking with?” the owner asked me one day. The shop was very small, so the owner made it a point to remember every customer’s name if they came in more than three times.

  “I am interviewing them for a novel I am writing,” I responded. “It’s about overcoming tragedy and adversity that so many people unfortunately face.”

  “I have a few people you could interview,” Mr. Lincoln said. “I know many people who have woefully dealt with some sort of trauma. All of these people have faced their challenges head on, though, and are now living their lives very successfully.”

  “Do you have their names?” I asked, getting excited. “Do you think they would be willing to have an interview with me? I am making sure this piece of work is not like some news article exposing their secrets for a pretty penny. I am actually interested in their lives, and I want others to be inspired by their stories as well.”

  “Will you be including your own story in one of those chapters?” Mr. Lincoln knew all about my mother’s death. He had actually met my mom in his shop a few months before she passed away. “I never forget a name or a face,” he said.

  “I think my mom would like to be remembered in different ways,” I replied.

  “There’s more to it than just your mother.” Mr. Lincoln was right.