by Alex Flinn
I miss you both.
I’ll send this one because it contains the story of how I became independent.
Monday, just two days after the door closed on us, a window opened.
I got a message from Debbie. That’s my agent.
She seemed all excited and told me the school had just gotten a phone call from a casting director who wanted to talk to ME! Hands shaking, I called her back.
As soon as I stopped trembling enough to understand her, she said this:
The Shake-It Burger Company saw my video—our video—online, and they wanted me to be in a commercial for their restaurants.
A NATIONAL COMMERCIAL! Which means everyone would see it!
“What do they want me to do?” I asked Debbie.
“Just exactly what you did in the video,” Debbie said, except they wanted me to sing “Don’t Be Cruel” instead of “All Shook Up,” and there would be dancing waiters involved and dancing milkshakes. Shake-It Burger is really famous for their milkshakes.
We talked about SAG-AFTRA (actors’ union) and something called Taft-Hartley (I am so knowledgeable about the business now), but I barely heard her because I was already humming “Don’t Be Cruel” in my head.
Which made me wonder if I was cruel to you.
But just for a minute because I was soooooo happy! Blakely, who does modeling, always says commercials can pay a lot of residuals! Maybe enough to be independent.
Debbie was still talking. Since Shake-It Burger has a lot of locations in the Midwest, they were going to film the commercial at their Cadillac location, not far from here, “if they can find dancers in this part of Michigan,” Debbie said.
I told her I knew dancers. “They have a dance program here. And musical theater. You should have auditions here!”
So that is exactly what they did. They hired some older people, but they chose like six students from the dance program and four from musical theater, Phoebe and Garret, David and . . . Brooke!
Okay, I wasn’t thrilled about that last part, but I’m so happy I can afford to be generous.
Phoebe is a dancing milkshake.
“They wanted to cover my figure, because I’m too pretty,” she said in her Lady Catherine voice. “They didn’t want me to upstage the star.”
A few months ago, this would have been a typical Phoebe-ism, but when I looked at her, she cracked a smile and pointed her finger at me like “gotcha.”
The star. Me. I’m the star.
We filmed this week. It took three days, a day of learning the dance and two days of filming. The premise is a girl at Shake-It Burger with her boyfriend. He refuses to give her a sip of his shake. “Don’t Be Cruel” comes on the jukebox, and she sings and dances with the waiters. All the customers (and dancing milkshakes) join in. Finally, he orders her her own shake. Happiness!
I think we can agree that the differences between Shake-It Burger and Shake-speare are minimal!
It was so much fun!
When I got back to school after the second day of filming, I sat with Falcon, Phoebe, and Daisy at dinner.
“Do you feel awesome?” Falcon asked me.
“Like a real actor,” I said.
Falcon nodded. “When that lady at the shelter looked at my art and thought it was good enough to send me to this school, that was the first time I ever thought of myself as an artist. Not just some dreamer who drew a little.”
I nodded, knowing what she meant. For me, it was the day Vanessa came to Publix and told me that Mr. John Smith wanted to send me to boarding school. Before that, I’d thought I was just an ordinary girl. Mr. John Smith changed my life.
You changed my life, Jarvis. Other people complimented me because it didn’t cost them anything. But you were the one person who saw my talent and did something about it. You thought I was special, and you wanted the world to know.
I sometimes forget that.
That’s not the only thing that happened.
Yesterday, my mother called. She said she had bad news. She’s not getting a new trial. Not enough “new evidence,” and without something like DNA, it’s hard.
She’ll be in prison another 9 years. For running over someone who probably would have killed both of us.
And what made me the saddest is that I knew I couldn’t help her.
I said, “I’m sorry, Mommy,” and I meant it.
Because I actually want to go to Florida and tell them what happened.
When I told her that, she said, “No, baby, you keep singing.” Then she told me about my father.
His name was Chris, a dark-eyed boy who climbed a tree to pick her jacaranda flowers and brought them to her at school. He liked to play the guitar and sing and wanted to start a band and move to California.
But he was shot a few months later when the pizza place where he worked was robbed. Then she found out she was going to have me.
I said, “I never knew about this. I always assumed—”
“A one-night stand?” she said. “Yes, I let you believe that, because it made me too sad to think about him, and I didn’t want you to be sad too. But maybe you’d be sad either way. Your father, he was the only one who was kind to me.”
And then she gave me maybe the only good piece of advice she’s ever given me.
“Randa, always be with the one who’s kind to you. If I’d been with your father, none of this would have happened.”
I’m not sure if that’s true, but she believes it, and I’m sorry for her. Too soon, it was time to get off the phone. I told her I wanted to visit her over the summer.
After the conversation, I thought about what she’d said. “The one who’s kind to you.” For me, that’s been you. But were you kind to me when you didn’t tell me the truth?
I looked over the letter you wrote me. I was so angry when I first read it. I wanted to rip it up into a million pieces. But something made me keep it. I understand what you’re saying, how it all just happened. Time has softened the edges of my feelings. I was mean to you. Cruel. I said things you didn’t deserve. We both lied to each other, neither of us knowing how to stop.
“Take the money, and leave me,” you said. You were saying you cared more about my well-being than about us being together, more than your own happiness. I appreciate it, but I don’t want to take your money.
I don’t want to leave MAA either.
But now, I’ll be making some money with the commercial. I also took your advice and spoke with the financial aid office. They’re giving me money for next year. Someday, I’ll pay your family back, so you can send another girl to school.
My mother taught me one other thing by being a bad example. She taught me never to be dependent on a man for my support. Dependence is the death of love.
I’m grateful to you for introducing me to all these opportunities. I apologize for what I said about Eliza Doolittle and you ruining me. It was kind and generous, what you did. You are kind and generous. You introduced me to a world of opportunity I never knew existed, like when Henry took Eliza to the Embassy Ball. But I don’t want to be beholden to you.
In My Fair Lady, Henry Higgins talks about growing accustomed to Eliza’s face. He sings, “I was serenely independent and content before we met . . .”
But the audience knows he wasn’t really happy before Eliza, and I wasn’t happy before you, or you before me. So I think th
Oh my God! As I was typing, Phoebe pounded on my door. She said you’ve fallen from a cliff!
J
To: [email protected]
Date: May 6, 5:06 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: (No subject)
Dear Jarvis,
I know you won’t see this, but I have to do something, and writing calms me down.
I’m sitting in the airport with Phoebe, waiting for an airplane to take me to Aspen, to you.
I pray I’ll see you when I arrive . . . and I don’t pray often.
There’s nothing like having your ex fall from a cliff to make y
ou focus on how much you still love him.
Okay, you fell while climbing the side of a cliff, but it still sounds bad. It’s on the news right now, and it’s pretty scary.
How, Jarvis? How could you think it was a good idea to go rock climbing in such poor weather and so far from home? Seriously! Just because you can afford to fly to Colorado to climb rocks doesn’t mean it’s a good idea! And, if you’re going to do it, maybe make sure your phone gets decent service so if you fall and tear a massive hole in your leg, you can call for help!
Thank God you had Chase with you and he was able to climb down and call.
Graduation trip! Celebrating getting into Carnegie Mellon! Never thought I’d say this, but maybe you have too much money and not enough supervision!
They’re calling to board now. I hope there will be good news when we land.
Love, Jackie
To: [email protected]
Date: May 6, 6:37 p.m. Central Standard Time
Subject: (No subject)
Dear Jarvis,
O’Hare Airport now! What a busy place this is, even compared to Detroit! Phoebe updated me that they were able to save your leg (!!!), but you’re still in intensive care!
Phoebe says you’ll be fine. “With his money, he has the best care.”
I think she’s trying to convince herself. I’ve been thinking that rich people have also been known to die, but I didn’t say it. I’m saying it to you now because I know you’ll only read it once you’re safe and sound, but GOD, I’m scared!
And it didn’t help that Phoebe told me, “He only did this because of you.” As if you’d thrown yourself from a cliff due to spurned love.
“He’s been talking about rock climbing for months,” I told her, though I’d had the same thought, that you were taking unnecessary risks after we broke up. And, truly, if you’d come to Michigan, you’d have been strolling through cherry blossoms, holding my hand instead of tumbling from a precipice!
I know I was angry. I was embarrassed to realize you’d known my secrets all along. I felt spied on. But Vanessa confirmed your story, and I can see how it would be hard for you to confess the truth.
It’s not like I never lied to you.
You did the kindest thing anyone could do. You believed in me, in my talent, in dreams I didn’t even know I had. It’s like Falcon said: You made me see myself as an artist. You, Jarvis.
I was so disappointed that Mr. John Smith wasn’t a real person. But you are, my love. Soon, I’ll be stuck on a three-hour flight with no word. I hope when I arrive I’ll be able to tell you in person.
I love you. And I’m frightened.
Love, Jackie
To: [email protected]
Date: May 6, 11:01 p.m. Mountain Standard Time
Subject: Are you okay?
Dear Jarvis,
It’s close to freezing here, and Phoebe has no new information. No one in your family is answering their phone. No one in her family knows anything new.
Do you know it was almost exactly a year ago today that I sang at Publix and some stranger recorded that life-changing video? That has to be lucky, right?
I pray we can celebrate together!
I’ll be there soon, soon, soon.
Love, Jackie
To: [email protected]
Date: May 7, 2:27 a.m. Mountain Standard Time
Subject: My darling, Jarvis
Dear Jarvis,
I know you can’t read this now, in your doped-up sleep. But I wanted to write anyway. Writing is the closest I can get to being with you.
When we arrived, Phoebe asked for your room. The horrible front desk man laughed. “You and everyone else! No-o-o-o fangirls. Mr. Pendleton isn’t up to visitors. They weren’t sure he’d make it for the first 6 hours.”
My chest tightened, but Phoebe’s hand found her hip. “We’re family.”
“Suuuure you are,” said the awful guard. “What are you, his sister? He hasn’t got a sister! I’m sorry, but he can’t . . .” His eyes fell on the ID Phoebe had slapped down onto the counter. With a gloved finger, she pointed to the word “Pendleton” in her name.
“Pendleton. Pen-dle-ton,” she said in the voice that used to scare me.
The guard stepped back. “How about you?” he said to me.
I started to fumble for my school ID, but Phoebe said, “She’s with me.”
Then Vanessa showed up. “Jarvis’s cousins,” she told the guard. We followed her.
“How is he?” I asked Vanessa.
She said you’d been better, and that your father and Chase and Wendelin were there.
Wendelin seems sweet, by the way. She looked like she hadn’t combed her hair, and there was about an inch of eyeliner collected under each eye. I think she’ll be a good mom to your someday half brother.
She held out her hand to me first. “He asked for you.”
“So he’s . . . ?” I didn’t know what to say? Awake? Coherent? Not going to die?
“They’ve got him on some good drugs,” she said, “so he goes in and out.”
Which didn’t seem like the type of thing you’d say about a dying kid.
Phoebe pushed me ahead. I parted the curtains, and there you were.
When I saw you, I gasped. Your body was covered in blankets, but your face was scraped and bruised, and you had every type of tube and wire connected to you, even one of those heart monitor things they use on TV. I don’t even know what the other things were. At least your heart was beating. For a moment, I couldn’t tell that your eyes were open.
You spoke softly, and I jumped.
“What?” I said.
“Are you real?”
“Yes.” I was scared to come too close. You looked like I might hurt you if I breathed on you wrong. “What happened?”
“I . . . fell.” The last thing you remembered was your hand, about to make contact with a rock. When you came to you were on a ledge, maybe fifteen feet below, in agony. You could hear Chase yelling above you. And then you looked down at your leg, which was all red blood except something white. Bone and maybe muscle. You’d scraped it against a rock when you fell.
I shuddered, thinking of it. I’m shuddering now, writing this!
You told me more about making a tourniquet with your jacket despite your broken arm. It was hard to listen. Still, I heard you when you said, “I just wanted to see you, Jackie. I wanted to see you and apologize for what I did, for lying to you. I’m so sorry. You’d be right never to forgive me, but I had to see you.”
You smiled, which managed to be charming somehow, despite the bruises, and I thought about what would have happened if you’d fallen a little differently, if help had taken a little longer. If, if, if . . . that angry letter might have been my last communication to the one person who gave me everything.
If that had happened, the world would have cracked open and swallowed me up.
“I forgive you,” I said.
“Really?” Your voice was the barest whisper.
“Yeah.” And then I decided to be less cautious. Still trying to avoid the wires and the tubes, I crouched beside you and kissed your bruised face, gently. I heard you sigh, or maybe that was me.
When I’d kissed every inch of your face that wasn’t covered by bandages, you asked me if I was leaving MAA.
I said no. I told you about the financial aid and the commercial, that I’d be able to stay as an independent person, one who isn’t taking your money.
“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” you said, your eyes crinkling at the sides.
“It is,” I said. “I love you. Now that we’ve been truthful with each other, we have nothing to fear.”
“I wanted to tell you the truth all along,” you said. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
I nodded. “I’ve learned a few things about losing you, this past 24 hours. I don’t want that to happen either.”
“It won’t.” You squeezed my hand with your one good hand.
I won’t sleep a wink tonight, but you must. You have to sleep so you can get well so you can come to me.
Love, Jacaranda
P.S. This is the first love letter I ever wrote. Isn’t it funny that I know how?
To: [email protected]
Date: May 12, 5:38 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: The cherry blossoms are in bloom!
Dear Jarvis,
This afternoon, as soon as classes were over, Phoebe, Falcon, Daisy, and I walked into town to see the cherry blossoms. Spring has finally reached Northern Michigan!
It was a glorious pink-and-white day, the kind that makes you glad to be alive. We all held hands and ran through the falling blossoms. It was a day to Instagram, but we just lived it.
When we got back to the dorm, there was a crowd of people standing in the lobby, watching something on TV. “There they are!” said someone. Nina.
She shouted to pause the television. We walked closer to see.
It was me! Well, me and Phoebe and David and about 20 other people—the Shake-It Burger commercial! We were dancing, and I was singing. I looked happy and confident and much like every professional singer on every commercial I’ve ever seen in my life.
BUT IT WAS ME! ME!
I wonder if you’ve seen it.
Nina rewound, and we watched again. Everyone clapped.
If I close my eyes now, I can still see myself, happy and confident.
I know you’re on your way back to New York. Thank you for your invitation to see you “walk” (or whatever it is you’ll be able to do by then) in your graduation. The Hodgkinses have invited me to stay, and I accepted happily.
After that, I’ll be back at MAA. They’ve offered me a job at their summer camp. So I’ll be here when the cherry trees bear fruit. I’ll work at the little shop, selling ice cream and souvenirs to spoiled middle schoolers. I’ll live on campus and receive a small stipend. That and the money from the commercial will fund me for the fall. I hope maybe you’ll want to fund the education of another MAA student in my place. It’s fine if it’s a girl, but no letters, please.