Girl Out of Water(5)

The idea that tomorrow I’ll be boarding a plane to Nebraska for the entire summer seems so absurd, so far from reality, that I actually start to feel quite calm. After all, there’s no reason to get upset about something that can’t actually happen.

My stomach grumbles. Dad is an amateur chef and cooks dinner for us most nights, but he had something more important on his mind today. I stand up and scour the kitchen for food, finding a couple of cold slices of veggie pizza, another apple that I slather with chunky peanut butter, and a giant bag of trail mix I eat by the handful. All the M&M’s are gone because Dad loves chocolate but doesn’t buy junk food, which is how I always end up with a bag of just raisins and nuts. I finish everything off with a bowl of my favorite cereal combination: Cap’n Crunch, Lucky Charms, and Cocoa Puffs. It took years of hard cereal munching to concoct this perfection. This is a typical evening for me: consuming an entire day’s worth of food in about twenty minutes.

Then the text messages flood in, reminding me that today is anything but typical.

WHAT? DETAILS

I’ll bring some brews

Dude. Not okay. Also I’ve got the lighter fluid.

Marshmallows. More marshmallows.

You are NOT allowed to go

I don’t respond and put my phone on silent. I’ll give everyone the full story when I see them. I spend another half hour scarfing down whatever other food I can find: carrots and hummus, turkey jerky, and a handful of grapes. Then I stuff my ragged tote bag with more snacks and water bottles, yank on my damp wet suit, leaving it half-unzipped, and head toward the garage for my surfboard. I pause by the junk drawer where my mom’s postcard hides. It’s a weird coincidence that the first time I’ve heard from her in almost two years also happens to be the day her sister gets into a car accident. Too weird. I yank open the drawer and pull out the card.

My heart thuds as I read it, ears alert in case Dad comes down the hallway. My hand shakes again, making the scrawled writing harder to read.

Dear Anise,

Hi, sweetie! I miss you, and I hope you and your dad are doing well! I’m thinking of swinging by for a visit this summer. I think we’re due for some mother/daughter time, don’t you? I’ll probably be there in June. Or maybe July! We’ll see!!!

Love,

Mom

As always, she hasn’t included a phone number or address.

My mom will be here this summer, and I’ll be in Nebraska. I tell myself this is good. I won’t have to see her. I don’t want to see her. I won’t have to sit here like I did when I was eight, ticking off the days until her arrival on some off-brand My Little Pony calendar, wondering when she’d finally show up. It’ll be a nice fuck you when she arrives with a mason jar of organic jam from some cooperative farm and three weeks of dirty laundry to find out that Dad and I aren’t here. A taste of her own abandonment cocktail.

Dad never speaks badly of her, always makes excuses for her, and welcomes her back into our lives as if this behavior is normal. But as I’ve gotten older, I can see through his resilient act. I know he only does it for me. Every time she leaves it rips away at him too. Well, at least this summer we won’t be around for her to hurt.

I take the card in both hands and start to rip it, but I hesitate half an inch in. Instead, I open the junk drawer, shift around spare keys and rubber bands and dead batteries, and bury her postcard at the bottom of it all.

? ? ?

I’m the first one out at the dunes. It’s nearing midnight, and the beach is silent, save the hum of the water lapping methodically against the craggy rocks and sand. The moon bathes the beach in a subdued glow more soothing than the piercing sun. I hug myself tight and close my eyes, breathing in the salted air, letting the familiar scents and sounds wrap around me.

The frustration and anxiety is still there, but the sound of the water, the glow of the moon, lulls the unease. For now, I’ll pretend these problems aren’t mine. For now, I’ll let these few minutes of tranquility stretch out into an eternity. For now, the rest of the world can float away on the gently rocking water until nothing exists except the tide, the moon, and me.

I inhale deeply. Once. Twice.

And then my eyes flick open. A figure rushes down the beach, silhouetted legs pounding down the sand.

“Anise!”

Tess. My best friend who claims she never runs except when someone chases her. So unless there’s a man with an ax behind her, she must have made an exception. For a second I think she’s going to run into me and topple us both to the ground, but she stops short, bends over, and breathes with strained force.

I move toward her, but she lifts her hand. “Hold on.” More panting. “Please don’t put me—” More panting. “—in the same vicinity—” More panting. “—of your disgusting level of athleticism.”

I wait patiently for a few more seconds. Then Tess stands upright and says, “You are not allowed to leave me. I will hate you forever.” And then she does, in fact, launch herself at me, tackling me to the ground, obstructing my air supply. But I don’t care. I hug her back with the same ferocity.

“I’ll hate me forever too.”

Tess and I release each other but stay on the ground, backs against the coarse sand and eyes on the star-flecked sky. Our hands find each other and hold, like when we were little kids and always chained together. The feeling is reassuring.