How to Be Brave(4)

Yes. Yes, yes, yes. So many yeses.

“Uh-huh. For sure,” I muster out. “See you then.”

And then he’s gone.

Shit. Now what.

Okay, Georgia: Courage, like Mom said.

Here goes. Positive Thought #4: I didn’t crumble into a million grains of sand when his skin touched mine. I’m still alive. I’m breathing. And he talked to me.

And in six hours, I’ll be in the same room with him again. Every day this year. Oh my, I think that just might be Positive Thought #5.

I slam my empty locker closed and run down the hall toward Liss. Pumps be damned.

*

The rest of the day is fairly anticlimactic in contrast with the First Official Locker Date, which is what Liss and I will call it forever.

History, decent; chemistry, confounding; English, fun; and math, I don’t remember too well since Keynes spent the whole time speaking in tongues—sorry, I mean equations. Art, I also don’t remember too well since I spent the whole time staring at Daniel, who somewhat unfortunately was seated on the other side of the room, though the position gave me a perfect view of his sharply chiseled profile. (Siiigh.) Liss and I meet up outside the gate. They should really pass us through metal detectors as we leave, too. I wonder how many scalpels are stolen from Zitzoid’s class each year.

We head over to Ellie’s Belly Busters, the sub shop down on Lincoln Avenue that serves the world’s best French fries. My mom used to take me here as a kid. It was a secret we kept from my dad since we were technically cheating on our own restaurant. It might have been the only secret she kept from him.

Liss and I score the only front booth. My feet are killing me. I sit down and throw off the pumps. “First day, man.” I lather a fry in ketchup.

“What a clusterf*ck.” Liss digs into the fries. “Only one hundred and sixty-nine more days to go.”

“Seriously? I don’t think I can hack it. That’s just too much torture.”

“Well, except for Daniel, right? I mean, that’s all kinds of awesome.”

“Yeah, sure.” I laugh. “If I could actually form some kind of intelligent thought beyond ‘uh-huh.’ How is it that I’m the daughter of a college instructor?” It’s the first time I’ve mentioned my mom in a while. I know it. Liss knows it. She’s always here and never here.

She puts her palm on my hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m trying to change.”

“Change what?”

I wipe my fingers on a napkin and pull my mom’s letter from my bag. Even though she wrote plenty of art critiques when she was in grad school, my mom never liked to write anything personal. She saved that for her art.

I hand Liss the worn paper that’s covered in my mom’s shaky handwriting. “Here. I made her do it those last few weeks. I made her write to me.”

Dear Georgia,

You put the pen and paper in my shaking hand and insisted that I write you even though you know how much I hate this kind of thing. You said you want to remember my voice after I’m gone. You left me here in the hospital room, alone with the blaring TV and the nauseating lilies and useless piles of magazines. You’re supposed to stay, to be here in case I crash again, in case I go under.

So what can I say to you, my beautiful girl, so that you’ll remember me?

Well, first, that I’m sorry. I wish I could have fought harder, for you. I think I’ll be able to watch you after I’m gone. I hope so. I’ve watched you for these sixteen years, and you’ve filled me with a lifetime of joy.

But as it turns out, a lifetime is way too short.

Just remember that you are my best friend, my most favorite person in the whole wide world. Know that I’m proud of you, just so incredibly proud—of who you are, of who you’ve become. And don’t grieve too long for me. You are young and vibrant and you sparkle with life.

Live it. Do what I never did. I lived life too fearfully, I think. I gave up a long time ago. Don’t live that way. Go do anything you like—in fact, do everything. Try it all once.

And when you’re out there doing everything, be brave, and think of me.

Mom


Liss sits back. Tears are running down her cheeks.

She looks at me. “You have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Do everything. Be brave. Just like your mom said. You have to do this. I’ll do it with you.”

“I don’t understand. Do what, exactly?”

“Like a bucket list. A Do Everything Before You Die list.”

“Except that I’m not planning on dying.”

“No! That’s not what I meant.” Liss turns red.

“No, I know…”

“Shit. I’m sorry. Not at all what I meant.” She reaches across the table and places her hand on mine. “I meant like a Do Awesome Stuff list.”

I shrug. “There’s not much I can do, though. I’m not eighteen. I can’t drive. I’m stuck in this forsaken city.” Way to think positive, Georgia.

“Come on. There’s lots you can do.” She pulls out her phone and googles bucket lists. Most of them are pretty stupid.

Like:

Kiss in the rain. (Blech.)

Stay up and watch the sunrise. (Seriously?)

Pull an all-nighter. (Lame.)