How to Be Brave(5)
“Who writes this shit?” Liss laughs. “We can do so much better than any of these.”
“Exactly.”
We decide that we want more of a Fuck This Dork Shit list.
More of an I Want to Live Life list.
Fearless.
Real.
So I pull out a sheet of paper and start writing.
This is what we draft:
The Do Everything Be Brave List
In no particular order
Dedicated to Diana Askeridis ……(with duly noted feedback from Liss Ehler)
1. I can’t run downhill very well.
(Oh, come on, you can do better.)
2. Do a handstand in the middle of the room.
(More.)
3. Jump out a plane.
(Um, like your dad’s going to approve?)
4. Trapeze school?
(Aren’t you afraid of heights?)
5. Skinny-dipping.
(Yes!)
6. Learn how to draw, like Mom.
(Love.)
7. Try out for cheerleading.
(Really?)
8. Learn how to fish.
(I’ll ask my dad.)
9. Flambé.
(You ask your dad.)
10. Tribal dancing.
(Hot!)
11. Cut class.
(No prob.)
12. Smoke pot.
(No prob.)
13. Ask him out.
(She smiles.)
14. Kiss him.
(She smiles again.)
15. See what happens from there.
I look up from my list. “What about ‘Lose weight’?”
“Eh.” Liss grabs a handful of fries and stuffs them in her mouth. “You don’t really need to be brave to do that.”
That’s what best friends are for.
I put down the pen.
“I love the dress, by the way,” Liss says.
“Thanks. It’s the only cute thing I own. I feel like I’ve set a precedent, though. And now, with this list, I have to live up to a certain standard, you know?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Liss replies, munching on fries.
“So what the hell am I going to wear tomorrow?”
“Hm, well, nothing involving drapes.” Liss smiles.
“Yeah, well, there’s not much else, then.” I think about the remaining two outfits hanging on my closet door: black and boring. “And I have, like, fifty dollars left over from working for my dad this summer.”
Liss licks the salt off a fry and throws it back in the basket. “Let’s get out of here, shall we? A bit of thrift diving, perhaps?”
I nod, and we toss the rest of the fries and head down to the Salvation Army, where I score a bunch of good stuff that Liss picked out for me. A sleek pair of dark red jeggings (Power Pants, Liss calls them), three ridiculously cute (fitted!) shirts, a denim pencil skirt (crazy mustard yellow), and a green striped shirtdress that I’ll cinch with a belt. All for $48.92. Jackpot.
I absolutely love living in No-Woman’s-Land with her.
I head home buoyant. Elated. Ready.
I go to bed early, eager for tomorrow, for whatever might happen.
*
This is also what it was like sometimes:
I’d wake to the sounds of beeps and clicks and whirrs,
her dialysis machine churning and sputtering and moving the fluids in and out, in and out,
it would be four A.M. maybe, or barely dawn, the first light of morning crept in through the curtains.
She could only sleep on the couch.
She said the bedroom was too small for that damn giant box and the tangled mess of wires.
It stretched from her bloody catheter site
low under the folds of her abdomen.
She would plug in each night,
and try to sleep, though the rhythm of the machine
would keep her awake.
Except sometimes, I’d find her in a rare deep slumber.
I’d crawl on the floor beside her,
trace my fingers through her hair,
lay my head on the pillow next to hers,
and feel her steady breath.
This is what I remember tonight.
2
Welcome to Webster High School Club Week, fall semester. School Spirit, U.S.A. The quad is filled with fifty-four tables, each one dedicated to Spanish or French or chess or photography or paintball or premed or fencing or computers or the earth or films or chemistry or fashion.
“And out of all this shit, you pick cheer?” Liss elbows me.
“Haha. Very funny.”
“No, seriously, Georgia,” Liss says. “Why cheerleading?”
I think of my mom and start to tear up. I shake my head. I don’t want to talk about her right now.
“You’re still going to do it, even though Avery and Chloe are involved?”
“Especially because Avery and Chloe are involved.” It’s time to face my fears. “Anyway, it’s on the list.” I shrug. “And that list is sacred. What are you going to sign up for?”