For Abigail Grace Warther, who convinced me to spend my November writing and drinking coffee and Mountain Dew when I should have been studying and sleeping. Go ahead, take a chance and jump.

For Stephen Joiner, who convinced me to write the flashbacks in italics. and who begged to be mentioned at the beginning of this novel.

Oh, and a quick apology to my friends who were thoroughly convinced I had either died or caught the black plague and had been put in quarantine. Neither are true, I was simply endeavoring to write a novel.

Chapter One: In which my life falls to pieces like a mirror dropped off a sheer cliff down onto a rocky shore and is then swept away by the raging sea

Have you ever thought that if one thing hadn't happened, a whole set of things never would have either? Like dominoes in time, a single event kicked off an unstoppable series of changes that gained momentum and spun out of control, and nothing was ever the same again. Don't ever doubt that a mere second can change your life forever.

~Sand Dollar Summer by Kimberly K. Jones

I shut the door of my ancient blue ford with a snap. Locking it manually because the stupid thing had no fob, I hitched my green messenger bag over my shoulder. Full of scraps of paper, dog-eared books and pens that no longer worked, it was kind of heavy. Glancing both ways for cars from under my kaki hat, i latched my eyes on my destination: the Cup of Joe and Mo’. It was a tiny bookshop that had a coffee shop in the front. It was dim and quiet and the perfect place for me to spend the afternoon. Made of wood planks and windows it was crammed between a bike shop and a grocery on the main street of Ivy Leaf, Tennessee. Being born and raised in Saint louis, Missouri, this tiny town was different, but i loved it. It had two colleges and a main street connecting them- and a population of around 1500 if you don’t count the colleges. I attended the University of Gwyndolyn, on the west side, and Aaron, my boyfriend of seven months, attended Campbell college, a state school, on the east side.

Speaking of Aaron, he had a humanities test on monday and he was in his dorm studying with his suite mate Eric. That was why I had taken the better part of my Saturday to hide myself away among the dusty shelves of the Cup of Joe and Mo’ and write.

With the tinkle of the bell, I stepped in. Zack was working today. In his mid thirties, he was as friendly as could be, going bald and had a wife and two kids.

“hey there! top of the morning to you.” I greeted.

Zack looked up from wiping the counter, “Well hey there Florence, the usual?” I nodded happily and paid him. My usual was a café mocha with mint, in my favorite seat, which was at a little round table with two ratty burgundy velvet arm chairs squeezed in a little bay window that overlooked the street. As I made my way to my usual place I saw something that caused my blood to burn and my ears to ring. This was the moment that my whole world would fall to pieces, like a mirror dropped off a sheer cliff down onto a rocky shore and is then swept away by the raging sea. my breath came, pop like a soda can being opened.

Aaron was sitting my usual place. Wearing that baby blue v-neck I loved on him. Aaron had a petit blonde girl sitting on his lap. They were making out. It felt like my blue eyes were about to bulge like grotesque blueberries out of my head. My brain fizzled like a firecracker. Letting my messenger bag drop to the floor without thinking i stormed forward and grabbing the girl’s arm, I yanked her off of him.

“What the tarnation is this?” I demanded. Pressure was building up in my forehead. Anger of the deepest kind- betrayal- boiled in my heart. The girl, some slut from CC probably, reeled away, her green eyes huge.

“Florence! what the- how did you? This isn’t what it looks like!” Aaron entreated, standing up, holding his hands before him, like i had a gun. i wished i did.

“Oh yeah?” I bellowed back, “this looks like you’re cheating on me with this tramp! Thats what it looks like!” Tears fell hot and fast down my face. my heart was beating a wild tattoo in my throat. my whole head flooded with the pounding sound.

“I thought I loved you! i thought you were worth loving!” My brown curly hair was falling out of its clip and flyaway strands were sticking to my suddenly sweaty forehead.

Aaron reached out to take me in his arms still spluttering apologies.

“Don’t touch me.” I hissed, recoiling from him like a wild animal. “We’re over. So over. I’m done.”

“Florence! Don’t do this! I can explain!”

I was beyond listening; I spun to face the perfect little blonde, “This was my boyfriend. He’s all yours now. Hope you know what your getting yourself into.”

I wrenched my arm away from Aaron’s grasping hands and slapped him hard across the face.

“No! I’m done with you, Aaron Benjamin Carter!” Grabbing my bag, I ran back to my crappy car, tears falling free down my face.

Chapter two: Enough

Don't say you never left me when your eyes are fighting with your heart for the truth in the conversation. Don't tell me I'm the only one when your eyes won't stop fighting with your heart when you wrap your arms around me. Now I'm gone

~The Material “The Truth About Reality”

I sigh. One thing i love about bookstores is that all the books are in a perfect order. I love that stuffy book-paper smell and the quaintness of the whole place, The Cup of Joe and Mo’. Aaron and I are spending the day together. He’s been distant lately and now he’s as lively and loving as ever. We’ve been going out since just before christmas break, eight months. One thing I love about Aaron is the way that somehow, I’m free to be a bit crazy with him. He makes me feel so free.

A gust of warm august air blows in with a girl wearing a funny kaki cap. I pause from sipping my americano iced coffee to observe her. She’s certainly interesting enough. With wild loose brown curls pulled into a haphazard clip at the base of her neck, she is wearing a brown skirt with a tight tye-dye tank top. Her flip flops are bright orange and she has a ring on every finger. Large beaded hoops swing from her ears. A faded green bag hangs off her shoulder and there is paper and a couple books peeping out.

Sliding my attention from the amusing girl at the counter, i turn to Aaron. Smiling, i slip over onto his knee to give him a quick kiss. Being only five foot one inch, i easily curl up on his lap. I was just melting into his perfect lips when abruptly a sharp hand wrenches me off of Aaron. um, what?

It was the artsy girl from the counter. She began shouting at Aaron. My arm burns from where she grabbed me. I back away, not knowing what to do. Then, as I listen, i begin to realize something. Aaron’s been cheating on me. Cheating. With this quirky art major-type girl. I am stunned. It couldn’t be. surely not.

The girl turns toward me, her face is red. Her blue eyes are huge, staring right at me like she can make me burst into flame if she stares long enough. Maybe she can. Then she says slowly, each word shredding my heart to pieces,

“This was my boyfriend. He’s all yours now. Hope you know what your getting yourself into.”

Her bitter disappointment stings me to the core. The room seems to be swaying in shades of black. Aaron tries to take her in his arms and she slaps him and peels away from him and blows out the door like a hurricane. Without blinking i watch her run across the street without looking and shove herself into a rusty blue car. My heart is numb. Darkness slides into my eyes.

“Amy? Sweetie?” Aaron is at my side.

“You’re... cheating on... me?” the words came out strangled and slow.

“Baby, no, listen, i can explain,”

“Take me home.” i said in a stunned monotone.

“No, theres no need for that, Amy, listen to me.”

“That girl has no reason to lie to me. Take me home.”

Aaron doesn’t move. He just stands there like the blind monkey that he is.

“Fine. I’m leaving. Goodbye Aaron.” I grab my little houndstooth clutch and walk out the door.

I begin to walk down the street, holding the unexpected tears back. I had no idea he was cheating on me. how long had it been going on? Didn’t he want me? I wasn’t enough.

I wasn’t enough. Of course. I should have known. Me. I’m boring. I’m the quaint, adorable doll of sunshine that isn’t enough of an adventure to keep a guy. Aaron is the first guy I really let in. Shows me how wrong i was. I sniff and wipe at my eyes, making sure none of my mascara is smearing.

“Amy! Hey, Amy!” His golden butter voice. “Would you just listen to me?” he catches up with me and grabs my arm where the other girl had- it aches.

“Aaron, i don’t know what to think.” i could feel tears building up behind my green eyes. My voice comes out all stuffy. “Once a cheater always a cheater.” i had meant that to sound final, definitive and vicious, but instead it sounds like a question.

“Hey, girl, you need a ride? that man looks like he’s bothering you.” a woman’s voice came from an ancient rusty aqua blue car. In a sudden and uncharacteristic flash of unpredictability i grabbed the handle and threw myself into the car. “Goodbye Aaron.”

The first thing I notice is that bittersweet indie music is playing from the stereo. “...And I’m leaving you,

But I’m broken,

Like a mirror on the floor,

Still wanting you more...”

My eyes never leave Aaron’s. his piercing blue eyes. His bad haircut. that baby blue V-neck. the image seems to be frying itself to my retinas, as though even when i close my eyes, he would still be there.

Chapter Three: In Which Life Chucks a Couple Random, Mushy Kumquats at the Back of My Head at the Last Minute for No Apparent Reason

Its that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you know something you used to love so much has changed, and you long for things to go back to the way they were, but you knew all along they wouldn't.

~Anonymous

I couldn’t believe what I was doing. Its just that Aaron’s porcelain cheerleader looked so interminably sad. She looked the worst kind of sad, the kind where you keep having this unpleasant wobbly smile wriggle across your face because you’re trying not to cry. The kind of sad where something so vital is wrong that you have to either die inside and strive to look okay or just really fall to the ground and die. I supposed that the worst thing that had ever happened to her was that her manicure chipped while she was having a nice glass of iced tea on a big white porch with her frilly friends, Muffy and Patty. She was the kind of girl that kept the idea of old southern money alive. Her little clutch looked to be a vera bradley or something. Her hair was cut in an immaculate shiny blond bob, the front hanging to her shoulders, accenting the over-all petite and perfectness of her. A pink and white floral skirt came to her knees and it perfectly accented her grey and pink three-quarter-length knit blouse. how quaint.

She turned her huge green eyes on me and blanched. if she was white before, she was downright ghostly now. whoa.

“Oh, its you!”she sounded genuinely surprised. Of course, Miss Perfect Plastic, who else would it be? the other convenient weeping girls sitting in parked cars near their favorite coffee shops just waiting to help be your getaway person? I mentally chided myself for instantly regretting my decision to help this lacy little lady and tried to refocus on the immeasurable sadness lining her features.

I had always been a ridiculously compassionate person. I empathized. It was one of my major quality traits. When I was little my mom said that I used to put winter coats and blankets on all of my dolls because they were cold. She had tried to explain that they were plastic and, obviously, going to be cold to the touch. I wouldn’t believe her. I would sit and hug on my barbies until my body heat warmed them. If they felt cold, then i felt cold too; then we were all miserable.

“I guess I should say thank you.” the china doll’s voice was stuffy and quiet. “For what, being your getaway car or revealing what a douche our boyfriend was?” my voice was coated in bitterness with jealousy filling.

“Was he really your boyfriend too?” I nodded curtly. “For seven months.”

“Seven? really?” and for some reason that information caused her to start to cry. It was a thin, gut-wrenching, wailing sound that echoed of someone drowning kittens or stepping on baby rabbits. With a cry like that, this girl could have stopped Hannibal’s army in their tracks. Oh no, oh no, no, no, no, no. I was doing so well shoving my own emotions away until I dropped this candy-striper off wherever she was headed but with her tears came a rush of her emotions of useless anger and betrayal into my own heart. stupid empathy. I drove past a couple more streets and then abruptly pulled my decrepit contraption into the partial shade of a maple and shoved it into park.

“Come here.” we leaned over the consul and before I knew exactly what was going on, we were crying on each other’s shoulders. She, in her adorable, murdering tiny animals way, and I in a loud boo-hooing, blow-your-nose-like-a-foghorn way.

As my tears slowed a vital question began pinching my brain. A question i most definitely did not want to know the answer to. A question I knew would wiggle its way past my tongue sooner or later.

“Which one of us was he cheating with?”

The other girl gave a huge shuddery sigh and said, “You. We started going out December third, just before Christmas break.”

This is what i had feared. I was the illegitimate one. I was the freak poet he didn’t want to show to his friends. I closed my eyes, shutting out her sugar-spun face. This confirmed what I, in my heart, had already known. My emotions, my inner hurricane- the crazy that made me both exquisite and insane, was just getting started.

Chapter Four: Stale

I saw the tremor. The inside shakeoff of her heart. She was getting so good the cracks and fissures were smaller and smaller. Soon, like a sleight-of-hand trick perfected, no one would see her do it. She could shut out the whole world, including herself.

~The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold

Colorless. Flat. Bland. Dull. Vapid. Stale. Monotonous. Insipid. Thats what I am. Once I finish my cry sitting in the crazy artist’s car, i feel cavernously empty. Now is silence. I have nothing left to give. Any shred of unrestrainedness in me is gone. Aaron had taken it. I am hollow. Better to have no emotion than too much emotion. I am stale.

I had trusted that benedict Arnold. I wasn’t worth the truth.

Memories of days with more flavor than today spill into my mind like the tears spilling down my face.

...“I love you Amy, do you know that?”... ...our first kiss, standing beneath that big old oak tee on campus, he pulls me close and I close my eyes. Our lips touch and its like magic. The whole world melted around us...

...“Aaron? You’re the first one I’ve ever told that to.”...

...Aaron takes my hand. “Just trust me. Don’t over think it, Amy, just do it.” I jump from the rock into the ocean. I come up, gasping for air. “That was so fun!” Aaron laughs his crazy laugh. “Told you, silly.” I eyeball the jump I made and realize that it is maybe five feet above the water, if that...

...“Close your eyes.” “Aaron, where are you taking me?” He slips a blindfold over my face and ties it behind my head. “Its a surprise. Here, take my hand.” I stretch my arms out, blind. His hands find mine. “Just trust me.”...

...”Aaron? I just wanted you to know, I’ve never told a boy ‘I love you’ before.” He kisses me nose lightly, “I know.” I look up at his brilliant blue eyes, “Aaron? I love you.”...

Chapter Five: In Which Friends Prove to be the Only Good and Precious Thing Left in This World of Grey Thunderstorms and Tumultuous Tempests

Shut up, wipe those tears from your brown eyes, print out a picture of him & throw darts at it until there's a hole in your fucking bedroom wall. Look in the mirror and scream until you cant breathe, blast your favorite song and laugh. I want you to find yourself again. Because the girl i knew so many months ago before she met that asshole who changed her temporarily used to not give a shit about what people say. He fucking destroyed you, and nobody messes with my friends, give me his number; his life is about to be hell.

~Anonymous

It was raining. I burst into me and Spencer’s dorm room. Spencer was sprawled across the floor like a dead dog, humanities book open on our furry electric blue rug. Holly was leaned back in a desk chair, laptop perched neatly on her lap. Humanities exam on tuesday. I stopped short, staring at them. I drew myself up, staring bug-eyed at the pair of them, took a shuddery breath, and broke into tears. Sorrow rolled up into my mind like a thunderstorm. All the self-control I’d had before, which albeit wasn’t much, vanished.

In no time I was in Holly’s arms, being pulled down onto Spencer’s bed, which was next to the door. She pulled me to her chest and rocked me slowly, running her slim fingers through my ratty brown hair like i was a small child with a scraped knee. Harsh sobs racked my body. I shook in Holly’s arms, shaking from shame and anger and thudding sorrow.

Spencer had her phone out and to her ear, “Kaylee?... I know, I know, you’re with Bruckman.... Yeah, thats nice. I don’t care. get your butt up here, Florence is in trouble.... yup. right now young lady.... okay. Two minutes max. Bye.” She snapped her phone shut and was on the bed next to me in an instant.

“Shhh, shh.” Spencer crooned, trailing her fingers up and down my spine, tracing slow little shapes. “It will be okay.” I cried harder. The emotions, the betrayal and sadness were drowning me, as were my tears. I couldn’t breathe through my nose.

In a few minutes time the door swung open to reveal Kaylee. She stood five-foot-nothing and was dressed in a royal blue shirt with white short shorts. She had her serious face on. She joined us three on the bed.

“Florence? tell us what happened, baby.” Holly said, handing me a kleenex.

I mopped at my eyes, took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice and began. I sounded nasal, like a duck, “I went to the Joe and Mo’ to write, right? and i walked in and A-Aaron was snogging some little blonde girl from CC.”

Holly and Kaylie gasped and Spencer swore. I nodded, “So i yelled at him and broke up with him and slapped him and left. right? well i was in my car, trying to collect myself when i saw that little blond Aaron was kissing walking along the sidewalk.... and well don’t know, Aaron ran after her and she turned away and i realized that maybe, maybe it wasn’t a hook up, you know? like maybe he was double-timing us.”

“That no good, dirty rotten, excuse for a douche bag!” Spencer interjected.

I let out a watery laugh, the kind where you giggle and it surprises you because you hadn’t really remembered you could laugh.

“Exactly. So anyway, i pulled up to the curb and offered her a ride. She got in the car and then, then,” I let out a few more tears, “I asked the inevitable question, and it turns out that he was cheating with me!” i cried harder; Holly pulled me to her again and rubbed my head, but I was too upset and wound up to be comforted. “I knew he was a ashamed of me! No one would want a berserker like me for a girlfriend.”

“hey, hey now,” Kaylie objected, “sweetie, no. He’s just a jerk. Any real man would be lucky to have you.”

“Yeah,” agreed Spencer, “Thats always been my attitude.”

I gave a half smile, “Spence, how’s that working for you?”

She flashed me an ironic smile. She had recently dumped her long time boyfriend and potential soul-mate Jacob. Frankly, she was pretty broken up about it. But it was time, she was headed to college and things had to change. “Nice, nothing like a punch in the heart.” She poked me with her index finger to let me know she was kidding.

I continued my soliloquy, disregarding Spencer’s playfulness, “I just realized that I’m not the kind of girl who never gets the good guy, you know?” I could feel myself becoming weepy and whiny but i continued, “I mean, i’m the psychopathic poet girl with the crazy roller-coaster emotions. I just feel like to get a guy to actually want me to be his girlfriend I would have to be a different person.”

I sniffed again; Holly handed me another kleenex and hugged me tighter, like by fusing me to her chest she could take away all the tragedy.

“Could he really not own up to the fact that he wanted to be with me? Was i just his exotic pick- he was bored with his barbie doll girlfriend- he wanted a change of pace, though a nice english major would do it?”

“Listen, Florence,” said Kaylee, running her fingers through my hair, “Whatever his crazy notions, he was a douche bag who didn’t deserve to be with you, okay? Now before you totally melt into a pile of tears and kleenex, we’re going to get you what you need.”

In what seemed like a matter of moments i was shuffled into my favorite green sweatpants and fuzzy slippers and given a polka-dot blanket to hug. Holly situated me on Kaylee’s bed. Kaylee ran around our two rooms collecting junk food: reese’s, pop-tarts, grapes, candy corn and, inexplicably, caramel flavored marsh-mellows that Holly’s mom had sent her. Extra boxes of kleenex had been produced. Spencer started a sappy romance movie- Remember Me. We all curled up, my head in Kaylie’s lap, on the bed. In short, my friends had rescued my from my hurricane mind. Things were looking up until it was to the point in the movie where Tyler said “If you could hear me, I would say that our finger prints don't fade from the lives we've touched.” when I broke out into sobs all over again, like Niagara falls had just relocated itself into my eye balls.

Kaylee quickly paused the movie on Holly’s plasma tv and screamed, “ICE CREAM RAID! Time to call the boys!”

“Kaylee, is that a good idea?” cautioned Holly. Kaylee cut her eyes to me and back and gave Holly a significant look. Spencer jumped up. “Of course it is! We won’t get caught.” Holly sighed her consent.

“Yay!” Spencer whooped, leaping to her feet. Instantly Kaylee was on her phone, calling the boys to meet us outside the cafeteria.

“Hey, baby,” Justin pulled Holly in for a tight hug and a quick kiss on the forehead before asking, “Whats the special event?”

We only risked breaking into the cafeteria after hours to get ice cream with good reason. Ian and Bruckman ran up behind Justin. Bruckman let out a loud whoop. Bruckman’s name was Charlie Bruckman, but everyone either used his full name or just called him Bruckman.

“Florence found out Aaron was cheating on her so she dumped him.” Spencer explained loudly, speaking very fast, unable to hide her excitement. I snickered in spite of myself at her enthusiasm. We crouched behind the back of cafeteria, the warm darkness swirled around us and the edgy excitement seemed like electricity in the air. The dumpsters to our backs, we faced the empty kitchen. Kaylee stepped on a stick and squealed in surprise. “Shhhh!” Ian clapped a hand over her mouth. She promptly bit his finger. “Ouch! You irritating little- man! That hurt!” Ian shook his head and stuck his finger in his mouth to suck on it. “Runs in the family.” Kaylee chirped back, smirking at him. Ian was Kaylee’s twin brother. The Cioffi twins were always making jokes off one another, like our very own comedy act.

One of the things i never could get the hang of was how when hanging out with my friends, even when i was sad, i couldn’t quite be fully sad. I’d known them all for a little over a year- when we met at freshmen orientation- and they had become my best friends. Holly, Justin, Ian and Kaylie all came up from Atlanta. They had been friends since grade school. Bruckman also came from Atlanta, but he hadn’t joined their group til late high school sometime and Spencer was from the Atlanta area too but she hadn’t really gotten to know the rest until college- she was from the suburbs. Somehow I, a lost crazy girl with a ramshackle family from Saint Louis, got adopted.

“Come on! Give me a boost over here!” Spencer hissed, motioning to the guys. Her hands were clasped before in in the shape of a gun. She hummed the Cops theme music. Ian and Bruckman, who were the tallest, hoisted Spencer up until she could reach the high window in the back of the kitchen. She unfolded a paper clip and shoved it in, twisting the rusted out lock on the window. She was the one of us who had been a partier in high school; she was the one who would know how to do stuff like that.

“Aha!” with that Spencer slipped cat-like into the kitchen, landing on what i knew to be the industrial metal counter next to the huge sinks. There was a scuffling noise and a thunk and then the sound of a lock being turned and the back door to the cafeteria opened. “Come in, come in, my good sirs and ladies.” Spencer drawled, in a horrible English accent. Kaylee giggled and aimed a friendly kick at her.

We all tumbled through the kitchen and into the cafeteria where the ice cream freezer was. Holly produced two large bowls and Justin grabbed the serving spoon. “What flavors?” Instantly mayhem ensued.

“Put some of that chocolate chip in the girl bowl!”

“No, no, get the peach!”

“Ew, gross, not mint!”

“No, no, don’t listen to him. Yes to the mint!”

“More of that, thats the ticket!”

Then, finally, “Shhhh! We’ll get caught!”

That quieted everyone. Kaylee stepped on my foot and i whimpered and elbowed her.

“Okay. there. Lets get out of here!” Justin said, carefully putting the freezer lid back and replacing the ice cream scoop.

We grabbed one another’s hands, creating a squirming, giggling snake, and ran back through the cafeteria and into the kitchen, smothering whispers and laughter. Spencer and Justin let everyone out the back door and locked it. Me, Kaylee, Holly, Ian and Bruckman scampered to the high back window. We waited as we saw Spencer’s head appear through the open window, propelled by Justin- who was the most limber and little of the guys. Spencer shimmed her way through the window. She was thin and dark and seemed almost like a ninja or thief as she did. She was followed by Justin who was not ninja-like and who landed with a loud thump and crack on the ground. He groaned as Holly yanked him up. “Shh!” she warned. “I think I’ve broken something.” he moaned.

“What?”

“Like maybe all the bones in my body.”

“You big baby.” Holly smiled fondly and kissed his shoulder.

Bruckman and Ian held Spencer up as she expertly locked the window again. “Go! Go! Go, Go GO!” Justin growled, and gasping and squealing we ran like fugitives fleeing a prison cell.

We collapsed, panting on the front steps of the girls dorm. Holly and Kaylee were holding the contraband. Kaylee, dusted herself off and said formally “My good sirs, here is your most excellent prize.” She gave a clumsy bow and handed one of the plastic mixing bowls to Ian. “Why thank you my most dearest dear sister.” Ian responded, cuffing her playfully on the head with the palm of his hand. I rescued the bowl of ice cream from Ian just in time as Kaylee jumped on him. They began to roughhouse, like two puppies tousling over a toy. I laughed and turned to Holly and Spencer. Justin’s arms were around Holly, holding her close to him. I suddenly felt alone.

The image of Aaron standing there in the coffee shop looking totally flabbergasted and miserable. His blue eyes. His bad haircut. that blue v-neck, would it ever leave my mind? I felt hot tears boil up behind my eyes like a pot on the verge of spilling over. Spencer slid up next to me and wrapped arms around me. “Don’t worry about it.” she whispered in my ear. I caught her eyes and she winked at me. Its funny how you never know what will help. Spencer kissed my cheek and said, “Besides, if you’re ever lonely, I’m right here.” she gave me a mock-seductive look. “Well, in that case,” i grabbed her butt. She laughed like a hyena. Then she sobered and said “Come on, lets get out of here.”

At that moment Kaylee screeched “Ouch, ouch! mercy, Ian, mercy! let go!” We all spun around. Ian had Kaylee in a headlock. But they were both laughing. Spencer let go of me and yanked Ian’s arms off of Kaylee. “Alright you ruffians, take your ice cream and be gone. We’ve got a girls night to continue.” she shoved Ian. Holly handed a bowl to Justin and kissed him good night. “Get off with you.” she said, her eyes sparkly and bright.

Kaylee took a cannonball type leap onto Bruckman. “Night, you crazy girl.” Bruckman rumbled. Justin and Ian gave me one big group bear hug. For a brief second i was suffocated in a tangle of arms and chests. It was wonderful, the close smell of guy. I could smell Old Spice on Justin. It made a lump appear in my throat but not exactly in a bad way. “Good night.”

“Night”

“Good night yall.”

“Nighty night!”

Kaylee grabbed my hand. “Come on. Come ON! its time for more girly movies!” Clasping hands we drug one another up the steps and into our dorm room. the four of us spilled into Holly and Kaylee’s room, laughing helplessly.

“I think we need to watch some Sky Dancers!” exclaimed Kaylee.

“What? Noooo!” Spencer shouted in pretend horror. “Anything but that! Its terrifying.”

Holly put on a serious face, stuck her thumb in her mouth and said, “My mommy says I’m not old enough to watch Sky Dancers. I might have nightmares.”

It was very late by the time the four of us were fast asleep in a heap on Kaylee’s bed, an empty ice cream bowl on the floor.

Chapter Six: Slipping

You ask me about regret? Let me tell you a few things about regret, my darling. There is no end to it. You cannot find the beginning of the chain that brought us from here to there. Should you regret the whole chain, and the air in between, or each link separately, as if you could uncouple them? Do you regret the beginning which ended so badly, or just the ending itself?

-White Oleander.

It is raining. Numbly I unlock my door room. My roommate, Andrea, isn’t there. I drop my houndstooth clutch on my desk chair and sink down onto my bed. I curl up in the fetal position, hugging my pillow. I am alone. Alone is good; Alone is the one place where I can go to pieces, where I can finally let my facade. I lie, unmoving. Aaron. He hadn’t wanted me. He had wanted her.

For eight months i had thought that maybe he had seen more than I could in me. I, who never opened up to anyone, I, who was just a girl hiding behind the distance in her eyes. I miss him, each slow, throbbing second. I stare at the ceiling. Blank. Its all blank. Blank paper, blank me.

My phone rings.

I don’t move.

It rings over and over again, shattering the disconsolate silence. A tear slides down my nose and lands on my baby pink quilt.

It was some time later when couldn’t handle the blankness of the ceiling. They say tears are healing, but for me, i find that they just burn the wound.

Tears blur my vision- I can no longer see the emptiness of the endless ceiling and I pull the covers over my head to block out the nothingness. Somehow I fall asleep under there.

My phone is ringing. Its stuffy and stifling under my blankets. I yank them off my head and scramble for my phone. Its Aaron. I stare at his name, illuminated blue on my screen. On the very last ring, I answer.

“Yes?”

“Look out your window.”

“What?”

“Just go look.”

I obey, leaning over my desk to look down. Aaron is standing on the grass outside. He is holding pink tulips. My heart breaks as I spin down memory lane.

“Yo, Amy? Theres this, like, dude throwing rocks at the, like, window.” It is the week before finals and my demoniacal roommate had been in our room more than i appreciate.

“What?” I look up from my sociology notes- which i was color-coding with highlighters- Andrea is leaned over the desk, peering out. Her hair is black and purple today.

“Theres this like, guy. Its that kid Aaron Carter, the one with that, you know, like, haircut.”

I claw my way from out behind my stacks of notebooks and study guides. Even though it was December third, i fling open the window.

“Amy!”

I smiled, he had taken me out last weekend- he has the most beautiful eyes.

“Listen, I was wondering,” his hands are in his pockets and he swings his head to the side, getting his hair away from his magnificent eyes. “Would you like to go out with me, as my girlfriend?” My jaw falls open. Date him? I had only one other boy ever. His name was Curtis and we only dated for like six weeks. I had dumped him easily. I don’t let people get close.

“Yeah, alright.” I agree.

His face breaks into the most heart-melting smile.

“Then come down!”

I give an uncharacteristic giggle, nod and close the window.

“Romeo, Romeo, where art thou Romeo?” Andrea quotes sarcastically. I don’t listen to her and instead I squeal and jump in a circle. The thing about Andrea is that she is kind of creepy. We get along because she is as obsessive about cleanliness as I am, but beyond that we’re nothing alike. She’s dark and believes in seances and devil worship. I’m a bubble-gum type ballerina.

Andrea raises her eyes in disbelief at my outburst, “Cheerleader much? Are you, like, gonna go in that?” I look down. I’m wearing my pink stripy nightie. I dash to my closet and riffle through my color-and-season co-ordinated closet and change into an apple green sweater and a lacy mauve skirt. Yanking on my tan ugg boots, I glance in the mirror. Oh dear. I run a comb through my blonde hair and spray myself in perfume. Andrea makes gagging sounds. Pulling on my pea coat I scan the room for my purse. Andrea helpfully points to the floor beside my bed.

“Thanks!” I yelp and I spin out the door.

Aaron folds his arms confidently around me.

“Hey there, you smell good.” He smiles and playfully sniffs my hair.

“Oh, I do? Thanks.”

We take a long walk around campus. It is cold, but i feel warm. For the very first time I had a boy who was all mine, mine and no one else’s. I yearn for him to know me, inside and out. I talk and talk that night, we hardly noticed when the first rays of dawn begin to pierce the sky, like fingers reaching upward to wave good morning.

I blink, recalling myself to the present.

“Come down!” Aaron calls, “Please, just give me a chance to explain myself.”

I fold my arms and scowl at him.

“Look, Amy, I was stupid. I was wrong. I screwed up big time. I don’t deserve you, and I know that. That other girl she means nothing to me. She’s not like you.”

Knowing better, I lean out the window, giving him my attention. A window a couple down from mine opens and a girl from my developmental psychology class sticks her curly head out.

“Give the kid another chance!” This piques the interest of a group of upperclassmen who amble over and watch.

“Amy, you are an angel that I’m not worthy of. You have the power to make me better. I’m lost without you, sweetheart.”

“Be nice!” a guy from the basketball team shouts.

“Go out with him, honey!” yells a girl walking along the sidewalk.

My heart is pounding and my throat goes dry. All these people.

“Please, Amy, my beloved Amy,” Aaron gets down on his knees, “Save me. I’m no good without you, Amy. I’ll change for you. I can be anything you want. Just come back to me, my Amy, my love. Take a chance, just one more time.”

Hot tears leak out of my eyes. I put my hand to my mouth. My heart feels like its being ripped in half. His words, so persuasive. A shudder tears through me like a blast of icy wind. I can see his blue eyes, sorrowful, repentant.

Blue eyes will lie to you.

“Just go away, Aaron.” For the second time that day i turn away from him, away from those cold, lying blue eyes.

Dear Aaron,

Screw you. I’m angry. And I’m angry that I let you get close enough to me to make me angry. I want you so much it hurts. And pain makes me angry.

You should know that, you were there when i dislocated my knee at dance practice. You should know better. Pain makes me angry. Anger turns me into a bitch.

So, yeah, screw you.

Amy

Chapter Seven: In Which the Blue-Eyed Boy with a Bad Haircut I Used to Love Further Proves Exactly How much like a Flipping Elephant He Isn’t

I just a need a bit more time. Wanna hold you in my arms tonight. I can't forget those bright blue eyes. Can't forget the moment they met mine. Please turn back the time.

~Dear Juliet ‘Turn back the time’

Greeting monkeys like darling pumpkins. Where did that come from? I was losing it. It had been three days. Tuesday. It hurt. Each day that he didn’t even try to get me back hurt. I had been forgotten. the seven months were gone. I was his fling, his little naughty fix. They say an elephant never forgets. Aaron was no elephant. Maybe I was a mouse, and he was scared of me.

i wasn’t making any sense anymore.

I sat in my Linear Algebra class flagrantly disregarding Dr. Allen’s lecture. My notebook was open and I was writing. I was too upset to write formal poetry but I had to write or i would totally fall apart.

I always said I was just fine on my own, but now I stand here without you and I can’t move, frozen. The room around me gets bigger and bigger and I get smaller and smaller. I’m too small. I slip on a dime. The walls loom like mountains above me. When I offered you my tiny, simple heart, you stepped on it and walked on by to a girl with butterscotch hair and dimples. I snatch my crumbled heart from the ground; it fades to dust in my fingers. What will I do without my heart? I am tiny, so very tiny- invisible. How do you say goodbye to the one that made you alive? I’m still breathing but you’ve killed me. I’m lying here on a stretch of paper I can’t fill. I can’t lift a pen. Paper is a lake that I will drown in. Ink drips down from the hole where my heart was. It spills down my dress, spreading dark stains. I crawl, leaving a trail of ink. there’s no way out of the nothing. Its just paper- a sea of paper.

“Miss Florence, you seem to be working very hard over there,” Dr. Allen said, snapping me out of my poetic trance. “Writing anything you’d like to share?” Did I mention that I hate Dr. Allen? I hated him with the same passion that I generally reserved for cucumbers, badly-written novels and ex-boyfriends. Walking over to my desk Dr. Allen grabbed my notebook and began to read what I had just written, aloud.

“I don’t like elephants!” i screamed, standing up I snatched my notebook up, gathered my books and stomped out the door without another word.

I collected my temper and my sanity in a tree. I spent most of the day up there. my hands had ink on them. I had sat twisting a pen in my hands, trying to sort through the inane levels of emotions in my mind, and before i knew it, the pen broke, just like my heart, ink dripping all over my hands and my blue skirt.

Ink Smears

I am surrounded by words, yet i save none for myself.

I give of my soul, filling my heart with pages and books.

Ink splatters from my eyes, tears of black.

Am i a girl, or am i a story?

Line after line, i write away my life.

Paper thin, and paper frail, my binding peels away.

I have no room in my bookshelf for me.

Where is the girl? For i am a story.

I am a mystery, a murder mystery, the girl is gone.

I am a romance, one that ends in tragedy.

I am a poem made of rainfalls and blank paper.

There is no girl, I've become a story.

The day turned to evening lazily, the sky turning grey and surly with storm clouds, like the sky saw my stormy mind and mimicked it like a mockingbird. Then, like a faucet being turned, it began to rain. I stuffed my notebook deep into my messenger bag, clutching a copy of my poem. All of the sudden i needed to see Aaron. Everything i knew about break-ups screamed that it was a bad idea, but i had to see him. Disregarding the rain completely i walked to my car and got in. I could feel that i wasn’t blinking as much as i should be but i couldn’t seem to do anything about it. the rain hit the window, like a stone, each drop thudding heavy on my heart. I had thrown reason right out the window along with responsibility and with that i turned off campus and headed to CC.

The way you kiss me, the way your arms folded me up. I never thought we’d end. I never knew what nothingness would follow. How can you forget me? Each smile, each walk, hand in hand. I let you have my heart. How could you let go of that? You dropped it and it blew away in the wind, like the seeds of a dandelion, all my wishes and hopes fluttering away, out of my grasp. Each moment was so precious to me. Were all of those hopes and dreams one-sided?

Metaphors swirl through my mind, each more dismal and poetic and inane than the last. I’d always loved metaphors, but now the only ones in my mind were full of darkness and rain.

As i eased my rusted, creaking car onto Campbell College’s campus it seemed to start raining, if possible, harder. I parked and dashed into the torrent. Huge heavy droplets hit me hard, like stones of judgement being thrown. I ran towards Aaron’s dorm, somehow just figuring he would be there. I shoved my way past a group of math geeks and into the lobby. without even a pause to catch my breath i mounted the stairs to the fourth floor. Skidding in my soggy converse like a rolling desk chair on ice, i nearly careened into a wall, stopping myself with my palms and further crushing the pulpy poem in my hand. My hair was a weeping willow mess on my head. Aaron had to know, I was losing myself in my ink and paper.

“Aaron! Open up! Right now! Aaron! Open this door right now!” I pounded the door, and tried the handle. it was unlocked so i swung it wide open. There was Eric. No Aaron.

“Where’s Aaron?” I demanded like I was a SWAT leader and Eric a witness.

Eric took in my dripping, raging appearance and swallowed. I looked scary. “I think he’s down at the student center.”

I didn’t answer him- I was already running, like a girl who’s very life depended on speed. Maybe my life didn’t, but my sanity did.

“Aaron Benjamin Carter! You have some explaining to do!” I yelled at him with the force of a football coach as i stormed across the student center, immediately grabbing the eyes of the clusters of students on my way past, like I was a magnet and their eyes were paperclips. The whole room had gone silent, everyone waiting and watching.

He turned in his seat, latching his blue eyes on me. “Florence!” his voice cracked in his astonishment.

“No.” I ordered, “Don’t say a word. You’ll twist this around. You’ll say your sorry and want another chance or some ridiculous claim. I shan’t believe a word you say. Listen!”

I didn’t even know what i was feeling. It was rage and disappointment and bitterness all crammed into one tidal wave that i was drowning in.

“You screwed me over, Aaron! I’m not looking for an apology, because your words aren’t worth anything, anything at all.”

I saw Aaron wince- he knew exactly how much words meant to me, and how acutely i was feeling to say that.

“You let me fall in love with you.” I accused, “You kindled my poet heart and made me a fool for you. But no more. I’m saying goodbye.”

It seemed the whole world had slowed down. I dropped my soaking poem, bleeding ink, onto the little round table he was sitting at. The world in slow motion. The eye of the hurricane.

“Whats this?” he said, looking at it with distaste.

“My heart.” I replied and I walked away, without looking at his face, i didn’t think I could handle seeing his blue eyes. I clenched my teeth to keep my chin from trembling and i walked with my head high like a princess on her way to exile. And I almost, almost made it out with some dignity- but who should walk through the door just as i was making my dramatic exit but the little blonde barbie who was, apparently, a better catch then me. I would never be as neat, as flawless and sweet as this little pixie stick. So i did something that little neat, flawless, sweet, pixie-stick girl would never do. I stopped, looked at my wet, inky hand, then i looked at her standing, gawking at me with her huge eyes. I took in her vintage, white eyelet blouse. A smile of the most malicious and sinister kind crept over my face. I took my hand and smeared my palm straight down her front- from collar to navel. The little chickadee gave a shriek like a cat with it’s tail stepped on and froze, staring transfixed at her once impeccable shirt.

“Nice seeing you too.” I smirked, a look of vengeful triumph on my face. I pretended to doff my hat to her and i sauntered out the door. Sometimes revenge just tastes good.

Chapter Eight: Weakness

I'm blasting my music so I won't hear my thoughts,

but it's stupid because the lyrics remind me of what I'm trying to forget.

~Anonymous

Quietly I close the door. The long full mirror and springy floor are beckoning me. Eager, I drop to the floor to pull off my street shoes; tears are rolling steadily down my cheeks. Pausing to wipe my eyes on the knee of my grey tights, I began stretching.

Satisfied once I can raise my foot above my head, I stand, ignoring the teardrops splashing down onto the worn dance floor. With one hand I start the music, the other I hold artfully above my head. The music starts, rhythmic and synchronized.

Ever since i was a little girl and I had taken my first ballet lesson i had loved to dance. I love the certainty, the order, the total control, the poise I have over my body. I love the repetition and uniformity. Ballet is one of the few things that i’ve stuck with throughout my life- and its the only thing i’ve ever felt passion for. Ballet is why i’m at CC anyhow- dance scholarship.

I tombé and then pirouette, finding the cadence of the music. Something about the precision, the total concentration that is at the same time, instinctual, dries my tears. Aaron can’t touch me here. Nothing can. I am grace- i am nothing but an embodiment of the tempo and flow of the music- expressing the emotions that the movement and melody direct. As Victor hugo once said “Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.”

As the track ends i fouetté rond de jambe en tournant, or, simply put, spin, until i tumble down on the dance floor, spent. The ceiling here above the dance floor doesn’t seem so lonely with my pointe shoes on my feet and sweat glistening on my skin. I stare into it- blank like my mind.

“What are you going on about? You’re ridiculous!” It is our first fight and tears are pouring down my face. I let out a wail.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t my fault!” I whimper.

Aaron throws his hands in air and growls. “You know what, I just, i don’t know, Amy, you’re smothering me.”

“Smothering you?” My voice is now strangled and quiet. The dead stillness between us frightens me.

“Yeah, you know, crowding me.”

“Are you,” i gulped, “breaking up with me?”

“Sheesh! No, Amy, no. Did you think I was?” Suddenly Aaron’s face is all concerned and he kneels down by the chair i was sitting in. My face is in my hands and i’m crying.

“Hey, hey hey, darling, don’t cry.” He pulls my hands away from my face and wipes at my dripping eyes. “Please don’t cry.”

Aaron looks so lost and unhappy that I stop crying. I give a shuddery sigh.

“You just got so angry.” I whisper.

“Amy, my love, Amy, I’m sorry.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

The door to the room opens, i sit up and turn to face the intruder. Aaron was before me, his hands in his pockets. Wordlessly his pumas tread across the same floor that had moments ago been my comfort, he lowers himself cross-legged beside me and gives me a small, pitiful smile. With his dishonest blue eyes piercing through me I suddenly feel naked and small in my black leotard. I tug at the low scoop neckline and pull my legs up toward my thin chest.

Just let me alone.

“Amy, I need to talk to you.”

I keep my teeth tight shut. Please, please go away.

“You can’t play silent forever.”

I can’t bear this.

“I still love you.”

A violent quiver racks my body- I’m shaking like a leaf in autumn. Aaron leans closer. I let out a sob and turn my face away.

“I’ve learned so much, I was a fool. And utter, complete fool to toss what we had away. I swear, Amy, I’ve changed. Seeing my life without you has made me realize how pointless it is without you.”

Painful tears are now dripping down my face. I take a great, shuddering gasp and say, “A relationship where one partner is under the impression he needs the other to be complete is a bad relationship.” I say it because it’s something i’ve always said. I say the words in a robotic monotone.

As I say it, a memory sears its way through my mind.

“I’ve always figured relationships are like a dance,” I explain, its spring, mid-april and Aaron and I are sitting on a bench in the clean sunshine. My mary jane’s don’t touch the ground and my feet are swinging freely back and forth with the fluctuation of my speech. “You can dance solo, but a dance is more beautiful and enjoyable when you’re dancing with someone.” Aaron smiles and draws me closer to me. “Exactly.” he says as he kisses my lips.

I give a little wail of frustration. We both know Aaron is gaining ground in my heart. I can’t do this.

“Alright, Amy, take another day, I’m not pressuring you. Meet me Tuesday night in the student center, okay? I’ll be waiting all evening for you.”

I don’t move or respond. i keep my eyes focused on the right corner of my left ballet shoe. My instructor once said, “When you feel you’re spinning out of control, concentrate on one specific point and turn towards it like nothing else exists. Keep your eyes on that point and, for all you know, there is nothing else.” She had been talking about my chainés turns but it seems to apply at this moment too. Aaron stands, kisses my sweaty hair and saunters out the way he came. I don’t move. My peace is shattered.

They say the first time you’re faced with temptation is the hardest. Once you’ve said no once that it gets easier each time. At least thats what they tell recovering alcoholics and druggies. I’m not on crack but Aaron seems close enough. Yet somehow, each time he comes to me on his knees, those brilliant blue eyes shining, the temptation to go back to him gets stronger, not weaker.

I am a weak person. Tuesday evening has come. I stand in front of my mirror in my dorm room, tugging at the white eyelet blouse I am wearing. I had put it on because it wasn’t very revealing or tight. With a pair of jean shorts and white flip-flops on, i still can’t decide if i am going. Staring deep into my own green eyes, my nose is inches from the mirror. What would i say to him? Did i secretly want him back? I tip my head forward, leaning my forehead on the mirror. I want him back, but i want him not to have cheated. I wanted him to find me beautiful and interesting. I wanted to be interesting and beautiful.

I slide down till i’m slumped at the foot of the full mirror on my closet door. This is a lose-lose situation for me, isn’t it?

Taking a deep breath i pull open the door to the student center, my houndstooth patterned umbrella in my hand, just in time to see Aaron’s other girl stalking away. Meeting two girls in one evening. Just how low could the guy get? I stopped short, my breath catching in my throat. Before i can figure out what to do, that crazy girl reaches me. Her face is red and she is dripping wet from the rain outside. The blue skirt she’s wearing has a black wet stain dripping down it. Her face displays the anger and betrayal i am feeling. Even now it is like she is everything i want to be- but better, more intense. She feels my own bitter feelings better. She gives a little resolute huff like a princess who is denied passage, and without warning, calmly smears her hand down the front of my shirt. I gasp and pull back, but its too late, this fascinating yet apparently demonic girl had slathered my shirt with what appeared to be inky streaks. I leap back like I’d been shocked.

What the heck?

Maybe she was made of ink. Maybe that would explain why she was so much better than me. Maybe ink girls are better than little blonde’s with nothing interesting to offer.

As she storms past me wordlessly, my eyes, swimming with tears, sought Aaron’s. He was half-standing over his chair, horror painted on his face. The door slams behind me and I break into tears and flee.

Dear Aaron,

I’m sitting on my bed now. The shirt your inky lover girl ruined is wadded up on the floor. Thats right, i left something not put away and organized. Go ahead and stare in shock.

I don’t even really know what to think right now. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to even go over there. Its like betrayal round one wasn’t enough.

Do you ever look back at choices you’ve made and think, holy crap I’m as dumb as a box of rocks. I do. I feel that way right now. I can’t get away from you. you’re everywhere, in my mind, in my heart and all over my room. You know that picture of us that i taped right above my bed? its ripped in two pieces and is on the floor with my shirt.

My heart is as torn as that picture right now

Amy

I sit on my bed, in my stripy nightie, suddenly exhausted. I numbly thumb through that notebook, not really seeing the words the fly past my eyes. Days and weeks and months of nonsense. Half-finished letters to my grandmother, old notes from classes I was no longer in, sporadic diary entries about Aaron or how I wasn’t very good at making friends. Near the front, i spy something i don’t recognize. Curious, i flip to it and read.

My Dear Mind,

Hold on to your anger. once your anger passes you will feel the pain. and its the pain that will break you.

I know its not fair to be angry, but the alternative is worse. he loves you still, after all that. And love is uncontrollable.

So run.

Run for your life.

Or the ghosts of the past will consume you and you will never get out.

Run from him. he needs you and you can't handle that. Take your anger and your guilt and flee. leave the ghosts behind. Leave your love. And i know he still has your soul, so leave that too.

All my love,

Your heart

It was in my writing and is dated at the end of last semester. I only faintly recall writing it. I had come home one night after having a fight with Aaron. I didn’t fully understand my words that night. I didn’t know why i wrote that.

Now I know. Because I need those words today.

I nestle down in my covers and read the letter my heart wrote to my mind over and over again until sleep takes me away from it all.

Chapter Nine: In Which I Decide that Death by an Overdose of Highly Sugared Coffee, Carpal Tunnel and Poorly Written Poetry is the Best Future for Me

She stood, in a room of crumbling plaster, pressed to the window-pane, looking up at the unattainable form of everything she loved. She did not know the nature of her loneliness. The only words that named it were: This is not the world I expected.

- Ayn Rand

“Florence? Hey, girl, please unlock the door.” Holly plead from the hallway.

Unwanted

Long ago, you used to play in my branches

I’m a tainted apple tree,

that no one comes to anymore

You used to climb my limbs,

sleep in my shade

But i’m a tainted apple tree

that no one comes to anymore

Long ago, it was spring

and you loved me

I’m a tainted apple tree

that no one comes to anymore

I blossomed and grew,

with your life as water

But now I’m a tainted apple tree

that no one comes to anymore

“Florence, I’m not kidding. I’m worried about you.”

Poems seemed the only thing holding me to this world. Everything was slipping. I was just a pen on paper, nothing more. I wasn’t a girl; I was a vessel created for the sole purpose of pouring emotions and tears onto a page. I was a hurricane, the pen was the eye of the storm, channeling everything down onto the paper.

The Opening

I opened my door at a sole knock

To greet the nightmare before me

Ragged in heart and mind

Torpid, this was no beauty.

Shattered reflections of a life once known

Stands weeping on the stoop

Broken, empty, angry, alone

Emotions beyond measure

Hollow eyes, cloudy with despair

Rain falling, pools of darkness

Dripping down lank hair

Pouring, drenching the soul

Icy cold rain numbs the mind

Of the haunted shadow standing

In solitude as if to remind

Those watching of the horror that befell

This tragedy awaiting punishment

In the desolate downpour.

No hope for such abandonment

There’s no chance for it to survive.

Pity weakens my spirit

I reach out to touch the forsaken,

Fingers brush glass, smooth, slick

I blink and the shadow is a mirror.

“Florence? Come on, please open up.”

It was Holly. Again. Why couldn’t she see I just wanted to be left alone? How was this so hard for her?

“I know you’re in there.”

Good one, Einstein.

“Please talk to me.”

Go away. Go away. Go away. Go AWAY.

there was a pause, then silence. yes!

Unraveling

Someday, i know, you'll stand there in the rain

Watching me walk away

the clouds rolling grey, like your emotion

As my echoing words say

"It was your choice

you made the mistake

this is your loss

That you'll regret forever"

Your ridiculous hair dripping into your treacherous blue eyes

As i turn forever from you

The night is unraveling, like your lies

There's nothing you can do

"You'll spend the rest of your life

with your thoughts remembering

I shall forget and continue

and find someone more a man than you."

A knock on the door again.

“Florence, it’s Spencer.” I heard the door unlock. An ugly sight must have greeted my friends. I was huddled in the back corner of my bed. I’d been there since i barricaded myself in the night before, french revolution style, begging Spencer to sleep in Holly and Kaylee’s room. World War three could have broken out and I wouldn’t have known. I’d been here since I was usurped by that slimy little popsicle for the second time. I hoped i had left a indelible mark on both her mind and her shirt.

I must have looked like a homeless bum. I was in the same clothes, they had dried awkwardly from the rain and wrinkled like an old woman who sun bathed too much as a teenager. My hair was tangled and in my face. A strewn carnage of candy wrappers and half-eaten granola bars attested to the absence of real food in my day. Crumpled paper decorated the floor and bed, along with tatty books that i had frantically searched for comfort, and, finding none, chucked childishly. It was the scene of the hurricane of Florence.

“Go away,” i mumbled, turning my face away, like a ship blown off course turning away from a lighthouse.

Spencer flipped on the light and i yelped and squirmed away from the brightness.

“Listen to me,” Kaylee said, “We’re here to help.”

Chapter Ten: Misfortune

It was something I'd been missing, that I'd been longing for without even realizing it. It was a s sense of family. That's what it was. My throat closed up, got so tight I felt like I might cry. You just get to missing that so much, that feeling of everything in its right place. You just feel that loss so deeply that you don't ever give it a name... You just never knew where you might find your kindred ones. Usually you just walk and walk among people who are not of your tribe, and then suddenly, there you are, in a place that feels familiar and known.

- Wild Roses by Deb Caletti

Dear Aaron,

I hate what you do to me. I hate the way my heart still burns for you. I hate how alone I am without you. Do you remember how we used to walk barefoot in the grass? How you used to pick me up and spin me around, like i was the most precious thing in the world to you? Now you’re gone. I want who I thought you were back. I want to believe in you again. When I look at you, I see the him- the man i knew. Were you just a fantasy I pretended to trust? Even these memories are an oasis to a fool like me. All I can do is look back at the man I wish you were.

Do you remember the coffees we shared? Or the way my tiny hands were enveloped by yours, how i loved the calluses on your palms, warm and rough? They haunt my dreams now. I wake up in the night, covered in sweat and shaking from cold and you’re nowhere. I check my phone all the time- anxious to hear from you, but each time you call I don’t answer. Theres nothing left for us.

Now I find myself sitting, heartsore, without you.

Amy

I can’t cry anymore. It is time for me to pull myself together and shove it in Aaron’s face. I am okay. All of this is his loss, not mine. I need to prove to him that I’m better off without him, that I’m good.

The trouble is that I need to actually be good to prove my point. I had always wanted to fall in love. I always wanted to have a crazy, kissing-in-the-rain romance. It was something I’d dreamed of and read novels about for years on end. Now that i’ve had one, I don’t want it anymore. They call it falling in love because in the end, you’re going to fall.

My roommate decides that Wednesday night is the absolute perfect night to perform some kind of creepy spiritual ritual involving a duct tape star on the floor, candles and incense. Thus, I’m taking a walk.

I’m realizing that maybe I’m really, actually kind of unloveable. No one ever wants me. And I think that because he screwed me over. I don’t really have any friends. Theres people who I sit with at lunch and people I talk to in class, but no one ever calls me asking if I want to hang out on the weekends or evenings.

If I really get honest with myself I think its because after I started dating Aaron I kind of didn’t bother to keep up the baby sprouts of friendships i had began. But that was a guilt trip I can’t face today, so I shove it out of my mind.

I scuff my ballet flats on the sidewalk. Unwanted is the worst feeling. The longer i walk, the more unhappy with myself i become. My own roommate kicks me out when she wants to contact dead people. I don’t know any dead people I would want to talk to but still, its the principle of the thing. No one really likes me.

Worthless. I’m annoyed that he even bothered. if i’m not worth his time, then who would give me their time and friendship? As I walk i feel worse and worse. Anger builds in my mind. I am on the verge of snapping. I want to do something dangerous, something to shove all of my unhappiness right back in Aaron’s face, to make him really sorry that he ever crossed me. I want to pour down wrath upon his unfortunate head.

Only, i’m not the kind of girl who does dangerous or crazy things. Ever.

It is as this moment that providence, or fate or destiny, or whatever you would like to call it, steps into my life and gives me a chance to let loose all my boiling feeling.

It is after dark, very late, and as I’m crossing a parking lot i chance to see Aaron’s black pontiac grand prix. More importantly i see four girls bearing wal-mart bags, crouched beside it, strangely enough.

Now, before i continue, i need to stress how important this car is to Aaron. It’s his baby. He loves that car. Its kept in pristine condition, a sleek two door beauty. I never got to drive it.

Cautiously i approach the huddle. Instantly i spy Aaron’s imaginative, artist girl. There was a slim, blonde girl with immaculate hair and make-up and clothes that hinted of french brands. Two brunettes, one is stick skinny and flat-chested with a nose-ring and the other is curvier and her hair is longer. They are dressed in all black, like ninjas.

“Um,” I clear my throat. They look up and freeze, thinking themselves caught. “Are you pranking Aaron’s car? Because if so, I’m so in.” I stand before them, trying to seem like i do this every day, like meeting up with people I didn’t know and joining them to help cause acts of vicious malice and revenge was my hobby.

“You’re Aaron’s other girl, aren’t you?” asks the blonde politely, looking up at me with huge blue eyes. I nod seriously. Her face breaks into a smile. “We’d be delighted to have you.”

I crouch down with them, still trying to look casual about all this.

“I’m Kaylee,” said the girl with the nose-ring.

“I’m Spencer,” said the sexy brunette.

“and I’m Holly,” smiled the blonde.

“Guess you should know, I’m Florence. Its interesting to meet you officially.”

We are sitting hidden between the parked cars, having exchanged names, they explain The Plan to me. “Now Amy,” says Spencer, “we’ve all written him cute little hate-notes, you need one too.”

“Yeah, but make it quick, I want to cause some mayhem!” Kaylee squeals, drawing the word ‘mayhem’ out real long, like a cattle call. Holly hands me a notebook. She had just finished writing hers.

“‘The ache of nightmares will haunt you, when you find yourself alone- as you are now- with no one who will trust you. You reap what you sew. ~HMB’ HMB?” I question as i read off her note in neat cursive.

“Holly Marie Bandelle.” I nod and try to figure out what to say.

Spencer cites hers like she’s saying the punchline to a joke: “Like a romeo you found her, and like a romeo you’ll die. There is no mercy for those who betray. Spencer Olivia Watson.” Spencer gives a manic laugh. “I left that for another boy, once, way back in high school. Man I screwed him over good.” she laughs again, a heartless impish laugh. I want to be the kind of girl with a cold laugh.

Kaylee grins and then deadpans “If dignity was money, you could maybe, buy a stick of gum. Kaylee Lynn Cioffi... only put your initials, we all did.”

My heart is pounding. Somehow this feels like a rush, like a sugar high. Is this giddy high why people do this kind of thing?

I take a deep breath and then in my neat, round writing, i print, “To dance solo is better than to dance with a partner who will let you fall. ~ AGB”

Florence gives a nod, “Lets do this!” Holly digs in the plastic bags and hands Spencer a wire coat hanger. She expertly twists the hanger around and begins to jiggle the lock on his car. Meanwhile, Kaylee and Florence begin unscrewing jumbo sized tins of sardines.

“Aha!” cries Spencer in triumph as the car door clicked open. She then claps a hand over her mouth to shut herself up. Holly and Kaylee both shush her playfully. I smile. They all seem so close, like pranking their various ex-boyfriends in the dead of night was an everyday occurrence for them. For all I know, it is. It almost makes me sad. I shake that thought away and focus on the next step of the prank.

Spencer crawls through the car and opens all the doors. Then we bombard the car and begin wedging slimy, smelly sardines into crannies of the car. Between the seat cushions, underneath the floor mats, in the glove compartment, in the dash- Kaylee even squishes a couple down the air vents. We try to get them everywhere, in places that Aaron wouldn’t be able to reach. We then leave a trail of them across the backseat to make him think that there weren’t extras hidden to prolong the smelliness for as long as possible.

“Great success, great success!” Giggles Kaylee as we all crawl out of the car. This is so strange. I’ve never intentionally made a mess before. We then leave our notes in the front passenger seat, nice and easy to see.

“Wait, Florence, don’t you have one?” I ask, looking over at her, hoping it was alright to ask that.

She grins impishly, “oh yes, I do.” She pulled an oversized poster board from another one of the bags. In beautiful bubble letters it reads:

“She was a wild thing- one you let slip through your fingers.

She’ll move on, but you’ll regret this forever.

She never needed a boy, but she let you in,

She’ll won’t make that mistake again.

Boy, you’re a fool, its obvious to everyone

Betrayal only leaves you nowhere to run

You’ll never break the same girl twice

She’s gone, but you’ll perish in fire and in ice.

~ FPH”

“Florence Penelope Highdrew,” says Florence as Holly grabs a roll of bright pink duct tape and they tape it to the back window of his car, in plain view of passerby.

“Part two, accompli.” Spencer snickers.

Kaylee closes the doors and Holly commences distributing rolls of plastic wrap to everyone. Just as we were beginning to envelope his car, Spencer goes “Wait! i have an idea!” She scoops up the fluorescent pink duct tape and slowly starts spelling out huge letters on the side of the car. C H E A T E R. I applaud softly.

“Okay. lets do this!” Spencer allows us to continue. We pass the rolls around in strips, across, back and forth, over and under, like we are stringing christmas lights; Holly meticulously swaths the wheels and bumper. It takes a surprisingly short time with five girls working together.

“Okay, the last, and bestest part!” Kaylee squeals. She seizes two extra-large bottles of spray on Elmers glue. I didn’t even know they made spray on Elmers glue. She hands them to Florence and I.

“Yall should be the ones to do this.” We do. I don’t even question it. I, who’s never pranked someone in my life, who always follows the rules and never causes trouble.

When the last can was empty, when rid ourselves of the evidence in the dumpster behind the girls dorm, I pause, uncertain about how to continue. I didn’t want to leave- there was something so fun, so carefree and close about these girls. It was like having friends.

Holly takes my hand, “Come on! Come with us.”

“To ladybug!” Kaylee cries. I don’t know what Ladybug is, but if its with these people that felt amazingly like friends, I decide i am game.

Chapter Eleven: In Which the Ceramic China Doll is Shatters and a Real Girl is Discovered to Have Been Hiding Beneath like a Turtle in Its Shell

Life is the ability to feel so happy, you think your insides are going to explode. It's being so upset or disappointed, you feel as if your stomach just dropped ten feet out of place. It's running so hard, you can barely breathe. It's the feeling of panic when you know you've been caught doing something wrong. It's having that sudden rush before you kiss someone you care about. It's opening your eyes and feeling them sting because you spent the whole night crying. It's letting people go because new ones come in, and all the while realizing that life doesn't have a purpose unless you let it.

~Anonymous

The five of us piled out of Holly’s white Honda CR-V that we fondly call Ladybug and flooded into Wilkes’s. Wilkes’s was this tiny sketchy pizza place. It used to be a little white house on the edge of the industrial end of Jameson City- the big brother town to Ivy Leaf. I doubted Amy had ever been here.

As we all sat down Holly asked the prevalent question “So, Amy, tell us about yourself.” I could see her freeze like a thief in a headlight. She shied away from the spotlight.

“Um, well, I’m from Ivy Leaf, born and raised.” she blushed. We were all silent. Each of us wanted to know about Aaron’s ‘real’ girl. Or maybe that was just me because I was eight shades of jealous of her.

“I go to CC on a dance scholarship. I’ve been taking ballet since i was five. I have a little sister who’s fourteen named Abby.” She stammered to a stop. “And, um, I don’t know what else to say.”

Kaylee shot her hand in the air like a five-year-old in a kindergarten class, bouncing around in her seat, “Hey! Hey! I’ve got an idea, lets go around and introduce ourselves and say stuff about us!” without pausing for a breath she launched right in, “Like, I’m Kaylee Cioffi, I’m from Atlanta. I have a twin brother named Ian. I love bright yellow and royal blue. I have two doggies who are my babies, Bellie and Teddy. I love to shop. I love life so much i feel like i could float away.” she placed her hands over her heart and beamed like a small child hoping for a pony for christmas. The gesture was so sweet and exaggerated that we all broke into laughter. Something about the smiling innocence in Kaylee’s countenance allowed her to be funny way more than was fair- like the way that everything puppies do are funny, even when its not. If i was to pick which of my friends was prettiest- not that i ever would because that would be entirely unfair and un-friend-like- it would be Kaylee.

Kaylee glanced at Holly, passing the focus. She smiled softly and began, “Well, I’m Holly and I’m from Atlanta too. I love swings and post-it notes and hot tea. I’ve been dating the same guy, Justin, since my senior year of high school. I’m an art major and I love to paint.” Theres something just coy and mellifluous about Holly. She’s always reminded me of a butterfly, soft and yellow.

“My turn!” Came Spencer in a sing-song voice, “I’m Spencer and I’m from the suburbs around Atlanta.” Though Spencer was from the more outer rim of the metro Atlanta, she was probably the most hard-core of us. “I love road trips and my sister Sidney. As to my major, I’m undecided- about everything.”

Everyone looked at me, “I’m Florence and I’m from Saint Louis. I have five siblings and I love poetry. I think the whole world is poetic if you just stop and look for it. I’m an english major and I’ve always wanted to be a writer.” the next words on the tip of my tongue were I’m a hurricane of emotion. But I stopped myself. No need to share everything with this little candy cane girl.

Amy smiled around at us, taking in all the information we dumped on her, like we were applying and she the employer. I wondered if she was feeling overwhelmed. Her sweet-tart face displayed no sign of emotion. Did she feel so little that she wasn’t feeling the uncomfortable animosity between us? I was determined not to bring Aaron up. If she didn’t then I wouldn’t either. But still, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in that mind of hers. At the same time I wanted to talk to her. Did his penetrating blue eyes haunt her when she closed her eyes? Had she hated his hair cut as much as I had? What about that blue v-neck tee shirt? Did she melt into butter the moment he strode up and took her in his arms?

I wandered if she was judging me as much as had been judging her. I wandered what she saw. It was obvious that I didn’t measure up to her adorable fruit cup personality. It was like comparing a fresh cupcake with pink frosting and a piece of cold, burnt bacon- no comparison at all. She was the kind of girl who ate salad and chicken wraps. I was the kind who loved pot roast, coffee and red vines.

At that moment our pizza arrived, disrupting my thoughts.

The conversation fluctuated between music and shopping- it was so normal, so pleasant. i could almost find myself liking this girl. But no, that would be too weird.

Chapter Twelve: Unusual

You see suns that never were and stare at skies that don't exist. You listen to songs that were never played and read books that were never written. And your mind is so beautiful and full. But I'm glad it's not mine.

~Anonymous

As I slip into my room so late that its early, I see Andrea snoring lightly, sprawled on her back. I change quietly into my blue nightie and wrap myself loosely in my floral throw. Settling myself on my bed so i can stare out the window, i begin to sort through all that had gone on this evening.

Firstly, i pranked someone, got revenge, got in the car with an almost-stranger, ate pizza and stayed out late on a school night. All of these are things I never ever do. But most importantly are my observations of Florence Penelope Highdrew.

I don’t know where to start with that girl. A quote from one of my favorite books worms its way to the front of my mind and i snatch it off the shelf next to my bed and retreat to my pillow, thumbing through to find it.

“I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.”

John Green wrote that in his book Looking for Alaska.

... If people were rain, I was a drizzle and she was hurricane.

The more i learn about her, the more I realize why Aaron would have picked her over me. She is fascinating. She is effervescent. She’s chatty, but quiet enough to be mysterious. The moment she told me she is a poet, i thought Aha. Of course. She was a whimsical, crazy, hurricane poet.

Why am i just a drizzle? What could i do to become a refreshing spring shower or even a thunderstorm? My mind draws circles on the back of my forehead, never ending the confusion.

Dear Aaron,

We’re not friends anymore. Thanks for making me realize what a crappy person I am.

Screw you, too,

Amy

As I look up from what I’ve written I am swarmed by memories. We had spent the summer out in Ukiah, California, his home. I wrote letters to my mama all summer.

“Come on! Don’t be afraid!” Aaron yells, waving me into the crashing ocean.

“But it will be cold!” I object from the shore. My pink bikini didn’t protect me from the chill in the western breeze. Aaron charges at me playfully and swings me over his shoulder. I scream and hit his bare back, pretending to be angry.

“Aaron! Put me down! No!”

He laughs his crazy laugh and plunges us into the water. I wiggle out of his grasp and try to dunk him.

Everything was easy last summer. And now? Now everything is as complicated as one of my grandmother’s knitting patterns.

P.S: Also thanks for me realize that without you I have no other friends. bye.

Chapter Thirteen: In Which Paper and Pen Help Claw Me Out of the Hole I Fell in, the Climb in Long and Slow yet, If I Write Long Enough, I just Might Prevail

Until you are no longer the pictures that chase me down a flight of screens each night. Until the the part of me that you first touched, forgets.

~Anonymous

It was Friday afternoon and I was curled up in the lobby of my dorm, which was also the lobby leading to the cafeteria. My feet dangled over on arm of the chair and I’ve pulled my hair up in a haphazard ponytail to keep it off the back of my neck. I felt like a cat, curled leisurely in an overstuffed armchair. Wearing my favorite green sweatpants and a tank top- I was the picture of comfort. I’d been there for some time, scribbling away in my poetry notebook.

Someone once said that the best way to get over a heartbreak was to turn it into literature. Well, I didn’t know much about novel writing but I was doing my best to mince Aaron up into poems.

Forgotten Storybook

Like a forgotten story,

You left me alone,

A book unfinished

Frozen like stone

In mid-sentence

You walked away,

Not sure what

to do or say

Left without punctuation,

not even a question mark

the blank pages, never-ending

alone in the dark

This forgotten storybook

overlooked now by you

lost in the a corner of cobwebs

I grab the pen to end it- adieu

I was trying to decide if I liked the last stanza of what I’d written, was ‘adieu’ really the word I wanted, even though it was french? Bruckman, big and quiet, strode up without my notice snatched my notebook from me and read what I had written. “Charlie Bruckman! You give that back.” I yelped playfully. He knew that when i was writing I was an easy target. The world all around me got real hazy when I wrote. Someone could rob me blind when I was working and I wouldn’t have batted an eye.

“Oh little Florence, this is good poetry. But you should not be so sad.” He tumbled down onto the chair next to me, like a big bear collapsing on the floor of his cave.

I looked at him with my sad face, my lower lip jutting out, my eyes round and mournful. I blinked a couple times in a exaggerated way and sniffed loudly to make him laugh. Then i sobered and continued,

“I know, Bruckman. But I never can keep a guy. There have been so many of them. Guy after guy who just used me to get in my pants, you know? And now Aaron cheating and all- Its just depressing, you know?” I sniffed for real and gave him a small smile.

Everyone knew that he was pretty much just waiting for Kaylee to want him. He’d been waiting for years. I wondered if he’d even ever had his heart broken, or if it had always been Kaylee and only Kaylee.

“I just have never been proven that anyone will love me forever. Theres never been a guy who wanted me for me- not my body, not because I was off the wall enough to make their parents mad, not because they were bored- but for me!” I slapped my hand down on the armrest. I gave a big sigh and slumped my head over onto his warm arm.

“Well, I’ll tell you a secret.” he said, flashing me a grin, “I’m in love with Kaylee.” I snorted- it was no secret, “And I’ve loved her for a long time. But she’s not ready for me. And I’m not ready for her. So we’re just friends. Florence, listen up, heres the secret part- and you can’t tell a soul. Some days I’m not okay with that. Some days i wake up and feel like punching something because I’m still alone. Somedays i want to grab Kaylee and shake her until it knocks some sense into her. But thats how it is. Thats love. Its hard, its crappy and its frustrating some days. Some days I fear that she’ll wake up and realize that she could have any guy she wants and that theres no reason for her to stick around with me.”

I had never thought about their relationship that way. I just figured that since Kaylee was happy to just be friends right now, that Bruckman was too. This was a big secret he was telling me.

“Some days i feel fed up with her- likes she’s playing games with me and i want to walk away. No love is perfect, little Florence. Keep writing. You know? you should write a book- a collection of poetry and thoughts.” Bruckman handed me my notebook back. Unfolding himself, he stood, tousled my already messy hair and said “Don’t worry your head about Aaron, silly, he wasn’t worth you. You’re too beautiful for him.” I suddenly felt like crying. this high praise from someone as quiet as Bruckman and it meant a lot. “Well, i’ve got to get going. Keep your chin up.” and he strode away without another word.

I hardly knew what to do. Bruckman’s secret irritations with Kaylee resounded in my head. No love is perfect, little Florence. No love is perfect. I stared out the window for a while, contemplating all Bruckman had said. He never had opened up to me like that. it was a lot to ponder.

Straight Up

Don’t spare my feelings

I need to hurt,

Pain is a relief

Because it means I’m alive,

I crave reality,

Even if it hits me hard

The sore truth,

Better than numb lies.

“Hey girl,” beamed Holly and she fell down onto Bruckman’s vacated chair. “I just got out of sociology class. Why an art major should have to take sociology is beyond me.” She caught the pensive look on my face. “I see Florence has her thinking face on. What have you thinking about?”

I gave a weird smile. I hardly knew.

“Do you really think its possible for two people to love one another forever?”

She smiled. She knew all about the long list of hopeless boys that had strewn my high school life like litter on the highway.

“I do. Justin and I have been together for three years and I can truly see me being happy with him forever.”

“But what if you didn’t have Justin, what if the was no Justin. You had no hope of ever becoming Holly Mason- what would you believe then?” I challenged.

Holly examined her perfect filed nails, thinking. her blue eyes slowly latched onto mine, her’s took my sorrow and mirrored it back to me. “I would still believe.” She said slowly, “I think people have to believe in love. Without love, humanity would have no hope. Those who don’t believe in love are those who fall and never rise again. Hope is the foundation of love. You can’t have one without the other.”

My lips parted. She really believed that. I lifted my notebook to my eyes, “Here, listen to this:

You left the window open on your way out

Never leaving through the door

This last time, once more

You left the window open, letting the chill in

You left the window open on your way out

Sneaking like a thief in the night

Had you been honest, i just might

Kiss your lips and keep you close

I never should have loved a man

who wouldn’t use the front gate

I saw you for what you were too late

You left the window open on your way out.”

“Did you just write that today?”

I nodded.

“You really have talent. And a love that sneaks away through a window is no love at all. Florence, i would submit to you that you and Aaron weren’t in real love. i know thats hard to think-” she put her hands out like a shield,

I cut her off, “No, you’re right.” I agreed, “If he had loved me as he should have, he wouldn’t have had a real girlfriend.”

Holly pressed her lips together in her sympathetic face. “Yeah.” I let out a sigh. Then i crawled over from my chair onto Holly’s lap. “You know that I love you, right?” Holly whispered, her fingers tracing little circles on my shoulders.

“Yeah, I know.” I whispered back.

“Just remember that we’re all here for you, and that its enough. Not all powerful and enduring love is the romantic kind. Thats just movies and romance novels talking.”

Chapter Fourteen: Lonely

This isn't me missing you. This is me missing the me I used to be. This is me missing the me you made me into.

~Anonymous

Dear Aaron,

It is saturday morning. A whole week’s gone by since we’re over. I get up. I go to class. I dance. I write you letters. I do my homework like an over-eager nerd. And I realize how boring my life is. And without you i don’t know how it will ever change.

I am certain that something has got to happen; something has got to give. I can’t stay this way. Now that you’re gone, i don’t know what will show me how to become a more than a light drizzle.

Its not that i need to be a iridescent pixie that whispers sonnets, frolics in rainbows and doodles daydreams, its just that I really really need to believe that I am worth someone’s time.

We both know I will never send this letter. Sometimes I wish i were bold enough to give you these pointless things. But I know better than to contact you. I am trying to convince myself that’s because I’ve decided not to talk to you anymore. But in reality, its because I don’t want to waste your time.

I’ve always loved dance. You know that. But suddenly the rhythm and repetition I delight in is convincing me that i, like a dance danced over and over, am monotonous. I don’t really have the words to describe to you what i mean. I’m not someone who can really express themselves- but then again, you know that. Take this letter, would you? take it and know that you’ve destroyed my heart.

Wish I were here,

Amy

Dear Aaron,

I hope you know that I am angry. I defaced your car. And i loved every second of spying on you as you discovered what Florence and I did. I loved the way you didn’t find out until late the next day after the whole campus had seen that we labeled you a cheater. I love the way it destroyed your reputation; now one will ever go out with you again- and you know it. I love how it took you and your cronies over two hours to peel that plastic wrap off your car. And even more I love that it took parts of that glossy paint with it because of the glue.

I love that your car is now sitting with all the windows and doors wide open, because you’re trying to eradicate that lovely old-sardine-thats-been-baking-in-a-hot-car-all-day smell. I love that I checked when no one was looking and saw that you haven’t discovered a lot of the better-hidden fish.

So all in all you would imagine things are pretty good. Strangely, they’re not.

Wish you the worst,

Amy

With a heavy heart i pulled on some dance tights and a leotard and go to the dance studio in the basement of the communications building.

I stretch leisurely, focusing my whole mind to the slow, methodical increase in flexibility. I breathe in, I breathe out. I grab my toes. In. Out. In. Out. Let go of my toes. The chilly air conditioning makes me shiver but i don’t rush my routine. Today is for concentrating entirely on dance.

I turn my music on, I pick a loud and fiery song. As the intro builds, I go, up, down, arabesque, coupé, petit saut. I could feel the pounding music flow. Nothing will stop me today. I lose myself in the beat, in my body, letting each move slide artfully into the next.

Before I know it, I’m dancing into my memories.

“Sweetheart, you were wonderful up there!” Aaron rushes to me after the recital. I am wearing shorts over my leotard and tights. My hair is pulled back into a ridged spinster’s bun; my face is painted heavily with stage make up. I fall into his arms for a close hug.

“Mmm! I’m glad you loved it.”

“I did, more than anything,” he handed me the roses he had brought, “these are for you.”

“Oh, they’re beautiful!” I squeal, “Thank you so much!” I kiss him warmly, leaving ruby red lipstick on his face. I laugh. The after-a-recital-high combined with my sudden rush of giddy emotions makes me feel almost drunk.

“Amy! You did so well!” my mama beams, hurrying up to me, my daddy and sister following. I notice that Abby is wearing one of my sweaters. I grin, silly thieving girl, I think fondly.

My daddy hands me a bouquet of carnations.

“Thank you Daddy,” I say and give him a big hug. Aaron wraps his arm around my little waist, a protective, fond gesture. I love the feeling of his fingers on my hip.

“I’m proud of you, Angel.” My daddy says, leaning in close to kiss my hair. I blush- though I’m certain it is impossible to see beneath the mask of make-up.

“Thank you, Daddy. I love you.” I pull out of Aaron’s hand and give my daddy a hug again. He’s a quiet sort of man and his praise means a lot to me. Then I retreat to Aaron’s familiar arms.

As that song ends, I land in an arabesque, my breathing heavy but in check. My skin is warm and tingly from the exercise. The next track begins, slow and sensuous, and my body begins to rise and fall with the notes, twisting me back into my memories.

I had been in the studio practicing long after class was over. But Aaron knew where to find me. I had stopped for a drink of water from my ever-present pink water bottle, when the door opened to reveal Aaron.

“oh, hey, honey,” I greet, my face revealing my happy surprise. “Sorry, i can be finished.” I say, gesturing to the dance floor.

“Don’t stop. Can I watch you dance?”

My face burns with sudden heat. I knew Aaron had seen me dance before at performances. But then the audience had been hidden behind the blinding lights and heavy mascara caked to my lashes. I couldn’t see his face, his expressions. I couldn’t see his shining brilliant blue eyes, piercing right through me, like they could see every flaw and every imperfection. I swallow and nod. With slow steadying breaths, I walk across to the stereo system and click through the tracks until I get to a slow, methodical dance- one that has me extending and displaying my form, like a flower unfolding before the crowd. It is supposed to give the impression of spring slowly wakening, the beauty of nature unfurling it’s first leaves.

The song starts and I am kneeling on the floor. With the strike of the music, one, two, three four, I begin to raise my right hand, my fingers in perfect alignment. Arching my back gracefully, I rise. My body tense and coordinated, I feel Aaron’s eyes on me intently. The music swells and I begin to flow across the floor, glissades sliding flawlessly into on another. I turn and extend my leg behind me, one hand reaching out before me, I lean forward until I’m in second arabesque. Then the rhythm leaps to live and I jete faultlessly. Aaron’s eyes have my cheeks flaming red. Does he think it’s beautiful?

I tour en l’air and I feel sweat begin to glisten on my forehead. Every move is poised and precise. I do all the many instructors I’ve had throughout my life proud today. Even the cabriole which always seems to trip me up proves no problem. I’ve never been so focused in my life, surely.

I know i have perfect control over my body. I know i’m toned and thin and lithe. Does Aaron think so? Thats what was important. Heat fills my body as he watches me dance my soul out before him. For me, this is intimate, as close as a kiss. Dance is the one place i l let my spirit out to play. I let down my walls of standoffishness. The moment I dance for him, he has my heart.

Chapter Fifteen: In Which I experiment with burnt sacrifices and Come to the Conclusion that Just Maybe Goodbyes Are in Truth Easy to Say But Hard to Mean

I can't stand him hurting me. I just can't stand him using me, but unlike him, I just can't walk away; I can't forget what we had. It's not that easy for me to let go of something that was once my life. I guess it actually mattered to me.

~Anonymous

Goodbye, then

Goodbye, then

Guess i won’t be seeing you

Goodbye, then

Since you don’t love me too

Icy solitude

No fights, or tears

No final kisses

Just me, alone in fear

Goodbye, then

you faded into dark

Goodbye, then

Reality is stark

Shut up.

Would my mind ever stop?

I was in Interpersonal Relations class and all i could do was jot down stupid poem ideas. I had always known that poets were crazy but I was beginning to recognize the depths of the truth in that common knowledge. The proof that it was true is that the warning signs of insanity didn’t stop me from writing.

It was the day our speeches were due and i was totally missing the chance to watch my classmates make fools of themselves- speech days were typically some of my favorites.

You know, somehow, in all of this, I was still waiting for my vision to pan out and a sad song to start playing, and then a montage of me being sad and then working through all this to play for about three minutes before my eyes. Music would escalate to a weeping sorrowful high note and then it would all spin around a couple times and land with me about a year older- conveniently startlingly pretty- and falling in love with a guy who looked amazingly like Gerard Butler ... i watch too many movies.

That won't happen. i have to go through it. i just don't want to. I want to curl up and shove the world under the bed and never look at it again. i want to be a little five year old girl and run to mommy and have her make it all better. Oh to go back to the days when the worst thing that happened to me was that my sister Cheyenne had stolen my toy, or baby Dublin had bitten me.

Where had those days gone? I remember that being eight years old seemed hard at the time, yet looking back all I can see is how simple life was. There was no structure, no deadlines, the only dishonest blue eyes were my brother Dallas’s. I had run free through the dirty neighborhoods of Saint Louis, oftentimes barefoot, clutching my sister’s hands. My heart was unbroken, no scars or tear stains. No faded love letters were scratched into it like graffiti.

I grabbed my pen and scribbled,

Graffiti

I wrote you in permanent marker

Stupid of me really,

Because the marker stayed longer

Than you did.

Does your own brokenness ever scare you? It scares me sometimes. I look around and see all the ruins of my heart, bleeding out ink and blood. I can’t really even find myself in the destruction. Where is that girl I was? The one running wild and free?

As I thought through all this, i was totally not paying the least bit of attention to the speeches. They were supposed to be about the way people see other people. Each of us were supposed to take that and then persuade people about our point. And suddenly it was my turn.

“Florence, you’re up.”

“What?” I stuttered, trying to wipe the blank and confused look off my face and regognizing a battle lost before it started. A few snickers rattled around in the room, like marbles in a box.

“Right-o, sir,” I said, trying to do my best to rally myself, “Just let me grab my notes.”

I scrambled through my notebook, frantically searching for my notecards. I clawed them out and stumbled to the front of the classroom. All at once twenty-five pairs of eyes were on me, like a fox cornered by two dozen hound dogs. I could feel my head reel and a wave of nausea flow up from my belly. I swallowed, feeling like a goldfish out of water. There was a stillness as the whole class watched to see what this crazy poet would come up with. Stalling, I glanced down at my notecards. People see one another relatively as they see themselves. they find and judge flaws that they themselves possess. I didn’t understand my own words.

I dropped my notecards, watching them flutter to the ground like leaves, took a big breath and started talking.

“People judge people on how perfect they seem. Yet, I'm pretty sure that i've realized that being broken isn't about falling to pieces and being less than you are. being broken is a state that comes from tragedy. But theres an acceptance that comes over time. A moment where that lonely girl can say "yeah, i'm broken. I've fallen. i've been used. But you know what? I'm alive."

Brokenness does not have to be someone's downfall.

There is something beautiful about the broken. A girl who's never been broken has never really lived. She sees the exquisite, the haunted and resents them because they have a past that she can’t fathom. When you’re willing to step beyond the plastic perfect, along with excitement and jubilation and those running-beneath-the-moon moments comes pain, comes brokenness, comes sorrow.

I could never want to erase the broken and scarred pieces of my heart because erasing them would be erasing each stabbing wound that has created me.

Being a girl with tear stains on her face, a girl with thread, family and a bit of chewing gum holding her heart together is okay- even preferable if the alternative is a girl with vacant eyes and a icy, perfect heart. The barbies of this world know that and they fear it.

If accepting one's own brokenness is the first step to healing and healing will make one stronger than they ever were at first, then how much stronger will the broken girl be in the end than the girl with no past?

In the end, the reason people are scared of brokenness is because it makes us unpredictable. Allowing others to see where and how you've been wounded is an experience that is too open and humbling for some. Its scary to those austere, watchful hidden people. Our culture is so wrapped up in things being perfect. But in trying to have perfect things, we have tried to make our people perfect- which is the most deadly mistake a society can make.

People who hide their injuries find themselves ashamed for the openness of those who are passionate enough to bare their souls.

Finding peace amidst the broken shards of your heart and being okay with the time that it will take to put it back together is a hard process. And sharing your healing, your brokenness, your emotions, with another is the closest you can come to true understanding. Thank you.”

With that I gathered my things and left class. All those hound-like eyes followed me down the aisle and out the door.

I walked right out and crunched that Goodbye poem and the Graffiti in my hand. I strode to Ian and Justin’s room. I knocked loudly on the door, like a tax collector or maybe the police would. There was a scuffle and then Justin opened the door. He was shirtless and wearing basketball shorts. His hair was wet like he’d just gotten out of the shower.

“Do you have matches or a lighter?” I said with no further explanation.

Justin saw the paper clenched in my hand. He nodded. After a search through the disorganization of his room he produced a mostly empty, squashed box of matches.

“Burn it like you mean it.” he said.

I just nodded, determination flaring in my eyes. They say that cauterization is a path to healing. I was about to prove that medical remedies could work on matters of romance as well.

Chapter Sixteen: Solitude

Is ignorance bliss? I don't know, but it's so painful to think. And tell me, what did thinking ever do for me? To what place did thinking ever bring me? I think and I think and I think. I've thought myself out of happiness a million times, but never once into it.

~Jonathan Sanfran Foer

Dear Aaron,

Its come to my attention that you have nothing more to offer than your blue eyes and your bad haircut. I am better off without you. Yes, you made me ridiculously, deliriously happy. So what? those dreams can be replaced, right? I don’t need you. I’ve got enough memories of your charming smile to last me a lifetime.

I’ve slipped through your fingers, have a nice life,

Amy

Dear Aaron,

That last letter? Yeah, I lied.

Amy

Dear Aaron,

I miss you. And even though my head tells me that you’re a loser and not worth my time- My heart still wants you. Its destroying me. I hope you cry.

Amy

As the next few days pass, I become more accustomed to my solitude, the void where Aaron used to be. It is like I’ve been living in the sunlight for so long now, and the sun is gone and I can’t get used to the cold darkness.

Yet strangely, i keep thinking of Florence and her friends, and how instead of seeming heartbroken and disconsolate she looked vengeful, and excited and totally ready to destroy him the way this is destroying me. I envy Florence, her confidence, her freedom.

What is she up to now? I find myself wondering that over and over. much to my surprise. Do her and her beautiful, interesting friends do crazy things all the time?

That afternoon I shock myself by hopping in my car and driving to the University of Gwyndolyn. As I drive onto the quaint, brick campus I chide myself- what the heck am I thinking? What am i doing here? I have no business here.

I park my sleek navy mercedes in the shade of a maple and get out, smoothing my blue skirt. Where would she be? This is a campus of barely a thousand students- surely someone would know. I walk up the steps into the library- the nearest building.

A gangly boy who with badly dyed blonde hair glanced up from behind the front desk.

“Hello, I’m looking for Florence Highdrew, have you seen her?” I swallow hard. My throat feels dry. I’m not one to do this sort of thing much.

“Florence? She sits in the children’s books room on the second floor often. Try there.” He gives me directions and I walk eagerly up the stone steps. Trying to be quiet, keeping my lavender ballet flats from scuffing, I scan the second story until i see a room with a sign saying “Children’s books”. Cautiously, i approach the door and peer through the wavy glass. The room was at an angle and i couldn’t see much more than some bookshelves. Squaring my shoulders, I push open the door and enter.

The one with the nose ring- Kaylee- is sprawled on the floor on her stomach, flipping through a history book. Holly the sweet looking blonde, is seated at the table, her laptop open, typing away. Spencer, the sultry brunette, is stretched across two chairs, fast asleep and Florence, the ever fascinating Florence, is curled on the wide window ledge, the windows wide open, reading a book.

They look up as one, as I step in.

“Amy! what a pleasant surprise,” Holly greets, giving me her honey-sweet smile.

“Um, hi,” i feel shy and awkward, like a middle school girl in the midst of these confident, beautiful college students.

“Come on in,” Kaylee invites, sitting up and patting a patch of the industrial carpet beside her. I laugh uncomfortably and slide onto the edge of vacant chair.

“What brings you to Gwyndolyn?” Kaylee asks, looking up at me, totally relaxed, as though I dropped by every other day. I shrug helplessly. What was I doing here?

Holly smiles gently as though she can see straight through me, “We’ll we’re glad to see you. We were just thinking of going and grabbing some ice cream. Its too hot to be productive for long. If you’ll give us a bit to finish up our homework, you can come along.”

I nod. Words seem to stick in the vast, scratchy desert of my throat.

“Have a book.” Florence hands me a book, the top off of a stack of battered, dog-eared novels piled beside her on the window ledge. The title reads Catch the Light. I flip it open to somewhere in the middle and begin to read.

“Nigh’ honey.” Says Drew smiling, his face was unexpectedly close to Robin’s. His thick southern accent made her smile. His iron grey eyes shining in the dim streetlight, trying to understand her. Robin cast her fathomless eyes briefly down, suddenly coy, “Night!”

Sam stood by the steps of his apartment, “You wanna come in for a bit?” Robin hitched her purse up on her shoulder and nodded, giving Drew a final smile.

As Sam and Robin walk up the path, Drew, walking toward his old rusty pick up truck, glances back, unable to not notice the way Robin’s butt swung back and forth. He shook his head, clearing it. It was a long time since he’d considered any woman as more than a friend. He could have kicked himself for making plans now that he knew she was going to be around the apartment he, Sam, Clarence and Perry shared.

I flipped a few more pages.

Clarence, Perry, Drew and Sam sat around in the cramped living room, a pot of coffee brewing. The smell of strong coffee wafted through the air, around the stacks of graduate school textbooks, around Perry’s X-box, all through the stuffy two bedroom apartment.

“Tell me more about Robin.” Drew said casually, not catching Sam’s eye as he asked, feigning nonchalance.

Sam leaned back in his chair and sighed “Robin, Robin, Robin. Where to begin. What hasn’t that girl done. She lives in the apartment across the way with her best friend from middle school.”

“There’s just something kind of irresistible about her smile.” Drew agreed. “Like a-

I flip again. Why did this have to be about romance? Why did Florence have to hand me a book about some sexy, feministic woman who probably screws all four boys before part two. I riffle through the pages.

Drew ran hard, his sneakers pushing against the pavement in the cool morning light. Shirtless, goosebumps rose on his forearms. He ran every morning and in the past few weeks his runs had been filled with thoughts of Robin Croft. The line of her curves, from cheek to the arch of neck, to shoulder. Her generous chest, the slope from waist to hip. the arc of her calves, muscled yet soft. Her eyes were a mystery. They promised answers to questions not yet asked. They lit with the light of the stars when she smiled. She was such an enigma. Drew didn’t even understand where the game began with her.

Unused to such a puzzle, he ran faster, as if he could pound her out of his head and onto the asphalt. But no, even the sweet sugary smell of her perfume, with that hint of vanilla, like a whiff fine wine, haunted him.

What was going on with Robin and Sam anyhow? Anything? He’d never seen them touch or give any indication of a relationship more than friendship. Yet Clarence talked of the plan. Which apparently was a long-term scheme of his to get them married. What was Clarence’s deal anyway? Would it be so bad if Robin was with him, Drew, instead of Sam?

Drew clenched his fist. Whenever he started to tell her how he felt he got all tongue-tied. Quiet by nature, southern by culture and country by personality he never had gotten very good at saying anything about how he felt. Robin didn’t seem like the one to fail with.

Now this is better, I think- at least one of the characters is feeling distraught. As my mama always says, misery loves company.

Sweat began to form on his forehead. How much longer would Robin be single? She had mentioned, just the other night, that she had dated a lot. Maybe her heart was taken by someone long ago. Maybe it was all useless. Some jock from high school held her heart. Or a studious college guy.

Even Perry was after her. Not that Perry had a prayer of a chance- he was too known as a womanizer to get a girl of any real quality. They all called Perry the Rabbit, a nickname that had blossomed over how fast he went through women.

What was it about this girl? She had just waltzed into their lives- four guys sharing an apartment. It made no sense. She worked at a hair salon just down the street. It was only natural for her to rent the apartment across the hall from theirs. It was even more natural for her to meet, get to know, and like Sam first. He was funny; he was friendly and open-natured; he was cultured and he loved books like a librarian- meaning that Robin took an instant shine to him. Drew loved books too- but he’d never been able to tell her that. Why was it that he was wordless at the worst possible times? Words crowded his head sometimes but then when Robin’s eyes graced him- speechless. He would have almost bet money that if he wrote out what he wanted to say, the moment he stood in front of Robin and looked at that paper, the paper would be mysteriously blank.

“Thats it! I’m done pronouncing this comp. paper done!” Holly closes her computer with a snap. “Ice cream anyone?”

I reluctantly close Catch the Light. Something about the complex of characters made me want to read more. Florence noticed my hesitation,

“You can borrow that if you like. Its mine, not the library’s”

I flip open the front cover and it reads “Property of Florence P. Highdrew.” and then below that, in a different pen, but the same hand writing read, “Dallas, don’t even think about pawning this one.”

Chapter Sixteen: In Which Poetry flows like Water from the Ocean of My Bleeding Soul, the Salt both Burning and Healing the Wound

Only because it's still so raw and real. Soon I'll just be a series of images that sometimes flash through your mind, when you least expect it. And after that, only a few will stay. Then, one. A memory of a memory.

~Anonymous

What god could have cursed me

that I’d care so much for you

Even though we both know,

You stray far from the truth

I hate the way you know my secrets

And the way I remember yours

I want you to want me

But that will never be so

And i know I need to move on

to wipe my eyes and stand

but you’re what gave me hope

and that hope is caving in

So in the end, who are we?

I’m weeping and alone

Have you even noticed

I’m so very far from home?

I read what I’d written. Somehow, each time i write out my pain, a little of my pain leaks out from my heart onto the page, like a slow, strange healing therapy. I wondered if this is what Holly felt when she picked up a paintbrush. I knew plainly that this is what Spencer felt with a bottle of tequila in her hot little hand- that silly girl.

I revert my attention back to my little notebook.

My little ink heart still beats for you

As I’m dying on the floor

a faint pitter-patter

like a kitten at the door

Ink rolls down my cheeks,

it drips down onto my hands

I try to wash away your memory

but ink just deepens the stain

I sat, hunched over my notebook, on the edge of the bridge leading to campus. Cars rushed past on one side, the water flowed, rushing to the sea far beneath my dangling feet. My feet were bare. As I ponder my words, i study the chipped red nail polish decorating my toes. I really should re-paint those.

The freedom i felt on that bridge, and the busy noise of cars felt reminiscent of the childhood I found myself pining for. That worn out stripy dress I used to wear almost every day came to my mind, floating like a ghost. I remembered sitting with my sisters, on a bench near the apartment, our little feet bare and swinging above the pavement. Ma always made sure we each had a pair of shoes that fit- but in the spring and summer months we avoided wearing them.

We weren’t beggars, sitting there on that bench, but with our hair in matted braids, our thread-bare dresses and bare feet, once in a while people would mistake the four of us girls for beggars and give us their loose change. The moment the kindly person had walked on amongst our chorus of “thank you sir!”, Cheyenne would divvy it up between us. Then we would race to the store across the street and buy candy. But sometimes, when times were especially thin, she would save it and once Ma and Da were asleep we would sneak it into the savings jar we pretended that we didn’t know about.

It was days like this, when I felt loneliness crashing down around my ears, that i really missed my family like an alcoholic misses a bar. We were a ratty bunch. Particularly back when I was little. We fared some better now- well enough to pay for Havana’s art lessons and had enough stable credit that my parents were able to help me take out student loans for school- with the expectation that I would be paying most of it back.

I realized I had been staring at my toes so intently that my eyes were watering. I blinked and shook my head. Then, realizing that i still had a pen in my hand and a notebook with blank paper in it, I continued.

Desolation

This is the pain I knew would come

These are the tears i knew would fall

I’m drowning in the solitude

I knew this was coming but i wasn’t prepared at all

I thought it was over, I could taste liberty

But at the sight of your picture

I find myself wrapped in your wraith again

I ache from this loneliness, where is the cure?

I wrote and wrote until my fingers and soul were utterly spent. Then I walked back up to my dorm and stayed near Spencer, Holly and Kaylee the rest of the evening. There are times to be alone, and there are times to cling to anyone who won’t shove you away.

Chapter Seventeen: Intrigued

Does it break my heart? Of course. Every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart was made of. I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent. I never thought about things at all.

~Jonathan Sanftan Foer

I turn the month on my calendar to September. Orange kittens gambol in green grass on the picture. Like my two cats at home.

Its strange how the days inch by. I had done so good keeping myself busy. I danced religiously. I’d even oddly hung out with Florence and her friends a few more times. But now, on this particular Saturday, I feel restless. My room, in immaculate order, doesn’t need cleaned. I cast my eyes around, looking for a diversion. My eyes land on the book Florence had lent me. I hadn’t opened it since then. I pick it up and thumb the pages thoughtfully.

Making up my mind, i grab my purse and the book and drive the fifteen minutes to my house.

I park my car in the driveway of our big victorian house and walk up the neat sidewalk. Pushing open the screen door, i step into our foyer. It was like slipping on a favorites sweatshirt- familiar and comfy. I sigh and I can feel the disquiet in me slip down and out of me.

We’d always been fairly, well, rich. Compared to dorm living, home seems so fantastically much better.

“Mama,” I called out. “Daddy?”

“Amy? Is that you? I thought i heard someone drive up.” I follow Mama’s voice into the parlor. She and my sister Abby are on the love seat, studiously working through Abby’s algebra homework.

“Hey there, honey,” Mama greets. Abby looks up, and gives me a smile- but i can see frustration at her homework on her face. Her hair is blonde like mine, but longer and it’s pulled back in a messy ponytail.

“Hey Amy.”

“There’s deviled eggs in the fridge. And ham from last night, if you’re hungry.” I shake my head.

“Okay, I really just wanted to get off campus for a bit.” I brandish the book Catch the Light like an excuse. “a friend lent me a novel to read.”

Falling into my old patterns, i wander into the kitchen, the big white cabinets, the glisteningly clean appliances. Taking a glass from the cabinet by the sink I stroll over and find a pitcher of sweet tea. Perfect. Adding some ice I pour myself a big glass.

“Mama, Abby? Would either of you like so tea?” I call.

“Sure, baby.”

“Yeah, that would be great.”

I smile and get two more glasses. My mind and body welcome the routine of the simple task. Meticulously I put four ice cubes in both their glasses. Then I carry them out.

“Here you go,” I say, setting them on the glass coffee table.

“Thanks,” they respond in amusing unison.

After fetching my own glass I settle myself on the window seat overlooking our manicured front yard and tuck my feet beneath me.

“Wait, so this angle is perpendicular-”

“Parallel.”

“Yeah, parallel, thats what i meant- they go the same way. I keep getting those words mixed up.”

“I know, continue.”

“So they’re parallel, which means that this angle is”

I turn my attention from Abby and my mama’s algebra lesson, thanking my lucky stars that I’ve already taken it, and open the book at random.

Sam leaned forward and gripped his hair, almost pulling it out. After that situation with Ella he had promised himself that he was done dating. Done with a capital D. Done, done, done. He had come so close to marrying her- He didn’t want to get himself in a mess like that again. And yet, even from the first moment he laid eyes on Robin he knew that this girl was like a diamond amongst dandelions. Her perpetual excitement and her pondering mind were like a puzzle that had been presented- one that he was determined to unravel. He’d always had a mind that strove to know things- now here was something that defied understanding. To Sam, Robin was the perfect challenge. What he wouldn’t do for that girl. Each time he was with her she was more mystery, more endlessly captivating.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come on in- the door’s open.” Sam called without moving from his spot on the couch.

And there she was, like a conjured sprite, tempting him, reminding him of all sorts of emotions he didn’t want to think of. Words like marriage, love, hope. He had lived in his pessimism for so long he didn’t want to handle the sunny optimism she burned him with, like a werewolf and a silver stake. He didn’t want to feel the tenderness, that romantic side of him that he had sworn off off.

“Hey Sam, I just got off work and I’m starving.” There she was, smiling, her eyes, even now, taunting him. In her black work pants and a white blouse, her hair was pulled up into a careless twist.

“Robin! Lets go get something to eat.” Sam stood and grabbed his keys and they headed for the door.

One thing Sam always appreciated about Robin is that she understood how to let a guy be chivalrous. She knew how to slow down as you approached a door to let a guy open it. She was a lady, somehow. She carried herself with poise.

At this point my phone rings. I hop off my window seat and dig through my clutch for my phone. I don’t recognize the number.

“Hello?” I say hesitantly, fully expecting a sales call or recording.

“Hey, Amy, its Florence. I have some bad news.”

Chapter Eighteen: In Which the Twisting Road of Life Stops Short and Throws an Unexpected Pothole the Size of Texas in the Middle of Everything

Don't you dare tell me nothing matters. Everything matters. Every fucking drop of rain, every ray of sunlight, every wisp of cloud matters. And they matter because I can see them. And if I can see them, then they can see me. And I know that there's an entire world that cares out there, hiding behind a world that doesn't, afraid to show who it really is. And with or without you, I will drag that world out of the dirt and the blood and the muck until we live in it. Until we all live in it.

~Anonymous

“Florence! Florence!” Kaylee raced into the lobby where i was sitting, doodling absently in my notebook, flagrantly ignoring my homework like it was a child throwing a tantrum and I, the mother trying the “you can throw a fit all day its never going to work” technique.

“I’m not interfering, I promise. I’m just warning you! Holly’s down by the library and she texted me and said that Aaron Carter’s car just pulled on to campus for absolutely no good reason!” then she giggled, “she also says that she knows because it reeks of old sardines.”

My eyes widened and i blanched. No. It had been almost a month. What, had he gotten lonely? All those hot CC cheerleaders abandoned him? What a jerk. I nodded and swallowed convulsively like a young soldier just before his first battle.

“Don’t you dare leave.” I glanced around, “Uh, here.” I chucked my nearest book at her- The Foundations of Poetry. “Read. And no matter what happens, stay with me.” Kaylee nodded like we were on a mission impossible and dropped into the chair next to me. “Doo doo doo.” I sang, hitting the SWAT theme music, trying to somehow ease the intense tension that coiled itself in my shoulders and up the back of my neck like a weed.

“Be strong girl. he’s got nothing to offer.” Kaylee said, I gave her a quick, serious, policeman-like nod. My teeth were clenched.

We both leaned down, faking intent studious action. My mind whizzed with possibilities- that and images of the NYPD. A few moments later- though it felt like several lifetimes- none other than Aaron Benjamin Carter waltzed through the door with a gust of air.

“Florence, oh Florence, there you are, I need to talk to you, honey. I miss you.”

I clenched my teeth together harder and didn’t look up from my notebook.

“I have nothing to say to you.” my voice was low and quiet, like a dog just starting to growl. Every muscle in my body was strained like a spring.

He stepped closer. What were the odds; he was wearing that blue v-neck. Instantly I decided that he must telepathically know that I melt for him in that specific shirt. I took a deep breath, failing entirely to steady my haywire emotions.

“Hey,” his voice was gentle and soft, like a lullaby, warming its way into my ears and head. “I miss you.” He repeated.

“You know what?” I said, my voice sharper than i intended, breaking the trance of his lulling voice, “No you don’t!” My head snapped up from my notebook like an angry cat. “You. Are. Just. Lying. To. Me. Again.” Kaylee winced next to me- her eyes fixated on the book in her hands. Like she was a frozen picture on the wall.

“If I was worth anything to you then you would have owned up to that and dumped Amy months and months ago! If you missed me then why did you let me slip away?”

I was standing now. My anger boiled, and i threw my notebook down with a snarl. it slid on the wood floor, a couple of the pages snagging.

“Get out of here.” my voice was dangerous. My eyes flashing like lightening bolts. If he had any sense at all, he would be afraid of me right now. I was scaring myself a little.

“I came to say I’m sorry.” he entreated, taking a wise step backwards.

“Its too late for that.” came the reply, taunt, like a bowstring.

“I messed up. I came to set things right.”

I couldn’t believe him. I couldn’t. “Set things right, huh? How about this?” I slapped him hard across the face. “Did the sabotage to your precious little car not teach you that I’m done?” I hit him again. He did nothing to defend himself.

“You will never be a part of my life again, okay? So go! Just go!” I stamped my foot, and now i was crying and I sunk down to the ground, shaking like a leaf in winter.

“Leave!”

And then Ian, Justin and Bruckman appeared and i noticed Kaylee had her phone in hand. Leave it to Kaylee to text in reinforcements.

“Dude, you heard the lady. Get out.” Said Bruckman in a cool voice, straightening our his broad shoulders. Ian folded his arms, his considerable biceps flexing beneath his grey tee shirt. Justin had his angry face on, which, albeit, wasn’t as scary as Bruckman’s or Ian’s- it was comforting all the same.

“You think you can tell me what to do, huh?” Aaron retorted. At this point I acknowledged that indeed i had dated an imbecile. Who riles up three athletic guys? Okay, two athletic guys and a class clown, Justin.

“Go, or this is going to get messy.” Ian warned.

My hair was in my face but I looked up at Aaron. He took a half step toward me and Justin stepped forward, nearly touching me.

“Well Florence,” Aaron said defensively “You can’t say i didn’t try.” and he left.

I let my head hit the ground. That was over. It felt like all the air left the room with him. Like i had been in a pressure cooker and suddenly I wasn’t anymore. Taking a big, refreshing gulp of air, I heard his car peel away from the curb with a violent screech. He always drove recklessly when he was upset. Idiot. In that car that he never would let me drive.

“Thanks guys,” I breathed, still panting. Kaylee slid off her chair to sit by me. “You did well.” she encouraged, embracing me in a hug. I nodded, “I know,” and proceeded to break into sobs.

Kaylee held me in her arms, rocking me back and forth like i was a fussy baby.

I don’t know how long we sat there, Kaylee holding me in her arms. I know people passing must have stared. But I felt save there. It reminded me of watching Ma rock Dublin, seven years my junior, when he cried. It reminded me of a time when things were straightforward, uncomplicated, a time when there were no broken hearts.

Chapter Nineteen: Abrupt

And yet, you still find one thing to obsess over. One form not filled in. One call not returned.

Obviously, this means your entire life has been a failure.

~Anonymous

I turn through the paper on monday morning, sitting in Holly and Kaylee’s room.

“Here it is. I can’t read it.”

Spencer takes it from me and reads:

“ A bright life snuffed out

Ivy Leaf Tenn.- Nineteen-year-old Aaron Carter was killed in a tragic car accident on Roan Street, just past the University of Gwyndolyn. Carter pulled out onto the road without stopping at the corner and t-boned with Dan Miller. “He was right there, no blinker, no regard for the stop sign- nothing.” Miller laments. “I just couldn’t stop in time.”

“I can’t believe it.” Says Eric Michel, Carter’s roommate at Campbell College and good friend. “Like one minute he was walking out the door saying that he just needed to go see Florence and the next I was getting a phone call saying he was dead.” Florence Highdrew was his ex-girlfriend who refused to comment when asked about details of their encounter. Michel says that Carter drove over to the University of Gwyndolyn where Highdrew is a student to apologize for breaking up with her.

“He was truly a great guy.” Michel continues, “I mean, like, we hung out all the time and he was gonna stay with me over thanksgiving break.”

His mother, Linda Carter, and his brother, Stevie Carter, 16, caught a plane from their home in Ukiah, CA, to identify the body and take their son and brother home to bury him.

“After his father left when he was little, he was the cornerstone of our little family. He was such a good son.” said Linda Carter, “Everything I could have asked for. This is so abrupt, a life cut off so young.” She stopped to wipe her eyes. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me.”

Carter, a sophomore at Campbell College was a student of communications and engineering. He was an active student on campus and he enjoyed ultimate frisbee and flag football.

“He was a great guy.” Michel said, “No matter what time, day or night, he was ready to play. Wether it was sports, or pranking someone or just being crazy.

Once night, we did what is called on campus, The Jog. Its a nude run from the boys dorm to the cafeteria on the opposite side of campus and back. It started out to be just me and him. But word got out and by the time night arrived there were almost forty of us. We set a new record for the largest group to run. That was the kind of guy Aaron was. He was the guy that set things rolling.”

Aaron was a friendly young man who’s life seemed to be cut short at the very peak of potential. He was a kind friend and gentle brother, “He will never be there to throw a football with me again,” Stevie Carter said, “I can’t tell you how bad that hurts. But I can tell you that I want to be like him.”

Born and raised in Ukiah, California, the funeral sevice will be held Thursday at the Wages Funeral home in Ukiah.”

Spencer lays the paper down. We all look at one another. A couple tears drip down Florence’s cheeks. I wonder why he went to talk to her and not me. I know i shouldn’t think that, but i do.

“Alright.” says Holly, clapping her hands together. “We’ve got to get going.” the rest of us stare at her in confusion. “Spencer, Kaylee, pack enough clothes for the five of us for six days. Be sure to get some dark, nice clothes in there. Florence, gather up all the food you can find in our rooms. Amy, theres bags in the corner there, will you pack up some shampoo and stuff? and anything else we might need. flat iron, hair ties, maybe a blow drier, I’m going to look up directions and find some maps.”

We all stare at her.

“We’re going to California.”

We all stare at her.

“We need to get going if we’re going to get there in time.”

We all stare at her. Then, slowly, like zombies we start following her orders.

After we piled into Ladybug, after we got on the highway, after i called my mother to explain that i was on an unexpected road trip to California to attend my ex-boyfriend’s funeral, I pull my notebook with all of Aaron’s letters in it, leaning against the window so as to not squish Spencer who was sitting with her legs folded beneath her in the middle.

Dear Aaron,

You’re gone. I hardly know what to say. What do you write to a dead ex-boyfriend anyhow? Somehow i feel that there are no books with etiquette on how to address you.

I guess I’ll ask the obvious question. Did it hurt? Somehow i hope it was instantaneous. Though I don’t suppose how you died is really my business anymore. I don’t want you to have suffered. Are you in heaven? They say that betrayers go to hell. Do you believe in hell?

I feel like i shouldn’t be angry at a dead person- but i am.

Amy

Dear Aaron,

All those people in your article. They all really loved you. Why couldn’t I have been among them? Did you fool them like you fooled me? Or were Florence and I just one mistake in your otherwise apparently perfect life? If we were a mistake, then why, why, why did you go to win her back the day you died?

I’m still as angry as I was in the letter above,

Amy

Chapter Twenty: In Which the World Completely Changes and I Find that Which Way is Up and Which Way is Down Gets a Bit Blurry

I know you're just a rag doll now, sewn together with memories that we might have had.

I know you're just the dream inside of a dream

And don't worry, I know I don't know you, anymore.

~Anonymous

I sat in the front seat of Ladybug. A peppy song was playing softly on the radio. The trunk was stuffed with haphazard bags and suitcases like sardines in a can.

Sardines. Like the ones we’d put in- his- car. I wanted to go to pieces so badly. i wanted to sob and scream and beat the windows with my palms. But there was Amy in the backseat, so calm and composed. from the corner of my eyes i could see that she was writing in a neat little notebook. Journaling probably. She looked serene and so totally un-upset i hated her for it. She must be the most freaking well-adjusted person on the planet. Her little blue pen. Her little green blouse. even now her hair was immaculate. How was that even possible? What was wrong with her?

But I knew it wasn’t really her, it was me. I was the hurricane who never could control anything, not her poverty-level childhood, not her city dump of a dating life, and most definitely not her emotions- never those.

I pulled the mirror from the blinder down. Mascara was smeared beneath my eyes. My hair was a ratty mess- in every respect of the bird nest variety. I looked like i’d been crying. Because i had been. go figure. What was wrong with her?

Do you remember?

I do.

i see it all so clearly,

I see you.

i promised so much

I vowed

I’ll remember your face

Thats all i have now

What if I had forgiven him? What if he’d driven away happy and relieved? What if he was alive right now? Was his death my fault somehow? I couldn’t bear these thoughts.

His- I couldn’t think his name, not yet- accident reminded me of a time when i was on the street, several blocks away from home, with Vienna and Dublin when i was about twelve and this business-suit type lawyer guy rear-ended this little Indian guy. It had been so loud. the sound of rubber tires squealing on pavement. the sound of metal banging into metal. the grating sound of ripping metal. the screams of both bystanders and drivers. Neither men had been hurt but they had both done a lot of yelling at one another until the cops got there. But it wasn’t the cops coming, or the sobbing Indian wife, or the hulking tow-trucks that i remembered vividly. It was the sound. that painful, rasping, jarring sound, the huge bang of impact.

“Minister’s cat game!” Kaylee screamed. I jumped. My thoughts had seemed so loud it was amazing no one else had heard them. Or maybe Kaylee had- and this was her way of pulling me out of them.

“Whats that?” Amy asked in a small voice.

“Its not hard,” Spencer assured her. “We all clap in rhythm and say ‘the minister’s cat is a ‘something’ cat.’ You go through the alphabet. you do all the A’s until someone messes up the rhythm and then we continue on to the B’s. okay? We’ll go clockwise.”

“Florence, you start, you start!” sang Kaylee.

“I’ll play but i can’t clap.” Holly added from the driver’s seat.

I started clapping slowly, “The minister’s cat is an angry cat.”

Kaylee from behind me continued “The minister’s cat is an awkward cat.”

Spencer grinned, “the minister’s cat is an amusing cat.”

Everyone looked at Amy, “uh, the minister’s cat is a, a angular cat.” she said, barely keeping the rhythm.

“The minister’s cat is an abnormal cat.” Holly giggled from the front seat.

It was my turn again, “The minister’s cat is a, apple, uh, oh no!” I laughed. “Sorry.”

“The minister’s cat is an apple?” Kaylee snickered. “You’re great at this.”

“Now B’s!” Holly encouraged.

“The minister’s cat is a beautiful cat.” I supplied.

“the minister’s cat is a buoyant cat.” continued Kaylee, “like a boat.” she deadpanned in a stage whisper.

Spencer snickered but kept time, “the minister’s cat is a bashful cat.”

“the minister’s cat is a bubbly cat.”

It was three hours later when we had to stop for gas.

“Okay, can someone please buy me a large thing of coffee?” Holly plead. “I’m going to fill Ladybug up and then go pee.”

“Sure thang, sugar cane!!” Spencer said, turning to follow the rest of us in to the shell station. Holly laughed, “that doesn’t rhyme, silly.”

“I never said it did!” Spencer countered, sticking out here tongue like a frog catching flies.

“Spence!” Holly chucked her blue wallet at Spencer. Spencer caught it. “Bada boo, bada bing! goal!”

Holly laughed.

The bathroom in the shell station was exactly as clean and nice-smelling as any gas station anywhere- that is to say, nasty. As I opened the door again, holding the door open for Kaylee she said “Grab me a mountain dew, would you?” I nodded.

In the end Spencer and I turned out buying a lot more than that. Mountain Dew, glass bottles of Starbucks iced coffee, Arizona iced tea, peanut butter m&m’s and five of those honey buns that are so sticky and syrupy that you just know they have to be bad for you.

“its not a road trip without unholy amounts of junk food.” Spencer reasoned. I nodded soberly to her logic.

We were checking out with Holly’s money when she came in. A dumpy grey-hair woman with a name tag labeled ‘Tammy’ was scanning our junk food at a dinosaur pace. Holly gave us a playful motherly look, like a mom who was supposed to be annoyed when she finds her child with peanut butter in her hair, but really she just wants to take a picture.

“Really you two? nice. Thats my money.”

Spencer stuck her tongue out and gave her an impish look, “like you can’t afford it.” Holly laughed but didn’t argue.The Bandelle family was well-off and we all knew it.

At that moment Kaylee skipped up to us. “Man, it smells like something died in that bathroom.” Realizing that that may have seemed insensitive to me, she clapped a hand over mouth.

“Whoa, i am so sorry.” she said emphatically through her fingers, her eyes huge.

To all of our surprise the Shell Station employee, Tammy said “Nah, its alrigh’ honey, I haven’t cleaned it in a few days anyhow. Yer not offendin’ anyone.”

We barely made it out of the station without laughing.

Chapter Twenty-One: Uncomfortable

What I can remember is a lot like water trickling down a page of the most beautiful colors. I can't quite put my finger down on the moment that I became like this. You see, I’m the bravest girl you'll ever come to meet. Yet I shrink down to nothing at the thought of someone really seeing me. I think my heart is wrapped around and tangled up in winding weeds but I don't want to go on living being so afraid of showing someone else my imperfections. And even though my feet are trembling and every word I say comes out stumbling, I will bare it all. Watch me unfold.

~Marie Digby, Unfold

Dear Aaron,

I miss you. Thats crazy, isn’t it? I’m trying so hard here with Florence’s people. And you know what, Aaron? The more I’m with her, the more I see what you saw in her- and I’ll give you one thing, you have good taste. She and her friends are absolutely amazing. She’s quiet, yet vivacious, and she is very beautiful in a careless, unrestrained way.

And somehow, because you’ve left me and gone to where ever you are now, Sheol or purgatory or Nirvana or whatever, I’m lonely. These girls- I want to be one of them. But I feel like an outsider, like that lone in-law at a close-knit family reunion.

Have you ever felt like that? like theres a emanating force around you propelling people away? like a pressure pushing ever outward. I guess I do repel people.

Did i repel you? is that why you cheated on me?

I don’t have any answers,

Amy

We’d been in the car for several hours. after playing various word games which i was bad at- and then singing along to music that i’d never heard before- which i was worse at, everyone falls silent. Florence and Kaylee are asleep; Spencer slipped headphones in and Holly is humming softly to herself in the driver’s seat. Uncertain as to what to do with myself i pull Catch the Light out and open it.

“How long had it been this way? I don’t understand”

Robin ducked her head and hid a smile. Clarence whispered, “no, no, tell me, i really want to know.” She blushed. “I’ve loved him for a long time. He’s the one I want. You understand? It’s always been him.” Clarence laughed and tousled her hair. “Oh yes, Robin-girl, i understand. Because,” he said with a grin, “He spends all of his time talking about you.”

Robin’s face broke into a grin. “really?” she leaned forward, her mahogany hair falling over her shoulders. “What does he say?” Clarence laughed. “What doesn’t he say? That night you fell asleep when yall were watching that narnia movie? After you were out he couldn’t stop rambling about how cute you are when you sleep.” Robin bit her lip and smiled.

“Robin, you have no idea, if you’re not interested in him, you-”

“Wait, wait, wait, who says I’m not interested in him?”

“Well, i’ve never seen you flirt with him. you’re never anything but friendly.”

“Well of course not, wally, I’m never anything but elegant. If he wants me, he’s going to have to step up and find out my feelings himself.”

Clarence’s shoulder’s dropped. “You mean that you’re not going to let on?” Robin shook her head. “No way. I met yall like, what, two years ago? I’ve been waiting since then.”

Clarence’s face was one of happy surprise. “I just can’t believe that. I thought I’d been watching for signs, you have hidden your secret well.”

Robin sighed. “I know I have. Its really hard some days. There are times when, like you, I want to just run to him and fall into his arms and tell him how I feel. But then i realize that it’s got to be on his time or never.” She gave a small laugh, her eyes thoughtful, “men are like wild animals, sure, you can lure them into your hands but it takes a lot of patience and keeping silent. If you make any sudden movements, the trance will be gone and the animal will flee. And sometimes it doesn’t work, sometimes a falling branch or another person startles the animal and he runs for it. But that’s how it is with men. He has to think it was all his idea. I can do no more than lay out a trail of bread crumbs and wait and hope.”

Clarence sighed. He knew his friends well enough to know that she was exactly right. Yet to see his best friend so torn up over a girl for so long, only to find out that she’s been waiting for him was a hard secret to keep.

“You won’t tell him, will you?” Robin asked suddenly, her eyes huge.

Clarence shook his head, “not a sole. You need to catch this one on your own. But I would suggest that you leave out more bait or he might never even notice that trail of bread crumbs.”

Chapter Twenty-Two: In Which, like a Ground Hog in February, My Thought’s Scurry Back and Forth Between a Dark Hole and the Sunny False Spring

Life is just the novel you write on your coffee break. And your novel is just a collection of lies you'd like to remember. And all that you remember, is the distance from here, to then.

~Anonymous

When I woke up, the realities of where i was headed hit me in the face like a bag of bricks hit a homeless person on the head when they’re dropped from four flights above onto his make-shift camp.

“Morning, sleepy head.” Holly said from the driver’s seat, her blue eyes glancing from the road to me and back to the road. It was actually late afternoon and we were hitting traffic. I yawned widely and stretched like a starfish, all my limbs spread out.

“Is this really a good idea?” I asked her, sitting up and adjusting my green skirt; it had twisted around me like a vine while i slept. She pursed her lips.

“Maybe. I just recognized that we had to do something.”

“I can’t believe he’s, you know, gone.” I said, my tone low. It was weird to say, wrong somehow, like calling a fat woman fat- it may be true, but that doesn’t make it any less alright to say out loud.

“I know. He’s been in you and Amy’s lives for so long. First as a boyfriend, then as a crappy ex.”

“He never dated me.” I stated vacantly, as though that didn’t bother me at all. I gave a big sigh. Holly made a sympathetic noise. I glanced behind me. Amy seemed asleep.

“I mean, all that time, it was Amy that he wanted his friends to know he was dating. Its like, was I ever important to him? I feel like the experiment that went wrong.” I complained. Holly frowned.

“Florence, of course you were, he wouldn’t bother with cheating with you if he didn’t want to... right? He wouldn’t have bothered putting his relationship with Amy at risk if he didn’t want to you very bad.”

I didn’t have any answers for her, or me.

“Let me do some writing. then I’ll share it.” I said- i never could figure out what i was thinking and feeling until i had written it down. it was amazing what paper and pen discovered for me.

The Ghost of a Dream

What are you, the ghost of a dream?

I feel you around me, even now

your fingers linger, like ice they seem

Memories haunt, the wind, it howls

Shrouded in lies, ghastly figures creep

Uncertain, afraid, you torment me

A spirit of regret, in the dark you weep

The ghost of a dream, one I can’t see

Pictures of you, drop faded into dread

Littered on the floor, like fallen petals

Flowers you once gave me, all wilted

Whispers of your voice, remain unsettled

Thoughts of you, haunt my nightmares

relinquish your hold on me, be gone

I can still feel you breathe, I swear

You plague my mind, I’m undone

I let out a big sigh and stretched my arms above my head, like a cat uncurling and re-curling. Then, brushing my hair carelessly out of my face I reclaimed my pen and set to work once more. Holly gave me a glance, but i just shook my head and focused on the note book in my lap.

I trailed my finger along the paper. There had been a time when having paper to write on was difficult. When I was around seven I discovered that not only did i relish reading both novels and poetry, but that I loved to write. I wrote on everything. The back of grocery lists, old math homework, once I wrote a poem about summer across my sister’s Disney coloring book. She was so mad at me for ruining her picture.

Sometimes Ma would find a notebook for me to use. I cherished them and would carefully write, being sure to use up the whole page. Back then I found stories or descriptive paragraphs easier, though I made a lot of haikus. Even then i loved similes and metaphors and I decorated everything from the edges around the newspapers I found in the street to the blank pages in the few books i owned with them.

One day, in fourth grade, we were given a assignment to write a paragraph about our family. While the other children wrote out four or five sentences about their baby sister and their new puppy, I wrote a whole page about my siblings and how like a united nations of names we banded together and watched out for one another every day while our parents were at work. I talked about how we made dinner most nights and how we spent our weekend days running free throughout the streets of Saint Louis.

When I got it back my teacher said that my sentences were good and she loved my plethora of similes but that next time I should write true things. I was so angry but I didn’t want to argue with my teacher so I just nodded and sat down. After school that day I ran home and told Cheyenne about it. She explained that most kids had to stay indoors while they’re parents were at work and that not many third graders cooked much. “Our family just does things a little different. Ma and Da believe that we’ll grow or fall on our own, regardless of what they do. So they give us our freedom to discover who we’ll be.” Cheyenne dried my tears that day. But she gave me something new to think about. I’m discovering who I will be. It sounded like an adventure, like I was an explorer. It was a challenge I didn’t take lightly that day.

I blinked, coming back to myself, shook my head and put pen to paper.

So many things left unsaid, at that moment when you depart

When you walked away, ripping up the tatters of my heart

I wish i did things different, i wish i knew to save you

I’m left guilty and wasted, with a mind of of regret too,

Doesn’t matter now, if your words held real meaning

You slid away from me, but to your shadow i cling

Your lies were slippery as your memories are now

I can’t face my thoughts, I don’t know how

As I finished my literary rant, I looked up and over at Holly. She was humming to herself, her eyes never leaving the road. Just as I was about to speak, her phone rang. Her ringtone was some cheery Taylor Swift song, hopeful and full of love.

“Hey Baby,” she greeted. It must be Justin.

“Nah, I’m just driving. Everyone’s asleep or working on something... we played minister’s cat for a long while though.” Holly checked over her shoulder and changed lanes. “Oh really? Yeah. You’re adorable.” She laughed at something Justin said. My eyes burned with the desire to cry. “I know, can we move that date to when i get back?” Her voice took a turn and became playfully seductive, “I’ll make it worth your while.” Holly snickered and i could hear the faint mechanical laugh of Justin.

I settled back into my seat to wait for her to finish her conversation. It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to be.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Restless

Life is truly a ride. We're all strapped in and no one can stop it. As you make your way from youth to adulthood to maturity, sometimes you put your arms up and scream. Sometimes you hang onto the bar in front of you. But the ride is the thing. I think the most you can hope for at the end of life is that your hair is messed up, you're out of breath, and you didn't throw up.

~Jerry Seinfeld

I wake up because Holly’s phone goes off, some country song. I hadn’t hardly realized I’d fallen asleep. Groggy, I stare out the window for a while. the cars pass in a pleasing rhythmic fashion. I like trying to imagine that there’s some kind of pattern to the colors as they fly past. After a time, I pick Catch the Light up off the floor of Ladybug where it must have fallen when I drifted off and flip it open.

Drew laced his fingers behind his head. Staring at the ceiling he could imagine Robin’s luminous eyes in the darkness. Those eyes that whispered everything she was thinking, each laugh, each pondering notion, each sorrow was displayed. So who did she want? Or was she even interested? Why couldn’t her eyes explain that? She had arrested his attention from the first moment. She had skin that looked so silken that he longed to run his fingers along it- was it as powder soft as it seemed? He longed to understand each and every thought, the silly and the serious, that ran through her head. She was beautiful, yes, but it was so much more than that. and so much of something that Drew couldn’t put his finger on for the life of him. She was so much herself. she really, really felt each emotion she had. She wasn’t afraid to be feminine. She understood that she was a woman, a vivacious mystery and she knew how to own that. She kept her secrets to herself, and shared her laughter with everyone. How did women do that? How were they so mysterious and so open at the same time? Drew sat up, cautiously so as not to wake Perry, who he shared a room with, and ambled into their cramped den and tumbled down on the squashed couch.

It was that she was dignified, like she had some whole different scale by which to measure herself. She didn’t curse or chew, or... what was it? Part of Drew wanted to chalk it up to the fact that she was from the city and he was from a little outskirt country town. But he knew that that wasn’t it, not really. it wasn’t a sophistication problem. She had poise. It wasn’t that she always knew what to do or say or always wore the right clothes, it was that she really seemed like she loved herself for the woman that she was. If she loved herself, then everyone else assumed she was worth loving. Everyone else, including Sam.

Sam rolled over in bed. Something about Robin kept him up at night. What was it? When she laughed her whole face crinkled up- she laughed as though the whole world found whatever it was hilarious. Her whole body shook with her giggles. When she was sad, she was so very sad. Tears would leak out of her eyes, whether it was a sad movie or a dead dog on the side of the highway or a problem at work. Her eyes would fill with tragedy of the most intense kind. When you see her, you know that something’s up. This girl was not just another kid on the sidewalk.

Sam sat up in his bed, thinking hard. She was yesterday. She was tomorrow. She had a head full of metaphors and a heart full of scars. This girl that no one would understand- and that was the beauty of it. She was full of wishes and dreams and a good madness. She was whimsical and profound, filled laughter and tears.

She was the wind. she was the stars. her hair was a mass of mahogany- locks that can cover her face or frame her beauty.

To her this world was a world of color, blues, greens, bright orange. But also a world of shadows, of grey and black, of nightmares. She saw everything with an uncommon vividness.

She loved with the heart of a child, she wept with the tragedy of a poet. She wasn’t perfect, she knew that- she loved that. to her, her weaknesses were her strengths. her scars were her beauty. Her eyes were infinite, full of joy and pain. She walked like one who has seen the woes of the world but has made it through them. She lifted her head high like she knows a secret. And maybe she does. Maybe she liked secrets so much that she’d become one.

Sam shook his head, as though he could shake out her expressional face from his mind, like snow off of his curly hair. Standing quietly so as not bother Clarence he inched quietly out to the den.

“Hey there,” drawled Drew’s southern voice. Sam jumped.

“Oh, hey, you’re up.” Drew smiled.

“Yep.”

Sam dropped into the moth-eaten chair. “Can’t sleep?” Drew shrugged and shook his head.

“Me either.”

They stared at one another for a moment, then Drew picked up the remote and flicked the television on.

Dear Aaron,

Did you ever lay awake at night with me on your mind? Did the thought of my green eyes ever steal sleep from your eyes? Was I ever a mysterious feminine woman to you? Did I ever endlessly fascinate you like a hurricane? Was I ever anything but a porcelain doll to hang over your arm for your buddies while you actually chased a far more enticing catch?

Have you ever realized that maybe I was easy? I never played hard to get. I let you in to my mind instantly. I longed for you to know me. I wanted you to understand me. So I told you everything. Would I have been fascinating if I’d left you wondering sometimes?

I’m feminine in the sense that I wear skirts and I can’t open pickle jars. But I never let you chase me. I was always there, dropping hints. I guess I see, Aaron, that maybe you just asked me out because I was there. You’re a guy, like Drew and Sam.

(You see, I’m reading this book called Catch the Light and there’s these two guys named Drew and Sam and they’re crazy about this girl named Robin. Its really very good. Florence lent it to me a while ago.)

Robin is friendly and cheerful but as to her deep personal life, she remains silent, causing both guys to wonder constantly about what’s going on in her mind. They’re smitten with her in a way that you never were with me. I always chased you, hoping you would get the idea and chase me back. But I kind of see now that I made the game too easy for you. I was there every time you turned around, like a puppy, wagging my tail waiting for you when you really wanted a game of tag. Thats not an excuse for you to cheat on me, but it does explain maybe why you did. It really was because Florence was more interesting than me. But not because she was a crazy poet, was it? It was because she understands how to let you pursue her. She has this whole woman thing down pat, doesn’t she?

I guess I feel kind of stupid now. And I guess I shouldn’t be blaming you, seeing as you’re dead and all, but I’m having a lot of thoughts.

Amy

It is dark when Holly finally pulls of the highway and into a McDonald’s parking lot. I’m relieved because I’m starving, yet i can’t say I’ve ever eaten at McDonald’s in my life.

“Wake up, sleepyheads! Its time to go forth and seek nourishment!” Holly yells at the top of her lungs. Kaylee and Spencer both jerk awake. I slide my book back into my purse.

“You are so annoying, like a frigging alarm clock.” Spencer mumbles.

“Time to disembark!” Adds Florence with impressive optimism. We tumble into the McDonald’s.

“What’s good here?” I ask Kaylee as we approach the counter to order. “How do you mean?” she asks blankly.

“Like, i’ve never eaten here before.”

“WHAT?” Kaylee shrieks. “For real?” I nod awkwardly, acutely aware that everyone’s eyes are now fixed on me.

“Amy, Amy, Amy,” sighs Spencer, draping one of her arms heavily over my shoulders. “You poor naive child. Get, like two big mac’s and some Mountain Dew.”

“Don’t tell her that,” Florence scolds, “Do you even eat meat?” she demands.

“Um,” I hedge, “Not much. I mean, I’m not a vegetarian but I usually eat like soup or, um.” I flounder to a stop.

Florence contemplates this scrambled information. “Why don’t I order for you. And for heaven’s sake’s don’t let Spence tell you what to get.”

In the end i find myself sitting in a booth eating some kind of chicken wrap with caesar dressing. It’s fairly good. Upon seeing Spencer inhale what apparently was not one but three big mac’s i am thankful i listened to Florence.

“So,” I say, wiping my mouth with a napkin, trying to make friendly conversation, “Not to ask the obvious question, but why Florence? Like, other than Florence Nightingale, who has that name?”

Florence laughs and tosses her hair. “Nah, you’re fine. I was named Florence after the city in Italy, right? We all are.”

“Who are all?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Oh, me and my siblings. There’s Cheyenne- she’s twenty three and lives in Memphis with her husband Jonathan, then me, Florence, then Dallas. He’s eighteen and starting his first year at Washington University. Then Havana, she’s sixteen and she’s into drama and gets the leads in the school plays and stuff. And then Vienna who’s fifteen. She loves sculpting and pottery and is pretty good at it. Lastly there’s little Dublin, he’s thirteen and he likes to play baseball and soccer. He’s totally going to be a ladies man someday.” She laughs and Holly, Kaylee and Spencer laugh with her, like Dublin is some kind of inside joke.

“He’s got these huge blue eyes and dark brown hair and he’s really adorable.” Holly explains.

“I’m just waiting on him to grow up.” Spencer giggles. The girls exchange teasing glances. “Who needs Jacob when I could have Dublin?”

“No way!” Counters Kaylee, “Keep your dirty little paws off! Dublin is so mine!” Spencer made a face and stuck her tongue out at Kaylee. I am still trying to figure out if Havana is a city or not.

“Thats a lot of siblings.” I say finally.

Florence nods, “yeah, but i love them. We’re all real close.”

“Really?” I say in surprise. “I mean, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound-” I stop short again. I feel so worried about what to say with these girls who have so unexpectedly adopted me.

“It’s all good. siblings who are actually friends are kind of rare I guess.” Florence seems so okay with who she is. Maybe that’s what being a woman is really about. Confidence in who I am. It’s something to think about.

Chapter Twenty-Four: In Which the Moon and I Keep Watch on the Flighty Stars of Night and I Lose Myself in Their Mystery, Something I will Never Truly Understand

if anything matters then everything matters. Because you are important, everything you do is important. Every time you forgive, the universe changes; every time you reach out and touch a heart or a life, the world changes; with every kindness and service, seen or unseen, my purposes are accomplished and nothing will be the same again.

~William Paul Young, The Shack

It was late at night by the time we pulled Ladybug into the deserted parking lot of a library for the night. Holly deemed a library an unlikely place for the police to come bothering five girls who were camping in their car. Holly had wisely had all of us wash our faces and brush our teeth in the McDonald’s bathroom. We set up a system for keeping watch. in three hours I was supposed to wake Spencer up. Kaylee was excluded from the night vigil because she was designated to drive in the morning.That way no druggies, rapists or serial killers could come and slaughter and rob us. I snagged a blanket out of the plethora of blankets we had packed and settled myself onto the hood of the car, the keys in my hand. I locked the car with the little fob and leaned comfortably against the windshield. The moon was rising above the trees. It was so mystical and serene tonight.

Oh moon, I thought, you glow like nothing else. Shine with all you have tonight and keep me company. Keep away the ghost of Aaron, lest he should be prowling.

I didn’t believe in ghosts, exactly, but this didn’t seem like the best time to prove that. There was an old greek woman called Marina who ran a grocery near where I grew up and she used to tell me stories in the slow hours of the afternoon. She had two boys of her own but they were long grown up and gone. One of my favorite stories was about the ancient Greek gods.

“Once, a long time ago, when men still believed in the Greek gods,” she always began, “there was a man named Orpheus. Now Orpheus was a talented singer and a great musician, and there was a girl named Eurydice who loved him very much. He was so happy that he would daily take his lyre- thats a kind of harp- and play and sing his joy rthrough the streets.

Well, Hades, the god of the underworld was jealous of Orpheus and his happiness. So on the very day of Orpheus and Eurydice’s wedding, Hades sent a poisonous snake to bite and kill Eurydice. She dies in Orpheus’s arms. Weeping and singing a song of lament he goes to the underworld to barter for Eurydice.

“He had to cross the river Styx and the boat keeper there wasn’t known for being friendly,” Marina would always grin and elbow me at this part, “but Orpheus knew better than to be angry with him. Instead he offered to sing him a song in payment for passage. He sang a song so lighthearted and gregarious that the boat keeper gave him a ride across.

“After that, Orpheus came to Cerberus, the violent three headed dog that stood guard over the passageway to the underworld. Keeping his distance, Orpheus began to sing a slow melody. It was so sweet and soft, like a lullaby that Cerberus fell asleep and Orpheus was able to tip toe past.” Marina always said that last bit in a whisper, like it was a secret.

“Well, he finds Hades and strikes a deal. He agrees to let Eurydice go- under the condition that he leads her out but never looks back to be sure that she was following. And Orpheus almost succeeds but at the last second his desire to see his lovely Eurydice causes him to peek behind his shoulder and Eurydice vanishes, pulled back into the underworld forevermore.

Orpheus is consumed by grief and he lived alone, wandering the land, singing laments so sad that the flowers would wilt as he walked by. People who heard his song would find themselves inexplicably weeping. Dogs would howl and babies would cry at his song.Years went by and Orpheus was old and frail, barely a wraith. Finally, the handmaidens of Bacchus- the god of wine and happiness, couldn’t take it anymore and they end his life, finally releasing him into the underworld where he was able to find Eurydice where they at last could be together.”

As a little girl I had feared hearing Orpheus singing one of his sad songs. I wondered if he and Eurydice were ghosts, living out an echo of what their life should have been.

I breathe out, trying to relax. I gaze up at the sky, ridding myself of the chilling feeling that was crawling up my spine.

Like tiny sentinels, the stars burned, peeping out from the darkness. Each like a reflection of the millions of lives currently slumbering on earth. All those people. Every one of them had their own worries. The good the bad. They’ve all seen love, pain, hope, despair. I wasn’t alone that night, beneath the solitary moon.

I wondered which little light was the mirror of mine. Probably one of the one’s half hidden by dark. But no, that wouldn’t be right. if that were so I would be trekking across the continental America to go to my dead ex-boyfriend’s funeral by myself. No, i would be one with a circle of beautiful stars close beside it. Friends. Spencer, Kaylee, Holly, Justin, Ian, Bruckman. Siblings. Cheyenne, Dallas, Havana, Vienna, Dublin. Those stars were shining brightly, their eyes on me, supporting and caring for me. Like a native American dream-catcher, they wouldn’t let the haunting thoughts of Aaron of Orpheus bother me tonight, as i contemplated the moon and protected my sleeping friends from pedophiles and drunk guys.

I smiled up at the big sky. The world was so big. I was so little. Just one tiny star, somewhere up there amongst billions. I wasn’t alone. and I had no room to be sad. Thousands of those stars have dated, or even married cheaters. I sighed a big slow sigh. I was okay tonight. Not great, but certainly okay. A thought struck me like a spear. Was Amy one of those stars close to my star, holding my star’s hand, making a starlight bridge of friendship? I didn’t know what to do with that thought.

Amy wasn’t friend material, surely. She was a perky little hershey kiss that- wait. wait. Did I really believe that any more? Was that really fair? In all fairness, it wasn’t. True, her vintage dresses and perfect hair still made me want to grind my teeth in aggravation. I stopped myself again. Even that wasn’t really fair because Holly had absolutely perfect hair and ridiculously expensive clothes. I couldn’t hold that against Amy. I knew that I felt more harshly toward her than I should.

My family never had much. we lived in a little apartment in downtown saint louis with three bedrooms. It was obvious that Amy was from money. She probably had some big white house with a mom who could afford to stay at home and get manicures and comb a little shaggy white terrier. I growled in my throat. Yet again I found myself judging Amy where I shouldn’t. Holly’s mom, Mrs. Bandelle was one of the richest, yet sweetest women I knew.

Moon, up there in the night sky, am i making any sense? I want so badly to dislike this girl. Its not fair. its not right. She didn’t know she was sharing my Aaron. I gnashed my teeth again. He wasn’t even my Aaron anyhow. He was her’s if he was anything.

But Amy’s not the one he went to see right before his death. My thoughts reminded themselves. That was a dark thought indeed. He came to see me. It was my rejection that had him so upset that he didn’t even look where he was driving. I could feel my thoughts warming up to their malicious subject. I was more important. He wanted me back, not Amy. Those weren’t good thoughts.

So important, were you, that he never announced or made official his desire to date you? So much so that he covered you up with a little dancer girl? You were just a fling to him. You were crazy and unfettered and he just thought you’d be a nice change for his little candy cane.

“Stop it! Stop it!” I snarled through clenched teeth. My mind needed to just shut up. Taking several deep breaths I turned my eyes back up to the moon. Peaceful and soft, it was, without a care.

I want to be like that moon. Effortless. Graceful. Alluringly poetic. Get rid of all my harsh feelings. From now on I will consider Amy a friend, because, in truth, thats what she is. Amy is a friend. We are in this together, we both fell in love with a guy that wasn’t good for us.

The moon, graceful and slow, shines as she crosses over the world. Smiling equally to all the people. I, like that milk-white moon, love. I am.

PART TWO

Chapter Twenty-Five: Traveling

She wanted something else, something different, and something more. Passion and romance perhaps or maybe quiet conversations in candlelit rooms, or perhaps something as simple as not being second best.

~Anonymous

Dear Aaron,

Its Tuesday and we’re in the car driving to your funeral. Thats sounds crazy doesn’t it? I wish I had someone to talk to seriously about all this. In a lot of ways, I really want to talk to Florence about you. Did she love your blue eyes? and that silly blue v-neck shirt you always wore? Did she try a million times to get you to cut your hair? I really want to talk to her about you. I don’t even know if that’s possible.

But i guess i’m starting to believe that anything is possible.

Amy

Dear Aaron,

If anything is possible, then it is possible for me to get over you, right? Is it possible for my heart not to ache like someone shot me in the chest when I think about you? Is it possible that someday I’ll look back on our time together and not feel like crying for what was lost? Possibilities. Maybe someday I’ll find a man who won’t cheat on me. I want a man who will treasure me like Sam and Drew treasure Robin.

I miss you- kind of.

Amy

It is morning and after stopping quickly at Starbucks for coffee and teeth brushing we are on our way. We traded up seats and I find myself riding shotgun with Kaylee driving. I look up from my letter-writing notebook and take a drink of my latte. At that moment Kaylee taps the brakes and somehow i manage to let my cup slip and I splash coffee all down the front of the clean clothes Kaylee had shared with me in the Starbucks bathroom not a half an hour ago. Kaylee starts laughing at my squeals and the three in the back all are instantly straining at their seat belts to see what the commotion is. Kaylee is laughing so hard she swerves.

“Whoa, whoa! Hey now!” Holly cautions. “Be nice to this old Ladybug, you hear? Keep your silly eyes on the road.” I begin mopping up the coffee, feeling a blush rising to my cheeks.

“Here, we’ll get you a change of clothes.” Florence says and the three in the back start rummaging around looking for spare tee shirts. Holly hands me some extra napkins.

“No, really, its okay-” I start, but i desist when i realize that no one is listening. I collect all the sopping napkins and contain them safely in my coffee cup while listening to the haphazard conversation in the back.

“I think that purple tee shirt is in that green bag.”

“oh! oh, i found some pants!”

“No, those won’t fit her. try these!”

In a few moments they toss me a blue shirt with OXFORD printed on it and a grey cotton skirt.

Now, I’m what most would call a modest person. Even in my dorm room with Andrea I turn around to change and generally avoid nudity in front of others. So, thus, it goes without saying that I’ve never changed in a car.

Silently, I unbuckled to pull my lavender blouse off and slip the new shirt on. It is now that i discover how difficult it is to pull a pair of blue jeans off while sitting in the front seat of a car. I have to do that awkward worming motion to wriggle out of them. When I finally get myself adjusted my face is beet red. In order to save face I yank out Catch the Light, resolutely open it and bury my red face in its pages.

Sam jerked his seat belt over his shoulder with a snap. It was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. Robin’s eyes had no right to light up and shine that way when Drew’s slow, southern speech made her laugh. What was that? Next thing he knew they would be holding hands and going out on dates. He slammed his car into reverse and backed out of the parking spot. Fine. Be that way. He thought sourly. He didn’t need her. He never needed her. Was he under the impression that maybe their friendship was going somewhere? yes. Was he sadly mistaken? Yes. She’d never said that Sam was more than a friend. It was all in his head, his stupid, stupid head.

Her laughter rippled through Sam’s mind, over and over again like an echo in a mountain pass. She was rocking back and forth, her arms folded over her stomach, laughing like sunshine. Laughing like sunshine? Did he really just think that? He shook his head. It was time to get that girl out of his thoughts. Romance was creeping back into his life and he wouldn’t have it.

As Sam braked for a stoplight, he became even more irritated. This girl shouldn’t be able to get under his skin like that. What did he care? He didn’t care. She had perfect right to laugh and flirt with whoever she liked. It was a free country, right? And anyway, he had no reason to care because he and Robin were nothing but friends. Friends. Friends. Friends. He pounded his palm on the steering wheel. She’d never even hinted at all that he meant more to her.

“It is all in my head, isn’t it?” he spat viciously as he changed lanes. The smiles she saved for him, the way her long lashes hid her eyes when she looked down. He took a deep breath. Had she really shown any favoritism to Drew? Or was that all in his head too?

His phone rang.

“‘lo?” he answered.

“Hey Sammy boy, its me, Clarence.”

“Hey Clarence.”

“You just sort of disappeared.” Clarence offered, looking for an answer to his not-spoken question.

“The apartment just felt a little crowded.” Sam responded flatly. “I thought I would get out for a bit.”

“Man, just keep your chin up and your eye on the prettiest girl in sight.”

“Whats that mean, you freak,” Sam retorted, feeling uneasy at being seen through so obviously.

“Oh, nothing, I just know how you feel about,” Clarence paused, “things. I’ve got to go, man. Amber’s here.”

With a click, the line went dead. Sam growled and dropped his phone into the empty cup holder.

“Um, so i really kind of have to pee.” Spencer says in a silly baby voice from the back seat. Kaylee laughs and nods. “We’ll need to stop in about an hour for gas.”

“Okay, thats fine. I can hold it.” Spencer agrees.

“Lets play the minister’s cat.” Holly offers. and we start the game anew.

Chapter Twenty-Six: In Which I Fairly Feel Almost Light-Hearted for the First Time in a Refreshingly Long While

I think I'd be better off without you here. And I bet you're sweet and hard to get over. So, I'll cry and people will stop and stare. Now, that is okay. Let them stop and stare because I'm fragile, and I'm hopeless, and I'm not perfect, but I'm free.

~Maria Mena, Fragile

“The minister’s cat is a great cat.” Kaylee chirped.

“The minister’s cat is a green cat,” continued Amy.

“The minister’s cat is a g- crap.” Spencer laughed. “Um, what comes after G? A B C D E F G H. H!” she started up the rhythm again. “the minister’s cat is a hairy cat.”

“The minister’s cat is a happy cat.” I said.

“The minister’s cat is a hungry cat.” Holly grinned at me and winked.

“The minister’s cat is a hopeful cat.”

“The minister’s cat is a hideous cat.”

“Hold up, hold up,” Spencer interjected, “Kaylee? how long ago did i say i had to pee?” Kaylee looked at the clock. “About ten minutes. Why?”

“Um, well, I still need to pee.” Kaylee hid a smile.

“I told you, we’ll stop in about an hour. Okay?”

“Um, Kaylee? Thats not okay. I really really do have to pee. Like now.” Holly and I laughed. “Oh lordy, lordy.”

“Well, the next exit should be coming up. I’ll turn off there. Will that work?”

Spencer nodded seriously.

“Okay, we’d better. Sorry, Holly, start the game back up.” Holly nodded and began clapping. “The minister’s cat is a humongous cat.”

“The minister’s cat is a helpless cat.”

“The minister’s cat is a humble cat.”

“The minister’s ca is a humorous cat.”

“The minster’s cat is a, a, honey cat.” We all laughed. “Kaylee, i don’t think there is such a thing as a honey cat.” Amy giggled. Kaylee stuck out her lower lip in a playful pout, like a little girl who didn’t get a pony for Christmas after all. She darted her eyes to Amy and back to the road.

“fine.” She assented. “H? A B C D E F G H I. I.”

“You know,” I added, “this game would be a lot easier if we actually knew the alphabet.”

“Oh hush!” Kaylee mock scolded, making an exagerated face in the rearview mirror at me. “The minister’s cat is a ingenious cat.”

“The minister’s cat is an intelligent cat.”

“The minister’s cat is an interracial cat” Spencer laughed.

“The minister’s cat is an ideal cat.”

“The minster’s cat is an irregular cat.”

“The minister’s cat is an inconvenient cat.”

“The minister’s cat is an inventive cat.”

“Okay, okay, Kaylee, I hate to say this, but are we there yet? because i really truly have to pee.” Kaylee sighed.

“Spence, I told you, when i see the next exit I’ll take it, okay, you’ll be fine.”

“Uh, Kaylee?” It was Amy, “you were talking and you just passed the exit.”

Spencer screamed her frustration like a caged lion. “But i’ve got to peeeee!”

All at once there was a loud thunking noise and the hood of Ladybug began to smoke.

“Ahhh!” screamed Kaylee. She swerved off the road onto the shoulder with a bu-bump.

“What was that?”

“I have no idea!”

“What are we going to do?”

“Everybody out!”

We all piled out of the car like it might explode. What did we know, maybe it would have. Gathering around as though we knew what we were looking at, we popped open the hood of the car and coughed at the smoke coming out like the wicket of a firecracker on fourth of July.

“Well something seems to have overheated, since its all hot and smoky.” Spencer offered knowledgeably.

“Great call there, Copernicus.” I snapped back.

“Hush yall, lets, um, call the boys.” Holly said, biting her thumbnail like she did when she was nervous.

“Don’t call Ian,” Kaylee advised, “the only thing he knows how to do with cars is knock the rear bumper of the Pony Express on our mailbox every few weeks.”

“The Pony Express?” Amy asked, giving Kaylee a blank look.

“Ian and I share an old red mini van called the Pony Express.” Kaylee explained quickly.

“Hey baby,” Holly said into her phone, “Ladybug is spewing large amounts of steamy smoke.... good call, somethings wrong, yes.... umm, I don’t know,” she peered into the engine, “I don’t know well enough what I’m looking at.... the black thing?....”

“Yall, I hate to say this, but i’ve got to pee.” Spencer complained, looking helplessly around at us, like a child lost at the zoo, peering into all the faces, looking for a familiar one.

I turned around in a circle, trying to figure out what to do.

“Okay, well yeah, i’ll give my parents a call, thank you anyway, Justin. i love you.” Holly hit end and then called her parents.

“Daddy, hey there, so Ladybug is having some problems,” she began.

What were we going to do? I felt like we were a beached whale, stuck in an impossible middle ground. We were somewhere in Iowa, so very far away from anyone who could help us.

Kaylee got on the phone with Bruckman, just in case he had any information for us. Unfortunately he couldn’t help without actually looking at the car. Apparently the engine smoking could mean a lot of problems.

I looked at Amy, standing there in one of Holly’s outfits, having no clothes of her own. I wondered if she was regretting going on this crazy road trip with us.

It was Spencer, of course, who decided that the best course of action was to stand near the edge of the road and look helpless. As much as I didn’t approve, I couldn’t argue, because in a few moments of cars speeding past, a sedan pulled over.

“Hey, do you girls need help?” A guy in his early thirties, his- presumably- wife, and a little girl about five or so who had blonde curly hair that matched the mom’s got out of the car, looking curiously at us.

“Oh yes, we sure do!” Exclaimed Holly. “We were driving along and suddenly the engine went all smokey and stuff and we pulled over.”

“I’m sorry about that.” He leaned over the motor, examining it. “By the way, I’m Timothy, thats my wife Anna and my daughter Daphne.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Holly, thats Kaylee, Florence, Amy and Spencer.” He nodded and fiddled with something. I, for the first time, wished I knew more about cars. Smiling uncomfortably around at the new-comers, I bit the inside of my cheek.

“Here, Holly, go start the car again.”

Unsure what to do and how to be helpful, I took the opurtunity to meet Anna and Daphne, who was like an exact miniature of her mother. But Kaylee, ever the perky, friendly one, beat me to it.

“Hi there, I’m Kaylee. Your daughter is adorable.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Anna. Where are you girls from? With that accent you can’t be from here.”

Kaylee gave her impish smile,

“No, we’re not. We’re from Ivy Leaf, Tennessee. Its a small town in east Tennessee.”

“Well, you are quite a long way from home, aren’t you?”

“We’re headed to California for a funeral.” Kaylee explained, honest as always.

“Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that.” There was an uncomfortable pause. I knelt beside Daphne.

“And how old are you?” I asked gently.

“I’m five.” she spoke around her thumb.

“Wow, five years old, really? thats fantastic.”

Spencer chose this moment to dance up to us.

“Guys! I’ve really really got to pee!” We broke up laughing. We laughed hard, holding our sides, fit to burst. Spencer would.

“I’ve got to too, now, after laughing like that.” I moaned.

“Go over there, in the woods.” Kaylee suggested.

“But we’re on the side of the highway!” Amy protested, shocked. Anna watched our discussion with an amused look on her face, like we were a circus and she the audience.

“Please Florence, come with me! i’ve got to pee so bad!” Spencer yelped, hopping up and down like a little girl. And so i agreed. Grabbing her hand we raced across the meager stretch of grass and into the thick belt of trees alongside the highway.

“Can they see us from here?” I asked.

“Yeah, keep going.” Spencer urged.

“Now?”

We looked around in all directions. there seemed to be nothing but woods on three sides. we ducked behind a fallen tree.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Stranded

But mostly, i cried because my life had been going full speed for so long and now it had just stopped, like running right into a big brick wall, knocking the wind and the fight right out of me. and i didn't know if i ever even wanted to get up and start breathing again.

-dreamland by sarah dessen

I watch Spencer and Florence link hands and dash off into the trees. I could never imagine peeing outdoors. So awkward and demeaning. I’ve also never had any desire to try to make small talk with a woman and her little daughter on the side of a freeway while my sort-of-friends try to fix a car that is still spewing steam. I leave Kaylee to chat and I amble over to the car.

“Any luck?” I ask hopefully.

“If Its any consolation, I think it’s just your radiator hose.”

I nod, as if I have any idea as to what that is.

“Can that be replaced?” Holly asks, her face tense and nervous. Timothy smiles at her. “Any car part can be replaced. But yes, this can be replaced by us. We just need to drive into town and buy a new one. We’d be happy to do so.”

“Doesn’t your family have somewhere you need to be?” Holly asks politely.

“Well, I took off work early and we were headed to eat with my parents. I’ll just call them and let them know we’ll be late.” He smiles kindly at us, “That is, if you girls would like our further assistance.”

“We sure would appreciate it if you truly don’t mind.” Holly said, her big eyes on Timothy.

At this moment Spencer and Florence came running up to us, out of breath and their clothes all haphazard.

“Snake! Snake! Snakesnakesnake!”

“That was a snake! I saw it with my own freaking eyes!” Spencer protested.

“I know, I know, run! Runrunrunrun!” Florence shouts. They both slam into the side of Ladybug gasping for air and bursting into giggles.

“A snake, huh?” Holly says skeptically, putting her hands on her hips.

“Yes! A snake! a huge, big ugly black snake!”

“Yeah it was enormous! But it was brown.” corrects Florence.

“No, huge and black!” Spencer insists.

“I’m sure it was.” Holly soothes, with the air of a mother pretending to believe that it was the boogie monster who stole the cookies from the cookie jar. “Florence, once you collected yourself, would you mind joining me? I’m going to go with Timothy here to get a part for Ladybug.”

“Sure thing! I’d be happy to.” Florence skips over to them and they explain to Kaylee and Anna, who by now have exchanged life stories and are the best of friends. Then Florence and Holly get in the car with the strangers and they drive off.

“This goes against all my good sense.” Spencer growls, watching them speed away.

“Me too, if it comes to that.” Kaylee agrees, folding her arms and nodding, “But I really don’t know what else to do. At first I started to volunteer to go- that way if they turned out to be bad we could outnumber them. But then i didn’t want to leave just two girls and a broken vehicle on the side of the highway.”

“Maybe we should get in and lock the doors.”

“yeah, maybe.”

We do. All three of us squish into the back together. Spencer and Kaylee giggle about some past experience involving hiding out another time. I can’t relate or really join the conversation. I suppose I could ask a question about that adventure but I don’t know what to say. To hide my confusion, I pull out my notebook and write Aaron another letter.

Dear Aaron,

This may make us late for your funeral. I don’t know how long it takes to get from wherever we are to wherever you are. We’re in Iowa and we’ve had car trouble. Ladybug (thats what Holly calls her car) sort of blew up or something. I don’t pretend to understand it. However, this guy stopped to help us and they went to go buy a new part or some such thing. The point being that this will probably- and has already- taken up some time that we were supposed to be using to drive to see you.

But you know, the strange thing is that if we do miss your funeral, I’m not entirely sure that I would really mind so much. I miss you terribly. But more than anything I miss who I thought you were. I don’t know if I really want to see you all still and dead. I’ve only been to one funeral, Aaron. it was my great-grand mother’s and I was five. I don’t remember much about it, except that I had to wear my only all black dress with black socks and the inside of the dress was itchy. My mama made me walk up with her and pay our ‘last respects’ and ‘view the remains’. My great-grandmother looked all waxy and pale and not very human. Do you look that way now? Are you just the shell of the man that I used to respect? Is it bad or wrong that I find that creepy?

No one close to me has ever died before. That makes me pretty lucky, i realize. But I don’t know even how to begin to handle this. You used to be so important to me. Yet, before your death you became a monster to me. Is that okay to say about you, as you’re dead and all?

I feel like I should be able to deal with this better, more rationally and functionally than I am. How is it that others who have been through so much, can cope through bitter and horrid times, whereas I, who has hardly ever lost anything, cannot?

I hope you’re not gross looking, for both our sakes.

Amy

The other two are still laughing over some funny past incident. I slides sideways so my head is resting on the window, and I slip into my memories again.

Aaron pulls me close against him, spooning me. His breath is warm against my shoulder.

“I love you, Amy, do you know that?”

My heart swells with happiness. “I know,” I whisper, “I love you too.” I nestle down in his arms. The scent of him, his skin, his deodorant, is enthralling. Closing my eyes I turn my head and kiss his perfect lips. The night was perfect, alone in his dorm room.

So very faintly I can feel his heartbeat, warm and steady against my back. Slowly i feel his body relax next to mine as he drifts off to sleep. I sigh and feel his body heat radiate over me like a blanket. Just as I am on the verge of sleep myself, Aaron mumbles something.

“Florence.”

I turn my head to him, “What did you say, sweetheart?”

Aaron opens his eyes, and looks at me. Pausing, he says, “Florence, Italy. I want to take you there someday. Just the two of us. Close your eyes, baby, do you see it? The sunsets are bright and orange in the sky. It reflects off the the water, shining around the city. The bridges arch in in every direction. There are colorful old buildings, tall and regal.”

I fade in and out of a dose, not hearing his words so much as the cadence of his voice. It was low and husky, like a lullaby, a soundtrack by which to dream. He is talking me to sleep. Images of beautiful buildings and graceful rivers float before my eyes. Its a fairytale, a perfect place for the two of us. I slide into a peaceful sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: In Which I Do Something that My Mother Always, Always, Always Told me to Never Ever Do No Matter How much Candy I Was Offered

Here's a toast

To the good days, the better friends.

The ones that you just can't live without.

The people that have taught you how to party.

How to live. How to have a good time just sitting around.

Here are to the people that matter how bad things seems,

are going to be there for you. To lean back on and catch you if you fall.

~Anonymous

I had many misgivings as I strode towards Timothy’s car with Holly. Every instinct I had grown up with was screaming “Bad idea! Bad idea! Bad idea!” in my brain like a siren going off. I gave Holly I nervous look. As Anna strapped Daphne into her car seat, Holly leaned over and whispered, “I didn’t want to leave any less than three girls with the car. And I figured you could keep your head if this gets bad.”

Just in case, i stuffed my phone down my shirt when no one was looking. That way I’d have to be being stripped for someone to find in the event of my abduction. If that was happening, i would have bigger, more urgent problems than how I was to call the police. I slid into the back, in the middle, with Holly squished next to me. Daphne smiled at me. I smiled back- and hoped really hard that any people who had a little child with them wouldn’t be the kind of people to lure college girls away from their friends and mug them. I squeezed Holly’s hand.

“So where would be the best place for us to buy the part we need?” Holly asked the front at large, in her best, C.E.O of a company voice. It was a learned voice, one she’d heard her father use since she was a small child. It was moments like that that I remembered that Holly was from a ridiculously rich family- one that had a maid and a cook and a chauffeur.

“Well, there’s an auto parts store a couple exits from here. That should have it.” Timothy answered as he pulled his little sedan into the traffic. Holly nodded regally and sat back with her eyes up and her eyebrows raised in her most in-control-of-this-situation face. She was hiding her fear and worries behind her queenly aura- and it was working.

But as I sat mashed between a pointy plastic car seat and this new high class and in-control Holly, I began to have my doubts. If it really came down to it, we wouldn’t be able to take down both Timothy and Anna very well. What if they drove us someplace where they had cronies waiting to help them tie up and kidnap their prey? My mind began to buzz like an upset beehive. What if they found out how rich Holly’s parents were and held us ransom? What if they tied us up in a creepy dark basement somewhere without cell reception? If they tried to steal our money or something, they wouldn’t get very far. I had about six dollars in my purse. Then they would be angry and they’d kills us to hide the evidence of what they did. They would tie bricks to our mangled bodies and dump us in a river- I saw that in a cop movie once. It would be days and days before our bodies were discovered by a little boy sailing paper boats on the river. His name would be Jimmy or Johnny or something like that and he would run and tell his grey-haired grandfather who was sitting on the riverbank smoking his pipe. That grandfather would grab his cane and hobble to the nearest pay phone and call the police. The police would show up and tape that part of the river off with that bright yellow ‘caution’ tape. Examining the bodies they would decide that we had been stabbed and strangled. There wouldn’t be any ID on us, because we’d been mugged and so they would never know who we were. Holly and I’s parents would send out search parties for us. But they would never find anything. The Iowa police would give us up as a lost case. In a few years everyone at home would give up on us and we would just be a memory.

I could feel my heart pounding as my brain ran in circles, each thought more sinister than the last. In my worry, I wedged my student ID card in my bra with my phone, just in case. It couldn’t hurt.

My armpits and forehead were damp.

After what surely must have been a few hundred years, Timothy pulled his car into a parking spot outside a Auto shop. I felt certain that I had produced some grey hairs and crows feet wrinkles during the car ride. I understood now why my ma had always said “You children worry me so that I’ll go grey early.”

Stepping into the store with the soft tinkle of a bell, we followed Timothy around the store as he looked for the part of the car we needed.

“What kind of Honda do you have?” Timothy asked.

Holly swallowed hard and said, “CR-V. Its a little SUV thing.” She gave me a glance.

Timothy went and discussed car parts with the smiling guy behind the counter. I never liked the way auto part shops smelled, like oil and tire rubber mixed with industrialized carpet cleaner.

“We really appreciate yall helping us.” Holly smiled at Anna, to ease the awkward silence as we stood waiting on Timothy like a harem.

When Timothy found what he was looking forward, Holly stepped forward and swiped her debit card. I wondered if it was expensive but decided not to ask.

As we drove back down the highway, looking for Ladybug I had a whole new kind of misgivings. What if something happened to Spencer, Kaylee and Amy while we were gone? What if a creepy offender had tied them down with duct tape and carried them off? Or stolen the car and left them alone and stranded on the highway?

Holly rubbed my leg with her thin, reassuring hand. She gave me a small smile and whispered “thank you.”

After I grew at least thirty more grey hairs and gained enough wrinkles and aches to make me belong in a nursing home, we spied Ladybug pulled off on the shoulder. I breathed an involuntary sigh of relief.

It was a fairly simple process after that. We all stood around and watched like a silent cult as Timothy pulled a screw driver and some other tools- I don’t know much tools. I’m doing good if I can point out screw drivers and hammers- and he replaced the radiator hose thing.

Wiping his hands on his jeans he called, “Okay, Holly, start her up again. Lets see what that did.”

Holly clambered into the driver’s seat and started the car. Ladybug kicked to life and started vroom-vrooming smoothly.

“That should do it, then.” Timothy said happily, slamming the hood shut with a look of pride on his face.

“Thank you so much, sir!”

“Thanks!”

“We can’t thank you enough.”

We all dumped praise on him fervently. If gratefulness had been water, he would have drowned.

“Thank you for your time!”

“Thank you.”

With that, the little family bid us goodbye and waved as they bundled into their car and, with a wave, drove off.

Us five girls, we stared at one another for a moment, and then we all clutched each other tight in hugs and kisses and giggles of relief.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Nightfall

Everybody has a secret world inside of them. All of the people in the whole world. I mean everybody. No matter how dull and boring they are on the outside. Inside them they’ve all got unimaginable, magnificent, wonderful, stupid worlds. Not just one world; hundreds of them, maybe thousands.

~Neil Gaimon

Dear Aaron,

Is it possible to truly and fully relax when you’re with other people? I’m starting to understand that maybe it is. I think i worry too much about what others think. I’m never just living. I sit, tense and silent, waiting for something to free me to live. I thought that thing was you. i thought you were the key to my birdcage. But I was wrong. You’re not the key. Aaron, all along, i’ve had the key and not known it. This birdcage, the boundaries i set up, they were built by me. I created my own cage and then lived in it.

All my life I’ve been a little porcelain canary in a cage of my own fears. I don’t want it this way anymore. Honestly, I know I built these bars, but I don’t know how to get out. I see freedom, its just beyond my reach. I have the key but I can’t use it.

I’m frustrated by my own inability to reach out and help myself. But what porcelain doll can do anything for herself? We’re just beautiful glass, stunning but unable to help ourselves.

I don’t know how to break this porcelain.

Amy

All evening I’ve been contemplating what i wrote to Aaron in my letter. Birdcages. How is it that some people, who have never had anything harm them, never had much trauma in their lives, find themselves locked in a cage, unable to get out? Yet people like Florence are these free birds that fly across the sky without a care? She is so uninhibited. Yet I have wings of porcelain. She’s a hummingbird, all motion and thrumming energy.

I think maybe I’ve never truly seen the sky before now. I’ve never recognized the iron rails blocking my sight. The more i think through this, the more I am dying to talk to Florence.

So when we were deciding who would take the first night watch, i spoke up. I then, in a spurt of boldness, asked Florence to sit up with me for a bit. We settle side by side on the hood of the car. She doesn’t say anything. I don’t blame her. She probably has no idea what I’m up to.

“Um Florence?” She turns her face to me. Her blue eyes shimmer in the dim light. My throat closes up. I can’t say anything. Florence sighs and lays back against the windshield. I follow, unable to spit the words past the lump in my throat.

“Amy, do you remember that blue v-neck Aaron always wore?”

“Yeah, I do.” I whisper back.

“I loved that shirt on him.” her voice is soft, like the memories had spirited her away to the past.

“Me too.” I agreed.

“It made his eyes seem so incredibly blue. They were so alluring.” her quiet voice takes a darker turn, “so treacherous.” Then, abruptly Florence changed subjects. “Are we friends, Amy?”

I am startled by her question. “Um, well, I mean, yeah, i think we are. aren’t we?” She nods her head. “Yeah, I just, I mean, I never thought that we would be when I met you at Joe and Mo’.”

I give a little laugh, “yeah, i know what you mean.”

We are both silent, memories and thoughts flooding our minds. There are so many unsaid words on my side.

“Florence?” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you give me a ride back to campus that day?”

I feel Florence shift beside me. “I’m not sure, exactly. Its just that you looked so lost and unhappy. You looked as upset and miserable as I was. I realized that maybe that wasn’t a one-time hook up that I ran into. I guess i just realized that maybe, somehow, we were in the same boat.”

“The same boat?” I repeated.

“Yeah, you know, the same situation.”

Silence takes over again. I stare up at the big sky. It is very late now. There are so many questions- so many things I want to ask, yet my tongue is like lead in my mouth and the questions seem to evade my lips.

“Did you ever try to get him to cut his hair?” Florence muses, carelessly twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers.

Did she just ask me that? “Yes!” i say emphatically, “I did. That haircut was awful! i tried and tried.”

Florence laughs a little bubbly laugh.

“It was so bad. Yet he liked it, the silly thing.” Florence’s voice came out through her reminiscent smile. “I hated it, but at the same time, i liked it, you know? I miss it somehow.” She pauses, “I feel like he shouldn’t be dead.” My breath catches in my chest.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “The last words I spoke to him were ‘A relationship where one partner is under the impression he needs the other to be complete is a bad relationship.’ He was trying to get me back and I wasn’t having any of it.” Florence snorts.

“You told him that? Kudos to you. I didn’t say anything near as eloquent. He came to talk me around the day he, well, you know.” She gives a shuddery sigh. “Anyway, I told him he would never be a part of my life again. I told him to leave.” she turns her face to look at me, “now here i am on a crazy long road trip to go to his funeral. Sometimes I think i’ll never be free of him.”

We are silent once again. My head is going crazy. i can’t think about that. I can’t think that he went to her, not me, right before he died.

“You know that book you lent me? Catch the Light? I’ve been reading it and it’s good.”

“Really? Its a good one. It says a lot about how to understand being a woman.” It is as if a light clicked on in my brain. She knows how to be a mysterious, confident woman. She’s read it and unlocked Robin’s secret.

“Do you think-” i stop my words short.

“Do I think what?”

“Never mind.”

Chapter Thirty: In which I Spend a lot of the Day Before My Ex-Boyfriend’s Funeral Writing Bad Poetry

Everyone's heartbroken nowadays, but I mean, we all just have to move on. What’s the point of reminiscing when you know the person is no longer worthwhile; when they’re no longer who they used to be? When their heart is somewhere else? Do you think they still care for you, still sit there thinking about you? Because frankly, they don’t.

~Anonymous

My mind was once again a hurricane. my fingers were a flurry upon the paper. My heart was healing.

In the haze of my mind,

I’ve lost you,

A gravestone of shale,

Hollow, like you

Will weeds grow over you,

Like they did our love?

Dandelions of time

will sprout upon you

and soon this stone

will be but a reminder

of someone long dead

that no one knows anymore

I stand above you now,

holding wilted flowers

I’ve lost you, love

petals blow away

across the lonely hills

the wind, sharp and solemn

like your tombstone to my eyes

Icy chills chase around

tugging at me,

like the pain tugging

on my heartstrings

The wind, it plays

a death lament for you

upon the lyre of my heart

The flowers fall

upon your cold grave

in the grey light

I’ve lost you

the high grass waves

like you saying goodbye

parched and dying fingers

reaching for me

like a ghost of Hades

Withering soundlessly

like my love for you

I bow my head,

but I don’t know why

You weren’t mine

and you never will be

like these dry flowers

our chance at happiness

is eternally gone

even though the wind blows

even though the rain falls

like these tears on my cheeks,

you will pass on

without me

for I have lost you

I cry for you

your life cut short

but i cannot truly mourn,

I remember you

and though you’re gone

I shall remember you well

Go in peace, my fantasy lover

Let the earth take you

deep into the ground

away from the bitter winds

and the pain in the air

I shall stand

and live to go on

forevermore

Ink smeared along the my left pinkie as i drug my hand across my words, like a dark stain. I was focused now. All the world had ceased to exist. It was just me, the pen and the paper. The apocalypse could be knocking at the door and i wouldn’t have heeded it.

Like a new bird in winter,

I find myself misplaced without you

The snow falls down

And I’m not sure what to do

Like a new bird in winter

I have slim chance of survival

The foxes and dogs hunt

And aim for the kill

Like a new bird in winter

I hide myself in the treetops

away from the men and weather

To await the spring

Like a new bird in winter,

If i can outlast the cold

I will discover spring to be beautiful

for i will remember the frost of old

Like a new bird in winter

I will find myself alone

With myself for company

and thoughts to regret and atone

Like a new bird in winter

I am rare and unparalleled

Not one in a million

could live to tell

that they were a new bird in winter

I paused to look out the window. So immersed was I in my poetry, my head filled with dark snowy winters, that i was kind of surprised to see that it was only September out there in the real world. the beginnings of autumn.

Like leaves in autumn

I am falling away

spiraling down to Earth’s floor

Like leaves in autumn

blowing in the wind

neither one thing, nor the other

Like leaves in autumn

am I alive or am I dead?

Ever in motion, never green

Like leaves in autumn,

the sun shining low

echoing back of paradise.

I was burrowed in a corner of the backseat like a squirrel in hibernation with my notebook. I reached for a chip in the bag next to me. It was empty.

“Spencer,” I said, my tone full of reproach, “did you eat all the chips?” I pointedly looked at the crumpled back of tortilla chips. Spencer gave me a skeptical look. “Florence, you’ve been eating them for the last two hours.”

“I have?” Spencer laughed.

“Yeah. you didn’t notice?”

“I’ve been writing.” I said by way of explanation. Spencer just shook her head and laughed, “You’re a crazy girl, Florence Highdrew.”

My brain came unhinged one day

and the world came spilling out

in black ink and words i never knew

i grabbed some paper to wipe the mess up

and this is what soaked through

Chapter Thirty-One: Slow

It's amazing what one person can do. Some people build you up just to bend and break you. Some people bring out parts of you that you had no clue existed. All throughout life, we meet people and every single one of them brings something to us, gives us some sort of purpose. We come across people that will hurt us so incredibly much that it seems unbearable to go on with our lives, but the truth is, we can overcome anything we want to if we believe in it enough, if we have faith in ourselves, in who we are. The most important thing in life is to find yourself. Know who you are at all times and stand by that for the rest of your life. No one has to the right to tell you who you are and control your life, 'cause it's yours. Your life is meant to be lived by no one else but yourself. We sometimes let people get the best of us, destroy us and change our opinions on what we believe is true. Only you know what's right for yourself. You have the power, you make the choices and you learn. Each experience we go through in a life is a lesson to be learned. We all make mistakes. Why is that so hard for some to understand? No one should be judged by the mistakes they have made. It's past news. Everything happens for a reason, and without the hard times, how would we ever realize our true strength? It's only through a time of suffering when we realize how strong we truly are inside, when we realize how much we can actually put up with and deal with before we eventually break.

~Anonymous

Sam paced back and forth. Robin was due to be over in any minute and her and the boys would be watching a movie. He didn’t know what to do. He felt both strangely excited and nervous. Ducking into the bathroom he ran his fingers over his hair.

“Okay,” he said to his reflection. “Its not a big deal. Drew and Clarence and Amber will be here too.” He just needed to calm down. If there was a day where he felt that he could express his feelings, it surely wasn’t tonight. But when? At that moment Drew walked in.

“Where’s Robin?” But before Sam could answer there was a knock at the door. Sam opened it to reveal Robin. She was wearing jeans and a tee shirt. Her feet were bare.

“Shoes?” Sam asked, wondering what crazy answer she would have.

“Well, i figured that i was just going to take them off the moment i walked in anyway, and i only had to go across the hall,” Robin explained, stepping in.

At that moment Clarence appeared. He clapped his hands together. “Who wants to order pizza?”

Drew leaned in closer momentarily as they sat on the couch. Sam was sitting on the other end of the couch, Clarence and his girlfriend, Amber, were curled in the armchair. He couldn’t honestly say that he was paying a whole lot of attention to the romantic comedy Robin and Amber had squealed so excitedly about. Drew was far too busy apprehending the fantastic way Robin smelled. Firstly and most strong was her perfume, sugary and fruity it smelled somehow similar to food and inspired those nearby to want to lick her to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled. Then, more subtle was the scent of her hair. The coconut shampoo, the warm healthy smell of clean hair. The fruit-candy smell of her body lotion was just tangible. Beneath all of those was the smell of her actual skin that somehow echoed of fresh dough rising. Her skin was a scent just almost out of reach for the human nose, tantalizing and promising a smell that could never exactly be smelled. It was that elusive flavor of her skin that made Drew want to press against her close, to catch it.

I close Catch the Light. I don’t have a guy who is intoxicated by the way i smell, and I don’t need to be reading about one who does. I sigh and stare bleakly out the window. Trees, electric pole, field, billboard, trees, electric pole, a couple more fields, billboard.

But as I think about all the unmethodical excerpts of that book that I’ve read, is that really the point? I thought about the way the Sam and Drew describe the mysteriousness and femininity of Robin. At the core of it all seems that Robin herself believes that she is mysterious and fascinating. At her core Robin sees something that she values. And that is the vital difference between Robin and I.

But the question i am asking the cloudy sky is, how do i learn to see that fantastic mystery in myself? I don’t have any answers for me. I can see that Florence understands this concept. and Holly has more grace and fluidity than any other girl I’ve met. Kaylee is unpredictable and Spencer is downright sexy enough that it doesn’t matter what she does. At the center of all those qualities is confidence.

“Hey, yall?” It is Holly. “before we left i looked up the funeral home we need to be at and its at ten. in order for us to stop and shower and generally clean up we will need to drive most of the night.” Spencer huffs from the front seat. “Well, I don’t know how much longer I can drive.”

“You’ve only been driving for like, six hours.” Florence objects.

“Don’t get smart with me young lady or I’ll make you drive.” counters Spencer playfully.

“Don’t worry,” says Holly, “We’ll take turns.”

“Where will we be showering, exactly?” Florence wants to know.

“Don’t bother your head with it right now,” responds Holly, “the good lord will provide.”

I don’t know how I feel about that statement but I am not in a position to argue, so I stay quiet.

I can’t see the digital green numbers of the clock but I think that it must be some time after midnight. I had dozed off after we stopped at a taco bell for some cheap supper. In truth, I’d never eaten Taco Bell before. Fast food isn’t good for serious ballerinas. It was ridiculously good. I felt like I’d been lied to my whole life. So awful, but so good simultaneously. But after that food and the long hours in the car I find myself with a headache. I close my eyes to push away the long hours of the night.

Chapter Thirty-Two: In Which The Unexpected Road Trip Comes to a Abrupt end in a Strange Location

If you've ever had one of those times when you've clutched a pen or something else in your hand for a long time, only to look down and be surprised that you are still holding it long after your need for it had passed, you'll understand sometimes we get so use to holding that we forget to let go.

~Anonymous

I woke up and the sun was shining like it was happy to be alive. My notebook was still on my lap and there was a crick in my neck from sleeping on my own shoulder. I was as stiff as an old woman with arthritis. I could tell that we had gotten of the highway, the change in tempo was what had woken me.

“Morning sleepyhead,” Kaylee smiled at me. Holly was driving again. She turned into a gas station.

“Alright everyone,” she announced, “We have an hour before the funeral service.”

“How do you know?” Spencer interjected.

“I did a lot of googling before we left campus. Trust me. Now, we’re going to run into this here gas station and grab some breakfast. The faster we get food the more time we have to shower and clean up.”

Spencer couldn’t resist piping up again, “Where are we showering, exactly?”

Holly grinned, “I figured you’d be asking. Well, theres a pool at a community center near here and where theres pools, there’s showers. I found their website and visitors can swim for five dollars a person. Once again, I did a lot of googling.”

“Very clever, very clever.” acknowledged Spencer. “Google is the source of all that is good.”

“Lets get out of this car and get some food!”

We hurried into the store. i grabbed several bottles of coffee and some pop-tarts.

“How are you doing?” Kaylee asked me, her tone indicating that she wanted more than ‘I’m fine’ for an answer. I shrugged, not sure what to tell her.

“I’m alright. Not great, but alright. I don’t know what to expect today. At the moment I feel ready to be done with all of this.” Kaylee slipped her arms around me for a tight hug, like she was trying to squeeze strength into me. She kissed my cheek. “Remember, when we’re little old widow ladies, we’re going to move in together, kay?”

I laughed and hugged her back. “okay. we will.”

“I’m checking out. If you want me to buy your food, get your booty over here.” Spencer hollered from over at the cash register. We obliged her.

The pimply guy at the counter in the community center reminded me of a turtle as we walked in, bespectacled, with a long, thin neck and peering eyes . He gave us a strange look. We were in street clothes and carrying suitcases. He made no comment, only raised his eyebrows so high that they almost disappeared into his thatch of dishwater hair. Holly batting her eyes and flashing him a platinum smile may have had something to do with him not objecting.

At nine in the morning on a thursday there aren’t very many people showering in the woman’s bathroom at a rather grimy looking pool in Ukiah, California. To be specific, there weren’t any.

“Alright yall, we’ve got forty minutes,” i said, checking the time on my phone. I quickly pulled my pink skirt and old tee shirt off and slipped into the shower.

It felt surprisingly nice after so many days of living out of the back of Ladybug. The water was warm and it spilled through my tangled hair. I sighed like a man who had been in a desert for weeks would sigh when he suddenly found a water bottle. So many thoughts bounced through my mind. Aaron was dead. Would his casket be open? I’d never met his mother. I’d seen pictures though. How about his little brother?

I remembered my aunt’s funeral. She died of breast cancer when I was eleven. I wore a black skirt and had to sit still. It was hard for me. My aunt had been a good friend and hearing all those people drone on and on about how Fawn Highdrew had been a woman who helped society and made the world a better place, hurt me. I knew her. They should be telling the stories she would have told on herself. Like the silly way she met my uncle Rob in a tumble-down café, or the crazy things that went on when she worked for a diaper washing service. Those were the stories that really displayed who she was, not a man in a dark suit talking about the school that she got her teaching certificate at or where she was born.

Would an unexplained man tell the pointless facts about Aaron today? Would someone talk on and on about all the things that didn’t matter?

My mind whizzed with questions as I blew my hair dry with Kaylee’s hair drier. Then I pulled it back with a hair tie, trying to tame its mindless curls.

“Are you nervous?” Amy asked me as she slid into a grey pleated skirt and a navy blouse of Holly’s. I nodded. “Yeah.” I didn’t own hardly any dark clothes so I contented myself with matching a pair of Spencer’s black jeans with a deep green button up shirt.

“I don’t know what emotion to feel,” I admitted as I slipped a pair of black heels on. Amy nodded her agreement. Anticipation was building up in me.

Spencer linked her arm with mine as we walked down the hall and into the room with the name CARTER on a piece of paper taped to the door. I swallowed. I felt like a soldier being led into battle or Marie Antoinette heading for the guillotine. We were there in time for the viewing. Holly signed us in, meticulously writing out all our names. We sidled like one awkward group of lost sheep along one wall, uncertain what to do. Would someone object to five uncomfortable girls being there randomly? Did people even kick people out of funeral homes?

An elderly man approached us.

“Hello there, I’m glad you came.” He told us somberly.

To all of our surprise, Amy stepped forward as though she did this everyday.

“Hello, I’m Amy Brown. I used to date Aaron at Campbell College.” The old man inclined his head

“I’m his father’s father.” he explained. Holly held out her hand

“I’m Holly, this is Spencer, Kaylee and Florence. We’re,” she paused, “friends of Amy’s.”

“I’m certain Linda would love to speak to you, Amy.” He gave her a hug. He then waved us into the line of mourners.

Holly motioned for us to lean in. “Okay, quickly, Amy, whats your history with Aaron’s family, what do you know?”

“ I came here for the summer. His dad and his mom divorced when he was twelve. His little brother is 14 and named Stevie.”

“Right, and you Florence?”

I shook my head, obscene jealousy griping my stomach. “Never met them. I wasn’t the real girlfriend, remember?” I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

“Okay. I don’t think we should spring that awkward backstory on Mrs. Carter. Amy, we’re friends of yours from school who came to support you.”

We all caught each other’s eyes and nodded. I knew that this was logical but still i felt almost angry about this arrangement. I tried to keep my face impassive as we approached the family dressed in black.

“Hey there,”

“Oh Amy. you’re here. I didn’t know if you would come or not. it’s very dear of you.”

“Yes ma’am. Though we ended our relationship, Aaron was and is still important to me.”

I felt like scowling. Who was this well-adjusted, forward girl? Then I realized. She’s from a proper well brought up family. She was probably used to these kind of pleasentries. Stupid southern hospitality.

I took a deep breath. I needed to reign my thoughts in before I got totally unreasonable. I wished momentarily that I had been raised instead of running around discovering myself. But then i came back to myself- i had loved my childhood.

“And who are these lovely girls?”

“These are friends from school. They knew Aaron as well.”

Mrs. Carter shook our hands.

“Its a pleasure to meet all of you.”

I hardly heard the conversation. My eyes latched onto the coffin next to us. It loomed like the grim reaper in our presence. Disregarding the Carters entirely I walked forward to see him. He lay, his face more still than it ever was in life. His blue eyes were closed. I almost expected him to be buried in that blue v-neck and his favorite old jeans. But no, it was a impeccable black tux, all dressed formal like a penguin. I felt my eyes cloud over with tears. Those cold lips I used to kiss. His hair was combed, his haircut still overgrown. My chin quivered. Here lay the man I used to believe in. I found that my breathing came heavy. All the love letters, the romantic poetry. All the bitter sorrowful poetry of late. He was my first and only college boyfriend. He had been the one I had thought would finally change my crappy luck with men, like a romance movie.

I stared at his composed face, transfixed. All this way for a man who didn’t love me. All the good times. All the recent bad. Tears leaked down my cheeks. I had no idea what I was feeling, there was just so much of it.

Then my friends were about me, holding my hands, hugging my waist.

“Shhh, shhh.” Holly whispered.

They lead me to some seats, like a blind lady. I feel uneasily dizzy, like I had the flu almost. Yet, somehow, I was ready to let go of him. It was time. I could pity his death, but he was no longer mine to mourn.

There was a short and nauseating speech from Aaron’s aunt and a minister spoke about all the unimportant things, as i had feared. I pulled out my notebook and wrote out one last poetic ramble for him.

People always hate goodbyes. There are songs about never saying goodbye. there are stories, there are poems, movies, commercials, there are even people who avoid saying goodbye entirely, like Spencer who will go to great lengths to evade the harsh, close final minute.

I'm not one of those people.

I believe in goodbye.

I believe in that last timeless moment when you hug someone so tight it hurts, that second when your face crumples before you choke out a smile, that instant when you touch someone's face one last time, just to be sure you have memorized each curve and freckle by heart.

At that moment of parting, I believe, something special happens. It proves to both people just how much the other one will really miss them.

I believe in first glances and last kisses.

We hold on to those last seconds, because the pain we feel is just the example of how much we, as humans, can love.

When you don't say goodbye, it doesn't make the separation any different, only we've missed out on the acute, extraordinary feeling of anguish, love, icy loneliness and pain blending deep in your soul. Its a potent feeling. It's one that will lingers in our hearts and minds. The harsh reminder of that person throbbing in us is what reminds us to keep breathing when they're gone.

Goodbyes aren't easy. But we can't go on without them. if "light is the visible reminder of invisible light" (said T. S. Eliot) then goodbyes are the visible reminder of invisible emptiness.

So here I am, holding on to that one last second. it will hurt like crap, but the months I spent loving you were worth the pain. You, however, Aaron Benjamin Carter, are no longer worth the aching sorrow of goodbye. So here is where I end it, and here is where the secret days and nights we had will stay. Goodbye.

Chapter Thirty-Three: Funeral

We're all made of stories. When they finally put us underground, the stories are what will go on. Not forever, perhaps, but for a time. It's a kind of immortality, I suppose bounded by limits. It's true, but then so is everything.

~Charles de Lint, Memory & Dream

The procession is over. Aaron is in the ground. Most everyone is gone now, Mrs. Carter and Stevie were swept away by supportive relatives. Its warm but the breeze is cool on my arms and face. I wish I could have stopped and gotten some flowers.

Here lies

Aaron Benjamin Carter

1991-2010

A Beloved Son and Friend

Here lay everything I believed in for a long time. It was so strange. He hadn’t been in my life for a month or so but he used to be such a big part of my life. All the days we shared. This blissful summer. Gone. I didn’t know how to wrap my mind around this.

As I stand there, unable to move, to blink, Florence steps forward and kneels beside the tombstone.

“Goodbye, Aaron.” she lays a folded piece of paper beside her. Then with her hands, she digs a couple handfuls out of the freshly turned earth and buries the paper. She then folds her hands in her lap and closes her eyes, totally un-self-conscious. She gives me an idea. I pull out my notebook.

Dear Aaron,

This will be my last letter to you. Everyone has got to move on somehow. and this is how I chose to leave you. I can’t keep holding onto you forever. I take my heart back from you. Goodbye. I will continue to discover and grow.

Farewell,

Amy

i set the notebook at the base of the tombstone, like the flowers i wish I could have brought.

Chapter Thirty-Four: In Which I further uncover the depths of that which i had previously deemed shallow as a tide pool

After all these months, all this time, so much has happened. The talks, the phone calls, the laughs, and the feelings. If I were to look back on them, I would never believe that, that person was once me. I wouldn't recognize that girl because she's so different from me. But I guess changing & moving on is part of growing up. I'm growing up and finding out what kind of person I want to be for the rest of my life. And maybe in the future, there are more changes to come, but as for right now, this is who I'm proud to be.

~Anonymous

“Wait, so where are you going?” Spencer asked me as I stuffed clothes and my toothbrush into a tote bag, wishing I was Mary Poppin’s so everything would fit. She was sprawled like a throw rug across her bed.

“Weirdly enough, I’m going home with Amy for the weekend.”

“Amy? its been like three weeks since the funeral.”

“Yeah, I know, but i figured I might as well, since she asked.”

Spencer nodded. I glanced around one more time. “I think thats everything. She said she’d pick me up at five.” I spun around and looked at the clock stacked precariously on top of a heap of books by my bed. “Oh, yeah, I got to run. Say bye to Kaylee and Holly for me. Text me if you need me.”

“Good luck!” Spencer called, not looking up from her computer.

“Hey there!” I greeted putting a smile on my face. I hardly knew what to expect this weekend.

“Hello, Florence,” Amy unfolded from her car door. Dressed in a floral skirt and cardigan I suddenly wondered if I had should have dolled down my outfit. I was wearing my typical ring on every finger with a skirt sewn out of men’s ties and a shirt with the flags of a bunch of countries printed on it. My usual plethora of bracelets and my signature swinging beaded earrings added to the haphazard look, topped off with a burgundy beret. It was no matter, they would like me if they liked me.

“Here, let me pop the trunk for you.” She pressed a button and her glossy navy car’s trunk lid opened for me.

“Thanks.” I dropped my battered, sequined tote in the back.

“So, what should I call your parents?” I asked as Amy drove through the quiet streets. Even on a Friday evening there was no traffic.

“Um, just miss Sherri and mr. Jeff would be fine.”

I nodded, like a bobble head, awkwardly moving my head up and down to prolong the conversation.

“How was your day?” I asked, feeling like a soccer mom picking up her middle school kid.

“It was good. I Had two classes and a nice long dance practice.”

I bobbed my head again.

“And you?” she returned the question, stretching the meager small talk out.

“It went well.” more head bobbing. “I had three classes.” The car drifted into silence. Amy turned the radio on to cover the quietness. Country music came, slow and mechanical, through the speakers. I couldn’t help but notice that her car was very new, and very nice. It still had a smell reminiscent of new car smell. My car smelled like that some time around when the dinosaurs were still wandering around the planet.

Amy had said that she lived close to campus. I began wondering just how close.

“You have a sister, right?” I asked, when i could no longer stand the burning wordlessness.

“Yeah, her name is Abby. She’s fourteen and she looks a lot like me.” I nodded yet again. “Nice.”

After a couple eternities of smalltalk we pulled off of the road and down a winding driveway in some trees. At the end of the driveway was a house that was both everything I expected and everything i had feared. It was a big, white, victorian house with a wraparound porch with, I don’t jest, white rocking chairs and a bench swing.

We got out and I grabbed my bag. I steeled myself for the prissiest family possible. Sure, I claimed friendship with Amy, but i had said nothing about her family, and i suspected that a child who grew up with the streets as her playground and never had two pennies to rub together would not be welcome in his idealistic family.

“Well hi there,” sang out a woman’s friendly southern voice. The screen door swung open and a middle-aged woman with pristine reddish blonde hair stepped out. She was pretty for her age, and slight of build like Amy. She was tan and her nails were manicured.

“Mama!” Amy greeted as we stepped up the steps. They hugged. “Mama, this is Florence Highdrew.”

“Pleasure to meet you, honey, call me miss Sherri.” she pulled me in for a hug too. “Come on in.” We stepped into a green front room with a window seat. it was mint green and floral and i realized that Amy’s taste was a family trait. There was a thumping down the hallways stairs and a thin girl in a white skirt with blonde hair raced through and embraced Amy.

“Amy!”

“Abby!”

It was totally different to see Amy in this setting, at her own home where she was comfortable and natural.

“This is Florence,” Amy introduced me.

“Florence, I’ve heard so much about you.” Abby said smiling. I wondered if any of it was good. The trouble with southern families is that they would smile and offer you sweet tea and cookies even while they were stabbing you in the back. Instead of saying any of my misgivings I gave a high, false laugh,

“I hope some of it was good.” I teased.

Abby giggled and Amy wrapped her arms around her.

“Come on into the kitchen, I was just about to fry up some chicken.”

Now fried chicken was something that i could be okay with.

The kitchen had tall white cabinets and red and yellow floral curtains and table cloth. It was all neatly matched. A decorative vase stood by the fridge; it was full of fake red apples. Who puts fake fruit in their kitchen? Why not real fruit? That way you could eat it.

“Can I help you?” I said, coming back to myself and my manners.

“Sure thing, honey. Abby, would you help Florence set the table?” Abby handed me a stack of plates and then fished silverware out of a drawer. Amy was putting a salad together. I couldn’t help but notice that the silverware was real silver and the napkins Abby handed me were cloth.

“Thank you very much, dear.” Miss Sherri said as I put ice in the glasses. I nodded. I was back to the bobble head nod again.

“Florence? Why do we leave the frying to Mama and Abby and get you settled in upstairs?” Amy said.

“Sure thing.” I agreed, scooping my bag up again.

Amy’s room was everything I expected it to be. It had frosty pink walls and her double bed was swathed in rose quilted patterns and pillows. Quaint with large double windows, her room alone was as big as the den in my apartment at home. white carpet and white furniture, impractical for showing stains and wear, but pretty. Not that there was any wear on them. Dried flowers stood in a face on her vanity.

“You have a couple options,” Amy said, “Theres a guest room down the hall or you can share my bed. My bed is more comfortable but if you’re not a bed-sharer then you may be more comfortable down the hall.”

“Here is fine.” I decided, dropping my bag to the floor. I yanked out my bathroom bag and a sweater and shoved all my things into a spare corner.

“Is it okay if I take my shoes off?” I indicated my brown boots.

“Oh, yes, sure.” Amy assented.

I tumbled down onto the squishy carpet.

Amy sat down on the edge of her bed.

“Do you like being home?” I asked conversationally.

“Yeah, I really do. thats one of the reasons i went to school so close to home. That and Abby, she really appreciates having me around.”

“Yeah, i can’t imagine growing up all by myself.”

“Oh yeah, thats right, you have five siblings?”

“Yup. six kids in nine years.”

At that moment an orange tabby thread her way through the partially open door. She sidled up to me and slithered around my legs.

“Hey kitty,” I crooned, obligingly scratching her chin. The cat closed her eyes and tilted her head into my hand. I used to befriend the strays around our apartment. When I could i would save bits of food for them.

“That’s Susie Q.” Amy explained. I looked up, my hair all in my face, and grinned, “Oh, like the song?” I took a breath and then sang:

“Oh, Susie Q

Oh, Susie Q

Oh, Susie Q

I love you

My Susie Q,”

Amy laughed, “yes, just like that old Rolling Stones song. A lady at my mom’s work- she works two days a week as a in-home decorator- was getting married and her new husband was apparently allergic to cats.”

“So you guys ended up with a cat?”

“Yeah, we actually have two, the other one is around here somewhere, but she doesn’t like people very well.” Amy smiled, “I usually call her the spawn of satan.”

“Nice.” I laughed, as was expected. “What’s an in-home decorator?” I said, to avoid nodding my head again.

“My mama works with an agency where people hire her to come into their houses and decide what colors and patterns would be best. They give her estimates of how much they’re willing to spend and then she goes furniture shopping for them. She really loves it. She always says ‘theres nothing more satisfying than putting a whole room together so that it is in impeccable coordination’.”

“That sounds like an interesting job.”

I knew I would never be rich enough to want to hire some one to decorate my house for me.

“Amy? Florence? Dinner’s ready.” Amy’s mother’s voice rang out from the bottom of the stairs.

“Coming, Mama,” called Amy.

“So, Florence, if you don’t mind me asking,” Said Mr. Jeff as he started passing the green beans around, “why the name Florence? Like Florence Nightingale?”

“No, actually, like the city in Italy. Florence, Italy.” I said, serving myself some salad and passing it to Abby. “All of my siblings are named after cities, too.” I explained.

“Oh, and what are their names?” asked Miss Sherri.

“Cheyenne, Dallas, Havana, Vienna and Dublin.”

“Fascinating, are you the oldest?”

I wipe my face on my napkin before returning it to my lap as I had seen Amy do.

“I’m the second, right after Cheyenne.”

“Oh splendid. Now, what did you say you were majoring in?”

What was this, the spanish inquisition? I felt like a boy who was wanting to date their daughter or something. Wait, not date, court. I smiled inside.

“I’m an english major. I want to be a writer.” I answered.

“What do you write?” Abby asked me eagerly as she picked up her glass of sweet tea.

“Poetry mainly. Do you write?” I asked, anything to end the tide of questions being fired at me.

“I do some short stories.” Abby said, blushing a little. “I can’t say I’ve tried much poetry.”

“Oh but anyone can write poetry,” I objected. “All you do is you take the picture in your mind and instead of writing what you see, as you would for a story, you write what you feel about that picture in metaphor and simile.”

“Spoken like a true writer,” Miss Sherri teased, giving me a small smile over her forkful of chicken.

“I suppose,” I admitted.

Once the dishes were finished and the kitchen put to bed we migrated into the family room. A large, new looking television stood in the center of one wall. This room was furnished in bronze and sage green. Fake artichokes adorned the coffee table. There were a bouquet with pears on top of the mantel. We had started a movie. I wasn’t paying very good attention, focusing more on the professional family portraits hung in artistic places on the walls. Right above the pear-infested mantel was a large shot of Amy and Abby. They were walking on a wooden bridge, holding hands and smiling at the camera. It was the kind of setting picked by a photographer. but, somehow, I liked it. On the wall beside the armchair I was in was one with all four of them. They were seated on a wrought iron bench; Miss Sherri and Mr. Jeff’s arms were around their girls who were sandwiched in the middle, laughter was on their faces, all squeezed together.

As the movie ended Mr. Jeff came out of his study and clapped his hands together.

“Now, was it just me or did you,” he indicated Abby, “and mama make a blackberry cobbler this afternoon?” Both Amy and Abby hopped up. “We sure did!” I followed suit and we all hurried back into the kitchen. Miss Sherri appeared from the parlor, holding a book that seemed distinctly of the inspirational variety.

“Look what we made, Amy.” declared Abby proudly, pulling out an amazing looking pie.

Miss Sherri handed Abby a knife and set out five plates.

“Who would like milk?” Asked mr. Jeff as he fetched the jug.

In no time we were seated again at the table and i was eating some of the best blackberry cobbler I’ve ever eaten in my life.

Chapter Thirty-Five: Friendliness

I wish that my head was my own notebook. I wish every single one of my thoughts were written down. Okay, it doesn't have to be a notebook. It can be an air sick bag for all I care. I am this person inside my head I could only dream to be. She's so open, so alive, she's so thoughtful and she is brilliant. She dreams of things I cant imagine on seeing. She sees colors, not words or people. She sees rainbows of colors. She is life. She breathes flowers and exhales master pieces of art. She excels in education, music, and art. She is the person I can only be in my head. I'll keep her there. She's safe there. She hasn't been hurt, she hasn't seen pain. In my eyes, there's still hope for her. I bet her heart is full of love and compassion. The kind of compassion that's been torn from my eyes, my heart, and my finger tips. Her lips are untouched and so soft. I could only imagine what she is capable of. I'd probably hate her if she was real. I'd probably find some reason to hate her. And I'd probably tear her, from limb to limb. I'd make her cry, just to watch her mascara run. But, I bet even then, make up smeared, eyes red and puffy, I bet even then she's still beautiful.

~Anonymous

I’ve always found my nightly ablutions soothing, a nice way to calm from the day and settle in. Florence simply changed into old sweats and a ratty tee shirt, brushed her teeth and braided her long tangled curls into a careless braid. All the same, I determined not to rush myself and I meticulously washed my face, brushed my teeth for all three minutes, combed my hair thoroughly.

Florence noses around my room while I was in my adjoining bathroom. I don’t mind.

“You like Jane Austin?” Florence surmises aloud, browsing my bookshelves. It doesn’t seem to be the kind of questions that requires and answer. “Oooh, and Bronte?”

Then, a moment later, “These pictures of you in your various ballerina costumes are adorable.”

Above my vanity I have all the yearly dance photo shots of me. It is like a chronological slideshow of my life. The years I had braces. The year I got my ears pierced. The year I finally started doing my own stage make-up.

I finish drying my face on a blue towel and walk back into my room. Turning on a bedside lamp, I say, “Florence, will you get the overhead light?” She does and then joins me on the bed.

“So,” she asks, “Are you the kind of person who likes to stay up late? Or the kind that turns into a pumpkin at midnight?”

I smile at her turn of phrase, “A little of both, i suppose.”

“Oh good, me too. I’m not an all-nighter like Spencer. But I’m not in bed real early like Holly all the time either.”

She snuggles down among my many pillows and sighs contentedly, draping her arms above her head.

“You always seem so confident with everything you do,” I start, my curiosity and desire to learn more urging my words.

“I guess I do,” Florence agrees, “I always do what I think, and believe in what I do. Thats one definition of confident.”

“Why are you that way?” I continue.

“Um, because I’m okay with the things that i think, and thus the things that I do. I’m at peace with myself. Thats not to say that i never question myself, but I’ve lived long enough to understand who I am.”

“And how did you come to understand that?” i push.

“Oh Amy, me discovering me was a long road. Its when you’re okay with when you’re wrong. It’s when you’re not afraid to say ‘this is what is important to me’. Its a never-ending process. I’ll spend the rest of my life understanding the hurricane in me.”

Hurricane? I think. If people were rain, I was a drizzle and she was a hurricane. How does she know that is the very word, the idea that I chased.

“What do you mean, hurricane?” I question, fascinated. Florence adjusts, her weight shifting.

“I mean the emotions that come with being human, and even more so being a woman. Each day there’s a hurricane in me that writhes. the balance is finding the eye of that hurricane and recognizing that there is sense in my mind if only i can find it. But that’s different than you, Amy. you’re something I could never be. You’re stiller, more even keel-”

“Porcelain.”

“Exactly! Good metaphor. Porcelain. You have a control over your emotions that I don’t have, Amy.”

“Wait, porcelain is a good thing?” I say. “But its hard, its cold.”

“And hurricanes are destructive.” Florence counters. “You’re very insecure,” She observes.

“What? no.” I defend, trying to retreat.

“No, its fine. I’m unstable. Everyone has something.”

“Apparently you’re perceptive.”

“Thats what they tell me.” Florence turns her head and smiles at me to let me know she’s playing. We are silent for a spell, both of us mulling over one another’s words. Finally, Florence says,

“You know, speaking of me being unstable, I really believed that Aaron would be different. and when he wasn’t i had a hard time dealing with it.”

“Had? Aren’t you still dealing with it?” I say, surprise in my voice.

“No with our break-up. I mourn the loss of someone so young. Particularly someone who was once close to me. But our break up, nah.”

I am speechless. How does she do it?

“The important thing,” she continues, “is to talk it through. And keep talking it out until it doesn’t hurt anymore. I can’t tell you how many nights i’ve talked Spencer, Kaylee and Holly’s ears off.”

I shut my eyes. Friends. We are back into territory that I am not good with. Beyond the girls I dance with and then, until late, Aaron, my sister has been my best friend. I’ve always been too afraid to open up to just anyone.

I think of that birdcage.

Chapter Thirty-Six: In Which Morning Dawns with New Experiences and Thoughts and I Am Further introduced to a Lifestyle that I know Nothing About

I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me... but it's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life... You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry... you will someday." --American Beauty

I rolled over and woke up. the morning sun was shining in the windows like it was happy to see me. Amy was still asleep next to me, her hands tucked next to her cheek, like a baby doll. Carefully, so as not to wake Amy, I slid out of the bed. I smirked to myself, nothing like that awkwardness of waking up before the other person. priceless. I grabbed my notebook and tip toed out of the room like a fugitive.

Once downstairs I found miss Sherri in the front room paying bills or something.

“Good morning,” she greeted me.

“Morning.”

“There’s tea in the kitchen if you’d like some.”

Well, i’m a coffee person but I wasn’t about to pass up something warm to drink. I found myself a nice big mug and a sugar bowl. I settled myself on the comfortable window seat.

When I was a girl,

All dressed in white,

my mother tucked me in

turned on the night light

“Tell me a story,” I’d beg

warm under the covers

She’d recite Cinderella,

Snow White, and many others

Her voice was my lullaby

Fairytales were what i lived on

Stories of happy ever after

Now they’re almost gone

I’m all grown up now,

living each day slowly

There is no knight in armor

nothing ending happily

I tuck myself in tonight

I tell myself about Rapunzel

She waited so long

In a tower-like cell

In the cold times,

I know the good will come

Fairytales are real

They’re what I was raised on

I finished my poem and I looked out the window beside me. It was a strange conversation that Amy and I had had the night before. On a nearby chair was Amy’s purse and beside it was that book I’d lent her a while ago, Catch the Light. I leaned over and snagged it. Then, flipping to one of absolute my favorite parts, I began to read.

He wasn’t going to make it. Where was she? He had waited so long, never making a move. Now it was all but too late. She was leaving. and he had gratuated. they were two people destined for different places.

People gave him strange looks as he dashed through the subway, his black graduation gown flapping, his master’s degree still in his hand. She had never been anything more than friendly, what was he thinking? Like he could just barge into her appartment, declare his love and sweep her away. She’d never said anything about wanting a guy like him.

Or had she? the way her eyes sparkled. Maybe she’d been telling him all along and he’d never seen it. The way her hand felt on his forearm that afternoon in the park. It had been just the two of them. Robin was so sad and vulnerable that day. Her tears dripped down her face like liquid diamonds in the fading light. She had seemed so helpless. How could he not have told her right that very instant that he wanted to take care of her every day, forever?

Then there was the way she almost danced when she walked up to him.

How about how she came over and made dinner in the apartment? He could still see her now, barefoot and wearing jeans, twirling circles around the kitchen, singing some silly song. It was like she belonged there. Her hair fell down her back in dark waves. Her smile had been bright that evening. She was dancing- maybe she had been waiting for him to take her hands and dance with her.

He could have kicked himself for missing the signs. She had said that she was moving when they, that is the boys, graduated. How could he have been so stupid? She was leaving because they were. Having been neighbors for three years, what were the odds that they would just simply happen to be moving on the exact same weekend?

The way Robin’s eyes lingered on him when Amber came in displaying the engagement ring Clarence had finally given her came to the front of his mind.

With a whooshing of air the subway train came down the tunnel. He boarded quickly onto the crowded train. Bumping shoulders with a middle-aged business man, he held onto one of the hanging handles as they took off.

“Nice outfit,” the man chuckled, his eyes scanning him.

“Thanks.” he replied, glancing sheepishly down at his disheveled graduation gown.

“The runaway graduate.” The man smiled, finding the situation far too amusing.

“Its sort of an emergency.” he explained. “The love of my life is about to move away and I was about to let her.”

His own words seemed silly in his mind. Yet he couldn’t deny the truth in them.

At that moment the train lurched and and knocked everyone together.

“What did you just say?” asked an elderly woman, turning to look at him.

“The love of my life is about to leave for good and I’ve been so blind not to see it. I’m going after her.”

“Thats so sweet.” cooed a teenage girl in a seat nearby.

“Go get her, son.” said a gray-haired man nodding to him.

As the train pulled to a stop, he flung himself out of the sliding doors and barreled through the throng.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry, pardon me.” he stammered apologies right and left as he forced his way through. And then he was out onto the sidewalk. The rain was pouring down like the sky itself was falling. He dashed across the cross walk without waiting his turn, causing cars to beep at him. He’d been such a fool.

Would Robin even want him, after all this time? Was he too late? There had been so many chances for him to ask her out. They saw each other almost every day. Would it have been too hard to reach out and take her hand in his?

There, there was their apartments. And that was Robin, loading suitcases into a taxi. Her green raincoat buttoned tight around her, she held her polka-dotted umbrella aloft.

“Robin!” he cried, racing up to her, “Robin! I have to talk to you.”

There he was, out of breath, a soggy diploma in his hand, drenched in rain and wearing a drippy graduation gown and cap. Would she even want him? What did he have to offer her? They’d never even dated.

“Whoa, hey there. What are you doing here? I mean, I thought you were graduating.”

“I am. I mean, I did, I walked across that stupid stage just a moment ago. But I’m here now.”

“I see that. Did you trip?” She smiled clownishly, “I’m leaving to start my new job at that salon i told you about. It will be a good move for me. And you, you’re off to that job in Denver next week.”

“Please don’t leave, Robin.”

“Why not?” Was that the traces of tears on her face, or was it the rain?

“Because,” he faltered, “because I love you.”

Then, without hesitation, even though it was the biggest choice he would ever make in his life, he got down on one knee. Robin’s dark, coy eyes were huge. Her lips parted. “Oh,” she breathed.

“Robin Croft, I love you. Please don’t go so far away. Will you marry me?”

“I thought you’d never ask me!” She flung herself into his waiting arms. “I’ve been waiting since I first met you.” she whispered. Their lips met-

“Morning Florence!” Amy walked into the room.

“Morning to you too.” I said, putting the book aside.

“Would you like to put some clothes on and then take a walk.” I nodded.

“You have a beautiful yard.” I said. That was an understatement. huge oak and willow trees festooned the expansive lawn. there was a lake behind the house that I hadn’t even seen before. We walked along a path that circled the blue lake.

“Thank you, its home to me.” Amy’s eyes scanned the scenery. “Whats your home like?”

I swallowed, i suddenly felt inadequate. Taking a deep breath I said, “I live in a three bedroom apartment above a bookstore in Saint Louis. I share a room with my two sisters.”

I don’t know what Amy thought of this, but she said, “That’s interesting, I bet yall are close. I know that one semester we were remodeling part of the house and Abby slept in my room. We really got to know each other then, staying up late talking, that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, though we spent a lot of time together during the day.”

“Why was that?” came her question, like she was really interested in understanding me and my family.

“We didn’t make a lot of friends. The kids in the school were mostly told by their uppity parents to stay away from ‘those Highdrew kids’. The woman who owned the bookstore below us used to tell me stories, though, and let me borrow books all the time. What was your childhood like?” I asked.

She smiled sweetly, “Its mostly a blur of ballet lessons, schoolwork, luncheons, teas. I did some cheerleading in middle school.”

“We grew up pretty different, didn’t we.” I grinned. “Yours sounds very structured. Mine wasn’t at all.”

“Do you think that was a good thing?” Amy asked.

What a question.

“Well, I was able to grow through it. As children we had to have the presence of mind to realize that if we didn’t take the initiative to learn and mature that we wouldn’t. Our parents didn’t pressure us to do anything. It changed when I was in middle school. Things became more stable. My dad finally kept a job.” I started to say that it all changed because my aunt Fawn died and pulled my parents together, but i didn’t.

“I think you’re lucky, Amy, you have so much here.”

“All i need is some confidence in it.” Amy laughs back.

I smile at her. “You want to know a secret to confidence?”

She turns to me, stopping dead on the path. “What?”

“Fake it.” I said, “Fake it till its real. You know at the funeral home, you acted like you were bold, and you looked bold. Thus, to everyone around you, you were bold. If you keep it up, people will begin to believe you and lastly, you’ll begin to believe yourself.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Discovery

there's no such thing as a grown up. we move on, we move out, we move away from our families and form our own, but the basic insecurities, the basic fears and all those old wounds just grow up with us. we get bigger, we get taller, we get older, but for the most part, we're still a bunch of kids running around the playground trying desperately to fit in.

-grey's anatomy

I stand stock still, staring at Florence. Her words make so much sense. I could have tried that years ago.

“Fake its till its real.” I say, repeating her words.

“Yeah, but let me caution you,” she says, “that philosophy only works with confidence. I’ve tried it with happiness too but happiness has to be a choice, not an image.”

“Fake it till it’s real.” I say again.

“Yup. you know that book, Catch the Light,” she says, starting to walk down the trail again, “to me, thats what its really about. In early high school i found a copy of it in the bookstore below our apartment and I read and re-read and re-read it. There’s a million things you could say Catch the Light is about but to me, it will always be an example of how to be a woman.”

I stare at Florence, knowing my eyes are huge and bright. It is like she is taking all the words I failed to say and telling them to me.

“I need more than an example, I need a freaking instructional booklet.” I grumble.

Florence laughs. “No, what you need is to stop looking at porcelain as a cage instead of a gift.” She takes my hand, “Because it is a gift. Its a double-edged sword, just like a hurricane is. It doesn’t matter which you are, because in the end, they’re just two extremes fighting for balance.” She gives me a look that has all the delight of a kid on christmas morning, “come on, run run run run!” She takes off down the path, dragging me with her.

We are on the far side of the lake by the time we collapse, Florence sprawls out on the grass and after a moment’s hesitation, I join her. She is panting like a dog and I realize that I am too.

“Thats a woman. deliciously unpredictable.” Florence grins, rolling over to look at me. I realize she’s half-kidding.

“A woman is a person who enjoys life. Not necessarily that her life is enjoyable, but that she has learned to find enjoyment in it.”

“Now as for enjoyment,” I say, standing up again and checking my watch, “we should get back to the house and get cleaned up.”

Florence rolls into a sitting position, her hair tangling itself around her. “For what?”

“Mama is having a luncheon and I promised I would help.”

Florence froze for a moment, “oh, right. okay.”

“You can burrow away upstairs if that will make you more comfortable.”

“Nah, its fine, I would love to learn how to help with a luncheon.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight: In Which I Acknowledge with a Full Heart That I have More Learning and Less Judging to Do

"are you okay?" why do people say it? does "i'm fine." honestly satisfy you? if so, you don't mean what you're asking. i mean, come on, look in my eyes, i'm not okay. you know i'm not okay. and you asking if i'm okay is just reminding me how badly i'm not. i want someone to reach out a little farther than just, "are you okay?" instead of a question, make it a statement. you're okay. it's gonna be okay. it would mean so much more. we all need to look a little deeper. nobody is ever okay.

~ Anonymous

“What can i do?” I said, bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen. I had changed back into my tie skirt and borrowed a brown scoop-neck blouse from Amy. She said that most the ladies would be wearing skirts.

“Oh, Florence, lovely. Would you set the dinning room table with the china in the china cabinet in there?”

I clapped my hands together. “Sure thing, I’d love to.” I start setting the plates out. Then there were little saucer places. and glasses, and tea cups, and bowls, what all did she want of this?

Thankfully Amy swooped into the room in a pink dress and cardigan. She looked me up and down and then said, “Here, copy this.” In a flash she had placed a plate with a bowl centered on it. the knife and spoon on one side, the fork on the other. The glass just above it. The tea cup and saucer went just above the knife. She beamed at me and swept into the kitchen.

Abby came out as I was finishing up the beautiful arrangement of dishes. They were so beautiful it seemed almost a shame to eat off of them. She looked like a miniature of her sister but she was wearing a blue dress.

“Thank you so much, Florence.” she said, setting a tea pot on the side table. I nodded, still of the bobble head variety.

The door bell rung. Abby strode quickly to the front door.

“Why hello there miss Maye, come on in. Here let me put this on the coat rack for you.”

“Thank you, how’s my abby-girl?” I heard an elderly lady’s voice wobble from the foyer.

“Oh, I’m splendid. I think that I’ve finally gotten on top of my algebra at last. I wasn’t sure if i was going to pull through it there at first.” Abby laughed. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

I tiptoed around the corner and saw Abby helping a fussy looking woman into a chair in the parlor. her whispy white hair was piled on I started to turn around and head for the kitchen but Amy through.

“Here, let me introduce you to her.” Amy said, taking my arm and pulling me through the doorway. I steeled myself and put on a smiling face.

“Well look there, don’t you look bright this morning, miss Maye.” Amy said delightedly. “Miss Maye, this is my friend Florence from the University of Gwyndolyn.”

“Its lovely to meet you, Florence.” I shook her frail hand.

“You too.” I said stoically.

I was saved from needing to elaborate by the doorbell ringing.

In a little over a quarter hour, about a dozen ladies and a few daughters sprinkled here and there were all seated in the Brown’s large dinning room. Abby and Amy both kept hopping up like jack-in-the-boxes to go refill glasses or check on the cookies in the oven. I wasn’t sure that i could really be helpful in there so instead I dove into a conversation with the woman next to me.

She seemed to be a few years older than my own mother and her name was Faye. I was beginning to see a trend in the names.

“So, you said you attend the University of Gwyndolyn, is that right?” Miss Faye said.

“Yup. I sure do. Are you familiar with it?”

“Oh, my dear, i went there about thirty years ago.”

“Really?” I said, my interest piqued.

“Oh yes, dear. I studied literature.” Miss Faye said.

“Thats so neat. What kind is your favorite?”

“Oh, probably victorian english literature.”

“Really? Have you read much Bronte?” I said, having totally forgotten about the food on my plate.

“Of course I have, in fact, i wrote a really nice term paper about Emily Bronte one semester.”

“Did you now,” interjected the woman on my other side, who’s name I was fairly certain was miss Kaye.

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Clarity

"Sometimes we have thoughts that even we don't understand. Thoughts that aren't even true—that aren't really how we feel—but they're running through our heads anyway because they're interesting to think about."

~Anonymous

I watch Florence struggle in this setting. Suddenly, as I bustle back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room and back, i realize something. I’m as much a woman as Florence. I could have laughed out loud. Somehow things fell into a line in my brain. It wasn’t that i had everything figured out, it was, what it said in Catch the Light:

“She was so much herself. she really, really felt each emotion she had... She understood that she was a woman, a vivacious mystery and she knew how to own that. She kept her secrets to herself, and shared her laughter with everyone ... so mysterious and so open at the same time.”

Of course! I would never find myself as long as I’m trying to be like Florence. We each have our own strengths and weaknesses.

“Oh, yes, I’ve been enjoying my dancing immensely. We have a really good, talented group this year.”

“I’m so happy to hear that, hun.”

“Yes, I hope to maybe teach one day.” I say, and the more I think about that, the more I would like to do just that. Why not? I had unraveled the secret of being myself, and myself wants to do that.

“That would be splendid. You know, my niece over in Kingsport, she teaches jazz in a studio there.”

“Really? thats great,” I say, “Would you excuse me?”

I slip into the bathroom and lean against the wall, folding my arms. My mind is spinning with thoughts. I wasn’t a hurricane and I never would be. And that is more than okay. That is great. I can be porcelain, and be just as beautiful and shining.

Chapter Forty: In Which an Things Finally Begin to Truly Fall into place and Make Sense

This is for the girls who don't always win,

who stay up all night listening to music that inspires them to do things next to the impossible.

The girls who laugh, smile, cry and think all on a daily basis.

The girls who like, learn, and regret.

The girls who may never have it easy.

The girls who learn the hard way and live to tell about.

~Anonymous

All at once, something clicked in my head. This was no different than what I used to do, sitting and listening to Marina talk in that dusty little bookshop. This was just another version of the same thing. It wasn’t something foreign and unpleasant, like wasabi.

I stationed myself at the sink and did dishes, it seemed like a good place for the girl who didn’t know these people. I learned one thing about luncheons, they involve a million dishes! It seemed like I must have washed dishes for an hour. But I was fine with that because I didn’t really know how to small talk with these women anyway and I had plenty to think over.

Amy was a woman as much as I, Cheyenne or Robin were. She just was one in a totally different way than I had ever seen before. I had misjudged her over and over again. For the first time I was viewing Amy Grace Brown in the area where she flourished, and the view was spectacular.

Once all the dishes were washed and all the ladies were gone, Amy and I did the only thing we could think to do, tumble down on the couch in the family room and put in a movie. It was some silly musical but after the company, I was glad for the break. I focused on the movie, letting my mind go blank and not worry, at least for a couple of hours, about all the revolutionary thoughts zooming through my head like bottle rockets.

That night, once I had waited for Amy to go through her tedious getting-ready-for-bed routine, once we had turned off the lights and we had pulled the covers up, I said,

“Amy,” i rolled over to face her, “You know what i realized this afternoon?”

“What,” she asked, looking at my eyes.

“That you already are a woman. Just a very different kind. The only thing you need to change is your faith in yourself. What I saw you do today, you are as much a woman as Robin, in your own way.”

I saw tears well up in her round, green eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really. You have everything you need. and you have a wonderful mother who is more than happy to help you. Thats something I haven’t had.”

We stared at one another for a few long, silent moments.

“Amy, you’re beautiful, you know that?”

A burst of laughed bubbled up from Amy, “what?”

I laughed with her, like a silly little girl, “not in a homo way, like, I think for the first time, I’m really seeing you clearly, without any disillusions.”

Amy smiled. And she was beautiful, I hadn’t really noticed before.

“Yeah, I’ve been doing some thinking too,” Amy admitted. “All along, all throughout our break up with Aaron, during that crazy road trip, I kept thinking that you must have been better than me because he was cheating on me with you- I wasn’t interesting enough to keep him to myself.”

I started to say something but Amy put her hand up like a stop sign and continued, “But I’ve realized now that whatever Aaron’s reasons for cheating on me, they don’t have to define me and I’m not any less of a woman because of all that.” She exhaled harshly. “Yeah, thats what I wanted to say.”

“Wow, Amy. I didn’t know you felt that way at all.” I said, astonished, “All this time I’ve been feeling like crap because I was the illegitimate one. I’ve been getting down on myself because he didn’t even want to claim me as his real girlfriend.”

We both stared at one another some more, processing one another’s secrets.

“You said at the funeral,” I said slowly, “That you spent the whole summer out in California with him.”

Amy nodded. “Yeah, two months.”

I shook my head, rubbing my cheek against the soft pillow beneath my head “He wrote me all summer, talking about how much he missed me and everything.”

“Wait!” Amy demanded, “You mean that was you he was writing all that time?” I nodded, confused.

“He told me about how his father was finally starting to correspond with him for the first time in years. Thats why he took time out of his week to write.”

I giggled, then chuckled, and then we looked at one another and we were rolling with laughter. We subsided, but then we caught one another’s eyes and started laughing all over again.

When we finally managed to contain our amusement, I said

“You know Amy, one of my favorite quotes is from a movie called ‘P.S. I Love You. it goes like this “so now, all alone or not, you gotta walk ahead. thing to remember is if we're all alone, then we're all together in that too.” Thats what we’re doing, Amy.”

She reached across the space between us and we clasped hands like firemen.

“We sure are.”

Epilogue:

Florence Penelope Highdrew and Amy Grace Brown remained close friends throughout college. When they graduated, Florence went on to graduate school. There she met a man who was the spitting image of Sam from Catch the Light. After working their way through school they both became professors at the University of Gwyndolyn and live near campus with their four children.

Amy got married after getting her bachelor's degree to a man that forever reminded her of a character named Drew from one of her favorite books. His name was Thomas Ryder. Amy opened her own ballet studio and both of Florence’s daughters learned from their ‘aunt Amy’.