Beatless (2 page)

***

Hell was the Waffle House two miles down the street from my house. And approximately five hundred feet from my high school parking lot. On one of the last Friday nights of summer in the illustrious town of Snellville, Georgia, it was also the very last place I wanted to be. Because it was inevitably the hot-spot where half the high school was fueling up before they all went out with their friends.

“You’re being completely overdramatic.”

“I’m not. Don’t you remember how hard it was being my age?”

“Oh, yes. Life and death and all that. End of the world.” She smiled and leaned in. “Change of subject. What classes did you sign up for?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

The reality of the situation was that I’d already had to establish myself with a new senior class. And now I had to do the same in a college that wasn’t even considered a real college, all because my parents got divorced and suddenly there wasn’t enough money for me to go to Tennessee.

That was why my mom had taken the work assignment to begin with. Due to the downshift of the economy, her department was
lean
and she was one of the few people who kept her position in the city. This meant that she was the only one who could manage the new office and train people that were being hired in another part of the country, while still maintaining her job duties here. Irony at its finest.

At first I thought she was going to force me go with her and I wanted to freak out and tell her that it wasn’t fair that I’d been so sick and had to repeat a grade, much less made to put off college for a year. This would mean I’d have to find another one to attend on short notice.

“Don’t worry,” she had said after she dropped the bomb about leaving. “Your Aunt Sam is moving back home and she’s agreed to watch over you while I’m gone. Not babysit you – just make sure you have someone here.”

Now, I’m legally an adult, but I could see why she felt the need to have Sam in the house. Being sick. Being on my own. Dealing with all of it. It could have been overwhelming. We live in the house that they both grew up in, the same mint green two-story Cape Cod with the burgundy front door that my grandmother left to my mom in her Will (with an addendum that the rose bushes by the front were to be kept impeccable at all times) – since she was the oldest. Plus, Sam had gotten married and moved away, and she didn’t have any kids, so she really saw no point in taking ownership of it. Now she was coming back to live in her old room, and if I was being honest with myself, I was a little glad she was going to be here.

Right before my mom left, she’d gifted us with room redecorations (clearly a guilt driven move); me with midnight blue walls, a new comforter with tiny violets embroidered across the hem, and a set of twinkling white lights across the far wall. Maybe she wanted to help me forget the months spent in that bedroom staring at peeling peach paint, under a cotton candy blue blanket.

Aunt Sam had opted for deep red, her vintage black furniture causing the room to look like a shiny record when you walked by. She seemed content as my mom prepared to leave. She didn’t freak out when she was left with instructions. She didn’t even act weird the first night we were alone together. I don’t think she knew exactly what to expect from the entire thing. And it was fine. Until the days before school started, and every friend I’d had for my entire life, left to go to back to college and I was alone and empty, wondering exactly how I was going to survive the year without one single friend by my side.

That is how I ended up eating dinner with my middle aged aunt on a Friday night.

The waitress dropped off our food and Sam exhaled loudly, shoving her cardigan sleeves higher, her palms swiping together greedily. I watched her thumb drift against the now naked ring finger on her left hand before her small cluster tattoo caught my attention on the same wrist. I’d asked about it once a few years ago because the three stars were spaced so far apart and delicate looking - light black outlines filled with pastel blue, yellow and green respectively. She didn’t really give an answer that I could understand so I’d left it alone.

Digging into her scattered-smothered-covered monstrosity like she’d never eaten before, she glanced back up at me. “So, now what?”

“So, now what,
what
?”

“You’re a good kid. But maybe that’s your problem.” Her gaze flicked over my shoulder and held for an uncomfortable beat. “Maybe this year you should branch out a little.”

I rolled my eyes and slumped farther into the booth, trying to push my bitterness over the situation down.

Sam finally turned back to me and frowned, wiggling her fingers for me to hand over my phone because I was checking it repeatedly to see if Lassiter had sent a text or an email. She hadn’t and it made me feel anxious. So I held on even tighter as my vision blurred with tears.

“Don’t be that girl, Mal. Don’t be the girl crying in a Waffle House on a Friday night. You’re better than this. So your friends went to college
before you
. Big deal. You were sick. And your mom can’t afford for you to go right now. Can’t change that.”

I shook my head, feeling the first tear slip free, dipping my face to quickly reach up and wipe it away with the back of my hand. My chin quivered and I blinked rapidly to keep the rest at bay.

Sam leaned forward and gripped my hand and I closed my eyes again while another tear trickled down my cheek. Whispering as if she were revealing the most important secret in the entire universe, she said, “Your life is not over. Not even close. You have to make the best of this situation. Go to school. Study. Party. Get into trouble. Find new friends to fill the spaces of the others, but leave your heart open to them, too.”

I opened my eyes and pressed my lips together, tilting my head to say I didn’t understand.

“Ever hear that saying that some people enter your life for a reason, or a season, or whatever? They’re here to slip in and fill the voids made by others. And some you keep, some you let go, but your heart always has space for the ones that really see inside and want to stick like glue . . . those are the ones you fall in love with. If that’s Lassiter and your other friends, then so be it. But maybe there are more out there that you haven’t even met. And that’s an adventure.” She widened her eyes and made a fake gasping sound. “Look at me, giving adult advice.”

That made me laugh.

“So, tell me, Miss Mallory. I know you finally had those braces taken off and clearly haven’t invested in a hair cut in the last ten years, but are guys into that these days? Have you had a boyfriend, yet? Hmm?”

I rolled my eyes and withdrew my hand from hers, momentarily forgetting about my depressive state and thinking back to the years before when I’d bounced from crush to crush on every new boy that even looked my way. “No. Not yet.” Narrowing my eyes suspiciously, I smirked and wiped my face again. “You sure know a lot about my business, Sam. You Face-stalking me? I barely even use that site anymore.”

She grinned. “Your mom was a little worried after the divorce. She wanted me to keep an eye on you.”

“Her divorce? Or yours?” It slipped out faster than I intended and I wished I hadn’t said it because she winced, but that was one thing I admired the most about her. She rebounded quickly.

“Hers, of course.” An uncomfortable silence settled as I pressed the cellphone into my thigh, pretending to stare at the table while she ran one prong of her fork through her now-cold food. “Anyway. Never been in love, huh? What about that guy over there? He seems up for the challenge. I mean, he hasn’t stopped looking over here since we walked through the door.”

I felt the blush start at the base of my spine and skyrocket to the top of my head before I even glanced over my shoulder. Tucker Scott was behind the counter, Waffle House hat askew on his mop of dark hair tucked behind one ear, leaning across the counter laughing with a group from our school. In the sliver of a second that I was looking at him, a deep dimple appeared in his left cheek when he smiled.

Turning quickly, I shifted my hair behind my shoulder and slumped lower in the booth, snorting softly.

“You know him.” Her eyebrow was cocked in amusement.

“I don’t
know
him. We used to ride the bus together in middle school.”

“I think there’s more to that story, but I’ll let it slide.”

“Let’s just say that . . .Tucker Scott? No. Just . . . no.” My dad had always told me to never trust a boy with two first names. Tucker definitely fit into that category.

Sam’s mouth turned down comically. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much and all that –”

“No.” I held up my hand to stop her. “He has a job
here
. And he goes to community college. You should see his car . . .”

“At least he has a job. And a car. And if I’m not mistaken, you’re going to community college, too. So he has two up on you so far.”

“No,” I repeated, my face flushed with embarrassment.

She raised an eyebrow and leaned forward again, lacing her fingers, making them into a teepee. “Oh, I think that’s a yes. Indeed. In fact, I’d venture so far as to say that a boy like
Tucker Scott
,” she lowered her voice to a whisper at his name and made a big deal about mouthing it all huge and embarrassing which made me groan and slide even lower into my seat. “I would go so far as to say a boy like that would be worth getting a broken heart over.”

“How would you know?” I laughed.

She glanced over my shoulder and something sad passed across her face as she sighed. “Because I said no to a boy just like that when I was your age. Biggest regret of my damn life.”

Mal,

They say people are like onions, but I disagree.

They’re not; not at all. People don’t have all of these intricate layers like we’re always told they do. They’re more like . . . they’re more like hobos with coats. Think about it. We’re all the same people we’ve always been. But we keep trying on all these different things. These new ideals or hobbies or interests. Friends. Like coats, one on top of the other. We never really discard the other stuff. And we’re just all stuck with these layers of coats, because we don’t dump the things that no longer fit.

So this year, while I’m here, take off your other coats before you try on a new one. Maybe you’ll find that the ones you were wearing never really fit. That they never let you shine. And you should never, ever let someone take that from you.

Sam

~*~2~*~

For a couple days I sat around and moped. I tried to keep myself busy, watching entire television series on Netflix, making it a goal to finish seven seasons before school. I got a haircut. I actually cleaned my room.

I’d just finished reorganizing my closet, and came downstairs holding a shirt fisted in my hands, my hair sticking up in the front from not taking a shower in three days and wearing the same clothes from the day before. “This is Lassiter’s. I should take it to her. I bet she needs it.”

Sam just got up from the couch and pulled it from my hands, walked to the trash, and threw it away. “You’re not driving to another state, and she doesn’t need it,” she said. It wasn’t mean. It was just final. And then she’d held me while I cried. It wasn’t about a shirt. And it wasn’t about anything big or small. It just was what it was and the sooner I got over it, the sooner I could move on.

“I actually wish I’d gone with Mom,” I cried into her lap. I didn’t mean it but maybe I’d been wrong about the freedom I would have had in starting over in a new state. It might have felt like I was going away, too. It might not have hurt as badly.

“Sorry the dissolution of my marriage didn’t work out to your advantage,” she’d whispered back while she braided my hair.

Sam was good at things like that. Bringing reality into perspective. Reminding me that my world was such a tight little bubble. And I was so selfish sometimes. Especially when it came to her.

“I’m not going to let you do this much longer,” she said quietly against my head. “I’ll give you two more days and then you’ve got to suck it up. I’ll push you out the door in your pajamas, shoeless, penniless and smelling like feet, if I have to.”

I knew she meant it. So I promised to do my best. Mostly for her sake.

I’d gathered as much stuff as I could to donate to Goodwill, and sitting amongst the boxes actually felt good. Maybe she was right and this year I could be whoever I wanted to be. Out from under Lassiter and Brooke’s shadows. I could meet new people, make new friends, maybe even go back to theater, even if I could only do backstage assembly and set design. The mono had ruined my voice. There was no hope for me there.

Cross-legged on the floor, I put the lid on the last box and sat quietly, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes. Opening them, I followed a trail of light peeking in through the slats of the blinds, crossing my bedspread and falling in a square across my carpet. Small dust motes danced lazy circles, drifting downward toward the darkness beneath my bed frame where another box caught my eye. I reached for it.

A thick coating of dust covered the top and I moved it with the tips of my fingers, feeling a surge of nostalgia as I lifted the lid and looked over the little notes and pictures from elementary and middle school that I’d shoved in there years earlier. A small diary. A wad of knotted up little plastic jewelry. Folded scraps of paper with fat tipped pencil words scribbled on them. Tiny wallet sized pictures with faces I barely recognized.

Save for one.

Tucker Scott.

Grabbing the wad of jewelry, I started getting to work on pulling apart the mess, my attention on the fact that there was a little bracelet in there made of something very specific. A memory was starting to come back to me, and the excitement I was feeling was threatening to take me under, heating my skin and rushing in my ears.

It was a cluster of little plastic hearts.

The one gift I'd received from Tucker Scott.

I’d been thinking about him more ever since Sam had pointed out his staring at the restaurant. Not that I’d call the Waffle House a restaurant, but it was a place where you ate with real plates, so I suppose that counted. Tucker and I had been friends in elementary school, riding the same bus for years, sitting next to one another in the cheap brown seats. He was cute, and funny, probably the first boy I’d ever thought that about.