If Only We (3 page)

I close my eyes and allow the memories to flood in. The times he made me laugh when I was having a bad day. The time we were making fun of that one substitute teacher who never shaved her legs and wore pantyhose. And all the times we sat side by side passing a notebook discreetly to have a conversation without the librarian knowing. Did it all mean nothing? Was I kidding myself? Did he ever feel it too? Did I really love him or did I only think I loved him? I scan these memories searching for an answer.

What could I have done differently? How different would my life be if I chose another path? From where or which way would things come together? Could I make my family proud? Could I create a path that brings me joy? Could I find a way to make everything right again?

The same words roll over and around in my head, making me dizzy over their continual loop.

What if I…and if he…then we could have…but if only we…

Oh, if only.

I fall asleep that night with a trail of tears sliding down my cheeks.

Chapter Three

Saturday morning, June 2
^nd

Buzz…buzz… “…that’s what they said anyway. I thought it was a good…” Slam!

My alarm clock is set to a local all-talk-no-music radio station. The annoying sounds before and the talking always get me up in the morning. If there were music playing, I would keep sleeping. Groaning, I stretch out my legs, still aching from the tossing and turning last night. Remembering moment after moment with Chevy, replaying the conversation in the cemetery. My mind refused to let me relax.

A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s eight. Wait. Eight? I do a double take. Sure enough, it’s eight. I could have sworn I set it for nine thirty so I could sleep in a bit. I will myself to sleep in another hour and a half. After fifteen minutes of staring at the ceiling, I sit up and rub my eyes. As strange as it is to be in my room again, it looks almost like I never left.

I stretch and go over to my vanity to brush the tangles out of my auburn hair. When I look in the mirror, I notice something different about my clothes. Hadn't I worn the pink and blue striped tank to bed? Why am I wearing the yellow and gray polka dot one? Rolling my eyes, I have a feeling this summer has warped my thought processes.

I throw on a cardigan and head out my door to grab a bagel for breakfast. Kaitlin’s bedroom is across the hall from mine. Her door is open. What is she doing up so early? She is hardly ever up before I am. I peek in to find it empty. Maybe she is in the kitchen.

Before I walk away, I do a double take. Why is Kaitlin’s room pink? She and my mom painted it while I was gone. It was a pale shade of purple yesterday. That’s weird. I shake my head and go to the kitchen. My mom and Maurice are at the table drinking coffee. Maurice looks up from the paper and says, “Good morning.”

Although the tone in his voice seems more cheerful than it should be, given the circumstances, Maurice can sometimes rise above bad things. It’s probably the pale yellow walls. Yellow just seems to bring about a sunny attitude. My reply is automatic, “Morning.” I pull out a bagel and toss it in the toaster. Deciding to extend an olive branch while I wait, I say, “Morning, Mom.” I sneak a glance in her direction to find her smiling.

Smiling?

“Morning, sweetie,” she says.

Is she...happy?

I hide behind the refrigerator door to get the cream cheese before she can see the bewildered expression on my face. There is no rational explanation for her nice demeanor, but I'm not about to question it for fear of ruining the moment. Just spread the cream cheese on the bagel and eat it. Leaning against the counter, I turn to face her again.

She says, “So, are you ready for today?”

“What’s today?” I ask right before I take a big bite.

She gives me a look of impatience as she walks over, putting her dirty dishes in the sink. “Of course you will be a funny girl today.”

As I absently stare at the back of her head, I see something off. Is her hair shorter? It was closer to her shoulders yesterday...wasn’t it? “Did you get your hair cut?”

“Of course I got my hair cut, you were there, sweetie.”

I was? I shake my head again. “Where’s Kaitlin?”

“Taking a shower.”

Maurice says, “She told me she wanted to watch another episode of your show before we leave but there probably won’t be time.”

“Oh.” Earlier this year, Kaitlin was going through my DVDs and discovered
The O.C
. Once she started, she was hooked. We started to watch it together, her for the first time and me for probably the seventh time. The last one we watched was episode twelve. We were going to watch the rest of the series over the summer. It didn’t go as planned. She finished it by herself. Did she restart? I finish off breakfast. “Hey, wasn’t her room purple yesterday?” I can still picture the color in my head.

Mom gives me a blank look. “No. It wasn’t.” Shaking her head, she gets out a glass, pours some orange juice, and hands it to me. “Drink up. You don’t want to be low on potassium on your big day when you’re walking across the stage.”

“I could have sworn it was a light purple,” I mutter to myself, taking a sip. Then the rest of what she said hits me. “Big day?”

She sighs. “Stop being silly.” She doesn't like it when I play around. In fact, it irritates her to death since it reminds her too much of my dad. The problem is I’m not playing around. I have no idea what she's talking about. Like I said before, I’m not going to question it. Maybe she will just say it. “It’s your turn to shower so hop to it. I’ll go set your outfit on your bed now that you’re up.” She gives me a kiss on the cheek and smiles. “My little girl’s not so little anymore.” Then she leaves.

I find myself staring into the space she occupied a second ago. Something's not right. She isn’t angry with me for leaving anymore. It isn’t possible for her to have forgiven me overnight. Plus, Kaitlin’s room couldn’t have changed, or my mom’s hair. And since when did she become so sentimental? Big day? A stage? Little girl is not so little anymore? It almost sounds like I am getting married. My head is starting to hurt from all these things that are not right. It is kind of like when you were a kid and they said “one of these things is not like the other”—except everything is not like the one thing.

I put the empty glass into the sink, “hop to it,” and get into the shower. My questions will be answered when I see what outfit she puts on my bed. When I get to my room, I don’t find a wedding dress. Thank goodness. I do find, however, a dress—and a graduation cap and gown.

Graduation.

The day everything changed. The day I ran away to my dad. The day my heart broke.

A wave of nausea crashes into me, almost causing my legs to give out beneath me. I grab hold of my doorway with both hands to keep myself standing. A few deep breaths later and my stomach calms down enough for me to close the door. I lean against it and stare at my bed.

How can I be graduating…again?

I rub my eyes and open them again, hoping it was all in my imagination. No such luck. It is still there. This doesn’t make any sense. Where is my suitcase? It’s not on top of my dresser anymore. I left it there when I got back since I didn’t have enough time to unpack. Where did it go?

Opening my closet door, I spot it on the top shelf. Did my mom unpack it for me? Where are the clothes? There is nothing in the hamper and a quick rummage through my dresser finds some of those shirts clean and folded where they belong. How could…? Mom was at work all day yesterday. Not only that, but I saw the suitcase right before I turned the lights out last night.

My head is starting to pound with all the conflicting information I'm taking in. Sitting down in my desk chair, I put my head in my hands and start to rub my temples. I need to find something that isn’t out of place. My desk appears to be the same as I left it. Pens and pencils neatly placed in holder, check. Pile of loose-leaf college-ruled paper on top of a pile of used notebooks, check. Word-of-the-Day calendar off to the side, check. Calendar set to the correct date…what…? I reach out and grab it. That can’t be right.

Saturday, June second.

It feels as though I can’t blink. I worry that if I do, the date on this page will disappear. I know for a fact that I peeled off every page I hadn’t removed all summer before I went to bed last night. Each one was crumpled into a small ball and thrown away. I set the calendar down and drop to the floor to look through my trash. However, I can’t look through it because it's empty.

Nothing is making any sense.

I graduated already. This has already happened. Or did it? I dismiss that thought with a laugh. The most logical reason for what is happening is that I’m dreaming. I’m reliving this day in my mind because I spent the time while I was falling asleep thinking about it. Maybe my mind is playing a psychological trick on itself to right the wrongs and help me cope. Maybe this is all in my head. Maybe I’m just imagining all of this.

On the other hand, maybe I am just losing it.

But what if…what if this is really happening? What if I
am
reliving my whole summer? The prospect causes goose bumps to spread over my skin.

Have I been given a second chance?

This can’t be true. Second chances aren't possible. Not second chances of this nature anyway. Maybe a second chance at an audition. Not a second chance to relive a day in your past. People don't relive things in their life. And if that were even possible, why would we be allowed to know it was happening? Shouldn’t it just happen without the person knowing they are reliving a moment in time that has already happened once? All that needs to be done is hit the redo button and everyone has to start over.

And why me? Why would it be me out of all the people in the world? What possible reason would there be for just me to go back? Maybe, because of the disaster I caused, the universe is making me start over. Is it because everything I did wasn’t what was supposed to happen? It's a fact that I did not handle myself the way a person of sound mind would. I hurt the most important people in my life. But me? What happened the first time that wasn’t meant to take place?

What do I know? My mom was upset with me because I moved away and didn’t volunteer. Kaitlin started ignoring me because I abandoned her and didn’t marathon
The O.C
. Chevy didn’t want to see me anymore because I left without saying goodbye and didn’t call him back. I don’t see how these things justify repeating history, but who am I to argue with the universe?

What can I do? Well, I would definitely not live with my dad this summer. That alone takes care of half the problem. Volunteer at River’s Bend. Watch the entire series with Kaitlin. Keep in touch with Chevy. Seems simple enough.

A glance at the alarm clock causes me to realize time is getting away from me. If this is really happening and I want to leave on time, I need to be ready in less than an hour. I jump to my feet and get dressed. Slipping into my mauve dress again causes an odd fluttering in my chest, like a mix between excitement and panic. Ignoring it does me no good; the feeling refuses to go away. I manage to make myself look pretty for the public, including a little bit of a wave to my stick-straight hair. I slip on my white ballet flats, sling my purse over my shoulder, and pick up the cap and gown.

Mom is in the kitchen carrying a bowl full of freshly tossed salad to the table. Seeing her wearing the shiny blue shirt and black dress slacks again slams back the memory. Her glamour overshadowed by her fury.

When she sees me, she stops and gets this teary-eyed smile on her face. “You are so beautiful, do you know that?” I feel myself blush. It’s times like these I don’t see much. Usually she talks about things that need to be done, her expectations, hardly ever anything emotional. It feels nice, so much so that I find myself growing calmer. “I can’t believe you’re graduating already.”

“Already? It’s been eighteen years. That’s a long time,” I joke.

“Not when you’re a parent. Someday you’ll understand.”

Kaitlin comes bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen. She is wearing a white peasant top and a pale blue crinkled skirt. Her wavy blonde hair features a couple of side braids pinned in back. Seeing the ensemble triggers something in my mind. It was inspired by a character on
The O.C
. Now that I think about it, she probably wanted me to notice. Only I didn’t before. I don’t just tell her she looks nice this time. “Hey! You look like Marissa, only it looks better on you.”

Her face lights up as she slowly grins. That’s something I haven't seen in a very long time. “Thanks, Adrienne,” she says shyly. It is hard to imagine her in a good mood considering how she was yesterday.

Mom goes over to her purse and pulls out her camera. “You guys look so beautiful today! I need to take some pictures.” My mom always takes pictures of important moments. As she poses us by the fireplace, it feels strange to have her taking these pictures again. I remember looking at this set just a few days ago. Mom finally got around to mailing them to my dad so he could have copies of my graduation ceremony.

Maurice comes in the room in his short-sleeve button-down and khakis. When mom sees him she says, “Good, you’re ready. Could you take a picture with me and the girls?” She hands him the camera and fluffs her hair. “How do I look?”

“You look fine,” I assure her. “There’s a nice little bounce to your hair.”

“Good. Whenever my hair loses its volume I look older.”

We all smile as Maurice takes the picture. “I like you no matter what your hair looks like, dear.”

“Thank you, hon.” She takes the camera from him. “Okay, let's eat so we can get going. I want to get there as early as possible.”

After a quick lunch, we head out to the car, my heart pumping double time. This car is taking me to my school, where I am going for my graduation ceremony, and at this function, I will be seeing all of my classmates. Including Chevy. The boy who didn’t want me around. The boy who was the love of my life. Scratch that—
is
the love of my life.

And I may be able to have him back in my life.