The Day Before (3 page)

fill my soul

My iPod,
tucked away
in my backpack,
is my only true
companion today.

Of course,
she brings along
the music
I love
with my whole
heart.

When I put the
earbuds in,
I find P!nk
still singing
about wanting
an endless night.

I lean back
into the cool leather seat,
close my eyes,
and let the music fill
all the empty spaces

with glitter.

missing you, Madison

Although the ocean
never sleeps,
the town of Newport does,
and now,
in the early morning hours,
it’s barely awake.

The driver drops me off
at a café.
Inside I order hot tea
and a donut, and take a seat
with a view.

Two older ladies
sit across the room,
drinking and talking,
one of them tall and skinny
with a neck like a giraffe,
the other so chubby,
she has three chins
and no neck at all.

What a pair.

It makes me think
of Madison,
and my chest responds
with a dull ache.

We’re as different
as country music and hip-hop.
She’s cute and sweet
with wavy blond hair.
I’m rough around the edges
with red dye bleeding
through my naturally brown hair.
She likes the rainbow colors.
I like the scary colors.
She sings in musicals,
I play in a rock band.
She has other girl friends,
I have other boy friends.

Except for Madison.

Because the things that matter to us,
that’s what we have in common.
We like hanging downtown,
eating sushi, talking books,
politics, and school drama,
loving it when we see eye-to-eye
and loving it even more when we don’t.

Art makes us smile,
and on summer days when
there’s nothing else to do,
we are Monet and Picasso,
the street our canvas
and chalk our paintbrush
of choice.

She’s a one-in-a-million friend,
and I’m lucky she’s mine.

How can I live without her?

I thought about asking
her to come with me today.
I thought, maybe I
could make her promise
to keep a smile on that
adorable face of hers
no matter what.

But the more I thought about it,
the more I decided I’d be asking
the impossible.

Like asking a soldier
to not feel any fear
before heading into battle.
I’ve already slipped once,
and I’m the one
who has the most to gain
in keeping my own promise.

It’s better this way.

A little lonelier.
But better.

morning waves

After I’ve emptied
my tea cup, I head
to the beach.

The white caps slide across
the sparkly blue dance floor.
They whisper to me,
Join us—dance!

I close my eyes,
take a deep breath of the sea air,
and spin around and around,
the sand cold yet soothing
underneath my bare feet.

When I stop,
the world is spinning,
and I gasp at how
familiar it is.

Everything spinning out of control.

When my balance is back,
I run, faster and faster,
jumping over seaweed
strewn out on the sand
like strands
of a mermaid’s hair.

I run past an old man
on a morning walk,
waking up to the smell
of salty air instead of
fresh brewed coffee.

Into the water I walk,
my pants rolled
up to my knees.

I stand still
and let the cold waves
splash over my feet.

It feels good.

Something finally feels
good.

like a painful song

The waves

come and go.

I know that rhythm.

I know it too well.

Like the anger,

sadness,
denial

I’ve felt
these past weeks
that I’ve been pushing down,
telling myself to
suck it up—
it all comes back.

Bigger.

Stronger.

I walk out farther,
the water almost
knee-high.

My eyes close
for a moment
and my heart wishes
I could throw it all
to the tide,
like a bottle
with a scribbled note inside.

And then,
without warning,
a big wave comes
and splashes me,
as if to make a point.

The waves never stop.
No matter how much
I wish they would,
the waves

come and go

come and go

come and go.

Two years, nine months ago

Dear Amber,

How are you doing, honey? We haven’t heard back from you, but that’s okay. We’ll keep writing. Maybe the more you get to know about us, the more you’ll see that we are good people. Allen says you are probably afraid. And of course, that’s understandable. You have no idea what kind of people we are. But through these letters, I hope you’ll see there’s nothing to fear.

A newspaper reporter knocked on our door yesterday. I wonder if the same was true for you? I know this will probably be disruptive to your life. I wish it didn’t have to be that way, but we don’t know what else to do. We want to know you so badly—to have a relationship with you.

Today was a beautiful spring day, so I went for a long walk in our neighborhood. The tulips are starting to bloom. I love tulips. We have lots of red and yellow ones planted in our front yard. They’re my favorite flower.

I’m wondering, what’s yours?

Love,
Jeanie and Allen

treasure hunt

I sit in the cool sand,
my mind drifting
like wood on water.

A few years ago
we stayed at a beach house,
Dad, Mom, Kelly, and I.

When we were almost ready to head home,
Mom insisted the three of us get
one last fill of the ocean,
as if we were fragile sea creatures,
needing the water
to survive.

When we got down to the beach,
Dad started running and said,
“Ten minutes to find a treasure.
The winner of the best treasure
gets to pick the music for the ride home.”

Kelly yelled out,
“I’m winning this one, Jelly!”

I threw my head back and laughed.

We hadn’t played Treasure Hunt
since Kelly and I were little.

We used to play all the time—
at the park,
on a hike,
even in our own backyard.

I skipped across the sand, the breeze
catching my shirt,
exposing my belly, white
as a seagull’s.

I laughed again.

Across the beach,
Dad and Kelly
scoured the wet sand,
no doubt searching for
one of Mother Nature’s
lost jewels.

My eyes scanned
the dry sand
by the piles of driftwood.
I dug with my hands,
searching for
a buried treasure,
until my arms
became heavy.

I climbed the pile,
searching the other side,
and then
something glistened
in the sun:
a blue-and-silver fishing lure
complete with a hook.

An amazing treasure,
especially since I was saving someone
from being caught in the foot.

Dad waved his arms,
telling us time
was up.
Kelly showed us her find first:
a golden rock, an agate,
clear and smooth.

When I showed them mine, Dad said,
“An in-line spinner.
Very nice!”

And then, with his fists closed tight,
he turned his hands over and slowly
spread his fingers
wide open
like a sea anemone
in a tide pool.

Kelly and I gasped
when we saw
what he held.

Two silver chains
with a tiny
silver dollar charm
on the end of each one.

After Kelly—always the affectionate child—
gave him a hug,
she said, “But you don’t win, right?
You didn’t find it.
The rules are you have to find it.”

Affectionate and competitive.

“Kel, I think we both win.
Thanks, Dad.
I love it.”

“Me, too,”
Kelly echoed.
“But who picks the—”

I tapped her on the shoulder
and yelled, “You’re it!”
intentionally ending one game
and beginning another.
Of course she chased me,
because that’s what little sisters do.
And of course I let her choose
the music on the car ride home,
because that’s what big sisters do.

They let their
little sisters
win.

mixed feelings

I like

the memories
because they remind me
I haven’t always been
this girl,
constantly
mad or scared
or confused.

I don’t like

the memories
because the tears
come easily,
and once again I break
my promise
to myself for this day.

It’s a constant battle.

A war between
remembering and forgetting.

my heroes

I catch a cab at ten
and make my way
to the aquarium.

I want to look at sharks,
quiet and
fierce.

Study them.
Learn from them.

They own the water.

They are not afraid.

beautiful boy

He stares
at the tank
of jellyfish.

I stand on the other side
and watch
the pale pink parachutes glide
through the water.

They are

hypnotic.

He moves
slowly,
circling the
round tank.

Moving closer
to me.

I realize
I’m not watching
the jellyfish anymore.

I’m watching him watching them.

He stares
with such intensity,
I can’t help but wonder,
What is he thinking?
Feeling?
Wishing?

While he’s under their spell,
I take him in.
He’s wearing a black knit beanie
with bits of black hair
sticking out,
a gray hoody,
and skinny jeans.

Only skinny people
can get away
with wearing
skinny jeans,
which is why
I don’t own a pair.
Short-and-stocky jeans
are more my style.

So, he’s skinny.
But not gross skinny.
Good skinny.
Cute skinny.

His warm voice
tiptoes into the
quiet room.

“Did you see that movie?” he asks.

I did.
Without asking,
I know he’s talking
about Seven Pounds.

My mom is crazy
for Will Smith.
She dragged me along
like a box of Junior Mints
as soon as it hit
the theaters.

I was haunted
for days.

“Yes,” I tell him.
“A crazy way to die.”

He’s standing right next to me.

We both watch
the glowing jellies,
perhaps imagining
reaching in and touching them,
threads of fire
burning our skin.

“I don’t know,” he says.
“They look so delicate. Pretty.
Prettier than a gun.
Or a rope.”

I look at him.
“Didn’t anyone tell you
looks aren’t everything?”

like

“Cade,” he says, sticking out his hand.

“Amber,” I say, accepting his offer.
The warmth is a shock.
A tremor scurries
down my spine.

“You from around here?” he asks.

“Salem.”

He nods.

“You?” I ask.

“Portland.”

He smiles.
“So. You like jellyfish?”

I bite my lip
to keep from laughing.
Is he going to order me one
like a cheeseburger?

“I love them.”

“Me too.”

What is he,
a great white
circling his prey?

I don’t think I care.