We Now Return to Regular Life

by Martin Wilson

I put a few books in my backpack, grab the notes and shove them in there, too. “Things have been kinda busy,” I say, with maybe a little too much edge in my voice. “With my brother coming back and all.”

  “I know. But we want to be here for you. You can talk to us.”

  I can’t explain it to her. At home, I was always aware that Sam was missing. My mom’s obsession with finding him, and her bouts of sadness all filled the air and smothered me. School was so separate; it was like a refuge from all of that. I hardly ever talked about that part of my life with my friends, and they never asked. But now it’s all been dumped out in the open, just like all this stuff by my locker.

  “Sorry,” I say again. By now more people are pouring through the halls and everyone is staring at me or saying hi. I wish I could just hide.

  Then Ainsley and Darla walk up, and they both take turns hugging me. Great, I think. And then Chita has to get one more hug in, too.

  “We missed you,” Darla says.

  “How’s it feel to be back?” Ainsley says.

  “Weird,” I say, but what I really want to say is Terrible. “Why is everyone being so nice to me?”

  “You’re famous now,” Ainsley says, and I can’t tell if she’s kidding or not.

  “You’re gonna need an extra bag for this stuff,” Darla says, eyeing the display.

  Chita’s just staring at me, like she’s trying to read my mind. Over the years, I’d have these spells, where things at home were especially bad—when Mom entered what I started to call a Black Hole—and it always seemed like Chita knew. She’d crack jokes or talk about something ridiculous that we could make fun of together to distract me right when I needed it most. But she never made me talk about any of it.

  Darla and Ainsley help me shove the gifts and stuff in my backpack, or at least the stuff that will fit, and the rest we shove into my locker.

  The warning bell for homeroom rings.

  “How’s your ankle?” Chita asks as we walk down the hall.

  “Fine. It’s fine.”

  “Will you be able to practice?” Ainsley says.

  “I think so,” I say.

  We all reach the spot in the hall where we usually veer our separate ways. They all want to hug me again, so I let them. I know they all mean well, but it feels strange somehow. “See you at lunch,” Chita says.

  “Sure,” I say, already walking away.

  ===

  Sam had been gone about six weeks when it was time for me to start my freshman year. I was so relieved to escape from the endless days of waiting, Mom’s crying and Earl consoling her, me hiding in my room, everyone jumping out of their skin when the phone rang.

  Relieved and also kind of excited. Excited to start high school. Excited to see my best friend Grace again. Mom thought Grace was too prissy (“Miss Teen USA,” she always called her), and that she “put on airs,” whatever that meant. I remember Sam sort of had a crush on her, because he turned bashful and quiet when Grace came over. We’d been tight all through middle school and I figured we’d pick up where we left off.

  But I hadn’t seen her for weeks. She’d called and texted, after Sam went missing, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond. The last time I heard from her, she texted me reminding me about cheerleading practice, which was going to be held a few weeks before school started. “You have to do this with me,” she said in the message—and it’s true, that had been our plan all along. We’d spent so many days that summer practicing in Grace’s big backyard. But the thought of asking Mom or even Earl to take away one minute of their search for Sam so I could try out for cheerleading—well, I couldn’t do it. I never sent Grace anything back.

  When the first day arrived, I wasn’t really prepared. Mom hadn’t taken me shopping for any new clothes. I only had a few supplies—ink pens and pencils and notebooks left over from the year before. Back then I didn’t have a laptop. All we had was the one desktop computer, “for the family,” which sat on the small desk in the corner of the den. Mom was using it constantly, sending out e-mails and checking missing persons reports and message boards.

  On that first day, I got dressed, making do with my old clothes, and I made my own breakfast—Cheerios and a cut-up banana. I packed my book bag and grabbed a printout of the class schedule the school had e-mailed a few weeks earlier.

  Mom dressed for work. She’d gone back by then. She had to—we needed money coming in. I told her I could take the bus to school, but she said no way. I don’t think she wanted me walking anywhere by myself. In this new world, no one was safe.

  Sam should have been starting sixth grade that day at the middle school. That morning, while waiting for Mom, I’d seen Josh and his dad drive off.

  Mom let me off at the curb in front. I was jumping out the door when she said, “Have a good first day, okay? Earl will pick you up at three thirty. At that parking lot over by the soccer fields?” I nodded and slammed the door. I walked toward the school and paused. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I turned and saw Mom, still staring at me. She wouldn’t leave till she saw me go through those doors. So I did.

  The hallways were brightly lit and crazy with people everywhere. I found my locker and then started to head to my homeroom. I was nervous, but the sick feeling in my stomach started to ease. I realized as I walked through the halls that it felt good to be around other people, not trapped in the house. But soon enough I noticed everyone looking at me funny. Sad glances before they would quickly turn away. I saw two girls whisper as I walked by. A teacher passed me and smiled—a pity smile.

  Once I found my homeroom, I was faced with it all over again—the stares, the whispering. And the teacher, when she called my name, gave me an overly sympathetic smile and said, “Hello, dear” in a way that made it sound like I had some terminal disease.

  Beth Walsh. The girl with the missing brother. The dead brother. Somehow everyone knew. But I didn’t understand why I was being singled out this way. I wasn’t the one who’d disappeared. I was still here. I was moving on with my life.

  Or I was trying to.

  At lunch in the huge cafeteria, I looked for Grace. I hadn’t seen her all day—somehow we hadn’t had any classes together. When I finally spotted her, she was sitting with some girls who I knew had also tried out for cheerleading. Popular girls. We’d sort of been drifting into their orbit that spring before school ended. We’d always claimed to despise them, until they started being friendlier to us, and then they were so nice, so great, so cool.

  I walked over. The table was full, and there Grace was, in the middle of all those girls. Grace looked different—too tan, and wearing this sparkly eyeliner. Finally, she saw me. “Hi, Beth, how are you?” she said, smiling at me like I was a wet kitten—a cute but sad thing. Then all the other girls smiled, too, in almost exactly the same way.

  I can’t remember what I said, but I must have mumbled something. I expected Grace to maybe get up and hug me. To acknowledge what I’d been through but also acknowledge she was my best friend. But all she could do was stare at me with pity. Finally, she said, “I made the squad, can you believe it?” She looked around at the others as if asking for help, then back at me, still with that dumb smile. My own best friend, treating me the way a stranger would.

  “That’s great,” I said. I looked and saw one empty seat. I moved toward it but some girl put her hand down and said, “Sorry, we’re saving that for someone.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said. I didn’t even look back at Grace. I just walked away, to the other side of the room.

  There were no completely empty tables, but there was a mostly empty one, so I sat there. At the other end, a few guys had staked their spots. A set of twins. A black kid. A really blond kid. And then a guy with red hair. He was the one who looked over—even sitting I could see he was tall and gangly, clearly a freshman like me, with ears that stuck out like they were too large for his he
ad. I could tell he wanted to talk to me or something, to try and be friendly or whatever. But I looked down at my food. He finally ignored me and carried on with his conversation with his friends—stupid boy stuff, which I mostly tuned out. For the rest of the lunch period I ate in silence and waited for the bell to ring.

  The redheaded guy was Donal Murphy, and he was in my next class—biology. He was Irish—like, really Irish, with the accent and all. What the hell was he doing in Tuscaloosa, I wondered. Turned out his father was an econ professor at the University, but I found that out later. All through class I tried not to look at him, although I knew he kept stealing looks at me.

  Finally, when that first day of school ended, I grabbed my things from my locker and waited for Earl by the parking lot near the soccer field. Off behind me, I saw the soccer teams practicing. Or maybe it was tryouts, I didn’t know. I’d never played except when they made us in gym. Sam had played soccer from a young age. He’d been a star player, and I’d usually gone to his games.

  Suddenly a ball rolled past me, headed toward the parking lot. I raced toward it and caught it with my foot before it could enter. I turned and dribbled the ball a little, looking for who it belonged to. Up ahead, some girl was running toward me. When she got closer she slowed down and stopped, giving me the once-over.

  I kicked the ball to her. “Hey. You trying out?” She had black hair, cut short like a boy’s, and olive skin. She wore crimson-colored knee-high socks, matching knee pads, white shorts, and a Central Falcons Soccer T-shirt. And on her wrist was a rainbow bracelet that looked homemade.

  “Nope,” I said.

  “Maybe you should,” she said. “Those were some good moves.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said.

  “They were. You should see some of those girls trying out,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But for real. This week we have open tryouts. I’m helping Coach Bailey with the drills and stuff. Coach Bailey loves me—I’ve got some pull. Come.”

  “My brother played,” I said, dodging her.

  “He on the boys’ team?”

  “No,” I said. I almost added, he’s too young. But I stopped myself. This girl had no idea who I was, I realized. I liked that.

  “I’m Conchita, but everyone calls me Chita,” she said.

  “Beth,” I said.

  “Well, Beth, I still think you should try out.”

  I had some trouble imagining that my mom would let me leave the house for anything other than school. “I can’t today.”

  “Tomorrow then.”

  “Maybe.”

  She just stood there, sort of smiling at me. I saw she had dirt on her cheek, like she’d rolled around on the ground. But she didn’t seem to care. “I’ve never seen you before,” I said.

  “I used to go to Holy Spirit. But their team sucks. I wanted to play on a good team—well, a better team, anyway. A team that has a chance at State.” She picked the ball up and bounced it on her head a few times, while crossing her eyes and sticking her tongue out.

  I let out a little laugh. My first laugh in weeks, probably. Earl’s truck pulled up and I saw him wave. “Well, my ride’s here,” I said, with a stab of regret. This was the first real conversation—the first conversation not centered on Sam—I’d had with anyone in weeks.

  “Come by tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you. Right here.”

  “We’ll see,” I said, smiling.

  That afternoon, after Earl went back to the construction site and while Mom was still at work, I went into Sam’s room and paused, feeling like I was in some sacred space that shouldn’t be disturbed. I wanted to be out of there, so I quickly found his soccer ball in his closet and left. I went to the backyard and kicked the ball into the fence like I was trying to score a goal, dribbled the ball till I was tired and sweaty. I wasn’t so bad at it, I realized. After, I went back in the house and put the soccer ball in my closet. It wasn’t like Sam was here to use it.

  The next day, after the bell rang, I changed into my gym clothes in one of the bathroom stalls, avoiding the locker rooms so I wouldn’t have to deal with anyone. Then I walked to where I’d waited yesterday. I’d told Earl I had to stay late for a Yearbook staff meeting. But on my way to the field, my stomach started feeling knotted. I thought I might chicken out. Hadn’t some of these girls played competitively for years? Despite what Chita said, how did I know if I was any good? I might fall on my face and risk humiliation. The idea seemed crazier and crazier.

  But Chita was waiting for me, like she promised. “I knew you’d come,” she said, sounding triumphant.

  I kept a stone face. “Listen. Will this take up a lot of time after school?” I didn’t tell her it was because I hated being home.

  Chita smiled. “This will keep you plenty busy. I can promise you that.”

  “Then let’s go,” I said, walking toward where the coach stood.

  Chita trotted alongside me, and when I glanced over at one point I could see her grinning a mile wide. Darla was there that day, too, the only black girl in the whole group, and Ainsley, with streaks of blue in her hair, so tall that she seemed more like a basketball player. Across the way, the boys’ soccer players had gathered for their tryouts. And I saw some of the guys from lunch, including Donal, sitting in the grass stretching. He saw me and waved like a spaz. I’d sat at his lunch table again earlier that day, and ignored all of them, and then ignored Donal in biology class, too. I could have ignored him again right there, but I waved back. The sun was on my skin, and the breeze blew my hair around. I felt excited and hopeful again. For the first time in weeks, I was happy.

  ===

  When I enter the cafeteria for lunch, Grace Cutler comes right up to me, like she was camped out waiting. “Beth!” she says, beaming, like she’s still my best girlfriend, three years later.

  “Oh, hi,” I say.

  It’s not like we haven’t seen each other since freshman year. Since she went her way—cheerleading and all that—and I went mine, we have had plenty of classes together. But usually we both acted like strangers.

  “I just want to tell you how happy I am for you—for your family. It’s just so amazing,” she says.

  “Thanks,” I say. Grace is still blond and pretty, but she doesn’t wear too much makeup like she did freshman year. From what I know, she doesn’t have a boyfriend. But she has that confidence about her, from knowing other girls—not me, but some—admire her, look up to her. Envy her.

  “You must be so happy!” She’s still beaming, flashing big teeth that are so white she must use those whitening strips. Maybe I look blank or confused, because she continues: “I mean, obviously you’re happy. But it’s just—it’s just so wonderful.”

  “Yes, it is,” is all I can manage to say.

  Right then a few of Grace’s friends come and hover around us. I know these girls, but I’ve never really talked to any of them before.

  “Come sit with us,” Grace says. “Can you?”

  I look toward my usual table but don’t see Chita or anyone else. We’ve sat at the same table together every year of high school. I guess Grace sees me hesitate.

  “Please,” she says, sounding like she did years ago, when she begged me to try out with her. “It’s been too long,” she says.

  “Okay, sure,” I say, because how can I say no?

  “Good,” she says, sounding almost relieved.

  You don’t switch lunch tables. You just don’t. But my feet keep walking along with Grace and her squad. I sit down at their table and it’s like they’ve always had this seat open for me, saving it for when I was ready. I feel jumbled when they all talk to me at once.

  “You were so calm and collected on TV,” this girl named Margo says. Then another girl says, “You looked really pretty.”

  “You have to tell us everything about it,” Grace adds, flipping her hair aside, like I’m som
e boy she’s flirting with. It’s nice, I realize, that Grace is talking to me like no time has passed.

  “It was crazy,” I say, surprised that they’re all looking at me like I have something important to say. “They had people to do our makeup and hair, and tons of clothes to choose from.” I go on and on about it, and they all sit there like what I’m telling them is the most electrifying thing they’ve ever heard in their lives.

  “I grew up with Beth,” Grace says to the group. “I knew Sam when he was little. I think he had a crush on me.”

  “He did.” I laugh, remembering suddenly those times when she slept over and Sam would bug us.

  “I mean, seeing him on TV, I can’t believe how much he’s grown up. It’s just such a miracle he’s back,” Grace says, clasping her hands in front of her chest.

  “Omigod, tell us about Helen Winters,” this girl Aimee says. She’s a cheerleader. They all are, I realize.

  “She’s really old. Like, grandmother old,” I say, which gets a few laughs. Right then I see Chita enter the cafeteria, heading to our usual table. I look back at the girls before me. “But she was very nice to us. They put us up in this fancy hotel, like near Central Park. A lot of celebs stay there.”

  “Omigod, did you see anyone famous?” Margo asks.

  “Well, we were there just for a little while, so I didn’t see anyone. But they told me, like, Selena Gomez and Ryan Gosling and a bunch of other people stay there all the time.”

  “So cool!”

  I glance over to my old table, and I see Chita staring over at me, confused. Darla sits down and I see Chita say something to her as she watches me. I turn back to the cheerleaders. Margo’s speaking now, talking about her trip to New York, how they saw so-and-so on the street, but I’m not really listening to the words. I’m just nodding, smiling, trying to act like I belong.

  “What sights did you see?” Aimee asks. “And what shows?”

  “Did you shop?” Margo asks.

  “Well, it was a quick trip. But Mom says we’ll go back.”

  “Your mom is so nice,” Grace says.