by Sara Mack
“Hey.” My voice is barely there. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”
I close my eyes and listen to the sounds around me. The wind, the birds, and the silence in between. There’s no sobbing or screaming like I feared, just a few stray tears wind down my face.
“I miss you. So much.”
A warm breeze swirls around me, and I wrap my arms around myself as if to hug the air back. After a few minutes I realize that I feel very calm, peaceful even. I open my eyes. “I won’t stay away,” I whisper. I reach out tentatively, placing my hand on the dirt. It feels soft under my palm.
My heart aches. I silently wish that he is safe. Somewhere warm, and somewhere free of pain. Somewhere happy. I smile as his grin flashes across my memory. “I love you,” I say quietly.
“Until the end of forever,” my mind answers in his voice, making me smile again.
I press my palm into the dirt, so when I remove it, an imprint remains. I start to make little swirls in the soil around my handprint. I imagine him looking over my shoulder, watching me. I can sense his amused face as I imagine our conversation:
“Why are you playing in the dirt?” he asks with lopsided smirk.
“Because I’m trying to touch you.”
“Why?”
“Because you are gone.”
“I am not gone.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not.”
“Are you trying to pick a fight with me?”
He laughs. “Why would I do that? I never win.”
“That’s true.”
“So why do you think I’m gone? I’m right here.”
“You died.”
He frowns. “I know; I was there.”
“And I wasn’t,” I sadly sigh. “Promise me you’ll never leave me.”
He smiles. “That’s kind of creepy.”
“I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“You know I’ll always be with you.”
“In my heart, right?”
“Of course.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“Being stubborn, are we?”
“I’m not trying to be. I just know what I want.”
“I guess I’ll have to work on that.”
“Please do.”
My imaginary conversation with James ends when I run out of space around my handprint to continue my art. I’ve managed to create a handprint that looks like its radiating heat with swirls coming from the fingertips and out around the palm. I smile weakly at my creation.
I push against the ground and stand. I press my dirty fingertip to my lips and then hold it out to send James a silent kiss. I allow my heart to wrap around the fact that here is where I can go to be near him. “I love you, and I’ll be back soon,” I say.
As hard as it was for me to get out of the car and walk here, it is even harder for me to walk away. I force myself to turn. I make it to the bench and sit down.
“Everything okay?” Shel asks.
Surprising myself, I say, “It will be.”
She nods and then stands. She extends her hand and helps me off the bench. “Then mission accomplished. Do you forgive me?” she asks sheepishly.
“For now,” I say. Then I throw my arms around her. “Thank you.”
Chapter 8
As luck would have it, two days later Bay Woods called to ask us both for interviews. Apparently we were the only two who applied who weren’t still in high school. I think the interview itself was more for protocol than anything; it basically consisted of two questions: what days of the week can you work, and when can you start?
Our training began that Friday. We were shown how to work both the main concession and the beverage carts, since we are old enough to serve alcohol. At first I was worried about bartending, but thankfully the drinks offered are no more complicated than a gin and tonic. At the end of our training day, we were each given three teal blue “Bay Woods Golf Course” polo shirts. Official employment would begin on Monday.
“We should celebrate,” Shel says on our way home after training.
I make a face. “I don’t feel like going out.”
“You never feel like going out,” she huffs.
I roll my eyes at her. “You can go. Have fun.”
“Who am I going to go with? Myself?”
I sigh. I can tell from her tone that this is one of her I’m-going-to-get-my-way moments. “What did you have in mind?”
“Let’s get some dinner,” she suggests. “What about that place in town? The one that has the live band on weekends?”
“Louie’s Roadhouse?”
“That’s the one. Don’t they have awesome breadsticks?”
“Yeah. And the portions are huge.”
“So is that a yes?” She looks hopeful.
“Fine. Yes.”
She claps like a perky cheerleader. I make a turn on the next street to take us through town instead of around it.
Pulling into the restaurant, it’s hard to find a parking space. Friday night is a busy night for Louie’s. I manage to find one on the outside of the lot and squeeze my car into it. Inside, the place is packed. A classic rock band plays loudly in the corner under neon bar signs while people dance. It feels a little claustrophobic to me, but Shel’s eyes light up.
“How many?” a waitress asks loudly over the music.
“Just two!”
We get stuck at a small table in the back, right outside the restrooms. Shel speaks with the waitress briefly who disappears, only to reappear moments later with two huge strawberry daiquiris. She places one in front of each of us.
“Hey! I can’t drink all of this,” I protest to Shel. “Besides, I’m driving.”
“I think you’ll be okay,” she yells across the table. “I know you won’t finish it and besides, we’re supposed to be celebrating!”
I take a drink, and it does taste good. We turn our attention to the band and the dance floor. I have to admit that people watching is one of my favorite activities.
Eventually we order. When our food arrives, my chef salad is monstrous. As I’m cramming another bite into my mouth – why can’t they ever cut the lettuce in small pieces? – I hear a male voice, “Well look at what the cat dragged in!”
I look up just as Shel is jumping out of her seat to hug some big guy. He wraps his arms around her. What the heck?
She steps back from him, excited. “When did you get into town? What are you doing here?”
“Last night, actually. My buddy plays guitar,” he nods toward the band. Then he seems to notice me. With a soft expression he yells over the music, “Hey Em. How’ve you been?”
Who is this person? How does he know me? I stare at him stupidly.
“Emma!” Shel scolds me. “Say hello to Matt!”
Matt? Holy crap, I wouldn’t have recognized him in a million years. He still sports his textured blonde hairstyle, but he’s bigger than I remember. More muscular. I smile, embarrassed. “I’m sorry!” I yell. “I so did not recognize you!” I stand up, and he gives me an awkward hug.
He smiles and looks around. “Listen, I’ll be come back when the band breaks. I can hardly hear!”
“Okay!”
Matt waves and makes his way to the restroom.
“I didn’t think he was coming home until next month,” Shel says between bites.
I try to remember the last time I saw Matt. An image springs to mind of him stopping by James’ house the summer after high school while we were washing the Jeep. I smile as I remember trying to stay out of the water fight that ensued only to end up drenched anyway. Wow, that was two years ago.
After we finish our dinner, the band takes a break. A DJ fills the silence, but he’s nowhere near as loud. Matt reappears, pulls a chair over from another table, and takes a seat. He’s tall, over six foot, and his knees bump the bottom of the tabletop when he sits. I chastise myself for wondering if he’s on steroids. The last time I saw him he was still
wiry Matt; he played baseball in high school. Now, his white Old Navy ringer tee barely stretches across his chest.
“So,” he looks at our drinks. “What can I get you ladies?”
“Oh, nothing for me, thanks,” I say.
“Another daiquiri, please,” Shel requests.
Matt calls a nearby waitress over and orders the daiquiri and a beer. Turning his attention back to us he asks, “What brings you guys out?”
“We’re celebrating,” Shel looks at me. “We are officially employees at Bay Woods starting Monday.”
“That’s a nice course,” Matt comments. “I golf out there quite a bit, when I’m home.”
Shel and Matt delve into conversation, as if they see each other every day. I basically observe and nod once in a while.
Someone taps me on my shoulder. I turn and come face to face with some random stranger with greasy hair and bad skin. His rancid beer breath is right in my face. I lean away from him.
“You wanna dance?” the guy slurs.
Dear God, no. “Um. N–no thanks,” I say politely and turn back around.
“Wahs your problem?” he peers around my shoulder. “Yous think you’re too good or somethin’?” He grabs my arm.
“Hey!” My skin crawls where he touches me. I try to pull away and lean back at the same time.
Matt stands abruptly, knocking his chair over. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he growls and takes a step forward.
Drunk guy lets go of my arm. “What’s it to you?” he says angrily and stands up tall. With the two of them facing off like this, it’s clear that Matt has the advantage. He is much taller and more muscular than drunk guy.
Matt’s brown eyes go dark. “It would be best if you left. Now.”
Drunk guy puts on a tough face, but sways a little when he takes a step. He regains his balance and stares at Matt. Then he looks at me. “Forget it. You’re not worth it,” he sneers. He turns and stumbles away.
Matt stares him down until he’s back on the other side of the bar. He picks up his chair and takes a seat.
“Thank you so much,” I say gratefully.
He takes a drink of his beer, then smiles at me. “Any time.”
Shel picks up the conversation where they left off as I sit there waiting for my adrenaline to return to normal levels. I check my phone. It’s only nine, but I’m ready to go home.
I manage to make it only fifteen more minutes until I bring it up. “Shel, you ready to go?”
She frowns at me. Guess that’s a no.
As their conversation continues, I decide to make a trip to the restroom. When I get back, the band has started again and both Matt and Shel are standing.
“What’s up?” I yell over the music.
“I thought you were ready to go?” Shel asks.
“Yes!” I answer, probably too enthusiastically.
We make our way outside, and I inhale the night air. It was really stuffy inside Louie’s. Matt follows us out. “Where are you parked?” he asks.
“Way over there,” I gesture ahead of us.
We start to walk toward my car. “Thanks again, for your help back there,” I tell him. “I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, I’m glad I didn’t have to pull out my mad ninja skills,” Shel teases.
Matt laughs. Little does he know that Shel really does have mad ninja skills. Well, karate skills from an elective she took last year.
We’re just about to the car when I hear scuffling behind us. Shel and I turn around and see two people. I recognize drunk guy immediately. Suddenly, his buddy has Matt in a headlock.
I never figured Shel for a scared screamer. As Matt wrestles with the guy to get out of his hold, Shel lets out one of the loudest shrieks I’ve ever heard. Drunk guy actually takes a step back at the sound.
I start to panic as I back away and attempt to wrestle my cell phone from my purse. I keep my eyes locked on Matt. Why are these guys attacking him? Call the police! my brain screams.
“Let go of me asshole!” Matt grunts as he maneuvers his way out from under the guy’s arms and tries to pin them behind his back. The guy is too fast and ends up escaping Matt’s grasp. They separate, a few feet apart, and start to circle one another.
“Knock it off!” Shel yells at them.
Matt lunges at the guy, and he jumps out of the way.
I’m still trying to get my damn phone out of my purse.
Drunk guy decides to step in. His hands grab Matt’s shirt but he’s not strong enough, or maybe he’s too inebriated, to hang on. Matt takes his arm and easily knocks the guy free. Drunk guy falls to the ground right in front of me, and I jump back. I scramble out of the way and run to Shel’s side.
“Don’t you know karate?” I ask her frantically.
“Like two moves!” she snaps at me. “And this isn’t the most controlled environment!”
Distracted by shaking off drunk guy, Matt is caught around the waist from behind, his arms pinned to his sides by his original assailant. He struggles to break free.
“What do you want?” Shel screams at them.
I have gone mute as the sense of déjà vu settles over me. The same scene flashes before my eyes but it’s at school, at Western. James is fighting off Patrick, a lab partner of mine who became overly friendly and turned into somewhat of a stalker. It started with a few notes that went from innocent to threatening. Then, he seemed to show up everywhere I went. When I discovered that he had registered for all the same classes as me for the next semester, James came to campus to take care of the situation. He only meant to talk to him, maybe scare him into leaving me alone, but the talk quickly escalated into a fight. Patrick had James pinned, just as this guy has Matt.
“Please don’t hurt him!” I beg Patrick.
“Stay back Em!” James warns me.
Patrick grunts. “Call off your boyfriend!”
“James! Stop! Both of you! Stop!” I yell.
“Tell him we’re friends!” Patrick demands as James continues to struggle. “Tell him!”
“Okay! Okay! We’re just friends!” I say to James. “Let him go!”
Patrick actually released his hold on James, after which James quickly turned and punched him in the face. Blood spurted everywhere as he fell backward. Patrick lay on the ground for a few minutes, then recovered from his fall and took off across the parking lot, holding his nose. I never saw or heard from him again, but I was always looking over my shoulder, afraid he would reappear at any moment. That’s when James quit the hockey team and left Ferris. He immediately transferred to Western to make sure I was safe.
The memory takes only a second to play out behind my eyes, and in that time drunk guy has recovered from his fall and staggers toward Matt. “This is for tryin’ to be tough!” he taunts and closes his hand in a fist. “This’ll ruin that pretty boy face of yours,” he sneers as he winds up to punch.
“No!” I find my voice.
Thankfully drunk guy is pretty drunk because the punch he throws knocks him off balance and his fist heads for Matt’s stomach, not his nose. Matt kicks drunk guy in the gut, sending him sprawling. The force must have worked in Matt’s favor, because he finally breaks the hold around his arms.
Matt turns on the guy who was holding him and lands two solid punches, one in his stomach and one on the side of his jaw. I cringe at the sound they make. The guy stumbles backward.
I hear voices and realize some people in the parking lot are making their way over to see what’s going on. “Matt!” I yell as Shel and I run for the car. He glances at me for a moment and then turns his attention back to his attackers. I yank open the car door, crawl in, and start the ignition.
The guy Matt punched is recovering and takes a few steps toward him. Matt turns and makes a beeline for the car. He throws open the passenger side door and falls in. “Go!”
I leave the parking lot quickly and drive back through town. I concentrate on going the speed limit. My knuckles are white with tension a
s I grip the steering wheel.
Shel erupts from the backseat. “What was THAT?”
Matt flexes his hand. Even in this poor light it looks swollen. “I think our buddy doesn’t like me too much.”
Shel snorts. “What idiots!”
“Guess I won’t be going back there for a little while,” Matt chuckles.
Shel reaches through the seats. “They didn’t even land a punch. High five!” Matt smiles and slaps her hand with his good one.
I’m still tense, and I feel awful for doing absolutely nothing to help him during the fight. “I’m going to take you to my house so we can get some ice on that hand,” I say.
“Nah,” Matt says. “I’ve had worse.”
“Do you make a habit of this?” I ask with wide eyes.
He shakes his head. “Fighting random strangers? No.” He pauses. “But I do help my dad out from time to time, and I’ve gotten some pretty nasty bites.”
I forgot that Matt’s family owns the veterinary clinic in town.
“Regardless, let me help you. I feel bad after standing there and doing nothing.”
He doesn’t protest, and I make my way through town toward home. Shel and Matt rehash the fight, play by play, like it was the WWE.
We make it home and walk through the back door and into the kitchen. “Sit there,” I direct Matt to the island. I go to the freezer, pull out a cold pack, and then wrap it in a dish towel. I take his hand and look at his knuckles. They’re red and swollen. “Here.” I place the wrapped cold pack on his hand. He grimaces.
“See, you are hurt,” I say. “Don’t move.” I leave the kitchen and head to the bathroom to retrieve some ibuprofen. I run into my mom in the hallway.
“Hi,” she says. “Where have you been?”
“Long story.” I step past her into the bathroom and turn on the light. “Matt and Shel are in the kitchen.”
She looks surprised. “Matt Randall?”
I nod and grab the Motrin bottle from the drawer. She heads to the kitchen, and I follow her.
“Well hey there!” my mom greets him affectionately. “It’s good to see you!”
