by Adi Alsaid
He couldn’t remember the exact moment he’d fallen in love with Julia, but it had probably happened on that bench. It would have been easier if he had chosen to go somewhere else, somewhere that wasn’t dripping with memories. Except San Luis Obispo was small and if he and Julia hadn’t been to a place a thousand times throughout the last five years, then he and Gretchen had passed by it in her car while GPS-drawing in the past couple of weeks. Every landmark in town, every restaurant or shopping plaza or tree, Dave could suddenly recall exactly what song he and Gretchen were listening to as they drove past it. His memory had never been sharper. Which was kind of a shitty thing for his memory to do at this particular time.
The sun was starting to turn orange, casting everything in the harbor in the same emblazoned light, making silhouettes out of all the people in Dave’s line of sight. He watched the bundled shadows of the homeless guys gathering their belongings and moving on for the night. A couple of sophomore girls from school walked right in front of Dave, not noticing him sitting on the bench, like he was more liquid than solid.
“I’m serious,” one of them was saying, “it’s a real thing. We have to try it.”
“There’s no way that exists.”
“I read it online.” The girl was a brunette, wearing dozens of bracelets on her wrist that jingled audibly. “Oreos fried in Mountain Dew. Just saying it out loud gives me goose bumps.”
They kept walking, their conversation fading out, contextless. Dave’s butt was asleep. His feet were asleep. Everything else was painfully awake. He felt like a guttural groan would nicely summarize how he was feeling.
“Dave.”
At first he just craned his neck, thinking maybe the sophomore girls had recognized him and hadn’t picked up on the social cues that said he was miserable and didn’t want to chat. Then he saw a silhouette coming his way, the wavy locks unmistakably Gretchen’s. He stood up as quickly as he could, which was not all that quick thanks to his stiffened muscles.
She wasn’t crying. That was something. She was in front of him and not crying and she’d said his name without affixing an insult or a curse. Not that Gretchen was the type to throw insults or curses around, even at people who deserved them. “Hi,” he said, not quite holding his breath, but waiting to see what came next. Since that day at school, Dave hadn’t talked to Gretchen, except over and over again in his mind. He’d glanced at her once in class, then immediately flushed with shame, hiding himself away, feeling exactly like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs.
She was wearing a black zip-up hoodie with the school’s name on it. Her hands were stuffed into the pockets. The smell of honey wafted over to him and he knew that it would be a long time before he’d be able to forget what it was like to be near her.
“I figured I could find you here,” she said.
“The bench helps me feel less like an asshole.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Gretchen, I’m sorry. I know that’s not enough but I need to say it again. I don’t deserve to feel like less of an asshole.”
She nodded, rubbed one foot against the other. “You hurt me, Dave.”
Dave wanted to whisper another “I’m sorry,” but there were still no tears and he didn’t want anything to push her to that point, so he kept quiet. He’d stand there and let her yell at him, take the full force of her sorrow if it meant easing some of it. He’d absorb her pain, and Julia’s too, if he could. But he didn’t know how, and so he stood there, a hand on the back of his neck, looking around the harbor, stealing glances at Gretchen, who seemed almost confused about why she was standing there with him.
Gretchen took a step closer to Dave, so she was less of a silhouette, the details of her face coming into focus. He couldn’t tell what she was feeling, if she was about to slap him or hug him. The moment stretched on and on without a clue as to what was on Gretchen’s mind. People walked all around them as if on fast-forward, like a film-editing trick. Dave realized he had no idea what was on anyone’s mind, not even a little. Before the Nevers he and Julia had assumed they knew exactly what was going on in strangers’ minds, that people felt and thought in clichés. During the Nevers Dave had discovered that they hadn’t been exactly right, or maybe that the assumption that he didn’t fit in with those clichés was wrong. Now everyone just seemed like a mystery. He couldn’t even tell what the hell he was thinking and feeling, if he was angry or sad or guilty or hopeful or curious.
“I need you to promise nothing will ever happen between you and Julia again,” Gretchen said, eyes still on the ground.
“I promise,” Dave said quickly, before he really understood the implications of what she was saying.
“I can’t go through that again. I was a wreck. Even more than when my ex cheated on me.”
“I swear, Gretchen.”
Gretchen let out a sigh, shaking her head at the ground and then looking up at him with a smile of all things. “You make me happy, Dave. And as pissed as I was at you, it’s been hard to forget that. I want you to keep making me happy. I want you to leave things a little better than you found them.”
Relief washed through Dave, even before she took another step and wrapped her arms around him, enveloping him.
“That was the longest you’ve ever held a straight face,” he said, taking a whiff of her hair, kissing her cheek, almost jittery with gratitude. His hands were shaky, and he felt his voice waver, as if he were on the verge of tears, not laughter.
“I thought you’d be proud of me.” She broke the hug and took his hand in hers, then leaned in to kiss him. It’d only been a few weeks since they’d kissed, but the pause in between had felt eternal.
Gretchen burrowed herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “I missed you.”
He hugged back. “I did, too.”
People did not speak highly enough of hugs. Yeah, they had a good reputation, but it didn’t really compare to how great they actually were. People should be walking around hugging each other all the time, amazed.
The sun kept dipping down into the ocean and the lights came on at the harbor, casting sudden shadows on the ground, illuminating the faces that were just a second ago silhouettes. The sky was golden and purple, the ocean a darker shade of violet.
FLOAT
IT WAS A Friday night and Julia had not seen a movie in far too long. Really seen one. She drove past the theater in Pismo Beach that showed all the indie flicks and saw that it was packed, as she should have known it would be. Her heart knew exactly what it wanted, though, so she found a parking spot a couple blocks away, leaving her phone in the center console, her earphones wrapped around it.
Julia splurged on some popcorn, since she’d brought a bottle of hot sauce with her, a quirk she tried out ever since her mom had mentioned in a postcard that that’s how they ate it in Mexico. It pissed Julia off that her mom still had this hold on her even after that whole meltdown at the tree house. She should have been swearing off all things mom-related right now, idolizing her dads, who lived quiet lives but knew how to love. Except here Julia was, squirting hot sauce onto her popcorn. Disdainfully, sure, but still.
The theater was mostly full, and she took a seat close to the front, where the screen would take up her entire view and she could immerse herself in the movie. It was one thing she and Dave had always disagreed on, how close to sit. He hated craning his neck, she didn’t like seeing the little silhouettes of other moviegoers in her periphery.
Julia munched slowly on her popcorn, trying to save most of it for when the movie started rolling. She stared absently at the trivia questions they played on the screen before the previews, questions she’d seen on easily a dozen different trips to the theater, since before the whole Nevers thing began. Struck by a realization, she riffled through the contents of her bag. Flip-flops her dads made her carry around, just in case. Earrings she hardly ever
wore, her agenda, a couple of tampons, Heart of Darkness, still mostly unread. Her wallet, which was full of receipts she didn’t need. In one of the side pockets she finally found the list, and she pulled it out, unfolding it. One of the creases had started to tear.
She’d used three different colored pens to cross off the items she and Dave had done. Now she grabbed the simple black ballpoint pen that was tucked into her agenda, used Heart of Darkness as a writing surface, and touched the tip to the paper. Her eyes passed over each item, quickly recalling all the things they’d done. When she got to number seven she laughed out loud. A heart-to-heart in the tree house was good enough. She crossed out Never hook up with a teacher.
The only one they hadn’t thought to cross out yet was number ten: Never date your best friend. She ran a finger over the subtitle that Dave had added on when they were fourteen: Dave and Julia’s Guide to an Original High School Experience. His boyish handwriting was so much like her own that sometimes she found notes they’d written each other and couldn’t make out which side of the conversation was hers and which was his. She didn’t let herself wonder about what would have happened if they’d never found the list, or let herself wish for anything else, not now, not in public—since when those trains of thought took over it always ended with her in a crumpled heap, trying not to cry into her bedding. This was enough for now, this at-ease sadness. A cliché, maybe, to let someone go because you loved them. It hurt, but it was better than any of the alternatives.
Dave deserved happiness, even if it wasn’t with her. This wasn’t a case of letting the thing you love go and hoping it returns to you. Dave wasn’t some winged thing, Julia wasn’t a perch.
She folded the sheet of paper back up, tapped it meaningfully against her thigh a couple of times, then leaned over and slipped it into a cup holder a couple seats away. She took the hot sauce bottle out of her bag and shook a few squirts out onto the first layer of popcorn. Then she propped her feet up on the seat in front of her and waited for the lights to dim, trying and failing to pace herself on how quickly she reached for more popcorn.
Since she was so close up, she couldn’t see all the people who had come in and filled up the theater. A few people had ventured down to her row, but everything in front of her was clear. The audience murmured with a hundred different conversations. Out of the corner of her eye she could see someone coming down the aisle toward her and she lowered her feet in case they needed to pass. But the guy took a seat right next to her.
Julia turned to look at him and saw that it was Brett. He kept his eyes on the screen and reached over for some popcorn casually, jerking it back when he felt the wetness of the hot sauce.
“What the hell?” He examined his fingers.
“Hi, Brett.”
Brett sniffed at his fingers. “Is that hot sauce?”
“Indeed it is.”
“Weird.” He reached over again and grabbed more cautiously.
“What are you doing here?”
“My friends brought their girlfriends, so instead of fifth-wheeling it I’m gonna sit next to you, if that’s okay. I spotted you from back there.” He motioned vaguely behind him. “Your hair makes it easy.”
“No, I mean, what are you doing watching this movie? It’s based on a book. No explosions. No boobs that I’m aware of.”
“Don’t be naive, all these artsy flicks have boobs in ’em.” He smiled through a mouthful of popcorn and reached over for some more. “Just kidding. I’ve been looking forward to this movie for a while. Didn’t read the book, but I’m a fan of the director. Hey, I like this popcorn–hot sauce thing.”
“Yeah, me too.”
The theater turned dark and the chatter quieted to a murmur. Brett leaned in to Julia, close enough that she could smell something fruity on his breath. “You don’t mind if I sit with you?” he whispered.
“It depends. Do you talk during movies?”
“All the time. It’s my favorite thing to do.”
Julia shoved him away with her elbow. “If you finish my popcorn, I’ll kill you.”
“Or I can go get us a refill. I’ve got one of those rewards cards, so I get ’em for free.”
“Look at you, moving up in the world.”
Brett grabbed a piece of popcorn and tossed it at Julia. Then they quieted to watch the previews.
After the movie, they walked out together, Julia taking one last quick glance at the corner of notebook paper sticking out of a cup holder in the third row. Julia thought about her mom—how Julia had, in many ways, done the list for her mom’s sake, and how little that would mean to her mom.
They didn’t say anything for a bit, following the slow-moving mass of people making their way outside. A few people rushed to their cars; some stood around discussing the movie, making plans for dinner or drinks. The night was absolutely lovely, and Julia thought she might go get a cup of coffee, sit outside somewhere with a book, leave her phone in the car all night.
“I’m sorry about you and Dave,” Brett said. He had his hands in his back pockets and was looking sheepishly around.
Julia laughed. “It’s not really your fault.”
“I know. But maybe I can make it up to you?”
“It’s okay,” Julia said. “You don’t have to do anything. You kept me company during the movie; that’s more than enough.”
Brett’s friends came out of the theater and called him over, and he said he’d be with them in a second.
“I’m parked this way,” Julia said, pointing down the block.
“I’ll walk you,” Brett said, still looking embarrassed, which was the only time Julia ever saw similarities between him and Dave. He was bigger and more self-assured, but right now she could see a flicker of insecurity, too. She wasn’t sure why she’d never thought of it before, but Brett had at one point lost his mom, too.
They walked slowly, not saying much until they reached Julia’s car.
“I know you said I don’t have to make it up to you,” Brett said, breaking the silence. “But I want to anyway. I know up until the promposal, you and Dave were always planning on going to prom together. Now you need a date. How about I take you? Not like a pity thing,” he added quickly. “This is a little embarrassing, but I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”
He wasn’t nervous, like Dave might be. But he wasn’t as sure of himself as usual. He gave her a smile, raised his eyebrows. “What do you say? I know you were looking to go with the future prom king, but maybe a past one will do?”
Julia smiled. “That’s so cheesy.”
“Dammit, I know.”
She took her keys out of her bag and played with them, rubbing her fingers over her keychain amulet.
“No,” she said firmly. “I appreciate the gesture, though. That’s nice of you.”
“Oh.” Brett lowered his head, nodding like he’d seen it coming.
“It’s been a pretty crazy few weeks for me. I need some time to just”—she gestured with the hand not holding her keys, searching for the word—“float.” The sound of that felt great. It put an image in her head of a lake on a windless day, not a single ripple on the surface.
Brett nodded, almost eagerly. “Fair enough,” he said, scratching at his chin, which, like Dave’s, could barely grow any facial hair. “That makes sense.” He lingered for a second before saying good night and turning away.
When he was about to turn away, Julia stopped him. “Thanks for keeping me company,” she said, standing on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek.
Brett smiled, looking momentarily dazed. “Anytime,” he said finally, putting up his hand as a wave before going back the way they came.
Julia watched him retreat down the street, taking long, hurried strides to return to his friends. He pulled a beanie out of his back pocket and slipped it on before he reached
the growing crowd of midnight-showing attendants, still visible among them thanks to his height. Julia opened her car door and slid in, taking a moment to mentally recover from the quick exchange, reassessing what she knew about Brett. Then she put the key in the ignition and started the car, buckling her seat belt in and lowering the windows. Her phone remained in the center console, quiet and ignored. The dads knew she’d gone to a movie, and they wouldn’t worry about her for a while. She had the rest of the night to just float.
PROM
DAVE AND GRETCHEN were walking to school, the sound of their dress shoes clunking down the sidewalk. Gretchen was in a blue dress, which was more of a nice dress than a prom gown. Her hair was done up in curls and she was wearing a light smattering of makeup. She looked beautiful, and Dave caught himself glancing thankfully at their hands clasped together.
Dave himself was in a tuxedo, a cliché he felt okay taking part in. He loved dressing up and often wished people still wore suits everywhere they went. It was light out, though, and tuxedos looked significantly less impressive during the daytime. Tuxedos were meant for the glamour of nighttime, and Dave looked forward to when the sun would set and the tuxedo would finally fit perfectly.
They’d skipped the limo, and the pictures on the front lawn. Corsages matched up with boutonnieres were tacky, so they’d skipped that, too. It seemed lame to show up to prom early, but it was in their nature to avoid being late, so they were walking there slowly.
“Do you think there’ll be snacks?” Dave asked.
Gretchen thought about it for a second. Her eyes flicked up, like she was looking for the answer somewhere right above the tree line. “I don’t know. I feel like prom at our school will be too classy for a bowl full of chips, but not classy enough for hors d’oeuvres.”
