The Hard Way Home

by C. W. Farnsworth

  With one last knowing look, she sweeps out of the ostentatious bathroom, leaving me wondering what it means that the last person I ever thought I would take life advice from seems to be making an awful lot of sense.

  *****

  I ponder my conversation with Madison over the next few days, glad I have studying for finals to keep my mind somewhat occupied. That’s not the case when I’m out in the barn feeding the horses or exercising them. My hands are busy, but my mind is free to think about things I’d rather not. Dwell on regrets. Things I wish I said. Things I wish I didn’t. Worst of all, let myself wonder “what if?” That’s more dangerous than anything. It’s a lot easier to believe something will never happen than to imagine how it might and then never have it come to fruition.

  Especially when you’re forced to see the person those imaginations center on. I’m able to avoid Caleb on the farm, but I can’t pretend he doesn’t exist during finals. In the midst of writing my English exam, every other thought is about him.

  The bell finally rings, tearing my attention away from Caleb’s dark hair and back to the half-scrawled sentence I zoned out during. Hastily, I finish it, and then tuck the sheet with my multiple choice answers inside the booklet as Mr. Tanner starts moving down the row, collecting everyone’s exams.

  He takes mine, and I lean down to grab my backpack so I can depart.

  “Caleb, I’m missing your essay.” Mr. Tanner has never been one for subtlety, so he announces this in front of the entire class as he holds up the blank paper where Caleb’s essay should be written. Peers who already bolted for the door slow, sucked into the drama like motorists passing a car crash.

  “I’m aware, sir. I ran out of time.”

  “You didn’t write the essay? Any of it?” Mr. Tanner leafs through the booklet, like maybe Caleb decided to start writing on page ten for some reason.

  “No, Mr. Tanner.”

  “You don’t have anything to give me? An outline? I can give you partial credit for that.”

  “I don’t have anything, sir.”

  Mr. Tanner harrumphs. “All right, Mr. Winters.” He moves onto the next desk to retrieve Ellie Nash’s final.

  Drama concluded, everyone rushes for the door, eager to leave school and maximize the time before having to return tomorrow for the last day of finals. But no one departs faster than Caleb. He’s out the door before I’ve risen from my desk.

  “I’ll meet you at your car, okay?” I tell Cassie, my eyes on the exit. She and I made plans to go get coffee for a caffeine-fueled cram session before tomorrow’s tests. I catch her nod out of the corner of my eye as I head for the door, jostling a few classmates as I hurry towards the front doors. I spot Caleb as soon as I burst through them, halfway down the sidewalk. He’s trying to avoid me, I realize.

  So I quicken my pace, giving up on my brisk walk and literally running after him. My weighted backpack bounces against my back with each stride, my rubber-soled shoes slap the cement, and I’ve become the main attraction for after school entertainment, but I don’t stop until Caleb hears me approach and spins around. I watch the regret appear on his face as soon as he sees who is chasing him. He can’t avoid talking to me now.

  “What the hell did you just do?” I accuse Caleb once I’ve caught my breath.

  “No idea what you’re talking about,” Caleb replies.

  “Don’t lie to me, Caleb. I know you chose not to write that paper. We had plenty of time. And it’s twenty percent of our grade! You’ll be lucky to end up with a B. I have no idea why you—”

  He cuts me off. “Now who’s lying?”

  “I’m not! I don’t understand, it—”

  “You want to be valedictorian, right?” Caleb demands.

  “Well—”

  “Don’t you?” His voice has risen in volume, and my stomach sinks in response. I chased him because I wanted him to convince me he didn’t purposefully bomb the final for the reason I was worried he might have. Instead, he just essentially confirmed he did.

  “Yes, but—” My voice is weak. I don’t know what I’m trying to say anymore. What I want to convey.

  “I’m giving you what you want, Lennon. Just take it! Why are you so afraid of getting what you want?”

  Because I’m scared of losing it. But that’s too honest. Vulnerability doesn’t keep empty promises. “Don’t act like you’re some sort of god granting wishes, Caleb. I can earn my own accomplishments. I want to earn my own accomplishments. You didn’t do this for me.”

  “Then why did I do it, Lennon?”

  He spins back around and keeps stalking in the direction of his truck before I have a chance to answer, which is good.

  I’m not sure what I would say.

  TWENTY

  __________________________________

  My palms are damp with perspiration, both from the sunshine bearing down on me and my own nerves. I fiddle with the notecards I’m gripping tightly as I resist the urge to bounce my leg. You can do this. You can do this. You can do this, I chant to myself. Surreptitiously, I wipe first one palm, and then the other, on the green silk skirt of the dress Gramps insisted I buy when I told him I was class valedictorian. I can see his beaming face perfectly from the stage I’m seated on. He insisted we arrive ridiculously early so he could snag a seat in the first row behind the graduates. Gramps is confident I can deliver this speech and not make a fool of myself. I wish I could feel so certain.

  I switch the notecards to my right hand so I can wipe my left palm, and the top notecard flutters to the ground next to my folding chair. I freeze. Crap. I’m literally on display, seated in what’s meant to be a position of honor in the center of the stage, right next to the podium where Principal Owens is currently speaking. After three days of endless edits, I know every word by heart. But there’s no way I’m going to rely on my memory while giving a speech in front of almost every person I know in the entire world. I contemplate the odds of pulling off an awkward shimmying slouch or pretending to itch my foot in order to retrieve it. Then, Mr. Evans, who was chosen as the faculty speaker, leans down and grabs the stray notecard.

  “Thank you,” I whisper when he hands it to me. I’ll never diss gym class again. An easy promise to make, since in about ten minutes I’ll be a high school graduate forever free of Kentucky’s mandated class curriculum.

  Principal Owens mentions my name, and I realize he’s introducing me. There’s applause—loud applause—not just polite clapping, and then I’m at the podium, expected to speak.

  “Principal Owens, faculty, friends, family, and my fellow graduates. This is a day I’ve looked forward to for a long time. But when I was writing this speech, I also came up with a lot of things I am going to miss. A lot of them ones I didn’t think I would. I thought of high school like a series of items on a checklist, and now that I’m at the end I’m glad I took the time to add some unexpected ones along the way. Like learning how to hit a baseball. Right a canoe. Study cosmology.” I avoided finding Caleb’s face in the crowd earlier, and I’m immensely glad I did. I don’t want to see his expression. See if he cares. See if he doesn’t. It’s no coincidence all the examples I chose were things we did together, and I don’t think the significance will be lost on him. This is my way of telling him those unplanned moments mattered to me, too.

  The words continue to flow like well-scripted water, and then suddenly I’m down to the last notecard of my five minute speech. “High school always seemed like a stepping stone to me; a symbolic bridge between childhood and adulthood. But this past year in particular, I learned it can be a whole lot more than that. The expected can yield the unexpected. Tragedy can strike. Love can conquer.” I take a deep breath. “There are two people who I wish could be here today. But I couldn’t end this speech without acknowledging the one person who’s the reason I am. Gramps, you may be a terrible cook and an abysmal mechanic, but you’ve never allowed me to believe there’s anything I can’t do. You are the only person I’ve always been able to rely u
pon. I treasure that more than anything, and I’m incredibly proud to be a Matthews. To be your granddaughter.” I swallow a couple of times to remove the lump that’s formed in my throat. “And to my fellow graduates: no matter where you’re headed next, I know the fortitude and ingenuity this class possesses will carry us far. We survived three days in the Kentucky wilderness, so we can survive anything.” There’s a ripple of laughter. “Congratulations, everyone!” I flip my tassel, and it’s over.

  I’m not expecting the swell of noise. There’s applause, cheering, and then a wave of navy as all the seniors—now graduates—toss their caps towards the cloudless sky. Principal Owens comes over to the podium to hand me my diploma and congratulate me, and then I stumble back to my chair.

  Principal Owens makes some parting remarks, the band starts up “Pomp and Circumstance” again, and the rest of my class files out along the aisle that’s been cleared to the open stretch of the football field just beyond where the ceremony is being held. Families follow suit, abandoning their seats to congratulate their children, grandchildren, siblings, nieces, nephews. Neighbors. I descend the stage’s stairs shakily, a bit stunned that it’s all over.

  Gramps is waiting for me off to one side, never one for big crowds. He beams when he spots me, and I can see the faint trail of some salty residue on his weathered cheeks. “I’m so proud of you, Lennie,” Gramps smiles wide enough it threatens to overtake his whole face. His hazel eyes, the exact same shade as mine, crinkle in the corners. “You were wonderful up there. Really wonderful.”

  “Thanks, Gramps,” I whisper as he pulls me into a bear hug.

  “Your mama would be so proud of you, darling,” he continues, and I feel tears burn my eyelids. Gramps hardly even mentions Mom. “Your pops, too,” he adds, which is an even more selfless gesture. Gramps never got along with my father. The only reason he allowed him to come stay at Matthews Farm after Mom’s death was for me.

  I don’t say anything, just squeeze him a little bit tighter.

  Gramps insists on taking me out for lunch, and we laugh and joke over plates of overpriced food filled with exotic flavors. When we return back to the farm, Gramps heads inside to watch the Jays play. I hover on the front porch, still in my graduation dress, trying to figure out what to do with myself. For the first time in a long time, I don’t have anything I have to do. There’s no school assignment. The horses don’t need to be brought in for another few hours. I don’t start working at the Landry Gazette as a research assistant for another two weeks. I could go clean my room, or straighten up the tack room, but there’s nothing I want to do.

  Dropping down in one of the two rocking chairs, I kick off my shoes and rest my bare toes on the porch banister, staring out at the grazing horses. The bright sun pulls out the distinctive blue shade Kentucky grass is known for, rolling off in the distance as far as the eye can see. I gaze at the serene picture and admit the truth to myself. There is one thing I’d like to do right now. Or more accurately, one person I’d like to see. But I’m sure he’s in the midst of the fancy graduation party his mother was planning the color scheme for months ago. And then he’s leaving tomorrow.

  I fall asleep at some point. Nerves kept me up most of last night. When I blink my eyes open, it’s dusk. I head inside. Gramps is talking to someone on the old rotary phone that’s been an installation in the farmhouse practically since it was built.

  My room is a mess, evidence of my hasty departure this morning strewn everywhere. For having exactly one outfit option, I managed to do an impressive job emptying out most of my closet. I change back into my standard jeans and t-shirt and make my way out to the barn for the evening chores. Once I’ve finished taking care of the horses, I return to the house to help Gramps prepare dinner. It’s while we’re eating that my phone first starts to buzz.

  Without looking at the screen, I know what the messages are going to be about. Much like the senior trip, the graduation night party is a Landry High legend. Only graduates are allowed to attend, meaning there’s just the one chance to. Since I ended up attending both the senior trip and prom, I know Cassie is expecting me to go tonight. There are a number of reasons I’m not sure if I should. I was the only senior listed without a college in the graduation program, and I’m not eager to spend the night having to explain why. I’m also not sure what people made of my speech. And of course, seeing Caleb one final time before he leaves will be more than a little bittersweet.

  Cassie ends up making the decision for me. A long series of honks sound outside, and I know it’s her before I pause the dishes and look out the window.

  “Go celebrate, Lennie,” Gramps tells me as he dries a plate. “I promise not to throw a rager while you’re gone.”

  I roll my eyes as I head to the door to let Cassie in.

  “Is that not what they’re called?” he calls after me.

  I’m grinning as I open the door. “Get in, we’re—” Cassie stops talking. “What are you wearing?”

  I glance down at my rattiest jeans. My navy sweatshirt’s innocuous enough, except for the stain from Dusty’s frothing mouth after my ride earlier. And the dollop of dish soap I’m just now noticing. “Clothes?” I offer unhelpfully.

  Cassie lets out an exasperated sigh, but her lips quirk as she steps over the threshold. “Howdy, Earl!” she calls as she passes the kitchen and heads upstairs. She’s never been in the farmhouse before, but doesn’t seem to have any trouble navigating her way into my bedroom. I follow after her, a bit intrigued by what she thinks she’s going to conjure up from my closet. All she’s going to find is clean versions of what I’m wearing.

  Based on the perplexed look on her face when I enter my bedroom, she’s thinking the same. “No offense, but—”

  “Which people only say before they’re about to offend you,” I interject.

  “But is this your whole wardrobe? All of it?” She waves at my closet.

  “This may come as a surprise, but I’m not really a fashionista,” I tell her. “And my clothing allowance is going towards feeding the horses, at the moment.”

  Cassie pauses flipping through my hangers and whirls around. “Lennon, I didn’t mean—”

  “I know you didn’t,” I assure her. She bites her lip, and then moves to the dresser.

  “Here.” She tosses me a pair of faded jeans I hardly ever wear because they’re snug enough to restrict some movement. “Put these on.” I comply as she continues digging through my drawers. “Aha!” Cassie announces a minute later. She holds up a V-neck t-shirt I’m not sure if I’ve ever worn. Definitely not since I got boobs, and I recall why when I pull the shirt over my head.

  “Perfect,” Cassie proclaims, with an approving nod. I look at my reflection in the mirror. Both the shirt and jeans are figure-hugging, but not in an overdone way. They just highlight the curves I usually hide. I trust Cassie, especially when it comes to my appearance, so I don’t argue with her.

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re parked outside Jake’s house. I know he’s hosted most of my class’ parties, so it makes sense he would have the honor of holding the final one.

  It’s packed when we enter the house, which is no surprise based on the number of cars outside and the level of noise exuding from the mansion. Jake lives in a luxe development close by the high school, and I’m guessing the neighbors are grateful for the generous lot sizes tonight.

  As Cassie and I make our way through the house, I’m surprised by how many people stop to talk to us. Both of us. A few bring up my speech, but most of the conversations are idle chitchat. Pleasantries. Endings have a way of bringing people together, I suppose. We finally enter the kitchen, and I make a beeline for the island that boasts a spread of almost every drink imaginable. The temperature in the house feels almost tropical, and I’m glad I decided against wearing a jacket. Or more like Cassie refused to let me bring one.

  I reach for the stack of plastic cups, at the same time as another hand. One I recognize.

  Both our hands h
over about six inches away from the cups. I move forward at the same time he does, and our fingers brush, sending a shock of lightening up my arm. I halt; Caleb doesn’t.

  Caleb grabs two cups, and hands one to me.

  “Thanks,” I mutter.

  “Stay away from the punch. It’s full of all sorts of shit.”

  “Cal—” He’s already walking away.

  I end up with soda, although I’m definitely tempted by the haze some of the other bottles offer. There’s a reason they call it liquid courage.

  Somehow, an evening I thought would drag starts to fly by. My unprecedented popularity lingers. I converse with people I’ve barely exchanged two words with since elementary school. I dance. I mingle with peers I now consider good friends: Shannon, Tina, Eliza, Julie, Joe, Will, and Marcus. Even Andrew, for all our head-butting at the paper. But I don’t allow myself to really believe this is a new normal. I don’t get my hopes up.

  I’m really good at that.

  Eventually, the night begins to wind down. I have no idea what time it is, but the fatigue I’m experiencing assures me it’s a lot later than I usually stay up. Not that that’s saying much.

  I can sense Cassie’s close to being ready to leave, and that’s terrifying. Because there’s one thing I need to do. One thing I can’t not do. One thing I’ve put off until the last minute. Until the last minute became now.

  “You about ready to go?” Cassie asks me, yawning.

  I’m so, so tempted to just nod. To leave. But the only thing that’s scarier than doing this is living with the regret of not doing it. “Yeah,” I respond. “Just give me one minute.”

  I purposefully lost track of him earlier, but it’s not hard to find him now. Like always, there’s a crowd nearby, drawn to his effortless magnetism. I can’t help but notice a large percentage of them are female, and wonder whether what I’m about to do will dissuade any of them. Probably not. Like me, this is their last chance.