Chasing Days

by Deirdre Riordan Hall

  “Last night, I kind of did the same thing. I told someone, two people actually, how I feel, from my heart. What you just told me is, like, the biggest gift and a huge relief because it's really sweet and also like, uh, what’s it called. Affective? Assenting? It’s one of those buzz words you use.”

  “An affirmation?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. Hearing you say that now is like an affirmation that I did the right thing last night. It was scary to put my heart out there like that, but now it isn’t because I know how it feels to be on the receiving end. I mean, I don’t want you to be sad or miss me. For one, I’m still here, but like I said it’s also a relief. I’d hate to find out you held back your real feelings or held them in or were in a rush to get rid of me." I eye Teddy's house through the window. "So thank you.”

  “No, my dearest Willa, thank you. You know what, it’s okay to feel sad. It tells you how much a person means to you.”

  Then we both cry, a snorting, snotty, sob that turns into laughter. She takes my face in her hands and has a good look at me as if she never wants to forget this moment. Neither do I. “To the moon and back,” she says.

  “To the moon and back,” I repeat.

  She takes a steadying breath. "Big day. Dad has breakfast waiting and we have to get out the door.”

  ☼

  Principal Whitaker didn’t send the sun an invitation. The clouds hover over the bleachers and chairs set up in front of a platform stage in the middle of the football field. Dressed in their summer brights, families spread across the grass like tulips. Grads cloaked in black file into the area usually reserved for going long and strategic interceptions.

  I pause, about twenty-five feet from the row where I’ll take my seat, in alphabetical order, and seal the envelope on my high school experience. My eyes moisten and then a familiar hand grasps mine. I feel small and filled with nostalgia, yet about to burst with fondness and hope for the future.

  “Let’s do this together,” Teddy says. The smile in his voice lifts my own. We hold hands and make our way forward. The sea of black gowns and mortarboards and laughter draws us close.

  Heather jogs over. Her eyes are red. “I’m so glad I wore false eyelashes, otherwise I’d be a walking disaster. I can’t—” Before she utters another word, I wrap my arms around her, relieved she feels the same way.

  I spot Grady and wave. He offers a smoldering smile. His Royal Hotness still has the ability to make me swoon. Then, there’s Joss. She’s already seated, alone, while everyone else laments and celebrates, hugs and cheers. She lifts her eyes and I step forward, but the ceremony is about to begin. The buzz in the air quickly gives way to a hum and then a hush.

  Principal Whitaker says a few words and the rest is a blur until I hear my name. "Willa Wohlbreuk." I float to the stage. Each step is surreal. I smile, shake hands, and take my diploma. There’s clapping, cheering, and I'm in my seat again.

  Minutes pass and then caps sail in the air. We’re a heaving mass of laughter and tears as rain and tassels fall from the sky like confetti. Instead of catching our caps, we hug and hold each other up. And I'm certain that the rain falling in soft drops brings us each good luck.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ☾

  Saturday

  I haven’t stopped looking for Joss all night, making sure to stay in full view of the back gate and the back door should she appear. Teddy stands alone across the yard; the white twinkle lights make him look soft and young like a freshman all over again. I steal the moment and break away from a conversation with Asher and Andrew.

  Teddy offers a tiny smile, and I lead him to the climbing tree in the back. We settle on our respective branches, the ones that have supported us since we used our imaginary monkey tails, sticky fingers, and suction cup feet to get up here instead of just boosting up.

  "I thought you told your parents that you didn't want any fuss. What prompted this last minute party?” he asks. The space between us echoes with the past decade. Our days spent together click by as we tried to outrun the secret truths we'd kept. There were the nights we’d whisper between windows, casting dares into the dark, and scribbling nonsense on notes passed between our houses.

  “I couldn’t imagine not saying goodbye one more time,” I say, answering his question.

  Teddy tucks his head toward his chest. “I hope this isn’t a goodbye. Seriously, you better be texting me and calling every day.”

  “No, I’m not saying goodbye to you, not at all. Never. Or Heather or Joss, not even Grady. Just farewell to this time.”

  “You’re supposed to recognize that kind of thing in retrospect. Like at the ten year Puckett reunion.” A smile slips across his lips. “It’s more poetic to live in the moment.” He passes me a small parcel. “Your graduation gift.”

  I lift the lid on the box.

  “We must have gone to the same Etsy store,” he says, holding the compass keychain I gave him in his palm. “Great minds.”

  I take out a chain with a small burnished compass stamped on a round pendant.

  “So we can always find our way back to each other and back to our own true north; I’m glad you’re on your way, but if you lose it again, you know where to look...” He taps the compass.

  I clasp the chain around my neck and then hug Teddy; I might never let go. I invite his words to imprint themselves on my heart. Then with watery eyes, I recall what Guzzi said about following his compass. I wonder about how the last four years of high school, friendships, and nights spent longing for love guided me to this moment. For Grady and Joss and how it all led to who I am today and the woman I’m becoming. There have been a few times I've gone south when possibly I should have been headed north or west instead of east, but somehow, despite misdirection and detours, I'm quite certain I ended up exactly where I need to be.

  "This has been epic," I say with a long exhale.

  For eighty-nine-seconds, Teddy peers over the fence toward his house and then says, “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “Wait, what?” I ask. I worry the sky might come crashing down.

  “I’m spending the summer in Rhode Island with Jerusha. He got me a job, and I’m staying at his place until I get everything figured out for fall.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “They didn’t come today, Willa.”

  Forget the sky, the world spins to a halt. “Wait, what?” I repeat. I hadn't noticed the Westings weren't at Puckett.

  “There’s no more waiting. That thing about living in the moment. Life is happening now.”

  “I—” I start to say something stupid like I can't believe that they didn't show up, but I can, actually I can believe it.

  “I thought they’d disown me if I was gay. Turns out, having an artist for a son is completely, utterly, irrevocably unacceptable.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I guess I hoped they'd arrive late. I thought maybe they’d… Never mind they're assdouchenozzleshithats. Anyway, Jerusha offered me his couch and a job opened up at the coffee shop where he works. I can’t stay here. They aren’t even trying. They’re just wrapped up in the campaign and…”

  I remember the conversation I overheard the night Teddy got the acceptance to RISD. “I heard them that night. When—”

  “Yeah, I did too. I hear everything, even the things they don’t say. Listen, I have to do this.”

  “I know. I’m just going to miss you. Miss…this.” I sniffle.

  “Me too.”

  Our arms clap together again in a desperate and meaningful hug. A tremor works its way through the middle of my chest, rending a fissure inside, leaving Mr. Dicostanzo, the worn linoleum in the halls, and about a million words, equations, and chalky memories on one side and a vast horizon on the other. It’s wide, bordered by golden light that fades to silver and then darkness. It’s beautiful and terrifying and I have to face it.

  “Here we go, Willa,” Teddy whispers.

  I hope that instead of
the fence dividing his house and mine, and him from his future, he sees that same endless horizon, lined with possibility and hope. Hand in hand, we jump down from the tree.

  Gretel approaches and whisks Teddy back into the gathered crowd. I try to muster myself forward, to join them, but instead listen to the laughter, memorizing the cadence of voices, and relishing the hooting and whooping of celebration.

  I invited everyone, even Elspeth and Eve, back here tonight. However, Elspeth left during the first half hour and Eve let loose after she tossed back a few beers and ended up in the back of Hansel’s jeep. Figures. Augie helped spread the word and promised to be back with live music. I begged my parents not to get any wild ideas and drag out their instruments. In the meantime, an iPod mix blasts everything from Beyoncé to ACDC to The Bravery.

  The party overflows from the backyard to the house to the front porch. It isn’t as reckless as Teddy’s impromptu birthday party was or as drunken as one of the Parker’s shindigs, but something about tonight tells me this party is unique. It isn’t about getting wasted or hooking up. The popularity contest is on hold, or maybe it’s over, along with the likes, the favorites, and pranks…tonight we revel in our achievement, our freedom, friendship, and each other.

  I glide into the group, accompanied by the liberated feeling of the breeze in my hair, even though it isn’t windy. I rejoice in simply believing in how honesty opens windows in my mind and doors in my heart.

  Heather slouches over to me. Pink splotches stain her cheeks. I expect her to be bouncing with excitement, but instead her shoulders bend forward and she holds herself snugly.

  “Sherman,” she exhales. “He thought we should start next year, at UMass, fresh. You know, so we have options.” She breaks into a sob.

  I take her in my arms. “Heather, I’m so sorry. I thought he was crazy about you. This is balls.”

  “It’ll be fine. I wasn’t expecting it,” she says, nodding as if trying to convince herself. “It felt good, going into college having, you know, a piece of here with me.”

  “Yeah,” I say, not able to find the words to express exactly how thoroughly I understand. “You have four more years of amazing experiences ahead of you. First kisses, mind blowing sex, and you know, studying fascinating material as you earn your teaching degree.”

  She laughs. “I went in undeclared. I didn’t tell you.”

  “I thought you were going to be a teacher.” I guess not everyone had their futures as figured out as I'd assumed.

  She shrugs.

  “You’ll get it sorted out.”

  “I know. I'll be okay,” she says as if it's all becoming clear to her or maybe I transmitted some of my newly acquired knowledge—the kind not found in textbooks—to her in my hug.

  “We're okay,” I whisper, giving her another squeeze. Deep down I know this and if I’m ever not feeling okay, eventually I know I will. I’m as sure of that as I am that the moon glows somewhere even in the darkness and the stars still blink behind the clouds.

  Just then, my mom calls for our attention.

  Uh oh.

  “Boys and girls,” she pauses and corrects herself, “young men and women. I’ve known most of you since you were too young to know I had Willa when I was younger than you are now.”

  If this were any other time I would have shuddered and burned with embarrassment, but I’m pleased my parents got their lives figured out and encouraged by the fact that if they could, so can the rest of us. There isn't one single path, I now realize. It's a journey, an adventure. Our lives and who we are, like the labyrinth of our fingerprints under a microscope, is different, unique, and our own.

  “You’ve all grown up so much. You’ve probably been hearing that all day, but if for some reason you haven’t, I’m here now to say that I am proud of each and every one of you. I'm sure, that if you want to, you'll go on to do great things. And if not, you will do many, small, quiet, and wonderful things.” She wipes her eyes. “Okay, I’ll stop with that now. But I want you all to do one thing for me, for my daughter Willa, and for yourselves. She gestures to a large jar. “See this? I want you all to write a message to your freshman year self or to the you four years from now. On one of the pieces of paper right here, I want you to leave your secrets. Or your wildest hopes and dreams. Write a note for unrequited love or a broken heart. Spill your angriest hurts and leave them behind. Or pen the things about now that you treasure, so if you forget, you’ll know they're written somewhere. We’re going to bury them all and let love grow there so your old hurts turn into compost, giving your dreams the nourishment they need to bloom.”

  My mom slaps a handful of markers on the table, smiles, raises her arms overhead, and declares, “Congratulations. You did it!” There's a roar of clapping and hooting.

  The night spins around us, unravelling stories and memories as we make new ones. We toast to graduation and new beginnings.

  Augie and his brothers set up their instruments and play the soundtrack to our last night together.

  When I make it over to the table with the paper and pens, I’m not sure what to write. I’ve told my secrets. Reconciled unrequited love. My vision for my hopes and dreams is only starting to crystalize. I chew on the pen cap. I try to picture myself in four years and then ten. I don’t know what the future holds, but I can’t help wonder why I hadn't considered that I could have my cake and eat it too, maybe just not all at once. Plus, duh, stomachache and cake is better when shared. I want choice: chocolate with fudge swirls, caramel, and candy chunks or vanilla, guys or girls, lust or love, and always a big, delicious mouthful of freedom.

  Freedom. I pen those seven letters on my slip of paper, sign my name, and stuff it in the jar. Then I whoop and throw myself into the dancing mass grooving in front of the band. I move to the beat and toss my head back, surrounded by my best friends, solidly feeling, finally, like I belong. After I’ve lost track of where each of us begins and ends, there’s a hand in mine, pulling me away from the crowd.

  “Joss,” I throw my arms around her neck. “Where have you been?”

  “My dad showed up at graduation. We had a big, fussy dinner with my grandma. My brother was there, too.”

  “Really? How’d it go?” I ask. My hearing returns as we move away from the music.

  “It went downhill and then up and then down again.” She sighs. “He’s proud of me for getting into Stanford. Mad that I’m still me. Glad my brother got himself cleaned up. Mad that he's not clean enough. I'm lucky he didn't see my tattoo because Keller has quite a few and that didn't go over well.”

  I want to say something meaningful or that I’m sorry, but as clearly as I saw my own horizon, Joss has one too, though maybe it hasn’t quite come into view yet. “You’re okay,” I whisper.

  Then with a face full of enthusiasm, she shouts toward the sky, “I’m okay." She turns back to me. "We’re all okay, but I want to be better than okay. I want to be fabulous.”

  “Joss, you are well on your way.”

  She smiles and whoops, leading me away from the loud music.

  “I can’t believe today,” I say, catching up.

  “So what’s next?” she asks.

  “I still haven’t nailed that down.”

  “Wherever you end up, I’m sure you’ll kick ass.”

  “I’ve been feeling all this pressure to have everything figured out. College, majors, career paths, y'know? Then I realized something, instead of asking myself what I want to do, I’ve decided to ask myself who I want to be. I’m a human being. Not a human doing. I think that’s the way to my answer.”

  “That’s so right on.”

  “Thanks,” I say, rubbing my hand over my shoulder and remembering I'm growing a set of wings.

  A disco-dance-y tune travels through the night air. “And what about right now?” I ask, thinking aloud.

  Joss tilts her head as if she were wondering the same thing. “Right now, I want to dance with you,” she says, pulling me to my feet ready to get h
er groove on.

  “I want to dance with you too, but—”

  Her expression plummets to the ground floor of disappointment. “But what?”

  “Joss, the most significant thing I've learned these last couple weeks is how important it is to just be yourself, myself, ourselves. Unless you're a unicorn, then be a unicorn, but....” I take her hand, inwardly laughing at my paraphrasing of a quote I saw on Heather's Instagram. “But I want to dance with you where the music is. I’m not your dad and although all those people back there mean a lot to me and I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t hurt if they turned against me because I was dancing with a girl, the truth is that I want to dance with you.”

  She brightens.

  “Come on, let’s go,” I say, leading her back to the twinkling lights, to the rush and crash of drums, bass, and guitar.

  We slide into the group, not letting go our hands and not hiding our smiles. Freedom. After a couple more songs, the guys take a break. Grady leans close to Augie, telling him something. Joss says, “I don’t blame you for being attracted to him.” She lets out a rare giggle.

  “Who? Grady?” I ask.

  “What about me?” he says, materializing in front of us, bringing the full force of the His Royal Hotness smile.

  “You are going to be one lucky freshman,” Joss says, suggestively.

  I wonder if we all see the incredible beauty in one another. If, at least for tonight, we share the same stage.

  “Freshman all over again,” Grady says, looking neither amused nor flirtatious, but deeply unnerved. It’s profound how all this change affects each one of us in different ways.

  Teddy calls for Joss’s attention. I take advantage of the moment and turn to Grady, “You okay?”

  “Yeah. It’s just. I can’t believe...”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah,” he repeats, sitting down on the wall surrounding the patio.

  We join hands and lean together shoulder to shoulder, settling into comfortable quiet, watching the film reel of our friends in real time having a blast.