Swimming to Tokyo

by Brenda St John Brown

  “That’s why I keep it. To remind myself I wasn’t always an amazon.” I take a sip of Chardonnay. I prefer beer, but we don’t have any in the house.

  “And this,” Mindy squeals. “Oh my God. Your prom dress. You have to put it on.”

  I eye the knee-length silvery chiffon, glimmering on its hanger. “I loved that dress.”

  “Put it on! Bring some style to this party.” She thrusts the hanger into my hand.

  I laugh and take the hanger, fingering the flimsy material. “I hate to tell you, but this isn’t exactly a party.”

  “So? It’s close enough,” Mindy says. “Come on. I can tell you want to.”

  She’s right. I do. I loved the dress from the second I saw it. It’s been buried in the back of my closet since last year’s senior prom, which is such a waste.

  I slip the thin spaghetti strap off the hanger. “Maybe we should call Pete Christensen. You know, for old time’s sake.”

  “Let’s leave Pete Christensen back in those prom photos where he belongs. This dress, however, deserves as much air time as it can get,” Mindy says.

  I pull my T-shirt over my head and let the straps fall over my shoulders, unbuttoning my shorts beneath the skirt. “Pete wasn’t that bad. He was just boring.”

  “Exactly.” Mindy comes up behind me and twists my hair into a quick knot at the base of my neck. For prom last year, Babci curled it into careful ringlets, making me look more like Mom than I ever have, before or since. Mom was all sleek curls and casual elegance. Mindy’s rendition isn’t sleek or elegant, but wearing the dress again makes me feel glamorous, despite the curls that escape. “Come on. Let’s go downstairs. We’re out of wine.”

  She takes the last gulp straight from the bottle to prove it and we both laugh. Since we’re not driving, Dad’s policy on drinking is pretty lax, even though we’re underage. He gave me a big spiel last year about drinking responsibly and how he’d come to get me, no questions asked, if I was too drunk to drive, but we both know there’s no way in hell I’d ever call him. I wouldn’t drive drunk either, so the end result is that my drinking is perfunctory. At best.

  Mindy, on the other hand, has not only a taste for wine, but a preference. And Chardonnay is her favorite.

  When we walk through the French doors onto the deck, Mindy heads straight for the ice bucket that’s chilling the second bottle of wine and pours us both a refill. I intend to slide into an empty chair, but Babci’s voice stops me. “Zosia. Look how lovely. Come, let me see you.”

  I smile and Babci reaches out, her hand running softly over the bodice of the dress. “We found it in my closet and I had to put it on,” I explain.

  “If I had your figure, I’d wear that dress every day,” Liz says. “This is the one you and Mindy found at Van’s Vintage, right?”

  I nod. “I got this and Mindy found her blue Sgt. Pepper jacket.”

  “God, it seems like just yesterday you were walking out the door to your prom,” Dad says. “You’re growing up too fast, Zo.”

  I resist the urge to remind him I’m nearly nineteen, not nine.

  “I met your dziadzia when I was your age, you know,” Babci says.

  “I doubt I’m going to be meeting anyone,” I say with a laugh.

  Mindy puts an arm around me. “Not with that attitude, you won’t. Maybe there’s some Japanese guy out there just waiting to sweep you off your feet.”

  Even Liz laughs at this, and she’s the eternal optimist when it comes to dating. Although, to be fair, she actually dates.

  “You know I’m taller than most Japanese guys.” I do my best to keep my smile in, but I feel my lips turn up. “The average Japanese guy is five-foot-seven, and there is no way I’m dating someone shorter than me.” Even if it is only an inch.

  “Kevin Morgan was shorter than you,” Mindy says, wiggling her eyebrows.

  I blush, but I think Mindy’s the only one who can tell. Kevin Morgan is the guy I dated sophomore year, my first and last serious boyfriend. My first and last, well, everything and anything guy-related. There have been others since, a month here, a couple weeks there, even a few blind dates, but no one else I’ve been close with—and sure as hell no one else I’ve been naked with.

  Dad smiles and says, “There’s no hurry, Zo. Like I said, it all seems like it’s going too fast as it is. Just think, one of these days, you and Mindy will be here with your boyfriends, maybe even your kids.”

  “Stop right there before you start getting sappy,” I say as sternly as I can. “There will be no more talk of kids. Or my boyfriends and lack thereof. From now on, I declare the only acceptable topic is food because I’m starving.”

  Dad jumps up. “Wait. Before we start talking about who wants burgers versus hotdogs, I have something for you.”

  He walks into the living room, and I hear him rustling around in a drawer. I glance over at Babci, but she just shrugs a little. When I hear Dad’s footsteps behind me and turn around, he holds out a black velvet box and places it in my hand.

  “I wanted to give you this tonight, as a sort of quasi-birthday celebration. Here with our oldest friends as we all prepare to move on to the next chapter of our lives and everything that entails.” It’s a practiced speech, I can tell, but he still has to clear his throat and his eyes shine a little brighter as he continues. “This move isn’t the easy choice, but I do think it’s the right one, and thank you for your support, Zosia.”

  I know this box and my hands shake as I open it. The thin silver chain gleams against the black velvet, and the diamonds wink as they catch the light. Mom’s necklace. Three interlocking circles—two silver and the smallest one in the center made of diamonds. Dad gave it to her when I was born and she never took it off. Even at the end, it was Dad who undid the clasp because her hands shook too much from the chemo to do it herself.

  I hand it to Dad and turn around so he can put it on. It’s cool against my skin and I touch it as if it can bring her close. My fingers trace the circle of diamonds at my throat. “You know how much I’ve always loved this.”

  “It was always going to be yours on your nineteenth birthday. Your mother insisted.” Dad shakes his head as if he’s remembering, and I see it in my mind’s eye, as well. I remember asking her if I could ever have it one day and her steady answer always being, Nineteen. When you’re old enough.

  Old enough for what? I always asked.

  And she’d just smile and shake her head, as if my asking was proof I wasn’t old enough yet. She told me once she always thought nineteen was the first real year of adulthood. People think nineteen is a strange in-between year because nothing happens when you are nineteen. I think nineteen is a wonderful year because anything can happen and you are ready to let it.

  The back of my throat itches with the threat of tears, and I force myself to smile. “You know my birthday’s not until August, right?”

  “I know, but I wanted to give it to you now. While we’re here.” The part Dad won’t spell out: In the house.

  “It’s beautiful.” Mindy watches me fiddle with the silver circles for another second in case I’m going to say anything else about it before she adds, “And it looks amazing with that dress.”

  “Does it?” I ask

  “Uh-huh. Maybe we should’ve called Pete over after all.” Mindy wiggles her eyebrows, and I make a face, even though I’m grateful she’s broken the tension.

  “Will you stop? Pete and I are just friends.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I still think he should’ve at least kissed you. You don’t take someone to prom and not even try.” Mindy laughs and I thwack her again in the leg.

  “And that’s my cue to start taking food orders,” Dad says. “Liz, burger? Babci, what about you?”

  I elbow Mindy in the ribs. “I think Mindy’s going to have a big helping of dumbass, medium rare, aren’t you?” She sticks her tongue out at me, and both of us burst out laughing.

  The evening passes way too quickly. When Liz announces it’s after
eleven and she’s got work tomorrow, the party ends with a quick toss of paper plates into the trash and shoving condiments in the fridge. Dad and Babci both look exhausted and are in their respective rooms, doors closed, by 11:30.

  Leaving me to prowl around the house. I walk barefoot through the living room, skimming my fingers over the smooth wooden side tables, fluffing the throw pillows. Tonight was fun. Aside from the few times our conversation veered off into talking about college, it could have been last Memorial Day or even the one before that.

  Except it wasn’t. It was the last one here in Westfield. In this house. Or at least the last one for three years. And let’s face it, a lot can change in three years.

  I should know.

  Are we leaving the fancy pillows on the couch for the renters, I wonder? What if they have pets and let them sleep on the furniture? Mom had a cat until I was about seven, but she used to shoo it off everything except an old rocking chair in her bedroom. She would hate cats on the couch. She’d probably hate strangers on it, too.

  The thought makes my fingers clutch her necklace, half in agitation, half in comfort. I can’t start imagining what Mom would or would not want because too many of my own wants clamor in my head. I want her back. I want to go to Tokyo. I want to stay in Westfield and waitress at Theresa’s for the summer. I want to crawl into bed and stay there forever. I want to get out of this house.

  In the end, the last want wins because it’s also a physical need by the time I softly close the door leading to the deck and set off across the lawn. I can’t stay there, surrounded by my childhood and memories of my mom, or I’ll lose it, and I’ve spent too much effort keeping it together these past couple of years to undo it because of a night of restlessness.

  For the first three minutes I walk, I’m not sure where I’m headed. But then, at the end of the street, I see the lights in the distance, and I know I was coming here all along. The streetlamps at the front give off more light than I remember, and I stay in the shadows until I get to the gate and lift the latch. I’m not sure it’s illegal to break into a playground, but it would be weird to explain if I got caught. I veer toward the swings, their outline visible in the shadows from the lights, and slip my shoes off by the pole before taking a seat on the hard rubber. I run one hand along the thick chain, the other caressing Mom’s necklace while I push myself back and forth with my bare foot.

  “Oh, Mom.” The words hang in the night air, and when I close my eyes, I can still see her smile in front of me. God, all the hours we spent on these swings. And then, once she got sick, I came here to get away from it. Until she died and the swings became a place where I could remember her like she used to be.

  I stand up on the seat like I used to when I was little and pull at the chains until I’m swinging, watching the skirt of my dress flutter in the breeze. Mom would have been so excited for me. For Dad. For Tokyo. She loved traveling, and she would’ve seen Tokyo as an adventure of epic proportions. I lean my head back and look at the stars.

  “It’s okay, Mom. It is. I’m just freaking out a little. I’m not ready for this. I mean, it’s cool, but I just didn’t think things would change until…”

  “Until what?” The voice is soft and close in the dark.

  My eyes fly open and I lurch off the swing. A hand catches my wrist, but I yank it away as soon as I’ve got my footing. “Jesus Christ. What are you doing?”

  When I look up, my heart drops to my knees.

  Finn O’Leary, as I live and breathe. Standing a foot away from me. It’s dark, but I know it’s him by the line of his jaw, the smooth buzz of his hair. His white T-shirt glows in the moonlight, and it’s the thing I can see most clearly about him. “I…nothing. What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. Seriously, what are you doing here and why are you sneaking up on me?” My voice is loud and hard, and my pulse throbs in the back of my knees now.

  “Whoa. Hey. I’m not sneaking up on you.” He takes a step back and holds his hands up like I’m threatening him.

  “Really? What would you call it?” I can’t really see Finn’s expression, but in the back of my mind I wonder if I should be worried. I don’t even have my phone with me and it’s not like I know him very well. We had a bunch of random exchanges in high school, but comments on the lunch menu can hardly be called a conversation.

  “I just…I saw you and I came to see if you were okay. You shouldn’t be here at night by yourself.” His tone hasn’t changed; it’s still soft and even. But, wow, his voice is deep. Has it always been? I’m sure he sounded different that day I saw him in Walgreens. Didn’t he?

  “You saw me from where?” I still sound accusing, but a little less so.

  He points to an apartment building on the other side of the playground. “There. Third floor. Second window in from the left.”

  “You live there?” My voice loses its hard edge, and now I’m flustered because I wonder how long he was watching me.

  “I was playing guitar and I saw you out here. I mean, I didn’t know it was you. You looked a little surreal, honestly.” Now he’s smiling. I see a flash of white teeth.

  “Wow. Well, thanks, I think? I’m…fine.”

  He sits down on the swing next to the one I’d jumped from and rocks a little bit. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Just swinging.” I’m still frozen to my spot, but I’m tempted to sit down next to him, since he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

  “A little midnight visit to the playground? Some kind of Memorial Day tradition?”

  “Yeah…no. I just needed a walk.”

  “You look like you were at a hell of a party.” He gestures to my dress.

  “No. I mean, we had a barbecue. It was fun, but it wasn’t, like, a party. I just found this in my closet and put it on.” I feel awkward standing there, so I perch on the swing next to him, and we both sway on our swings. “I sort of forgot I had it on, honestly.”

  “Is that a prom dress?” he asks.

  I stop swaying and look at him straight on. Finn wasn’t at the prom last year. His absence was lamented by most of the cheerleaders and at least half the swim team. His comment is either mocking or a good guess, but I don’t know what to say in either case.

  “Yep. My prom dress, in fact,” is all I say.

  “Did you have fun? At prom?”

  “Um, I guess. It was fine.” I hesitate and ask the question anyway, even though I know the answer. “Did you?”

  “I didn’t go.”

  “Why not?” The dark makes me feel bold. The wine I sipped all night probably isn’t hurting either.

  The question seems to catch him off-guard. “I didn’t have a date.”

  “You could have asked someone.”

  “Who?”

  I’m about to say “me,” but he continues. “I didn’t really know anyone.”

  “I’m pretty sure any girl in the school would have gone with you. Trust me.” Given the way I’m talking, I realize I wouldn’t be surprised if Finn realizes I’m a little drunk, although maybe this is just as well.

  He laughs. The sound is deep and rich. “I’ll take your word for it.” He pushes himself on his swing and glides past me. “Do you miss it?”

  “High school?” He nods, and I let out an unattractive snort. “No. I mean, it was fine. But no. Do you?”

  “Not at all. I hated the whole high school caste system.” He starts swinging again. “You know, the cool kids, the brains, the nerds, the potheads, the jocks.”

  “So where did you fit in?”

  “Here? Pretty much nowhere. I stayed off the grid.” Another smile.

  I smile, too, but it’s more at the fact that he really seems to believe he flew under the radar of the female population at Westfield Senior High. “Why?”

  “Westfield was a one-year deal for me.”

  “You make it sound like a prison sentence,” I say.

  “Not far off.” Is it my imagination or did Finn’s voice cool a few degrees?<
br />
  “So what are you doing back here?” I ask.

  “My mom likes to know I’m still alive, and apparently the only way I can prove it to her is to show up on her doorstep.” He shakes his head in a way that makes me wonder if he’s aggravated by that or if he appreciates his mom’s insistence.

  “Well, here you are.” Nothing like stating the obvious, Zo. “How often do you come back?”

  “A few times a year. More, lately, because she’s getting ready to move and I’m trying to help out, be a good son.”

  “Are you not usually?” I raise my eyebrows and try to sound flirtatious.

  But that’s not how he takes it. “Not really. My senior year was pretty rough.”

  Yeah. Understood. Aloud I say, “How so?”

  Finn lets out a long breath that sounds like exasperation. “She wanted me to come here and get involved in shit and I didn’t. I didn’t want friends. I didn’t want to play sports. I didn’t want any of it. I had a year’s time to serve and I just wanted to get it done.”

  “Yes, but still…a year is a long time not to have friends.”

  “I have friends now,” he says, emphasis on the now, like he might be teasing me.

  I mimic his tone. “I’m sure you do. But not here.”

  “I know. I actually tried to turn it around not that long ago by asking this girl for coffee, but no deal. Hell, I even gave her money, but she still wouldn’t go for it.” He’s turned his head so I can’t see his smile, but I can hear it.

  “Me?” My skin flushes with heat. It feels like he’s flirting with me now, but…no. No way. “You so did not ask me for coffee.”

  “I did. That day I saw you at Walgreens. Which was weeks ago, by the way.”

  “I remember. You told me not to worry about paying you back, but I could buy you a coffee or something when you were in town.” I remember that. Word for word.

  “Right. That’s what I just said.”

  I shake my head. “That’s asking me to ask you. Which, let’s face it, is never going to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Seriously? You might not realize this, but you blowing off Kathy Johnson last year is pretty much legendary.”