by Alia Rose
By the time my plane left Baltimore and I landed in Charlotte and took a bus to Shelby, it was evening. I checked into a hotel next to the beach and rested, debating about what to do next. After staring at the ceiling for an hour, I decided on a walk to see where I’d end up.
I walked along the beach, pausing at little stores on the boardwalk. They had a whole lot of crap and not much else. The beach was still gorgeous—I’d give them that. Things had changed since I had last been there, surprisingly. The boardwalk looked new and clean compared to the old one that gave you splinters, even with shoes on. I continued to walk down, closer to the neighborhoods, and found the stores that actually mattered. They still had the really cool swim gear shop that had all the supplies you could ever need. I made a mental note to come back. I noticed a new smoothie place; either that or they had remodeled the old one. I hoped the smoothies hadn’t changed because they were to die for.
I changed my route and began wandering the neighborhoods, passing by some little beach houses that faced the water. I noticed a “for rent” sign on one of them and wrote down the number. I wasn’t sure how long my visit was going to be. Knowing my luck, I’d probably end up here for the entire summer.
I could think of many better ways to spending my summer. I thought about the audition I had done three weeks earlier for a jazz ensemble in Boston. My stomach dropped with the anticipation of getting the spot. It would be the perfect start to a solid career in jazz, but there was a part of me that wanted to pursue my own music. Maybe the open mic nights that I did as a hobby could be more than just that. The passion that I had for singing was only growing stronger.
It was the last summer before I would know what my final year of music school would hold, and here I was in a small town that held nothing but bittersweet memories and unresolved conflict.
What am I doing here again? I asked myself for the millionth time.
The question seemed to answer itself when I saw a small white house with blue shutters. For some reason, the house stood out to me. It was probably the big fake fish mounted to the front door. I walked slowly past it and peered in the front window. I had a perfect view of the kitchen, where a woman sat and smoked. There was a man with his back to the window, waving his hands as he talked to the woman, who didn’t seem interested. Just as I stopped walking, the man turned to face the window to pull the drapes shut.
I froze.
The man saw me and stared. I stared back at him until he eventually pulled the drapes shut.
Well, that went well, I thought
CHAPTER THREE
Amy
After breakfast, we pulled up to the house. My mom was sitting on the porch, a rare sight, and next to her was a large envelope.
Uh-oh.
My hand froze on the door handle, and my dad nudged me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I swallowed. “She has my Art Institute envelope next to her.”
“You didn’t tell her yet?”
“No,” I said in a small voice.
“Do you want me to come down with you?”
I shook my head. That would make it worse. “No, it’s okay. I can handle this.”
“All right, Ames. Call me later.” He kissed my cheek, and I hugged him quickly before getting out.
I shut the car door and walked up to the porch. I glanced behind me to see my dad mouth, “Good luck.”
I smiled and watched him drive off.
I heard my mom shift behind me.
“So when were you planning on telling me?” she demanded. “While you were packing?” Her voice was shaking. I had never seen her so mad at me before. I didn’t reply, just looked at her as she stood there with her hands on her hips. I wondered how many cigarettes she had smoked while she had been waiting for me.
“No,” I said slowly, “I was going to tell you this week.”
“Oh, I see!” she said sarcastically, shaking her head. She started toward the front door.
“Mom,” I sighed. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve always wanted to go away for college; you shouldn’t be so surprised I chose Chicago.” I followed behind her. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. It’s not only about Dad.”
She whipped around. “Don’t you dare say that. I know you hate living with me. I’m not an idiot. I always knew you preferred your father over me. I just can’t believe you would wait this long to tell me you would be moving halfway across the country.”
“I’m sorry—really I am!” I cried. “I didn’t mean to wait this long. Really, Mom, it’s not only about Dad. I worked hard to get in.”
She shook her head, ignoring me. “And here, all this time, you’ve been telling me you’re undecided. But all along you knew you were going there. I went around graduation saying you hadn’t decided yet where you were going. Do you know how stupid I feel?!” she yelled.
“Mom...”
“How long has your dad known?”
Crap. “Since I got accepted,” I replied in the smallest voice.
She inhaled quickly. “So you both have been planning your life away, ignoring the fact that you live with me and I am your mom, who deserves to know where her own daughter is going to college!”
She was getting it all wrong. It was nothing like that. Leave it to her to over exaggerate.
“Mom, I swear it was nothing like that. It was just easier to tell Dad because we always used to talk about Chicago when I was little. Remember? He always wanted me to go there.”
“Oh, yeah, how could I forget how he would tell you all these stories, brainwashing you about college life at seven years old, leaving me out of everything like you were only his daughter. Not mine.”
“That is not true,” I said in a low voice. I was starting to get very annoyed. Still, she ignored me and continued on.
“I should have just let him get custody of you all those years ago—my mistake. I didn’t know being with me was so unbearable.”
I felt like I had just been slapped. Never had she said anything so mean to me. I didn’t even deserve it either. My blood began to boil.
“Yeah, maybe,” I snapped. “Sorry for being such a burden to you.” I turned around and began walking away from the house.
When I reached the mailbox, I glanced over my shoulder and yelled, “Oh, and thanks for being proud of me, because, you know, getting a full ride was so easy. I’m overwhelmed, really.”
I stormed off without looking back; I could not believe what had just happened. I’ll admit I was wrong for not telling her sooner about Chicago, but there was no way I deserved the things she’d said. I walked in the direction of the beach, hoping to find some solace there. The beach always calmed me down. It was home.
I plopped down on the sand and inhaled the air. I lay back and closed my eyes.
The Art Institute of Chicago was where my dad had attended college. When I was little, he constantly told me stories about college life and how they were his best years. He hoped that one day I would follow in his footsteps and go there.
When my parents divorced, Chicago was all I could think about. My dad had moved back, and going to the Art Institute seemed to be the only way I would be able to spend time with him.
I worked my butt off to make straight A’s in high school to be good enough. When I realized it was architecture I wanted to do, the Art Institute seemed to be the perfect option. I had other options, but that was my top pick.
I never told any of this to my mom. I avoided bringing up my dad with her at all times, and I knew mentioning Chicago would start a fight. When I got accepted, I tried to find ways to bring it up to her, but I could never do it. It would hurt her; I would hurt her, which was something I didn’t want to do.
My dad and I had a special bond. A bond that was broken when he left. No matter how much I told myself that he left us, and that I was better off living with my mom, I could never hate him. I always missed him and wished I was with him. Maybe that was wrong of me, maybe now I was being selfish,
but whether or not my dad had anything to do with my decision, I had done it for me. I wanted to go to Chicago. And I was going.
CHAPTER FOUR
Seth
It was my second day in town and already I had unpacked and repacked twice. It didn’t help that there was little excitement and not much to keep me occupied. However, leaving was not a possibility and, as much as I wanted to, giving up was also not an option.
I sipped my coffee, squinting up at the sun. It was half past ten and the sun was already up, facing the day. It would have been hot if there wasn’t the nice breeze blowing from the water. I sat comfortably at the little café off the beach.
I watched as moms took their children for early picnics along the shore. Little boys in swimming trunks and floaters ran into the water screaming, their moms chasing after them. The sight was amusing, but the noise was beginning to get irritating.
I remembered being one of those kids, driving my mom crazy. It was exciting almost drowning and getting her all upset and having her chase after me. And even though I knew inside that I was far from getting into some kind of danger, it was fun watching her get angry at me.
“Seth,” she would tell me, “one of these days, you will be the death of me.” She would then ruffle my hair, grab my hand, and make me walk with her along the water and sing a lullaby. She always sang the same lullaby, a Celtic one her mom used to sing to her. My grandparents died in a car accident a few years before I was born. My mom refused to talk about them, so I knew almost nothing about her childhood or family. The lullaby seemed to be the only memory she was willing to keep alive. It was the one song that calmed me down. Just the sound of her voice working through the notes was a comfort that was unexplainable, even now.
It wasn’t until I was a little older and noticed the checks that came every month that she explained to me that her father was Native American and she had grown up on a reservation. She left it at that, and I struggled to figure out what it meant. Since I didn’t grow up in the culture, I had no attachment to it. I learned not to tell people about being a quarter Native American to avoid being placed in a category I didn’t belong in.
When everything fell apart and I was left alone, I began to wonder if my mom suppressed her culture because of my all-American father. It was obvious he resented the money she received, and I had even more questions when I discovered the will and decided to seek out my father, who hadn’t made any contact with me since I’d left for college.
I stared out at the beach my mom had loved. It brought back memories of every summer driving from Baltimore to Shelby. It was the highlight of the year for her. She would stare anxiously out the window of the car on the trip over, waiting to catch the first glimpse of the beach. When she did, she would inhale deeply and get really quiet. Sitting in the backseat, I watched her face in the side-view mirror. It was an expression that only came when she saw this beach. Her eyes would light up and get glossy. She would just stare out at the ocean with such an intense expression of wonder and love. I never understood exactly why she loved this beach so much in particular, but being here made me feel closer to her and made me miss her.
It wasn’t until now that I started to understand why. It raised more questions that I was here to get answers for.
“Excuse me,” someone said to me.
I blinked, just noticing the waitress in front of me.
“Would you like another coffee?”
“Um, no thanks,” I muttered, reaching into my pocket for some bills. I handed her the money and headed toward the beach.
It was time for a swim.
CHAPTER FIVE
Amy
On the weekends, I worked as a lifeguard.
After graduation, I increased my hours to Thursday through Sunday for two reasons. One, for the money: living in Chicago was not going to be cheap. And two, to get away from my mom. Ever since she had found out about the Art Institute, she’d been impossible to live with. At first it was just muttering, but now she was almost kicking me out of the house.
Yesterday, she put a stack of moving boxes in my room.
“Mom, I’m not leaving until August.” I had said to her.
“Well, you might as well start packing now. God knows where you’re going to put all this stuff,” she muttered, leaving my room.
I thought about my room, clean like always. I wasn’t sure where exactly her comment fit in. I had a total of three pieces of furniture—a bed, dresser, and a desk—which stored all the stuff I owned, minus the closet. There was no way my dorm wouldn’t fit my stuff.
The sun was blazing and I realized working four days in a row was probably not the smartest thing to do. I could feel my skin burning already, and it wasn’t even noon.
My summer was going to be great this year.
I could feel it.
I put my sunglasses on, popped my gum, and tried to get as comfortable as possible on the plastic chair. I scanned the beach, keeping my eyes on the screaming kids splashing in the water. I was about to start reading my book when my phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Ames,” my dad answered.
“Hey, Daddy, what’s up?”
“Nothing, just wanted to give you a call. How did things go with your mom?”
I sighed. “Well, she’s angry.”
“She’ll get over it.”
“I don’t know. She put moving boxes in my room yesterday. Next thing you know, my furniture will be for sale out in the front yard.”
He laughed. “Well, you could always come over here early. I could show you around Chicago?”
I smiled and watched a mom chase her kid. The boy stopped running and pointed toward the waves.
“I wish, but she’d kill me or never speak to me again,” I said, squinting to see what the boy was pointing at.
“You could use it as a threat?”
“Da-ad!” I said, drawing out the syllables.
“Okay, okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Okay, I have to go. Love you.”
“Love you too, sweetie.”
I hung up and lifted in my seat. The mom was now pointing and looking at me. I blew my whistle to acknowledge her and jumped off my chair. I had almost reached the mom when I realized what she was pointing at. There was someone in the water, face-down and floating.
I threw myself into the water. I gasped when it hit me. I began swimming, pushing myself through the waves. It was moments like this that I didn’t particularly enjoy this job.
When I reached the person, I realized it was a guy, not a little boy. He wasn’t drowning; he had turned over onto his back now and was still floating. The waves moved under him, not knocking him down. I was about to turn back because the water was so cold, but just as I turned my head. I heard it.
He was humming. Humming.
Now I was angry. I had not just blown my whistle, jumped in freezing cold water, and swum all this way to find a guy humming. I blew my whistle hard.
The guy opened his eyes, jumped, and lost his balance.
He swore, coughing. “What is your problem?!”
“My problem?” I yelled over the roaring of the waves. “My problem is that I blew my whistle and thought you were drowning. And I come all the way out here to find an idiot floating on his back, humming!”
He blinked at me. “You’re a lifeguard?”
“Yes,” I hissed. His eyes reflected the color of the water, and his dark hair glistened. I glanced over his bare shoulders before reminding myself I was angry. “How are you even lounging over here without a bodysuit? The water is freezing!”
“I’m used to it.” He shrugged. “So, wait, if I was drowning, you’d be saving me?” he asked, his mouth twitching.
My eyes narrowed, knowing he was referring to how small I seemed in the water.
I swam closer to him and kicked him in the shin. It pushed him over just as a wave washed over us. I heard him yelp as I swam away.
When I got out of t
he water, dripping, I smiled at the mom.
“Not to worry. He’s fine—that’s just how he swims.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, uneasy.
I walked past her and grabbed a towel from the lifeguard station. I dried my face.
“Water cold?” Paul asked, smirking at me. He had his shirt off, displaying his hairless chest and abs. I was used to this after so many years and was glad I wasn’t one of the many girls who drooled over him every day at the beach. Paul was the evening lifeguard. He had graduated a year before me and loved rubbing it in almost as much as he loved annoying me.
I didn’t answer, just glared.
“So did we save anyone today?” he asked, handing me a water bottle.
I sipped it. “No, but I hope I drowned one person.”
I gazed back at the ocean. The guy was still far out, floating. Paul followed my gaze.
“Who’s that?”
“Some jerk who thinks floating and ignoring lifeguards is amusing.”
“Huh,” he said, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked out. “You never were a very good lifeguard.”
I shoved him as he laughed. “Shut up, Paul.”
I hoped the boys in Chicago weren’t as obnoxious. “I’m pretty sure your shift doesn’t start for another two hours, so either go get me a smoothie or find something else to do.”
Paul smiled and didn’t move.
“Run along.” I put my sunglasses on and turned my back to him. I wrapped myself in my towel and sat down, feeling my shorts soaking through.
Did I mention I was going to have a great summer?
CHAPTER SIX
Seth
It was near sunset now, and I sat on the beach. I glanced at the lifeguard; it was a blond guy with wide shoulders and a goofy smile. I sat there, wondering if I was losing my mind. I had nearly drowned earlier and had a bruise on my shin. I looked up at the lifeguard again; still a blond guy.
