Summertime Sadness

by Dylan Heart

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I’m sitting on the kitchen counter, lost in a daze as I stare at pictures on the refrigerator. There’s one picture in particular that I can’t take my eyes away from. It was taken about ten years ago at the local park. There’s five of us in it—Summer, Tyson, Joey, Dillon, and me. We’re all smiling from ear to ear, and it’s an innocence that none of us will ever get back. The picture itself is comforting, but the happiness is hidden under layers of pain.

  My phone vibrates against the counter, and I don’t even need to see who is calling. I know it’s Blue. I turn the ringer off and contemplate tossing the phone into a glass of water. Seven missed calls and it’s only a quarter past noon. Compared to yesterday, when there were twenty, it’s a relief.

  Mom walks into the kitchen. “Your phone’s ringing,” she says as she grabs the coffeepot. She acts as if she’s out of the loop, but something tells me she knows what’s going on. “Why don’t you answer it?”

  I shrug. “It’s just a bill collector.”

  She turns to me, coffee in one hand. “You don’t have any bills.”

  Busted. My upper lip sinks into my lower lip and I nod. “Touché.”

  “I know you think I can’t or won’t understand,” she says and steps closer to me. “But give me a chance.” She takes another step, and I’m thinking that if she comes any closer, I might just run.

  “You know I don’t want to talk about it, so why keep trying?”

  “Because you’re hurting, and I wish there was something I could do.”

  “Nothing seems like a perfect alternative.”

  “I can’t do that. You’re my daughter, and it’s killing me to see you this way.”

  “Then don’t,” I say. The words come out angry and that’s become perfectly normal over the course of the past few days. I’ve lost control of my emotions and I’m within an inch of a temporary bipolar diagnosis. Maybe it’s just a fleeting bout of depression. If I wake up a year from now and still feel this way, I’ll seek some sort of help. But right now, I can’t help but believe my behavior is as normal as can be for an eighteen-year-old girl who just lost her best friend.

  “Being angry at the world won’t solve your problems.”

  “It’ll have to do for now,” I say and hop off the counter. My feet slam into the floor and I brush past her.

  “Charlie,” she calls to me.

  I ignore her, grab my hooded jacket, and rush out the front door.

  “Charlie!” Joey calls out to me. Just my fucking luck. I pivot and put my hand on the doorknob. I don’t want to talk to Joey and I don’t want sympathy from my mother. It’s a tough call.

  “What do you want, Joey?” I say with my head down.

  “I just wanna talk to you.”

  A sigh escapes my lips, and I turn around to face him. He has both hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Is that so?”

  He nods his head.

  “Got something else you want to get off your chest?”

  “Kind of,” he says as he pulls his left hand out of his pocket and scratches his head. There’s a hesitation in his voice, so I take the lead.

  “What is it? Did you leave a few key words out of your drunken truth-bomb rant?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “It’s exactly like that, Joey!” I yell as my voice breaks.

  “I just wanted to say—”

  “For you to question how much I loved him.” I jab a finger at him, scolding him like he’s a child. “And Blue, you attacked him!”

  “I really am sorry.”

  “That makes it all better. Erases everything. Really, what do you want? A hug?”

  He wipes his eye with the corner of his hand. It’s not something you see every day, but I’ve seen it a lot lately. Strong men showing emotion. My stomach turns. I can’t do this. I can’t be that person who lashes out, hurting others. There’s a moment of silence where neither of us says anything. “What happened to us?” I ask with a laugh, but I’m not being funny.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess we’re all fucked up.”

  There’s another pause where neither of us says a word.

  “Do you think we’ll ever get things back to the way they used to be?” he asks. I’m not sure if he really expects an answer, or if it’s just some kind of deep thought that he’s posing as a question.

  I purse my lips. “I don’t know. Everything feels so broken.”

  “If it makes it any better, I apologized to Blue. Bought him a bottle of whiskey.”

  Every time I hear his name, I think of him. More than that, I see him—that face, that smile, those beautiful fucking eyes.

  “How is he?” I scrape my shoe against the asphalt.

  “Blue?” he asks. “Haven’t seen him much. He hasn’t really been home.”

  I clench my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose.

  “You’re not ignoring him because of me, are you?”

  “No.” I open my eyes. “Maybe. I just need a little space and a little time.”

  “He really is a good guy.”

  I nod my head. “Yeah, he is.”

  He moves toward me and places his palm on my shoulder. “I’ve gotta go. It’s my first day back to work.” He pulls his hand back, readying himself to walk away.

  I practically lunge at him, wrapping both arms around him, and rest my head against his chest. It takes a moment, but his hands come down and embrace me. I want to cry, but my eyes are dry. Maybe I am crying, but inside... All I know is that these last seventy-two hours without physical affection have taken a toll on me, and there isn’t anywhere else in the world I’d rather be right now than here, being held.

  That’s a lie. There is one place I’d rather be–in Blue’s arms, but I’ve mucked that up.

  “I’ve gotta go,” he says under his breath.

  I pull back and his arms slide out from around me.

  “Take care,” I say.

  He nods, then turns to walk away. But I have one more thing to say. “Yes.”

  Curious, he turns back around, but still walks.

  “Yes. I think we’ll get things back to the way they were.” I force a smile. “Someday.”

  His eyes trail to the corner, then back toward me. “Yeah. Someday.”

  I watch him as he walks away. His hands fall back into his pockets.

  And then it hits me. He’s going back to work at the place he used to spend his days with his best friend. At the garage. I’m not sure how he’s going to do it. I know that I couldn’t. My eyes dampen and it brings me an odd sense of relief. I wipe away the tears and know that I’m going to be okay. Just not today.

  My life is turning into a Hallmark movie. That’s the only explanation I can think of as to why it rains every time I visit this place. Dillon’s grave is covered in flowers that are now drowning in a pool of mud. As a temporary headstone, a large toy tractor sits where the mound of dirt meets the grass. That was his favorite toy growing up.

  While most of my childhood is a blur, I have vivid memories of the day he brought that tractor in to class for show and tell. I was a childhood cliché and brought a collection of Barbies in to class that Friday afternoon. After class was over, we snuck out of school.

  Our parents found us outside on the playground. There’s a photo around somewhere to prove it, but it’s been long forgotten about by everyone but me. In my memory, and in that picture, we are both crawling on the ground. I hold my prized Barbie on top of his tractor while he pushes it through the grass. Our parents were worried sick about us and had every right to be angry. But they weren’t angry. At least we didn’t notice if they were. Maybe the childhood bliss that flashed across our faces made them forget our transgression.

  I’m soaked, but it’s warm enough out for me not to care. The sadness that I felt the last time I was here, the day of Dillon’s funeral, is gone. It’s been replaced with an odd sense of peace. I read online that some people experience a downtime of depressio
n after taking Molly. For some people, it only lasts a few days, and for others, it can last weeks. I would guess that I’m one of those in the latter category, the after-effects of the drug pulling tight on my already broken heart.

  “Hey, Charlie,” Blue says quietly from behind me. I don’t even need to turn around to know it’s him, but his finding me is just my luck.

  “Do I have a tracker in my arm or something?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t seen your medical transcripts lately.”

  That’s just the type of corny joke I love. The fact that I don’t laugh is troubling.

  “It’s just a bad joke.”

  I turn around. “Really? You mean you weren’t serious?”

  His hair is tousled and wet and looking like it’s grown at least an inch over the past few days. Now I know that’s not possible; he just looks different. His eyes are sunken like he hasn’t been sleeping. I guess that makes us twins. He’s wearing torn jeans, boots, and a tight-fitting plain white tee, the rain outlining every single line of his body. He’s starting to look like one of them. And by one of them, I mean Joey and Tyson. And Dillon. You know what they say about women who spend too much time together? That scientific discovery that their periods will actually sync? Well something like that seems to happen to the boys in this town.

  “I don’t want to sound like that guy, but I’ve really missed you.”

  I push my hair behind my ear. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  He moves toward me like he’s about to embrace me or something. It’s not a conscious choice, but I lean back. He gets the hint and stops.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  I need a second to think about the answer. It’s right on the tip of my tongue, but it’s not ready to come out. I look everywhere but at him. “The world.”

  “That’s mysterious,” he says with a nod, “but I get it.”

  My eyes catch his. “Do you?”

  “I figured it out about fifteen minutes after I woke up.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “For leaving? Don’t be. Like I said, I get it.”

  I begin playing with my hair. I’m sure it annoys everyone but me when I do it.

  He gets closer and this time I don’t pull back. “You’re hurt. You’re scared. You’re kind of lost. The world’s spinning and you wanna jump off?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Let me get off with you.”

  A chuckle escapes my throat. Blue’s eyes squint and I can tell he’s a little frustrated. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know,” I say and straighten my face out, back into serious mode. Those two words remind me how terribly lost I’ve been.

  “What I’m trying to say is that we all get lost sometimes. Just like you’re lost now, I was lost when I met you.” The rain rolls off the edges of his lips. “I think I’m still kind of lost, like I’m all the way out there on Venus or wherever the hell it is that you girls come from.”

  “Blue,” I interject.

  “No. I’m going to finish because I’m not going to take the chance that you’re going to say something stupid.”

  “Stupid?” I ask, offended.

  “Please, let me finish.”

  My hand pats against my jeans. “Fine.”

  “So I’m out there on Venus, but it’s you who always brings me back to Earth. Like you’re the Sun and I’m the Moon, and I know that we belong together because, hey, gravity.”

  Strangely, I get his point. Even if he’s getting to said point in a rather contrived fashion. I wonder aloud, “One might think you’re on drugs or something with all this Plato-ing.”

  “I want to say that your love is my drug, but I think I’m all cheesed out.” He smiles and it’s a relief.

  “That’s probably a good thing.” I roll my tongue across my lip. “Now, can I say something stupid?”

  “About that, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Look, I love you and that’s not a question, it’s a fact. Some days, I wake up and know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Other days, it’s a neon blur. It’s like I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  It’s quick and it’s gentle, but his palms grab me and hold me by the cheeks. “I know who you are. You’re Charlie. Sweet, beautiful, smart as fuck Charlie—the girl I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. Everybody gets lost at some point, but I’m here to remind you exactly who you are.”

  His words silence me. His eyes lock with mine like soldiers about to go to war. My lip trembles and I feel as if I’m about to break.

  “Okay,” he whispers.

  Okay, what? Then his lips are on mine. They’re rough, but moist from the rain. It takes me by surprise, but within a second, that wears off and I grab him by the waist, pulling him closer. His hands caress my face, moving to the same rhythm as his tongue. His hands slide into my hair. As I pull back to breathe, I can feel his fingers combing through my locks.

  “I love you.” His voice is strong, completely devoid of doubt. He’s on solid foundation and knows exactly what he wants. I wish I were as sure as he is that this can work out, but I’m sure enough that I kiss him back.

  Like the ending of a Hallmark movie, the sun beams through the clouds and the rains subside just as we are locked in a passionate embrace. There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than here, and I don’t mean the cemetery. I mean here in his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Blue and I walk down the empty Sunday street. There’s something unsettling in the air, like somehow our town has turned into a wasteland overnight. It’s past five, so everyone must be home with their families, recovering from a hangover, or just being lazy. I don’t know, but it’s not normal for the streets to be this dead, even in a small town like Lakeside.

  It’s nice, however, to be walking and nothing else. Just Blue and me enjoying each other’s company. The thoughts in my head are settled, and I think it’s the first time for as long as I can remember. I never realized how exhausting my overpowering inner monologue was until it’s no longer dominating every ounce of me. Not thinking about the world is a nice change of pace, and I never thought I’d say it, but I enjoy the emptiness. The stillness of it all is refreshing.

  We turn a corner onto Old Main Street, which is exactly what you would guess. It’s the old Main Street. There was a fire when I was young. It spread from shop to shop until the entire block was on fire. They never bothered to rebuild, but it’s always eluded me why they never tore all the hollow buildings down. It’s nothing but a memorial of tragedy.

  There’s a man standing in the center of the sidewalk up ahead about fifty feet. He’s not moving, like he’s waiting for something. I’m not sure what for, exactly, but it’s certainly a dramatic statement.

  He’s probably on drugs.

  The last thing I want to do is talk shit about drug addicts, especially given my recent history, but over the past year, drugs have really begun to rear their ugly head in this town. Drug addiction is sad and it’s avoidable. I hope I never get to that point because I don’t agree with the drugs are bad slogans that are thrown around high school auditoriums across the country. Drug addiction is complex, and I don’t think anyone ever sees it coming. It just sort of happens.

  A chill runs down my arms as we draw closer to the man. There’s something wrong, and I can’t put my finger on it. When we’re a few feet away from him, he turns around, and he has this mischievous smile on his face. Something is definitely wrong.

  Blue squeezes my hand tight and comes to an abrupt halt. I feel as if my bones are about to crack, so I pull my hand away from him. A haunting pale color fills his face and his cheekbones pull tight.

  “Blue?” I ask softly. When he doesn’t respond, I turn to the man, who is locked into a childish staring war with Blue.

  The man raises his eyebrows, and I think he’s about to speak.

  “Hi, Blue.”

  “Rake,” Blue responds tensely. T
hey know each other, and I can smell the aroma of testosterone in the air. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m just visiting,” Rake says. “What about you?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  Rake laughs and it’s dramatic, over the top, and completely fake. “You are my business, Blue.”

  “Get out of here,” Blue huffs. I glance at Rake, then at Blue. The man’s not moving a muscle, much less his legs. I don’t think he has any intention of leaving. “I mean it, Charlie. Go.”

  Wait. You’re talking about me? “Blue?”

  “Just go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Yeah,” the man says, “I think she should stay.”

  It’s silent. Blue scratches his nose with his forefinger, then chuckles. “Yeah, she should stay.”

  Blue’s balls his hand into a fist, and without notice or pause, he strikes the man hard in the face. The man stumbles back. Blue grabs my hand and pulls me away. He picks up the pace and jogging turns into sprinting. I can barely keep up with him. I turn my head to look back, but my hair flies into my face, and I can’t see much.

  The man stands up and reaches behind him. He pulls a gun.

  “He’s got a gun!” I scream at Blue.

  Blue looks behind us, then rips me sideways. I hear gunfire. This is so not the way I wanted my life to end. The pain is sudden. The skin of my knee burns and my head cracks against the pavement. I pull my hand up to cradle my throbbing head.

  Everything’s a blur, both sight and sound. Blue is yelling something, but I can’t quite make out what. My body rises up off the ground and Blue’s face becomes clear. “Are you okay?”

  Am I? I take stock of myself. I realize that I wasn’t shot, but instead, the pain I feel is from being pulled into an alley by Blue. “I’m good.”

  “We have to go.”

  Boots pad against the sidewalk and I know the man is approaching. Blue grabs my hand and we begin to run again. Up ahead at the end of the alley is Third Street. If we can get there, we’ll be safe. For now, anyway.