Basic

by E. J. Mara

  So, I will always love my mother.

  Tears fill my eyes as Dad catches my gaze and smiles.

  I lift my hand, offering him a wave.

  Getting to know him again has been easier and yet more challenging than I’d expected. He’s an affectionate guy and he likes to hug a lot- something I’d almost forgotten about.

  But he’s also shy around me and I can tell he feels guilty, as if the whole mess with my mom is his fault. That’s part of the reason why it’s taking so long for us to feel comfortable around each other.

  But I think we’ll get there one day.

  Before I know it, Lindsey is returning to her seat and each of my classmate’s names are being called.

  When it’s my turn, I smile and glance at my dad as he lets out a loud cheer and holds up a sign that says, “Amanda Hollister- Class of 2020.”

  As I stand and glance at the sign, the irony of seeing my real name held up in front of all of my classmates isn’t lost on me.

  I’d worked so hard to hide that name from the world. But now, I like seeing it on display.

  Sure, most of my classmates still call me ‘Libby,’ because of course I’m still careful about who I share my biggest secrets with. But my teachers know my real name and the authorities filled them in on some of what happened with my mom. In addition to my teachers, Bao, Kimberly, Jonathan, Jen and Lindsey also know me as ‘Amanda’ as well as the entirety of my story, which I’m grateful for.

  I’m just now learning how refreshing it is to have friends to share your life with. We all come into the world with a story, and usually that story is messy. But when you find a group of people who accept you, mess and all, you realize you can be honest with them about everything and they’ll still accept you. And somehow, that gives you a peace that replaces the mess that is your life. It makes everything sort of fall into place.

  The remainder of the ceremony is a blur. Butterflies fill my stomach as we toss our caps into the air while an audience of family and friends cheer us on. And before I can blink, it’s all over.

  In the crowd of laughing friends and family, I find Dad.

  He’s wearing a black t-shirt that says “The Pixies” underneath a well-tailored gray suit. His once, thick jet black hair is now salt and peppered and he has a carefully groomed salt and pepper beard to match. He looks great. Annoyingly, Jen has mentioned this about a billion times over the past eight months and says so with a look in her eyes that I’m not too crazy about, considering that she’s talking about my father… but that’s another can of Spam for another meal.

  Dad gives me one of his famous soul-squishing hugs and says, “I’m so proud of you, Manda!”

  “Thanks,” I smile as he releases me. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too,” he says, nodding, a serious look in his eyes despite his smile. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

  He takes a deep breath, and I can tell he’s feeling a little awkward, which is why I pat his arm and say, “So, how about dinner at LaRose’s?”

  Dad blinks back at me, surprised. “Oh. You want to have dinner with me? I thought you’d want to hang out with… well, with your friends.”

  “I do,” I smile. “But I also want to have dinner with my dad and since I’m a greedy person, can’t I just have both? Dinner with you first and then hang out with my friends?”

  Dad grins, pleased. “Absolutely. I’d love that.” His gaze goes to someone just over my shoulder and he nods.

  I turn around and Jonathan’s behind me.

  “Hey,” he says, sounding breathless. He glances at my dad and clears his throat. “Mr. James, hello. How are you?”

  Jonathan’s got an early summer tan and he seems even taller than usual… also more handsome than usual.

  Even though Jen broke up with him about four months ago, he and I haven’t talked about ‘us.’ I think we’ve been dancing around the subject for a lot of reasons. I think Jonathan still sees me as fragile or whatever. And unfortunately, I think maybe he’s right.

  So, even though I wouldn’t mind another make-out session, I don’t know if I’m honestly ready for anything more serious than that. And seeing as Jonathan is some kind of Jedi master when it comes to picking up on when I need space, he’s been giving me plenty of it.

  But tonight, despite his tan I can see that he’s blushing like a fiend, which might mean he wants to spend some time with me.

  “You remember my friend, Jonathan, Dad?” I say, glancing at Dad.

  He nods and offers a hand for Jonathan to shake, grinning as he says, “Of course I do. Hey, J. What’s up?”

  I smile at my dad’s way of casually shortening everyone’s names. It’s one of his quirks. And it’s kinda sort of adorable in a very dad-like way.

  “Not much,” Jonathan says as my dad pumps his hand up and down. “Just trying to wrap my head around the fact that we’re finished with high school. I can’t believe it’s really over.”

  Dad laughs and nods. “It’s a lot. This day, and your wedding day- they say these moments are unforgettable, but really they’re all just a blur. That’s why you should take lots of pictures. And speaking of…” Dad pauses and pulls out his phone. He aims it at us. “Smile!”

  I stand beside Jonathan and he hooks an arm around my shoulders as we grin at Dad’s phone.

  He snaps the picture and says, “Got it!”

  Jonathan starts to pull away, but I grab his arm and say, “Hey, Dad, can I meet you at LaRose’s? I want to stop at Lindsey’s place first.”

  He grins. “Sure, I’ll see you soon.”

  Still holding Jonathan’s wrist, I plant a quick kiss on Dad’s cheek and then drag Jonathan away.

  It’s too loud to talk, so I simply lead him through the crowded auditorium and don’t stop until we’re just outside of the exit doors.

  Outside, a few people stand scattered in the front lawn of Sunnyville High, talking and laughing. But the loudest sound is coming from the crickets.

  Unable to erase the grin on my mouth, I drop Jonathan’s hand and turn to him.

  “You looked like you wanted to talk,” I say.

  He smiles, his eyes softening as he quietly says, “You deduced correctly.” He gestures to the long sidewalk leading from the exit doors all the way to the street parallel to our school. “Care to take a turn with me, Lady Cloydelia?”

  I chuckle. “Yes, oh fair Cletus.”

  He grins and offers me his arm with old-fashioned chivalry. Of course, I accept it and loop mine through his.

  Arm-in-arm, we walk in silence, our footsteps slow and comfortable. I look up at the sliver of moon visible in the wide Texan sky and a slight summertime breeze passes us, ruffling both of our graduation gowns and lifting my hair from my shoulders.

  “Amanda,” Jonathan’s voice is soft. “I know I told your dad I’m in a daze because I’m trying to wrap my head around tonight, but that’s not the only thing I can’t wrap my head around.”

  I glance at him. He looks down at me and his eyes are startlingly blue in the dark.

  “What I really can’t imagine is you not being here in the fall,” he quietly says, his footsteps slowing even more and his gaze not leaving mine.

  I gulp and say, “Same here. I don’t even want to think about life without you.”

  He smiles and says, “Good. Because if you want, you don’t have to.”

  “What do you mean?” I abruptly pause in stride and turn to face him completely. Our arms still linked, I ask, “Aren’t you going to Texas A&M?”

  “But you’re going to LSU and,” Jonathan pauses, his eyes hopeful as he says, “I don’t want to be an entire state away from you.”

  I grin, too shocked to speak.

  “I applied to LSU and I found out last week that I got in,” Jonathan’s smile widens as he looks down at me.

  Chills cover my arms and thrilled beyond words, I throw myself at him in a very Gerald James-like hug.

  Jonathan’s long arms are at my
waist, pulling me close and I’m instantly filled with that familiar need to kiss him. So, I do what any confused seventeen-year-old does, I pull away from him and take a step back as I try to keep smiling and pretend that I’m not completely filled with lust.

  “Uh,” I glance at the ground as if I’m speaking to it and proceed to stammer. “That’s so…that’s just so… great. Wow. I can’t believe that. I’m stoked. Really.”

  “Amanda,” Jonathan touches my arm and I find the courage to look up at him. Holding my gaze, he says, “It’s completely up to you, but, if you want we can go there together as friends or more than friends. I just want what you want.”

  I watch Jonathan unconsciously hold his breath, his jaw tense and his kind eyes so full of hope that it hurts.

  It scares me, the knowledge that I can hurt him.

  I know I’m not my mother, but deep down I’m still afraid that I could snap. That I could hurt someone who cares about me the way she hurt me.

  I tear my eyes away from Jonathans and take his hand in mine. Looking down at it, I trace the veins on the back of his hand as I say, “I like everything about you. I always want to kiss you. And I probably always will.”

  I hear Jonathan take a sharp intake of breath and I cringe, knowing that what I’ll say next will not be what he wants to hear.

  “That’s why I’m afraid to be more than your friend right now,” I gently explain. “I’m probably not saying this right, but, like, I’ve never felt such strong feelings for anyone before and it’s a little scary. Especially because I don’t know what I’m capable of. I don’t know… who I am. All I know is I don’t want to be someone who hurts you.”

  I look up, hoping to find at least some understanding in his expression.

  Instead, I find pain. He glances over my shoulder and nods. “Okay,” he quietly says.

  I can tell he’s thinking hard. Probably of something to convince me otherwise. And he’ll probably do such a good job of it that I’ll end up kissing him and agreeing to go out with him.

  So, I speak first, cutting him off just as he opens his mouth to reply, “I’m so grateful for your friendship. I need a friend like you and I don’t know how I survived so long without you. Thank you for being you.”

  He nods and forces a smile. “I feel the same way about you,” he says.

  He starts to say something else and then seems to decide against it.

  Instead, he gives my hand a squeeze and smiles again.

  “You’re not mad at me, are you?” I ask.

  He chuckles. “Like I ever could be.”

  He releases my hand and starts walking, I fall in stride beside him and say, “Actually you’ve been pretty mad at me before. Remember? When you found out I’d been lying?”

  “I wasn’t mad,” he says. “I was…”

  Hurt.

  As I realize this, I see how it underscores my reason for turning him down.

  I hurt Jonathan once, I could hurt him again. And he didn’t deserve that.

  “Come on, you yelled at me and stopped speaking to me,” I say with a chuckle. “You were mad.”

  “Okay, maybe I was,” he admits. “But I never, like, disliked you. And I never will. You’re my… you’re my person.”

  I laugh. “You also, are a human. To me.”

  “My God, we’re awkward,” Jonathan says shaking his head.

  “And that’s why we’re friends,” I agree.

  I slip my hand in his, which I can tell startles him.

  “Seriously,” I quietly say. “Thank you for teaching me about friendship, even when I’ve been a terrible student.”

  He smiles. “You weren’t ever terrible. But, you’re welcome.”

  We walk until the sidewalk ends and under the glow of the moonlight we talk about nonsense for far too long, not caring that we’re being bitten by mosquitoes and that people who pass us glance at us with knowing looks, some of them even whistling at us and telling us to get a room.

  We just blush and keep talking until Lindsey, Jen, and Kimberly find us and politely tear me away from Jonathan.

  ***

  As we burst through the back door of Lindsey’s house and I hurry to get changed in the guest bedroom, Jen shouts, “Hurry up, Amanda. You don’t want to keep Tony Stark waiting.”

  I roll my eyes and call over my shoulder, “For the last time, my dad does not look like Robert Downy Jr.”

  “Yes, he does!” all three of my friends shout back in unison. I can hear Kimberly and Lindsey giggling while Jen says something that I pretend not to hear.

  “You guys are gross!” I shout before shutting my door.

  Despite this, I grin.

  They’re stupid, but I love them … and I’m going to miss them this fall.

  Sighing, I open the closet and grab a pair of jeans and a blouse to change into after dinner. I’m definitely not going to wear the pretty black dress I have on to a sloppy high school graduation party.

  A knock sounds on the door and I say, “You may enter.”

  Lindsey glides through the door, her yellow dress brightening up the room as she says, “I just saw this with the mail. For some reason I didn’t notice it earlier. Here.”

  “Thanks,” I say, eyeing the postcard in her left hand. I take it from her.

  “Hey?”

  I look up and Lindsey’s giving me a thoughtful look. “You holding up okay?”

  I smile. “Yeah, thanks. Your speech was amazing by the way. How do you feel?”

  She sighs and her eyes take on the dreamy look they often get when she’s thinking about her future plans. She grins and says, “I feel like everything I want is going to happen. And I know that’s not how life works, but tonight I want to pretend that it is. Because that’s how good I feel and I want the feeling to last.”

  I nod. “I get it. Tonight, life is perfect.”

  I raise my fist and bump it against hers.

  “Okay, let me grab my purse and then we’ll drop you off at the restaurant,” Lindsey says with a bright smile.

  I nod and as she leaves, I sit on the bed and glance at the postcard she’s handed me.

  It’s from Australia, with a picture of the Sydney Opera house on the front.

  Frowning, I turn it over and find a total of six words in the message section of the card:

  Happy graduation. I’m so proud of you.

  There’s no signature and no return address. I smile and then frown, unsure of how to feel.

  I glance at the trash can and then at the dresser just opposite my bed.

  I set the postcard on the dresser, grab my jeans and shirt, and leave the room.

  So, my mom remembered that I graduated today.

  I’m thankful for that and I love her for trying to show that she cares.

  But, I’ve learned that I can’t trust her. And I’m going to be honest with myself about that.

  I’m going to be honest about everything.

  “Hey, guys,” I shout, pausing in the hallway. “Wait just a second, I need to take a massive ten-minute dump before we leave.”

  As a chorus of “Eww’s” and “TMI” are shouted back at me, I realize that maybe that was a little too honest.

  But, oh well. What can I say? I’m basic. And, I’m still learning.

  One of these day, I’ll get the hang of the whole, “being a decent human being” thing. And in the meantime, I’m glad my friends love me for who I am, flaws and all.

  Basically, I’m pretty happy, and that’s more than I ever thought was possible.

  Acknowledgements

  So, there’s no one way to be a writer.

  Some jot their stories down in bustling coffee shops, others write furiously during breaks at work, and still others rent out isolated cabins and out-of-town hotel rooms to spend weeks at a time with their manuscripts.

  For me, writing means spending many hours alone, typing away at a laptop while listening to music, snacking on chocolate, and intermittently wondering how normal people sp
end their Friday nights.

  But once the first draft of a story is completed, regardless of the route said writer took to reach ‘The End,’ there’s an aspect of the writing process that’s the same for every author, across the board.

  I’m referring to the part where the nervous writer must send her manuscript to someone who cares enough to read it and provide honest feedback.

  Understandably, it’s not the easiest thing in the world to find people willing to read and critique a manuscript.

  That’s why I’m incredibly grateful to the lovely people who went out of their way to evaluate Basic. Those people are Matthew Gibbs, Stephanie Downey, and Ashley Golding.

  Not only are all three of you super nice but you’re also super busy writers, which means you put your own work on pause to take a moment and read mine.

  Thank you guys, you rock!

  Another group of people I’ll forever be indebted to are those who’ve taken the time to read Basic after its publication. Thank you for reading my work and I hope it inspires you to write something of your own. Even if you think you’re not a writer, I’m willing to bet that you are. After all, everyone has a story worth sharing and fortunately, there’s no one way to be a writer.