Second Chance

by Katie Kacvinsky

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  I take my time answering. “I think you’re the most unselfish person I’ve ever met.”

  “Really?”

  “Dylan, they don’t know you. Let it go.”

  “Why am I so hard to understand?”

  I rub my fingers down her bare arm as I think about this. Oh, man, how do I describe her?

  “You’re an abnormality. People get scared when they come across something that doesn’t behave the way they expect it to. People like labels and categories and things they can predict. When people can’t explain something, they assume it’s because there’s something wrong with it. They try to fix it or change it. They mess with it until it’s translatable and they bring it down to their level. Trying to change someone is easier than trying to accept them. It’s how we’re programmed.”

  “Nice theory,” she says. She leans her head on my shoulder, takes off my hat and runs her fingers through my hair. I look at her and wish I could wipe all her doubts away, like an eraser cleaning off a blackboard crammed full of questions. She runs her finger down my nose and over my lips. “But you’re not like that.”

  I shrug. “If you can’t accept people the way they are, I say step aside and leave them alone. Nobody gives each other a break anymore. People are so uptight.”

  I squeeze my arms tighter around her. I love this girl so much. Her energy can be a shock to the system and sometimes you need a little time to acclimate, but when you’re next to her, your body soars at a higher altitude, the air becomes thinner and your heart beats faster. We need more Dylan’s. People like her are the artists and painters and dreamers. They make the world move and shake and they take a life that’s mundane and bland and color it in. That’s why I’ll never let her change.

  DYLAN

  “Think about it, Dylan,” Liz says. “You have everything going for you here, right now.”

  I’m sitting at the Brew House with Cat and Liz. Lenny sat down to join us for a few minutes. “There’s a fine line between being adventurous and being stupid. Don’t pass up a perfect life that’s right in front of you just because you’re too far-sighted to see it,” she says.

  I listen to their opinions. I’m used to it. Everyone seems to have opinions about my choices. They’re still determined to give me a hard time and I know they’re doing it because they care about me. And they care about Gray. So I drink my coffee and I nod my head. Some of their logic starts to sink in.

  “You’ve got love,” Cat says. “True love. What else do you need? What else is there to live for?”

  “Don’t say crap like that around me,” Lenny says. “You’re going to make me gag.”

  “I’m worried about you,” Liz says.

  I stare back at her. “Why are you worried about me?”

  “I get that you’re a free spirit,” she says. “And that’s cool, but it gets old. Life doesn’t get much better than what you have in front of you right now, and if you leave, you’re going to look back someday and regret it.”

  “Relationships aren’t like library books,” Cat adds. “You can’t just check people in and out whenever you feel like it.”

  Her words hurt because they’re true.

  “I think you’re being selfish,” Liz says.

  I feel my heart wince. I think back to what Gray says. They don’t know you.

  “Why did you come to Albuquerque?” Cat reminds me. “What’s the number one reason?”

  “To see Gray.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s my soulmate and future husband,” I say, repeating what I had said to her in Switzerland.

  “I think you only love him when it’s convenient for you,” Liz says.

  “What do you guys want from me?” I plead. “I came back here. I’m trying to set things right with Gray. I’m never going to hurt him again.”

  “Then why don’t you come back next fall?” Cat asks. “You have a place to live. You can work on your photography. You can work in Wisconsin during the summers or travel while Gray’s away playing baseball. That way everybody wins. Gray doesn’t get hurt. You two stay together. Isn’t that what you want?”

  I digest their thoughts and their words and try to piece it all together and it all starts to make sense. I always thought love would be easy and slip into place when the moment is right. But, how far do you go for love? How much of your life do you give up for a single person? And how much do you let yourself change? When you stop being yourself, who will you become?

  GRAY

  When you finally let down your walls, it’s amazing how much sunlight pours through. When you stop worrying so much about your life, you suddenly start living it. This state of mind makes me want to blare power ballads from my car speakers. I even bought Heart’s greatest hits. Never shop for music under the influence of love. It’s embarrassing what you’re in the mood for.

  Dylan and I are together whenever humanly possible. My world is perfect. Until something isn’t right.

  I start to notice more changes about her. At first it was just her clothes. But something else has changed. Her eyes look a little faded, like a light has crawled out from inside of them, like she’s tired. Except I know it isn’t a lack of sleep. It’s a lack of adventure. A lack of movement. There’s a slower gait to her walk. Her hands are calm, usually clasped over her lap as if this will slow her down. She’s a little quieter too. Not as many dares. Not nearly as many random thoughts.

  Today I notice the strangest change of all. I played an afternoon game, so I take Dylan out for dinner in Old Town. It’s an old-fashioned Spanish pueblo in the middle of the city. The small buildings have adobe-style architecture with flat roofs and curved edges, the stucco walls brushed smooth to look like soft, tan suede. A church is anchored in the middle of the square, surrounded by an open, central plaza. Dylan and I sit at an outdoor patio that overlooks the plaza and we eat enchiladas with red and green chile salsa.

  It’s a perfect night. But something’s missing. I look around us and finally I pinpoint the problem.

  “Where’s your best friend?” I ask Dylan.

  Dylan points at me, because I’m obviously sitting across from her.

  “Your camera,” I say. “I thought it was surgically attached to you. Where is it?”

  “I left it at home.”

  I set down my fork and study her like she’s crazy. “Can you even see without it? I’ve never seen you step outside your door without your camera.”

  “It’s not that big of a deal,” she says. She looks away from me, her eyes measuring something in the courtyard. I can tell she wants to take a picture. The sunset is going to be incredible, with so many feathery clouds in the sky. She rubs her arms and I notice her eyes are sad. Sad.

  “Spill it.”

  She hangs her head a little bit. “This might sound stupid, but I’m afraid I’ll use up all my photo opportunities.”

  “What? How would that ever happen?”

  “Well, I decided to take Cat’s offer. I’m coming back here next fall.”

  I hear the words come out, but I don’t believe it. “You want to come back here?”

  She nods.

  “To live?” I say with shock. She nods again.

  “Haven’t you thought about it?” she asks.

  I look down at my plate. I’ve thought about it hundreds of times. But I gave up on the idea last summer, when she shot it down in Phoenix.

  “What about your dream list? Backpacking in Australia and living in a big city and traveling in Central America?”

  She smiles. “I also added Singapore and Hong Kong to the list.”

  “So, you’re just going to give that all up?”

  “I want you to be happy,” she says.

  “I want you to be happy,” I argue.

  “Maybe I outgrew my dreams,” she says. “Maybe dreams change based on the people you meet and the places you go. I can make new dreams, ones that include you.”

  I turn
and watch a family pass us on the sidewalk. I’m starting to lose my appetite. I test her. I ask her what random thing she did today.

  She smirks. “I browsed a class schedule for next fall.”

  This is too much. “What? I thought you hated college,” I argue.

  “I never said I hated it. I’m just against the overall philosophy of institutionalized

  education.”

  I lean over the table and press my hand against her forehead, like I’m checking for a fever. “Dylan, do we need to perform an exorcism? Has some evil college-rearing demon possessed your soul?”

  She pulls back. “Isn’t it normal to want to go to college?”

  “Since when do you care about doing normal things?”

  She sighs and finally gives in. She tells me Miles hinted that if she’s going to come back next fall, she should look into to taking some classes while she’s out here. Then, she looks at me like what she’s about to say is insane. Like I should prepare myself.

  “I’m also going to be in a book club with Liz,” she announces.

  “A book club? Since when do you have the patience to read a book?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “I read sometimes.”

  “Sometimes? You can barely get through a menu without being distracted. It’s one of your best qualities.”

  She ignores the compliment. “Well, maybe it’s time to work on my attention span. And Cat offered to hire me part time to work on promotions for her band.”

  Dylan smiles, but I frown. “Promotions?”

  “Yeah, like help her schedule shows and find venues to play at.” Since when is Dylan organized? “And Travis wants to hire me to take some photos for his fan page.”

  I shake my head at this ridiculous job offer. Only Toolshed has his own college fan website and sports blog.

  “Lenny even offered to give me cooking lessons, since we’ll stick to our Sunday night dinner schedule.”

  I narrow my eyes. I know exactly what Liz and Cat and Miles and Travis are doing. Even Lenny. They’re trying to keep her here. Lock her down. Cut her wings. Make sure that she’s tied down with school and jobs and clubs and all the things Dylan has never been remotely interested in. They want to anchor her here. But don’t they get that she’s a sail?

  “That doesn’t sound like you.”

  Her chin is held high. “It is me.”

  I need to know. “Since when do you care what other people think?”

  Dylan doesn’t hesitate. “I don’t care what they think, Gray. But I care what you think.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because I love you. And I know if I leave I’ll just hurt you again. I can’t do that.”

  Her face is stubborn. She’s staying.

  “Don’t do it for me. I just want you to be yourself.”

  “But when I try to be that person, I end up hurting you.”

  I shake my head. “You’re perfect,” I say.

  I should be happy. My dreams are all coming true. But at a cost I can’t afford. I know better. I see this angel sinking down to the ground only to get dust on her wings, only to shine less because she’s meant to live so much wider than this confined life. All for me.

  GRAY

  Mom and Dad get in on Friday to stay for the weekend. One of the strangest things about leaving home is having your parents come to visit you in your new domain. It’s a role reversal because suddenly they’re standing in your home and they have to ask your permission to turn on the television or park in the driveway or eat something out of the fridge and you have to lay down the rules.

  Conversation becomes a careful balance. You won’t fill them in on too much of your love life (because really, do they want to hear about it?), you don’t tell them too much about your social life (they were in college once; they know the scene), and you certainly don’t fill them in on your problems (guess what, I was a stoner for the past six months!). You keep your talks centered around school and sports and the general weather in your area. You don’t want to act homesick, because they’ll get these worry wrinkles on their foreheads. Yet, you also don’t want to seem too ecstatic to be free from their hovering control; you’ll just make them feel bad. So, you tell them you’re happy and you like school, but you sure do miss mom’s cooking and dad’s brilliant sports analysis. Everyone’s satisfied. You win a gold star every time.

  Your relationship turns into one long shopping list. They take you out and buy you things so they feel needed, like they still cover you with their umbrella of love and protection and you’re still their baby. You humbly regress into the dependent adolescent that, well, you are, and thank them for the groceries, the dinners out, the toiletries, cleaning products and new underwear and socks. They buy all the necessary, boring stuff that you would never waste your money on because you can’t possibly cut into your entertainment budget for something as lame as floss.

  I haven’t seen my parents since winter break. The first thing my mom wants to do when they stop by is inspect our kitchen cupboards and the first thing my dad wants to do is sit down and discuss my season in detail. I stand against the kitchen counter and study them.

  The big question is, do I ask Dylan to meet them? She met my mom briefly in Phoenix, but it was before we were anything and now we’re sort of something, maybe. How do I explain this to my parents? Hey, mom and dad, meet my on-again, off-again best friend, semi-girlfriend, sex partner, but most-likely-this-will-end-very-badly, spring fling, Dylan.

  “How’s your arm feeling?” Mom asks.

  “Do you think it’s too late for me to get a tee time tomorrow morning? You wouldn’t be interested in playing a round, would you?” Dad asks.

  “Honey, what Gray needs are groceries.”

  “Clair, he’s old enough to buy his own groceries.”

  “Your kitchen smells a little funky, Gray,” Mom observes. Do all moms have an acute sense of smell or is it just mine? “Have you given the sink a good scrub lately?”

  I wonder to myself if we even own a scrubbing utensil.

  She opens the pantry door and shakes her head at our messily arranged boxes of processed food. “Gray, do you take a multi-vitamin?”

  “Yankees and Red Sox are playing tomorrow afternoon,” Dad points out.

  “Oh, is that all we’re going to do this weekend? Watch baseball?” Mom complains.

  “You can take the car downtown whenever you want,” he reminds her.

  “I don’t know dear, Albuquerque has a lot of crime. I don’t want to go out by myself. Gray, should we get you a club for your car?”

  My dad picks up the newspaper he has tucked under his arm and starts browsing the sports section. “No one’s going to steal a ten-year-old hatchback, Clair.”

  “Is your neighborhood safe, Gray? You lock your doors at night, don’t you?”

  I plaster a perpetual smile on my face in response to all of their comments and suggestions and questions.

  I’m already sick of them. Is that wrong?

  It’s moments like this when I miss Amanda so bad the pain throbs like a fresh cut, still scarring over. Being an only child is too much pressure. My parents turn all of their attention and concern and energy onto my life and I feel responsible for filling something that’s missing. To be two people. Sometimes it makes me feel small, as if Amanda and I were one person, and now I’m only half here. Amanda helped me to breathe and think and laugh and love. All these things that should come easily, that should be effortless, since her death, are some of my daily challenges. And even though I love my parents, it’s always hard to be together because it’s a reminder of what we lack. Now we’re an odd number. And I know, deep down, that emptiness will always there, like a chasm between us.

  While my parents drive to their hotel to check in, I panic. I run down to the Brew House and ask Lenny if she has seen Dylan.

  “Not today,” she tells me. I leave and jog down to Sage Street and knock on Dylan’s door, but no one answers. I meet Cat just
as she’s closing the front door of the main house.

  “Hey, is Dylan around?” I ask as she walks down the steps. She grins and points down the street and there’s Dylan, halfway down the block, in corduroy shorts and a tank top, mowing somebody’s lawn. I run down the sidewalk and when I meet her I see her shoulders are glistening with sweat and her face is flushed. My mind instinctively wants to get her in the shower, but now is not the time. She turns off the mower and smiles at me.

  “It’s a great day for a lemonade stand,” she points out. “Want to try it? I bet we could make at least $2.50.”

  I shake my head and look down at the green lawn mower. I ask her if she’s doing her good deed for the day but she informs me she’s getting paid.

  “We have a barter system. I get to take whatever I want from their vegetable garden,” she says. She leans over the mower and whispers like she has a secret. “Hey, did you know vegetable gardens are proof that unicorns exist?”

  I tell her I don’t have time to hear this right now. She searches my eyes, which probably look desperate.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks. I drum my hands against my sides. I know this is a gamble. I know my mom will fall in love with her. I know Dylan will remind her of Amanda, in all the best ways. But, in my gut, I feel like she needs it. We all need it.

  “I have a huge favor to ask,” I say.

  ***

  At my game, I see my parents sitting behind first base with a cluster of other parents

  and I notice Dylan has wriggled her way between them. My parents are wearing matching UNM T-shirts with my last name and number on the backs. Dylan’s wearing her stone-washed jean jacket. For the first time, I’m relieved to see her in it. This is the Dylan I love, the girl that’s so far off the normal spectrum that psychology needs a new term to define her.

  I glance over my shoulder throughout the game and see my mom laughing. It’s such an unusual expression for her to wear: happiness. It makes me smile and I know this was the right decision. I can’t keep Dylan all to myself. You need to share your greatest gifts so other people can appreciate them, too.