The Day Before Read online

  two things she loves.

  Noise and rhythm,

  two things I love.

  But as the sky

  and the sun coexist,

  each needing the other,

  it’s the same with

  me and my mom.

  Sometimes, love is loud.

  Sometimes, love is quiet.

  Always, love is my mom.

  not today

  I wipe a tear away

  and remind myself

  I’m not riding

  in a hearse.

  This is a limo.

  My limo.

  And this day

  is supposed to be

  my day.

  I grab my jelly beans,

  fish one out,

  and pop it in my mouth

  without looking.

  I play my guess-the-flavor game

  whenever I think

  too much,

  too long,

  or, like today,

  at all.

  Because when you

  put something

  on your tongue,

  your mind focuses

  on it almost

  instantaneously.

  First one.

  Cotton candy.

  And then another.

  Very cherry.

  It brings me

  back to the moment,

  and I want to live

  the moment with everything I’ve got.

  I grab a glass

  and fill it with

  sparkling water

  because that’s all there is,

  and besides,

  me and alcohol

  don’t mix.

  One leads to two

  leads to too many.

  I tend to lean

  toward extreme,

  and I don’t like

  where I end up

  after I start down

  that road.

  I raise my glass

  and toast to no one

  and to everyone.

  “To a good day,” I say out loud.

  I drink the water,

  the fizzy bubbles

  sk ip pi ng

  across my tongue.

  That’s more like it.

  sorry, Mom

  As we drive

  the tree-lined highway

  toward my destination,

  I wait for the inevitable.

  When my phone rings,

  I can see the panic in her eyes,

  hear the fear in her voice,

  feel the longing in her heart.

  They are friends of mine—

  panic, fear, longing.

  I send her

  to voice mail

  so I can talk to my new friends

  for today—

  joy, happiness, and adventure.

  “Hi, Mom.

  I’m sorry I left so early.

  I didn’t want tears this morning.

  There will be enough of that

  tomorrow.

  I hope you understand.

  This is the last day

  of my before.

  The day before it all changes.

  Forever.

  This is my day.

  I promise I’ll call you

  if anything comes up.

  But I’ll be okay.

  Try not to miss me too much.

  After all,

  it’s

  just

  one

  day.

  I love you.

  Amber.”

  how it has to be

  These past weeks,

  Mom has hovered close,

  asking me to help her

  with this thing,

  that thing,

  and another thing.

  Today, I just couldn’t help her.

  She’s a crier.

  Watching movies—

  kind of our thing—

  she’ll cry whether

  it’s a happy ending

  or a sad ending.

  Today, I had to help myself.

  If we were together,

  I’m afraid it would be one

  long,

  painful,

  miserable day

  of crying.

  She’ll call my dad in tears.

  Tell him I’ve left.

  He’ll come over.

  They’ll let Kelly stay home

  from middle school.

  They’ll be a family together,

  without me.

  Today, they’ll have to help

  themselves.

  And to their surprise,

  they’ll survive.

  fill my soul

  My iPod,

  tucked away

  in my backpack,

  is my only true

  companion today.

  Of course,

  she brings along

  the music

  I love

  with my whole

  heart.

  When I put the

  earbuds in,

  I find P!nk

  still singing

  about wanting

  an endless night.

  I lean back

  into the cool leather seat,

  close my eyes,

  and let the music fill

  all the empty spaces

  with glitter.

  missing you, Madison

  Although the ocean

  never sleeps,

  the town of Newport does,

  and now,

  in the early morning hours,

  it’s barely awake.

  The driver drops me off

  at a café.

  Inside I order hot tea

  and a donut, and take a seat

  with a view.

  Two older ladies

  sit across the room,

  drinking and talking,

  one of them tall and skinny

  with a neck like a giraffe,

  the other so chubby,

  she has three chins

  and no neck at all.

  What a pair.

  It makes me think

  of Madison,

  and my chest responds

  with a dull ache.

  We’re as different

  as country music and hip-hop.

  She’s cute and sweet

  with wavy blond hair.

  I’m rough around the edges

  with red dye bleeding

  through my naturally brown hair.

  She likes the rainbow colors.

  I like the scary colors.

  She sings in musicals,

  I play in a rock band.

  She has other girl friends,

  I have other boy friends.

  Except for Madison.

  Because the things that matter to us,

  that’s what we have in common.

  We like hanging downtown,

  eating sushi, talking books,

  politics, and school drama,

  loving it when we see eye-to-eye

  and loving it even more when we don’t.

  Art makes us smile,

  and on summer days when

  there’s nothing else to do,

  we are Monet and Picasso,

  the street our canvas

  and chalk our paintbrush

  of choice.

  She’s a one-in-a-million friend,

  and I’m lucky she’s mine.

  How can I live without her?

  I thought about asking

  her to come with me today.

  I thought, maybe I

  could make her promise

  to keep a smile on that

  adorable face of hers

  no matter what.

  But the more I thought about it,

  the more I decided I’d be asking

  the impossible.

  Like asking a soldier

  to not feel any fear

  before heading into battl
e.

  I’ve already slipped once,

  and I’m the one

  who has the most to gain

  in keeping my own promise.

  It’s better this way.

  A little lonelier.

  But better.

  morning waves

  After I’ve emptied

  my tea cup, I head

  to the beach.

  The white caps slide across

  the sparkly blue dance floor.

  They whisper to me,

  Join us—dance!

  I close my eyes,

  take a deep breath of the sea air,

  and spin around and around,

  the sand cold yet soothing

  underneath my bare feet.

  When I stop,

  the world is spinning,

  and I gasp at how

  familiar it is.

  Everything spinning out of control.

  When my balance is back,

  I run, faster and faster,

  jumping over seaweed

  strewn out on the sand

  like strands

  of a mermaid’s hair.

  I run past an old man

  on a morning walk,

  waking up to the smell

  of salty air instead of

  fresh brewed coffee.

  Into the water I walk,

  my pants rolled

  up to my knees.

  I stand still

  and let the cold waves

  splash over my feet.

  It feels good.

  Something finally feels

  good.

  like a painful song

  The waves

  come and go.

  I know that rhythm.

  I know it too well.

  Like the anger,

  sadness,

  denial

  I’ve felt

  these past weeks

  that I’ve been pushing down,

  telling myself to

  suck it up—

  it all comes back.

  Bigger.

  Stronger.

  I walk out farther,

  the water almost

  knee-high.

  My eyes close

  for a moment

  and my heart wishes

  I could throw it all

  to the tide,

  like a bottle

  with a scribbled note inside.

  And then,

  without warning,

  a big wave comes

  and splashes me,

  as if to make a point.

  The waves never stop.

  No matter how much

  I wish they would,

  the waves

  come and go

  come and go

  come and go.

  Two years, nine months ago

  Dear Amber,

  How are you doing, honey? We haven’t heard back from you, but that’s okay. We’ll keep writing. Maybe the more you get to know about us, the more you’ll see that we are good people. Allen says you are probably afraid. And of course, that’s understandable. You have no idea what kind of people we are. But through these letters, I hope you’ll see there’s nothing to fear.

  A newspaper reporter knocked on our door yesterday. I wonder if the same was true for you? I know this will probably be disruptive to your life. I wish it didn’t have to be that way, but we don’t know what else to do. We want to know you so badly—to have a relationship with you.

  Today was a beautiful spring day, so I went for a long walk in our neighborhood. The tulips are starting to bloom. I love tulips. We have lots of red and yellow ones planted in our front yard. They’re my favorite flower.

  I’m wondering, what’s yours?

  Love,

  Jeanie and Allen

  treasure hunt

  I sit in the cool sand,

  my mind drifting

  like wood on water.

  A few years ago

  we stayed at a beach house,

  Dad, Mom, Kelly, and I.

  When we were almost ready to head home,

  Mom insisted the three of us get

  one last fill of the ocean,

  as if we were fragile sea creatures,

  needing the water

  to survive.

  When we got down to the beach,

  Dad started running and said,

  “Ten minutes to find a treasure.

  The winner of the best treasure

  gets to pick the music for the ride home.”

  Kelly yelled out,

  “I’m winning this one, Jelly!”

  I threw my head back and laughed.

  We hadn’t played Treasure Hunt

  since Kelly and I were little.

  We used to play all the time—

  at the park,

  on a hike,

  even in our own backyard.

  I skipped across the sand, the breeze

  catching my shirt,

  exposing my belly, white

  as a seagull’s.

  I laughed again.

  Across the beach,

  Dad and Kelly

  scoured the wet sand,

  no doubt searching for

  one of Mother Nature’s

  lost jewels.

  My eyes scanned

  the dry sand

  by the piles of driftwood.

  I dug with my hands,

  searching for

  a buried treasure,

  until my arms

  became heavy.

  I climbed the pile,

  searching the other side,

  and then

  something glistened

  in the sun:

  a blue-and-silver fishing lure

  complete with a hook.

  An amazing treasure,

  especially since I was saving someone

  from being caught in the foot.

  Dad waved his arms,

  telling us time

  was up.

  Kelly showed us her find first:

  a golden rock, an agate,

  clear and smooth.

  When I showed them mine, Dad said,

  “An in-line spinner.

  Very nice!”

  And then, with his fists closed tight,

  he turned his hands over and slowly

  spread his fingers

  wide open

  like a sea anemone

  in a tide pool.

  Kelly and I gasped

  when we saw

  what he held.

  Two silver chains

  with a tiny

  silver dollar charm

  on the end of each one.

  After Kelly—always the affectionate child—

  gave him a hug,

  she said, “But you don’t win, right?

  You didn’t find it.

  The rules are you have to find it.”

  Affectionate and competitive.

  “Kel, I think we both win.

  Thanks, Dad.

  I love it.”

  “Me, too,”

  Kelly echoed.

  “But who picks the—”

  I tapped her on the shoulder

  and yelled, “You’re it!”

  intentionally ending one game

  and beginning another.

  Of course she chased me,

  because that’s what little sisters do.

  And of course I let her choose

  the music on the car ride home,

  because that’s what big sisters do.

  They let their

  little sisters

  win.

  mixed feelings

  I like

  the memories

  because they remind me

  I haven’t always been

  this girl,

  constantly

  mad or scared

  or confused.

  I don’t like

  the memories

  becau
se the tears

  come easily,

  and once again I break

  my promise

  to myself for this day.

  It’s a constant battle.

  A war between

  remembering and forgetting.

  my heroes

  I catch a cab at ten

  and make my way

  to the aquarium.

  I want to look at sharks,

  quiet and

  fierce.

  Study them.

  Learn from them.

  They own the water.

  They are not afraid.

  beautiful boy

  He stares

  at the tank

  of jellyfish.

  I stand on the other side

  and watch

  the pale pink parachutes glide

  through the water.

  They are

  hypnotic.

  He moves

  slowly,

  circling the

  round tank.

  Moving closer

  to me.

  I realize

  I’m not watching

  the jellyfish anymore.

  I’m watching him watching them.

  He stares

  with such intensity,

  I can’t help but wonder,

  What is he thinking?

  Feeling?

  Wishing?

  While he’s under their spell,

  I take him in.

  He’s wearing a black knit beanie

  with bits of black hair

  sticking out,

  a gray hoody,

  and skinny jeans.

  Only skinny people

  can get away

  with wearing

  skinny jeans,

  which is why