Far From You Read online

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  Sunday night

  I looked out the window,

  but the rain

  drowned out

  the stars.

  My angel

  was nowhere

  in sight.

  I curled up

  with my oxygen tank

  and tried

  to

  keep

  on

  b r e a t h i n g.

  miles apart

  The days passed

  slowly

  and

  painfully.

  With each day

  the distance

  between me

  and Claire

  grew

  by miles.

  It was like…

  Monday in

  San Diego

  Tuesday in

  Phoenix

  Wednesday in

  Baton Rouge

  Thursday in

  Atlanta

  Friday in

  Orlando

  Man, it was lonely

  at Disney World

  all

  by

  myself.

  I hate bowling

  On Friday, while I was in Orlando,

  sitting alone at lunch,

  reading a book,

  Claire sat with the popular kids.

  But that’s not the worst of it.

  She sat with the popular kids,

  wearing

  a bowling shirt.

  byob

  Saturday morning

  Dad took a drink

  from a glass

  in the fridge.

  “This milk tastes funny,” he said.

  I turned and looked,

  to see which glass

  he was holding.

  “That’s breast milk, Dad.”

  “Why isn’t it in a bottle?” he asked.

  Because

  obviously,

  her breasts

  are much larger

  than her brain.

  brain-radio

  I missed Blaze

  like a bee

  trapped indoors

  misses flowers.

  He was swamped

  at work because

  two people

  were out sick.

  Saturday afternoon

  I drove across town

  to bring him

  lunch.

  A brown bag

  filled with

  a turkey sandwich,

  an apple,

  and chocolate chip cookies

  made with a pinch of love

  and a dash of tenderness

  thrown in

  especially by me.

  Victoria

  tried to convince me

  to make oatmeal and raisin

  because they’re

  my dad’s favorite.

  I wanted to say,

  Make some yourself,

  you slacker.

  Instead I said,

  “Chocolate beats raisins all the way.”

  When I got to the shop,

  I saw him there,

  behind the window,

  behind the counter,

  behind his beautiful smile,

  talking with two girls.

  I walked in and said,

  “Blaze?”

  with fire in my voice

  from the flames

  in my heart.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said.

  The girls stared

  as I walked over,

  leaned in,

  and gave him a

  nice, long

  kiss

  right in front of them.

  “I brought you lunch.

  You hungry?”

  He nodded

  and licked

  his kissable

  lips.

  The girls

  got the hint

  and tiptoed past me,

  as if any loud,

  sudden

  movement

  would send me

  reeling.

  Another guy

  came to take over the register,

  then Blaze waved at me

  to follow him.

  As we walked,

  I felt them around me.

  Elvis, Fleetwood Mac,

  Van Morrison,

  AC/DC, the Eagles,

  the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

  If music is

  the story

  of our lives,

  what song

  did they

  sing

  for me?

  The two songs

  that popped into

  my head first were

  “Burning Love” and

  “Love Will Keep Us Alive.”

  Then I remembered

  that soon

  we’d be leaving

  for California.

  “Highway to Hell”

  started playing

  loud and clear

  inside

  my

  brain.

  the cookie monster

  He devoured the lunch,

  then he devoured

  my neck,

  my ears,

  my lips,

  licking,

  nibbling,

  kissing

  behind the closed

  office

  door.

  “Those cookies were so good,” he whispered.

  And the way he looked at me

  with love

  and lust

  and longing…

  I told him with a smile,

  “I don’t think I’m making cookies for you anymore.”

  autumn perfection

  Outside,

  the air was cool

  and crisp,

  the way you want your sheets

  when it’s blistering

  hot.

  We walked to the park

  and ran through the leaves,

  picking them up

  and throwing them at each other,

  as if they were snowballs.

  Instead of loud splats,

  we got quiet flutters

  of crimson and amber.

  He pulled me to him,

  spun me around,

  and we fell

  into a bed of foliage

  fit for a king.

  I wanted to freeze

  the moment

  in my mind

  forever,

  because there’s nothing better

  than flutters

  of the heart.

  lucky number seven

  When he held me close,

  out of breath,

  leaves stuck to our jackets,

  I whispered,

  “I’m going to California in two days.”

  He whispered back,

  “And in seven days, you’ll be back home again.

  With me.

  And maybe being apart will make you want me like I

  want you.”

  I laughed because he’s

  such a guy

  and you can’t blame him

  for trying.

  “Yes,” I told him.

  “In seven days I’ll be home again.”

  “So count to seven instead of two,” he said.

  “Seven’s better anyway.”

  And then he proceeded to give me

  seven

  amazing

  kisses

  just to

  prove it.

  they should be admitted

  As I drove back home,

  I thought about

  driving in our old Isuzu Trooper

  all that way

  with the three of them.

  Later, I asked Dad

  if he thought it was

  just a little crazy

  to take an almost newborn

  on a long car trip.

  “Why? She’ll sleep most of the way.

  We’ll stop every few h
ours so Vic can nurse her.

  With stops, we figure it’ll be a twelve-hour trip.

  It’ll be fine.

  Her parents really want to see their granddaughter.”

  “Right.

  So why do I have to go?”

  “They want to see you too, Ali.”

  The whole thing

  wasn’t just a little crazy.

  It was absolutely

  insane.

  absence makes the heart more desperate

  Sunday morning

  I got dressed

  and went to church.

  On the way there,

  I prayed for a lot of things.

  I prayed I could talk to Claire.

  I prayed she’d listen.

  I prayed she’d want to talk to me.

  I prayed we’d be rushing to say “Sorry” first.

  I prayed the distance between us

  would disappear as soon as we hugged,

  because we really are

  best friends forever.

  I prayed

  and I prayed

  and I prayed.

  But when I got there,

  Claire was nowhere

  to be found.

  making up is hard to do

  And so

  there was nothing to do

  but go to her house

  after church

  and get her to talk to me

  so we could end

  this ridiculous fight,

  or whatever it was

  between us.

  But on the way I realized

  if she wanted to see me,

  to talk to me,

  she’d have been at church

  like I was.

  I mean,

  that’s been our thing—

  to go there

  together.

  Wouldn’t she

  have made some kind

  of effort,

  if making up

  was important

  to her?

  I drove

  slower

  and slower,

  trying to decide

  if I should go

  or not.

  Confused.

  Then Dad called.

  He asked me to stop at the store

  and get snacks

  and other necessities

  for the road trip.

  That’s all it took

  to help me make up my mind.

  If she wanted to see me,

  she knew where to find me.

  At least until the next day,

  when I’d be

  on the road

  to nowhere fast.

  take the kitchen sink over me

  I discovered

  when you’re going

  on a trip

  with a baby,

  the whole

  flippin’ house

  has to come along too.

  But then I realized

  if we just kept

  packing it in,

  maybe

  there wouldn’t be

  any room left

  for

  me!

  better pack the Goo Goo Dolls CD

  There

  was

  room.

  Right

  next

  to

  the

  car

  seat.

  good-bye, my Blazing Boy

  Sunday night

  Blaze came over

  after work

  to see me

  before we left

  bright and early

  Monday morning.

  As we walked

  down the sidewalk,

  bundled up,

  arm in arm,

  I told him

  about Claire

  and asked him

  to check in with her

  for me.

  He told me

  I was worrying too much

  and I was probably

  making more out of it

  than I needed to.

  He stopped walking,

  turned,

  and kissed me.

  Goose bumps

  rose

  up

  and

  down

  my body.

  “I’m gonna miss you so much,” he whispered

  as he nuzzled my neck.

  I looked up at the moon,

  a silvery slice hanging there

  like a shiny ornament

  on a Christmas tree.

  “Me too,” I whispered back.

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “Who knows,” he said,

  curling my hair with his finger,

  “maybe you’ll have fun.

  Vic seems pretty nice.”

  It was so funny,

  I couldn’t help but

  tilt my head back

  and laugh out loud.

  “You are crazy,” he said,

  pulling me to him

  and kissing me

  again.

  Crazy in love

  was all.

  pacifier is my new middle name

  We left

  before the sun

  even peeked

  its head out

  from underneath

  the covers.

  I wished

  I could have stayed

  in my bed,

  peaceful and warm.

  After we dropped Cobain off

  at the kennel,

  we drank coffee

  and ate doughnuts.

  Then I tried to go

  back to sleep.

  It became obvious

  fairly quickly

  the baby

  was

  NOT

  going to sleep

  most of the way.

  I put my earbuds in

  and cranked the tunes.

  A couple of times

  Victoria asked me

  to try to do something

  to get Ivy

  to stop crying.

  Reluctantly,

  I gave her my pinky

  to suck on.

  But when my arm

  got tired

  and I moved it away,

  she started crying

  again.

  Victoria and Dad

  looked at me

  like I was supposed to keep

  my pinky

  in her mouth

  forever.

  I turned the music up,

  rested my head against the window,

  and pretended to sleep

  like a baby should

  and a bratty teenager

  does.

  two words: Holiday Inn

  Imagine

  a matchbox

  with a broken match

  dividing it up

  into tiny rooms,

  and you have

  a pretty good picture

  of their house.

  After kisses and hugs

  that smelled like garlic and wine,

  Victoria’s mom, Linda, said,

  “Let me show you to your room.”

  Room. Singular.

  One room

  for two adults,

  one baby,

  and a

  cussing-under-her-breath

  teenager.

  “You don’t mind the floor, do you, Ali?” Victoria asked me.

  c

  Like I had a choice.

  A sleeping bag

  magically appeared

  from the pile of stuff

  we had brought.

  They knew.

  They could have made

  reservations somewhere,

  and they chose

  not to.

  That’s when I was thinking,

  who are these people

  and what the hell

  am I doing with them?

  keep it coming

  When the baby wasn’t crying,
/>
  Dad was snoring.

  I took my sleeping bag

  and moved to the couch.

  Around 5 a.m.

  I discovered

  Ted and Linda

  are the type of people

  who enjoy

  greeting the sun

  with a cup of coffee.

  So much

  for sleeping in

  over break.

  As I sat up

  and considered

  hitchhiking home,

  Linda asked me

  if I liked cream or sugar

  with my coffee.

  “Just cream,” I said.

  And then a vision

  popped into my brain

  of her finding a glass

  in the fridge

  and pouring it into

  my cup.

  I couldn’t help it.

  I jumped up to check.

  She held a carton of cream

  and poured some

  into my big,

  steaming mug.

  It was probably

  one of the best

  cups of coffee

  I’d ever had.

  I decided if she’d just

  keep the coffee coming,

  maybe,

  just maybe,