Amy
It was a couple days after the Bed Bath & Beyond fight, and it was time to straighten things out with my mom. I found her sitting in her usual spot in the kitchen, smoking. She looked up when I walked in, saw it was me and turned her back.
I sighed. “Mom, can we talk?”
She remained silent, so I sat down and starting talking anyway.
“Listen, Mom, I know you don’t want me going to Chicago, but you have to understand why. I know you think it’s all about Dad, but I promise you it’s not. The Art Institute has a good architecture program—a great program. And architecture is what I’ve always wanted to do.” I paused. “You know that.”
She didn’t comment or even acknowledge that I was talking. Still, I continued, hoping she was actually listening. I felt lost and I did not know what else there was to say. I did not know what statement would make her listen or make her understand. I sat there, waiting for some kind of response, but after five minutes of just watching her stare straight ahead, I knew I wasn’t going to get one.
I walked out of the kitchen and paused at the doorway. I watched as she lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. I remembered the years when she didn’t smoke. She didn’t start until I was ten or eleven, a year or two before my dad left. That was when things were beginning to turn sour. I remembered my dad telling her that he didn’t like her smoking and my mom retorting that she didn’t like him staying out late every night. I watched them glare at each other, thinking to myself then that neither of those things would change.
They hadn’t changed, and here was my mom, smoking her life away.
I went into my room and slammed the door behind me, running into the brown moving boxes. I kicked them out of the way and jumped onto my bed. I sat there, pulling my knees to my chest, feeling depressed. I glanced at my bedside table and grabbed the navy blue folder. My portfolio. Getting into the Art Institute would have been impossible without it.
I flipped through it, remembering how hard I had worked to make my portfolio good and unique. My high school didn’t have any design classes, so I used dual enrollment to take college classes at the community college outside of town. There I took basic design and architecture classes, learning how to hand-draft plans and elevations and how to render them to effectively portray the design intent.
I continued to flip through, pausing at the project I had worked on over the past year. It was a sustainable housing project, and I loved the problem-solving aspect of it. In the end, it was the one I was most proud of. I had gathered inspiration from architects like Frank Lloyd Wright and his use of context and surroundings, and from Gaudi, who used sculpture and form to portray the emotional side of design. The idea that a building was in fact art fascinated me.
The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. My mom was being so selfish.
I tossed the folder aside and grabbed my iPod. I needed a run.
After jogging on the beach for an hour, I was boiling. I hadn’t thought about how it was way past noon and hot. Most people would do their jogging in the morning.
I went over to the lifeguard stand and put my stuff next to it.
“You’re the only person I know who enjoys torturing themselves on their afternoon off,” Paul told me.
I ignored him and ran toward the water. I heard him blow his whistle and resisted the urge to flip him off. The water wasn’t cold, but it was cold enough to cool me off. I swam farther out, fighting with the waves. It was a battle they eventually lost once I got past the biggest waves. I reached my favorite spot by the lonely black rock. It was big enough to sit on, but too slippery. I held on to the side of it for support while I caught my breath and regained my energy for the swim back.
At this angle, the water was terrifying. For most people. It was dark, loud, and surrounded me. Land looked far away, and the water spread out, pulling me deeper in, not wanting to let me go back. The shore was closer than it looked, and I could make out Paul on the lifeguard stand, but just barely.
I looked around me, not feeling scared at all. I trusted the water and trusted myself with it. I actually felt safe and found comfort in the fact that only the water and waves were my biggest problems. To me, things were so much more complicated on land.
Once back on the beach, I grabbed my stuff and threw on a cover-up dress to help me dry off. Now I needed my smoothie. The smoothie shack was right off the boardwalk and had the best smoothies. It also helped if your best friend made them.
Kelly was dressed in a hot pink collared shirt with an orange apron. The red smoothie shack hat she wore matched the color of her face. She looked flustered.
“Hey, what’s with you?” I asked.
“Nothing, it’s just really hot.” She sighed.
“Yeah, it is. Which is why I need your specialty,” I said, flashing a smile. She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Extra large?”
“Biggest cup you have, girl,” I told her, smacking my hand on the counter. She shook her head and walked to the back to begin making it.
“Can we actually do something fun tonight?” she said, handing me my smoothie.
I shrugged. “Call me after work.”
I looked around at the boardwalk. It was filling up as people crowded around the benches and stood in line for smoothies and corn dogs. It had to be the biggest hangout for high schoolers who had nothing to do. I remembered the hangouts sophomore year, and the feeling of being so amazingly cool.
With my smoothie in hand, I went back down to the beach. I drank the combination of strawberry, mango, banana, and orange and felt the chill run through my body. Yum.
My moment in smoothie paradise was rudely interrupted by a body plopping down next to me. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“Now what do you want?” I demanded.
“I want,” he said, “your name.”
I looked up and Obnoxious Guy smiled at me. I felt myself flush but was glad I was probably already red from running. I glared at him and turned back to the beach.
“Why?”
“Why not?” he challenged.
“Why are you answering me with a question?” I asked, getting annoyed.
“Because you didn’t answer mine.”
“Wanting to know my name is not a question,” I pointed out.
He opened his mouth and then closed it. I took the opportunity to get up and start walking away.
“Wait,” he called after me, “why are you always storming off?”
I stopped and turned back around. “Why are you stalking me?”
“I am not stalking you.” He scoffed. “Trying to buy you a smoothie for your sorry attempt to save me.” He paused, holding back a laugh. I raised my eyebrows and he continued. “Bumping into you at the beach last night and you sitting with me was not stalking you.” He walked closer to me, staring at me intensely. I stared back, not lowering my gaze. He blinked away from me and faced the water.
I could have walked away then, but I decided not to.
“Amy,” I said, finally giving in and sitting back down.
He glanced at me, then back at the ocean before joining me on the sand. “You’re pretty impossible.”
I found this to be satisfying. “So I’ve been told.”
We continued sitting there, waiting for the other to say something.
“So what’s your story?” he finally asked.
“My story?” I repeated.
“Yeah, your story?” he echoed, still staring straight ahead.
I sighed. “Okay, I was born and raised here. I live with my mom and stepdad. I just graduated a week ago.” I paused. “I’m a lifeguard,” I emphasized, giving him a look. “And I’m going off to college once summer ends.”
He nodded. I looked at him curiously. I wondered why he cared.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why what?”
“Why are you asking?”
He laughed quietly, running a hand through his hair. I looked at him with my eyebrows raised, waiting.
He looked back at me and held my gaze before saying, “I was curious.”
“You were curious.”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “You seem interesting.”
“Trying to drown you and accusing you of being a stalker is interesting?” I questioned.
“Hah, yeah, it is,” he said, “to me.”
I shook my head, not understanding him at all. He was different. Weird. Strange. I told him this.
“So I’ve been told,” was his reply. Figures.
“Obnoxious?” I added.
“Yup, that too,” he said flashing a smile, “along with handsome, smart, charming, and irresistible.”
I snorted, a smile escaping. “I’m sure.”
He chuckled. “Hey, it’s better than what describes you.”
I smiled. This game, I could play. “Really? Let’s see if I can get this right.” I started counting on my fingers. “Stubborn, moody, defiant, rude, impossible.” I paused, holding up five fingers. “I can go on for hours.”
“I’m sure you could.” He smirked.
This time I nudged him, causing him to stagger a little.
“Watch it. You already bruised me once,” he warned.
I shrugged. “You deserved it.”
He laughed again. I looked at him, wondering what had just happened. He met my gaze and held it.
“You wouldn’t be hungry by any chance?” he asked me, smiling.
“Hmm, maybe a little,” I answered, a little caught off guard by the question.
He stood up and pointed in the direction of the seafood place.
“You’re in luck. I love that place,” I said, standing up.
“I wouldn’t call it luck,” he said, winking. I rolled my eyes, wondering what I was getting myself into.