GRANDPA

I was 12 years old and soccer practice was coming to a close. “Is your grandpa picking you up?” A girl snickered. I turned to see a man waving in my direction. I grabbed my bag and ran towards him, yelling out, “Hey, Dad!”

SNIP SNIP

We fought all the time. Some of these fights were petty arguments and some would be full blown blood baths, our mother pulling apart one from the other. But this fight escalated faster than the usual ones. I don’t remember how it had begun, but I remember wanting to be the one to finish it. She swung in my direction, narrowly missing my face, prompting me to chase her up the stairs. My hands swiped at her ankles, trying to trip her and knock her down. But she was my twin and a very good soccer player, using her quick feet to dodge my advances forcing me to chase her beyond the stairs and come up with another plan.

            Thinking quickly, I cornered Maddie into our room like I was an Australian Shepherd dog. Being so concerned with getting Maddie into our room to finish our fight, I didn’t even register that on her way into the room she had a pair of scissors. Blankie and I had a bond that most young children could relate to, the inanimate object that you cared for like a child, cuddled up with when you were scared, and brought everywhere. And now Maddie held out my Blankie as if she were a hunter who had finally caught some game. She was proud, she had me right where she wanted me. She turned to face me, and upon making eye contact, I knew I had made a grave mistake. Maddie’s eyes lit up as mine dimmed, and she saw the chance to regain power. She declared, “Take one more step and I’m going to snip Blankie.”

            Me, being a smart ass, took one quick step forward and stepped right back before you could even say Blankie. However, Maddie had been known to have good eyesight and she was even better at keeping her word. She looked back into my eyes, smirked, and held my Blankie and the scissors in front of her. “Snip,” she spat, throwing her head to the side in a mocking matter, and cut Blankie clean in half with the scissors. I watched half of my childhood fall to the floor, and looked up the see the other half in Maddie’s clutches.

            I never kept an item after that. I never even cared about either half of Blankie after that. I think my need for dependence was snipped along with that blanket.

THE TASTE OF BEAUTY

My parents repeatedly told us, “We’re smoking the turkey. Do not use any power until dinner time.” But what was this the 1700’s? We were going to look good for this family dinner. It was a holiday after all. And that always included heat to the hair, everyone knows that.  So, of course Maddie and I took showers and took turns blow drying each other’s hair.

When it was my turn to dry Maddie’s hair, I turned on the blow dryer and everything went black. The outlet made a popping noise, the lights in the bathroom shut off, and my Mother shrieked from the kitchen.

All Maddie and I could do was stare at each other, horrified. We had blown a fuse.

Dinner was not served until after 9 p.m. that Thanksgiving. My mother never attempted to smoke another turkey.

TAKE IT FROM ME

Do not date your drifting best friend’s ex-boyfriend, especially if she throws all the parties in your grade. You will lose your friends, be exiled from all things social, and lose the boy too.

DID I MENTION MY FATHER’S A BROWN GRADUATE?

Did I mention he also attended Yale with Meryl Streep? Did I mention he also attended Washington University in St Louis? Or that he has his sky diving and scuba diving license? That he was valedictorian? Maybe that he worked on an oil rig? Or lived in Norway? Did I mention he’s been to the great barrier reef? That he skied in the Alps? Flew a few planes? Did I mention he has three bachelor’s degrees? Or his one master’s degree? Maybe I forgot to mention that he left during his mBA because he was over school? Did I mention he got a job for the government? That I don’t know what he does for the government? That I don’t know his coworkers or his boss? Or maybe that I don’t know where he works? Did I mention that I constantly talk about my father’s past because I know nothing of my father’s present?

SHOCKED

• In 2^nd grade we were assigned to read 20 pages of a book for an assignment. I went home and finished the book. I then, asked my Dad to buy me the second book too, and went back to school the next day having finished both books. My teacher was shocked.
• In 6^th grade my teacher pulled me aside, “How do you know how to write like this?” I looked at her with wide eyes, confused because I thought I had done the assignment correctly. It was simple: write a story. However, she repeated her question, “Kate, how do you know to write like this? To indent and start a new paragraph when someone new begins speaking?” I thought everyone knew that’s how stories were written, until I saw my classmate’s story, a block of words on a sheet. My teacher was shocked.
• In 9^th grade I slept through English more than I was awake. My teacher thought I was a dumbass until I told her the idea for my story, she was shocked.
• Freshmen year of college I took a fiction class. I told someone I was 18 and the class erupted in a fury of questions, “Are you lying?” “I thought you were at least 24!” They were shocked.
• Writing has always just seemed like a thing I had to do. Like it has been the only thing I’ve ever been meant to do. What everyone has always told me I would end up doing. So why was everyone always so shocked?

BRAIN BLEED

Billy saw me, grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the party that was ensuing in Maggie’s kitchen. “Did you hear?”

            Knowing Billy was drunk I wasn’t inclined to take him very seriously, “Hear what, Billy?” I figured it would be something about his girlfriend at the time, Quinn. He loved to confide in me about her because he knew Quinn and I were very good friends.

            “Yesterday after Christian’s grad party,” He lowered his voice, moving his head closer to mine making sure no one was listening, “Jack hit his head and went to the hospital or something,” as he was talking Quinn strutted up interrupting.

            “Not even the hospital Billy, he’s in the ICU, at least that’s what I heard.” I felt my heart drop into my stomach and my breathing start to slow. Jack was my ex-boyfriend, I really shouldn’t care, should I? No one had told me, or rushed to reach out so I shouldn’t have cared but a tugging feeling in my gut was tearing me apart. Of course I cared.

            Quinn and Billy began arguing about whether or not Jack was actually in the ICU, “What happened?” I sputtered. In the moment I wanted to know how, I wanted to know if there was anything I could have done differently.

            “He stood on the back of Taylor’s car, fell off, and hit his head. I don’t know, Kate, I only heard it through people. I guess they were on their way to Rehman’s house after the grad party, and they just didn’t have room in the cab.” I felt my breath stop. There was something I could’ve done.

***

            Jack and I had not broken up long ago. Actually we did this a lot; went through cycles of dating, talking, breaking up, being mad at each other, making up, blah, blah. At the grad party the kids congregated in the big backyard with lawn chairs, huge jenga, and generic party games. I sat in one of the lawn chairs that happened to be next to one of my good friends, Dylon. Dylon and I had dated, but that was middle school so it really didn’t count. However, it seemed to matter to Jack. I could see him eyeing me from across the party, slowly getting mad watching me talk to Dylon. In an attempt to make him jealous, I scooted my lawn chair closer to Dylon’s. Me plea for his jealousy worked, though it was not in my favor.

            In response, Jack had immediately sauntered towards a younger girl he knew I disliked. She, being younger, was infatuated with him, laughing at all his jokes as if he was the funniest person in the world. He wasn’t. Jack knew what he was doing, as did I, but for some reason that was part of the fun. But it made us furious with each other for weeks at a time, and this was one of those times.

            My friends and I decided we had been at the grad party long enough and it was time to go. On our way out we saw Taylor, Jack, Rehman, and a couple other boys arguing outside of Taylor’s car. We paid no attention because my friends were loyal, if I was mad at Jack we all were, and thus none of us would give him the time of day.

            Getting into my car, Jack waved me down from Taylor’s car, only a few ahead of mine, “Kate, uh, can you give me a ride?” I knew he only needed a ride to Rehman’s right down the road but I looked back at the empty seat in my car and made a choice.

            “No.”

            He looked shocked, like he had expected me to say yes because it was him and when his shock turned to disappointment, I felt a tinge of pride. I was happy to see him surprised I wasn’t just going to do what he asked. He turned back towards the boys, and I started my engine. I looked back in my mirror at the boys, still arguing outside the car, but I kept driving.

***

            After what Billy said, I went home from the party, my thoughts consumed by what had happened to Jack. I thought about reaching out for days, scaring myself that he wouldn’t reply or that he was dead, and no one had bothered to tell me.

            Overthinking the situation was just making it worse so I finally decided to text him. He had been in the ICU, but was now moved to a different room and wanted me to visit him.

            Of course I succumbed and went, walking down the white walls I had no idea what to expect. My friend, Abie, had come with me and in order to see Jack, we told the nurses we were his cousins. I don’t know what I had expected when I saw him, but the person before me was someone I didn’t know. Before me was a weak, limp boy, very different than Jack had ever been before. The room kind of smelled, and I realized he probably hadn’t showered in days. My thought was confirmed when I saw his hair; half of it had been shaved but the other half was so greasy it looked like he had drenched himself in olive oil. The shaved half had been wrapped in a bandage that was stained brown by what I could only think was blood. With the turn ofhis head, I could see in his one eye that it pained him, his other eye had been swollen shut. One side of his face had looked like when he had fallen off the car, the pavement caught his fall.

            I learned that was true. They had had no room in Taylor’s car so the boys decided that Jack would stand on the back lift gate and hold onto the roof rack while they drove to Rehman’s. Jack had agreed after I had turned him down for a ride, and as he was holding on to the roof rack he felt his arms staring to grow weak. He yelled at Taylor to slow down, he was losing his grip, but of course the other boys didn’t hear him and he let go. He flew off the back of the car slamming head first into the pavement. A woman had seen the whole incident play out and had called the paramedics. However, she was met with rude remarks from the boys, they were drunk and thought Jack was fine, and eventually waved off the paramedics. They wanted to drink, not be worried with what potentially could be wrong with Jack. They went to Rehman’s, and Jack recalled that he couldn’t keep his eyes open, asking one of the boys to bring him to his house. The friend obliged, but dropped Jack off at his driveway and left for the night. Jack entered his house, collapsed, and woke up to his parent’s faces hours later, as he was covered in throw up and blood. His parents immediately took him to the hospital where they discovered his brain was hemorrhaging and would need to have immediate surgery to fix the ruptured vessel. If he had come to the hospital any later, he would have been dead.

            He would have died, and even though he was my ex-boyfriend, we became close again after the accident. How could I have not? Indirectly, it was my fault that he had fallen off the car. My fault he almost died. All because I glanced at my open seat in my car, and made a choice. A choice that could’ve killed him.