A/N: Lolly: No, Manda. He didn't. Hehehe.
Hayley: Thank you guys so much for reviewing! This is the lovely chapter 2! Many things will be explained later, don't worry! We promise not to confuse you . . . much! We actually BOTH wrote this one! This is dedicated to all of you who reviewed!
Lolly: Yeah . . . Hayles likes her exclamation marks, doesn't she? Ugh . . . Please enjoy, with our compliments.
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Despite all of my anger and sadness that I had built up in the previous years . . . the heartache and my overall down-and-out status . . . I decided to go to the stupid reunion.
I know, I know. How sad of me. I had every chance to escape my past and move forward. But that's all I've been trying to do for the past five years . . . trying to move on. But I couldn't . . . I can't. That was another failure to add to the mile-long list.
Well, believe it or not, I had a method to my madness.
I really thought that maybe if I went back home, I would see why I vowed to leave and never come back in the first place. And once I experienced the reunion and saw how crappy my life would have been, I could really move on.
Okay, okay . . . I also wanted that feeling of normalcy again. I had felt so out of place for a really long time, and I just wanted to be Suze Simon . . . pretty, well liked, and extremely kick-butt. That was the girl I used to be . . . the one I wanted to return to more than anything else. I was an adult now. I couldn't fool myself anymore. I wanted to be back home, safe in my room with its big ocean-view and its cozy pink décor. I wanted to be with my mom and to be able to sit down with my stepfamily and eat those gourmet meals that Andy cooked every night.
. . . Just to thing. Five years had been and gone, I'd lived in Massachusetts, and still, I called Carmel my home, didn't I? Because it was home. I didn't want it to be anymore, but it was. And it always would be.
I wanted to feel the feelings I haven't felt in so long. Ones I've tried to reproduce with terrible results . . . pushing, yelling, slapping. All of these things . . . I would have killed to get them back.
I've wasted too many years being the poster-candidate for Zoloft. I just had to break free!
Freedom, however, came at a price . . . $249 that is. And even if I worked double-shifts, I'd never come up with that kind of money! God, were we just supposed to go and pick $249 off a tree or something?
I desperately made a list of people I could call. Not that the list was too long. I had separated myself from all of these great people . . . but one wonderful person still remained.
My best friend in the entire universe . . . Gina.
It's no joke bumming money from your best friend. It takes a lot of guts to admit that you are in a slump . . . that you need someone to pick you up off the ground.
So I took a deep breath, sunk down into my favorite chair, and put my hand on the receiver. Just as I was about to pick it up and dial, the phone rang. Ugh.
'Call Central, Suze speaking,' I answered with annoyance.
'Simon?' a deep, gruff voice said on the other end. 'This is Mr. Lowe. I need to speak with you for a moment.' Oh, the pleasure . . .
'Uh, yes sir, Mr. Lowe . . . but uh, could I call you back?' I asked, my tone instantly dropping but my annoyance was still present.
'No,' he commanded. 'I need to speak to you now.'
I could just see him on the other line, twisting his handlebar mustache as he was talking. He had a tendency to do that when he was preying upon defenseless trainees. At the worst of times, I slipped into that category.
Sad, init?
'Yes sir, Mr. Lowe,' I replied sheepishly.
'I wanted to speak with you today because I've noticed that your work has been suffering lately,' he said in his macho-man voice. If he spoke any louder, the phone would blow up. He had no respect for communicational technology. But . . . OI! SUFFERING?! 'You've been slacking off a lot, Simon . . . daydreaming and what-not. I've also heard complaints of you yelling at other customers. Tamara told me that she saw you harassing one of our regular customers just yesterday.'
'But Mr. Lowe, that was just Cole. He's been, um, kind of, er, stalking me lately. You see, he wants –'
'Simon, shut it. No excuses, this time,' Mr. Lowe grunted. 'I can't have you risking the image of Starbucks, and as manager I feel I have a duty to nip this in the bud.'
Oh my God.
My apartment slipped out of focus and my eyes glazed over. No, I wasn't crying, but I just couldn't believe the words that were coming from this receiver. The funny smell of my apartment bothered me more than ever. It was a mixture between coffee – my doing – and feet – SO not my doing. Maybe that was what was making my eyes water? The feet smell? Who wants to smell feet anyway? Feet are gross. But, you know, I doubt that they have that onion effect. The make-you-cry effect thing, I mean.
'Y-you're firing me?' I asked mournfully, my grip of the receiver incredibly hard. Hell, I didn't have respect for communicational technology either. I was practically crushing the phone. I couldn't believe it. After all of my hard work, I was getting fired! All because of my stupid stalker- ex-boyfriend.
YO, COLE? YOU SUCK!
'This is your two-weeks notice,' he continued as if I had never said a word, 'But I want you gone by tomorrow.'
I wanted to tell him off then and there. No one, I mean NO ONE fires Suze Simon. Not like that, anyway.
I wanted to scream at him, 'Well, you have no idea who you just fired, chump! I may be young, but I have my whole life ahead of me. I can grow up to be something other than an old, cranky manager of STARBUCKS that enjoys making the young people he hires feel like crap. So take back your stupid, ugly apron and use it to clean the staff bathroom! Take your two-weeks- notice and SHOVE IT! HAHA! I'm strong, I'm invincible, I'm WOMAN!'
Okay, so not only is that a bit psycho, but I actually didn't say anything like that. It actually came out as . . .
'Um . . . yes sir, Mr. Lowe.'
I felt so small, so terrible.
But why? I hated that stupid job, looking at that ugly brown wallpaper, seeing my freak ex, and wearing that pukey forest green apron! Oh, and I definitely won't miss smelling like coffee every waking moment . . .
But still. I was failing. One more disappointment. That's all I was, wasn't it? A disappointment. Hell, the last ghost I helped, I had to exorcise. And he wasn't even that bad. Broke a couple of windows, sure. But I had exorcised him, because I had given up. I hadn't tried hard enough. I'd failed at that too . . .
My glazed eyes suddenly became kinda wet again.
NO! NOT AGAIN! NEVER!!!!
Yeah. Go the waterworks. I'd rather be BLEEDING than crying. It was HORRIBLE. This internal, abstract pain was RELENTLESS.
I shouldn't have been crying . . . I should have been celebrating! I, Susannah Simon, was one step closer to freedom! I hung up the phone with a new sense of joy and relief. I deserved way better than that dump!
With my new tenacity, I was able to pump myself up to call Gina. I picked up the phone and dialed her number, which I knew by heart. I waited three rings for an answer.
'You rang?' someone answered the phone with a dry tone. And then . . .
Well, I panicked.
'Sorry, uh, wrong number,' I said as I disguised my voice.
'Suze, it's nice to hear from you again,' Gina said flatly. 'You didn't call last week.'
'H-how did you know it was me?' I asked, yet again feeling small.
'I have caller ID, remember?' Gina replied crisply.
'God. I'm such a loser Gina,' I confided. 'Mr. Lowe on Patience was just on the phone. He fired me. Can you believe it?'
'Way to go, Simon! How long did you manage to keep this job?' Gina asked with a laugh.
'Shut up,' I told her, smiling to myself.
Gina was always like that. I'd do something completely idiotic, and she'd make me feel better by turning it into a big joke. She was the only light in the darkness that was my life. Just, you know. A long distance light. Like, a satellite or something.
Gina the Satellite. Should call her Spudnick or something.
'So, what now?' Gina asked, the dryness in her tone leaving. 'Are you on the hunt for a new job or something?'
'No . . . not yet,' I told her. 'I just need to . . . well, could you . . . I really need . . . what I'm trying to say is . . . '
'You need some cash?' Gina asked. 'Feel free to ask, I'm loaded. I tell ya, Suze. The rich guys are the only way to go. Evan's totally landed this huge inheritance from his dead aunt, or something. And babe, here's me, sitting pretty on a silken couch, reaping the rewards. In the form Godiva chocolates, no less. So, want some dough then?'
To make . . . bread?
Oh, dough. Duh, Suze.
'Well, since you offered,' I said, another smile crept on my face. 'Yeah, I could really use the money. I got invited to the fifth year reunion at my high school, and I need to buy a plane ticket home. It's . . . uh, $249 . . . '
'I'm on my way to the bank. I can wire it to you right now. And I'll make it three hundred, okay Suze? Say, 'thank you aunty Gina.' '
'Oh my God, thank you!' I squealed. 'Gina, you are a living saint! An angel from heaven! You just, um, gotta croak or whatever before they canonize you or something. Or maybe you can go all Joan of Arc and die for God or something, you know, go all martyr and shit? . . . But dude, you don't know how much I need this. I totally promise once I get back on my feet I'll –'
'Don't waste your breath, Simon,' Gina stopped me mid-sentence. 'You don't have to pay me back. I think I still owe you a ton of money from buying me all that ice-cream when we were little.'
That ice cream? Oh yeah, THAT $249 ice cream . . .
'Gina,' I said as I slipped on some shoes. 'I'm going to the bank right now. Thank you so much! You've saved my sorry ass once again! I can't thank you enough! Bye!'
I hung up the phone and put it back in its cradle.
Surprisingly, I've felt better than I had in awhile.
Carmel looked closer than ever.
I was tripping all over myself with happiness and anticipation as I walked out of my door. Wait a minute . . .
I wasn't tripping on my feet . . . I was tripping on . . .
Oh. My. God. No way . . . no freaking way!
I had been tripping on this incredible bouquet of two dozen beautiful red roses, placed right in front of my doorway. Shit, there were so many! They were blood red, and there were still beads of water on the crimson petals. The colour was intense. The wrapping was silver and black, and it shimmered in the dim light from my apartment. I reached down slowly and plucked the card from the heap of flowers, feeling crestfallen when I recognized the penmanship.
'Suze', it said in lanky cursive, 'One day you'll see that we were meant to be. You don't realize it now, but you can't live without me. Admit it. You need me. You want me. You love me. You'll face the facts one day . . . and you know where I'll be. Right here . . . waiting for you. Call me some time, babe. Remember . . . I'll be waiting. Wake up, Suze. Love, Cole.'
God . . . why couldn't he just leave me the hell alone? He just didn't know where to stop. He harassed me at work, he beat me up in alley-ways . . . what was next? Quite honestly, I didn't want to find out. What I couldn't make sense of was why he was even bothering. I mean, seriously. Sure, I wasn't a dog. Not by any means. I'd been out with a whole handful of guys in the past five years – no drastic, skanky number, but enough to know that I wasn't a complete eyesore. And I'd managed to keep, my, uh . . . you know, virtue. Kinda heavy make-out, maybe, but none of it affected my chastity. I wasn't going to throw something like that away on some one- night-stand guy. No way. I had more self-respect than that. But the people that I'd been seeing, well . . . they didn't have much respect for me. I think the longest relationship that I'd been in was about a month. That was with Luke. But yeah, he'd up and left when I, er, told him I wasn't ready still. Turned out he'd made a bet with his best friend that he could, um, you know. The loser lost the bet, and I'm glad. I tell you now, I gave him an ass kicking he won't forget in a hurry. I felt like some stupid trophy. This girl that people wanted just to show off and have on display. It wasn't fair! I felt I deserved something better, you know? Not to just dress up and look nice, but to, you know, actually talk to the person I was in the relationship with? But yeah. The only thing these guys were interested in was gettin' some booty.
DO I LOOK LIKE A BOOTY BAR TO YOU?
. . . It was always the same, here. All the guys were exactly the same. They were all pigs. Users. Assholes. But why? Did I have such a horrible personality? Why did guys just assume I was so easy? And how embarrassing was it, to know that I was twenty-three years old, and I still hadn't . . . yeah.
Ha. Twenty three years old and I still am embarrassed to say 'sex.'
But this place. It sucked the life out of me. There was nothing here. It was hell. A blue, grey, bottomless, cold, unmerciful, scything hell and it RIPPED ME TO PIECES.
. . . Oh my God. I had to leave . . . I had to leave now.
NOW.
I tore the card into shreds furiously, and threw it into the Massachusetts breeze – which wasn't all that impressive, tonight. But it carried that card away from me. I was glad. I seized the bouquet, ran outside and dumped it in the trash. It looked so out of place among the old newspapers and the banana peels and stuff, but it more than deserved to be there. Then I ran back inside my apartment, and started grabbing all of my clothes, stuffing it into bags. Randomly, with hardly anything going through my head but an angry buzzing of a million bees, I just snatched things from all my cabinets; bottles, make-up, hair brushes, everything. Everything in my wardrobe – shoes, clothes, hats, hand bags - was poured into a large suitcase. All I could hear was the buzzing. The whirring of my overdriven mind. I slid into my brown leather coat, hiding my stupid green Starbucks attire, and dragged all my bags outside to the elevator. I heaved everything in, pressed the ground floor, and waited silently as a familiar lurching feeling occurred in my lower belly. Even though I knew, I couldn't tell whether the elevator was moving up or down . . .
I had to leave.
Leave.
Get out.
. . . . . . . .
I'm lifting you up
I'm letting you down
I'm dancing till dawn
I'm fooling around
I'm not giving up
I'm making your love
This city's made us crazy
And we must get out
- Maroon 5
. . . . . . . .
I had to get the heck out of there. I couldn't stay there in that apartment anymore. Not when Cole was like this . . . stalking me. Waiting for me . . .
At least, not until I was ready again. To face this life. I wasn't strong enough yet . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It kind of went by in a blur. I couldn't think straight. Not when I flagged down a taxi prepared to carry all of my bags. Not when I went to the bank to get the money that Gina had wired. Not when I caught another taxi to the airport . . .
I was leaving.
It was all so fast.
What about my apartment? What about my CAR? Would it just sit there? Get nicked? Vandalized? What?! What would happen to all of my stuff if I didn't come back within the next two months? The fridge? That poor, defenseless milk. It was going to go above and beyond the used by date. Did I care about the people in the third-world countries who could have been drinking that milk? No.
And what about Boston College? My second choice college? Why had it been so hard trying to get into NoCal, but BC had been a breeze? Yeah, NoCal had no more space. Stupid late applications . . . WHY COULDN'T I HAVE JUST STAYED IN CARMEL WITH JESSE?! But yeah, I'd done most of the courses through, right? It was only Art History left now. Who cared about that? I majored in Psychology. That was fine. I was done there. I didn't need to stay. What would it matter if I just . . . didn't turn up there next week? Nothing mattered.
NOTHING.
. . . Where did I go? What happened to me? Where did I lose myself, so hopelessly? Why was everything such a mess? Such a filthy, demolished mess?
Yeah. I know exactly where all of this crap started.
. . . With Jesse.
I wasn't thinking about much that night when I was on that plane, back to Carmel. I didn't know how I managed to get everything right. You know, pay for the ticket, organize for Andy to come and pick me up, book the flight, get all my luggage on board . . . while I was in such a daze. I felt like my mind had shut down. I was just reacting to things without thinking. Without having opinions on anything. I couldn't feel anything. It was all numb. I wasn't sure . . . wasn't sure what I was doing, or why. I mean, I vaguely knew why. I had to get out of Massachusetts, I know. Away from Cole, from the green uniform that I wore everyday double-shift, away from Boston College, from the apartment.
Away from this life I was trying to live.
Trying, and failing.
This couldn't be called living, surely not.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Arrivals part of the airport was jam-packed. I had this nervous flickering feeling at the pit of my stomach. Everything was so busy! What if Andy had forgotten to come? What if I was stuck here? Would he remember to pick me up? Did mum tell him that I would be here? That I was counting on him being here? I needed to see him? To reassure myself that this wasn't just some stupid fantasy I was having, having nodded off in the storeroom at Starbucks again, awaiting a big yelling-at from Lowe-in-calcium. It was all starting to feel a little nightmarish, actually, with so many people milling around me, calling, running to greet other people, and electrically magnified voices calling delayed passengers on the speakers, when a word broke the whole falsity of everything.
That word was my name.
'Suze!'
I was still in my Starbucks uniform, and my brown coat. I had Ray Bans on, although I didn't know why. My beige Kate Spade was clutched punctiliously in my left hand, and I was dragging my suitcase along in my right. I hadn't slept on the flight, the food had been second to road kill, the little kid behind me had been kicking my chair, I'd seen a middle-aged female ghost who wanted mediation, and wanted it now, who I'd cordially escorted to the Shadowland until I had time to properly do my job, I had a killer post- shifting headache, I desperately needed a shower and a rigorous date with my punching bag, and so, generally? I wasn't feeling all that hot.
So when a nineteen-year-old redhead launches himself into your arms and practically crushes you, well, you'd feel a little squeamish too.
At first I didn't recognize him. I didn't recognize the tall, lanky body and the deeper, mature voice. I didn't recognize the clothes that he wore, or his acne-spotted face. But then, I did recognize that familiar 'Max' smell on him. I recognized his eyes, minus the glasses. I recognized that weedy smile, and the fierceness of his red hair.
It was Doc.
Oh my God . . . where had I been?
My mouth fell open in surprise, and in . . . something else. I, um . . . I think it was anguish.
WHERE HAD I BEEN?
This little nerdy guy had grown up! He wasn't the I-have-a-project-due-in-a- month-but-I-already-finished-it boy that I'd left at the end of the twelfth grade. Here he was, older, wiser – pimplier, yeah – taller, grown up. My favorite step-brother had grown up.
And I'd been too busy wallowing in misery over in Mass to be there for him.
Oh my God.
Time was a thief, a pirate! I'd missed so many years of David Ackerman's life – the bits where, as a sister, I get to give him girl advice and tell him exactly how to coordinate his clothes as not to look so geeky. But noooo. I'd skipped town to run away from everything. I was always running. I still am.
These years had been stolen.
And it wasn't fair.
The handbag slipped from my hand, as did the suitcase handle. I closed my eyes, and tightly hugged Doc back, silently praying for forgiveness. For not being there. For not being the sister I should have been.
Not step-sister.
Sister.
I buried my face into his shoulder affectionately – the little bloke was now taller than me! Wasn't that rude? – and held him closely. I felt horrible. I felt like, in some sick, strange way, I'm betrayed him as well by leaving. By running away from Carmel. Away from Jesse.
'Um . . . Suze?'
I blinked in shock at being disturbed from my thoughts. Hastily, I released Doc. He stumbled back, looking surprised, in a tickled kind of way. 'Great to see you, Suze. Wow, your hair looks great! It's darker. And longer. And straighter –'
What? Was this Doc? 'Oi, who are you?' I demanded good-naturedly. 'Where's the long winded explanations about, you know, the after effects of jet lag, or whatever used to fascinate that bookworm brain of yours five years ago?'
Doc went red. 'Oh, yeah. Mom said that people looked at me funny when I did that.'
You don't say . . .
'But don't worry,' he said cheerfully, 'It's all playing in my head. You want me to tell you why you're so –'
'No,' I said quickly, 'I'm good. You, uh, wanna gimme a hand with this?' I gestured lackadaisically towards the suitcase. He seemed to snap out of something, and he swooped down and attempted to pick it up totally.
I carry a lot of shoes.
'Ow,' he wheezed, and threw it back down in alarm. God, it wasn't THAT heavy. In minor irritation, I handed him my handbag instead, and picked up the suitcase with ease.
He may have grown, but he was still a cute little wimp.
. . . But he has grown, Suze. And you were too busy making frigging lattes to care.
Oh God.
I was waiting for this to feel real. For the substance, and the reality of this had yet to hit home. But I was only suffering this very strange feeling in my stomach. It wasn't unpleasant as such, but I hoped it wouldn't linger for too long. It could have been those stupid peanuts I'd eaten on the plane – I wouldn't be surprised if the stewardesses kept them for over eighty years – or the plane trip itself. Or . . . when was the last time I ate my vegetables? Hell, even my diet was shit.
'Well, well. That certainly looked chummy.'
I looked beyond my adorable nineteen-year-old kid step, and noticed Andy for the first time. He was looking older. His hair was thinner, and his skin was a bit darker from the Carmel sun, and a little wrinklier, too. But in every way, he was the exact same wannabe-comedian/gourmet chef that my mother had married almost six years ago. Just Andy.
He came over and pulled me into a fatherly embrace. Even though he wasn't my father, it was still filled with warmth and gladness. 'Wow, you've grown,' he observed, a merry twinkle in his eyes. 'Not that that's the most flattering thing to say to a woman of your age. And from a step-dad's perspective, no less.'
'Hear hear,' I smiled. 'I was about to point that out.'
He gave me a roguish grin. 'Here, let me take that,' he offered, grabbing the suitcase from me –
- Causing him to stagger back from the weight.
I scoffed and rolled my eyes sardonically.
'Honestly . . . am I the only man here?' I asked, taking it by myself.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
'Oh, honey . . . '
Had I imagined correctly, how good it would feel to have those arms hugging me again? Did I remember how young I felt when she was holding me like that, stroking my hair and telling me how much she missed me?
No.
It was even better than I could have imagined.
After a period in my life where everything had been so wrong, and so ruthless, this was like the sweetest melody. I was on a high. These were people I cared about, all around me. People who cared about me . . .
'Hey, mum,' I grinned at her. 'Where's Dope – um, Brad and Jake?'
'Out,' she scowled at Andy. 'You said they'd be back to meet Suze again.' Andy shrugged. 'No controlling those two these days,' he gave her a silly facial expression. I laughed. Mom gave me a motherly kiss on the cheek, and fingered my hair again. 'Oh, Susie . . . your hair's beautiful. And so long! How'd you get it so straight? And all the split ends are gone! It looks amazing, Susie. Like those models on the TV –'
'Yeah,' I smiled. 'This girl next door to me, Lucinda, is a hairdresser, and she gave me a half-price deal. She straightened it and colored it and treated it with . . . well, um, I forget. But at least it's not so primitive looking anymore. I've lost the Neanderthal look now. Doesn't suit me much these days.'
She beamed, her eyes all watery. Then she hugged me again, her chin digging into my shoulder. 'Oh, my baby's home,' she kept repeating. 'My baby's home . . . '
'I'm not your baby anymore, mom,' I said in mock annoyance. 'Last time I checked, I was well and truly in the 'adult' category.'
'No, no, Susie,' she shook her head. 'You'll always be my little baby.'
Oh God . . . Someone cared. Mom always cared.
. . .
Mom, with tears of joy still in her eyes, led me upstairs and down the hallway. I had forgotten how long it was, really. When I was sixteen, I had always bounded up the stairs and down they hallway . . . to busy to notice all of the pictures Andy put up. There was a nice family portrait that we took before Brad and I went off to college. We looked like one big, happy family . . . it truly was picture perfect. I was still so young in that picture . . . young, happy, with one heck of a future ahead of me. But now . . . I was twenty-three, in depression mode major, and whatever future I still had didn't look at all appealing.
We stopped suddenly at my door. My mom nodded at me to open it, but I was a little reluctant. I didn't quite know what opening that door might mean. I wondered if, by opening it, I would suddenly be transported to the time before all of this mess . . . when my room was a place of endless hoping, dreaming, and thinking. So many unforgettable things happened in there. Tears were shed, fights were fought, and kisses were . . . well, enjoyed. By me at least. I was never so sure about the other party involved . . .
'It's okay, Susie,' my mom whispered softly, 'Go on in.'
I took a deep breath and slowly opened the door.
Whoa! I forgot how . . . pink it was. Even though it was dark outside of my bay window, the pale pink still shone through. My lamp with the pink lampshade provided a warm, cozy glow. I clapped my hands together, which turned on the overhead light. I remember how excited Andy was when he first showed me how they worked . . . the first day I landed in Carmel. That was the first day of the rest of my life.
My mom left the room. I forgot if she told me something first, or what. I was too busy soaking it in. The memories, they all flooded back in my brain simultaneously. I felt a bit overwhelmed, so I dropped my luggage and plopped down on my frilly pink canopy bed.
It was great to be home. Carmel was still my home.
It always had been . . .
But home was missing something . . . or someone really. I rested my head one of my soft pillows and turned my head towards the bay window and just stared at it for a bit. I was really just waiting . . . waiting for answers . . . waiting for a sign.
Oh, and I guess you could say I was waiting for Jesse too. I guess it was an old habit. Seeing Jesse by the bay window, I mean. It was his favorite spot in my room, after all. Or maybe he was bound by his nineteenth century manners not to get too near. Yeah right! He probably didn't want to get anywhere near me at all . . .
Why was I thinking of him? That part of my life was over . . . the part where I ponder over Jesse's true intentions. I'm not some schoolgirl with a crush anymore . . . I am a grown woman. I need to think of more mature things. Like my speech.
CRAP! I have to make a speech the day after tomorrow! What am I going to say to these people?
I rolled off of my bed and searched my drawers for an old spiral that hadn't been used for years. Then I found a pencil and started writing whatever was on my mind.
Funny, though. As I closed my eyes, visualising what all my peers would be like now, in the future, all I could think of were bad, offensive thoughts. I scrawled down angrily . . .
'Well wow. Look at everyone. We've grown up, haven't we? I look out and before me, I see the same old people. Well, young people, just, um, older. You know, with a couple more wrinkles and stuff, and more plastic surgery than five years ago. Yes, Debbie Mancuso, I'm looking at YOU. And Scott Turner, did you think no one would notice how your nose just MAGICALLY shrunk? Puh-lease. But yeah. I mean, it really wasn't THAT big . . . it's just that, well, you know. It's definitely smaller. You certainly got your money's worth . . . Oh my GOD, Dopey . . . or Brad, whatever one of the dwarves you are these days . . . I'm talking about his NOSE, okay? STAY FOCUSED.' I paused momentarily, sniggering in not such a polite way. I was enjoying this. It was wrong, and I was enjoying it. There is no redemption for me. I continued.
'But anyway . . . we all had really great memories . . . like the time when Kelly lost her contact lens in History and we all had to find it. That was educational. Um . . . yeah. it was . . . Taught us the history of 'Just wear GLASSES. They're bigger and easier to SEE, God dammit.' Or that one time at lunch when Brad got in that huge fight with Scott over a tray of fries. Well, its a good thing you guys weren't that hungry. It's people like you who make food for the birds MUCH more enjoyable. And a lesson to everyone who got an A in Science studies? Burn the documents, the records, EVERYTHING. Look what happened to science nerd Michael Meducci? Landed himself in jail. That's all your future holds. You will be too smart for the rest of the generation. The dumbasses will turn against you. You WILL be betrayed. No justice. So let the grades BURN. Like, um, Salem witches or something . . . '
This was HORRIBLE. Why did I feel so proud of it?
'Then there's all the guys, totally checking the girls out still. HAVE YOU NO SHAME? Didn't you, like, grow out of that or something? For God's sake. You have to wonder, ladies, why men think they're smarter. I mean, seriously. Diamonds are a girl's best friend. Dog is a man's best friend. Three guesses who the dumber sex is, sheesh . . . Talk about testosterone poisoning. . . . No offense, Father Dom. I know you were only looking at Sister Ernestine's butt because someone posted a 'kick me' sign on it . . . suuuure . . . And tut tut, Father Dominic. I mean, I know that you silly men like to go for the large chested woman . . . but there's such thing as OTT, you know? Next, of course, we have Kelly Prescott. Beautiful, popular, perfect Princess Kelly. Well, beauty is skin-deep. But yeah, give that girl some sand paper and she'll think it's a map of the Sahara Desert. I mean, what's her ambition in life, anyway? Be like Vanna White and learn the alphabet? Bet her parents are so proud. It's called 'blondness,' people. Avoid it at all costs.'
I could just see that perfect blond face, staring at me in anger and . . . hurt. And then , I moved onto a subject that was most pressing in my mind. Something I had to get out . . .
'And then, into the quiet, Catholic Mission one day, breezes this Adonis. This dark angel. This god, with his cool, mysterious confidence, his dark curls, his crystalline eyes of sheer blue ice, and a voice as low as the distant rumble of thunder. Guys like these can only come out of the movies, right? The ones that are so perfect, that 'perfection' seems too weak a word? Yeah, well, every shark has his teeth. Sharp, and ever menacing, in those dazzling smiles they give, trying to lure you in, just so you can come a little closer . . . So they can go for the kill – Paul, stop grinning. This is NOT funny!! – and these are the guys that make you wish that you practiced kick-boxing more religiously –'
Suze STOP IT.
Well, so much for being a mature woman . . .
I couldn't believe myself. These people honored me by choosing me as their Vice President three years in a row and accepting me . . . and what did I do? I had to go on bashing them like some pathetic little girl with low self-esteem. I felt bad about my own miserable life that I wanted to bring everyone down with me. Talk about unfair!
Nothing is fair anymore.
Obviously, I was not in the greatest speech writing mood. I just wanted to go to bed and get some sleep. I had this really bad feeling in my gut. I don't know if it really meant something or if it was the jet lag talking.
I fell backward onto my pillow and clapped my hands for the light to turn off. The moon was shining through my open bay window, making it shine with a peculiar glow. I couldn't bear to look at it anymore so I jammed my eyes shut and turned myself completely around so I couldn't see it.
Yup, kids. You're looking at a new Susannah Simon. A new Suze that has straight elbow-length hair, that is currently unemployed, and one that can't keep a boyfriend. Oh yeah, and she sleeps with a quilt pulled over her face.
If only it were easier to breathe that way.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I awoke to the smell of something delicious . . . chicken fried steak? Whatever it was it smelled really good. I hadn't smelt food that good in suck a long time. The very scent was wrung with warm memories of dinners at the Ackerman household. Home. I was home again . . . A rush of glee squeezed me pleasantly.
I poked out of my quilt and slowly got up. I looked at my alarm clock on my nightstand, which read 11:00 am. Whoa, I sure did sleep in. I yawned widely as I stretched out. It looked like a beautiful day from my bay window, which was . . . closed? Weird. It was open last night. I guessed Andy had developed a new hatred for bugs or something. Or maybe mom was afraid of me catching pneumonia. Or maybe . . . ah, forget it.
I slipped out of bed and staggered towards my bathroom. I noticed my reflection in the mirror . . . oh God. I looked like a caveman. My hair somehow managed to end up a fuzzy mess and I was still wearing my Starbucks uniform. I was a wreck. My life was a wreck . . .
You know what I needed? A nice, cleansing bath. That would just have to happen, you know . . .
And once I was done, I emerged a totally clean, refreshed person. Well, after I blow dried my hair and applied a bit of make-up to that massive stress zit popping up in the middle of my forehead. Okay, okay I wasn't looking too badly for someone who just woke up from a 5-year nightmare that was her life and was now safe and sound in the place she calls home. Especially since I was wearing a purple off-the-shoulder top with these classy black pants. Now all I had to do was go see what was cooking downstairs.
I clomped downstairs and into the dining room where Andy was serving lunch. I was right. It was chicken fried steak, topped with Andy's special gravy that he made from scratch served with a side of corn and one massive dinner roll. He still had his touch.
'You're awake,' my mother noticed as I took a seat at the table. 'Did you have a peaceful rest?'
'Yeah, mom, it was great,' I replied truthfully. I hadn't gotten that kind of sleep in years, but I couldn't tell her that. She would, after all, throw a huge fit. I didn't want to worry her with something like that.
'Suze, you decided to come,' I heard a voice behind me said so suddenly. I looked behind me and hopped up as fast as possible.
'Sleep-I mean, Jake!' I said as I propelled myself into my oldest stepbrother's arms.
'Hey, it's nice to see you again. It's been awhile, hasn't it?' he asked. He still looked the same, except he looked a little less tired and a little more sophisticated. He actually cut his hair, so he no longer possessed that surfer look. Although, judging by his tan, I'm sure he had spent his spare time catching some waves every now-and-then.
'Sure has,' I said as I let go of him. He wandered into the kitchen to give my mom a hug and help her out with dessert. Just then, I heard the door open and from it came Dopey, in the flesh and blood.
'Hey Brad,' I called from where I was standing, waving my hand slightly. I wasn't about to give him a hug or anything because, let's face it, we weren't that close. That would be disgusting.
Once he saw me, he went into this huge coughing spell. I ran over to him and started patting him on the back while making sure he was all right.
'Suze,' he wheezed, 'I-is that you? Whoa.'
'Yep,' I replied as I escorted him to the kitchen to get a glass of water, 'It's me.'
'But . . . but you're . . . you've changed,' Brad stammered as I filled a cup with water.
'Well DUH. It's only been, like, what? Five years or so?' I asked him as I raised an eyebrow.
'You're . . . like, whoa . . . I uh . . . I'm gonna go take a seat.'
Well, I guess he'd never been that articulate. And I guess he had lost his gracefulness too. He was tripping around on the way back to the dining room. Then when he pushed the swinging doors opened he turned back around, looked me over once more, and smiled. Oh my God . . . you're KIDDING ME.
I shall take a second out of being an adult.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
. . . Thank you.
I shook my head in utter disgust and headed back into the dining room and took my seat. I placed my napkin in my lap as was custom, and Max, though looking very old for a dog, rested his head in my lap. I patted him lovingly and whispered to him, 'I missed you old buddy. I'll drop you some chicken fried steak.'
During lunch, Jake and Brad filled me in on everything that was going on. Jake's pizza business was going just fine, as they managed to out sell Peninsula Pizza. Surprisingly, he seemed to know a lot about becoming an entrepreneur, as he was giving me some tips just in case I 'wanted to spread my wings'. I would never in a million years expect him to say something like that, but I guess times are a changin'. And he actually bought that Camaro he's always wanted. He bragged about how souped up it was and what he planned to do with it next.
Brad, however, didn't really say much to me. And when he did, it was all mumbling and stuttering. I managed to find out, however, that he hasn't flunked out of college yet. In fact, he was top of his class in English . . . a big surprise since he bombed it in high school. Jake later informed me that Brad had the hots for his professor, who was, according to Jake, 'a total babe'. No wonder he passed. I guess some things never change.
After a lovely lunch, I offered to help clean the dishes and Sleepy, Dopey, and Doc all insisted on helping. Doc was really excited about college and his plans to become the next Bill Gates. He had gotten some major scholarships that covered schooling, books, and board. Lucky duck. I mean, Doc.
'So . . . um, Suze. You going to that Mass today?' Brad asked as he sidled next to me.
'Mass? What Mass?' I asked as I threw him a towel so he could help me dry dishes.
'You didn't hear? There's going to be a Mass for us at 3 this afternoon. You know, because it's our reunion and all,' Brad replied.
'Really?' I asked, 'I guess I'll go then.'
'Need a lift?' he offered. 'I was planning to go too.'
'No thanks, I'm good,' I rejected his offer. As much as I'd love to bond with my stepbrother, I just didn't feel like actually being in a car with him. Especially after he's eaten chicken fried steak.
With that, I left Brad to finish drying the dishes as I jogged up the stairs. And boy was I surprised when I came in my room to see Spike, sitting at my closed window mewing loudly, as if to want in. What was he doing here? He lived in the rectory now. He really never lived in my room anyway, he just came and went as he pleased, not bothering to show up unless . . .
I looked around my room suspiciously, eyeing for evidence that would explain Spike's unexpected visit. No lost chipmunks, no stranded birdies, and definitely no Jesse in sight. Though, I wasn't really worried about the first two on the list. It was third that I was freaking over.
I blindly picked up my purse and decided to head on over to the mission early. I felt this urge to just go somewhere, anywhere but stay in my room. Plus, I wanted to see if I could catch Father Dominic before he began preparing for Mass. God . . . it was going to be so good, seeing him again . . . I think it was one of the things I needed the most.
So I headed out in the Honda Civic that I rented. It was nice driving in the Californian afternoon. The sun was shining a bright white color in the cloudless blue sky. It reflected itself on the ocean in a blindingly beautiful manner. It was the kind of bright summer afternoon that left you wanting to go to the beach and relax while drinking an ice cold Diet Coke. But, alas, no beach for Suze Simon . . . yet.
I pulled into the back parking lot and slowly walked inside the mission. The place hadn't changed a bit. The hallways were still dark and cool while the courtyard was bright and warm. I strolled around a bit looking for my old locker among the others. Locker 273 was unique from all the others. The dents that one ghosts, Heather, put in it were bent back so you almost couldn't tell anymore. Well, almost anyway.
I heard doors open as students were flooding out of their classrooms. It was passing period already. I stood there and watched the students pass me by, dodging me. I saw Sister Ernestine getting on to some poor girl about her skirt length and threatened her with detention. I laughed to myself for a bit and turned back to my old locker.
All of a sudden I felt a slight tug on my sleeve. I turned, finding myself eye to eye with a curly-headed kid. He must have been really tall for his age, because he was nearly as tall as I was. I guessed he was about fourteen or so, give or take a few years.
'Uh, Miss? That's my locker that you're . . . ' the kid trailed off as his blue eyes widened.
'I'm sorry if this is your locker,' I apologized, blushing. 'It's just that, well, a long time ago this locker used to be mine too and I was just . . . '
'I know you,' the kid told me, his eyes now glistening.
'W-what?' I asked, bewildered.
'You're Suze,' he said my name with a smile. 'Suze Simon. Do you remember me?'
I had difficulty placing a name with that face. He had this familiar curly brown hair and these wide icy blue eyes with brown spots in them. He smiled widely showing most of his pure white teeth. He reminded me forcefully of someone . . . Paul Slater. But this kid was young, so it couldn't have possibly been . . . oh! I knew . . .
'. . . Jack? Jack Slater?' I said in a disbelieving whisper.
Jack nodded, and his smile grew wider. Boy, Jack grew up. He wasn't that whiny little kid anymore with that unruly hair and caved in chest. He actually had somewhat of a tan and his smile was slightly shy. He obviously had a fair few friends, because they kept milling in and out going, 'Hey Jack,' and then heading to their classes. Just one shocker after another.
'Jack, it's so nice to see you. Whoa, you've grown,' I said as I ruffled his hair playfully. He scowled and rolled his eyes. He must have been eighth grade by now, or ninth. He looked older. I pulled him into a big hug, in which he nearly crushed my ribs to pieces.
'Jeez, you must work out or something,' I wheezed once he let go.
He blushed and replied shyly, 'I'm on the swim team.' Whoa. Swim team? I remembered when he was afraid of water. Actually he was afraid of everything back then. I kind of snorted. Oh, the irony.
The halls were empty now, except for the occasional late person running to their class. Sr. Ernestine got on to them for being late and running down the halls . . . both major offenses in her book. I saw her trudging down the halls, targeting us as her next victims. Of course, I couldn't get in trouble, but I really didn't want poor Jack to feel her wrath.
'Jack, you better get to class. I don't want Sr. Ernestine on your trail,' I told him as I looked back at the nun who used to wreck my weekend plans in high school. She (fortunately) didn't recognize me, but she did do something shocking. She waved (!) and smiled (!!) at Jack, and she didn't bug him about loitering in the halls (!!!).
'It's okay, Suze. Sister Ernestine and I are like this,' he said as he crossed his fingers. I laughed at the thought of Sr. Ernestine actually getting along with kids. In fact, it was kinda scary.
'Plus,' he continued, 'She knows I'm going to Father Dom's office. She thinks I'm in counseling. That's why she's always so nice to me.'
That statement caused me to snort rather unattractively, but it really didn't matter to me. I wished Father Dom had come up with something like that for me back then. Would have saved me some strange looks.
'I was just going there myself,' I grinned. Why did I feel so amazingly happy? It was almost unwelcome, because of its rarity. 'Do you mind if I crash your 'counseling' session?'
'Nope, I don't care. Nothing's going on right now, if you know what I mean.'
So we enjoyed pleasant conversation as we walked down the shaded halls. I figured out that once Paul graduated, Rick and Nancy were still worried about Grandpa Slaski's (er, I mean Slater) health. He was doing a whole lot better and he continued to throw a fit every time they tried to send him to the old folk's home. Jack had convinced his parents that, even though he was young, he could still help out. He confided that he really just wanted away from his parents. I wouldn't blame him, considering how they pretty much neglected him at the Pebble Beach hotel and Golf Resort. So they shipped him out here, and he's been in Carmel ever since. Aww, good for Jack. He was so happy. So good-natured and cheery. It was strange to be around someone like this again. Massachusetts had been home to so many lost souls, looking for their purpose on this earth, like me. No one had really existed to live. Jack did, you could tell. He really liked it here, he told me. He said he had cool friends and that Father Dominic was always there to help him out.
'And when Father Dom is busy flipping out about visits from the archbishop or when I just want to talk about other stuff, I go to Jesse,' he said.
I stopped in my tracks. Stopped dead. Frozen. Speechless.
'J-Jesse?' I spluttered, my eyes wide and still.
'Yeah,' he stopped too. 'You remember him. You told me he was your best friend. Isn't he cool? He taught me all these awesome old-timey first aid tips. He also taught me how to act at dances and stuff. You see one time, I wanted to ask this one girl named-'
I didn't hear the rest of the story, because I shut down. Jesse. He was still around. He still hadn't moved on. And he was Jack's mentor and best friend . . . like he had been to me. I started walking again in a daze. I wondered if he had ever saved Jack's life before or if he ever talked about our adventures together. I wondered if he ever thought about me whenever he had to scold Jack for doing something stupid. Though Jack received a very formal education about Mediation, so I doubt he got into too much trouble.
'Here we are, Suze,' Jack said as he motioned to the door that read 'Principal' in very bold printing. He ducked inside, as to formally introduce me with the, "Hey, you'll NEVER guess who just popped in for a cuppa?" or something, but he slid back out, with a grimace. 'Secretary said he might be in the chapel,' he shrugged. 'Still wanna come?'
'Duh,' I replied, giving a little smile. Father Dom. He was probably preparing for the mass. I dimly remembered that time that I exorcised myself in that church, and how Maria had been there, and how I'd almost died to save Je –
. . . Nothing.
We reached the chapel in no time. Jack quietly pushed the huge golden doors open, and gestured for me to come in. In contrast with the rest of the bubbling school, well . . . this was so quiet. Eerily quiet. Unnerving . . . Eesh, churches these days.
'Father D? Father D!' Jack said in a loud whisper. I looked up at the statue of Mary. She stared down at me with forgiving eyes, extending her hand out in a "I am holy. You are not. So ha" kind of way. The whole church was kind of dark. Candles were flickering along the alter, and above all of the pews in an intimidating way. I winced a little, hearing my feet echo on the cold floor as I walked down the aisle. I felt like a bride, for some distorted reason. You know, the "walking down the aisle" thing. It was weird. And duuuude, I wasn't going to make a very spesh bride anytime soon. Yeah, go the post-mental Suze.
'Father Dom! Where are ya?'
I kind of jumped when he continued calling. I was beginning to feel very much so alone. Like a draft had swept through the church, chilling my arms. I looked up at the very large crucifix beside Mary. Jesus, on the cross. He looked condemning. I felt like I'd mortally sinned.
It was about then that I heard it.
Him.
'Well, would you look at that . . . It's none other than Susannah Simon.'
I felt my blood run horribly, horribly cold. I didn't return around. I couldn't. I was immobilized. I silently willed that the voice I recognized so well did not exist. I heard the mirth, and the satirical amusement in his voice. It cut, and condescended.
No . . . NO. Not NOW!
I felt like all air had been ripped from my chest.
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Eeek. Well? You dudes all know the deal. REVIEW QUICKLY, and we'll UPDATE QUICKLY. Trust me, we will. Hayles and I are still on the turbo "LET'S WRITE!!" mode.
So please, update? We promise, it the plot will thicken dramatically . . .
Hayley: Thank you guys so much for reviewing! This is the lovely chapter 2! Many things will be explained later, don't worry! We promise not to confuse you . . . much! We actually BOTH wrote this one! This is dedicated to all of you who reviewed!
Lolly: Yeah . . . Hayles likes her exclamation marks, doesn't she? Ugh . . . Please enjoy, with our compliments.
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Despite all of my anger and sadness that I had built up in the previous years . . . the heartache and my overall down-and-out status . . . I decided to go to the stupid reunion.
I know, I know. How sad of me. I had every chance to escape my past and move forward. But that's all I've been trying to do for the past five years . . . trying to move on. But I couldn't . . . I can't. That was another failure to add to the mile-long list.
Well, believe it or not, I had a method to my madness.
I really thought that maybe if I went back home, I would see why I vowed to leave and never come back in the first place. And once I experienced the reunion and saw how crappy my life would have been, I could really move on.
Okay, okay . . . I also wanted that feeling of normalcy again. I had felt so out of place for a really long time, and I just wanted to be Suze Simon . . . pretty, well liked, and extremely kick-butt. That was the girl I used to be . . . the one I wanted to return to more than anything else. I was an adult now. I couldn't fool myself anymore. I wanted to be back home, safe in my room with its big ocean-view and its cozy pink décor. I wanted to be with my mom and to be able to sit down with my stepfamily and eat those gourmet meals that Andy cooked every night.
. . . Just to thing. Five years had been and gone, I'd lived in Massachusetts, and still, I called Carmel my home, didn't I? Because it was home. I didn't want it to be anymore, but it was. And it always would be.
I wanted to feel the feelings I haven't felt in so long. Ones I've tried to reproduce with terrible results . . . pushing, yelling, slapping. All of these things . . . I would have killed to get them back.
I've wasted too many years being the poster-candidate for Zoloft. I just had to break free!
Freedom, however, came at a price . . . $249 that is. And even if I worked double-shifts, I'd never come up with that kind of money! God, were we just supposed to go and pick $249 off a tree or something?
I desperately made a list of people I could call. Not that the list was too long. I had separated myself from all of these great people . . . but one wonderful person still remained.
My best friend in the entire universe . . . Gina.
It's no joke bumming money from your best friend. It takes a lot of guts to admit that you are in a slump . . . that you need someone to pick you up off the ground.
So I took a deep breath, sunk down into my favorite chair, and put my hand on the receiver. Just as I was about to pick it up and dial, the phone rang. Ugh.
'Call Central, Suze speaking,' I answered with annoyance.
'Simon?' a deep, gruff voice said on the other end. 'This is Mr. Lowe. I need to speak with you for a moment.' Oh, the pleasure . . .
'Uh, yes sir, Mr. Lowe . . . but uh, could I call you back?' I asked, my tone instantly dropping but my annoyance was still present.
'No,' he commanded. 'I need to speak to you now.'
I could just see him on the other line, twisting his handlebar mustache as he was talking. He had a tendency to do that when he was preying upon defenseless trainees. At the worst of times, I slipped into that category.
Sad, init?
'Yes sir, Mr. Lowe,' I replied sheepishly.
'I wanted to speak with you today because I've noticed that your work has been suffering lately,' he said in his macho-man voice. If he spoke any louder, the phone would blow up. He had no respect for communicational technology. But . . . OI! SUFFERING?! 'You've been slacking off a lot, Simon . . . daydreaming and what-not. I've also heard complaints of you yelling at other customers. Tamara told me that she saw you harassing one of our regular customers just yesterday.'
'But Mr. Lowe, that was just Cole. He's been, um, kind of, er, stalking me lately. You see, he wants –'
'Simon, shut it. No excuses, this time,' Mr. Lowe grunted. 'I can't have you risking the image of Starbucks, and as manager I feel I have a duty to nip this in the bud.'
Oh my God.
My apartment slipped out of focus and my eyes glazed over. No, I wasn't crying, but I just couldn't believe the words that were coming from this receiver. The funny smell of my apartment bothered me more than ever. It was a mixture between coffee – my doing – and feet – SO not my doing. Maybe that was what was making my eyes water? The feet smell? Who wants to smell feet anyway? Feet are gross. But, you know, I doubt that they have that onion effect. The make-you-cry effect thing, I mean.
'Y-you're firing me?' I asked mournfully, my grip of the receiver incredibly hard. Hell, I didn't have respect for communicational technology either. I was practically crushing the phone. I couldn't believe it. After all of my hard work, I was getting fired! All because of my stupid stalker- ex-boyfriend.
YO, COLE? YOU SUCK!
'This is your two-weeks notice,' he continued as if I had never said a word, 'But I want you gone by tomorrow.'
I wanted to tell him off then and there. No one, I mean NO ONE fires Suze Simon. Not like that, anyway.
I wanted to scream at him, 'Well, you have no idea who you just fired, chump! I may be young, but I have my whole life ahead of me. I can grow up to be something other than an old, cranky manager of STARBUCKS that enjoys making the young people he hires feel like crap. So take back your stupid, ugly apron and use it to clean the staff bathroom! Take your two-weeks- notice and SHOVE IT! HAHA! I'm strong, I'm invincible, I'm WOMAN!'
Okay, so not only is that a bit psycho, but I actually didn't say anything like that. It actually came out as . . .
'Um . . . yes sir, Mr. Lowe.'
I felt so small, so terrible.
But why? I hated that stupid job, looking at that ugly brown wallpaper, seeing my freak ex, and wearing that pukey forest green apron! Oh, and I definitely won't miss smelling like coffee every waking moment . . .
But still. I was failing. One more disappointment. That's all I was, wasn't it? A disappointment. Hell, the last ghost I helped, I had to exorcise. And he wasn't even that bad. Broke a couple of windows, sure. But I had exorcised him, because I had given up. I hadn't tried hard enough. I'd failed at that too . . .
My glazed eyes suddenly became kinda wet again.
NO! NOT AGAIN! NEVER!!!!
Yeah. Go the waterworks. I'd rather be BLEEDING than crying. It was HORRIBLE. This internal, abstract pain was RELENTLESS.
I shouldn't have been crying . . . I should have been celebrating! I, Susannah Simon, was one step closer to freedom! I hung up the phone with a new sense of joy and relief. I deserved way better than that dump!
With my new tenacity, I was able to pump myself up to call Gina. I picked up the phone and dialed her number, which I knew by heart. I waited three rings for an answer.
'You rang?' someone answered the phone with a dry tone. And then . . .
Well, I panicked.
'Sorry, uh, wrong number,' I said as I disguised my voice.
'Suze, it's nice to hear from you again,' Gina said flatly. 'You didn't call last week.'
'H-how did you know it was me?' I asked, yet again feeling small.
'I have caller ID, remember?' Gina replied crisply.
'God. I'm such a loser Gina,' I confided. 'Mr. Lowe on Patience was just on the phone. He fired me. Can you believe it?'
'Way to go, Simon! How long did you manage to keep this job?' Gina asked with a laugh.
'Shut up,' I told her, smiling to myself.
Gina was always like that. I'd do something completely idiotic, and she'd make me feel better by turning it into a big joke. She was the only light in the darkness that was my life. Just, you know. A long distance light. Like, a satellite or something.
Gina the Satellite. Should call her Spudnick or something.
'So, what now?' Gina asked, the dryness in her tone leaving. 'Are you on the hunt for a new job or something?'
'No . . . not yet,' I told her. 'I just need to . . . well, could you . . . I really need . . . what I'm trying to say is . . . '
'You need some cash?' Gina asked. 'Feel free to ask, I'm loaded. I tell ya, Suze. The rich guys are the only way to go. Evan's totally landed this huge inheritance from his dead aunt, or something. And babe, here's me, sitting pretty on a silken couch, reaping the rewards. In the form Godiva chocolates, no less. So, want some dough then?'
To make . . . bread?
Oh, dough. Duh, Suze.
'Well, since you offered,' I said, another smile crept on my face. 'Yeah, I could really use the money. I got invited to the fifth year reunion at my high school, and I need to buy a plane ticket home. It's . . . uh, $249 . . . '
'I'm on my way to the bank. I can wire it to you right now. And I'll make it three hundred, okay Suze? Say, 'thank you aunty Gina.' '
'Oh my God, thank you!' I squealed. 'Gina, you are a living saint! An angel from heaven! You just, um, gotta croak or whatever before they canonize you or something. Or maybe you can go all Joan of Arc and die for God or something, you know, go all martyr and shit? . . . But dude, you don't know how much I need this. I totally promise once I get back on my feet I'll –'
'Don't waste your breath, Simon,' Gina stopped me mid-sentence. 'You don't have to pay me back. I think I still owe you a ton of money from buying me all that ice-cream when we were little.'
That ice cream? Oh yeah, THAT $249 ice cream . . .
'Gina,' I said as I slipped on some shoes. 'I'm going to the bank right now. Thank you so much! You've saved my sorry ass once again! I can't thank you enough! Bye!'
I hung up the phone and put it back in its cradle.
Surprisingly, I've felt better than I had in awhile.
Carmel looked closer than ever.
I was tripping all over myself with happiness and anticipation as I walked out of my door. Wait a minute . . .
I wasn't tripping on my feet . . . I was tripping on . . .
Oh. My. God. No way . . . no freaking way!
I had been tripping on this incredible bouquet of two dozen beautiful red roses, placed right in front of my doorway. Shit, there were so many! They were blood red, and there were still beads of water on the crimson petals. The colour was intense. The wrapping was silver and black, and it shimmered in the dim light from my apartment. I reached down slowly and plucked the card from the heap of flowers, feeling crestfallen when I recognized the penmanship.
'Suze', it said in lanky cursive, 'One day you'll see that we were meant to be. You don't realize it now, but you can't live without me. Admit it. You need me. You want me. You love me. You'll face the facts one day . . . and you know where I'll be. Right here . . . waiting for you. Call me some time, babe. Remember . . . I'll be waiting. Wake up, Suze. Love, Cole.'
God . . . why couldn't he just leave me the hell alone? He just didn't know where to stop. He harassed me at work, he beat me up in alley-ways . . . what was next? Quite honestly, I didn't want to find out. What I couldn't make sense of was why he was even bothering. I mean, seriously. Sure, I wasn't a dog. Not by any means. I'd been out with a whole handful of guys in the past five years – no drastic, skanky number, but enough to know that I wasn't a complete eyesore. And I'd managed to keep, my, uh . . . you know, virtue. Kinda heavy make-out, maybe, but none of it affected my chastity. I wasn't going to throw something like that away on some one- night-stand guy. No way. I had more self-respect than that. But the people that I'd been seeing, well . . . they didn't have much respect for me. I think the longest relationship that I'd been in was about a month. That was with Luke. But yeah, he'd up and left when I, er, told him I wasn't ready still. Turned out he'd made a bet with his best friend that he could, um, you know. The loser lost the bet, and I'm glad. I tell you now, I gave him an ass kicking he won't forget in a hurry. I felt like some stupid trophy. This girl that people wanted just to show off and have on display. It wasn't fair! I felt I deserved something better, you know? Not to just dress up and look nice, but to, you know, actually talk to the person I was in the relationship with? But yeah. The only thing these guys were interested in was gettin' some booty.
DO I LOOK LIKE A BOOTY BAR TO YOU?
. . . It was always the same, here. All the guys were exactly the same. They were all pigs. Users. Assholes. But why? Did I have such a horrible personality? Why did guys just assume I was so easy? And how embarrassing was it, to know that I was twenty-three years old, and I still hadn't . . . yeah.
Ha. Twenty three years old and I still am embarrassed to say 'sex.'
But this place. It sucked the life out of me. There was nothing here. It was hell. A blue, grey, bottomless, cold, unmerciful, scything hell and it RIPPED ME TO PIECES.
. . . Oh my God. I had to leave . . . I had to leave now.
NOW.
I tore the card into shreds furiously, and threw it into the Massachusetts breeze – which wasn't all that impressive, tonight. But it carried that card away from me. I was glad. I seized the bouquet, ran outside and dumped it in the trash. It looked so out of place among the old newspapers and the banana peels and stuff, but it more than deserved to be there. Then I ran back inside my apartment, and started grabbing all of my clothes, stuffing it into bags. Randomly, with hardly anything going through my head but an angry buzzing of a million bees, I just snatched things from all my cabinets; bottles, make-up, hair brushes, everything. Everything in my wardrobe – shoes, clothes, hats, hand bags - was poured into a large suitcase. All I could hear was the buzzing. The whirring of my overdriven mind. I slid into my brown leather coat, hiding my stupid green Starbucks attire, and dragged all my bags outside to the elevator. I heaved everything in, pressed the ground floor, and waited silently as a familiar lurching feeling occurred in my lower belly. Even though I knew, I couldn't tell whether the elevator was moving up or down . . .
I had to leave.
Leave.
Get out.
. . . . . . . .
I'm lifting you up
I'm letting you down
I'm dancing till dawn
I'm fooling around
I'm not giving up
I'm making your love
This city's made us crazy
And we must get out
- Maroon 5
. . . . . . . .
I had to get the heck out of there. I couldn't stay there in that apartment anymore. Not when Cole was like this . . . stalking me. Waiting for me . . .
At least, not until I was ready again. To face this life. I wasn't strong enough yet . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It kind of went by in a blur. I couldn't think straight. Not when I flagged down a taxi prepared to carry all of my bags. Not when I went to the bank to get the money that Gina had wired. Not when I caught another taxi to the airport . . .
I was leaving.
It was all so fast.
What about my apartment? What about my CAR? Would it just sit there? Get nicked? Vandalized? What?! What would happen to all of my stuff if I didn't come back within the next two months? The fridge? That poor, defenseless milk. It was going to go above and beyond the used by date. Did I care about the people in the third-world countries who could have been drinking that milk? No.
And what about Boston College? My second choice college? Why had it been so hard trying to get into NoCal, but BC had been a breeze? Yeah, NoCal had no more space. Stupid late applications . . . WHY COULDN'T I HAVE JUST STAYED IN CARMEL WITH JESSE?! But yeah, I'd done most of the courses through, right? It was only Art History left now. Who cared about that? I majored in Psychology. That was fine. I was done there. I didn't need to stay. What would it matter if I just . . . didn't turn up there next week? Nothing mattered.
NOTHING.
. . . Where did I go? What happened to me? Where did I lose myself, so hopelessly? Why was everything such a mess? Such a filthy, demolished mess?
Yeah. I know exactly where all of this crap started.
. . . With Jesse.
I wasn't thinking about much that night when I was on that plane, back to Carmel. I didn't know how I managed to get everything right. You know, pay for the ticket, organize for Andy to come and pick me up, book the flight, get all my luggage on board . . . while I was in such a daze. I felt like my mind had shut down. I was just reacting to things without thinking. Without having opinions on anything. I couldn't feel anything. It was all numb. I wasn't sure . . . wasn't sure what I was doing, or why. I mean, I vaguely knew why. I had to get out of Massachusetts, I know. Away from Cole, from the green uniform that I wore everyday double-shift, away from Boston College, from the apartment.
Away from this life I was trying to live.
Trying, and failing.
This couldn't be called living, surely not.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Arrivals part of the airport was jam-packed. I had this nervous flickering feeling at the pit of my stomach. Everything was so busy! What if Andy had forgotten to come? What if I was stuck here? Would he remember to pick me up? Did mum tell him that I would be here? That I was counting on him being here? I needed to see him? To reassure myself that this wasn't just some stupid fantasy I was having, having nodded off in the storeroom at Starbucks again, awaiting a big yelling-at from Lowe-in-calcium. It was all starting to feel a little nightmarish, actually, with so many people milling around me, calling, running to greet other people, and electrically magnified voices calling delayed passengers on the speakers, when a word broke the whole falsity of everything.
That word was my name.
'Suze!'
I was still in my Starbucks uniform, and my brown coat. I had Ray Bans on, although I didn't know why. My beige Kate Spade was clutched punctiliously in my left hand, and I was dragging my suitcase along in my right. I hadn't slept on the flight, the food had been second to road kill, the little kid behind me had been kicking my chair, I'd seen a middle-aged female ghost who wanted mediation, and wanted it now, who I'd cordially escorted to the Shadowland until I had time to properly do my job, I had a killer post- shifting headache, I desperately needed a shower and a rigorous date with my punching bag, and so, generally? I wasn't feeling all that hot.
So when a nineteen-year-old redhead launches himself into your arms and practically crushes you, well, you'd feel a little squeamish too.
At first I didn't recognize him. I didn't recognize the tall, lanky body and the deeper, mature voice. I didn't recognize the clothes that he wore, or his acne-spotted face. But then, I did recognize that familiar 'Max' smell on him. I recognized his eyes, minus the glasses. I recognized that weedy smile, and the fierceness of his red hair.
It was Doc.
Oh my God . . . where had I been?
My mouth fell open in surprise, and in . . . something else. I, um . . . I think it was anguish.
WHERE HAD I BEEN?
This little nerdy guy had grown up! He wasn't the I-have-a-project-due-in-a- month-but-I-already-finished-it boy that I'd left at the end of the twelfth grade. Here he was, older, wiser – pimplier, yeah – taller, grown up. My favorite step-brother had grown up.
And I'd been too busy wallowing in misery over in Mass to be there for him.
Oh my God.
Time was a thief, a pirate! I'd missed so many years of David Ackerman's life – the bits where, as a sister, I get to give him girl advice and tell him exactly how to coordinate his clothes as not to look so geeky. But noooo. I'd skipped town to run away from everything. I was always running. I still am.
These years had been stolen.
And it wasn't fair.
The handbag slipped from my hand, as did the suitcase handle. I closed my eyes, and tightly hugged Doc back, silently praying for forgiveness. For not being there. For not being the sister I should have been.
Not step-sister.
Sister.
I buried my face into his shoulder affectionately – the little bloke was now taller than me! Wasn't that rude? – and held him closely. I felt horrible. I felt like, in some sick, strange way, I'm betrayed him as well by leaving. By running away from Carmel. Away from Jesse.
'Um . . . Suze?'
I blinked in shock at being disturbed from my thoughts. Hastily, I released Doc. He stumbled back, looking surprised, in a tickled kind of way. 'Great to see you, Suze. Wow, your hair looks great! It's darker. And longer. And straighter –'
What? Was this Doc? 'Oi, who are you?' I demanded good-naturedly. 'Where's the long winded explanations about, you know, the after effects of jet lag, or whatever used to fascinate that bookworm brain of yours five years ago?'
Doc went red. 'Oh, yeah. Mom said that people looked at me funny when I did that.'
You don't say . . .
'But don't worry,' he said cheerfully, 'It's all playing in my head. You want me to tell you why you're so –'
'No,' I said quickly, 'I'm good. You, uh, wanna gimme a hand with this?' I gestured lackadaisically towards the suitcase. He seemed to snap out of something, and he swooped down and attempted to pick it up totally.
I carry a lot of shoes.
'Ow,' he wheezed, and threw it back down in alarm. God, it wasn't THAT heavy. In minor irritation, I handed him my handbag instead, and picked up the suitcase with ease.
He may have grown, but he was still a cute little wimp.
. . . But he has grown, Suze. And you were too busy making frigging lattes to care.
Oh God.
I was waiting for this to feel real. For the substance, and the reality of this had yet to hit home. But I was only suffering this very strange feeling in my stomach. It wasn't unpleasant as such, but I hoped it wouldn't linger for too long. It could have been those stupid peanuts I'd eaten on the plane – I wouldn't be surprised if the stewardesses kept them for over eighty years – or the plane trip itself. Or . . . when was the last time I ate my vegetables? Hell, even my diet was shit.
'Well, well. That certainly looked chummy.'
I looked beyond my adorable nineteen-year-old kid step, and noticed Andy for the first time. He was looking older. His hair was thinner, and his skin was a bit darker from the Carmel sun, and a little wrinklier, too. But in every way, he was the exact same wannabe-comedian/gourmet chef that my mother had married almost six years ago. Just Andy.
He came over and pulled me into a fatherly embrace. Even though he wasn't my father, it was still filled with warmth and gladness. 'Wow, you've grown,' he observed, a merry twinkle in his eyes. 'Not that that's the most flattering thing to say to a woman of your age. And from a step-dad's perspective, no less.'
'Hear hear,' I smiled. 'I was about to point that out.'
He gave me a roguish grin. 'Here, let me take that,' he offered, grabbing the suitcase from me –
- Causing him to stagger back from the weight.
I scoffed and rolled my eyes sardonically.
'Honestly . . . am I the only man here?' I asked, taking it by myself.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
'Oh, honey . . . '
Had I imagined correctly, how good it would feel to have those arms hugging me again? Did I remember how young I felt when she was holding me like that, stroking my hair and telling me how much she missed me?
No.
It was even better than I could have imagined.
After a period in my life where everything had been so wrong, and so ruthless, this was like the sweetest melody. I was on a high. These were people I cared about, all around me. People who cared about me . . .
'Hey, mum,' I grinned at her. 'Where's Dope – um, Brad and Jake?'
'Out,' she scowled at Andy. 'You said they'd be back to meet Suze again.' Andy shrugged. 'No controlling those two these days,' he gave her a silly facial expression. I laughed. Mom gave me a motherly kiss on the cheek, and fingered my hair again. 'Oh, Susie . . . your hair's beautiful. And so long! How'd you get it so straight? And all the split ends are gone! It looks amazing, Susie. Like those models on the TV –'
'Yeah,' I smiled. 'This girl next door to me, Lucinda, is a hairdresser, and she gave me a half-price deal. She straightened it and colored it and treated it with . . . well, um, I forget. But at least it's not so primitive looking anymore. I've lost the Neanderthal look now. Doesn't suit me much these days.'
She beamed, her eyes all watery. Then she hugged me again, her chin digging into my shoulder. 'Oh, my baby's home,' she kept repeating. 'My baby's home . . . '
'I'm not your baby anymore, mom,' I said in mock annoyance. 'Last time I checked, I was well and truly in the 'adult' category.'
'No, no, Susie,' she shook her head. 'You'll always be my little baby.'
Oh God . . . Someone cared. Mom always cared.
. . .
Mom, with tears of joy still in her eyes, led me upstairs and down the hallway. I had forgotten how long it was, really. When I was sixteen, I had always bounded up the stairs and down they hallway . . . to busy to notice all of the pictures Andy put up. There was a nice family portrait that we took before Brad and I went off to college. We looked like one big, happy family . . . it truly was picture perfect. I was still so young in that picture . . . young, happy, with one heck of a future ahead of me. But now . . . I was twenty-three, in depression mode major, and whatever future I still had didn't look at all appealing.
We stopped suddenly at my door. My mom nodded at me to open it, but I was a little reluctant. I didn't quite know what opening that door might mean. I wondered if, by opening it, I would suddenly be transported to the time before all of this mess . . . when my room was a place of endless hoping, dreaming, and thinking. So many unforgettable things happened in there. Tears were shed, fights were fought, and kisses were . . . well, enjoyed. By me at least. I was never so sure about the other party involved . . .
'It's okay, Susie,' my mom whispered softly, 'Go on in.'
I took a deep breath and slowly opened the door.
Whoa! I forgot how . . . pink it was. Even though it was dark outside of my bay window, the pale pink still shone through. My lamp with the pink lampshade provided a warm, cozy glow. I clapped my hands together, which turned on the overhead light. I remember how excited Andy was when he first showed me how they worked . . . the first day I landed in Carmel. That was the first day of the rest of my life.
My mom left the room. I forgot if she told me something first, or what. I was too busy soaking it in. The memories, they all flooded back in my brain simultaneously. I felt a bit overwhelmed, so I dropped my luggage and plopped down on my frilly pink canopy bed.
It was great to be home. Carmel was still my home.
It always had been . . .
But home was missing something . . . or someone really. I rested my head one of my soft pillows and turned my head towards the bay window and just stared at it for a bit. I was really just waiting . . . waiting for answers . . . waiting for a sign.
Oh, and I guess you could say I was waiting for Jesse too. I guess it was an old habit. Seeing Jesse by the bay window, I mean. It was his favorite spot in my room, after all. Or maybe he was bound by his nineteenth century manners not to get too near. Yeah right! He probably didn't want to get anywhere near me at all . . .
Why was I thinking of him? That part of my life was over . . . the part where I ponder over Jesse's true intentions. I'm not some schoolgirl with a crush anymore . . . I am a grown woman. I need to think of more mature things. Like my speech.
CRAP! I have to make a speech the day after tomorrow! What am I going to say to these people?
I rolled off of my bed and searched my drawers for an old spiral that hadn't been used for years. Then I found a pencil and started writing whatever was on my mind.
Funny, though. As I closed my eyes, visualising what all my peers would be like now, in the future, all I could think of were bad, offensive thoughts. I scrawled down angrily . . .
'Well wow. Look at everyone. We've grown up, haven't we? I look out and before me, I see the same old people. Well, young people, just, um, older. You know, with a couple more wrinkles and stuff, and more plastic surgery than five years ago. Yes, Debbie Mancuso, I'm looking at YOU. And Scott Turner, did you think no one would notice how your nose just MAGICALLY shrunk? Puh-lease. But yeah. I mean, it really wasn't THAT big . . . it's just that, well, you know. It's definitely smaller. You certainly got your money's worth . . . Oh my GOD, Dopey . . . or Brad, whatever one of the dwarves you are these days . . . I'm talking about his NOSE, okay? STAY FOCUSED.' I paused momentarily, sniggering in not such a polite way. I was enjoying this. It was wrong, and I was enjoying it. There is no redemption for me. I continued.
'But anyway . . . we all had really great memories . . . like the time when Kelly lost her contact lens in History and we all had to find it. That was educational. Um . . . yeah. it was . . . Taught us the history of 'Just wear GLASSES. They're bigger and easier to SEE, God dammit.' Or that one time at lunch when Brad got in that huge fight with Scott over a tray of fries. Well, its a good thing you guys weren't that hungry. It's people like you who make food for the birds MUCH more enjoyable. And a lesson to everyone who got an A in Science studies? Burn the documents, the records, EVERYTHING. Look what happened to science nerd Michael Meducci? Landed himself in jail. That's all your future holds. You will be too smart for the rest of the generation. The dumbasses will turn against you. You WILL be betrayed. No justice. So let the grades BURN. Like, um, Salem witches or something . . . '
This was HORRIBLE. Why did I feel so proud of it?
'Then there's all the guys, totally checking the girls out still. HAVE YOU NO SHAME? Didn't you, like, grow out of that or something? For God's sake. You have to wonder, ladies, why men think they're smarter. I mean, seriously. Diamonds are a girl's best friend. Dog is a man's best friend. Three guesses who the dumber sex is, sheesh . . . Talk about testosterone poisoning. . . . No offense, Father Dom. I know you were only looking at Sister Ernestine's butt because someone posted a 'kick me' sign on it . . . suuuure . . . And tut tut, Father Dominic. I mean, I know that you silly men like to go for the large chested woman . . . but there's such thing as OTT, you know? Next, of course, we have Kelly Prescott. Beautiful, popular, perfect Princess Kelly. Well, beauty is skin-deep. But yeah, give that girl some sand paper and she'll think it's a map of the Sahara Desert. I mean, what's her ambition in life, anyway? Be like Vanna White and learn the alphabet? Bet her parents are so proud. It's called 'blondness,' people. Avoid it at all costs.'
I could just see that perfect blond face, staring at me in anger and . . . hurt. And then , I moved onto a subject that was most pressing in my mind. Something I had to get out . . .
'And then, into the quiet, Catholic Mission one day, breezes this Adonis. This dark angel. This god, with his cool, mysterious confidence, his dark curls, his crystalline eyes of sheer blue ice, and a voice as low as the distant rumble of thunder. Guys like these can only come out of the movies, right? The ones that are so perfect, that 'perfection' seems too weak a word? Yeah, well, every shark has his teeth. Sharp, and ever menacing, in those dazzling smiles they give, trying to lure you in, just so you can come a little closer . . . So they can go for the kill – Paul, stop grinning. This is NOT funny!! – and these are the guys that make you wish that you practiced kick-boxing more religiously –'
Suze STOP IT.
Well, so much for being a mature woman . . .
I couldn't believe myself. These people honored me by choosing me as their Vice President three years in a row and accepting me . . . and what did I do? I had to go on bashing them like some pathetic little girl with low self-esteem. I felt bad about my own miserable life that I wanted to bring everyone down with me. Talk about unfair!
Nothing is fair anymore.
Obviously, I was not in the greatest speech writing mood. I just wanted to go to bed and get some sleep. I had this really bad feeling in my gut. I don't know if it really meant something or if it was the jet lag talking.
I fell backward onto my pillow and clapped my hands for the light to turn off. The moon was shining through my open bay window, making it shine with a peculiar glow. I couldn't bear to look at it anymore so I jammed my eyes shut and turned myself completely around so I couldn't see it.
Yup, kids. You're looking at a new Susannah Simon. A new Suze that has straight elbow-length hair, that is currently unemployed, and one that can't keep a boyfriend. Oh yeah, and she sleeps with a quilt pulled over her face.
If only it were easier to breathe that way.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I awoke to the smell of something delicious . . . chicken fried steak? Whatever it was it smelled really good. I hadn't smelt food that good in suck a long time. The very scent was wrung with warm memories of dinners at the Ackerman household. Home. I was home again . . . A rush of glee squeezed me pleasantly.
I poked out of my quilt and slowly got up. I looked at my alarm clock on my nightstand, which read 11:00 am. Whoa, I sure did sleep in. I yawned widely as I stretched out. It looked like a beautiful day from my bay window, which was . . . closed? Weird. It was open last night. I guessed Andy had developed a new hatred for bugs or something. Or maybe mom was afraid of me catching pneumonia. Or maybe . . . ah, forget it.
I slipped out of bed and staggered towards my bathroom. I noticed my reflection in the mirror . . . oh God. I looked like a caveman. My hair somehow managed to end up a fuzzy mess and I was still wearing my Starbucks uniform. I was a wreck. My life was a wreck . . .
You know what I needed? A nice, cleansing bath. That would just have to happen, you know . . .
And once I was done, I emerged a totally clean, refreshed person. Well, after I blow dried my hair and applied a bit of make-up to that massive stress zit popping up in the middle of my forehead. Okay, okay I wasn't looking too badly for someone who just woke up from a 5-year nightmare that was her life and was now safe and sound in the place she calls home. Especially since I was wearing a purple off-the-shoulder top with these classy black pants. Now all I had to do was go see what was cooking downstairs.
I clomped downstairs and into the dining room where Andy was serving lunch. I was right. It was chicken fried steak, topped with Andy's special gravy that he made from scratch served with a side of corn and one massive dinner roll. He still had his touch.
'You're awake,' my mother noticed as I took a seat at the table. 'Did you have a peaceful rest?'
'Yeah, mom, it was great,' I replied truthfully. I hadn't gotten that kind of sleep in years, but I couldn't tell her that. She would, after all, throw a huge fit. I didn't want to worry her with something like that.
'Suze, you decided to come,' I heard a voice behind me said so suddenly. I looked behind me and hopped up as fast as possible.
'Sleep-I mean, Jake!' I said as I propelled myself into my oldest stepbrother's arms.
'Hey, it's nice to see you again. It's been awhile, hasn't it?' he asked. He still looked the same, except he looked a little less tired and a little more sophisticated. He actually cut his hair, so he no longer possessed that surfer look. Although, judging by his tan, I'm sure he had spent his spare time catching some waves every now-and-then.
'Sure has,' I said as I let go of him. He wandered into the kitchen to give my mom a hug and help her out with dessert. Just then, I heard the door open and from it came Dopey, in the flesh and blood.
'Hey Brad,' I called from where I was standing, waving my hand slightly. I wasn't about to give him a hug or anything because, let's face it, we weren't that close. That would be disgusting.
Once he saw me, he went into this huge coughing spell. I ran over to him and started patting him on the back while making sure he was all right.
'Suze,' he wheezed, 'I-is that you? Whoa.'
'Yep,' I replied as I escorted him to the kitchen to get a glass of water, 'It's me.'
'But . . . but you're . . . you've changed,' Brad stammered as I filled a cup with water.
'Well DUH. It's only been, like, what? Five years or so?' I asked him as I raised an eyebrow.
'You're . . . like, whoa . . . I uh . . . I'm gonna go take a seat.'
Well, I guess he'd never been that articulate. And I guess he had lost his gracefulness too. He was tripping around on the way back to the dining room. Then when he pushed the swinging doors opened he turned back around, looked me over once more, and smiled. Oh my God . . . you're KIDDING ME.
I shall take a second out of being an adult.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
. . . Thank you.
I shook my head in utter disgust and headed back into the dining room and took my seat. I placed my napkin in my lap as was custom, and Max, though looking very old for a dog, rested his head in my lap. I patted him lovingly and whispered to him, 'I missed you old buddy. I'll drop you some chicken fried steak.'
During lunch, Jake and Brad filled me in on everything that was going on. Jake's pizza business was going just fine, as they managed to out sell Peninsula Pizza. Surprisingly, he seemed to know a lot about becoming an entrepreneur, as he was giving me some tips just in case I 'wanted to spread my wings'. I would never in a million years expect him to say something like that, but I guess times are a changin'. And he actually bought that Camaro he's always wanted. He bragged about how souped up it was and what he planned to do with it next.
Brad, however, didn't really say much to me. And when he did, it was all mumbling and stuttering. I managed to find out, however, that he hasn't flunked out of college yet. In fact, he was top of his class in English . . . a big surprise since he bombed it in high school. Jake later informed me that Brad had the hots for his professor, who was, according to Jake, 'a total babe'. No wonder he passed. I guess some things never change.
After a lovely lunch, I offered to help clean the dishes and Sleepy, Dopey, and Doc all insisted on helping. Doc was really excited about college and his plans to become the next Bill Gates. He had gotten some major scholarships that covered schooling, books, and board. Lucky duck. I mean, Doc.
'So . . . um, Suze. You going to that Mass today?' Brad asked as he sidled next to me.
'Mass? What Mass?' I asked as I threw him a towel so he could help me dry dishes.
'You didn't hear? There's going to be a Mass for us at 3 this afternoon. You know, because it's our reunion and all,' Brad replied.
'Really?' I asked, 'I guess I'll go then.'
'Need a lift?' he offered. 'I was planning to go too.'
'No thanks, I'm good,' I rejected his offer. As much as I'd love to bond with my stepbrother, I just didn't feel like actually being in a car with him. Especially after he's eaten chicken fried steak.
With that, I left Brad to finish drying the dishes as I jogged up the stairs. And boy was I surprised when I came in my room to see Spike, sitting at my closed window mewing loudly, as if to want in. What was he doing here? He lived in the rectory now. He really never lived in my room anyway, he just came and went as he pleased, not bothering to show up unless . . .
I looked around my room suspiciously, eyeing for evidence that would explain Spike's unexpected visit. No lost chipmunks, no stranded birdies, and definitely no Jesse in sight. Though, I wasn't really worried about the first two on the list. It was third that I was freaking over.
I blindly picked up my purse and decided to head on over to the mission early. I felt this urge to just go somewhere, anywhere but stay in my room. Plus, I wanted to see if I could catch Father Dominic before he began preparing for Mass. God . . . it was going to be so good, seeing him again . . . I think it was one of the things I needed the most.
So I headed out in the Honda Civic that I rented. It was nice driving in the Californian afternoon. The sun was shining a bright white color in the cloudless blue sky. It reflected itself on the ocean in a blindingly beautiful manner. It was the kind of bright summer afternoon that left you wanting to go to the beach and relax while drinking an ice cold Diet Coke. But, alas, no beach for Suze Simon . . . yet.
I pulled into the back parking lot and slowly walked inside the mission. The place hadn't changed a bit. The hallways were still dark and cool while the courtyard was bright and warm. I strolled around a bit looking for my old locker among the others. Locker 273 was unique from all the others. The dents that one ghosts, Heather, put in it were bent back so you almost couldn't tell anymore. Well, almost anyway.
I heard doors open as students were flooding out of their classrooms. It was passing period already. I stood there and watched the students pass me by, dodging me. I saw Sister Ernestine getting on to some poor girl about her skirt length and threatened her with detention. I laughed to myself for a bit and turned back to my old locker.
All of a sudden I felt a slight tug on my sleeve. I turned, finding myself eye to eye with a curly-headed kid. He must have been really tall for his age, because he was nearly as tall as I was. I guessed he was about fourteen or so, give or take a few years.
'Uh, Miss? That's my locker that you're . . . ' the kid trailed off as his blue eyes widened.
'I'm sorry if this is your locker,' I apologized, blushing. 'It's just that, well, a long time ago this locker used to be mine too and I was just . . . '
'I know you,' the kid told me, his eyes now glistening.
'W-what?' I asked, bewildered.
'You're Suze,' he said my name with a smile. 'Suze Simon. Do you remember me?'
I had difficulty placing a name with that face. He had this familiar curly brown hair and these wide icy blue eyes with brown spots in them. He smiled widely showing most of his pure white teeth. He reminded me forcefully of someone . . . Paul Slater. But this kid was young, so it couldn't have possibly been . . . oh! I knew . . .
'. . . Jack? Jack Slater?' I said in a disbelieving whisper.
Jack nodded, and his smile grew wider. Boy, Jack grew up. He wasn't that whiny little kid anymore with that unruly hair and caved in chest. He actually had somewhat of a tan and his smile was slightly shy. He obviously had a fair few friends, because they kept milling in and out going, 'Hey Jack,' and then heading to their classes. Just one shocker after another.
'Jack, it's so nice to see you. Whoa, you've grown,' I said as I ruffled his hair playfully. He scowled and rolled his eyes. He must have been eighth grade by now, or ninth. He looked older. I pulled him into a big hug, in which he nearly crushed my ribs to pieces.
'Jeez, you must work out or something,' I wheezed once he let go.
He blushed and replied shyly, 'I'm on the swim team.' Whoa. Swim team? I remembered when he was afraid of water. Actually he was afraid of everything back then. I kind of snorted. Oh, the irony.
The halls were empty now, except for the occasional late person running to their class. Sr. Ernestine got on to them for being late and running down the halls . . . both major offenses in her book. I saw her trudging down the halls, targeting us as her next victims. Of course, I couldn't get in trouble, but I really didn't want poor Jack to feel her wrath.
'Jack, you better get to class. I don't want Sr. Ernestine on your trail,' I told him as I looked back at the nun who used to wreck my weekend plans in high school. She (fortunately) didn't recognize me, but she did do something shocking. She waved (!) and smiled (!!) at Jack, and she didn't bug him about loitering in the halls (!!!).
'It's okay, Suze. Sister Ernestine and I are like this,' he said as he crossed his fingers. I laughed at the thought of Sr. Ernestine actually getting along with kids. In fact, it was kinda scary.
'Plus,' he continued, 'She knows I'm going to Father Dom's office. She thinks I'm in counseling. That's why she's always so nice to me.'
That statement caused me to snort rather unattractively, but it really didn't matter to me. I wished Father Dom had come up with something like that for me back then. Would have saved me some strange looks.
'I was just going there myself,' I grinned. Why did I feel so amazingly happy? It was almost unwelcome, because of its rarity. 'Do you mind if I crash your 'counseling' session?'
'Nope, I don't care. Nothing's going on right now, if you know what I mean.'
So we enjoyed pleasant conversation as we walked down the shaded halls. I figured out that once Paul graduated, Rick and Nancy were still worried about Grandpa Slaski's (er, I mean Slater) health. He was doing a whole lot better and he continued to throw a fit every time they tried to send him to the old folk's home. Jack had convinced his parents that, even though he was young, he could still help out. He confided that he really just wanted away from his parents. I wouldn't blame him, considering how they pretty much neglected him at the Pebble Beach hotel and Golf Resort. So they shipped him out here, and he's been in Carmel ever since. Aww, good for Jack. He was so happy. So good-natured and cheery. It was strange to be around someone like this again. Massachusetts had been home to so many lost souls, looking for their purpose on this earth, like me. No one had really existed to live. Jack did, you could tell. He really liked it here, he told me. He said he had cool friends and that Father Dominic was always there to help him out.
'And when Father Dom is busy flipping out about visits from the archbishop or when I just want to talk about other stuff, I go to Jesse,' he said.
I stopped in my tracks. Stopped dead. Frozen. Speechless.
'J-Jesse?' I spluttered, my eyes wide and still.
'Yeah,' he stopped too. 'You remember him. You told me he was your best friend. Isn't he cool? He taught me all these awesome old-timey first aid tips. He also taught me how to act at dances and stuff. You see one time, I wanted to ask this one girl named-'
I didn't hear the rest of the story, because I shut down. Jesse. He was still around. He still hadn't moved on. And he was Jack's mentor and best friend . . . like he had been to me. I started walking again in a daze. I wondered if he had ever saved Jack's life before or if he ever talked about our adventures together. I wondered if he ever thought about me whenever he had to scold Jack for doing something stupid. Though Jack received a very formal education about Mediation, so I doubt he got into too much trouble.
'Here we are, Suze,' Jack said as he motioned to the door that read 'Principal' in very bold printing. He ducked inside, as to formally introduce me with the, "Hey, you'll NEVER guess who just popped in for a cuppa?" or something, but he slid back out, with a grimace. 'Secretary said he might be in the chapel,' he shrugged. 'Still wanna come?'
'Duh,' I replied, giving a little smile. Father Dom. He was probably preparing for the mass. I dimly remembered that time that I exorcised myself in that church, and how Maria had been there, and how I'd almost died to save Je –
. . . Nothing.
We reached the chapel in no time. Jack quietly pushed the huge golden doors open, and gestured for me to come in. In contrast with the rest of the bubbling school, well . . . this was so quiet. Eerily quiet. Unnerving . . . Eesh, churches these days.
'Father D? Father D!' Jack said in a loud whisper. I looked up at the statue of Mary. She stared down at me with forgiving eyes, extending her hand out in a "I am holy. You are not. So ha" kind of way. The whole church was kind of dark. Candles were flickering along the alter, and above all of the pews in an intimidating way. I winced a little, hearing my feet echo on the cold floor as I walked down the aisle. I felt like a bride, for some distorted reason. You know, the "walking down the aisle" thing. It was weird. And duuuude, I wasn't going to make a very spesh bride anytime soon. Yeah, go the post-mental Suze.
'Father Dom! Where are ya?'
I kind of jumped when he continued calling. I was beginning to feel very much so alone. Like a draft had swept through the church, chilling my arms. I looked up at the very large crucifix beside Mary. Jesus, on the cross. He looked condemning. I felt like I'd mortally sinned.
It was about then that I heard it.
Him.
'Well, would you look at that . . . It's none other than Susannah Simon.'
I felt my blood run horribly, horribly cold. I didn't return around. I couldn't. I was immobilized. I silently willed that the voice I recognized so well did not exist. I heard the mirth, and the satirical amusement in his voice. It cut, and condescended.
No . . . NO. Not NOW!
I felt like all air had been ripped from my chest.
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Eeek. Well? You dudes all know the deal. REVIEW QUICKLY, and we'll UPDATE QUICKLY. Trust me, we will. Hayles and I are still on the turbo "LET'S WRITE!!" mode.
So please, update? We promise, it the plot will thicken dramatically . . .