Artifact 3 All-Access Wristband #5
I can’t bring this. This isn’t going to fix anything—it might even make it worse. But my eyes catch on the box of artifacts, and a new idea starts to come together in my mind. That might be…good, actually. Not just good, perfect.
I stop in the kitchen on my way out to grab some more supplies and then slip quietly out the side door before my mom can question me or offer another book.
Cradled in the balmy summer night air, I walk up the flagstone path to a bush of lavender underneath the window.
I dig into my pocket for the rocks. Little ones, so they won’t crack the glass.
The movies never show how important it is to get the toss just right, the thin line between grand gesture and misdemeanor.
It takes seven of them before a light turns on, and the freckled face of my grand-gesture recipient—the only person who’s owed one—appears.
Gaile leans over the sill, wiping the sleep from her eyes. Her auburn curls are pulled up into a puff, and she’s wearing rainbow-striped pajamas. Her nose wrinkles in confusion, and I know I need to act fast before the anger has a chance to wake up and slam that window shut.
“Wait. Just wait—I have something to show you!”
It’s time.
I drop the big metal pot on the grass and empty the box full of artifacts inside.
I pull the box of matches I grabbed from the junk drawer out of my pocket and strike one until it catches, throwing it into the pot full of all my memories with Oliver.
The flame erupts faster and bigger than I anticipated, warming my skin.
“Harriet—oh my GOD, Harriet!” Gaile whisper-yells from the window, her eyes wide. “What are you doing? You can’t do that!”
And okay, seeing all those papers and pictures actually burning here in front of me as sparks fly onto the dry grass…I can see that maybe this wasn’t my best-thought-out plan. If only that fucking hot glue gun hadn’t wasted so much of my time.
“No, yeah, okay. You’re right. But I was trying to prove a point,” I call up to her.
“You were trying to prove a point by being an arsonist?” I think I hear amusement in her voice, the edge of a laugh, but I’m scared to hope.
“I mean, no. Well, yeah. It…made more sense in my head. But, like, I’m setting fire to this me—” I gesture to the flames that are getting a little concerning in size.
“The me who didn’t show up for you like she should have.
The me who was acting like the main character even though you’re the main character, too. The me—”
“Point made, girl.” An unmistakable giggle. “Now, um, let’s not set my lawn on fire.”
“You’re right. On it!” I try to stomp it out, but once I realize that option is terrifying and not at all as easy as it looks, Gaile runs down the stairs and out the front door with a pitcher of water.
As she douses the fire, I say a little prayer that I haven’t woken her parents up, because their minds are probably going to jump straight to arsonist, too.
“So, what is this about?” she asks once the flames are gone and the smoke hangs in the air between us.
“It’s, uh…a grand gesture,” I start, and her lips quirk at that because she loves grand gestures just as much as I do. There’s hope. “Because I love you, Gaile. And I’m so sorry. I messed up. I messed everything up!”
“Yep, you did.”
“And, like, I still don’t know who I am.
I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.” I think back to what Mom was saying earlier about changing relationships as I change, and I don’t know if she’s right about that, but— “The one thing I do know is I’m supposed to be your friend, Gaile.
I was so caught up in being chosen by Oliver.
I thought…I thought that was my story, being with him, being his.
But it’s not. Me and you, that’s my story. ”
She sighs, nudging the pot full of charred remains at her feet. “But see, I don’t want me and you to be your story.”
My heart drops.
“Oh, okay. I understand…” I turn to go, already making plans for blank stare chair-sitting. Maybe I’ll add a pint of Ben & Jerry’s this time, spice it up.
But she grabs my hand. I feel the friendship bracelets on her wrist, matching the one on mine, the one she gave me that first day.
“What I mean is I don’t want me and you to be your entire story. Because, as your friend, Harriet, as someone who loves you, I want you to be your story. And I want to be part of it, I do—but only if you’re interested in my story, too.”
“I am! I promise I am! Your story is my favorite story. And I won’t lose sight of that again.”
She raises an eyebrow as she searches my face, and I’m not sure what she’ll find there this time. But I know I said what’s right and true. I know I’m being myself, authentically. I know that’s all I can be.
Finally, she nods. “Okay, grand gesture accepted.”
“Grand gesture accepted?!” I shriek so loud that, if her parents weren’t already awake, they definitely are now. Along with the whole neighborhood.
“Yes.” She laughs, pulling me into a tight hug. “And now that we have that settled, let’s have a little talk about fire safety.”
She squeezes my hand, I thread my fingers through hers, and we walk through her front door together.