Meant to Be Five Years Old, North Carolina
Meant to Be
Five Years Old, North Carolina
One of my earliest memories is set against the backdrop of a popular park in Spring Lake, North Carolina. I was getting ready to start kindergarten, which means Beck was about to turn seven. Dad and Connor, captains back then, were deployed to Iraq, and Mom and Bernie were constantly looking to fill our days. The park, with its wading pool and climbing toys and green spaces, kept Beck and me busy. We arrived early, before the sun got too hot, and staked out a spot from where Mom and Bernie could keep an eye on us while working on their tans.
Beck and I’d been playing in the water, setting up battles waged between his aquatic GI Joes and my rainbow-coiffed mermaid Barbies, when a pair of boys who’d been in his class at school showed up.
He left a wake in his haste to ditch me.
Dolls in hand, I climbed out of the pool and flopped down on a towel beside Mom and Bernie. Mom reapplied my sunscreen. Bernie handed over bunches of grapes, which I ate until I was practically bursting with pent-up indignation. I blurted out that Beck was mean, I hated him, and I’d never play with him again.
Bernie said, “Sometimes he’s a real stinker. You do you, girlie.”
“I think Beck will be sad, though,” Mom reasoned, “if you never play together again.”
“He’s not sad right now,” I said, glaring toward the far side of the pool, where he was playing Keep Away with his friends.
“Boys can be rotten sometimes,” Bernie said.
“I know!” I crowed, happy to be understood. “Beck always ignores me when his friends come around.”
“But you’re his friend,” she pointed out. “His oldest friend. His most special friend.”
“You’re more than friends, lovey,” Mom said. “You’re soulmates.”
I frowned, circling my arms around my knobby knees. “What does that mean?”
She reached over to tuck a tendril of hair back into my ponytail. “There’s a bond between you and Beck unlike any other. A bond that’ll last forever.”
I squinted up at her. “The same way you and Daddy will be together forever?”
“Daddy and I are married. Who knows—maybe you and Beck will marry one day.” I made a show of retching, and Mom paused to laugh with Bernie. “Or maybe you’ll stay friends, but best friends, like Bernie and me. No matter what, you’re a part of each other’s lives. You always will be.”
“But how do you know?”
“Your mama’s been informed of the future,” Bernie said, giving Mom’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “She knew we’d meet and become forever friends. She knew she’d fall in love with your daddy. She knew I’d have a son, and she’d have a daughter. She knows that you and Beck are meant to be. Like…Mickey and Minnie.”
“Or Han and Chewbacca,” Mom put in, and I giggled.
“Socks and shoes,” Bernie said.
“Campfire and s’mores,” Mom countered.
“Peanut butter and jelly,” I said, grinning.
Bernie slapped me a high five and Mom kissed my cheek, and I felt okay enough to look over at Beck. I watched him, the monkey in the middle, nick the ball from the air, while I thought of other celebrated pairs: bees and honey; Barbie and Ken; cookies and milk; sidewalks and chalk.
As he was switching spots with one of the other boys, Beck glanced toward where I sat on the lawn. Our eyes caught. “Lia!” he called. “Come play!”
I looked to Mom and Bernie.
“Only if you want to,” Bernie reminded me.
“Though it looks like you could show ’em how it’s done,” Mom said.
I pretended to consider for as long as it took to count to five, then hopped up and ran to join the boys, leaving my towel rumpled on the grass.