Chapter 12
Miles
Friday
“Aren’t you going tonight?” my mother popped up behind the couch with her hands on her hips, interrupting my forkful of dinner leftovers I’d snuck out to get a couple minutes ago.
I spent a lot of time with my mother this past week. Vacuuming the house, fixing furniture, driving to stores to buy pillows, bed sheets, and a few other things we’d found to be too old and moth-eaten in the house’s closets.
She hadn’t brought it from our old home.
Probably because she considered them too private or intimate to keep after a breakup.
Or maybe because those things had all belonged to my stepfather; after all, it was his apartment.
Either way, I wasn’t bringing up those sensitive questions.
I wasn’t talking about my stepfather at all.
Aside from tasks and errands, I set foot in Wayneth again, two days ago. I was excited to see my friends. My mother allowed me to take her car. After some convincing, she sighed, saying, “We should always go back to the places where we were happy”, while handing me her car key.
About four hours later, I met with Jett, Knox and the whole group.
Their open secrets, imperceptible conversations, winks, and constant side jokes made me feel like I had been away for a year.
The excitement had drained from me throughout the day.
By 7 p.m., I no longer felt good or happy to be there.
But it was when Jett said the words: “Let’s go home, have dinner with parents, change clothes, all that crap, and meet again at 10”, and no one had offered to take me into their home, that I realized: I was heading back to where mine was now. A four-hour drive away.
Something inside me felt empty, echoing.
I didn’t really feel like I was part of anywhere anymore.
“I don’t know if I’m going tonight. I just don’t feel like it,” I answered my mother while she stood there staring at me, so incredibly still that it was like she was trying to lift my body with her eyes.
“But you were part of making this party a reality,” she said, clearly not accepting my response. “I mean, you were in town and at that Community Center when you told me you were, right?”
“Yes, Mom,” I interrupted her suspicion. “I was. But I didn’t do much anyway. Just helped set things up and stuff.”
“Well, ‘set things up and stuff’,” she said with air quotes, “sounds like a good enough reason to stop by.”
“It’s a three-day festivity: Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. If I don’t go tonight, I’ll go another night.”
“But I’ll be working at the restaurant on Saturday night,” she said.
My mother had been looking for a job since we got here.
I had said I could help and work too, but she insisted I focus on my studies and take a part-time job if one eventually came up.
A few days ago, we saw a “waitress needed” ad posted on a window.
It wasn’t her favorite occupation, but they accepted her, and she gave up into the idea.
“And Monday is your first day of school. I don’t think I’ll let you go to a party on Sunday night.
” She sat on the couch, leaning against my feet.
“So, tonight is the only night you can go out and keep your mom — and food provider — company.” Her eyes fell on the plate of leftovers I had set down in front of us.
And my eyes rolled to the rhythm of my sigh as I got up from the couch.
I never thought the night could be so alive. I had seen people around, sure, but the number of people gathered here tonight was Population, with a capital P. At least, that was the case compared to the expectations I had before.
My mom asked for a mojito at the bar stall, and I committed to driving the car later.
We walked around the venue, checking out the products at the stalls. Mrs. Meloney, from the local honey stall, recognized me, and my mother bought a jar of her homemade honey. Next to her, a friendly man offered us some cheese samples. And we continued our walk through the crowd.
I saw Ella.
She was in a group of people, scattered in front of the stage, blended among others who were chatting and listening to the band.
When a song kicked in and a collective ‘uhhh’ echoed through the crowd, arms shot up, and I spotted her clapping her hands in delight.
Then, the choreography began. People joining in little by little, all feet moving in the same direction, with the occasional body bumping into another.
And yet, soon enough, it all started to resemble a perfectly staged scene, as if meant to be recorded for a movie.
She was laughing, giving quick directions about the next move to those around her. From where I was, she stood at the center of it all.
She looked like the kind of girl who made the night come alive.