Chapter 36
Shay
Students will be able to make wrong choices for all the right reasons.
There was a time when I believed I was free. I was independent . I was unencumbered by the gridlock of family expectations or tradition. I could invent myself in any way I wished and no one would know any different.
The problem with that level of freedom was that it was all sky and no earth. There was no one to prevent me from floating out into space. From being lost and forgotten. The only solution was tying a rope from my waist to someone’s wrist and begging them to hold on to me.
Jaime held on to me. Audrey, Grace, and Emme too. They held on even when I’d been a wedding-crazed fiend and they held on when I was too busy grieving the life I’d almost had to be a good friend.
And Noah held on to me too.
And that was why everything hurt. It hurt from deep inside and also everywhere outside me, like the weight of gravity on my body was too much to endure. And everything was wrong. My words, my feelings, my thoughts—all wrong. Nothing came out right. Never the way I wanted.
I felt like a child running around with a butterfly net after dark, overeager and too imprecise to accomplish anything other than flailing until I tired myself out.
A child too, because it seemed like I couldn’t explain to Noah that I was trying to protect him.
I was trying to spare him the trouble of one more burden on his shoulders.
The best I could manage was to rip up my words like blades of grass and throw them at him, hoping he understood that I couldn’t stay here and wait for him to realize he’d never truly wanted me to begin with.
And that was why I was crying in the shower when the bathroom door opened and I heard, “Hi, Shay. I’m home.”
I pressed my fingers to my eyes and sucked in a breath. “Hey, Gennie. How was your trip?”
“I went swimming every day and Noah let me have baby carrots when we stopped for snacks in Transylvania.”
I rested my forehead on the shower wall. I could do this. I could pull myself together and have a kid conversation. “Pennsylvania?”
“Mmm. That’s what Noah said but I still think it’s Transylvania. I like it better.” Then she added, “Noah went out to check the fences.”
I started to shave my legs. “Okay.”
“My mom said she’s happy you and Noah got married. She said, ‘Why am I not surprised it’s Shay What’s-Her-Name from high school?’” Gennie belted out a laugh. “Shay What’s-Her-Name. That’s funny.”
A sob threatened to break free and I had to work at breathing through it. “That is funny,” I managed. “Can you give me a few minutes to finish up in here and put on some clothes? You can tell me everything then.”
“Okay. I’m gonna go read in my room,” she called, the door slamming behind her.
Since I knew she’d come looking for me in approximately three minutes, I hurried through the rest of my shower and dressed quickly. It wasn’t until I went to call for Gennie that I noticed the small box sitting on my bed.
I pulled the sticky note off the top. In Noah’s firm hand it read: Here’s your proof .
When I opened the lid, I found pages of notebook paper folded into precise squares. I sifted through them, a gasp whooshing out of me as I recognized the sunflowers drawn all over the backs of those pages.
Those were my sunflowers. I’d drawn those.
My heart was thumping hard in my chest and my fingers didn’t want to work and my eyes were having trouble seeing through a mist of tears as I tried to unfold one of the notes.
My dearest Blue Gray,
This is my second note of the day but Walker’s government class is draining the life out of me and I need this distraction to stay awake.
You saved my ass on that algebra exam. There’s no way I didn’t pass but it was hairy on a few questions. Seriously, Blue, I owe you for all your help studying yesterday. I promise I won’t leave it to the last minute again.
I’m supposed to go to the daffodil festival with some people on Saturday but that sounds like a horrible idea now that I say it out loud.
Here’s what I want to know: Why is that a festival, Blue?
And can this town go a month without a festival?
Or is life here so boring that they needed to plant a bunch of yellow flowers around town and send people on a scavenger hunt to prevent everyone from dropping dead from boredom?
Another question: Should I expect a tulip festival next month? And a grand May Day the month after, complete with virgins dancing unironically around poles? A better question: Does this town have any virgins left? Based on locker room chatter alone, I’d have to say the answer is no.
Write back soon and explain these things to me, please. I risk dropping dead of boredom without your insight.
All of my endless love,
★ ★ ★ ★
I reached for another, nearly ripping the old paper in two as I loosened the intricate folds.
My darling Blue Gray,
I know you’ve grown weary of my complaints on the topic of this provincial town but have we discussed the matter of wind chill?
Because it is quite unpleasant and this is coming from someone who was recently evicted from Switzerland.
At this rate, I’m going to end up stealing every single one of your hoodies before spring comes.
In regard to your question from yesterday, I do believe it is time we start plotting our Old Home Days return.
Do you think next year is too soon? Can we saunter in, you reeking of Yale and old boys’ clubs and me fresh off New York Fashion Week and whichever university my mother bribes to accept me?
Or should we give it five years and let some anticipation build up?
I’m getting the eyeball from Williamson so I have to cut this short. Teachers are the worst. Why can’t they just let me ignore them in peace?
Love forever,
★ ★ ★ ★
And then the others.
Blue Gray, my moodiest of the moody,
Thanks for the save the other night. I don’t love football enough to sit through an entire game but I really don’t love it when everyone decides to get drunk and be idiots.
I know that’s what high school is about, especially high school in small-town America, but I’ve already been an idiot.
I’m over it. Thanks for taking me home and being over it with me, even if you were in one hell of a grumbly mood that night.
Someday we’ll hang out together and talk about all the fabulous things we’re doing. No small-town drama for us. We’ll meet somewhere in New York, of course, and tell stories about taking over the world. It will be perfect. We’ll be perfect.
All my drama-proofed love,
★ ★ ★ ★
The Bluest of Blue Grays,
Sometimes I wonder if my entire life is going to be a series of mistakes.
One after another, and I don’t see any of them coming until they fly over my head.
I feel like everyone else has a built-in sensor to know when they’re on the verge of fucking it all up and I just have to find out what happens when I fuck it up because I don’t have that mechanism.
Promise me you’ll stop me before I fuck everything up. You’re my only hope.
Love eternal,
★ ★ ★ ★
BG—
Thanks for the coffee this morning. It reminded me of home. Or something vaguely familiar as vague familiarity is my only threshold for considering something home.
I know I sound like a spoiled brat when I say I miss European coffee—but I miss European coffee. You made my day.
Lovingly caffeinated,
★ ★ ★ ★
Blue Gray of the misty morning,
You bring up a great point and my answer is a simple one: I have no idea what happens next year.
College is a vast, aqueous mystery. I’ll probably get legacy-admission’ed into Boston College but I don’t care.
I don’t have the first clue what I’ll do there and I’ll probably waste a few years figuring it out.
As long as I don’t embarrass my mother, it doesn’t much matter.
I wish I loved something enough to know I wanted to spend my life doing it but loving stuff is scary.
It’s a goddamn danger to my health. These things that people love, they often turn around and destroy them.
Just look at Picasso and the ear. Really!
I don’t think I want the risk of loving anything that could ruin my life in the process.
Love and mysteries,
★ ★ ★ ★
BG,
I hope you didn’t get in trouble. I’m sorry I kept you out late last night.
I didn’t realize we were so far past your curfew.
I don’t want to make things difficult for you at home.
I really am sorry. Please blame me. Everyone already thinks I’m a problem child.
Just tell them it was me and get yourself out of this mess.
Also: thank you for listening. I don’t know why I was so upset. My mother hardly ever remembers my birthday. I should’ve expected this. I know better than to get my hopes up with her.
Thanks for letting me cry it out all over your shoulder. I needed that.
And for the love of god, throw me under the bus for this.
★ ★ ★ ★
Blue Gray,
Someday, I want to see you smile. Like, a real smile. Not that smile you give me when I say I’m going to ditch phys ed and get a decent lunch in town or when I sit next to you in English and steal your notes so I can get participation credit for once.
You’re going to tell me why you’re so blue and so gray and before you write me a five-paragraph essay on blue and gray being your personality, allow me to say: I know. I know. I know and I love it and I want to know how it came to be this way. I want to know everything about you, dear friend.
All my love and smiles,
★ ★ ★ ★
My sweet, sweet BG,
I hope your mom is doing okay. I’m sorry you and your family are going through so much with her health. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to help but I want you to tell me if there is. You know I’ll do anything for you. Just say the word and I’m at your service.
Love you lots,
★ ★ ★ ★
Blue Gray Bananapants,
No, I don’t know what that means. I just like it.