I used to hear them…
Something moves along the edge, and I think I see a figure standing there, far away. A silhouette of a man.
“Are you listening to me?” My bestie’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“Sorry, what?” My head is swimming, and I know I’m not thinking straight. Too much wine.
“When we were kids, who said we could save our lemonade stand after Mrs. Blackburn ran over all our lemons with her car?”
My brow furrows, and I shake my head. “Mrs. Blackburn was the worst driver. She almost hit me when I was riding my bike in the neighborhood. Twice!”
“You said we could save it!” She pushes onward. “You didn’t let us give up!”
“We were going to squeeze the lemons anyway…”
“When we were in middle school, who said, ‘Our football team’s mascot might be a dove, but we can still have a kick-ass fight song!’”
“We were twelve, Yars. I don’t think I said kick-ass.”
Our parents were peace-loving super-hippies, but they still wouldn’t let us swear.
“‘Peck ‘em up, Doves’ was a fight song for the ages!” Her voice rises like she’s giving the pep rally speech in one of those Friday Night Lights episodes.
“More like a fight song for doofuses.”
I can still see the large, white dove appliquéd to the front of our knee-length, royal blue cheer jumpers. Shivers.
Our home-school collective played flag football because our parents said tackle football led to cognitive deficiencies and mood and behavior disorders.
They tried to make us feel like all the other kids, but we knew we were weirdos.
“Maybe I’ve always been a loser, and I just didn’t know it.”
“You are not a loser! You’re the strongest person I know. You have always found a way through tough situations. And you always will!” I imagine the music swelling in the background, lights rising behind my bestie, and the roar of the crowd bursting through the stands. “Now say it! I am not jumping off that bridge!”
My chin jerks back, like a record scratch. “I’m not jumping off the bridge, Yars.”
“That’s the spirit!”
“No, seriously, I wasn’t—”
“You’re going to get through this tough time. We all are, and we’re going to come back stronger for it.”
“No, seriously. I was listening for the voices.”
A beat.
Silence on the line.
I hold my phone out before putting it to my face again. “Did I lose you?”
“The voices?” Her tone is cautious.
“When I was a kid and we’d stand on the bridge facing the ocean, I believed I could hear angel voices singing above the water.”
“Did you actually hear angel voices singing?”
“In my imagination I heard them.”
“Phew!” She exhales dramatically. “For a minute I thought we had a bigger problem.”
“Bigger than me jumping off the bridge?” I’m teasing, but I’m still sad. “I don’t hear them anymore, Yars. They’ve stopped singing. I think that means something.”
“It means you’re an adult living in the real world now.”
Dropping my chin, I start back the way I came. The wind pushes my hair roughly, and I feel a tear on my cheek. “If only I could talk to Dad. I need a hug.”
My dad could always help me regain my perspective. He would put his arm around me and tell me a story, something from when he was growing up or how he solved a problem.
“I know you’re worried about him.” My friend’s voice softens. “But Shady Rest is taking great care of those guys. Heck, with your dad’s age and athleticism, he’s probably enjoying himself.”
My eyes narrow. “He’s stuck in a nursing home, Yars.”
“Your dad could always make the best of a bad situation. It’s where you get it from.”
I’m approaching my family’s old beach house, noticing the graying boards and chipped paint. “He’d probably tell me to paint.”
“You know…” Her voice grows quiet. “That old place is probably worth a million at least.”
“I can’t sell the house. It’s been in our family since forever.” I don’t mention how it’s not even in my name. It would be admitting I’d considered it.
“So you want to come here? You can crash on my couch.”
“Maybe.” The small gate is stuck, so I walk around to the driveway. When I see the shiny black Impala parked out front, heaviness presses on my chest. I can’t imagine it being gone. “I’ll figure it out and see you in a few days.”
“Hang in there, friend.”
We disconnect, and I go to the car that holds so many memories, sliding my fingers along the fender to the door. Dad loved this car. He held onto it from when he was a teenager, maintaining it and updating it as needed.
It was his pet project, and he always made sure it ran like a charm. All the belts were oiled, all the nuts and bolts replaced. How could anyone love it as much as he did?
My heart is broken. I feel like I’m selling a cherished pet.
“Oh, Dad.” I lift up on the driver’s side door handle and climb into the backseat, pressing my body against the leather and hugging my knees to my chest beneath my teddy coat. “I wish there was some way I didn’t have to do this.”
Closing my eyes, I slide down to my side as the memories flood my mind. I remember being a little girl, seatbelt across my lap, holding the open window as we took her out for a spin.
Dad would put on his favorite station, Sirius XM’s 60s on 6, and crank it.
He was born in the 1960s, and he loved that silly old beach music. “Dawn” by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons was his favorite.
Moving my lips, I speak the words in a broken whisper, Go away, I’m no good for you…
I remember my gleaming eyes, my hair in pigtails. I remember smiling so hard my cheeks ached. The sun shone as we drove along the coastal highway singing along to the eternally cheerful surfer tunes.
Hope Eternal…
Like a spark from a match, the smallest flicker of light smolders in my chest. The tiniest hint of faith standing up to the fog of despair trying to wrap me in its suffocating darkness.
This is not where our story ends. I’m not going down without a fight. I will turn this sinking ship around. I will get back what we’ve lost.
I just need to take a little nap so I can think about it more clearly. I’ll find a solution…
Jr
The sun is just warming the edge of the horizon when I reach the ancient beach house on an unfashionable stretch of the coastal highway.
The place barely has a driveway, and I double-check the address. I don’t really need to—the car I bought is waiting for me, unmistakable. Thanks to contact-less delivery, the keys should be waiting in a combination box under the fender. I should be able to get in and take off right away.
Walking here was a strange experience. I only passed one person hitchhiking, and hardly any cars on the freeway. But I don’t have time to worry about it. I’ve got a lot to do and a short amount of time to do it.