The Other Way Around (30 page)

Even Margaret and some of the other hot girls have started saying hi to me. They say “Hi, Andrew,” even though I have no idea how they know my name because I'm pretty sure I never told them. A couple weeks after I got back Jennifer Barnes, in my history class, actually asked me to go to the movies. It wasn't really a big deal. There wasn't that much time to talk since it was a movie. We ate popcorn and made fun of the corny ads and quiz games that flash on the screen before the movie starts. Afterwards, when I dropped her off at her house, she sat in the car for a while after unbuckling her seatbelt, like she was expecting something. So I kissed her, just quickly, and told her I'd call her again sometime. But I haven't called. When I left her house that night I went home hoping G would be up and we could talk, but the lights were out in the guest room. I thought about opening the door to see if she would wake up. Instead I sat up for a while and thought about Emily and the things about being with her that made me really truly happy. Which of course makes me think about where I am now. It's not exactly the opposite of happy, but it's kind of like eating plain old white bread after you've had Alien Garlic Bread. You know you're missing something.

About a week after I went out with Jennifer, G asked me about it on the way to school.

“You going to call that girl again?”

“Who?”

“Whatsherface from history. What, you have so many dates these days you can't keep track?”

I snorted. “Nah, I don't think so.”

“No sparks, huh?”

“Not really.”

G paused for a minute. “Still thinking about Emily?”

“Maybe,” I admitted. “You probably think I'm a total idiot.”

G shook her head. “No, not at all. I think Emily's lucky to have met someone like you who sees the best in her.”

“Really? After everything that happened, that's what you think?”

“I think you care about her a lot.” She paused. “And I think she cares about you too. I think she's got kind of a messed-up way of showing it sometimes.”

“So you don't think she was just using me to get back at Lyle anymore?”

“Maybe at first. But I think—no, I know she ended up caring about you a lot. Honestly, I think it ended up freaking her out a little.”

“Yeah, well, not like it matters now. I'm probably never going to see her again.”

G shrugged. “You never know. The universe works in mysterious ways sometimes.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Now you
sound
like Emily.”

G laughed. “Yeah, don't ever tell her I said that.”

“Your grandmother left you some money in her will, Andrew,” Mom said one night over dinner. “I hope you'll do something sensible with it, like put it in the bank for college.” She paused. “But it's your money, so whatever you want to do with it is fine with me.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said.

She was chewing on her lower lip like she had something else to say but wasn't sure if she should say it. “Anyway, I'm sure your grandmother would have preferred you take it to Vegas, go skydiving, or buy some hotrod car.”

“It's okay, Mom,” I said. “I don't mind putting it away for college.” I took a deep breath. “I'm not sure I'll go right away, though. I mean, I'm not sure I see the point of just plunging headfirst into more education until I know what I want to be educated about.” I expected her to flip out, but instead Mom finished chewing and placed her fork down next to her plate.

“I think a gap year can be very sensible for some students,” she said.

“Or two,” I said.

Mom sighed. “Yes, even two. You know this isn't about what
I
want. It's about having options.”

“I know I have options, mom. What I want is a little more direction.”

Mom looked a little stunned at my response and it took her a minute to gather her thoughts again. “Well there's more,” she said. “Mima asked to be cremated.”

“Oh.”

“And she wanted you to decide what to do with her ashes.” Before I could respond to this Mom quickly continued speaking. “Personally I think that's a bit of a ridiculous thing to ask a teenager. But she was very specific about it being your responsibility. I think she wanted you to go on some crazy adventure or something and leave them on top of a mountain. I don't know, she wasn't very specific. Just that you were to decide what to do with them and to be creative about it.”

“Well, I guess I kind of already had the adventure part,” I joked.

Mom grimaced. “You could say that.”

“Don't worry, Mom. Whatever I do, I won't miss any more school this year. Mima can wait. I need to think about it anyway. Where is she now?”

“Her ashes? In an urn on top of the washing machine.”

This was Mom's place for an infinite number of things that didn't seem to have any other set location: wrapping paper, phone books, VHS tapes for a VCR we no longer owned, and apparently ashes of the deceased.

One afternoon on my way home my stomach was growling more than usual. I stopped at Mr. Bagel in town to grab something to eat, but when I reached for the door handle I paused. Without really caring who was looking, I walked over to the side of the building and around the back to the alley, where
there was a dark blue dumpster overstuffed with bags of trash. I lifted the lid and recoiled at the smell of rotting vegetables and sour dairy products. There was a brownish liquid pooling below the dumpster, and flies were buzzing around and landing in it. I grimaced and let the lid fall shut. I walked back around to the entrance, went inside, and mumbled my order to the cashier. She seemed overly sunny when giving me my change.

The experience reminded me of my really brief membership in the Boy Scouts. I went on exactly one scout outing. It was supposed to be a father-son trip, but at the last minute Dad bailed, and I had to get tacked on like a third wheel to some other father-son team. We hiked a little ways in to a shelter that was part of the Appalachian Trail and spent the afternoon clearing brush and tidying up the campsite as part of earning our community service badges. The best part of the whole trip was the beef stew we ate for dinner. Cooked in a pot over an open fire with the stars shining brightly above, every morsel tasted rich and delicious on my tongue. “What is this?” I remember asking my scout leader.

“Dinty Moore beef stew,” he answered and tossed me an empty can. I memorized the label and begged Mom to buy it for me when I got back from the trip. She gave me a funny look but tossed a couple cans in the cart the next time we were at the supermarket. I raced home after school the next day and carefully opened and reheated a can of stew. When I tasted it, I was crushed. It smelled and tasted like dog food. Under the bright fluorescent track lights of our kitchen, it even looked a bit like dog food. I poured the rest in a plastic bag and hid it in the trash. I was never so disappointed in a meal or a memory until that dumpster behind Mr. Bagel.

After about a month, G moved into the dorms, Mom went back to her regular schedule, and I just kind of slipped under the radar again. I still see G every day. She's gotten super involved at St. Mary's, playing lacrosse and tutoring kids at the elementary school across the way. She even started an astronomy club. I thought about joining; maybe I still will.

Around the same time G moved into the dorms I got a package in the mail. It was my Spidey sack with my clothes and the rest of my things stuffed inside. The whole thing was rolled up and tied inside a supermarket paper bag that looked like it wouldn't have made it down the block in one piece, much less across the country. I couldn't figure out how they tracked me down until I looked inside my spare glasses case, where Mom had taped my name and address the last summer I went to sleep-away camp. Tucked into a pair of my boxer shorts was a postcard showing a bunch of people in '80s spandex lifting weights on the beach. “Venice Beach, California” was written in hot pink bubble letters across the bottom.

On the back Jesse had written the words
Peace and love
and simply signed his name. I looked the card over a few times, hoping there was something I had missed, some other detail that would tell me more about where they were and what they were doing, but that was it.

With G out of the house and everything else going back to normal, I was beginning to think my adventures with the Freegans had all been part of some strange dream. The whole thing seemed to be fading into memory until one extremely bitter day in mid-February when I got another postcard. I wouldn't have even known it was from Emily except that it was addressed to Drew West and she had doodled swirly lines and
curlicues around the address. My name and address were the only things written on it. The front was a city scene of downtown San Francisco, and I knew it was Emily's way of saying hi. So I tacked it on my bulletin board, taking it down every once in a while when I felt like thinking about her.

That was when I started to hatch my plan. I knew I had to finish the school year, but if my grades were good enough Mom wouldn't hassle me about my summer plans. For the first time in my life I tried to do well in school. I know no one would ever believe this, but school isn't that hard if you listen in class and pay attention to a few basic rules. First off, always make sure your paper has your name, the date and a title on it. I swear, you could write ten pages of total BS, but if it has a nice header it will probably pass. Second, don't just study the night before an exam. I know this seems obvious and teachers have been telling me this for years. But seriously, twenty minutes of studying each day for a few days before a test makes the difference between a failing grade and a passing one. Thirdly, talk to your teachers. If you don't understand something, or even if you do, ask. Teachers will tell you pretty much exactly what they want to see on an assignment. They're probably just so jazzed that someone is making an effort that they'll practically write the thing for you.

Once I started doing these things, they just kind of became a habit. Third quarter I almost made the honor roll. Mom was so thrilled she took me and G out for a steak dinner. Well, steak for me and baked potato and salad for G. At dinner she talked herself blue about all the colleges I could get into if I kept up this kind of effort. I made a mental note to fail a couple things at the beginning of fourth quarter so she wouldn't make it her personal project to see that I got straight A's. I wasn't thinking about
college, I was thinking about how I could get back on the road again, and of course there was Emily. But here's something else that I didn't expect. It felt good to do well. My teachers looked me in the eye when they handed back my work, raised their eyebrows like they were impressed, and occasionally (mostly Ms. Tuttle) even smirked like they'd known I could do it all along.

The next postcard came from Seattle.

Dear Drew, I'm in Seattle and I'm working and trying to get my shit together. I think I'll be here for a little while. I owe you more of an apology than can fit on this card. I think about you a lot. Your Emily

The last two words were the best part. It didn't say “Yours comma Emily” it said “Your Emily”. Shortly after that card arrived I started researching airplane tickets to Seattle. The best part of my day every day was the approach to the mailbox. And the worst part was the walk up the driveway when it was empty.

The next card didn't come until mid-May and I had almost given up on hearing from her again. The writing was small and cramped and described a camping trip she had taken with some friends in the San Juan Islands off Seattle. It ended with the words “You should come visit.” And a phone number.

That night I made dinner for Mom and me. When she got home from school she eyed the spaghetti in the strainer suspiciously. When we had both tucked in to a big plate of pasta I made my announcement. “I think I know where I'm going to scatter Mima's ashes.”

“Really, where's that?”

“The Pacific Ocean.”

“Hmm.” Mom finished chewing and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “May I ask why? I mean, the Atlantic Ocean is certainly a lot more convenient to New York.”

I was ready for this. “It came to me in a dream.”

Mom dabbed at her mouth again with the napkin even though her face was clean. She looked to me like she was gearing up for a fight. So I was surprised when she said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Sure. It's your money. If you want to spend it on a plane ticket out west, I think I've learned I can't stop you.”

She didn't mean it as a guilt trip, but immediately I felt bad. “That's not all,” I said, deciding to come clean. “There's a girl I want to see. She's living in Seattle.” Mom looked up, and I was surprised by how interested and, well, happy she looked. So I told her about Emily—kind of an edited-for-parents version. She asked a lot of questions. Good questions; the kind someone asks when they're really listening to you. So I kept going and I told her about Tim and Jesse and Lyle, about working for Gene in Hot Springs and living on Jeremiah's farm. It wasn't until Mom stifled a yawn with the back of her hand that I realized it was late and we'd been talking for a couple hours.

“I should go to bed,” I said.

“It's late,” Mom agreed.

“Yeah, but not too late.”

***

G and I talked about my trip a few weeks before I left. “I heard you're going out west this summer,” she said.

“Yeah, well, I heard there's this crazy hippie college out there called Evergreen State where you can basically study
whatever you want and make up your own major.”

G laughed. “Watch out for those hippies,” she said. “You never know when they'll kidnap you and drag you around the country in some dirty van.”

“And I guess the University of Washington has a pretty intense philosophy department that might be worth checking out.”