Prose
Featured Prose
Caroline Swicegood
“PLANS”
The summer that Jamie started dating Becca, we got out of class a full week before everyone else. Well, Jamie and I did. There was a new rule that if you got an A in a class you didn’t have to take the final exam, and since Jamie and I always got A’s in everything we didn’t have to go at all the last week. On our first official day of summer, Jamie came over to my house like he did every morning but instead of heading off to school we rode our bikes to the library.
We brought the summer reading list with us and I squinted at it in the dimly lit library foyer. “Let’s see… Senior AP English, European literature. Plato’s Republic, the Iliad, Beowulf…”
“Read it, read it, read it.” Jamie grabbed the paper from my hand and scanned it. “We’ve read almost all of these. I wouldn’t mind reading Dr. Faustus again, though. Oh, and Nietzsche. I’ve never read Nietzsche.” He crumpled the list and shoved it in his pocket. “I’m going to look at the videos. Meet you back here in half an hour?”
I wandered off, slowly walking through the aisles. I had always loved libraries. I appreciated the order and organization, the quiet and calm. I liked that everything had a place and a purpose. I stopped every now and then, pulling a book off the shelf and flipping through it, occasionally sticking one under my arm. Essential Hinduism, Thoreau’s Walden, Baha’I for Beginners. I considered Buddhism for Dummies, but decided I was too embarrassed to check it out. At the last minute I added a book of Zen to my selection.
I took the books over to the checkout counter, hoping that I remembered to bring my library card. As I was fishing through my bag for it, Jamie came up, setting his pile on the counter. I glanced at them- a tattered copy of Thus Spoke Zarathustra and five videos. Jamie had a summer goal. He planned to watch all the movies on the list of the 100 Greatest Films, starting at the top and working his way down to number one.
I turned my bag inside out and dumped everything on the counter, my card nowhere to be found. “Don’t worry about it, I got it,” Jamie said, handing his card over to the librarian. She loaded our finds into plastic bags for us and we walked out into the bright June sunshine.
As we got on our bikes, Jamie was talking about his summer goal. “I can’t believe they had all of the first five movies on the list!” he exclaimed. “The best thing about this armpit of a town is the library, and the best thing about the library is that they rent out movies for free.”
“I don’t know, I think it’s pretty special that all the schools are named after Confederate generals.” We were proud graduates of R.E. Lee Elementary, Stonewall Jackson Middle, and were about to be seniors at William Tucker High. All we needed was to find a college named after Jefferson Davis and the cycle would be complete.
“Want to go back to your house and watch the first movie?” I made a face at him. “Come on. It will be fun. Please?”
Before I could answer, he pushed off on his bike and pedaled towards home, grinning at me over his shoulder.
The library was on the other side of the town, but it only took about twenty minutes to bike to our neighborhood. We rode into my driveway and put our bikes beside the garage, sweaty from the humid afternoon heat. I knew why Jamie wanted to go to my house instead of his- my mom’s sweet tea and the various baked goods that were always in the house kept us fed and happy in the afternoons. It had been that way ever since we could remember. Jamie’s mom worked a lot and we were lucky if she remembered to leave us some flat Coke in the fridge, and Jamie’s dad would yell at us if we were around too much, saying he needed some goddamn time to relax without kids running around everywhere. It had been especially bad the past few months, since he lost his job and just stayed at the house all day. Since we lived right next to each other, it was just easier to go to my house.
Mom was sitting on the screened-in porch reading when we got to the house. She had two glasses of tea waiting for us and a plate of watermelon with a little salt shaker shaped like a rooster besides it, since Jamie liked salt on his watermelon, in true Southern fashion. We abandoned our bags from the library in the kitchen next to the apple pie cooling on the table and sat down on the porch swing, grabbing at the slices of watermelon.
“Hey kids,” she greeted us. “How does it feel to be free for the summer?”
“Awesome,” I answered, biting into the sweet fruit. “Is that we’d love to have you.”
My mother, like everyone else, adored Jamie. Between his shaggy blond hair, record-setting two hundred yard dash, and excellent school record, he was the quintessential golden boy. We were the two smartest students in our class, and it always came down to us for top test scores and academic awards. He beat me every time, but just a point or two. It would have been easy to hate him but I knew him better than that. I knew all his quirks and less than perfect habits, like the fact that he smoked. None of the teachers at school would have believed it, nor would they have believed it if I told them that once Jamie ate magic mushrooms with our friend Miles and spent five hours on the elementary school playground in the middle of the night while tripping. Miles was another good student, usually coming in third behind me and Jamie, and the only other junior who didn’t have to take any final exams. We weren’t quite sure how he did it since he was usually too high to function on even the most basic level.
“No thanks, Mrs. Chandler,” Jamie said, shaking salt onto another piece of watermelon. “I have plans.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. He hadn’t told me about any plans, and he ate dinner with us almost every night. What could he possibly be doing?
“Okay, but you’re going to miss some good food. I made ham and green beans.” Mom smiled at him before turning her attention to me. “Oh, Brooke, some more college brochures came in the mail for you. I put them on your dresser.”
“What? Oh. Okay. Thanks.” I looked at Jamie again, wondering what kind of plans he was talking about, but he was staring at the plate and pushing watermelon seeds around with one finger.
“Your grandfather just called,” she continued. “He wants to borrow your father’s toolbox. Will you run it over?”
I nodded, still thinking about Jamie’s mysterious plans. We grabbed two slices of watermelon to go and ran out the door.
We decided to walk a few streets over to my grandfather’s instead of taking our bikes. It was a path we knew well. Jamie spent as much time there as I did, probably more. I loved my grandparents, but Jamie had grown up especially close to my grandmother. When we were younger, they would do word searches together and play poker for hours, bettering coffee beans instead of money. After she passed away out first year of middle school, he kept up her garden for her. Every spring he went to their house and took care of her lilac bushes and planted hydrangeas in one area and tomatoes in another, tending to them over the hot summer months. He took care of that garden like it was his child, paying close attention to the plants and trying to make them grow like my grandma had.
“So what are you doing that you can’t have dinner with us?” I glanced at him sideways, trying to walk, carry the toolbox, and keep the pink watermelon juice from running down the front of my shirt all at the same time. The walk wasn’t far, but the heavy metal box kept on hitting my leg over and over against at the same spot. It was already starting to get sore.
“You know Becca Mitchell?” He eyed the toolbox. “Hey, do you want me to take that?”
“No, it’s fine. Becca Mitchell? Isn’t she a sophomore?”
“Well, technically she’s a junior now. Or almost is. Are you sure you don’t want me to carry it?”
I waved the watermelon rind at him impatiently. “It’s fine. What about her?”
“We have plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Plans. To, you know, hand out. Come on, Brooke, let me carry the toolbox. You’re going to have a bruise.”
“Why do you have plans? I asked, ignoring him. “You two aren’t even friends.” I should know, since we spent almost every second together. We were together so often that most of the people at school, both teachers and students, assumed we were dating.
“She was in my art class this past semester. She’s pretty cool. Good artist.”
“Okay. Well, are you going to come over later so we can watch the movie?”
“I’m not sure how late I’ll be, so don’t feel like you have to wait for me. You can go out and do something if you want.”
Like what? I thought. Miles was the only other person we really spent time with, and if I hung out with him, we would just end up watching the
Grandpa was in the kitchen when we got there, putting the finishing touches on the bird feeder that he was building. We went in without knocking and joined him, setting the toolbox down in the garage first.
“Hi sweetie,” he said, kissing my cheek. I gave him a hug while he smiled a greeting at Jamie. “How are my two favorite straight-A students? How does it feel to be done with school?”
Jamie and I sat down at the table in our usual chairs. “It feels good,” I answered him. “We went to the library today. We were going to get the books on the summer reading list, but we’ve already read most of them, so we just got some fun stuff.”
Grandpa grinned at us. He had a very little formal education himself, but I knew he was really proud of us. He liked to prophesize about the future Pulitzers prizes and Oscars that my books and Jamie’s movies would win. “Have y’all thought any more about college? I guess you two will start visiting campuses soon and see what looks good.”
Jamie started in on an excited spiel about the film major at NYU, and how good the program is and how great it would be to love in
I stared at the unfinished bird feeder on the table, looking at the half-dried clumps of glue holding it together. I didn’t really like to think about college, and I wished that people would just stop talking about it already. Every day new brochures arrived at the house and everyone was constantly asking me and Jamie where we wanted to go, what we wanted to study, and I just wanted to ignore it all. There had always been the small hopeful though in the back of my mind that we would go to the same college and that not a lots would change, but the closer we got to our senior year, the more I realized that it probably wouldn’t happen that way. And
“…so it’s expensive, but they have scholarships and stuff. I could probably get one of those, and if not, I’ll take out a loan or something.” Jamie leaned back, smiling.
“What about you, honey?” Grandpa patted my knee. “Any colleges that you like? Or are you just going straight to writing award-winning novels?”
“I haven’t really thought about it. Hey, want to play Rummy?”
Jamie stood up. “Actually, I should probably leave. You know, plans.” He walked to the front door and opened it, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” I called back. I thought about calling Miles but decided against it. I would probably just go home and read. That would be more fun anyway.
I didn’t see Jamie again for almost a week, until the following Sunday. He had called me the next day like he promised, but just to tell me that he had made more plans and would be in touch soon, and he called me again on Thursday to say the same thing. I had grown to hate the word “plans.” While he was off making plans with Becca, I was sitting around my house reading or helping my mom bake things. I had channeled all the irritation I felt at my best friend into making pies and snickerdoodles and zucchini bread. The kitchen counter was consequently covered in sweet things that I had no interest in eating.
Jamie and I were sitting on the river bank at the park, each reading our library books. We had gone to church with our families that morning, like we always did, although Jamie’s dad was joining us less and less. Instead of listening to Pastor Frank’s sermon, we played hangman on the bulletin. One of Jamie’s words was “twatwaffle” and when I finally figured it out, I tried to stifle my laugh and ended up snorting loudly during prayer. One of the ladies in the pew in front of us turned around and glared at me before giving Jamie an indulgent smile.
Jamie was smoking a cigarette and it made me feel like I had to sneeze. It also made it hard to concentrate on my book. I was almost done with the one on Hinduism and I had brought Walden along just in case I finished it. Miles was a little farther down the bank where he had given up on playing hackey sack by himself and was skipping rocks across the river. I kind of got the feeling that he was aiming for the group of ducks paddling around the other side.
I wrinkled my nose. “Do you really have to do that? Smoking is so disgusting.”
Jamie looked up from Thus Spoke Zarathustra. “Yes, I do have to do it.” Taking a long grad, he motioned at my book. “Learning anything interesting?” he asked, smoke seeping out of his mouth and through his nostrils as he talked.
“Yeah, it’s interesting. I don’t know. I kind of like the idea of reincarnation.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“I guess I just kind of feel like there’s too much in the world to experience in one lifetime.”
Grinning at me, he said, “Reincarnation, huh? Spoken like the good Southern Baptist you were raised to be. Pastor Frank obviously did a good job with you.” He tapped his book. “You know, Nietzsche says that God is dead.”
“Didn’t Nietzsche have syphilis?” I was pretty sure I had read that somewhere.
“That’s beside the point.” He lay down and stretched out over the grass. “It seems to me that all religions are pretty much same. I mean, sure, they have different deities and different doctrines, but they all try to give a name, an explanation, to thing we can’t know. I just don’t know why people feel the need to have everything figured out all the time.”
I’m one of those people that needs to have everything figured out all the time, I though. That was one fundamental difference between us- I always wanted things to make sense when they barely ever did, whereas Jamie was secure in not understanding something. His unwavering confidence was something that I had always been envious of.
“After all, at the end of the day, you have yourself,” he continued. “What more do you need?”
I lay down next to him, careful to mark my place in the book, and stared through the tree branches stretched over us. Miles, apparently bored with antagonizing the ducks, wandered over and sat down on the other side of me. His rolled-up jeans were wet to the knees and his Birkenstocks were in his hand. He always wore a bandana and the one for today was bright blue, which contrasted against his dark curls.
“Well, I’ve got to go.” Jamie brushed the grass off his shirt and stood up. “I’m meeting Becca. We have plans.”
“Of course you do,” I muttered. He didn’t hear me.
This time all I got was a goodbye, not even a weak promise of calling me soon. I glared at him as he got on his bike and pedaled off. Miles followed my gaze. “He’s spending a lot of time with Becca these days,” he said casually.
“No joke. Every day this week they’ve done stuff. I just don’t know what they do together- she doesn’t seem very interesting.”
“Nah, she’s not too bad. She’s pretty smart. And a good artist, too. She had some stuff in the student art show in May.”
This time I turned my glare to him. To my surprise, he was looking intently at me, head cocked to one side and face thoughtful. He reached over and pushed my hair behind my ear, then kissed me.
He pulled back and I stared at him. “Are you high right now?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“You’re coming to the cookout on Tuesday, right?” My eyes strayed to Jamie’s neck, where a small bruise stood out against his pale skin. Definitely a hickey.
“I don’t know. Becca and I are thinking of going to
“Jamie! It’s the Fourth of July cookout. We have it every year. Can’t you stick around for one fucking day?” The rest of June had been more or less like the first week we were out of school- I sat around my house reading or making mega-batches of cookies and bread, usually on Sundays after church, and that was it. The only change was now I spent my evenings making out with Miles in his car or smoking pot with him in his room. I didn’t really enjoy either one that much, but it was something to do, and at least now I had something to do with all the stuff I made. My newfound hobby of getting high corresponded nicely with my old hobby of baking.
This was another such Sunday afternoon, and we were sitting in my kitchen after church. I was finding it increasingly hard to hide my frustration that he had completely ditched me for a month.
“Whoa, Brooke, calm down. Does it really matter if I’m there, anyway?”
“Yes, it matters.” I paused and stared down at my hands. “I never get to see you anymore. What the hell do you two do all the time?” I found myself looking at the hickey again.
“We just hang out. She’s really nice, Brooke. You would like her. She’s fun to be around.”
“I wouldn’t know whether or not I would like her, since you never ask me to go out with you. And I’m not fun anymore?”
It was Jamie’s turn to stare at his hands. “It’s not that I don’t think you’re fun anymore. It’s just… well, she’s different. It’s just that my parents fight all the time now and I hate being at home or anywhere near home.”
“Jamie, this town is only three miles long. You can only get so far away. So I’m being punished for being too close?”
“I’m not trying to punish you.” He paused. “I almost wish that my parents would just go ahead and get divorced. Something has to happen. I can’t live there anymore when they fight like this. I just can’t.”
I sighed. “Well, you should come to the cookout. It’s only one day, and Mom and Grandpa keep asking me where you’ve been lately.”
Guilt washed over his face. “Okay, I’ll come. I’ll be there. I promise.”
I didn’t really believe him.
I never had the chance to see whether or not Jamie would keep his promise. I was woken up the next day by my parents. They came into the room and sat down on my bed, one on each side. “Brooke,” my mom said, gently shaking my shoulder. “Brooke, I have some sad news. Jamie’s father passed away last night.”
Instead of spending the day preparing for the cookout, we put on our Sunday clothes and went over to Jamie’s house. Several people from church were already in the living room comforting his mother, and my parents joined them, my mom holding her hand and rubbing her back. I wandered around, unsure of what to do with myself. I kept on imagining the car going through the guardrail, flipping over, crushing him. I overheard my mom say that he was on the way back from the bar. I had never been close to Jamie’s dad or even liked him that much, but still, it was his father. I went upstairs and knocked on Jamie’s door, but he didn’t answer.
Over the next few days we made food to take over and did what we could to help Jamie’s mom. Mom made casseroles and I baked her things, as much to help her as to make myself feel better about being so powerless. The people from church slowly stopped coming and Jamie’s mom spent all her time on the back porch, staring out at the valley. My mom would sit with her, talking in soothing words to a person who wasn’t really listening. Jamie stayed in his room and refused to see anyone, not even coming out for the funeral. I went over there a few days later and Becca was sitting in the living room.
I studied her, the girl that had stolen my best friend. She had short dark hair and big brown eyes that were filled with years at the moment. It was the first time I had interacted with her directly, and she seemed much smaller than I remembered from school.
After a few moments of staring at each other, I asked, “Is he still not seeing anyone?”
She shook her head, wiped her eyes, and got up. “I should leave. If you talk to him, let him know I came by, okay?”
I nodded. I reach out and grabbed her hand on impulse as she passed me, and she squeezed it and gave me a small smile.
The following weekend I cam back from yet another night spent with Miles in his car, parked in the Wal-Mart parking lot. I had been even less interested in those activities than usual, and I spent more time making sure his hands didn’t go anywhere I didn’t want them to than actually kissing him. My parents seemed to forget that I had a curfew anymore and I had been out until two or three most nights, but Miles had gotten frustrated by midnight and taken my back to my house. He tried to slip me the tongue one last time before I got out of the car but I turned away and he just ended up licking my cheek.
I put on my pajamas and got into bed, grateful at the silence. Turning on my side and hugging my stuffed rabbit to my chest, I closed my eyes and relaxed. I was thinking through the events of the past week when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and my bedroom door opened.
Suddenly alert I sat up and turned on the lamp on my nightstand. Jamie, fully dressed, stood in the doorframe. His blond hair was disheveled and dirty, and his eyes were red. “My dad died,” he said.
“I know.”
He climbed into bed with me without taking off his shoes. Silently I handed him my stuffed bunny and turned off the light. We laid there for a few minutes, Jamie sniffling every now and then. In the dark, he reached out and grabbed my hand, squeezing it. I squeezed back once, hard, and held on. Slowly Jamie’s breathing became regular and his grip loosened. I closed my eyes and let myself drift off to sleep, but I kept holding on. I wasn’t sure whether it was for myself or for Jamie, but I just knew that I needed to hold on.
-Caroline Swicegood