Preface
Beyond a small belief in the existence of spirits, I hadn’t thought much about life after death or the idea — the soul can still feel love and pain long after it loses its earthly embodiment. But, that shocking truth called out to me — first in my dreams, and then in broad daylight. It was one of the few things I was certain of.
My journey had begun merely weeks ago, and over this short time, I learned spirits walk among us every day. Most of us go about our daily lives not realizing they’re there or choosing to ignore them. Some of us find out about their existence by chance, and even fewer of us seek them out. Enlightened by my journey, I’m now among the seekers.
1. NO LONGER GROUNDED
I thought I’d die waiting on the last five minutes of my junior year. A mix of emotions flooded my brain while the clock taunted me with each painful, slow tick. These last five minutes marked the much anticipated end of my solitude — the longest grounding I’d ever experienced in my life.
Mom, being the kind hearted angel that she is, gave my phone back to me seven hours ahead of schedule. I thought I was clever — with the cords to my earphones ran under my shirt. I strategically placed my hair over my shoulders to hide the evidence — I was listening to music in class, but I hadn’t realized my finger tapping along to the rhythm registered as annoyance to everyone else.
It wasn’t until I heard Mr. Stanford’s piercing demand for SILENCE, coupled with his glare, that I became aware I’d just made myself the center of attention. His unforgiving eyes, saturated with discontent, threatened to burn a hole through me and brought my finger tapping to an abrupt halt. I squirmed in my seat with uncontrollable nervousness.
His gaze was joined by my classmates — all eyes were on me. I could feel my cheeks getting warmer as they flushed pink. Great … this is just another embarrassing moment to add to the list. I reached into my pocket, flipping a familiar switch to turn off the music.
The warmth in my cheeks didn’t last long, thanks to frigid air being forced from a large vent right above my seat. It chilled me and I peered out an expansive row of windows, longing for the warm, humid air on the other side. Brilliant rays of sunlight lit the world outside casting a glow — a stark contrast to Mr. Stanford’s boring, white classroom walls. To me, the lifeless, institutional look of his room was polar opposite of a learning environment — I fought to stay awake.
With nothing left to do but stare at the oversized clock’s second hand, near-certain it just moved backwards — I reminisced about what landed me in this trouble to begin with.
My father handed down the sentence after I’d gotten busted for sneaking out with friends and going to a beach party after dark. It wasn’t really sneaking out, or going to the beach that got me in the worst trouble … it was the ridiculous, stupid comment which flew out of my mouth immediately afterward…
“But, Dad, we do it all the time.” Those involuntary words spewed from my mouth, like a loud obnoxious hiccup.
I lifted a hand over my lips in a rushed attempt to shut myself up. I would have given anything for the magical power to reverse time. If I could’ve sucked those words right out of existence, this ordeal wouldn’t have merited such severe reprimand. Then I prayed internally, maybe he didn’t hear me, but NO … he heard me, loud and clear!
“Baylie, since you are bold enough to admit ‘you do it all the time,’ it sounds like you just earned yourself a semester of NOTHING but school,” his words burned as stern and harsh as salt on a fresh wound.
My father’s reputation and his unwavering look of disapproval made it perfectly clear — there was no need to argue or beg or plead, I simply nodded in defeat. My eyes welled up with a slight puffiness, in part due to embarrassment and also, because I knew the semester would drag by surreptitiously slow. The thought of only seeing my friends at school, and in the brief moments that I might get to see them while working was downright torturous. This mistake distressed me — I felt true regret, bordering on shame.
I admit … it was a deserved punishment, though. I’d been warned many times. I knew I’d been forbidden to be beach-side after dark. My overprotective parents feared I might fall in the water and get pulled out into a high tide. But the truth is — my best friends and I did do this sort of thing, if not all the time, perhaps on frequent occasions, would be a better description.
We’d snuck out late and went to the beach at least half a dozen times before. Tyler, Matthew, Stefanie, and I are inseparable, when I’m not grounded, and we’re very good at breaking the rules, usually without getting caught.
We’d never been rebellious or disrespectful — in fact we’d spent countless hours volunteering at the Marine Wildlife Preserve and plenty of other community service minded things. We were just under the impression certain rules shouldn’t apply to us, such as curfew and no technology after 10:00 p.m. My parents should have been thrilled that I’d chosen friends who actually planned to have a future.
I could thank my father, Steve Storm, for my inherited superb sneak-ability. He’s a retired CIA agent, and he spent the better part of thirty years doing things he’s not even allowed to talk about. I often wondered just exactly how he spent his days, nights, and weeks away. I always imagined he was a good guy, and not involved in any espionage or double agent work … although, there wasn’t anything good about the way I felt for being grounded for an entire semester.
Finally the bell chimed loudly, awakening me from my reverie — signifying the end … and the beginning of so many things.
Tyler Caldwell had crossed the hall way and found me amongst a crowd of at least a thousand students. He was at my side in an instant, and it shocked me to feel his arm around my shoulder. We have known each other since first grade. When we first met, he was nice … he used to push me on the swings and we’d play games in the gymnasium. But — then he became a typical boy and he spent most recess breaks trying to throw worms at me, so I’d scream and call him names and then I’d run and tattle as fast as I could.
In recent years we became best friends. Seldom ever would a weekend go by that I didn’t spend time at least talking to him, or hanging out with him. Typically we could be found at the beach or down at the park along with Matthew and Stefanie.
Breaking my thought process, Tyler said, “Hey, girl, freedom at last! We’re going out tonight, right? I was thinking we need a little sand, sun, fun, and then dinner and a movie — sound good?”
“That will be perfect! I can’t wait to get out of the house. I’ve felt like a prisoner in solitary confinement for the last four months. Can you pick me up at about 5:00 p.m.?”
“You bet — I’ll be there.” His sheepish smile amused me.
Tyler was relatively quiet as he walked me to my car. His silence gave me an opportunity to observe and admire him, uninterrupted. It was easy to be in awe of Tyler. He has no enemies. As far as I know, nobody even dislikes him. He’s been playing football his entire high school career, earning him an extreme eye catching physique. He’s a very boisterous and caring free spirit, and his level of intelligence is uncommon among seventeen year old boys. Tyler has high aspirations in life — like medical school aspirations. He’s the kind of guy who always knows what to say at just the right time — almost intuitive. As if that weren’t enough to make him every girl’s dream, his big brown eyes light up when he smiles … which is near-constant.
For the past eleven years, he’s been my best guy friend, no — in reality, my best friend period — with Stefanie being a close second. He’s not my boyfriend, I’m not even sure if he wants to be, but I’ve caught myself thinking about him more often, and unintentionally staring at him, sort of wishing he was — my boyfriend.
I became so lost in my thoughts about him — I hadn’t realized we’d already walked the full distance of the school parking lot … or even detected my cheap flip flops were nearing their melting point on the scorching hot pavement. We’d passed by the entire student body, carrying on ecstatically about the school year coming to an end, and I didn’t even notice.
On most days, I’d take my time to admire the butterflies hovering over the massive wild flower gardens flanking the parking lot, but not this day — my mind was somewhere else.
As I reached for the door handle of my red Mustang, Tyler flipped me gently with his gym towel, and then took off running.
“Hey!” I yelled.
I dropped my backpack — filled with the remaining contents of my now empty locker, on the pavement and took off after him. I sprinted across the parking lot as fast as I could and leapt up onto his back, as if I was going to be able to tackle him.
He kept going like my weight on his back was nothing at all. He wasn’t even out of breath when he jogged over to his truck. I leaned over his left shoulder, my face a dangerous, close distance to his. He glanced up at me very innocently and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. With my arms still around his shoulders I gave him a tight squeeze, and then hopped back down to the pavement.
“I can’t wait to see you later,” I admitted impulsively with perhaps too much desire in my voice.
Again wishing I could retract my words — I let my arms loosen from around his shoulders.
“Get in,” he demanded. “I’ll drive you back over to your car.”
I followed his exact instructions, hoping I hadn’t crossed the line and let too much of what I felt slip out when I said, I can’t wait to see you later.
His truck sounded oddly thrilling, even on the short ride to the other end of the parking lot. He pulled up beside my Mustang and cut the engine off right as I reached for the door handle to get out.
“Hey,” he called my attention. “I can’t wait to see you later either.” His voice flowed as smooth as liquid gold. The confident expression on his face made it clear, we were still good.
I hadn’t screwed anything up with my heinous comment.
“Awesome, see you at 5:00 p.m.,” my smile proved impossible to hide this time.
That could never get old, I thought to myself as I headed out of the parking lot. I took one more, quick glance in the rear-view mirror at the expansive brick school behind me, knowing that I wouldn’t miss it this summer. I stepped on the gas, revving the engine, and navigated the familiar streets of Savannah, toward home.
My car’s thermostat showed ninety-four degrees and my legs were already sweating from the hot, black leather seats. I was thankful I’d remembered to lay a towel across my seat before school — on the days when I’d forgotten, the seats became unbearable … blistering. I assumed my dad must have gotten a good deal on this car, because nobody else wanted black leather seats around here.
I made the turn into our driveway, and I slowed down, as I’d always done, adoring each and every tree lining the drive, and the gorgeous, sprawling mansion at the end.
I instinctively reached for the volume knob on the radio and turned it down.
I’d always felt like I’d entered some sort of kingdom when I passed under the majestic Live Oaks forming an arch over the driveway. Embellished with Spanish moss, hanging in an evocative and beautiful manor, they’d always called to me.
I really love this place. Even though I’d been a prisoner here for the last four months … I could never deny its beauty and grace. I used to imagine this home was — almost magical, even when we visited my grandparents here … there was always something special about it.
My mother, Caroline, inherited this property when her father, Harold Windham, died twelve years ago. Grandpa had been in a wheelchair for almost forty years, leaving the property maintenance to the unreliable hands of hired help, who rarely even showed up.
My grandma, Betty, continued to live in the home for a while after Grandpa’s death, but she too was physically unable to care for it. The walls were literally crumbling down around her, and the yard had become a jungle.
Not long after Grandpa died, her mental condition deteriorated, and she had to go to a nursing home. Mom tried to care for her the best she could, but Grandma had become a danger to herself and others. She couldn’t be trusted around fire, but that’s another story.
Dad still had a couple years left before his retirement, and no time to make repairs with all of his work-related travel, so the home remained vacant for many years before we moved in. Scrutinizing it now, it’s hard to remember the neglect and vandalism it had seen.
When Grandma’s personal items were all removed and the renovations first began — the home actually frightened me. There were holes in the plaster walls, the wood floors were stained, splintered and distraught looking. Almost all of the trim pieces were falling down, it was a pitiful sight. The daunting project appeared impossible at first glance.
My family worked tirelessly to restore the classic Greek revival style home’s dilapidated façade. My hands blistered from the paint scraper I’d used relentlessly, while we restored the home’s entire interior.
The giant columns near collapse and the leaky roof required expensive professional assistance. The balcony under the two story portico, which had become a haven for raccoons, squirrels, and various other wild creatures, also needed a complete overhaul.
We spent over a year scraping, building, sweeping, painting, and mending our wounds incurred on the task, but now the mansion stands proud as a gleaming reminder of the rich history of Savannah. We’d had many unexpected visitors just drop by, in awe of the progress we made.
I parked the Mustang in my usual spot in the three car garage and made a brisk walk through the yard and into the trees over to the left of the home, a routine journey for me.
There is one tree that I love. For as long as I can recall it’s been my special place. Like many of the others in the yard, it is a Live Oak, gracefully adorned with Spanish moss, but this one has always been extraordinary. I’d made time almost each day to visit my tree, climbing up onto the lower branches which have leaned over a great distance, appearing huge and cumbersome, as though the tree decided one day they were too heavy, and just allowed them to lay a little closer to the ground.
My most beloved branch is long and has a hefty circumference — enormous enough, I’d often lied down on it, without fear of falling out of the tree. This is where I could be found anytime I needed to reflect, or just be alone. Sometimes I’d get lost in the idea — this tree knows me better than any human could, except maybe Tyler.
It just listens, it never complains, it never gives any negative feedback, it simply lives and invites me in with branches that welcome me like open arms to offer a colossal hug. Its brilliant green leaves provide an umbrella of serenity, a safe harbor.
I didn’t have any current problems to confess to my tree, just excitement about no longer being grounded. I spent a few minutes at peace with the world, and then bolted back over to the house and into the foyer entrance.
“Mom, Dad, I’m home,” I called in a semi-sarcastic voice which really said, I’m home for a few minutes, and then I’m gone! My sentence is served, let play time commence!
Exhilaration warmed my blood as I danced my way across the finely polished cherry floors, and bounded up the stairs two at a time, with my hand grazing the masculine curved banister.
Entering my bedroom, I flipped on the light switch and glanced up at the sparkling crystal light fixture adorned with a medallion, like jewels on a delicate woman. The magnificent high ceilings framed by substantial crown moldings always caught my attention. My mother insisted on keeping the home historically correct, right down to the vintage lace curtains. She had the pleasure of growing up here. I often wondered what this room looked like when it was hers.
Even though I was long overdue for a night on the town, I nevertheless appreciated my surroundings. I gave my backpack a nonchalant toss onto my bed without missing a step toward the French doors leading onto the balcony. I marched outside, ever mesmerized by the impressive view. We have one of the largest yards in town, with grounds rivaling that of European estates.
Then snapping back to the more important events to come this evening, I re-entered my room, closing the French doors behind me.
I started digging through the hanging shelf in my closet for proper clothing for tonight’s outing. What to wear? Barring any weather miracles, it was guaranteed to be hot and humid, and we’d be going to the beach for a while. I made a quick decision — my favorite plain blue bikini topped with my trusty jean-shorts and my all-time favorite, teal blue, racer-back tank top should be perfect.
I gave my blonde, wavy hair a quick fluff with my brush and allowed it fall to the middle of my back. Then I slicked on a little lip gloss — that just about sums up the extravagance of my makeup routine. Except for special occasions, when maybe I’d throw on a little mascara too. I’m just a face-value kind of girl, and although I’d never considered myself a snob, I also never spent too much time worrying about what other people think of me. I guess I’d always been secure in myself, just as my mom had taught me to be. She told me, love yourself and others will love you too. It was good advice, I suppose.
The fierce growling in my stomach sent me to the kitchen to rummage for a snack. My mom entered the room just as I finished using my lips to suck every last crumb from the package which formerly held the granola bar I just devoured.
“My, are we hungry,” she mused with her sweet southern accent ringing angelically when she spoke.
“Not anymore! I’m much better now that I’ve destroyed some whole grain oats,” I giggled at myself.
I’d never been the most ladylike person in the world when it came to eating … I was all business. But, you couldn’t tell my appetite was ravenous by viewing my slight frame. If I were a few inches taller, I’d look too thin, but I’m just short enough — I have curves in the right places. I guess I could thank Mom for that too, we were both very blessed with a petite and slender build … or at least I’d always presumed she’d been blessed with her slim physique. Maybe she just ran herself thin from skillfully keeping this gorgeous property in tip-top shape.
Mom and I share the same hue of vibrant, naturally blonde hair as well. Our eyes are different, though … hers are bluer than mine. She has the most dazzling, almost electric blue eyes and mine are a simple hazel green. Mom had told me on several occasions that my eye color appeared to shift to different shades of green, but, I’d never noticed any change — I thought she was kidding.
“Where’s Dad?” I wondered. I needed his approval for every move I would be making this evening, because I didn’t want to screw up my new found freedom.
“He’s in the den watching a football game,” she informed me, then pressed her lips to my forehead and wrapped her delicate arms around me.
I paused to examine her, stunned by her timeless beauty — age hasn’t faltered her appearance at all.
“I just can’t believe how grown up you are now, seems like just yesterday you were in Kindergarten, and now you’re almost a senior in high school. Where has the time gone?” She seemed remiss — I expected tears at any moment.
“I don’t know, Mom, but I’m sure I wasn’t in Kindergarten just yesterday, because yesterday I was grounded — and today I’m not.” I smiled with as much charm as I could muster, knowing my silly sarcasm kept her emotions in check.
She teetered on the edge of a meltdown.
“I’m going to say hello to Dad and let him know what we’re going to be doing tonight, so I don’t get myself into trouble again.”
“Okay, sweetheart.”
I tiptoed with slow, soft steps into the den, a lump of nervousness growing in my throat. On most occasions, I feared him. I had no reason to feel that way, I hadn’t done anything wrong, but my dad cornered the market on the intimidation factor, there was no other comparison. His hardened nature is a bi-product of his mysterious past.
“Dad, are you in here?” I quietly asked for him, secretly hoping he would be asleep.
“Yeah, what is it?”
“Well, Tyler, Matthew, Stefanie, and I are planning on going to the beach for a little while, and then getting dinner and watching a movie tonight, and I just wanted to make sure that’s okay?” I muttered in a childlike voice.
“Hmm … I guess, since you’re not grounded anymore. But don’t be out too late,” he sternly warned.
“Ok, I love you, Dad.”
“Love you too.”
I was never so happy to hear the doorbell ring — I let out a sigh of relief when I opened the door.
Tyler stood on the other side, looking so debonair in his designer jeans and a form fitting tee shirt which hugged his chest in a way that made me envious.
“Hey, I thought we were going to the beach? Where are your swimming trunks?”
“Oh, they’re in the Jeep — in my bag…I’ll just change when we get there,” Tyler grinned with embarrassment.
If I didn’t know better I’d think he was trying to impress me.
We’d be taking Matthew’s Jeep tonight and I was grateful, because that meant Stefanie would call shotgun, and Tyler and I would have to sit in the back seat.
I was slightly angry at myself for allowing that bolt of excitement to shoot through me, and it required every ounce of self-control to keep myself together. Why am I so attracted to him anyway? He used to eat his own boogers in second grade. I must remain calm. I must remind myself, we are nothing more than friends. And I must breathe. I hate that he takes my breath away. And I hate that I have to put a filter on my thoughts, just to keep from spouting off about my real feelings — something I’m sure he’s not ready to hear.
Knowing that my life would be less complicated, if I’d stick to the friends only mindset with him, I forced myself to glance away.
“Stef, you just exude cuteness,” I was sincere in my admiration of her.
She has a style all her own, the classy brunette with gorgeous curly hair, blue eyes, and long legs — she’s a true traffic stopper. She could make a paper sack appear like a designer outfit, but of course she has no need for that, because she makes her clothes from scratch. Stefanie has been studying fashion design since she was too young to spell it.
If I had even half of her talent, I could be dangerous.
She wore one of her own creations, a fabulous swim suit cover up, layered and slashed in all the right places allowing just a slight see-through effect. I hope she brought a change for dinner, though!
“Thanks, you look cute too, Bay,” her eyes darted away fast.
The rapid eye movement insinuated she was indeed getting tired of me wearing this stupid tank top, but it’s my favorite. I could never change who I am just to make everyone else happy. Comfort has always been of extreme importance to me. There are many girls who live by the motto ‘beauty hurts,’ but I’d certainly never be one of them. I’d sacrifice beauty for comfort any day of the week.
Matthew had the stereo cranked up to a brain rattling level, playing his favorite tunes. I had to yell, leaning forward with my head above the center console just to make conversation with them.
The wind whipped my hair wildly enough — I wished I had put it up into a ponytail for the twenty minute drive to Tybee Island.
We neared the beach, eager to play. The best parking we could find was still a good distance from the beach, but we didn’t mind the walk. The boys grabbed the cooler and Stef and I gathered all the towels and our beach bags, heading straight to our favorite spot.
The locals knew us well and even tried to keep our preferred little spot on the beach unoccupied. We waved at several familiar faces while treading across the soft white sand.
The sun beamed down on us brightly and it was a balmy ninety-eight degrees out — the kind of heat we were used to, growing up in the South. We had a couple hours before sunset and we intended to spend it well.
The guys had preloaded the coolers with ice and soft drinks, and brought along a Frisbee and volleyball for a little sandy sports action. I’d just planned on enjoying the sunshine, and then cooling off in the water as needed, but the boys had already decided for us, we’d be starting our afternoon of fun with a volleyball match.
I was just barely athletic enough to participate. I had never been coordinated enough for team sports, but I didn’t mind making a fool out of myself amongst good friends. I slipped out of my shorts and tank top and took the first serve. I could get the ball over the net, but it resembled undisputable chaos. I had more trouble returning the ball after someone else served it to me than anything else — I almost always ended up face down in the sand.
I gave up after just a few minutes of humiliation and ran down to the water’s edge to rinse off. I just wanted to get back to my originally intended use of time … sunbathing. I’d pretend like I was getting a gorgeous bronze tan, but that would be a blatant lie. My skin is naturally milky white, even when I’d attempted to tan at regular intervals, I was still lucky to just reduce my general paleness. With a high SPF, my cheeks still turned pink from overexposure, but my friends all said my “glow” complimented my hazel green eyes.
“Tyler, you’re blocking my sun with your freakishly large shadow,” I complained with a sarcastic smile, telling myself, being childish and somewhat rude to him would be a surefire way to keep my mind centered.
I had just gotten comfortable on my oversized beach towel, when he decided to hover too close, casting a shadow over me. His most probable intent was to bounce the volleyball off my head, or throw ice cubes at me, because that kind of thing was his customary idea of fun.
“Oh, sorry,” he backed up several steps, allowing the sun to shine on my body again with a juvenile smirk on his face which all but admitted, he’d just been caught.
He was totally up to mischief — I could see the wheels turning in his head. I watched him, intrigued at how his behavior was so easy to predict, he found someone else to pester once he’d lost the element of surprise. I knew he’d be back before long, when another opportunity for a sneak attack arose, so I kept one eye open, waiting.
I had just popped the top on an icy cola, but I visualized grabbing another one and shaking it up and spraying him with it. My common sense told me Matthew wouldn’t be too happy about us getting his seats all sticky so I dismissed the idea just as rapidly as it came to me.
Tyler grabbed a handful of ice from his big red cooler and tiptoed over toward Stefanie. His fingers must have been freezing, because his facial expression emulated pain as he trod over to her, uncoordinatedly, and slathered her back with the ice.
“You jerk!” she screamed, jumping up after him.
The fight began.
Stefanie flew up and wrapped herself around him, somehow managing to kick one of his feet out from under him, knocking him to the soft white sand below.
I felt a slight twinge of jealousy.
In the following moments, Matthew joined in to help his buddy, so logically I had to intervene as well. We were a tangled mess of arms and legs, wrestling each other with ferocity. In our classic dog-pile ruckus, I ended up at the bottom, not surprisingly. Good grief, I could have just died due to sand suffocation while buried under the pile. I wonder if that’s ever happened to anyone around here.
After the humor and adrenaline wore off, we picked ourselves up, and then exploded in laughter again at the sight of each other.
“Oh my goodness,” Stefanie gawked at me in disbelief. “You have at least five billion specks of sand on your body. I don’t see one spot that isn’t covered!”
I peeked down at myself, giggling once more … even my belly button was full of sand. I waded out waist deep to rinse away the majority of grit, with my comrades following behind me. The water cleansed us, perfectly warm and soothing.
I tried to help Tyler get all of his sand rinsed off, but my eyes were stinging from the salt water splash-fest he started just a few seconds after we’d gotten wet. We were completely soaked, which I hadn’t planned on, and my hair would be a wild mess, but at least I didn’t have sand in all of my crevices any longer.
“Hey, let’s just run by my house since it’s the closest,” Stefanie suggested.
We realized we were a bit too drenched and sloppy from all the commotion in the sand to go out to dinner. We needed to make ourselves seem a little more presentable.
We piled into Matthew’s Jeep with the warm wind blowing through our hair and drying our swimsuits along the way to Stefanie’s house. Matthew needed no assistance in finding her home — I was slightly suspicious of that until the realization hit me, he knew his way to my house too. I dismissed my suspicion when I thought rationally about it — almost everyone on the planet is more directionally minded than me. I’d been to Stef’s house at least a hundred times and still needed a reminder on the directions to navigate the residential streets.
After a few more turns I started to recognize her neighborhood … it was an eclectic mix of homes. I’d never seen another area where there was a contemporary home beside an A-frame, followed by a Tudor style house next door to a plain ranch dwelling. Even the landscaping seemed odd with palm trees intermingled with hefty cypress — and looming oaks. Then there were the palmettos growing sporadically alongside the more domesticated dwarf spruce bushes … a hodge-podge of greenery.
Stefanie’s parents had their home built in the early 90’s. Every time I saw it, the thought ran through my mind — it could use a makeover — too bad she was a fashion designer and not an interior designer. The home was solid brick and they’d made good choices in their building materials, but the inside hadn’t been updated since the construction date.
The oval shaped tub in the guest bathroom just screamed ‘outdated.’ It’s an off-white acrylic type material made in the guise of imitation marble, with streaks of pink randomly strewn about. I guess I’d been spoiled by the timeless craftsmanship of our pre-1900’s home. It was challenging for me to go anywhere without critiquing what I saw.
I worried about the sand leaving evidence of everywhere my feet had been as I stepped onto the burgundy colored carpet in Stefanie’s bedroom, certain we’d need to vacuum before we could leave for dinner.
The boys took turns in the bathroom first, since they had less to accomplish. They watched television while Stef and I took turns getting a quick shower. I was done before her, so I volunteered to make a few passes with the vacuum to clean up the mess we’d left behind. I didn’t want her to get in trouble. With only about forty-five minutes spent on our thorough sand removal and cleanup … we were on our way again. The night was still young.
We had so much fun at our favorite Mexican Restaurant, El Matador. Matthew donned a sombrero and did his best to sing along to the joyous cultural music in the background — turning our dinner into more of an adventure or a mini-vacation than a meal.
We laughed at each other’s jokes, made fun of each other’s clothes — well, mostly just Matthew’s clothes — he wore baggy jean-shorts which hung well below his knees and had his polka dotted underwear hanging out of the top. Oh yeah, dude, so suave! If he was attempting to look like a “thug” he missed the mark, because he’s just too teddy-bearish, with his blonde hair, blue eyes, and dimpled cheeks.
Our meal arrived, amidst our immature finger pointing and belly laughing at each other. We treated ourselves to virgin strawberry daiquiris, fajitas, and more chips and salsa than any four teenagers should legally be allowed to eat.
My cheeks were actually sore from smiling so much — it had been a long time since I’d felt so happy.
We dashed into the movie theater as the opening credits had already played — missing the first several minutes of the show. I regretted our decision to buy popcorn, after being already stuffed to the gills from our dinner. After one salty, buttery bite of popcorn I pushed the bucket away to avoid getting sick.
After about ten minutes of trying very hard to focus on the movie I became vehemently aware there was no way possible that it could captivate my attention, so I allowed myself to daydream — my mind wandered rampant.
Perhaps I was telepathically communicating with Tyler — or maybe it was just his intuitive nature, because just as I was thinking about how much I really wished he would hold my hand, he very gently laid his fingers on top of mine. He had a slight hesitation, as if he’d expected me to pull my hand away.
I didn’t.
He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “This movie sucks, but the company is great!”
“Ha, I agree,” I laughed out loud then lowered my voice when the people in the row behind us shushed me.
I was ready to go home before the movie was even over. After being grounded for so long, the evening’s excitement was almost more than I could handle. I found my fear of being late more pressing than my readiness to be home. But Matthew insisted on one quick cruise through town before heading back to my place. I could have done without the cruising, but the city lights were always impressive. Since I didn’t want to be a party pooper, and I wasn’t the one driving, I just went along with the group without much complaining.
I’d have rather died than risk showing up late tonight. I knew my parents would be watching for me like a hawk.
We pulled into my driveway about ten minutes ahead of schedule. I sighed with relief. I’d had a fabulous time hanging out with my best friends, but I was overcome with worry and nervousness about getting home on time. I felt a slight sickness in my stomach, unsure if it was from fear of my father, or a combination of Mexican food, popcorn, and Matthew’s driving.
“I had so much fun guys. Let’s get together after I get off work tomorrow.” I politely insisted.
“Yeah, text me when you get off work,” Stefanie instructed.
“I will. Bye, guys,” I called with a wave as I climbed out of the Jeep.
I gave Tyler a sweet smile and the expression on his face mirrored mine.
“I’ll miss you,” Stefanie shouted.
“I’ll miss you too,” Tyler mocked Stefanie’s statement and he held his hand out as if to reach for me, but he was too far away, Matthew had already thrown the Jeep into reverse.
“I’ll see you guys later,” I laughed at them both and turned the door knob and headed into the house while the smile still lit my face.
“Looks like someone had fun,” my mom evaluated me.
“Yes, we did have fun. Dinner was great! The movie was kind of boring, I can’t even remember the name of it, but we still had a blast. I’ve missed hanging out with the gang.”
“Well, behave yourself, and you won’t have to worry about being grounded anymore.”
“I know. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed, I’m actually pretty tired. I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, babe. Sleep well.”
And I did sleep well. A deep sleep like I’d never had before. I was stress free, and I’d enjoyed the perfect day. I was filled with anticipation of what the summer held in store for my friends and I, and my mind raced with thoughts of all the fun we’d have. I got comfortable in bed … my eyelids started getting very heavy and I drifted into the most relaxing, peaceful, quiet night imaginable.