KIND AND GENEROUS
The next day was beautiful and the sun shone bright through the sliding glass doors of the kitchen. I went out, basking in the heat that burned through my tank top, the scratchy cement stairs warming the soles of my feet. Slowly, I wove along the paths in my mother’s gardens and only stopped when I reached the peony bed, where thick red stems streaked with a muddy green were already poking up a foot and a half from the ground. Branches shot out in every direction, already heavy with leaves. Soon they would be full of blooms.
Peonies.
I couldn’t help but smile. Will had been right, of course. It was the perfect spot to plant them and I would have flowers this spring after all. I thought about how he had been out here almost every day this month, caring for my mother’s gardens as always, but tending to the peony bed, too.
I missed him so much it hurt.
Later that afternoon when I was sitting on the front porch, lost in a novel, I heard footsteps scrape against the slate and stop
next to me. I looked up and a million different thoughts flooded my mind. Will was standing there, and a lump filled my throat when I saw what he held in his hand. The crystal heart swung back and forth from his fingers.
“Take it,” he said, shaking it a little so it bounced on the end of the chain. He stared at me, eyes steady. “I found it in the pocket of my jacket and I know it’s yours. I wanted to give it back. I figured you might want it.”
I couldn’t speak so I put out my hand and he dropped it into my palm, the chain slinking against my skin, where it caught the light and glittered. Like always when I saw Will, my heart hammered inside my chest. I waited for him to say more, to explain his absence, to tell me what in the world had happened to make him go away, but instead he turned around.
Anger surged through me. “You’re just going to leave? Just like that?” I shouted after him, and at this he stopped. Questions began to pour out of my mouth, each one louder than the other. “Where have you been? Why haven’t you talked to me? How could you just disappear like that? Don’t you even miss me?” He faced me again with that unwavering gaze, his blue eyes bottomless. “You’ve been at my house every single day,” I went on. “Near my windows. Crossing the lawn. Forcing me to see how much you don’t care anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice flat.
“You’re sorry? That’s it?”
Pain flashed across his face, the first sign of feeling in so many weeks. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
“You say that as if it’s in the past,” I said in a smaller voice. “But you’re not here for me now, either,” I pleaded, my voice trailing off.
“I’m glad Chris was able to help when I couldn’t.”
“I wanted it to be you, not him.”
He shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you? When you came to me that day to tell me your father was in the hospital, I just, I just shut down. The last time I was at that hospital was when
my
father died, and even though I knew you needed me, even though I
wanted
to be there for you, there was no way I could face that place again. Not even for you.”
“But it’s been over two years,” I whispered, then immediately wished I hadn’t. I knew better than this.
“God, of all people I thought you would understand,” he snapped, and I was startled. I wasn’t used to witnessing his anger off the ice. “Didn’t we have an entire conversation about the things we avoid? Two years, three years, some things just don’t get any easier. When I think of that hospital it might as well be yesterday that my father died.”
“We could’ve dealt with it together—”
“Come on, Rose. The last thing you needed was my baggage on top of everything else.”
“You would never be a burden—”
He put out a hand to stop me. “Don’t think it hasn’t killed me, either, the fact that after everything you’ve gone through with your mother and your father, that I failed you, too. But what’s done is done. Just leave it alone. It’s over, okay? I was wrong
for you from the very beginning. I almost never date anyone, especially not a girl like you. I’m just not
that
guy, I’ve
never
been that guy, Rose. I’m not good at letting people in and I don’t know what I was thinking letting myself get close to you.” His words echoed in my ears, and I didn’t know what to say. Sadness and hurt and frustration coursed through me, and I wished I could travel all the way back to that day at the beginning of March, to redo our initial encounter in the hallway, the tremor that unleashed this avalanche of mistakes. He opened his backpack and pulled out a brown paper lunch bag, the top crumpled in his fist. “Did you know about this?” he asked.
I stared at it in amazement, recognizing Krupa’s writing on the outside. She’d made a Survival Kit for Will. “Krupa gave that to you?”
He nodded.
Then I shrugged, feeling defeated because it didn’t seem to matter what I said at this point. “You know, this all started, you and me, because my mother made me one of those”—I pointed to the bag in his hand—“for after she was gone. She was the one who wanted me to plant the peonies.” I picked up the crystal heart and let it swing from my fingers before setting it down again. “She gave me this heart. Actually, almost everything inside my Survival Kit keeps leading me back to you. The iPod was in it, too.”
“Well, it steered you wrong,” he said.
I stood up from my chair, stretched my arms wide in
frustration, my palms facing up toward the sky. “No, I don’t believe that. I really don’t.” I waited for him to respond but he didn’t. “What did Krupa give you anyway?”
“It doesn’t matter, because you just have to let me go. Your friends do, too. It’s over.” He let this word fall between us on the porch, heavy and thick. His voice was hoarse, his eyes sad. I knew that I should stop this from going any further, that I should walk up to Will, put my arms around his neck, tell him that we would figure everything out, and pull his lips toward mine. He needed to know, to believe that he and I could still be, that love could still happen despite everything in our past and the wall we’d suddenly hit. That we could fix this.
But I waited too long.
Before I took a single step, Will left. His truck door opened and slammed and the engine rumbled to life in the driveway. I watched from the porch as he drove up the street and then was gone.
I tried to get back into my novel, to enjoy the sun, the warmth on my skin, the beautiful day, to pretend Will and I weren’t really over, but nothing helped and the tears wouldn’t stay away any longer.
As I stood there crying, something unexpected happened.
I began to think of songs I wanted to put on a playlist for this particular moment, these particular feelings, this particular event in my life—just like I used to. The odd part of it was, I didn’t have to force myself; I wanted to do it. Music hadn’t always
deepened my grief. For most of my sixteen years, it had healed my hurts, soothed them, given me a way to remember and the strength to move on.
Suddenly I couldn’t stand its absence any longer. I went to my room, opened my laptop, and plugged in the iPod from my Survival Kit, scrolling through the menu until I found the playlist “TBD by Rose.” I clicked on the folder filled with the music I’d amassed all the years of my life and began to search through it, highlighting songs and dragging them over to the blank playlist. Then I began to order them, starting with the day of my mother’s funeral.
The first song on the list was “Can’t Go Back Now” by the Weepies. “About a Girl” by The Academy Is … came next. Then “My Best Friend” by Weezer, followed by “How to Save a Life” by the Fray, and on and on.
Soon, I had set all the important events of the last year to music, even the times that made my heart ache. I promised myself that I would keep adding to this playlist for each and every new experience that warranted a song until June 4, the anniversary of my mother’s death. These songs would tell the story of everything that had happened to me since I’d said goodbye to her.
The last song was the one I decided was right for this day, this moment, the one that kept running through my mind again and again. It would help me to remember how extraordinary a gift my mother’s Survival Kit was, how far she had managed to
lead me forward with all the things she’d put inside. I chose it not only because of my mother, but my friends, too, and especially because of Will. Without him I wouldn’t have gotten here, to this place. I wouldn’t be this strong. And I was grateful.
So I added “Kind and Generous” by Natalie Merchant.
When I was finished, I closed my laptop and got out my Survival Kit. I had one more thing to do before the day was over, and with the silver star in my hand I went out the front door and began to run.
STARS
Flip-flops dangling from one hand, I sprinted across lawns and through the neighborhoods that stood between my house and Will’s, strides fast, legs stretching farther and farther. When I arrived on his front steps I was heaving and I gripped my knees, my body bent in half while I tried to catch my breath. I immediately regretted the ratty old jeans, slung too low across my hips, and the too-small tank top that left a strip of skin across my middle exposed. Once my breathing slowed, I straightened up and rang the bell.
“Rose, what a surprise,” Mrs. Doniger said when she appeared in the doorway. She wore a flowing light green sundress speckled with tiny white flowers, perfect for a warm evening like tonight, her eyes the same deep blue oceans as Will’s. She looked young and beautiful.
“Hi, Mrs. Doniger,” I said.
“You look like you’ve been running. Can I get you something to drink?” Mrs. Doniger asked. “Some water?”
“Can I come in?” I almost expected she would send me away.
“Of course.” She turned and I followed her inside.
My body sank against the wall near the family portraits. There was the sound of a cabinet opening and closing in the kitchen, a glass being set on the counter, and the clink of ice at the bottom. Mrs. Doniger appeared again and handed me the water, bright disks of sunny lemon floating on its surface. I put the glass to my lips and drained it, but before Mrs. Doniger could go back into the kitchen to get me another I stopped her. “Is he here?”
She nodded. “Upstairs. Go ahead. Go and see him,” she encouraged.
“He might not—” I began, but she interrupted.
“I think it would be good for him and for you. He was never happier than when you were spending time together. I could tell the minute you stopped.”
“Oh.” I paused, trying to gather my courage. “Thanks, Mrs. Doniger,” I said, and turned to leave the kitchen, hoping that I would figure out how to close the distance that had grown between Will and me once and for all.
I pushed open the door of Will’s room with one hand and watched as it swung wide to reveal him, listening to music, sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed. The light was fading as the sun dipped low in the sky, outlining his body in dark shadows. He removed his earbuds when he saw me standing in the doorway. “Hey,” he said, and that was all.
“Can I come in?” I asked.
He nodded but his expression told me nothing. He could be happy, angry, or indifferent and I wouldn’t know, and I worried that the Will I’d first met, the one who was slow to trust, who wouldn’t let anyone past the guard he put up, had returned for good. I took a step forward and my chest pounded. Will made no move to get up or invite me to sit.
“You’re wearing the heart,” he said.
This comment was invitation enough so I kicked my flip-flops off to the side and sat down facing him, cross-legged, one of my knees close enough to brush against the right leg of his jeans. He reached out to touch the crystal heart at my neck, the soft pad of his fingertips brushing my skin as he lifted it away, and my breath stopped. He held the heart in his palm, studying it, as though if he gazed at it long enough it might reveal insights into the real hearts we carried inside our bodies. Eventually he let it go and the heart fell back against my chest, a soft, small thud against my skin.
“Why are you here?” he asked, watching me, his face still unreadable.
“I shouldn’t have let you leave my house,” I began, my eyes scanning the floor, the windows, the walls, running away from his stare. “I wanted to tell you that I understand why you did what you did, why you went away, I mean. Why you avoided me after what happened with my father,” I said. “I might’ve done the same thing if it had been the other way around. But no matter what you say, you and I are far from over. You’re not
protecting me by avoiding me, you’re just hurting both of us. You know it, too, even if you won’t admit it to yourself. Or to me.” My hand went to the back pocket of my jeans and I slid out the silver star, displaying it across my open palm, shiny and wrinkled. “This is one of the last items from my Survival Kit.” I tilted my hand a bit, so the star flashed light. “You’ve been with me for every part of this journey my mother mapped out. It’s almost uncanny.” I placed the star on the floor between us and shifted so my back was against the foot of Will’s bed, our legs stretched out next to each other. “And tonight, after you left, I remembered something.”
“What?” This one word from him was a whisper.
I pointed upward at the constellations on his ceiling, bright now as the darkness began seeping into his room. “Sometimes, when I close my eyes before I go to sleep, I think of that night in January when everything between us seemed to shift and how we spent all that time gazing up at the stars.” A breeze fluttered through the open windows and the crickets chirped their evening song. My left hand was so close to Will’s we were almost touching. “So I came here tonight to make a wish.” I picked up the star again and closed my eyes a moment. The connection was so obvious once I had thought of it, that stars and wishing go hand in hand. When I opened them again, I said, “I wish that we could try this again. I miss you.”
There was pain in Will’s eyes. “But I let you down.”
“I’m not going to lie, it was hard not having you to help me
through the stuff with my dad,” I said. “But I’m not perfect either. And it’s not like you didn’t have a good reason. I just didn’t see it at first and I’m sorry. It should have occurred to me why you couldn’t go to the hospital that day. You shouldn’t have had to explain.”
He took the star from my hand and held it up between his fingers, staring at it for a moment. Then he placed it on the knee of my jeans and shifted his gaze to the ceiling. My eyes followed his and I leaned my head back against the bed. “So what are you saying?” he asked.
“That we’d be crazy if we don’t try again. That you
are
good for me, Will Doniger. You’ve proven it again and again.”
He hesitated before he turned to me, words hovering on his lips.
“Tell me,” I said. “What are you thinking?”
“That I love you, Rose. I have for a while.”
I stopped breathing. “Me, too. I love you, too,” I said. Then, slowly, I leaned forward until our lips touched, tentative at first, as if neither of us was ready for this, because we didn’t know, we hadn’t prepared for this possible outcome of this particular moment. But then, sometimes we forget our bodies have memories, too, that they help us summon what our minds try so hard to forget. Feeling rushed through me to the very tips of my fingers and toes, emotion swelled and I opened myself up to it, all of it. When I felt Will’s arms slide around me, his hands making their way up my back, his fingers weaving themselves into my hair,
together we shifted from this tentative hovering of lips to giving ourselves over to the kiss we really wanted, like the very first one that night in the snow. When we finally pulled apart again, both of us out of breath, I laughed, thinking I was right back where I started when I arrived at Will’s front steps tonight, that kissing him made my body race like I’d sprinted all the way from my house to his.
“Wow” was all he said, and he leaned back against the bed, like he might be dizzy and needed the support. I stood up, feeling a rush, as if my body wasn’t quite ready for movement either. The star slid down my leg and skittered into the folds of his T-shirt and he picked it up again, holding it in his hand. I stretched my arms high, every muscle in my body lengthening, reaching, went up on my toes as if I could touch the stars above us in the darkness of Will’s room. “I should go,” I said, though I wanted to stay. I felt giddy.
“You should?” Will asked. “Now?”
“I really should.”
“Stay,” he said, and reached out his hand to grasp mine, the star between our palms.
I smiled. “It’s just for now. Not forever.”
Before I could say anything else or move to go, Will stopped me with a confession. “I saw you the other day. I was by the track at the football field.”
“You were?” I was surprised.
“I watched you do about a million backflips.”
“Oh. The cheerleaders kind of dared me to do that,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed, slipping my feet back into my flip-flops, trying to seem nonchalant. I headed toward the door, not wanting to go but knowing I should. Before I disappeared into the hallway he called out to me and I turned. “The way you flew down the track, Rose.” He shook his head, like he was impressed. “You were amazing out there, you know.”
I smiled, remembering how I’d said these very same words to Will once, a long time ago, that first night I’d seen him play hockey.
“Thanks,” I said.
Will sighed. “You really have to go?”
“It’s getting late,” I said, but a big grin crept onto my face.
“Fine. I get it. I’ll see you tomorrow before school.”
“Bye, Will,” I said, and this time I left, floating down the stairs and out of his house. On my way home I took my time, no longer in a rush. I wanted to savor the remains of this unexpectedly beautiful spring evening, a night I hadn’t been prepared for, a night of big stuff that life sent my way, but the good kind.
The very best kind. The most amazing kind of all.