So we drove in his truck, the quiet of the night stifling us. I wished that I wouldn’t have been weird. I wished that I hadn’t broken the spell. I was scared, and there was nothing to stop it.
We pulled up in front of my house.
“Good night,” Sky said. “Get some sleep.”
And I snuck back into our house full of shadows.
Yours,
Laurel
Dear Kurt,
I have this picture of you in my locker, with Courtney and baby Frances. You are holding her in your arms, peering down at her. Courtney is leaning over your shoulder, looking, too. Her shirt is cut to show her stomach, which has FAMILY VALUES written on it in black scratchy letters. It would almost be ironic, but it’s real at the same time, because you are there, Kurt and Courtney, with your baby girl. Your family got broken when you were a kid, but then you made your own. And at the same time, you became a father, in a way, to all of us. I know you didn’t want that. But you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want to be the spokesperson of a generation. But you couldn’t help singing.
I don’t know anyone who has a perfect family to start with. And I think that’s why we make up our own. Regular weirdos together. I feel that way about my friends.
Yesterday was the last day of school before Christmas break. We all met in the alley after school to celebrate. I made everyone clove oranges, which are oranges with cloves pressed into the skin and ribbons attached to make them into ornaments. I felt like making them because May and I always did at Christmastime. I put Kristen’s cloves in so that they spelled NYC, which is where she wants to go to college. Tristan’s said Slash.
For vacation, Tristan and Kristen are going to Hawaii with her family. They’ve been dating since the beginning of high school, so I guess her family lets him go along to stuff like that. It’s funny to me, because when I think of Hawaii I think of hula, and neither of them seems like the type for leis or swimsuits with birds-of-paradise. Tristan says that he’s going to stay in the hotel room and order piña coladas and watch Oprah reruns all day, but Kristen has to finish her college applications. She says he better watch on mute.
Tristan smokes pot a lot and didn’t take the right tests, and he likes shop and art the most of his classes. But more than that, even, he likes rock music and playing guitar. I think he really wants to be a musician, but not just because he wants to be famous. He wants to be one because of what Slash said, about how being a rock star is the intersection between who you are and who you want to be. He plays guitar so well, you wouldn’t believe it. But he doesn’t have a band. And he doesn’t try really hard to get one. He mostly plays alone in his room instead. That’s what Kristen says. I think he does this for the same reason Hannah doesn’t turn in her work when her teachers say she is smart. I think a lot of people want to be someone, but we are scared that if we try, we won’t be as good as everyone imagines we could be.
Kristen is different. She studies all the time, and she got a 2180 on her SAT. She’s always talking about going to Columbia. She flips through magazines and cuts out pictures of people who look like they’d live in New York or other cities where things happen. She lets me and Natalie and Hannah come over to her house after school sometimes, and we always just get a snack then sit in her room and actually do homework. Her bedroom walls are covered with the magazine pictures, so that the walls don’t end at the walls. They go outward, to a dream of somewhere else.
I think that it makes Tristan feel like she doesn’t want to be here, with him. But the thing is, even though Kristen wants to go, I think she wishes he would come, too. See, last month she gave Tristan this stack of college applications in the cafeteria at lunchtime. She smiled a little smile and said, “Hey, baby. I got you something.” Like it was a good surprise. Then she pulled them out from behind her back and handed them to him.
He took the stack of papers. He said, “What’s this?” already with an edge in his voice. He flipped through them and then he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I can see the headlines now! Tristan Ayers attends backwater bumfuck college in the city of Poughkeepsie.” He said it like he was joking, but his voice had a razor in it. Then his eyes got really angry, and he turned to Kristen and said, “That shit’s not even in New York City.” Like, Who do you think I am?
Her eyes were still as usual. She said, really quietly, “It’s close.”
“It’s not close. It’s a fuckin’ world away.”
She told him he could transfer after a year if he got his grades up. Tristan just looked at her and said, “I’m not good enough for you. We both know it.” He tore the stack of applications in half. And threw them on the table and walked out.
Kristen turned her head and watched him go. Finally she said, so close to her breath you could barely hear it, “You’re wrong.”
I’d never seen her cry or get emotional in front of people. Her face always looks the same. But when she swept the torn papers into a neat pile and then off the table, she wiped her eyes with the long sleeve of her gypsy shirt. She walked through the cafeteria and threw out the applications in the trash by the door.
Now they both act around each other like you do when you know something is going to end and you’ve decided not to know. But for today, they are still here. We were happy, smoking cigarettes and laughing in the alley under the December sky, bright with possible snow. Everyone liked their oranges. Hannah laughed at hers, which I had decorated with a stick horse made of cloves.
When Natalie walked up, she was carrying a painting-sized package, wrapped in a sheet with orange paisleys on it and tied with an orange cloth bow. She giggled and pushed it toward Hannah and said, “Open it.”
Hannah looked suspicious, like she was worried that suddenly everyone could see through her. Even with our friends, Hannah still likes to pretend that she and Natalie aren’t in love like that. Finally she untied the bow and pulled off the sheet and screamed, “Oh my god!” like she didn’t know how to take it. Maybe no one had given her something that good before. It was the tulip painting Natalie had made her in art class.
Natalie shifted back and forth between her feet. “You don’t like it.”
But Hannah kept looking at it, like she didn’t want to take her eyes away. The way there were so many shades of color in the tulip petals, opening and closing at once, it reminded me of the feeling of watching a sunset—you are in awe of something so beautiful, and at the same time, you know that particular sunset will only be there for a moment.