Me, Myself, and I

a few months later: the day i left

There's more. The real reason Alex called me shouldn't be shrouded in mystery. You need to know the smallest of my petty mistakes before you can know about the big one. Yes, that big one, for those of you familiar.

My bag was nearly empty. Bedsheets. An old pillow. I still hadn't decided on classes, so my school supplies were non-existent. Every time I'd throw something else in there—a pair of socks, a headband, whatever—I'd get a pang of guilt, change my mind, and go looking for another item instead.

Despite the August heat, I opted to wear a few layers: leggings under the jean skirt, a thick tie-dye t-shirt Valerie had made for me, and my favorite baseball cap from Alex, navy blue with gold stitching. Three of four items on my packing list. Which I'd eagerly started the night before, only to abandon it in favor of chaos.

I stared at the last item.

• Fotos?

Another one of Valerie's recommendations. Easy for her to say. She'd spent the last month tanning and learning about the fashion industry. And her family had already flown over to visit her three times.

I scribbled photos off the list. My room was bare of them, as was the rest of the house, opting for metaphorical shapes and bare walls full of potential. There was the one of me on my driver's license; a few hidden scrapbooks in Dad's closet I could always sneak a look at. More than enough.

I shoved in some more of Valerie's graduation presents: hair scrunchies, fake pink nails, heels that cut off circulation. My jean skirts could stay here with the baggy sweaters. I zipped the suitcase.

"Julia!" Gram's voice. "Breakfast is ready!"

When I marched to the kitchen, slinging the bag off my shoulder, I sat at the Gandhi-quoted plate buried in syrup and French Toast. I'd never understand where the cooking gene missed me and Dad, with his parents having the ability to make anything organic taste good, and Mom's sweet-tooth-induced baking obsession overtaking our diets the majority of our lives. I was convinced it was in there somewhere. But not today. Today I'd eat what my grandmother had graciously provided for me, telling me that if the college food was ever too inedible, give her a call. I made an open-thoughts-closed-thoughts cross and enjoyed the lack of burnt oven I tasted.

"Years in public education, and I can tell you, good food saves young minds."

I half-smiled at her, sipping down not my usual morning coffee, but a freshly ground drink that had come from our smoothie maker. I forgot we even had one of those things. I knew Gramps had made it. Gram hated the stuff, said we might as well be eating dirt and worms. Whole is better, whole is food. This is baby food, she'd say.

"Where's your pops hiding?" he spoke, usual slight lisp, as he sipped down the raspberry. "We missed him coming in."

"No idea."

"I'm sure he'll be back to see you off," Gram said.

They were convinced that I still lived within the realms of my bedroom, that my social life was still nonexistent. I liked to believe I'd changed enough for recognition. Then they'd visit from Idaho to remind me that I was still me and they were still them.

He hacked a bit, and I tapped the table. "How's the heart, Gramps?"

Gram slapped him on the back hard enough to snap. "This old geezer has a heart attack just about every other day. One for theatrics."

"Yeah, tell your dad he cheapskates on my meds. Doctors only go so far."

They were laughing, and I let myself smile, sneaking another bite. It had already gone cold. But the burnless taste was enough to keep me shoveling.

He squeezed her hand. "We're very grateful that he's given us a few extra years."

"Generous old geezer." Grams took a bite out of a Red Delicious apple. We usually didn't keep them in the house. "One of these days it's gonna bite him in the rear."

"Old dinosaur."

Dad chose that moment to walk out of his home office. Dark circles formed under his eyes, with slight defeat in his expression. He'd been writing again. Part of him knew he'd never top his first work.

"You're welcome, Dad," he chuckled. "I'll send the bill to you next time."

They rose and hugged him. She held his face like he was five, and Gramps thumped his fist against his chest. "Anything to keep this old ticker going. Jewels, do me a favor. Don't be as good as this man. Nothing good can come from it."

And we laughed. Dad and I avoided eye contact, knowing that eventually the front door was going to open, and I would be holding that bag, and I would be the one walking out of it. I'd come back. Yes, I would come back. But I knew what thoughts circulated behind his glasses, the images relaying. They sat in my own head.

"How long are you in town for?" I asked them. They'd been around for my graduation, left the next evening. We hadn't expected them this time, then again, we never did.

Gram played with my hair. "Just the day. We've been driving all over God's green earth since my retirement."

"God knows how I've put up with you in that microwave of a car for so long."

They kissed and the discussions took its usual political direction. My grandparents asked Dad how he was fairing in our chaotic excuse of a town, whether he was still happy, ever considered leaving New York and going back home. I never knew how much of it they meant. They had each other. Maybe it was the schoolteacher in her. Maybe they were too indebted to him. Paying for a dual breast augmentation and four heart surgeries? Just another reason they knew they had the perfect son, someone who they wanted close. Selfish or selfless, I admired them. And if not anything else, they were the perfect distraction that day.

But the sun had peaked. Brooke pulled in to drive me to our newly furnished community dorm room. Dad and I hugged. Eye contact for the first time that day. This face, the one that saw me walking out the door, held only a reflection of his face on that day, the day she left. "I'll be back soon," I said. Which was true. Too true.

"You'll do great," he said.

We closed the door at the same time.