The Year I Almost Drowned (16 page)

I

said

to

them.

“And

we

love

you,”

Nana

said.

She

hugged

me

again.

“Love

you,

Finn,”

Grandpa

said.

I waved goodbye to them and took one last look at their house before pulling out

of

their

driveway.

***

I couldn’t listen to music because every single song I heard seemed to remind

me of Jesse in one way or another. I listened to a book on CD, instead. The

author’s monotone voice nearly put me to sleep. A few hours on the road and I

was already tired. Not a good sign. I took the CD out and turned the radio on. I

kept hitting the button in search of a pop station. Jesse wasn’t a big fan of pop

music, so I figured it would be a safe bet to listen to. There was no way a pop

song

could

remind

me

of

him.

The scenery on the interstate was miniscule. Nothing but trees lined on both sides

of the road and ugly billboards advertising fast food restaurants and tourist

destinations. Cars zipped past me moving at a record pace. I put my foot on the

accelerator and sped up to keep up with the traffic. Being in the car by myself

was probably one of the worst things I could have done. It gave me too much time

to think and thinking was something I didn’t need to do.

My gas tank was getting close to empty. I pulled off at the next exit and searched

for a clean gas station or at least one that looked new. The last thing I wanted to

do was use another nasty restroom. In my few hours of being on the road, I had

become the expert on finding gas stations with clean bathrooms. If the gas station

looked like it was built in the last five years, chances were it had a decent

bathroom. After stopping at one gas station where the bathroom was so bad I

had to plug my nose and breathe out of my mouth, I realized that I’d have to be

more

thorough

in

my

choices.

I bought another bottle of Coke–my third that day–a large bag of salty potato

chips and a Snickers candy bar. Driving long hours and being on the road, made

me crave nothing but junk food. It was the first time in days that I actually had an

appetite, and it seemed promising. Maybe one day I would get back to normal?

Whatever

normal

was.

Welcome to the Sunshine State. That was the sign that greeted me as soon as

my car crossed through the border from Georgia to Florida. I looked up to the sky.

No sunshine. Just another cloudy winter’s day. I rolled my window down. Humid

and warmer–a welcome change to the cold dry weather I had grown accustomed

to. I left the window down, allowing the wind to blow through my car.

The Welcome Center was a few miles down the interstate. I stopped and

purchased a few oranges. I drank my Coke and ate an orange while I sat in my

car watching the hoards of people stopping for a quick rest before they got back

on the road. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called my mom.

“I’ll

be

there

in

about

four

hours,”

I

said.

“I

can’t

wait!”

“Me,

too.

See

you

soon,”

I

said

and

hung

up.

I looked down to my right and decided to open Nana’s cooler. Inside was a bottle

of sweet tea, a pimento cheese sandwich and a bag of chocolate chip cookies. I

picked up the sandwich and was about to unwrap it, but saw that underneath it

was a sealed envelope with my name on it. Curiously, I grabbed the envelope

and ripped it open. She had written me a letter. In perfect script were the following

words:

Dear

Finn,

I hope this food brings you comfort on your journey to see your mom. Your

grandfather and I are going to miss you so much. You are the light of our lives.

Please know how proud we are of you. I know that it’s a tough time for you right

now. Just know that you are loved by everyone whose lives you touch.

Love

you,

Nana

I held the letter close to my heart and smiled. Nana always knew the perfect thing

to say. I put the card back in the envelope and placed it in my purse. After a quick

trip to the restroom, I got back in my car and drove straight to Tampa.

***

My mom had gone all out–like I was some famous dignitary coming for a visit: a

dozen pink roses on my bedside table; body lotion and shower gel on top of the

bathroom counter; a pair of fuzzy bedroom slippers at the foot of my bed; and

take out from The Olive Garden. This was not what I was used to. Mom was never

the type to lavish me with presents–she was more practical and usually bought

me

stuff

I

needed.

I took a long, hot shower and got into my pj’s. The slippers felt warm against my

feet. I smelled like cherry, the fragrance from the shower gel and lotion. I combed

my

wet

hair

and

lay

down

on

my

bed.

She

knocked

on

my

bedroom

door.

“Finn.”

“You can come in, Mom.” She entered and saw me laying there.

“I

bet

you’re

tired.”

“A little,” I said. “You can sit next to me.” I patted the empty space next to me.

She came over to the other side of the bed and sat up against the pillow. It was

strange being back in my old room. I felt like a visitor to someone else’s life even

though it had been mine just six months ago. I lay there staring up at the ceiling.

The fan was on despite the fact that it was winter. It was warm outside–a typical

Florida

winter.

“We

can

open

Christmas

presents

tomorrow,”

she

said.

“Yeah. Sounds great,” I said without much enthusiasm. A decorated Christmas

tree stood in the living room. Celebrating Christmas a week after it occurred did

not

feel

festive.

“Are

you

excited

about

school?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m ready to start.” What I really wanted to say was–I’m ready to

start this chapter in my life and put the other chapter behind me.

“I

bet.

Was

it

hard

saying

goodbye

to

everyone?”

“More than you can imagine.” I sighed and turned over on my side facing the pink

roses. Even roses reminded me of Jesse. He had never bought me any, but they

made me think of my birthday dinner, when we went out for the best date of my

life.

Jesse had bought me daisies once. He knew that I loved them. He knew

everything about me. I had never been around anyone who paid as much

attention to me as him. I had come home to find a beautiful yellow vase filled with

white daisies sitting on my bedside table, along with a card. That’s how Jesse

was–spontaneous

and

romantic.

Once the flowers started to die, I placed the card and some of the petals into my

Jesse box, which I still haven’t had the courage to get rid of. It, along with the rest

of my things, was packed into my suitcase and going with me to Harrison. I

should’ve left it in Graceville at my grandparents’ house, but I needed him with

me and that was the only way I’d ever have him again. It’s like I was hurting myself

on purpose like those dogs that keep running through the electric invisible fences

even

though

it

shocks

them

every

time.

“I’m sure it was especially hard to say goodbye to Jesse,” she probed. I hadn’t

told her that we had broken up. For some reason, I didn’t want to. I hadn’t told

anyone, really, except Everett. My grandparents figured out that was what

happened. And Meg and Hannah knew because of Matt. But the actual phrase

had never been uttered out of my mouth except once. And no one had come out

and

asked

me.

“It was,” I lied. I faked a yawn. “I’m really tired, Mom.”

“Okay. I’ll let you get some sleep. We’ll celebrate Christmas tomorrow.” She got

off the bed and walked to the door. “Goodnight, Finn,” she said and turned off the

light

and

shut

my

door.

I thought I was tired, but I restlessly lay awake for a good part of the night, trying

to find the perfect sleeping position. My bed felt stiff and uncomfortable. It felt

foreign–all of it did. Tampa wasn’t my home anymore. I thought coming back

would make me feel complete. But it didn’t. I felt like a person in limbo– in

transition–trying

to

find

their

place

back

in

the

world

again.

***

The week passed quickly. My mom had taken the week off of work and had

planned things for us to do each day of my visit. Going to dinner, the movies, and

shopping–you name it–it was in her itinerary. Each day was filled with one activity

after another. It was all too much. By the end of the week, I felt spent, exhausted,

and

ready

to

leave.

We said our goodbyes–no long embraces or mushy words. Mom wasn’t a very

touchy person and didn’t get too emotional about things. Her eyes watered a little,

but it didn’t make me want to cry. All of my tears had dried up. It was good to see

her, but I wanted to move on; I was ready to move on.

The campus was desolate and isolated. It was the tail end of holiday break and

most of the students hadn’t come back yet. I was fine with that. I wanted to move

in quietly and get a feel for the campus before crowds of students bombarded it.

Harrison was the quintessential college campus: two-story brick buildings with

large stone columns facing their front entrances; brick paved sidewalks circling

the entire campus; bronze statues of revered men and women who had died long

ago were intricately placed in conspicuous places; a natural stone fountain in the

middle of campus on a grassy lawn–it all screamed academia.

My dorm building was one of the oldest on campus. The plaque on the front of

the building said “Henley Hall Built 1801.” It was a brick building with large glass

windows and wood panels. The windows were one of the reasons I had chosen

it. I wanted to be able to open them and let the fresh air come into my room. I

took one of my suitcases out of my trunk and carried it with me to the front door.

I punched in my code on the number board and pushed the old, creaky wooden

door

open.

The building had a distinct smell about it: aged and musty. To my left was a room

with a television set, a couple of slip-covered sofas and a ping pong table. It was

supposed to be a break room, a hang out room, but it didn’t look very welcoming.

I walked up the narrow staircase. The ceilings were low, even for me, and I

searched for my room. It was toward the end of the long hallway. I punched in my

code and opened the door. The room was cramped and confining. Two twin beds

were separated by one desk. On the left hand side of the room was the closet. I

opened the closet door and cringed. Two girls sharing space this tiny could only

spell

disaster.

A refrigerator–big enough for a few cans of Coke and left overs–sat against the

cream-colored concrete wall with a microwave on top of it. A purple bulletin board

with pictures of who I assumed were Sidney and her friends, hung above her bed.

She liked purple. Her bedspread was purple and had lots of purple pillows on it.

I sat my suitcase down on my bed and decided to get the rest of my stuff out of

my car so that I could unpack and make the place feel more like me.

The beds were elevated off of the ground with dresser drawers attached beneath

them. I was thankful for the extra storage space. I looked around the room. My

side seemed so bare, so boring. Sidney’s looked lived in. Mine looked temporary.

I wasn’t the type to hang up pictures or posters, though. Even in Graceville, I

didn’t decorate my room. I had hung up a few pictures of Jesse and me, but that

was

it.

I hung my dad’s painting up on the wall above my bed. Even though it looked so

insignificant surrounded by all the empty wall space, it was still eye capturing. It

stood out and was noticeable. Looking at it made me think of home, which I really

didn’t

want

to

do.

I

wasn’t

ready

for

nostalgia.

The bathroom was right next to my side of the room. It was just as small as the

room–nothing but a tiny shower, toilet and sink. This would take some getting