Cara flipped the volume to a six and stomped around the packed boxes piled in the middle of her room, belting the lyrics of “Love Is a Battlefield” at the top of her lungs, surprised that her parents hadn’t told her to turn it down. Pat Benatar inspired Cara’s exit, or so she’d like to think! No one dared demand she was wrong. She lived heartache to heartache. Trapped in memory. Chained to wanting what wouldn’t be. Fueled by sorrow and disappointment, she’d break free of love’s battlefield.
She pumped her fists in the air in victory at every mention of being young and strong. Maybe just a little dramatic or to convince herself moving was the right decision. Leaning back against a triple stack of boxes, she grabbed the tape dispenser gun and sang to the popcorn ceiling, eyes squeezed shut. When the siren song softened to some syrupy sweet we’ll-always-have-each other love song, she kicked the hanger on the floor under her bed and taped up the last box.
Cara waited three months for Callum’s call. It hadn’t come. He hadn’t come to his senses to rectify his monumental mistake–letting her go. She pushed the possibility of his return out of her mind. Waiting and hoping resembled begging. And why should she beg?
She’d fallen in love with her small town every day of her young life. How many times had she thought to herself I get to live here in Middletown? But this last month, she’d planned hard to leave it. She’d rammed a different refrain into her brain: Stop living stuck in your boo-hoos. Get on with it. Get out. Live a little. There’s more to life than this small place. She didn’t wholeheartedly believe that last line, but it was a good one to rehearse, given her decision.
She bonked herself on the forehead when she realized she’d forgotten the contents of her bathroom. Grabbing an empty plastic container, she jumped over the clutter at her feet, clipped the corner of a box, and splayed out fast across her hardwood floor.
“Figures I’d fall flat,” she said aloud to herself.
Cara pulled her crazy, long, sun-kissed brown hair into a messy bun without even brushing through it. This loose, carefree style Ali had shown her worked most days now. She’d ditched French braids since soccer practices and games disappeared; she’d quit the soccer team, unable to muster the determination, discipline, or desire to play her senior year without Ali.
After Callum dumped her, she’d transferred to a new college for her senior year–one three hours away from all her memories. No longer living with her parents, she’d need a job to stock-pile a little money. With soccer, she’d barely had time to work enough to save money. Thankfully, she had twenty-four credit hours of mostly easy electives to finish. Was her hyper-driven academic work ethic to propel through classes the first three years of college a premonition of the events of her senior year? She’d once believed the sooner she graduated, the sooner the rest of her life with Callum began.
Leaning across the sink to zoom in closer to the mirror, she swiped her fingers down her cheek. Unmasked by makeup, it glowed a zombie pallor. Swollen, dark circles under blue eyes, acquired since Ali’s death, popped back. Sleep. She needed more sleep. That was part of her plan. Willing her mind to quiet down was a nightly struggle. The more she wrestled for sleep, the longer she stayed awake. She created imaginary stories to distract herself from crashing back into the swirling thoughts of her disintegrating world—of leaving home and her family–of Callum. She visualized cradling orphans who lost their moms to AIDS or imagined following a herd of elephants while on a safari. Dumping her thoughts in a notebook helped, too.
This new free to be me without you normal was part of her attempt to face the relentless fury plaguing her over the last month, to let go of the hope of a future with Callum and return to the optimistic Cara she used to be. Doing it without her best friend to bounce her emotions off of proved difficult. She wanted to pick herself up from the helter-skelter of losing Ali and her boyfriend in one fell swoop and step forward from the madness in her heart and head, but doing it in Middletown was a hindrance.
She couldn’t hide in her small town. Even if it had grown from a one stop-sign town to now a three stop-light town in the last ten years, any attempt to avoid people’s sympathetic eyes and how are you doing smiles was futile. With her dad as the longest running Chief of Police, she’d been dragged to every town function for her entire twenty-one years. She’d attended preschool, four public schools, and the university ten miles down the highway. She had played soccer since the age of five. In junior high, she’d added volleyball and basketball. With just over ten thousand people, everyone, from the librarians to the gas attendants, knew Cara Riley’s face and name along with Ali Hall, her constant sidekick since the fifth grade. IGA and the Dairy Queen had hired them both in high school.
The people of Middletown also knew her as Callum’s girlfriend, riding through town in his truck with her lovable, oh-so squeezable Labrador’s tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, tasting the wind rolling across it. As they’d planned, the three amigos attended the University of Illinois. With Callum seeking a degree in criminal justice and her in social work, they shared some of the same classes. Cara and Ali both received scholarships to play soccer. Frugal, hardworking, and smart as a whip, Callum graduated in three years, just before Ali died. Her dad hired him as a police officer the minute he expressed interest. He considered going to law school but wanted to save money to pay for it. Always pragmatic.
Cara warred with the decision to visit the Halls before leaving. She’d run into his parents only once in the six weeks since the funeral. They stared into the headlights of one another’s pain and dredged to the surface an awkward ache words only cluttered. “How are you doing?” had felt like such a bogus question.They all knew this kind of pain couldn’t be measured in words. Clinging to one another through a long hug expressed more about all the changes thrust upon them than any words could say.
When she’d first considered saying goodbye to Ali’s parents before traveling south for school, she couldn’t fathom entering the home without Ali, and without Callum. What condolence could she give to ease the nightmare of facing each day without Ali’s bright smile and cheerful, quirky hiccup-type laugh? She couldn’t think of one thing she could say or do that would ease their pain or hers. Visiting felt like it would be more taking than giving. They’d look into her liquid eyes, learn of her leaving, living when Ali couldn’t. She’d leave their home and take with her the same hopes they had for their daughter, dreams that would never come to fruition.
How could she stare into the dormer windows of Ali’s bedroom, vacant except for the ghost of memories stored there, and not weep for her own loss? The walls, painted bright yellow, the walls upon which were hung their shiny hopes and wishes and secrets shared during sleepovers until the early morning light, now lost like some distant reverie, would mock her.
Not to mention, the shadows of Callum and Cara’s relationship would haunt her visit, too. It would be too much of a farce to avoid the questions about what happened between them. Who knew how Callum had wrapped it up. Visiting was out of the question.
Avoiding them had become a habit for the rest of the summer she had left before leaving to finish her senior year. Their families had always sat near one another in the Foursquare Church where Senior Pastor Roberson had baptized her at twelve years old. She’d attended a different church with her cousins, Bethany and Sarah, or she’d traipsed to the pond on Sunday morning and prayed for direction, much to her parents’ silent dismay. They weren’t happy about her decision and avoidance of the people at church, but they settled for giving her a lengthy, weekly reporting of the pastor’s message over Sunday lunch, those in attendance, particularly the Hall family, and upcoming events, whether she wanted to hear it or not.
The truth was she shied away from most things after Callum broke up with her. Correction–the summer Callum broke her. She wandered her parents’ grounds with her faithful friend, Nestle՛, at her heel, not wanting to talk to anyone besides her family about Ali’s death or her breakup with Callum. The hurt of Callum breaking up with her was too fresh, and pretending she was okay was too hard. Answering onlookers’ questions and facing people’s pity exhausted her. If she had ventured out, she did so within the cocoon of her family. She had managed to complete two online summer classes with A’s, barely.
She plucked every bit of her toiletries from the drawers of the vanity and the shower–makeup, hair styling supplies, soaps, and shampoos–like the Grinch stealing Cindy Lou Who’s Christmas-and crammed them into the plastic tub. She needed to save every dime now that she would rent her own apartment at Southern Illinois University. She plopped the tub on top of two larger boxes and surveyed what was left of her room.
Her sister, Tori, could scavenge through the clutter of shoes and clothes still hanging in her closet. She’d left a couple decent pairs of Converse tennis shoes, an extensive obsession. Her addiction to the design-your-own feature cut into her meager earnings during her first two years of college. She grabbed her light blue pair with daisies, her black pair with a band of white polka-dots, and her favorite pair with a picture of Taylor Swift on the left shoe and Tim McGraw on the right one, and pitched them atop one of the open boxes.
Just when she’d convinced herself she’d packed every item she couldn’t live without from her childhood room, she spotted a 4×6 picture on the corkboard above her desk of three wide-smiled amigos in a polka-dot frame. Ali’s mom had taken it before their last home game last October. Cara, number six, stood in the middle, arms wrapped around Callum and Ali, number eighteen. They’d picked their numbers by their birthdays.
“Well?” she asked herself. “What do you think?”
Nope–She answered her own hesitation and slid a different picture off the board and left the rest, Ali and her chilling on the dock of the Riley Lake, feet in the water. The snapshot didn’t hold the same luster after Ali’s death, but those lazy days were some of her favorites. She slipped the picture between the pages of Pride and Prejudice, well-worn and highlighted from reading it five times, and tossed the book in a tub.
“Well?” she repeated, staring at the board. “Are you going to leave the board like that?”
She pulled off all the photos of her and Callum, replacing the tacks, and plopped them on the floor outside of her room in the time-to-stop-looking-back-and-get-on-with-it pile. That decision exhausted her. She wanted to plop herself right there in the middle of the same pile. Her change of scenery couldn’t come fast enough.
“You’re not coming back.”
Cara squealed at the unexpected voice from the doorframe. It wasn’t a question.
“Mom, you startled me,” Cara said and high-stepped over boxes and wrapped her arms around her mom’s thin frame. Leaving her mom was part of the much-regretted collateral damage of her choice to escape her past. Warmth soaked into Cara’s skin, and she lingered in it as she said, “Mom, of course I am.” Her mom didn’t appear convinced. “I’d miss you too much.”
“I mean, you don’t plan on coming back here to live after you graduate.” Glancing around the room at the carload of boxes, her mom swallowed and steadied her voice, void of the growing emotion blushing her pink cheeks, and added, “Do you?”
“Mom, you’ve been trying to get me out of my funk for over a month now. I’m following your advice, getting on with my life. Looking forward, not back.”
“Do you need to go three hours away to do that? This quick about-face confuses us all.”
“Mommmmm–” she started, cautioning her mom away from debating her decision.
“Hear me out. I support you. If that strong, young girl I raised, the one that pulled herself up from skinned knees and hooked her own squirmy worms, finds her spunky spirit again, then I’m behind your choice, one-hundred percent.”
“Thanks, Mom. You always have my back.” Cara bear hugged her mom. “I just can’t bear doubt right now. This change is hard enough.”
Her mom kept her hands wrapped around Cara when she pulled back and studied Cara’s face as she said, “Your optimism and energy fizzled when you lost Ali and Callum. I don’t see how it couldn’t, but I want my girl back. Facing challenges used to light a fire in you. I know it takes time, and if being away from home helps you work through the pain, I’m behind your decision.” Her mom’s voice cut off abruptly, as if she’d decided not to add her next thought. She’d meant to continue, and Cara knew with what topic. “Just know I want you to physically show up back here, too. I want to see your face live and in person. You can’t run away from me,” she joked, playfully pinching her cheek.
“But Callum?” Cara added, wincing at what her mother hadn’t said. “I hear the ‘but’ in your tone.”
“But Callum–you should speak to him before you go—” her mom shot out before Cara could stop her.
Here we go again. “Mom,” she slowed to muster some patience her mom deserved, “I’ve told you why that’s not going to happen. He chose the worst day of our lives to break up with me. He wouldn’t even look me in the eye. He had the nerve to hold my hand and tell me I was part of his past–and then walked away. What could I do? Do you want me to beg him to take me back?”
Tears filled the eyes of the woman that had wiped her tears and softened her hurts. She cradled Cara in her protective embrace. “I know, honey. It’s been rough watching. I just don’t understand. It doesn’t sound like the Callum we both know.”
“I can’t run into him, Mom, and chat with him like there was nothing between us. I can’t watch him go on with his life, be happy without me. I don’t want to know who he dates next, see who he mingles with in town.”
“Mom, please tell me you understand.” Cara pulled back from her mom, holding her gaze, and then fell back into her mom’s cocoon and wept. Feeding off her mom’s vulnerability and strength, she allowed herself to weep for her losses—for the life that had been, for the dreams that wouldn’t be.
“I do, baby,” her mom said, stroking her hair.
“I’m not leaving you, Mom, really. I know it feels like it.”
Cara wiped her tears and became her own strength, more wobbly doubt than hope. “I’m going to pull the Jeep into the driveway to load.”
“Grandpa is waiting for your goodbye hug. You know your leaving will be hard on him. Change at his age always is.” Her mom picked up a small box to carry down the steps on her way out. “He has something he wants to give you.”
“It will be hard on both of us. I’ll miss sitting with him on the porch. He makes me chuckle every day. Yesterday, after walking to the pond with me, he said he was as sore as a gum boil on a goose’s hind leg.”
“He’s worried about you, Cara. I can’t believe he walked all the way to the pond in this heat and humidity.”
“What’s this?” Her mom pointed with her foot toward a small pile outside her door.
“Trash.”
Her mom bent to retrieve the pile of pictures Cara had tossed to the floor, leaving the small teddy bear and a vase from Callum etched with their names. With raised eyebrows, she asked, “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. They’re reminders I don’t need. They just keep me wishing for what can’t be.”
“But the past doesn’t always need to be erased. You were friends once upon a time,” Cara’s mom said.
“And a promise to be more once upon a time. Can’t really go back, can we?” Cara contested.
She dropped the photos back on the pile and picked up the bear. “I’m a soft, furry friend who could comfort a little, sick one at the hospital,” her mom said as if she was sucking on sticky toffees and gave the bear a little shake in Cara’s face.
“Have at it. There’s another one in there holding a heart that you might want. I’ll just leave all that there for you to box up,” she responded with quick indifference.
Cara’s mom grabbed her by the hand and squeezed.
“You said you wanted to spend your entire life in Middletown–to grow old in the same place you grew up. Don’t give up on that. Come home after you finish your schooling. I know things are complicated now with Callum. But you’re strong and you’ll figure this all out. You just don’t feel strong right now. It’s no consolation to say this–but you will find love again.”
“I chased a dream with Callum. It’s over. I need time and some space to build my strength–to chase a new dream.” Cara stared at the pile of photos on the floor and blinked a long, final farewell salute to her life with Callum.
“If you’re chasing a dream, then I want you to go after it wholeheartedly.”
Her mom followed her eyes to the pile of photos on the floor—Cara sharing a swing with Callum, Cara holding her bullseye target after Callum taught her to shoot a gun, Cara with all her cousins at a family reunion picnic…. Then her body stilled at a photo fallen far from the pile. Remembering that day—the last time Cara and Ali wrapped arms, each balancing a foot on a soccer ball.
“By the way, can you ask God to help? I know you got Him on your side! And maybe ask all your women friends to pray for me?”
“Don’t doubt that, baby girl.”
“I don’t! I’m counting on it.”
“We’ll eat a bite together before you load,” she said, nudging her elbow. “We’ll get Dad to help with these boxes,” she said, raising her eyebrows in question.
“These are my life, Mom, my life,” Cara asserted with a mix of humor.
“Right. Your life in a box.” Cara’s mom forced a smile and quieted like she trapped a secret.
“Gotta get a move on so I can break out of the box, I guess.” Cara tried for some levity, but it fell short.
This woman standing next to her, the wisest woman she knew, never missed a trick. She pitched Cara a conciliatory smile and said, “We better let Dad know that’s your entire life cause he’ll be tossing those boxes around, and we’ll want him to treat them with care.”
“He’s always carried me with care. You both are the best in my world.”
“Baby girl, find your place and unpack those boxes and get to living again.”
“Get on with it. Right?” Cara asked, assuring herself.
“Yep, let’s get on with it,” her mom repeated the refrain her dad bore into her psyche.
The first season he coached her soccer team at the age of five, she’d freeze on the field when she missed a goal, staring into the net, no good to the rest of her team. Like a swat to the bum, his prompt from the sidelines, “Cara bear, get on with it” snapped her back to action.
Ever since, to spur herself to push through the hard parts of life, when she’d stalled with indecision or anxiety, on or off the field, she repeated her dad’s motivation to herself—Get on with it.
Cara snatched the stray photo of her and Ali from the floor and slipped it under the lid of a plastic tub, and then lifted the tub to carry down the steps, sidestepping the pile of the past on the floor, but not the clutter of her heart. Self-betrayal burned in her chest like bile rising in her gut. In every dream for her future, she’d pictured her feet nailed firmly to the fertile farm soil she grew up on.
“Have box will travel,” she sighed and adjusted the weight in her arms, catching her mom’s glance.
They both gave a half-hearted laugh, or they might have just cried again.