7. If It Makes You Happy

I woke up at 5:00 in the morning and walked to the beach by myself. I didn’t tell my family anything and I admit that at that moment I was running on three-fourths adrenaline and a fourth of infatuation mixed with desperation and a ‘hope springs eternal’ euphoria. Skye was right, this was real life and real life never turns out like one would love to write it all out to be.
There’s death.
Loneliness.
And sea shells that jab into your feet.
I looked to the east, to the rising sun and wondered if she was going to be there so early.
“Spencer!”
I looked to the edge of the water and saw a lone figure waving to me.
“You’re here!”
“Of course,” she replied as I ran to her.
I wondered what I should do at that moment: Just run up and stand next to her or try to reach in, scoop her up and hold her over my head.
Which would probably end up with both of us lying crippled in the sand, so instead I put my hands out and hugged her.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show,” she whispered.
“I felt the same of you.”
“At least we’re realists about everything,” she replied as we pulled away form each other.
“I’m always a realist. That’s why I write how I do.”
“To escape?”
“Kind of. I live vicariously through my characters.”
“So, is this like a reenactment of the Aimee and Mark story?”
“I hope not. It ends in a drowning,” I replied. “Let’s not get ourselves down. What do you want to do for today?”
“Fly away from everything!” She said as she closed her eyes and raised her hands.
“How about coffee? Down the street? We’ll have to walk.”
“After you,” Skye replied and took my hand.
“I was pretty sure you’d be pissed about the jet ski.”
“Would you believe that I kind of thought about doing that myself but I didn’t think I’d get away with it.”
“You wouldn’t have, but I’d let you think it.”
“Thank you.”
We walked down the road to a small donut shop and sat down. It was a quiet place for being in a vacation spot.
“Did you always want to be a writer? I wanted to ask you the other day, but—”
“Ever since third grade.”
“What happened in third grade?”
“I met this children’s book writer. I loved his work. I had all of his books and if I knew he was going to be there, I would have brought the entire stack, slammed into my book bag—no backpacks for me back then. And he spoke to all of us about keeping on with our dreams and to write everything down, no matter how crazy and way out there it was.”
“You took that advice and ran with it.”
“Thank you again.”
“I wanted to write something. I used to want to draw comic books. Yaoi. I used to draw all of these scenes but I couldn’t show them to my family and if I gave one to my art teacher. Woo, that would be a story in of itself.”
“Yaoi?” I asked. “Some kind of Japanese art?”
“You could say that, yes.”
“I’d like to see one of your drawings.”
Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“I think a lot of people would.”
“Maybe where you live,” she replied.
“Can you show me a picture or two?”
She fidgeted a bit and took a drink of her coffee before closing her eyes and nodding to me.
“I mean, if you want to.”
“Sure, I’ll have to draw a new one. I didn’t bring any of my drawings and they’re not online.”
“Not even on Facebook?”
“I’m not on Facebook anymore. Too many...Too much drama, you know?”
“Yeah,” I replied and nodded in agreement. I didn’t have a Facebook page either—the publishers controlled my page. Sure, I could post a greeting or a ‘Hey! Come see me at such-and-such’ but I didn’t have a personal page.
“It’s a great way to keep track of people and at one time I had a page and all. I would write poems and my views of school but then I grew my hair out and and there a lot of…stuff.”
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“No, I want to, to you at least. Just, don’t write a story about it.”
“Only if you write it with me.”
“When I thought about who I really felt to be inside I wanted to scream it to the world .I wanted to give a hug and a flower to everyone I met to let them know I was so happy about it. Let me tell you: when you can put a dress on and feel comfortable walking out the front door, you want it to show, right?”
“Right.”
“You wanna sashay down the street and just walk with your head held high.”
“If it makes you happy,” I replied.
“It did, for two hours and then, I was called to the office and told to change into my PE clothes or go home as I was ‘disrupting the minds of the ones who were there to learn’. I refused and after that I had people who didn’t even know I existed until that day come after me like I had killed their dog, grilled it up and served it with fries at lunch.”
“And Katie?”
“That happened when I got home. The story had gotten all the way to her college campus across the state. She verbally assaulted me and screamed to my parents about it. I lost that dress.
“I’m sorry.”
“I had to actually burn it outside. Like a sacrifice.”
“But you have your swimsuit?”
“Only because Katie kind of mellowed on it. There were moments when she said she loved having a sister and we would try a few things with our hair and things. She runs hot and cold.”
“Why don’t we go shopping for a summer dress or something?”
“No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“No.”
“Think about it. There are a lot boutiques in Orange Beach. But, if we have to, we’ll go to Pensacola.”
“If I show it to you, will you give me your honest opinion?”
“The only opinion that matters is yours.”