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Hey Max,
Yeah, it's me. I'm not really sure if The Fourth of July is one of those holidays where people send cards, in fact, I've looked everywhere and couldn't find one. Not an appropriate one, at least. There was one with fireworks coming out of a unicorn's ass which was kinda sick, but I decided against it because I didn't want to get your parents mad; not that I really care anymore. But I felt I still had to send you something, so instead, I'm writing to you, again, trying to keep what little of our friendship we have left going. I'll probably never know if you get it, but what the hell.
Shit, when you said 'we'll always be together, even when we're not' I always believed it. I never imagined my best friend would ghost me the way you seem to be.
No, no, I get it. It's been a shitty two and a half years since you left, and I'll have you know the train-wreck of a life of one Captain Bluebeard is still going in the crapper. I wouldn't want to associate with me either, to be honest, so I can't blame you for being silent.
Still...
I had a dream last night that you weren't doing as well as my imagination led me to believe, that Seattle wasn't all new epic adventures, a replacement best friend for the one you discarded here in shitty old AB, and all the other awesomesauce things you deserve. Instead, I watched you collapse into tears every night, looking at that old photo of us in that pirate get-up while crying yourself to sleep. It was the first time I've woken up before fucking one in the afternoon, and it got me to thinking that maybe I'd gotten everything wrong.
Well, not all of it. Dad's still dead, you're still gone, and that means we're not gonna be lighting fireworks on the beach this evening, or doing much of anything, for that matter. Kinda brings a new, messed-up definition to the word 'independence,' don't you think? I'm alone, as independent as fucking possible, and it's not something to celebrate.
What I'm trying to say, Maxaroo, is that I guess, somewhere deep down, I still miss you.
I miss your freckle-covered smile.
I miss your dorky lack of confidence.
I miss how we always hung out, the treasure hunts, the days outside, only coming home for dinner.
I miss sleepovers, nerding-out with video games and a shit-ton of snacks, then falling asleep during late night movies.
So yeah... that's it I guess. I dunno... maybe this time you'll respond. But even if you don't, I'm still gonna go up to the lighthouse anyway, light some sparklers and a couple of M80's, and then watch the fireworks as the sun goes down. I'll imagine you're sitting right there on the bench beside me, holding a sparkler of your own and drawing our names in the air and surrounding them with a heart. You big goop.
I know I'll still be alone on the overlook, and if you're out there somewhere, maybe you're thinking the same thing. So... at least in my mind, we're still together... because I guess I still believe...
See ya around, First Mate. Happy Independence Day, ya dork!
--Me
P.S. I'm still pretty mad at you. Just give me a sign. Just to let me know you're alive.
I reread the letter for like the hundredth time, and it is getting smudged with the river of tears that drip down my face.
She'd timed it perfectly, addressing the letter not to me, but to Mom days ago. Chloe guessed, correctly as it turns out, that I wouldn't answer the phone if she were to call; that's been my pattern for years so much so that I've convinced myself she hates me. Except, her letter makes it clear that's not the case, and she made it so I couldn't at least not receive the note. The envelope is even decorated with a pirate ship sketch underneath a night sky full of fireworks. And she calls me a dork...
As my gut twists into pretzels matching the guilt in my head, I'm finding I don't really know what to do. This is completely unexpected! How can I continue to beat myself up for being the asshole ' best friend?' I deserve whatever punishment Chloe can think of and yet here she is making an attempt to bridge the gap between us that has nothing to do with distance. My insides writhe again, painfully so, and making my sides ache as I hold back a sob. Blinking, more drops splat on the top corner of the note, smearing Chloe's handwriting. I'm ruining her work just as easily as I destroyed our relationship. Way to go, Max! I reach into the box of tissues, but it's empty; I don't even realize the mountain of soaked Kleenex that is overfilling my wastebasket.
Fine...
Pushing away from my desk, I cross the hallway heading for the bathroom. My parents' darkened bedroom door is open, meaning they're somewhere else in the house. Obviously, they're giving me space to sort out my almost sixteen-year-old emotions, and from downstairs I can hear the quiet murmur of the television. I could tell Mom had checked on me at least once; there's a plate of brownies beside my door, but she otherwise let me be. I haven't left my room, not even for dinner, since she handed me Chloe's letter this morning. Right now, the thought of food, even her amazing brownies, makes me want to puke.
A couple more steps, and I'm in the bathroom, finding a full box of tissues; it's all I need, and I take a couple and blow my running nose hard enough that it makes my head momentarily spin.
"Dog! I look awful," I say to my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are still filled with tears, and the swollen bags underneath them make me look like I've aged a hundred years. The freckles on my face blaze crimson like a rash, partially hidden by straggly bangs which are stuck to either cheek. The tangle of hair above looks like it's been plucked by Seattle's ever-present seagulls. My shirt, a light polka-dotted pajama top I haven't even changed out of yet, hangs loosely on my sagging shoulders.
I shake my head slowly, my red eyes stationary as I watch myself. This is what I've become: a young woman, ripped away from everything and the one person who means more to me than my own health. Why can't I just go back and redo it all? I watch as my reflection rolls her eyes. 'Yeah, right! It's not like you can control time, Maxine.'
If only...
As expected, I get a shrug in the mirror as a response. Looking deep into my own eyes, the lids of which I see are crusted from all my crying, I find the young girl I used to be hiding behind them. Is this really how I want things to go? Living a life of lost opportunities that I can't change? Staying with the hurt and pain of the past? "What do I really want, Max?" We both know the answer: her name, rolling around in my head alongside images of our time together, begins with a capital CHLOE. I have a choice to make, which means it's time that I face the music. My gut churns again almost making me flee like the coward I am.
You can do this, Max. You can be better than before. My mirror image mouths the words that don't quite pass my lips, but I can hear her clearly enough anyway. Swallowing the phlegm in my throat, I wipe my eyes with the palms of my hands, then nod in response, intending to head back to my room to re-read Chloe's note. My feet don't budge and my grip on the countertop holds fast, and it takes me almost five minutes to take the first step.
"You've grown, Max," I try to convince myself. "Just gotta be brave enough to admit I've been wrong." Of course, that's gonna suck...
Another few steps, picking up the plate of brownies from the floor, and I'm back in my room. It's been so long since I've done this, but there's a shoebox in my closet which has small mementos of a happier time. Maybe I'll find the courage to reach out to Chloe by focusing on all the fun we used to have. Dragging out the partially crumpled cardboard box from under a pile of haphazardly thrown-in and wrinkled clothing, I realize just how much of a mess my room is. I've been not only neglecting myself, but my entire surroundings; reflecting how much I lost the ability to even care. Guess I'll have to fix that too, but first things first. Opening the box, I rifle through bits and pieces of my past:
A photo of the two of us during Halloween.
A seashell from the beach, and its matching other half. Inside, I see the faded names each of us wrote. We found two whole clam shells during that summer adventure. Does Chloe still have hers?
A half of a movie stub, its mate being back in Arcadia Bay from the afternoon our parents let us go see Pirates of the Caribbean, the third one, I think. They'd taken us in because it was PG-13 but sat well away from their two girls. I remember hiding my face in Chloe's shoulder and peeking out occasionally. My best friend wrapped her free arm around me and fed me popcorn. Neither of us knew at the time that we only had two years to be together.
At the bottom of the box, I find what I was looking for. It is an old, flimsy cardboard container in faded red, white, and blue. Shaking it, the rattle tells me there's one sparkler remaining. I flip open the tab, and the long, slender metal rod slides into my hand. The smell reminds me how we used to light these together and wave them around during the Arcadia Bay fireworks, just like Chloe said in her note. Now all I need is a lighter, so I stick my feet into a pair of fuzzy pink bunny slippers and quietly head downstairs. Dad has a Butane lighter for the grill, so I grab that, and the phone from its cradle before opening the patio door and stepping outside. It is starting to get dark, just the right time, so I settle myself onto the cushioned couch across from Dad's grill.
The slider door opens again, and Mom's head pokes through. Her caring, yet concerned expression tells me she's continuing to allow me my space but also doing her job of making sure I'm okay. I get it, and I love her for how she balances my needs given my attitude over the past day, much less since we moved here. I've been a handful, I admit.
"Maxine, what are you doing out here? Do you need anything, honey?"
Just this once, I keep from rolling my eyes at the sound of my full name. Instead, I raise the sparkler and the lighter to show her what I'm up to. "Gonna light this off, Mom. It's... it's important."
"That's fine. Just stick it in the grill when you're done. Your father will take care of it in the morning." She starts to pull her head back inside, then stops. "Her number is on the phone; in case you need it. Just so you know, sweetheart."
With that, the door closes, and I'm left to my own thoughts. I gaze across the yard, which dips down the small slope. From here, our house's vantage point opens up to the distant Seattle skyline, the lights of which are starting to show as the setting sun's rays begin to fade; the horizon capturing the golden orb for another day. My eyes go to the handset in my lap, then back to the sunset. I gulp, the courage which brought me outside fading as the sky darkens. Tentatively, I press the power button, and the small screen turns on. Chloe Price: her number is the very first entry and shows 99+ times I've resisted answering. Guilt once again starts making me double and triple think what I'm about to do, and my younger-self's scared voice brushes my mind.
'I don't think I can do this. It's been too long. Max... I'm... afraid...'
My finger hovers over the call button. Then like it's got a mind of its own, then moves away. The screen goes dark as I stare at the phone number I remember by heart. Will Chloe sound different? Will she accept my apology, accept me back? Will she... hate me like I deserve?
'I'm scared...'
"So am I, but doesn't Chloe at least deserve a response after she tried this one last time? She said... Chloe said... she misses us."
Indecision keeps my thumb stationary as skies darken further. Points of twinkling light, the stars start showing up in the deep purple dome above me. They are my silent audience, watching from above as a young woman struggles with herself and emotions. My gaze draws upwards to see a streak and a flash heading from north to south and I wonder if Chloe sees it too. Maybe I should ask her; my thumb presses the button, and I hold my breath. Billions of onlookers, the entire universe seem all to blink as one. Or maybe it's just my imagination. Holding the phone to my ear, the connection completes: first one ring, then another. Three times, followed by a fourth and a quick click. I hear nothing but the catch of my best friend's breath. I know she's there and need to break the silence before I throw the phone across the patio. I'm at my emotional limit and perhaps a point that will set my destiny.
You can do this.
"I..." That's the best I can do to start the conversation with the person who I've missed for so long. "I... I have a sparkler, Chlo'... you wanna... like... light one with me?"
"You really are a dork, Maxie." I hear a hiss over the line as she lights her own.
"Chloe, I'm... I'm... sor..."
"Not now, First Mate. Let's just enjoy this moment. We'll get to the heavy shit later."
"'K..." I hold the lighter against my own sparkler and it spits at first, then becomes a brilliant white point that throws little shooting stars every which way. I begin tracing her name above mine, then surround both in a heart . Chloe and Max, together again and imprinted in the night sky. The streak leaves an afterimage in my eyesight, a glowing reminder that will last even while I sleep.
"Happy Fourth of July, First Mate."
"Same to you, Captain."
We talk well after the lights of the sparklers sputter their last, almost to the break of dawn. At some point, I'm not really paying attention, but maybe past two in the morning, I drag myself back inside, quietly chatting about everything each of us have missed. Now curled snugly in my bed, I cradle the phone in both hands while Chloe, on speaker, describes her latest escapades, then finishes with a loud yawn, which makes me do the same. The only thing better is if she were here next to me like we used to do. Finally, when neither of us can keep our eyes open anymore, the last thing we say is that we'll call each other later in the day.
"Night, Chlo'."
"Night, Maximus."
With a final click, she's gone, and I take a deep breath. Last night, like the celebration of our country, we just opened a new chapter in our lives; I don't even mind having missed the Seattle fireworks. It might take time for each of us to heal, but I already know I'm never leaving Chloe again.