One Minute Till Tomorrow

Chapter Fifteen: Three Months Later

Okay, Gwen, you’ve made it through the two and a half months. Now you just have to focus on packing, and actually moving. School over and I ended the year with all D’s. I can’t say it’s my fault. I’ve been depressed—so much so that my mom has me on meds—so I haven’t been focusing during class. All I think about is Caleb, rotting in the soil. I hate it. He should’ve been cremated.

We move back in a week. Mom already has a nice house for us to rent—two bed rooms, two bathrooms, a rec room in the basement. She asked me if I wanted to go back to North-East High, and I said no. Just because I’m back doesn’t mean after a week they’ll return to ignoring me. I’ll be going to Trenten High. Which is just fine with me. But I’m worried I’ll run in to Signe or Tristan at the store or something. That’ll be painful.

Painful, but unavoidable.

After we were finished packing and loading everything in a big U-Haul, we ate one last meal of take out on paper plates. Mom went to bed after that, I sat in the bare living room, holding Caleb’s notebook to my chest.

I started a small fire in the fireplace, the last fire I’d ever start here. Once the fire was going good, I ripped out a page of his notebook, his first letter to me. I threw it in the fire. I ripped out another, and another, and another. I watched as the flames devoured the pages. The smell of ink filled the room.

I watched as the fire dwindled to nothing. Just ashes.

I stood up and grabbed a jar from a box in my room. I walked back down the stairs and collected the ashes. I’d never leave his words behind. I won’t be able to read them again, but I will still have them with me.

After I had the ashes and washed my hands, I laid on the carpet of my living room and fell asleep. I’d miss this floor. All the nights I fell asleep with Caleb’s arm around me.

. . .

When I woke in the morning, I wanted to run. I put on my jacket and jeans and t-shirt I had set aside last night then slid on my boots. I walked out the door and went to the back of my house. I climbed on the roof for the last time.

I walked to the top and sat down, my butt at the top of peek and my legs hanging towards the road. I looked out at the empty field across from my house. I could still see what Caleb wrote in the snow that one Monday morning.

“Screw you California! ND has snow!”

I’d miss him. I’d miss here.

I think I’ll even miss the snow.

“Gwen Emiline! Come down here! We’re leaving!”

I got down from the roof and walked to the front of the house. I helped my mom pack remaining boxes and I loaded my pillow, blanket, and book bag with books and my laptop. It’d take up a few days to get to California. My mom would drive half the time and I’d drive the rest.

When I wasn’t driving, I’d be typing on my laptop, reading, or sleeping. But no matter what I’d be doing, I’d have my earbuds in and I’d be tuned out to the world.

I can’t say I was looking forward to the trip home. I was only looking forward to the home part.

One week later I was moved in to a Spanish style house with a tan paint and red shingles on the roof. There were eight houses whose backyards linked together. Everyone had a medium sized fenced in yard but in the center was a pool. The pool’s water was a clear blue. After I was finished unpacking my room, I found my blue and white poka dot bikini and walked down to the pool. I basked in the sun as long as my mind didn’t wander to Caleb—which wasn’t long.

I didn’t actually get in the pool, I just tanned. Another family was there with their two young kids, splashing and looking like a real family. It’s times like this—seeing normal families—that reminds me that not everyone’s family is as screwed up as mine.

I got up and walked back up to my house. I put on my white flowy skirt and told my mom I was going to the market. I put on white flip-flops, grabbed cash and walked out the door. The farmers marked was a few blocks away, easy walking distance.

Once I got to the marked, I bought fresh fruit, vegetables, and some produce. I saw this cool shark tooth necklace that I also bought.

“That’ll be ten fifty.” Said the woman running the jewelry booth.

I handed her a ten and a dollar. “Keep the change.” I took the necklace and walked away.

I wish I went the other way. Because you’ll never guess who I saw. “Gwen? Is that you?”

Just act like you didn’t hear her, Gwen, keep your head down and weave through the crowd. She’ll never see you.

“Gwen!”

That’s it. I’m over for. I looked up and made eye contact with Signe. “Hi, Sig,”

“G. Oh, my gosh! I thought you were in Canada?!” She threw her arms around me. As I looked over her shoulder I saw the one person that could’ve made this encounter worse. Tristan.

I smiled. “Hey, Tristan.”

“Hey,” he turned away and busied himself with fruit.

Signe let go of me. “I didn’t know you were back? How long are you staying? Are you coming back to North-East High?”

I shook my head. “I’m staying for senior year. But I’m not going back to North-East.”

“Awe, that sucks.”

“Signe!” Tristan called. Signe turned around and held up her middle finger to him, then she said, “Calm the hell down.”

“Are you and Tristan…? Like, a thing?”

Signe blushed. “I know, I know, bros before hoes. But, you were out of the state… and… he’s really awesome at—”

“Well, it was nice catching up with you, Signe. But I have to get back to my house.”

“Oh, okay, fine. Call me?”

“Yeah, sure, okay.” I turned away from her and walked in the other direction. I’d have to take the longer way home.

Once I got home, I ordered take out from my favorite Chinese place. As I waited for the food to arrive, I finished up unpacking the kitchen.

The doorbell rang and I paid the man for the food. I ate the dinner and put up the leftovers.

Around eight, my cell phone rang, Signe. “You’re such a slut. I mean, seriously. Tristan told me what you did to that guy of yours. Seriously how whoreish.”

I swallowed hard. “Signe, I did nothing to him.”

“I bet you only moved back so your friends—if you had any—at your other school didn’t stare at you.”

“That’s not why I left.”

“They why did you?!”

I was silent.

“Answer me, bitch!”

“I moved because my boyfriend died. He was murdered.”

“Go die in a hole.” Signe hung up.

I walked in my bathroom and grabbed a new razor. I took out one of the blades and held it for a bit. Just held it. Then I took it and pressed the sharp edge to my palm. I pressed deeper until it drew blood. I pulled across my palm, the blade making a red line across my skin.

I snapped out of my haze and dropped the blade in the sink. I looked at my hand, now bloody. It felt… good, almost. I rinsed off the blood in the water from my sink then wrapped my hand. The gauze became a little red, but nothing alarming.

Once I knew the bleeding had stopped, I changed into PJs—shorts and a tank-top—and laid in my bed, tossed into a restless sleep.