Palm Print

Chapter 2

EIU's cafeteria was the largest I'd ever seen. The cool, textured glass diffused the sun's rays into a soft white glow, creating a late autumn, early winter, atmosphere. The bookstore was bustling with hundreds of people packed inside. They were being suckered. I found book PDFs online; I wasn't paying thousands of dollars for books. They got enough from tuition costs.

"Sorry for the wait," Ethan said, handing me a chicken sandwich, fries, and a fruit punch.

"It's fine. Thank you," I said, smiling while munching on a fry.

"Of course. What classes did you register for?"

I took a sip from my fruit punch before replying, "English 100, World History, College Algebra, Ethics and Morals, and Psychology."

He squinted, "Five classes?"

"Yes, I don't want to work retail forever."

"Aren't five classes a lot though?"

My brows furrowed while tapping a fry on my sandwich. "How many classes are you taking?"

"Four classes," he answered.

"So, taking four classes was fine, but taking five was too much," I remarked, rolling my eyes as I took a bite from my sandwich. "That's dumb, Ethan."

Ethan reached for his drink and accidentally knocked over his plate. He managed to catch his burger, but his fries met an unfortunate demise. I helped him gather the fries and dumped them in the trash bin.

"Are you sure you're not blind?" I asked, dusting my hands off as we sat down.

"No, my eyes are fine," he said as he began to eat his burger.

I pointed to my fries. "We can share," I said. He nodded and took a handful. I slapped his hand. "Not all of them, jackass."

He smiled, showing his braces. Ethan always had terrible teeth. They were white, but they went in every direction. I was glad his family got him braces; he needed them.

"When are you going to have them taken off?" I asked.

"I don't know, but they hurt like a bitch."

"Are you going to have your wisdom teeth removed?"

"Fun fact, I don't have wisdom teeth, so I don't have to worry about that. By the way, I thought you had to work at noon."

"Why is everyone saying that?" I asked while pulling out my phone.

If I were scheduled today, that would be a bad look, but I was sure it was tomorrow. I turned my phone to him, showing him my schedule.

"See, it's tomorrow at noon, not today," I said.

He grimaced and groaned.

I rubbed his jaw, asking "Did Brandy tell you?"

"I had a missed call from her, but I wasn't by my phone." He ate his burger and then licked his fingers. He continued talking, but I couldn't understand him.

I chuckled, "I can't understand you." I handed him a napkin, "Eat or talk. Anyway, they broke up."

Ethan tossed his napkin on the empty tray. "Okay, Taylor."

"I'm serious. She unfriended him and everything,"

"Do you believe they're broken up?"

"Well..."

"It's Brandy and Tristan."

He gathered his trash, and I put mine on his. He glanced at me, and I kissed him, saying, "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah."

He threw our trash away and we walked around the school to get a feel for everything. EIU was elegant to observe. I was glad I didn't have to live on campus and could live at home; that saved a lot on tuition costs.

Various clubs were in the halls selling products and promoting their clubs. It was challenging navigating through the waves of people. We turned the corner and my heart fluttered, while I bounced on my toes. Shelves of books were on display, and I dashed to them while pulling Ethan along.

They rested in glass cases, and my jaw dropped reading the titles. I caressed the case which housed "A Farewell to Arms."

"Hemingway signed that." A guy said, approaching. He was tall, pale, and extremely skinny. I could see his collarbone through his shirt.

"Hemingway," I began, my voice shaky, "Like Ernest Hemingway?"

"Yes, every book here was autographed by the author."

I stumbled backward and Ethan caught me. "Taylor?" He asked, his eyes frantic.

"Are you okay?" The guy asked. I nodded.

While glancing at Ethan, my eyes danced around; my breathing was jagged, and Ethan rubbed my back and held me closer.

"Ernest Hemingway," I said as a wide grin formed.

"Who?" Ethan asked.

I dashed to the glass saying, "Hemingway. A farewell to arms, The Sun also rises, hills like white elephants." Ethan stared blankly at me. "Ethan?!" I crossed my arms, "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber?"

Ethan's brown eyes widened, "Oh, him."

"Not just him," The guy began, putting gloves on.

He opened the glass case and showed us Hemingway's signature. I stared at his name. His handwriting was beautiful.

The guy showed us all the writers' autographs: J.D. Salinger, Margaret Atwood, JK Rowling, F. Scott Fitzgerald; I loved how although some were gone, they still lived on.

"What's your club's name?" I asked.

"We're the historical literature club." The guy replied, handing me and Ethan a brochure. "We'll be happy to have you."

"Yeah, I have to think about it. Thank you."

Ethan and I continued looking around the campus.

"So, do you have everything ready for the trip?" I asked.

His eyes looked ghostly at my mention of the trip. "Yeah," he said, "I have everything ready."

"Do you not want to go anymore?"

"No, it's not that, I just... it's a long way down, I guess," he laughed a little bit, but his laugh was fake. He wasn't paying attention to where he was going and bumped into a water fountain.

"Careful," I began, "if you don't want to go, it's okay; we can cancel it."

His eyes widened. "No, you've always wanted to do this, and I want to support you."

"Do you think it's dumb?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied a little too quickly for my liking. "I think it's very dumb, honestly."

"Then don't come," I said, interlocking my fingers with his.

"Don't do that, Taylor. I said I would go."

I smirked, "Do what, Ethan?"

As we walked past the glass windows, I noticed several palm prints on them. I didn't know what it was about unclean windows, but they annoyed me, especially when you could see people's fingerprints on them. So disrespectful.

"What are you doing tonight?" Ethan asked.

I leaned against him, taking in his scent. It was sweet and foresty. I bought the cologne for him a few weeks ago. I asked, slightly breathy, "Are you coming over?"

"I can't tonight," He whispered.

I looked down, nodding, "Oh, I see."

He stopped, wrapping his arms around me and resting his hands on my lower back. "Taylor."

I traced the lettering on his shirt; the fluffy texture was therapeutic. He called my name again, but I couldn't look at him. People stared at us, and I buried my head in his chest.

"Let's go," I whispered.

Ethan led me into an empty classroom, closing the door. The lights were off, but a faint stream of the Sun's rays partially lit the room.

"Taylor," he whispered.

My cheeks flushed and my words were caught in my dry throat. He embraced me, kissing my forehead. I wrapped my arms around him caressing his lean back. I felt protected and my body melted into his.

"It's been a while, Ethan," I said, my words finally returning.

"I'm sorry, but I have to work today. I have to stay ahead on bills," he answered, "with dad's injury, I..."

"I know." I kissed his hand, "how is he?"

"He's better. He's taking it day by day." He pressed his head against mine, "I'm sorry, Taylor. I'm off Sunday."

"Okay. The whole day?"

He kissed me, "All day."

We departed from EIU, and He walked me to my car. We continued talking about bungee jumping; I didn't think he knew this, but he tended to shrug his shoulders when nervous. I liked that about him. You could read his emotions quite easily.

"Thanks for walking me," I said, and we kissed. "Text me when you get home."

"I will," he said. I watched him walk to his car and drive away.

While observing the sea of vehicles around me, I thought about who they might belong to. I wondered if they knew what they wanted for the future. I stretched and sat on the hood of my car and stared at the clouds.

"How many people had done this? How many people are doing this?" I whispered as I reached for the sky, "And how many will?" I closed my eyes and imagined Charleston Lake.

I felt the light wave caressing my calves, the summer breeze flirting with autumn's cool touch, and the scent of nature entering my nostrils. I chuckled, swinging my arms back and forth. I floated in the lake, listening to the pulsing waves and the singing cardinals.

I imagined Ethan and me standing on a cliff and how his face would look. I knew he would be shaking, and while he was not looking, I would push him off the cliff with me. I smiled, thinking about how much he would cuss me out. My body felt weightless thinking about the descent. My fingers tingled, and my heart thumped like a bass drum.

We accelerated towards the water, but as we were about to collide with it, the cable stopped us with only our fingertips grazing the surface. I opened my eyes, panting and smiling.

"I'm doing it."

I entered my car and loaded "Runaway Train" by Soul Asylum on Spotify. I didn't feel like going home, so I drove around the city.

Charleston, Illinois wasn't the biggest city, but it wasn't small. It had enough to do to keep from being bored, but it didn't have enough to explore the way I wanted to. The city had a unique allure, and I enjoyed stumbling across new things.

I think that's why I wanted to be a history teacher. Well, a history and English teacher. Through history, we can learn about the past, the good and the bad, while through English, we can communicate how to be better.

I drove to the train tracks and began to walk beside the rails. I took a deep breath and took in the sounds of the trees swaying, the cars driving by, and my feet crunching the rocks beneath me.

Life was good, but sometimes I couldn't help but wonder if I was on the right path. I wanted to be a teacher; that had always been my goal, but in the back of my head, I couldn't help but wonder, "Do I want to be a teacher? Or is there something else that I want?"

"Something else," I whispered.

The tracks shifted, and the faint siren grew louder. The train sped past me.

It was night when I arrived home after spending hours walking along the train tracks. It was worth it, though, although I messed up my Nikes.

Dad was asleep on the couch. I put a blanket around him and turned the TV down.

"Good night, Dad," I whispered.

Mom was in her room, fast asleep. I gathered my clothes from the laundry room and was surprised to see them folded. She went all out.

I placed my clothing in my dresser and listened to a history documentary while I organized my backpack. Ethan texted me, asking: "Did you make it home okay?"

I replied: "Yes, I just made it home. I was walking the train tracks."

He messaged back: "This late?"

I rolled my eyes, replying: "Stop acting like my mom. Anyway, what are you doing?"

Ethan texted: "I was just checking up on you."

I answered: "I wish you were here."

Ethan messaged: "❤️ What do you want to do Sunday?"

I bit my lip and my jaw tensed. I lay down as my body warmed, replying: "You know what I want ❤️."

Text bubbles were on the screen for a while. He was probably flustered.

"Are you going to play dumb? I hope so. I want to be more explicit," I chuckled.

He texted: "Tell me."

He was playing coy.

I answered: "🍆."

He replied: "👏🍑. Good night. I love you."

I messaged: "Love you ❤️.

"Let's see if you keep that same energy, Sunday."

I went over my course requirements. I had everything I needed except for that graphing calculator; I didn't want to spend $150, but it couldn't be helped; I guessed.

Sleepiness wrapped its hand around me, so I laid down. As my eyes began to close, I received a phone call, breaking my slumber.

I answered the phone, "What?"

"Don't 'what' me," Brandy answered.

I laughed, sitting up. "I'll 'what' whoever I want, asshole. So, what's up? How was work?"

"Work was fine," she began, "and..."

"And what? Why are you being so quiet?"

"So, me and Tristan had a conversation," she began. "Yeah, we had a conversation."

I smiled and squinted. "Are you going to tell me?"

"So, I caught Tristan talking to another girl. And I blew up on him, calling him a cheating asshole. I told him to fuck off, and I never wanted to see him again."

I gasped. "Are you serious? Did he apologize?"

"So," she paused, and she began to speak several times but never said anything.

"Just tell me."

"So, the girl that he was texting was his cousin. She got into a car accident and was asking him when he was going to come see her because she wanted to talk to him."

My jaw dropped, and it felt like my eyes were popping out of their sockets. "Brandy."

"I know. I completely blew up for no reason. And I feel like an asshole now."

"God, did you at least apologize?"

"I did. However, he doesn't want to get back together. He felt that I was too volatile and didn't even listen to what he was trying to say."

"I'm sorry to hear that. How are you feeling?" I asked.

She began, her voice playful but hurt, "I feel great. My boyfriend completely hates me, and I deserve it."

"Well, maybe we could—."
She interjected, "I'm so sorry, Taylor, but Tristan's calling me, and I have to answer this. Bye."

She hung up on me; I couldn't believe her; she hung up on me.

I tried to go back to sleep, but Brandy's story and situation caused me to have more energy than I wanted. I decided to continue to watch a documentary about ancient Persia until eventually I went unconscious.