Akumal

Mail for Me

Past

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“All the time he done bad things, but he never done one of ‘em mean.”

I bit my lip, tearing up as I read the line from my favorite book, Of Mice and Men, for what must have been the thousandth time.  The ending of it still got me all choked up, even after all this time.  I was already mad at myself, so I figured it was best to read something that could bring me somewhere else, away from my hectic life.  

Yesterday, I had had a major fight with my best friend and today I wasn’t coming out of my room because of it.  It was now late afternoon, and even though my mom had tried to come in and talk to me, it wasn’t much help.  She really didn’t know what she was supposed to say to me after something like this, but I didn’t blame her because I didn’t know either.  So when she did come in, we would just sit there, side by side on the bed, staring out the window at the foaming waves slowly rushing in to tuck the sand into bed. She would have her arm around me, which said things she couldn’t say by mouth.  And so that was how she helped me cope.

I bookmarked the page and placed it softly down on my bedside table, right beside my cream colored lamp with an ocean themed shade.  I slide silently towards my door and unlocked it with a click, pulling it open noiselessly. I slipped down the staircase (without really slipping, mind you) and into the kitchen, where I began rummaging through the fridge.  Grabbing a cheese stick, I shut the refrigerator door and leaned back against the countertop.  

In another room, I heard Mom arguing into the phone about something.  I looked around the kitchen, taking it in like I hadn’t been in it for a week.  The wooden cabinets looked as if they had seen the end of their days, as always.  My Mom’s old digital camera sat in a dish atop the microwave, along with loose pins and assorted nicknacks.  The fridge had a few photos stuck to it: one of me splashing in the waves when I was little,  one with my grandma when we had gone to visit them in RI a few years ago, and one of my Mom and I painting a bowl of fruit in our living room from last year.

I remember that we had to cover the entire room with plastic and newspaper, since my mom’s idea of creative genius was pretty much getting paint everywhere. We had bought wooden easels, standing them up with our canvases in the living room.  A bowl of whatever fruits we could find in the house at that time had been placed on the table, the orange occasionally deciding to fall out of it.  We were smiling like we were having the time of our lives.  I wished we could still do stuff like that, but nowadays happiness required money for paints, brushes, newspaper, canvas… you name it, there was a price on it.  So we mostly stuck to doing our own thing.

Just then, Mom finished her phone call and trudged, exasperated, into kitchen.  She smiled weakly when she saw that I was out of my room.  Finishing my cheese, I threw the wrapper away.  Mom’s eyes wandered about the room, stopping to admire the pictures on the fridge.  “I’m going to go check the mail,” I said, leaving the kitchen and yanking open the front door. In our mailbox, I found:

-A coupon for some deal at some store

-A postcard from my Aunt, who was vacationing with her rich new boyfriend in Alaska   

-Three bills for Mom

-A small brown box

Shutting the mailbox, I looked at the name on the package.  To my surprise, it was to me. I brought the mail inside the house and plopped it on the counter.  Mom was once again on the phone, arguing with someone in the other room.  I brought my package upstairs to my room and ripped it open.  Inside, there was a mess of bubble wrap with a note taped to it.  

I saw you that day on the Boardwalk.

-A

Akoni?  What day on the boardwalk was he referring to?  

I grabbed the bubble wrapped mass in my hand and started to unravel it.  When I finally finished, there was bubble wrap everywhere, and a silver turtle necklace in my palm, a piece of frosted sea glass inside the turtle’s tummy.  Oh, that day on the boardwalk!

Excited, I brought the cord around my neck and latched it on going to stand in front of mirror to admire it.  Grabbing my phone, I went through my messages to find Akoni’s.  To my surprise, I realized I had never even gotten his number.   

How can you kiss him and yet not even have his number? I thought, mentally kicking myself in the face.  I didn’t even know where he lived.  Man, I wasn’t a very good girlfriend.

I heard the doorbell ring downstairs as I tried to figure out how I was supposed to contact him and thank him.  Mom must have gotten the door, because I didn’t hear it ring again.  There were voices downstairs, soft and calm.  Good, it wasn’t just another person who planned on yelling at my mom.  There were footsteps on the stairs, coming towards my room.  I opened the door to my mother’s face.

“There’s a boy downstairs to see you,” she said, smiling as she walked off towards her room (which was also upstairs.)  Rushing down the stairs, I found Akoni leaning against our kitchen counter, frowning as he read bits and pieces of a letter on the counter.  It looked to be one of the bills Mom opened, but his expression immediately changed when he saw me.  

“Hey, you’re wearing the necklace!” He exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, blushing.  I bit my bottom lip, not sure what to say next.

“It was nothing,” he answered, standing awkwardly in my kitchen.  

“So… what brings you here?”

Suddenly, he remembered just why he was here.  Taking my hand, he said; “I have something to show you.” He lead me towards the front door and I slipped on my shoes.

“What is it?”

He smiled knowingly. “The turtle eggs are hatching.”