The Trouble Is

Chapter 26: The Current List of Fears

It's late afternoon on the day before the Fourth of July. We are in Katie's bedroom, and the music is loud. I'm lying on her bed while she paints my toenails a neon orange. K has Pottery Barn bedding, the real stuff. It feels like I'm lying on a fluffy cloud, and it smells like lavender. We are listening to Taylor Swift singing "Wildest Dreams."

I know that East will go away to college at the end of the summer. I don't know if the song is making me think about this or if I chose that song to fit my mood. Either way, I feel that moment coming when we've had our final summer kiss and I ask him to "say you'll remember me." Some days I think T. Swift's teenage self was reincarnated into me, except without that elusive cool factor.

"He'll remember you always," K says, reading my mind like best friends do. "And he will be back, not just because his parents live here. He'll be back for you. I can tell these things."

"How?" I ask quietly.

Katie thinks about this for a minute or two as she dips a thin paintbrush in white polish to make a flower like one of those Hawaiian flowers that will pop out from the brilliant orange.

"Do you want a list?" she asks.

I think about it for a minute, but I'm good with just an answer.

"Just tell me," I say.

Katie finishes the toe, blows on it for a minute, and then lies down beside me. I'm tapping each finger against its thumb one-two-three-four, then four-three-two-one. The longer she waits to speak, the more awful I imagine the answer to be. Why else would she struggle with speaking? Katie's never been one to think before she speaks.

The song changes. Taylor has given the stage over to Justin Bieber, who is "under pressure, seven billion people in the world trying to fit in." Justin, I think, I'm feeling you.

"First," K says. "You go first. You always have a list going on in your head."

She takes my hand in hers, just like in kindergarten and many times since.

"What's your current list?" she asks. She just holds my hand, no squeezing, no hidden meaning. This is the cornerstone of our friendship: our ability to let everything else fall away and be the same friends we've been since the start. We are in the circle of trust here, in this moment, as always.

"Like the number? The number doesn't really matter, K," I say, fully knowing that my opening statement is some form of denial. The list number says a few things; we both know that to be true. I don't even have to look at it to know that this list has now been revised over and over—a new league record even for a pro list writer like me.

Katie nods in agreement with me. "The number is irrelevant," she says.

"Today's list is the ever-evolving Current List of Fears," I say. "Don't judge."

"I would never," she says. I know she means it.

I lean off the bed and dig through my backpack to find this year's battered spiral. I quickly flip through the notebook to one of the last few pages. This particular list falls in the category of ongoing lists. It's always there at the end of each spiral. It changes from year to year and sometimes even day to day. But it's always there, like a constant in the math equation that is me. Every time I update it, I update the actual list number as well. So it looks like I'm now updating it for the about the fiftieth time this year.

I lie back down on her bed, propping myself up on my elbows so I can read each one aloud. I've read my lists to Katie many times. It can be scary, but I know that every now and then, just speaking even one of these out loud can sort of diminish its power. I hold up each finger as I count them off.