The Schooling
Year One
Chapter One: Leaving
I found out my mother was sending me away because my boyfriend couldn’t give me a ride home.
That was the first thing.
Not because she told me. Not because we sat down at the kitchen table like people did in after-school specials, with feelings named and handled in order. I found out because he had something to do after school, something more important or more interesting or more complicated than me, and so instead of climbing into his car and feeling older than I was, I took the bus home like a kid.
I hated the bus.
By then, I had gotten used to arriving places in the passenger seat of someone else’s freedom. My boyfriend was in high school, which concerned everyone but me. To me, it made sense. He had a car. He had opinions. A life that did not seem to ask permission from anybody. That was the kind of life I wanted to stand close to, even if I was only standing close enough to get a ride.
But that day, I got off the bus.
The house was quiet when I walked in. My mother was still at work. My brothers and sisters would not come crashing through the door for another hour, hungry and loud and half-unzipped from the day.
I dropped my bag in the hall and went into the kitchen.
There was a certain light the kitchen had in the afternoon, yellow and thin, coming through the window over the sink and landing across the table as if it had nowhere better to go. I got a glass of water from the tap and drank half of it standing there. Then I carried it to the table and sat down beside the phone.
The phone was where everything happened.
It was a deep red with a rotary dial. My friends called it the Bat Phone. It had a long cord that twisted itself into knots no matter how many times we untangled it. Beside it was always my mother’s yellow legal pad. Grocery lists, appointment times, names of people she needed to call, bills she needed to remember, reminders underlined three times and then crossed out when they were done.
I reached for it without thinking.
I was going to call someone. I don’t remember who. That part is gone.
What I remember is my name.
My name at the top of the page.
And underneath it, a list of boarding schools.
For a second, I did not understand what I was seeing. I stared at the words as if they might rearrange themselves into something else if I waited long enough. But they stayed there, neat and deliberate, in my mother’s handwriting.
A list.
A plan.
A thing already moving without me.
We had talked about boarding school before, but talked was not the right word. She had mentioned it. I had refused it. She had brought it up again. I had told her all the reasons it made no sense.
I could not go away.
I had to be at home.
That was not something dramatic I said to make myself sound important. It was the plain truth of the house. There were five of us. My father had died years ago, and my mother had been raising us by herself ever since. I was the oldest, which meant I was not exactly a child and not exactly an adult. I was whatever the house needed me to be.
Snack maker. Homework helper. Babysitter. Peacemaker. Second set of hands.
Second parent, though nobody said that.
And now there was my name on a yellow legal pad, followed by schools we could not afford, in places I had no intention of going.
I sat there for the entire hour.
I did not call anyone.
I just looked at the list and watched my life leave without permission.
It was stupid; I told myself. It would not happen. We did not have boarding school money. Boarding school was for girls who owned horses and boys who had their hair cut by appointment. It was for families with last names on buildings and mothers who wore perfume to breakfast. It was not for us.
My mother was practical. She knew better.
She had to know better.
And even if she did not, I would simply not go.
That seemed reasonable. I was fourteen, going on fifteen in the way girls are at that age, half one thing and half another. I believed refusing something was enough to stop it.
Then I heard the bus.
The younger ones came in the way they always did, all noise and elbows and loose papers, dropping bags in the hall, yelling over each other before they were even inside. I turned the yellow legal pad over so fast that it slapped the table.
They came into the kitchen hungry.
They were always hungry.
I got out crackers and peanut butter and jelly. I cut apples into slices and put cheese on a plate. Somebody complained about the crackers. Somebody else wanted more jelly. The radio went on because it always made things easier. You Make My Dreams started playing, and the kitchen became what it usually was after school: a mess of crumbs and noise and small bodies moving in too many directions.
I danced because they danced.
I laughed because they laughed.
But every time I looked at the table, the yellow page showed through the back of it. As if the words had burned through.
all the days
Chapter 3
August 16th, 2024
11:22am.
I pull into a parking space.
The lot is nearly full.
Though summer is winding down, the tourists are still swarming the lake and everything with it.
I lock the car, baskets in hand, and head into the market.
I pick a cart and begin my weave through the maze of produce.
My mental list streaming through my mind as I inspect berries, melons and grapes.
The kitchen is nearly empty of provisions, as has become the norm when the kids are with him.
Stocking up is my Friday ritual now.
I try to beat the weekend crowds.
The out-of-town pests, devouring everything in sight and leaving behind a trail of trash and stench.
I have my routine.
I get my shopping and errands done and spend as little time as possible out and about.
Even though it has been over three years, I still feel eyes on me, searching me for information.
The curiosity of tragedy and the unknown.
I am part of the great unsolved mystery of these parts.
I hate it.
I think about moving far, far away.
But the kids, they are rooted here.
He would never agree to move.
I am stuck living by a lake that I no longer love.
How could I?
It swallowed up Jenny and every happy memory spent there.
I am halfway through the market, turning onto the frozen aisle.
I look up and Clay is right there, in front of me, holding a basket of sandwiches, ice cream and wine.
Jessica by his side on her phone.
Shit.
We look at each other and in unison realize there is no way to avoid this moment.
“Hey, Mandy. How are you?”
I shift.
Jessica looks up at me, her eyes grow wide, she puts her phone in her pocket, wraps her arm through Clay's and pulls herself in close to him.
She gives me a small smile.
I look back to Clay.
“I'm ok. You?”
“We're good. Heading out to the lake. Gorgeous day.”
We glance around, eyes darting, looking for exits.
“It is. Have fun.”
I veer around them and down the aisle.
I inhale.
Don't look back.
I bring my mental list back to my mind and grab some frozen pizzas and fries.
Cheese sticks and potstickers.
I hate him.
I hate them.
I finish my list with fresh urgency.
Speed through the self-checkout.
Finally, back at my car, groceries loaded.
A black SUV pulls in right next to me as I send the cart into the corral across the lane.
Detective Sharp opens his door.
The space between our cars is tight.
He smiles at me.
Wearing shades, a black t-shirt and jeans.
He does not look dressed for work.
He is tan and his hair looks a little longer, a bit of a shag to it.
He runs his hand through, brushing it away from his face.
“Hi, Amanda. Nice to see you.”
I give an awkward smile, squinting into the sun, not sure how to feel in this moment.
“Hi, Detective Sharp. How are you?”
He stands in front of me, removes his glasses and clips them on his shirt.
“Call me James. I am off the clock. No need for formalities.”
“Right, ok, James.”
I see him looking right at me.
I feel exposed.
I make conversation.
“It seems everyone is at the market today. I thought I was beating the crowd.”
James scans the lot and turns back to me.
“The festival is this weekend. You going to the fireworks?”
I look down at my feet.
My sandals are worn, chipped nail polish.
I need a pedicure.
I was planning on taking Lucy with me this week for some girl time.
“No. Not a fan of crowds. I can see the fireworks from my house.”
I forgot that was this weekend.
I close the back of my car.
“It was nice to see you, James.”
He smiles, raises his hand, pointing toward me.
“I'm glad I ran into you. Are you still doing watch repair? I have an old Wittnauer. It was my grandfather's. It stopped working.”
I put my hands in my pockets and fiddle with my key fob.
I study his face.
He has a twinkle in his eye.
It happens when people talk about a family heirloom.
I notice it.
Grandfather.
Great-grandmother.
It causes an emotion in the face that I have grown to recognize, and it always pulls at my heartstrings.
“I am doing less of it these days, but I would be happy to take a look at it.”
I pull my key out of my pocket and shift in place.
He is blocking the space between our cars.
I glance toward my door.
His eyes follow my glance.
“That's great. Can I bring it to you today? I don't have it on me, but I can swing by later this afternoon. If that works for you?”
I pause.
My mind spins through my house.
Is it a mess?
I was planning to nap.
I can manage this.
“Sure. I will be there working this afternoon. Text me when you are on your way. You still have my cell?”
He takes his phone out of his back pocket and holds it up.
“I should, let's see, yup, there you are, Amanda...”
I smile and cut him off.
“You can call me Mandy.”
“Ok, Mandy.”
He smiles back.
“I have some things to do, and I need to swing home and grab the watch. I'll shoot for around 4. Is that too late?”
He points to me again.
The skin on the back of his hand looks soft and worn, a few freckles, and a scar, a white slash just above the wrist.
I hadn't noticed that before.
“No, that works.”
I feel my face turn warm as I look from his hand to his eyes.
He smiles.
“Great. I'll see you then.”
He does a casual salute with his hand.
I chuckle at this and gesture back with a salute.
It feels silly but good.
I carefully open my car door and slip in through the tight space.
I shut the door, turn on the car and max the AC.
I sit staring at the steering wheel, waiting for the cool air to overtake the heat.
Well, that was a lot.
Running into everyone today.
James, unexpected.
James, interesting.
I don't think he was wearing a wedding band.
Hmmm.
I should take a shower.
Works in Progress
