FILLING EMPTY SPACES

by KELLY SHEA

For Brad and Jenn: Two amazing professors that have made me a better worker and taught me much, as well as opened the doors to some of my greatest opportunities so far. I am very indebted to each of you for believing in me. For Mom, who laughs with me like a sister and has been there without judgment through my ups and downs. For Dad, who reminds me that I am strong in weak moments, and has fully funded various vacations that I may not have deserved to take. For Robby, whose creativity, dry wit and old soul never fails to bring me joy. For Ashlee, the older sister I never had, who has been my most fiercely loyal friend despite the miles between us. Your open heart and unbreakable spirit have been an endless source of inspiration to me, and I am lucky to know you. For Jess, my first true lifelong friend: Thank you for welcoming me into a world that changed me forever. And finally, for anyone feeling trapped by others expectations: Dont hesitate to shatter the pedestals built beneath you. Find your bliss and write your own damn story.

n a bleak night in May 2006, I opened my eyes to a pitch-black bedroom filled with silence. I strained to focus on the numbers glowing from my alarm clock: 10 p.m. Something felt wrong. I wasnt supposed to be here. Why am I in bed this early? Tonight was prom night. My stomach sank. As I clutched my pillow for support, the flashbacks crept up, each one worse than the last. In the dramatic ways that teenagers sometimes do, I realized that my life was over. At least the life Id built so carefully before. I had almost made it through my junior year of high school, but after this, things would never be the same. As I played the coming day in my head, I fell into despair. Haunted already, I cried myself to sleep. * * *

Four months earlier, Id been lying on my best friend Annas bed looking through an old box of photographs. I giggled at the pictures of us from just a few years back. She was 50 pounds overweight, and I was fresh out of a back brace. As I flipped through the pictures, Anna was at her desk, working her phone like a stockbroker, throwing glances my way between conversations to fill me in on party plans that really didnt concern me at all. My stomach tightened when the doorbell rang. She ran downstairs to answer it with excited eyes, flying out of the room in a flash of shiny black hair. I heard her footsteps returning and shoved the box of photographs in a drawer, fearful that one of the guests might ask to browse through them. Since then, Anna had lost the weight and blossomed into a 17-year-old socialite. Id lost the brace but hadnt found similar confidence.

Anna burst into the room with three boys from a nearby private school. They were handsome in a preppy way, wearing button-up shirts and expensive looking shoes. I smiled but avoided their eyes. For the rest of the night, Id be monitoring my every move. I couldnt shake the notion that there was only one way to act around these boys, and I hadnt figured it out. Anna immediately began joking around with them, her conversation playful and her laugh flirtatious. Greg, one of the boys in the group and her latest conquest, opened a backpack full of beer while his friends told stories about last nights party who hooked up, how much alcohol they drank. I was still sitting on the bed, bored and tense. I wondered why I was even there. Anna said tonight would be fun, that some of the private school boys richest friends were having house parties. They wanted to take us along. Id known the eager look in her brown eyes since we were children. When Annas parents were fighting, she would sometimes come find me, armed with some scheme to have fun. I was her partner, distracting her from what was going on at home, listening to her thoughts, and laughing at her jokes. More and more, though, I felt like a remnant of her former life, shoved in a box when her new friends came around. Theyre just so much more fun, Anna gushed about the boys in her room before they got there. Wed spent the previous evening with our old friends, the public school crowd, eating Chinese food on an abandoned barn rooftop. This night, I was sitting in a corner, watching the others drink and flirt. I hadnt talked to anyone in what seemed like hours, feeling worse with each passing moment. I was on the outside. Sitting. * * *

Anna and I were lounging in my bedroom on an early May afternoon after school with Jordan, a friend weve had since junior high. The three of us were talking and laughing about nothing until Anna received a call from Greg, her current boyfriend. He told her that two of his friends needed dates for Jesuits prom in a few weekends. Anna handled the news like a business call. In front of her were two girls that Gregs friends hardly knew, but found pretty, which would satisfy them enough. As she asked us about it, her voice was urgent, practically begging us to oblige. Im not entirely sure how we got to this point. The night after the boys came to Annas four months ago, I went home and viciously ranted to my journal

that I was sick of being her silent sidekick. But the next weekend, I went with her again, and every weekend that followed. My annoyance about the situation wasnt all encompassing. Over time Id developed a crush on the group of boys Anna introduced me to. She had already made out with most of them. Id never even been kissed. Despite my shyness, something about them any of them; all of them looked like the imaginary boyfriend Id been dreaming up for years. Hell be artsy and spontaneous and have shaggy brown hair, I wrote in my journal when I was 15. At first, I rolled my eyes at the boys fancy clothes and their pretentious taste in indie music. But after visiting enough of their houses, my imagination began to replace their personas with fantasy. I convinced myself that they were only obnoxious and arrogant on the weekends. Certainly, if they liked Wes Anderson films then they must be romantic and intelligent when they were alone. The fluttering feeling that these crushes brought to my stomach was something I had yet to find within the walls of my high school, so I pushed aside the reality that Anna and I were no longer friends. I claimed the position as her best friend in our new social circle, away from the pictures Id shoved in the box. Ill be in a different limo, but it would be so much fun if you guys went, Anna said to Jordan and me. Seriously, their proms are crazy. She explained that Jesuit doesnt require students to pass a breathalyzer test before entering the dance, as our school did. Dont worry. You dont need to hook up with Tony, and Jordan doesnt need to hook up with Josh, Anna said. Just go with them, and we can all go out afterward. Tony and Josh are two of the outcasts in the Jesuit group, their popularity achieved by their eagerness to drink and entertain the others. Tony is a short, boyish Italian. He talks fast and mean, making the others laugh with crude jokes about what he would do to women. Josh is a hopeless romantic with glasses and acne. Ive seen him drink and serenade popular girls on his knees. These were not the boys of my imagination, but I could tell by the look in Jordans eye that she had the same hopes I did. Our dates may be duds, but the other boys would be there. Other boys we would like to see. Reluctantly, we agreed. Anna squealed and proudly called her boyfriend to have him deliver the news. * * *

On a sunny Saturday afternoon later in May, Jordan and I were driving together to Tonys house for a pre-prom photo session. We chattered back and forth, giddily and about nothing. I felt beautiful in a red flamenco dress, my hair curled, my lips painted by Armani professionals. But as we approached the house, my stomach began to turn. We could see a dozen couples mingling in Tonys backyard, none of them I would call a friend. I realized I hadnt even talked to Anna today, the reason I was here in the first place. I braced myself. As we made our way into the backyard, I didnt see Tony until he emerged from a cluster of taller boys. He seemed jittery, eager to get through this photo ritual. The strangers parents took photos and everyone laughed while we posed. I began to feel more at ease. Maybe tonight would be different. The limo pulled up, and everyone scurried to leave the crowd of parents. We rolled slowly out of the neighborhood, headed downtown. A boy named Alex quickly uncovered a cooler and began distributing bottles of Grey Goose and cans of soda. Finally, his girlfriend muttered. The drinking happened fast. I was sitting beside Josh, who passed me the bottle after each swig he took. We didnt have shot glasses, so we passed and chugged, losing track of what we were doing as we yelled at the driver to turn the music up. Nestled in the limo, knee-to-knee with a good-looking crowd, I felt a drunken elation. It felt like fitting in. Jordan and I drunkenly grabbed each others arms and giggled my last clear memory. My eyes closed, and my head sank to my chest, Jordan later told me. I started coughing, body limp. I vomited bile onto my beautiful red dress. Everyone in the limo laughed except Tony, who panicked and demanded water to wipe me down. We arrived downtown and the group scattered, fleeing the scene. Tony, Jordan, Josh, and I stayed in the limo. Tony told the driver to take us to a gas station, but I wasnt getting any more sober. Eventually, the limo driver insisted that we get out and dropped us off outside the Indianapolis Convention Center. Jordan and Tony got out first, trying to shield us from the crowd of chaperones and faculty nearby. As soon as we exited, I stumbled onto the pavement and Josh fell into a wall. The dean was only a few feet away. We werent going anywhere. Two weeks later, I was sitting against my bed on the floor of my room. Alone, I found myself looking around at my posters, stopping to observe a collage I made just a half-year ago. Hoisted against a map background are pictures of the Pacific Ocean, of green mountains and beaches, of train tickets and of my friend Jessica and me. I remembered the late-July afternoons I had spent crafting my memories into

this artwork a tribute to my trip to San Diego to see Jessica in 2005. I had returned from that week hung over with excitement. For a moment, I wondered how different my life would be had she never moved away. * * *

The Gellars moved down the street in 1998 while I was in fifth grade. It was a summer day when two neighborhood friends and I stumbled upon a scene of action at Misty Pine Court. A moving truck and a blue Volkswagen Beetle crowded the cul-de-sac. Men hauled floral couches and boxes into the house. Two white cats wandered the premises. While I preferred to watch from afar, my friends, Erica and Molly, wanted to introduce themselves. We noticed two young, dark-haired girls helping the adults carry belongings inside. One appeared to be our age, the other a few years younger. I lagged behind as we approached the new neighbors. After brief introductions, we were soon exploring the house with the older daughter, Jessica. Jessica had thick, brown-black hair and fair skin. She laughed a lot but was hesitant with her speech, like me. Erica and Molly did cartwheels around the empty basement, while Jessica and I talked about where she was from: San Diego. Its really cool there, she said. Its sunny, like, almost year-round. We go to the beach a lot. Jessica lived a block away, so we became convenient friends in the way elementary kids do. I was shy but liked thinking about the world. She was the new girl with stories of faraway places. We agreed that itd be nice to spend our lives traveling and taking pictures. We talked about things the other girls thought were weird. When I mentioned the absurdity of outer space to someone else, I was met with a blank stare. Not so with Jessica. For the next seven years, we were inseparable until 2004, at the end of our freshman year, when she quietly told me her family was moving back to San Diego. My stomach sank, but I could sense in her voice that she wanted to go. After all, she hadnt stopped talking about California since Id met her. The night before she moved, early in the summer, five of our closest friends slept over at my house. We were hanging out in my unfinished basement when we decided a closing ceremony was necessary: pool hopping. Well have to jump the fence, I said. Its been our mission for years, but

weve never followed through. This is our last chance to do it before Jessica leaves. Midnight passed. With careful steps, our group filed up the stairs in a close line, our flannel pajama bottoms sweeping against the carpet. I led the way since I knew the squeak of our basement door and the creak of each stair. We worried that my dad would catch us. I peeked my head out into the kitchen and heard his snores from upstairs. I opened the door ever so slowly, jumping back at the sudden flash of my cat running, startled, down the hallway. We giggled, then shushed one another and scuffled out the back door. Once outside, we hit the pavement running. Wed escaped. We sprinted down the street, laughing at each other. The streetlights guided us through the warm night air, past sleepy houses, past the great oak tree Jessica and I had sat under so many times, past cul-de-sacs, and finally, past the tennis court. We had reached the pool. We entered from the far side, a barricade of young pine trees keeping us safe from streets view. We lifted and pulled one another over the black iron fence. As we reached the other side, one by one, we ran to the water, rolling up our pajamas to splash about in the shallow end. Frolicking faded into reminiscing. We were sitting in a line on the pools edge, dipping our toes in the water and speaking in low voices. You know, this isnt the first time that Ive done this, Jessica said. She had been quiet. We all looked up when she made this announcement. Yeah, one time Callum and I snuck in here at night. What? What did you guys do! we all squealed. Jessica just laughed with eyes cast down. She was the kind of girl that would surprise you, the only one of us that ever had a boyfriend, but never one to brag. We went in, she said. Did you make out? Well, yeah. Our eyes grew wider. Were you wearing swimsuits? I dont remember. It was a long time ago. She laughed again. It was times like these, when she stunned us by casually mentioning events of such teen girl importance, that we could only wallow in the shame of lagging behind. It was times like these when I knew shed be fine without us. The passing time began to weigh on our conscience. We feared someone would be looking for us when we returned. Using the pools plastic chairs to

boost us, we plunged back over the fence. Bushes broke our fall. Adrenaline fueled our run home. We savored our few moments left to be rebellious. Racing through the dark, we tore off our pajama pants, becoming a parade of skinny legs and flip-flops pounding the pavement. We lassoed the pants over our heads, returning to my driveway in a fit of giggles and exasperation. Slinking back into the basement, most of our group fell asleep right away. Jess and I stayed up talking past sunrise. Are you nervous? I asked. No, she replied. I know how it is out there. Ill make friends. She somehow lacked the neuroticism that had claimed my young mindset. Wow. You know, I just cant believe youre going to be so far away after tomorrow. Its really exciting for you, but Ill miss you, I said. I know. Well, youll have to come visit me! * * *

Gazing at the pictures of Jessica and me in California, I remembered how liberating it was to go on an adventure with someone who truly enjoys exploring. Our friendship thrived on being able to discuss things, not people. Sitting alone on my floor, I realized that as Annas cohort, life had revolved around the latter. When Jessica moved away, I was lost. My best friend was gone, and her absence quickly pulled a root of comfort from beneath me. After she left, high school became an entirely new jungle, in which I strained for acceptance, no matter what the cost.

s Jessica settled back into life in San Diego, I waded into a new social group at home, led by Anna. A much different person than the chubby Italian girl I befriended in elementary school, Anna had spent the past few months slimming her way into an overnight sensation. She wore Lacoste polos and short skirts instead of horse T-shirts. She made boys into missions, not jokes. Our class elected her for student senate. Bewildered, I fell by her side. Through student government, Anna met a handful of nice boys and began inviting them to hang out with our group of girlfriends. Without much prompting, we fell in and out of love regularly. Ten of us five girls and five boys became inextricably bound, bearing the

weights of jealousy and longing we had never known before. Those emotions crashed upon me when, just a month after Jessica moved, my father told the family that wed be visiting California, in particular Napa Valley. For 15 years I had been a wine mans daughter, but I had never seen a vineyard. Dads career required him to spend his weeks circulating the country by plane and car, tending to the liquor business. It wasnt San Diego, but the idea of flying to California thrilled me until the emotions of my new life hit me. I tossed and turned the night before we flew out. Some part of me worried I would be forgotten during my trip. It will be nice to get away, I thought, but what will happen while Im gone? So much can happen in a few days. In the rare moments when our family happened to eat dinner at the same time, my mind was always fixated on other people, analyzing the words that had been said to me that day, worrying about what they implied. Behind my bedroom door, I scribbled about social dilemmas in my journal or spoke to friends on AOL Instant Messenger. All of that faded away as our plane lifted away from Indianapolis. Beside me, the look in my brothers eyes matched mine as we both leaned forward to watch the wild peaks and valleys of the western landscape. It dawned on me that ahead of us was an air of possibility I hadnt felt before. As we flew, I couldnt stay bound to what we were leaving behind us. I had become untethered. The next morning, the San Francisco sky seemed an unnatural shade of bright blue. Red streetcars climbed hills, dropping off characters at swarming marketplaces. Flowers bloomed in windowsills. Seagulls circled overhead, occasionally swooping down to the cobblestone streets we were walking. I thought about Jessica. We crossed the Golden Gate Bridge in our rental car. Across the water an island came into view, covered in forest, with strange houses staggering up and down the Berkeley Hills. Thats Berkeley, my mom said. Theres a really good school there. Maybe Ill go to Berkeley. But I was thinking about possibilities for my fearless future self, not the girl who had just been nervous to leave her friends for a week. We kept driving, away from the city, toward Napa Valley along narrow roads that were the only separation between vast green vineyards. Grassy hills in the distance held sleepy farmhouses and windmills. A dirt road led us to our destination: a small guesthouse owned by wine-

maker Robert Mondavi. It was nestled between fields. Inside, the floors were wooden, the furniture cozy and old. We each had our own bedroom. Mine had a large bed with a white comforter, a wooden dresser, and an antique lamp. It was everything I never knew I really wanted. In Carmel, my friends and I floated through the giant, fresh-painted rooms of suburban mansions, their interiors spotless and cold, their spaces filled but empty. In one home, a friends mother insisted on washing our feet before we stepped further inside. But this cottage felt warm and broken in. A spirit of quiet life and laughter lingered in its rooms. I felt myself begin to breathe easier. I made my way back outside, where white sunlight cast dramatic shadows on the back porch. I strayed into the fields, following worn dirt paths that must have been left by grape pickers. In an hour we were back in the rental car, headed to the Mondavi winery. We had a reservation for a tour, which involved a walk through the vineyards and a room of giant wine barrels, as well as a sixcourse meal. We ate on a valley patio surrounded by lush mountains. It was a perfect, sunny day. On an adjoining terrace, Mr. Mondavi, the man whose life we just explored, was celebrating his 91st birthday. Nancy, our pleasant and grounded tour guide, took a liking to me. I wasnt used to this. None of my high school teachers knew my name, and if they noticed me, I felt it was only because they were annoyed with my blank stare and silence. But this was different. I was so fascinated by my surroundings that I hardly noticed myself stepping out of my shell. I asked questions. I laughed. I wanted to frolic. I was thrilled to catch a glimpse of Mr. Mondavis smiling, weathered face as his wife guided him toward a table of beaming guests. I wished we could be closer to him, just to watch. I marveled as I thought about how much he had lived. While my young life felt heavy in its own way, I knew I still had a long road ahead of me. When we left, I bought a photography book, its pages filled with images of the winerys gorgeous details. When I wasnt looking, my dad asked Nancy to sign it. 6/17/04 - Kelly, you are delightful. Thanks for sharing a day with me. Nancy G. Her message was proof that my life could be something beyond the walls of the high school. As night fell, my family retreated to our rooms. I stayed up reading, curtain closed to shield me from the night. The blackness frightened me. There wasnt a city light for miles. Yet the surrounding silence was bliss. As it got later, my fascination grew into an urge. I needed to feel the air of such a peaceful place, to taste the night.

I sat up from bed and slid my feet into my sandals. My Walkman lay staring at me from the dresser, so I grabbed it. Making sure to walk slowly through the old house, feeling my way along the wall, I found the back door. I paused before I opened it, listening. There was nothing. My hand on the door, it seemed only a giant vacuum of space waited on the other side, ready to suck me in. I had no crutch to guide me, not even a cell phone to light my way. If I stared into the blackness long enough, I could fool myself into a false sense of direction. A general idea of our cars location began to emerge from the black hole. I took a few delicate steps toward it before the dreadful sense that someone was following me popped into my head. Thats when I started running. I ran into nothingness. I ran into a wall of vines. I bounced off a bush. My heart pounded faster. Finally my eyes began to adjust, and a sliver of moonlight caught my eye as it reflected from the cars window. I darted. As if throwing myself onto a lifeboat from shark-infested waters, I leapt on top of the cars hood, feet scrambling up the windshield before reaching the roof in relief. Laughing to myself, I lay back and looked up. My breath left me. Above, the sky was saturated with stars. I had never seen so many. And they seemed so close. I reflected on all the beauty I had seen that day. Who knew how meaningful time could be, how each moment can really be soaked in and loved, when you are in a place so perfect. As an adolescent in Napa Valley, I possessed a freakish power, a glitch in perspective. I was able to use my surviving childlike wonder to view an adults world. My surroundings were a reverie, but within them my anxieties faded. For the first time, I felt that I might be okay. * * *

Upon returning from our family trip, I began staying up late in front of my computer screen, researching. I compiled notes in a blue folder, simply titled CALIFORNIA in block letters. Inside were cross-country maps, notes on the gas mileage of my Jeep Cherokee, potential motel stops. I would go when it felt right, I figured. The escape was my only option. California was perfect, and we belonged together. My attachment had been growing since we left Napa Valley, where I had my first brush with the feeling of love. I had yet to have my first kiss or my 16th birthday, but lying on the hood of a rental car parked in a sea of vineyards gazing at the sky, I was complete.

I decided that the Midwest was a collective of small states to foster farmland, NASCAR, and dormant souls. The vast West was right, and my landlocked suburb was very wrong. I schemed through the winter, until March, when I got my drivers license and suddenly possessed the power to explore. Driving down unfamiliar streets became an addiction. After late nights working at a catering company, I sped past my neighborhood instead of turning into it, continuing on Springmill Road until there were no more streetlights, no more houses, and finally, just a giant two-way arrow asking me to choose between two directions into the unknown. For 15 minutes I could drive surrounded by nothing but cornfields and abandoned barns. There were still wild patches of forest beyond these roads. There were tiny houses with junkyards out back. In these rugged scenes I felt traces of the authentic and unbridled life I had found in California. Searching for nothing but a feeling, I felt free. Movement without destination became my bliss. But in the end, I always had to turn around. On some nights of aimless driving, I would get lost and push my curfew, after which I would quietly walk up to my bedroom. My angst calmed by country roads, I had all but abandoned my blue folders half-sketched plans. Instead, some nights I felt like writing and would pull my journal from its hiding place beneath my mattress. Other times, I felt like talking. Just as Id convinced myself that Indiana wasnt the trap Id convinced myself it was, I received an Instant Message from Jessica. Her first year at school had gone well, she said. Her familys new house was on top of a mountain. She loved it there. Summer was approaching, and she didnt have any plans. Would I be able to visit her? I imagined my coming summer, and how many nights I had spent driving alone just to find some sort of separation from my friends over the school year. While I needed them, the stresses of pleasing a crowd had driven me to crave any excuse for independence. This was a different feeling than the panic I had felt when my father announced our trip last summer. Now, I longed to leave and return to the unfamiliar but beautiful land. Within two months, I was getting on a plane to San Diego. * * *

On a July night, I packed my new sundresses and doodled suns and hearts in my journal, scribbling viciously about how I couldnt wait to get away. I was leaving the next morning.

I hadnt flown by myself since third grade, when my parents shipped me down to Florida to spend spring break with my grandmother. My mom drove me to Indianapolis International Airport and walked with me to security, where she hugged me tight and gave me a muffled, emotional goodbye. Dont laugh at me! Be safe! she said before whipping her face around so I couldnt see it. I watched her wipe away tears as she walked away. My plane was headed to Chicago. I would be spending the night at my dads work apartment before making the long haul west. I loved my dads apartment, and I think he did too. On this night, I got to wander the city streets with him, as I assume he often did alone. Before we went out, I spent a couple of dusk hours reading on the buildings rooftop. It was my second favorite place, trailing only the library on the same floor. The library had a couple of red couches, a giant Pulp Fiction poster and long windows framing the city skyline. Spending time there allowed me to pretend that I was a city girl. Likewise, lounging on the rooftop patio in my long peasant skirt watching the sunset over Chicago, I felt like a traveler before my trip even started. As night fell, we walked the streets of Navy Pier, laughter from festival crowds filling the summer air. Watching groups file in and out of waterfront restaurants and migrate toward the inviting lights of the Ferris wheel, I missed my friends. But running around in a group is what I always do, I thought. This was a new kind of trip. Dad took me to what he declared was the best Italian place in town, and in the absence of a television to stare at we had a refreshing conversation about our lives. The next morning, he repeated several safety instructions before dropping me at the airport. Once on my own, I tried to walk like I knew what I was doing, but my energy and nerves were high. Scurrying between shops and bathrooms, I entered one restroom with such purpose that I collided with a loud thud into a pole. Head ringing, I tried to calm down and sat near my gate. I had the window seat on the plane. My eyes followed the land for much of the trip, studying how it evolved from flat to mountainous, trying to name rivers. When I arrived in San Diego, palm trees just outside the airports windows caught my eye. I couldnt wait to get outside. Jessica and I met at baggage claim. We could feel each others excitement from across the room and ran to meet, laughing. The trip had begun. We drove away from the airport in the same old, blue Volkswagen her family had driven when they arrived in Carmel so many years ago. The city felt like a

Spanish empire, white stucco buildings reminiscent of colonial times, crowded harbors still relevant. The sun was bright as ever, but the dry warmth felt perfect on my skin. We explored boutiques along stone streets before leaving in a new direction. Im so excited that youre here, Jessica said. We were driving along a southern California highway, a street with more lanes and more speed than I had been trained to feel comfortable with. I dont actually have my license yet. You have to be older out here to get it. Its so annoying. So you can drive from now on. Thats okay, right? Holy shit. Well, okay. You might have to help me out at first. This is kind of intimidating. I watched cars speed by at 100 miles per hour. We were headed about an hour north to Valley Center, population 8,000 twice that of Carmel High School. Jessicas family lived on Costalota Road, a narrow drive winding up a mountain to connect scattered ranch houses and orchards. As we got closer to her home, the roads began curling and society reduced to patches of twinkling lights below. After exiting Avocado Highway, I wondered how she could tell the country roads apart. We could see only a few feet ahead of the car. Finally, she stopped in the blackness to take a stark right. We were ascending her mountain. Once in the driveway, I saw her white house, wrapped with a porch and surrounded by gardens. Inside, it felt comfortable, just like the place where we had played when we were younger. Her parents greeted me with open arms and showed me around their home. There was a stacked library, and Jessicas mother had a room just for quilting. A tiny black kitten scrambled around our feet. Jessicas younger sister, Rochelle, had brought it home not long before I arrived. Rochelle, now Jessicas height, was an eerie copy of her, though more offbeat. Jessica, like me, was an observer, not a performer. There wasnt a drama club bone in her body. Yet here was Rochelle racing upstairs. Well, I have to go upstairs and practice lines for my play, she said. I pulled my suitcase upstairs to Jessicas room, where a surfboard sat in the corner. Her walls were painted bright yellow, and her bed sheets were a vivid shade of blue. This was a much different room than her white walls and ancient floral quilt in Carmel. Exhausted, I fell asleep without many words. The next morning I woke early and had the strange sensation of having forgotten where I was for a moment. Absorbing the bright colors around me, I smiled and realized I was on the other side of the country, on top of a mountain. Sunlight streaming through the window, I had an itch to see outside in the

daytime and crept out of bed to pull back the curtain. The sun was rising over a landscape of green mountains, yellow fields and scattered forests. I filled up with joy at the sight of it before falling back asleep. Later in the afternoon, I adjusted to driving alongside Californians, and soon we were blaring Hawaiian music and cruising down the highway, en route to a town appropriately named Oceanside. I felt lifted. Here was a power that I never felt while driving Indiana back roads after dark. At home, I thought I found freedom in the hours that I drove aimlessly, but the excursions worked backwards on my confidence. I was lying to people about where I was, running away from them into nowhere. The new places I found were simply a soothing backdrop for my escape. I had no intention of exploring them further than my rearview mirror. Night drives had become a self-prescribed medicine. At the end of my days, my brain would feel congested with worries. The thought of being boxed in a house, forced into close quarters with the drone of television sets and questions from my parents, seemed too much. My car gave my mind time to digest. Traveling mindlessly through quiet spaces, away from traffic and away from people, I held rare moments of empty calm. Driving along California highways, we had a destination. We parked beside a beach and removed our shoes, ready to approach the Pacific Ocean. Mexicans on a dock tossed fishing lines into the sea. Surfers paced the sand, running into the waves and being spit back out. We walked past these strangers, our skirts blowing in the breeze, our toes digging into sand. My cousin Rebecca is a surfer in L.A., Jessica said. She said we could go visit her in a few days, if you want. I said that sounded great. But in my head, I couldnt picture what a relative of Jessicas would be like surfing. The Gellars, with their black hair and pale skin, always struck me as indoor people. When we returned late in the evening, Mr. Gellar was on the couch reading. Jessica asked him what he was doing up. He explained that a release party of the latest Harry Potter book was beginning at midnight at an Escondido bookstore. Amused that he didnt think twice about going alone, we said we would join him. Fifteen minutes before midnight, we rolled into the Barnes & Noble parking lot. Throngs of people lined up outside. Some were lying on blankets. Others were dressed in cloaks and glasses, jumping up and down in excitement. Jessica and I laughed when the doors were opened to the stampede, lagging behind the crowd. Mr. Gellar assumed his place in a line that would surely take hours.

We began browsing through books. We snaked through aisles, scanning shelves until we reached the travel section. Behind me, Jessica read a title to herself: Finding the Open Road. My ears perked up. The words resonated as what I had wanted to do all year. I stopped in my tracks. What? She pointed to a large paperback facing the aisle, its cover a green RV parked in front of a cloudy sky. I read the back: A Guide to Self-Construction Rather than Mass Production. The authors were three college students who realized during their final year of school that they didnt know what they wanted to do with their lives. They bought an RV and traveled the country, interviewing individuals who had channeled their passions into successful careers. Taking in the books pages, I felt my spirit align with something, and I felt more alive by the page. Flipping through interviews, I stumbled upon one with Mr. Mondavi, a simplified drawing of his aged face in the corner. Reading his words, it was almost as if I was having the conversation I had dreamt of having with him a year before. As we sat waiting for Mr. Gellar, reporters approached us. Jessica talked to them. My eyes stayed glued to my book. I could have stayed on that floor for hours, but Mr. Gellar approached us with his coat on, book in hand. We left the glowing store behind us. Sitting alone in the backseat, I felt my insides buzzing with passion. Something between the book and me had clicked. I longed to keep reading about the road trip, about what these people had to say. When we got home, Jessica pulled out a book of her own, and we both read until she began yawning, asking if she could turn off the light. I obliged, turning over and closing my eyes. But I couldnt sleep. I could feel a new energy radiating through my veins. I wasnt sure if Id ever sleep again. Suddenly, life was a grand adventure, its possibilities endless and its people good. My mind raced with hope. There were people out there like me, people who felt that the ordinary wasnt enough. They had gotten up and left their lives, seeking more, and they found it. I wasnt alone. There was more to life than everyone at home let on. I knew it. There was more, and I would do more, and everything would be okay. I felt like I was floating away. With a final look at the full moon outside, I floated into a peaceful sleep. The next day, I awoke ready to explore. We took off to see Jessicas high school, a collective of small buildings across the road from an orange grove. Concrete covered the premise between classrooms, making it one large patio dotted with plants and picnic tables.

We are really only inside if we have class, Jessica said. Or if its raining. But it doesnt rain much here. Jessica proudly pointed out the places where she had class and ate lunch with her friends. A year before, she would have been the new girl walking into this arena. I wondered how she did it. Jessicas parents dropped us off at the San Diego station the next afternoon, where bright red trains arrived every 20 minutes. We boarded one to L.A. and soon were gliding through mountains and above beaches. Rebecca, Jessicas 31-year-old cousin, was waiting for us when we arrived. Rebecca drove a station wagon, just like I imagined a surfer would. She didnt look a thing like Jessica. Sandy blond hair fell just below her shoulders, and her flawless skin was tan. She seemed strong but also had an easy laugh and hospitable personality. On the way to her place, she talked about the second printing of her book, Surfer Girl. We were being shown around L.A. by a female surfing icon. I couldnt wait to see where she lived. We drove through neighborhoods tightly packed with tiny houses. There werent many trees here, only pleasant slumming for as far as the eyes could see. She parked in front of a pink ranch house. Here we are, she said, helping us gather our bags. We began walking toward the front door. Oh, no. This way. Follow me. She guided us through a gate to a sidewalk leading out back. Dogs barked at us from behind the fence of the adjoining yard. We approached a garage. This is where I live, she said. Is this a garage? I asked. Yeah. Well, it used to be. The family that lives up there didnt need it, so they turned it into an apartment and rent it out. Its great! I expected the worst, until she opened the door. Inside was a perfect oneroom dwelling. One wall served as a kitchen, lined with a fridge, stove, and counter. The far corner held a bedroom area, her bed and dresser facing each other beside a sliding door. The rest of the space held a couch, a table and a small library of surf documentaries and photo albums. An eccentric collection of art hung on the walls, perhaps gathered from other countries. We woke early the next morning for surf lessons at Santa Monica beach, just a few minutes away. This was Rebeccas day job. The children, elementary age, arrived with a sense of fearlessness. Strapping on their wet suits, they laughed loud and pushed one another on their way to the water. Jessica and I put on wetsuits of our own, awkwardly. Wading into the water, I suggested that we

keep our distance from the kids because I had never surfed before. Jessica and I spent the afternoon in our own patch of ocean, receiving personal instruction from the determined Rebecca, and finally, for just a moment, I was standing on my board and riding a wave. I had always assumed the role of the clumsy, quiet friend in a group of overachievers. I wasnt athletic. I wasnt outgoing. Poor Kelly, they would coo in the most stinging way possible whenever jabs were made at me. I could only agree. But out here, my focus on conquering the roar of waves drowned out the echo of their voices. Here, I had no role to abide by, and on this afternoon, I had a mission. On a lunch break, we sat in the sand, listening to the guitar playing of another instructor who appeared to be Rebeccas age but had skinned knees from skateboarding. I imagined these bright children, focus in their eyes, keeping up with their surf lessons and returning to this beach five years from now. They could come here in the morning with best friends, or after heartbreaks, alone. If I had lived out here, perhaps I could have done the same, and my bored mind wouldnt have become a magnet for worry. With boards stacked in the back of her car, Rebecca drove us to the train station at sunset. I spent one more night on the mountain before leaving the next morning. On the way to the airport, I clung to my book and kept my pictures close. I knew there was more out there and that I wasnt done exploring. * * *

Standing on the rooftop of Dads apartment, I could still feel the rush of adrenaline running through my veins. I feel awakened, I wrote to my journal. I had found passion over the last week a setting that matched how I felt inside. There were people out there that lived their own way. While I feared returning to Carmel, I knew that I wanted to do great things and meet more inspiring people. I couldnt wait to tell my friends, including Anna, all about my trip. After taking a good long look at the Chicago skyline in twilight, feeling the possibilities of the city as possibilities that may one day be mine, I turned around and walked downstairs to call Anna. Well thats exciting, Anna said after I gave her a breathless recount of my trip. I felt like she might get bored with details, so I kept it brief. How was Jessica? she asked. Still the same? What do you mean? Yeah, I guess so. We had a lot of fun. Oh, Jessica, Anna laughed. She was always a little bit strange.

I furrowed my brow but listened intently as she began recounting her own adventures. She had just returned from a leadership camp in Indianapolis. Ive met so many awesome people here. They are so much fun! They go to Jesuit, that private school downtown. Anyway, I really want to start hanging out with them. Im going to meet up with my friend Chelsea at a festival next week. You should come with me. I told her that sounded great, and she said she had to go. I went to bed with a funny feeling in my stomach, listening to the sirens and sounds of the city night as I tried to fall asleep on my dads futon. I enjoyed being in Chicago, with a library to explore upstairs and my suitcase. I wanted to continue feeling good on my own, I realized. But Anna was on to a new crowd and wanted me to come with her. On one hand, I told myself that I was more confident now, and this kind of branching out was exactly what I needed. Since Anna was the one that always got out and did things, maybe I should just go with her. I wasnt sure where I would meet new people even if I tried. But deep down, I wished it wasnt always Anna that brought new people into my life. The tone in her voice as she half-responded to my comments made me feel childish, as if I were stuck in a world she had moved on from long ago. * * *

The day after the worst night ever, when I wasnt apologizing to everyone involved, I had been replaying prom nights events in my head. Other events started lining up behind them. From that first meeting with Annas friend Chelsea in August, I had been tagging along with a crowd I didnt really like and convincing myself that I should be as enthused as Anna about how much fun we were having. I lay in my empty bathtub, curtain pulled shut. This was where I hid to have late night phone conversations, the shower providing a sound barrier between the rest of upstairs and me. I was usually afraid of waking my family with my laughter. Now, I just wanted to be alone. I called my cousin Ashlee. Four years my senior and a student at Bowling Green State University, she had become my closest friend over the past year. We talked often throughout the week. Vivacious, witty, and free-spirited, she told me her stories of dating musicians, traveling the world, and creating art projects with her many friends, stopping only to smoothly inhale and exhale her Parliaments. I usually listened more than I spoke, occasionally chiming

in about the silly parties I attended. Simply hearing about someones life from such an independent point of view was rejuvenating. It was a lifeline to that California feeling I had all but lost. But for this conversation, I spoke more than I listened, grimly detailing the aftermath of prom night, describing how Josh had almost died while getting his stomach pumped and how we had gotten an entire school in trouble. So what? Ashlee said. Who gives a shit if 800 people know about it? None of them sound like good people anyway. Its probably a good thing that youre not going to be hanging out with them anymore. I let that sink in. I let go. Distress was replaced with disgust, a feeling that began boiling over inside of me, horrified at all the time I had wasted caring about what strangers thought. I never wanted to see the Jesuit crowd again. * * *

When Anna finally called me later that night, she acted as a messenger. Dont worry. No one thinks its your fault, she said. Her voice no longer seemed eager to invite me to the next conquest, though. She seemed at a loss for what to say, already anxious to get off the phone. It doesnt matter, because I never want to see any of them again, I responded. Oh, Kelly, stop. They still like you. Its not the end of the world, she said. Anna wasnt grasping that my statement was made in defiance, not shame. She tried to assure me that my world was not over, but I realized just how different our worlds were. Crowds that she thrived in, longed for, had never been mine. I dont think she could process the fact that I stopped caring about their acceptance. Certainly I would come back to her side and everything would be fine again. But alone in my empty tub, I knew that I never would again. I might return in body, but never in spirit. An awkward silence hung in the air between our phone receivers, and I asked Anna what she would be doing that weekend. She told me of Jesuit parties she had been invited to, that she might attend no longer trying to convince me to join. I didnt need to wonder who she would bring along, because at this point comrades were unnecessary. She had been assimilated as one of their own. I felt the weight of the pressure to join lift. After hanging up, my mind began reeling about all of the other people I could call.

y late June, I was again on a plane to San Diego, this time without hesitation. During the flight, I thought about the morning before, when I woke up at my friend Laras house surrounded by playing cards, beer bottles, and sleeping kids from school that I would never have hung out with three months earlier. I smiled at the vision. By now I was realizing that it felt good to get to know people on my own and to do simple things. Jessica had made many new friends this year. For once, I was thinking more about meeting them than about my friends back at home. As I walked off the plane, my excitement built with each stride. I knew where Jessica would be waiting for me, beside baggage claim, and when I saw her in a white tank top and sunglasses, I realized that there was something different about her as well. She had an agenda. We need to stop by my grandmas on the way back, she said after I grabbed my bag. Oh, does she want us over for dinner or something? No. Shes not there. She has some stuff stashed in her house, though. And I have a key. We drove to a sunny retirement village. Jessica fumbled to get inside. I looked at family photographs while Jessica raided cabinets. She emerged, victory in her eyes, with a bottle of vodka. Oh my god, I said. Why does she have that? She wont know that you took it, will she? No. She has plenty! She burst into giggles. We drank the stolen vodka later that night on her friend Baileys back porch. Like Jessica, Bailey lived on a mountain. Her parents were out of town, and kids wandered through the bungalow-style house before settling outside to talk by the light of a green pool. A few of us passed a hookah back and forth as we spoke. I have no idea what happened last night, said Bailey, a boisterous blonde with crooked teeth. I woke up naked on a golf course to sprinklers shooting me down. She laughed about it. Bailey possessed a bold restlessness that I sensed in the others as well. But their front of self-destruction, perhaps stirred by desert heat and avocado groves, couldnt conceal their sharp wit and brevity. They were up for anything and didnt have patience for bullshit. I felt an unexpected connection to them. Over the next few days, I got to know Jessicas friends through more conversations on back porches, breaking into public pools, and eating at In-andOut Burger. They laughed loud and cursed often. Out here, there werent any

parents around telling them how to look or what to do. There didnt seem to be any parents out here at all. On the evening of the Fourth of July, we joined thousands of others that had gathered on the Valley Center High School football field. Patriotic music bellowed from the speakers. Giant fireworks shot off. I had never liked America more than during that show, while laughing with strangers in a strange town on the edge of the country. High school kids lingered after the final explosions, and a band of boys invited us to their friends house. We got lost on the way there, finding ourselves at a crossroads in the middle of a mountain. Jessica called for help. For a few minutes we sat in silence, until a nasally roar came from the distance. A single bright light raced toward us from the dark, and an attractive, rugged boy in a white T-shirt and jeans halted his motorcycle in front of us. Sorry about the bad directions, he said. Come on, follow me. He led us to a dark driveway, where we parked and followed him to the side of the house. We entered a giant room with vaulted ceilings, the interior dark and empty. An old man sat motionless on a couch, his long white beard illuminated by the static blue glow of a television, his eyes set blankly on the screen. Without words, we were led down a staircase into a dark hall. A row of doors lined both sides. Light and the muffled sounds of music leaked from under one. Inside was a small room scant of furniture. A group of teens was sitting on the floor, some drinking beer. Two boys were bickering about a recent misfortune: getting arrested in Mexico. They steal cars and drink a lot, Jessica whispered. Another was showing someone a tattoo he had just gotten on his chest. I liked the look of it. It was a tidal wave. I like that design, I said. Its to remember my friend Devon, he said. He died a few months ago. Car accident. Im sorry. Was he from here? Yeah, he went to school with us, he said. It happened on that cliff west of here. You guys may have passed it on your way over. He was speeding, going about 100 when he rounded a curve. But, I mean, everyone does that. Im not sure how it happened, but he just went off the edge. Plummeted all the way down. Died on impact. Driving home that night, I tried to imagine this place as home. When I described what I used to do in my hometown go to theme parties and dance in

peoples basements the crowd had legitimately seemed to think that Indiana might be worth visiting. Just how accustomed had they grown to living in paradise? On my last night, we went to the house of Jessicas friend Luke. It was his dads place, a modern ranch on top of a mountain with a pool out back. His dad was out of town, so we drank and hung out on the rooftop. While Jessica and I talked, the boys jumped from the roof into the water. In front of us were silhouettes of palm trees against a purple sky, and shadows of black mountains loomed in the distance. We were somewhere between the glow of scattered houses below us and the bright stars worlds above. Luke and I had met a few days earlier. He seemed unpredictable, his hair messy, his voice cynical, always puffing on a cigarette. I liked him. We ended up in his bedroom, talking. I felt a connection with these kids like I hadnt felt before. We hadnt been shaped by the same winds and landscapes and home lives. We may have been different breeds. Yet I felt as if I had found the kind of people I wouldnt regret spending time with. Tell me about your life back home, he said. I have a group of friends. Well, lately not so much. But thats how it used to be. Ten of us five girls, five boys. We do everything together. Thats so crazy. That sounds like something out of a movie. Kind of, I guess. Weve spent so much time together, though, that were like brothers and sisters. We just seem to fight all the time. It used to be good, though. We lay in his bed, and I told him more about my magical group at home. He wanted my cast. I wanted his setting. I wondered if you could have both. Jessica and I returned to her mountain late. Falling asleep, I thought about how I was really going to miss her. This had been a different trip than the year before. I could say that innocence had been lost, that I realized California wasnt a dreamland. But that wasnt the case at all. While my first meeting with California had struck a chord of inspiration in me, on this trip, I came to visit my friend who had already found her way in an imperfect, but real, world. I wasnt quite there yet, but I could start to see what that might look like. * * *

In October of 2007, on one of the last warm days of the year, I was sitting under a tree near my dorm at Indiana University, dialing Jessicas number. We were both having trouble adjusting to our schools, hers being San Francisco State.

We called each other to discuss roommate problems and journalism classes. IU was the only school I applied to, given the incessant pressure from my parents to stay in state and the fact that seven of our group of 10 enrolled there Anna excluded. Jordan had asked me to room with her, but I refused, knowing that this was my chance to make my own friends. I instead roomed with Alyson, an acquaintance from high school. We had spent the final few months of our senior year talking about how ready we were to leave. I just dont understand the dorm you live in, Jessica said. Its called a living-learning center, I said. You have to apply to get in. There are art studios attached to it and stuff. Alyson and I thought it would be our ticket to meet cool people. You know, none of those fake, partier crowds that I got sick of in high school. But you hate it now? Jessica asked. I dont know, I said. This seems worse than what I was trying to avoid. Our neighbors are constantly dealing drugs. Some come banging on our doors at 3 in the morning, strung out on acid and what not. Theyre really out there. How is Alyson handling it? Shes not around much. Shes found her crowd already older kids that have houses off-campus. She knew them before she got here. Theyre pretty nice, but they dont seem to be into college at all, even if theyre students. Shes dating a high school teacher right now. I dont know how the hell that happened. What are you going to do? I tried to think of options. I had spent most nights crying myself to sleep, utterly lost. I thought that once you got to college, everything fell into place. Even if I hadnt wanted to go to Indiana, I figured that something had to come along, eventually. Finding myself alone and unsure of what else to do, I would walk miles to Jordans dorm to hang out with my high school friends and sleep on her concrete floor. I felt completely defeated. I think Im going to try a different dorm, I said. * * *

On a mid-December evening, I was sitting outside a new dorm, counting down the days until I went home for winter break. My new roommate, Michelle, was sleeping in our room. I lit up a cigarette, a habit I started just to keep me company on these nights, when I felt I would go crazy if I stayed in the room. Michelle turned out to be nice enough, but her religion of Islam required us

to keep our curtains and door shut at all times so that men wouldnt see her hair. She slept throughout most afternoons, muttering that she must be sick. When she woke up late at night, she enjoyed watching foreign films at a high volume. This drove me to sleep on old friends couches even more than before. This was one of those nights, but I had grown sick of being the girl on someone elses futon as their own friends poured in and out of the room. At least out here it was quiet, and I might cross paths with a normal person who needed a light. I pulled out my cell phone and looked through my call history. No record of Anna. Jordan and I visited Anna a few times early in the year. But during the last visit, she had run away from us early in the night to hook up with someone in a closet. I didnt see her after that and ended up sleeping on a different friends couch, much as I did at school. There was no sense in going to her for refuge. Sitting on a short cobblestone wall, I gazed at the beautiful buildings around me. They were romantic, but I felt at odds with them, and with this school. I told myself that if Id made it this far, I can make it until winter break. I hadnt told my high school friends, but my parents and I agreed that I wouldnt be coming back. * * *

Beginning that winter break, I lived in my parents basement for a semester, spending my days at a community college and my nights looking for a new school something I had avoided doing the year before. After much browsing, I decided on Ball State University, a smaller state school that I had never thought much of before college. I needed less than one hand to count the number of people I knew there, but it felt like home after my first visit. In August, I found myself moving furniture into a house at Ball State, where I would be living with two other girls. I was truly apart from my old friends for the first time. Without a stale safety net, I felt like my own life was truly starting. Exhausted from hauling boxes, my parents were about to leave me alone at college, for the second time. I hugged them with a big smile, confidence twinkling in my eye, reassuring them that I would be fine. * * *

Four years later, I graduated from Ball State. Walking across the stage in a room full of inspiring students and professors that have become wonderful friends over the past three years, I felt joy and gratitude brought to the surface with that sudden perspective in your head that asks, How on earth did I make it here? It was the same feeling I had on a San Francisco rooftop last summer, between my junior and senior years. It was a Friday night in July. I had woken early that morning to make a flight to San Francisco from Seattle, where I was interning at Yes! Magazine for three months. None of my teachers had heard of the magazine when I told them about my summer plan. Neither had I, until I Googled publications for a dream internship project late in the year. Once I stumbled upon their website, I felt that buzzing through my veins feeling that I had so many years ago stumbling upon a certain book in Escondido. I didnt know what came next, but I knew I needed to follow the feeling. It would be my first visit to Jessica in four years, and my shortest flight ever to see her. Now doing well at San Francisco State, she was spending the summer interning at a business newspaper in the heart of the city. After a day spent roaming as we had in our teen years, talking like no time had passed at all, we rode a bus from her rented home a Painted Lady Victorian reminiscent of Full House to her boyfriends high-rise apartment downtown. Her boyfriend, Sheldon, cooked up a shrimp feast inspired by his native Hawaii. Amid lively conversation, plates that covered the table were scraped clean. Full and eager for the night to begin, the three of us wandered to a porch outside, where a narrow black ladder led to the top of the building. One by one, we ascended. On top of the building, a cool breeze ran through our hair as we sat to observe the city night. In the distance, the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge traced a wave-shaped line over the dark bay. Skyscrapers illuminated the night with a faint orange glow. The last time I had seen the city, it was from below, when I was just 15. I had wandered the hills with my parents, imagination running wild as I trailed behind them, straining to look up at the top of the ancient buildings. When we had crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, I daydreamed silently in the backseat about my future self life for the first time. Snapping to from these girlish memories, I took in the moment that we were sharing. Sheldon was pointing to a spot in the distance and explaining some-

something to Jessica. They were laughing together. More friends were starting to arrive, and the crowd on the rooftop grew. We had an open night ahead of us, an open life ahead of us. I smiled to myself. I had made it to this rooftop on my own.

If I Leave Here Tomorrow by The Invictus Writers is licensed under a Creative Commons-Atrribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA. Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.thedudeman.net. Photo by Ken Lund, available through the Creative Commons License. See the original picture: http://www.flickr.com/photos/kenlund/3376784956/.