What I Can't Recall

There is practically nobody in the library on this early Tuesday morning. Bryler walks over looking kind of confused, but cute in a I-just-woke-up-and-I-have-no-clue-what’s-going-on kind of way. He has really bad bed head. When I point this out he just hands me my coffee- fresh from Radical Roaster- and mutters something along the lines of ‘shut up, look who’s talking’. After a moment of silence he yawns before speaking.

“God, you couldn’t have waited, like, another three hours? When the doctors said you could leave this morning, they didn’t mean the freaking crack of dawn,” he complains, trying his hardest to stifle a yawn at the end of the sentence.

“Oh, shut up you big baby. It’s only nine o’clock,” I say, smiling at the librarian as we pass by her desk. Her name is Mrs. Klenning, if I remember correctly. She seems like a nice enough lady; I’ve seen her on more than one occasion. I come to the library a lot, honestly. It’s not so much that I like to read, it’s that I watch a movie or read a particularly good book, in which another book is mentioned and I want to check it out. Curiosity has always gotten the best of me.

“On a Tuesday, during the summer!” He says, a little too loud, earning himself a glare from Mrs. Klenning, instead of the friendly smile I get.

“Oh, come on. You promised,” I say pointedly, looking around at all the books I can as we make our way down one of the aisles, in the fiction sections. I cannot help but wonder what each and every book is about, but I try to forget it all and focus on what we came here for.

“Yeah, well when I promised I didn’t know it would entail me getting up at seven in the morning and driving over to the hospital to pick you up and take you to the library,” Bryler says, sounding disgusted, as we finally find ourselves in the back section of the library.

“God Bryler, the library isn’t that bad. You say ‘library’ how normal people say ‘cancer’,” I say, only kind of teasing, taking a seat at a computer, and setting my coffee down next to me on the desk.

“What kind of teenagers spend their Tuesday morning at a library when they could be sleeping?” He asks with a sigh, pulling up a chair next to me and dramatically taking a seat. I roll my eyes at him, then turn my attention to the computer.

“The kind that don’t have a computer and needs to look up someone’s address,” I say, without taking my eyes off the screen. I go to Google and type ‘David Jennings’ in the box, praying to god something will come up. There’s about one thousand hits, but only the first one looks promising: www.DavidJennings.com. I click on it and it takes me to a site that talks about how great of a lawyer he is. Things like how many cases he’s won, all of his credentials, and his contact information.
“A lawyer?” I wonder aloud, sounding a little confused even to myself. That doesn’t really fit the description Mom painted in my head, but amongst the information on the site, his hometown is listed. And it’s Ludlow.

“Your dad is a lawyer? That’s, like, the farthest thing from an artist!” Bryler says, finding this small fact seemingly hilarious. I frown a little bit, but since I’m slightly distracted by reading at the moment, I doesn’t really bother me all that much.

“Do you have anything I could write on?” I ask once he’s done laughing, turning my head to look at him rolling my eyes so he can see that I don’t find his joke all that funny.

"Um,” he says, patting his pockets as if he’d feel a notebook in there or something. “Nope. Why?"

"Well then you're going to have to memorize this address,“ I tell him, scrolling down to the very bottom of the screen. “Okay? You ready?"

"Okay," he says, and I can tell by his face he’s clearing his mind so that he can remember it properly and not get caught up in his other thoughts. “Hit me with it.”

"150 West Sixth Street. In Boston," I say, repeating the information I read off the site slowly, as to make sure that Bryler will be able to understand.

"Boston?" He questions, not seeming to have gathered anything else from what I said besides that.

"It's a city about forty miles or so from here. Your mom probably goes shopping there for Christmas presents. It's a huge city, it has a ton of malls and stores. I'm sure you've heard of it,” I inform him matter-of-factly, smirking a little bit.

"Yeah, I know where Boston is. Everybody does,“ he says, rolling his eyes at me as if I’m stupid. “What I wanna know is how the heck are we gonna get there? Mom isn’t going to let me take her car all the way to Boston, and I can’t exactly go out and purchase myself one, due to my lack of money.”

"I have an idea," I say, after a moment of thinking over it carefully, "but it would involve lying. And a lot of walking. We'd-" I start, a plan formulating in my head.

"I am NOT walking to Boston!" Bryler announces loudly before I even finish, earning himself another glare from Mrs. Klenning and confused looks from the three kids that have just entered the library, probably expecting peace and quiet, but getting the exact opposite.

"We won't walk all the way there, you idiot,” I explain calmly, wanting to slap him upside the head. I wear, he needs to learn to let people finish their train of thought before he goes making dumb assumptions. “We'll get Sarah to take us to some random mall, and then from there, we'll walk."

Bryler looks at me like I'm totally insane. It's not like he has a better idea, though. After a minute of carefully thinking it over, he gives me his two cents.

"I see two problems in this plan. One, how exactly do you plan on getting Sarah to take us all the way to Boston for no apparent reason? And two, once we get to there, how are we gonna get her to leave us alone long enough to walk to your dad's house? We‘re not exactly the fastest people, and I‘m sure it‘ll take a while to get there."

"I'll tell her I need to... uh... buy some new clothes?" I suggest, though it comes out more like a question than an sure-fire plan. I was at a loss for ideas about this, though. I hate how Bryler seems to think of everything, it makes me feel like I can’t do things on my own.

"She'll just want to know why you can't buy stuff here or somewhere closer," he tells me knowingly, picking up his cup and taking a drink. I remember my own, and pick it up and take a long drink as I gather my thoughts, before speaking again.

"Well, I'll think of something,“ I assure him, standing up and straightening out my shirt before grabbing my coffee. “After I figure out how to get us there, the rest will be easy.” I turn around to leave but in the process end up bumping into someone and spilling my searing hot coffee all of them- and me.

"Oh, shi-" I start to yell before remember where I am, then look up to see who I’ve bumped into. Who happens to be, once again, none other than Jake Spencer.

"I am so sorry," I say, attempting to wipe the steaming hot coffee off his shirt.

“You better be,” he says with a smirk, but I can tell he’s just kidding. I don’t know whether I should laugh or what. I settle with continuing the apology.

"I really didn't mean to, I’m so sorry. Here, I'll go and get you some paper towels and I‘ll pay for your shirt to be dry cleaned or something. I‘m so sorry, I-"

He puts his hand over my mouth, to get me to shut up, and laughs. It‘s strange seeing him laugh, I‘ve never heard him even so much as snicker before. He wipes the coffee off of his forearm. “You say sorry too much. Really, it’s fine. I’m not going to fall over dead of third degree burns.”

At that, I feel the corners of my lips turn up into somewhat of a smile. “I really am sorry, though. I should have been watching where I was going.”

Bryler, whom is still sitting where he was previously, is frowning. I get the feeling he doesn’t like Jake, but it’s not like I can just straight-out tell Jake to go away. Besides, I don’t mind having him around. He seems like an okay-guy, maybe, if you take the time to talk to him. Which I haven’t, but still.

“It’s whatever,” Jake assures me, shrugging. He bends over and picks up the now-empty coffee cup and hands it to me. “Oh, and by the way, I got the answer to your problem. Water colors.”

"Water colors?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows, clearly confused. “Um, what do you-?”

"You can't buy water colors here, there isn’t a store that sells good ones. I’ve looked around . You'd have to go all the way to Boston to get some," he explains to me with innocent enough looking eyes.

“Oh,” I say lamely, not even thanking him, still a little bit confused. Has Jake been listening in? Well, of course he has. It’s not like he’s some kind of physic or something. But how much of the conversation did he heard? And why does he want to help us get to Boston? Why is he even at the library, anyhow? It will forever bother me- I hate having my questions unanswered. But instead of worrying over it, I quickly add on, “Um, thanks. I guess.”

“No prob,” he says, shrugging once again. “I-”

“Jake, come on-” A whiney, annoying voice calls out, sounding very agitated. I sigh and make a face. It’s May. I’m not exactly looking forward to seeing her, or her seeing me.

“Whatever,” he replied, turning the direction of where the voice came from, looking extremely annoyed. He turns to me again. “Yeah, well, I gotta go.”

“I see that,” I say, smiling at him a little bit. I don’t know what it is, but something about him makes me just want to smile. Not like a happy smile, but just like a grin when you find something funny. “Well, bye.”

He turns off and leaves, making his way back to where he must have come from in the first place, and out of sight.

"Jake had heard everything we said," I say to Bryler once Jake‘s out of an earshot, in case it wasn't obvious enough.

"Yeah, what a creeper. Hey, how did he know that you painted?" Bryler asks, taking yet another sip of his coffee. He’s starting to appear more awake than before, since he‘s got some caffeine into him.

“I have no idea,“ I say. It’s a good question. How does Jake know I paint? Just another thing to add to my list of questions that are never going to be answered.
"Well, however he knew, I guess it's a good thing he did. I'm sure Mom will let you go to buy some, since you haven't been painting recently. She's trying to make everything normal," Bryler rambles on, taking a last swig of his coffee before setting it down again, completely empty. “You know, you haven’t even touched your painting stuff sin-”

"Yeah, okay, well water colors it is. I've been meaning to buy some, anyways," I lie, just so Bryler will shut up, which he does. He and I both know that I said I'd never paint again, because Mom is the reason I started painting in the first place. And I just have to do little things to let her know that the world really can’t go on normally without her.
Bryler gets the message that I want him to shut it, because he is reminding me that everything isn't normal. And my life is reminder enough.

************************************************************************

"Mom!" Bryler shouts, once he enters the house. He puts his keys back into his pocket rather loudly, all of them hitting against each other and making that clanging noise. "Mom!"

"What?" She yells back, her voice clearly coming from the kitchen. We walk into to see her cooking a huge pot of some kind of soup. Sarah never really cooks, she’s more of a microwaveable-diner type mom, so this is surprising. It’s not that she’s not a good cook, it’s just that she works so much and by the time she gets home, she’s tired. She only cooks on special occasions.

"What's with the soup?" Bryler asks, sticking his finger into the pot and them into his mouth, tasting it. He makes a disgusted face and I smile a little. It’s his least favorite soup, homemade vegetable. I’m surprised he didn’t notice.

"Oh, Jenny is coming to town to stay with us for a few days, remember? Isn't that wonderful?" She says fondly, stirring the soup easily as she does so, and not even throwing Bryler a glance.

"Oh yeah. Friggin’ marvelous," Bryler says, his voice thick with sarcasm.

Jenny is Bryler's evil nine-year-old cousin, who he and I both hate with a passion. She’s super rude and disruptive and annoying. Not to mention she's a total brat. All the adults think she's darling, though. Even I hate Jenny and I don't have to put up with her in my house. Well at least I didn't before. I start to sigh, before my eyes flicker over to the pile of mail on counter by chance, and I get a glance of a pamphlet. I pull it out of the pile quickly, scanning all the information on it, thinking about how lucky I am. I grin.

"Hey, Sarah?" I start, setting down the pamphlet back down on the counter slowly, earning a confused look from Bryler. He mouths to me ‘What are you doing?’ but I just dismiss his question with a nod that was supposed to tell him: Just give me a minute to work this out.
"Yeah?" She asks, not looking away from the soup, adding all sorts of salt and pepper and spices in it, what appears to be a randomly. I don’t understand why she’s so obsessed with her soup, I highly doubt Jenny will even like it. She doesn’t seem like the type of kid to like that kind of healthy home-cooked food.

"Do you think while Jenny is here, maybe one day we could go to Boston?" I ask casually, leaning my elbows back on the counter. Bryler narrows his eyes suspiciously, trying to put all of this together.

"Boston? Why there?" She asks, turning away from the stove to actually look at me. Her eyebrows are raised; I haven’t really asked her to go anywhere lately. I’ve kind of with drawled from social activities for the most part. I bet if she found out that I was at the pool today I’d get the same look from her.

"I think that Jenny might really like to go to the Museum of Science that’s there. I heard it’s got lots of hands-on stuff and that it’s super fun. Jenny has probably not ever been anywhere like that before, and it’d be a good educational experience for her. Plus, I need some new water colors. So while you take Jenny to the museum, Bryler and I could go look around some shops to find some," I say. Bryler looks rather impressed with my plan, and Sarah just looks happy that I want to do normal teen things, like go shopping in Boston. I know by her look that she’ll say yes. She’s been kind of push over since all that stuff happened with Mom.

"But don't you want to go to the museum, too? It'd be an awful long time to leave you at the mall," she says, always one to think ahead. Leave it to Sarah to find all the possible problems in a situation. “I mean, I see no problem in going to Boston. But maybe we could all spend the day at the museum, and then afterwards swing by some place and you could get the paints you need. It wouldn’t take you but a few minutes, surely.”

"Oh, no, it's fine. I'd rather go shopping than to the museum, anyways. I’ve been there before. And while I’m shopping, I planned on maybe I’ll look around at some clothes, too. I have some money saved up. Besides, it'll take a long time for me to find just the right colors. I have a specific painting in mind," I dish out every excuse I can think of, lying smoothly. If I say so myself, I think pretty quickly on my feet when lying to parents for a girl who never had to. There was never a need to lie about something to Mom. For the most part; she let me do whatever.

"Oh, okay,” she says, still looking kind of confused. She shrugs it off, turning back to her soup. “Very well. I only ask that I get to see the finished product- your painting, I mean. You always did paint the prettiest things.” With that, she mutters something about needing to go get something from the freezer, and leaves the kitchen, headed in the direction of the garage.

"September?" Bryler starts after a moment, looking at me carefully. He’s sitting on the counter, his right thigh touching my elbow. I can’t help but get that flutter feeling, but I force it to go away. It just doesn’t seem to understand that I don’t want it around; I do not want to feel this way with Mom gone. I do not want life to go on as if nothing happen. They say life doesn’t stop for anybody, but I’m trying my best to change that. Life should stop for Mom; I should stop being some stupid teenager. And stupid teenagers do not have huge crushes on their best friend.

"I have no clue," I say in answer to Bryler, knowing what he's about to ask. “Feel free to give me some suggestions.”

“I don’t know, but I think it’ll be good for you to paint again,” he decides approvingly, smiling down at me. “Mom’s right; you do paint the prettiest things.”

“I can’t just break my promise, though,” I say, exasperated at what I’ve gotten myself into. Now I’ve somehow got to paint something, without actually painting something.

“You know something, September? ‘In three words, I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on’,” he quotes knowingly. “Robert Frost said that. He’s smart. You should listen to him.”

“Yeah, well, did Robert Frost’s mom die?” I muttered the question, looking over to the left as to avoid eye contact with Bryler.

“Actually, yes. In the early nineteen hundreds, when Robert was twenty,” Bryler informs me, and I wonder where he’s suddenly obtained all this information about some poet he’s probably only the read the work of once, for some class. “She had cancer.”

“Well, it’s not the same,” I argue, moving my arms to cross them over my chest. “He had fair warning. I didn’t have a clue.”

“Still, losing your mom is a real blow, no matter if you were-” he says, fixing to start rambling on, and I put a stop to it before it even begins.

“Bryler?” I ask, my voice a little harsh. He stops talking and looks at me, his acknowledgement letting me know to go on. “Let’s talk about something else, kay?”

He looks at me a moment before sighing.
“Fine, then. But let’s head up to my room, because the smell of this gross vegetable soup is sickening me.”

Glad for the change of subject, I pull myself up from leaning against the counter. Bryler jumps down, steadying himself by putting his hand against the counter.

“So on to discussing what it is you’re going to paint,” Bryler says as we make our way out of the kitchen. I smile, content with the moment.