To Hell With Your New Shit

My back ached. My entire body was uncomfortably stiff. A dull, throbbing pain ebbed at the back of my head. I groaned as I opened my eyes, only to find that I had slept through the entire night leaning against the wall beneath my window. Once I stood up, I glanced at the clock on the bedside table to check the time, which was 8:17 AM. I began bustling around my room, grabbing clothes to change into, and eventually made my way to the bathroom for a shower. As soon as I was done getting ready, I rushed downstairs to find a quick breakfast.

“Lindsay, are you going out?” my mom asked as I was pouring myself a bowl of Rice Krispies.

“Yeah, I got, uh, distracted from running my errands yesterday. Why?” I asked, shoveling spoonfuls of the snapping, crackling, and popping cereal into my mouth.

“I’m running late for work, and I’ve got meetings all day long. Would you mind stopping at the grocery store for me to pick up a few things?” She requested, digging around in a pile of papers on the counter.

“Sure,” I agreed, standing up to rinse out my now-empty cereal bowl. “Should I take Dad’s old car then…?” I wondered out loud, suddenly realizing that my mother would be using what I had originally planned on being my mode of transportation for the day.

“Oh, no need!” She said, dismissing my suggestion. “You can just drop me off at work and take my car, if you don’t mind. The office is on the way downtown.” I nodded as she handed me a wrinkled piece of paper with her grocery list scribbled on it. I looked it over as we made our way outside to the car, figuring it was a simple enough list.

The drive to my mom’s office was quiet. Thankfully, she didn’t attempt to get me to talk about John, or anything, actually. I made small talk about the weather and her and my father’s plans for the weekend, but by the time I pulled up to the curb outside of my mother’s office, more time in the car had been spent in silence than chatter.

“Should I pick you up later?” I asked before she could slam the door and scurry into the brick building.

“No, don’t worry about it,” she told me with a soft, appreciative smile. “I’ll have your father pick me up on his way home from work.” With that, she shut the door and made her way inside. I sighed and put the car in drive, speeding off to run my errands.

Half an hour later, I found myself standing in an increasingly long line at the post office. I tapped my toe impatiently, watching as the fingers of the young girl in front of me fled furiously over the keyboard of her phone. I turned around awkwardly, pretending to stretch my neck, to get a curious glimpse at the line behind me. Before I could turn back around unnoticed, the woman two spots behind me in line reached over to tap me on the arm.

“Lindsay? Lindsay Thompson?” she asked, her tone taking quite a delighted manner.

“Hi, Mrs. Bates,” I said with a bright smile. “How have you been?”

“Oh just fine, dear. And how have you been? You’ve been away at college in New York, haven’t you?” She inquired. As my senior English teacher, Mrs. Bates had always told me I was one of her best students, but it didn’t stop me from being surprised that three years after my graduation she still remembered and recognized me.

“I’ve been really well,” I told her. “I’m just here for a few days before I head back to the city. “

“Ah, I see,” she said with a nod. “Important things to get back to there?”

“Yes,” I began to explain. “I have a sort of part-time job for the summer at an independent newspaper. I’m actually here to send some important papers back there that I forgot to drop off before I left and accidentally took with me.”

I realized I was rambling, something that I had taught myself not to do anymore within the past three years. Mrs. Bates had always been one of my favorite teachers, one of the teachers I had loved talking to before and after class or school, so I didn’t find it difficult to fall back into that habit.

Before the older woman could respond, a bland, bored voice called out, “Next,” and I parted ways with my old teacher and approached the counter. Quickly enough, I sent my paperwork out on overnight express and made my way to the door.

“Oh, Lindsay!” I heard Mrs. Bates call from where she stood, now next in line. “I meant to ask, only because I’ve been so curious, are you still friends with that John O’Callaghan boy?” I attempted to give the woman as much of a smile I could muster, but I was afraid that I failed miserably.

“No, not really anymore,” I told her, and even I could hear the apparent sadness in my voice that took me by great surprise.

“Oh, what a shame,” Mrs. Bates muttered quietly. “You two always were so close in school. John wasn’t the most, shall we say, persistent student, but he was very bright, as are you, Miss Thompson. And you certainly seemed quite fond of him.” I nodded to her, curious as to what she was trying to tell me. “You know,” she added with a somewhat sly smile, “a few of us teachers always thought the two of you would end up together in the end, married and all.”

“Oh,” I said stiffly. “Well, I suppose some things just aren’t meant to be.”

“No, I suppose not,” she responded quietly with a sad smile. “Well, it was lovely seeing you. Enjoy your time at home, dear, and good luck back at school!”

“It was great to see you, too, Mrs. Bates,” I told her sincerely. “Thank you.”
Before any more talk of John could be brought up, I high tailed it out of the post office until I was sitting in the cool safety of the car. I had a sickening feeling that today was only going to get more surprising as it went along.

After a brief stop at the bank to cash a check, I made my way to the local supermarket to pick up the items on my mother’s list.

“Onions, onions, onions,” I muttered to myself as I strolled throughout the produce section, looking for the first item on the list. As soon as I spotted them, I grabbed a bag and threw them into the shopping cart before uncapping a pen with my teeth and scribbling a line through the word onions on the list. I made my way in search of the next dozen items before setting my sites on the final item, which was Cheerios. Three years had apparently been a long enough time for me to be able to lose my navigational senses in the grocery store, so I simply let myself meander up and down the aisles until I happened upon the shelves of cereal. Not long after I had tossed in two boxes of the heart-healthy cereal was I rounding the corner to the next aisle and, subsequently, crashing my cart into someone else’s.

“I am so sorry – “ I began to exclaim apologetically as I looked up to see the other crash victim, “ – Kennedy?” I couldn’t help myself from sputtering my old friend’s name as I stared at him.

“Lindsay?” He questioned, seemingly equally as dumbfounded as I was. I braced myself for a sudden outburst, a lashing out of his temper, expecting him to accuse me of ditching everyone without saying goodbye or keeping in contact. Instead, to even more of my surprise, he made his way around our grocery carts and swept me into a hug.

“Kennedy?” I questioned once again before he let his grip loosen and he stepped back from me.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, a smile beginning to form at the edges of his mouth.

“Erm, getting groceries for my mom?” I said, although it came out as more of an awkward question seeking approval.

“No, no,” he laughed. “What are you doing back in Arizona?”

“I just – I came back for a few days,” I told him. That was the only explanation anyone needed from me now, I had decided. He didn’t say anything in response; he just stood there with his signature, excited grin before enveloping me in yet another grizzly hug. “Wait, aren’t you mad at me?” I found myself asking before he could let go of me once more.

“Mad at you?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. I nodded, not sure of what to say. “I mean, sure, I’m upset that you just sort of up and left, but I’m more happy to see you now than I was upset when you had left. Does that make sense?” He added, scratching the back of his neck as though he’d said something wrong.

“I guess it makes sense,” I told him, “in a really sort of odd, twisted way.” Kennedy chuckled and shook his head. “At least, John doesn’t seem to feel the same way.” I mentally slapped myself for adding the last sentence. I didn’t need to start parading my frustration with John O’Callaghan around like it was the biggest news everyone had heard. Something inside of me had been starting to snap though, and I could feel it.

“John?” Kennedy questioned, looking surprised, once more. “John knows your home and he didn’t tell us?”

Now, even to me, this sounded odd. John wasn’t normally this secretive, was he?

“Have… have you guys talked?” Kennedy asked quietly, almost shyly.

“Yeah, a bit,” I admitted, silently cursing Kennedy to unwillingly being able to suck information from me. “I guess it’s kind of hard to completely avoid someone when they’re living next door to you.”

“Next door to you? Oh, that’s right, he’s been helping his parents out a lot lately, hasn’t he?” Kennedy was beginning to sound more and more like he was talking to himself. He looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet awkwardly before continuing. “He’s been a real wreck, you know. I mean, because of his grandma and all lately. But… God, Lindsay, I’d never seen him more torn apart than he was after you left. He never talked about it, though, and he definitely still doesn’t. Did something happen between you guys?”

I looked at Kennedy, unsure of what to do or say, or think, for that matter. Had John really kept everything a secret from his best friends for the past three years? Had I really hurt him that badly? That thing inside of me that had been beginning to snap felt like it was at its last, delicate splinter.

“Uh, look Kenny,” I said, stealing a glance at my watch and formulating a lie in my head. I couldn’t listen to him make me feel guilty, not now. “I have to go pick up my mom from work so I should really get going.”

“Oh, okay,” he said with a nod, turning back to his own cart. I gave him a small smile and a wave and began to push my cart away when he stopped me. “Hey, Linds, do you want to meet for coffee or something tomorrow? I really missed you – I mean, we all did – and it would be nice to, I dunno, catch up or something.”

I smiled at his offer, truly thankful that at least someone from my past wasn’t giving me the cold shoulder or starting screaming matches with me.

“Sure, I’d like that,” I told him truthfully.

“Great,” he replied, all smiles once more. “Meet at the usual spot around eleven? That is, if you still remember where that is,” he added, teasing me at the last part.

“Of course I remember,” I told him with a smile. “I’ll see you then.”

With that, I turned back and pushed the cart full of my mother’s groceries to the nearest checkout lane. Not only was something inside me snapping, but something was changing.