By Ally Campanozzi
The final days of summer weren’t supposed to trickle into our last days together. Here I am again, folding like origami, back into Troubled Tessa mode. I’m lingering in the grey space where subconscious impulses overlap with reality, longing to force time’s hands to screech still and rewind.
We climbed the ladder, crawled out of the lake, and sat down beside each other on the dock. I worried about wood splinters getting stuck in my thigh, but I tried to keep anxiety muted to a quiet croak.
The smell of charcoal and brisket wafted through the air while your dad got busy cooking on the grill. You handed me a bright yellow beach towel. Waiting for you to say something, I almost giggled at how you tried dyeing your curly hair a shocking blue. Instead, it turned an awful shade of murky teal.
The faux paus of your hair held great symbolism. Lately, we’d been in an awkward place.
“It’s not you, Tessa.” You didn’t look at me while speaking the words no girlfriend wants to hear. “It’s me.”
My brows raised. “So, it’s over?” I reached up and swept my braids behind my shoulders. They were still damp with lake water. “Chase, I need to know if you’re for real this time.”
We’d been loop-talking, going around in contradicting circles.
You fiddled with the silver ring on the chain around your neck. “I’m really not sure. It sucks being so confused.” The promise ring disappeared behind your T-shirt.
“No kidding.”
“We have to make up our minds.” You stood up and walked over the creaky boards. “But—not today.”
Not today, I thought, reaching for my beige swim skirt cover up. But sometime soon.
Life throws curveballs at you. Even if you’re standing at home plate ready to crack one out of the park, you can still strike out. We’d been dating for two years. Our shy eighth grade slow dances morphed into a map for the rest of our lives. A beach wedding. At dawn. All the perfect love stories craved sunsets. We didn’t want to be cliché. There’d be rose petals, candle lit paths, and we’d wear kick back clothes. Formalities and traditions weren’t our vibe.
Junior year lurked on the horizon, cinching another notch in the belt of high school accolades. It’d be one of the first things I’d tackle without you. Instead of a quick jaunt down the road, a thirty-minute drive, you acted like you were moving to Mars. It didn’t have to pack the punch of an asteroid collision. But you changed as soon as your parents dropped the Atomic Divorce Bombshell.
Trying to act peppy, I followed you to the picnic tables. I’m not good at masking feelings. You like packing them away, vacation luggage totes stowed somewhere in your brain. Instead, I face them, letting them be train headlights surging down the tracks at full speed. I felt an uptick in my nerves, cheeks turning blazed red. It didn’t happen because I avoided sunscreen, hoping to bronze my paste pale complexion. Once I sat down at the table, the cicadas and crickets chirped their awkward serenade. After we filled our plastic plates with brisket meat, Wonder bread buns, pickles, onions, and all the fixings, I stirred some coleslaw around with a fork.
My ears perked up, listing to your mom and dad. Their pending divorce would be final by the time you left. You pulled your black hoodie over your head, leaned down, and started typing a text. Your fingers clacked away at more texts, making me grow suspicious. Had you already met new girls? Did you want to drag this out to avoid crushing me a little longer?
A shiver crawled down my spine when my phone vibrated on the table.
You blinked, then I read the text: “I’d be single forever, before I ever ended up like them.”
I wanted to ask what made you compare. Couldn’t we be Tessa and Chase, instead of being stapled to their shadow? I reacted with a single red heart emoji, then drifted along the bubbling riptide of my mind. Time rippled, flashing me back. Memories took over, revealing vivid glimpses of our better summer moments.
*
We’d ridden six rollercoasters by the middle of the afternoon. Sticky heat and vertical drops left my hair limping. You didn’t seem to mind. An afternoon rain shower gave me streaks of Emo mascara tears. I looked like an accidental clown. We laughed until our ribs hurt, making memory mementos, stocking up on summer souvenirs. We’d chased so many black holes, we’d lost count. They led us to the center of our universes.
After a while, we wandered into an arcade. Stupid, sweet smiles made my knees wobble while we played air hockey underneath pink and green neon lights. A little later, we sipped on Virgin Piña Coladas with pineapples, cherries and paper umbrellas poking out of the Vanilla-colored slush.
Yin and yang. We had no idea what we were doing, but we played along as best as we knew how.
I thought back to our first kiss, taking risks to skip seventh period. We snuck into the empty parking lot, while you started up a nerdy rant about me calling cumulus clouds cotton balls. Even if it wouldn’t be forever and a day, maybe I’d learn to be okay again. After the storm settled, I’d be forced to find pieces of myself to love, instead of fixating on the flaws.
*
I’d dazed off—sunken—mind warped. When a horsefly buzzed beside my ear, I jumped.
“I’m sorry, I just got freaked out.” From the other side of the table, you reached over and took my hand. “I wanna make it work.”
We’d give it another shot. Somehow, dropping the anchor down one more time, sinking to the bottom of our complicated ocean. I smiled back at you, then gazed at the pastel pink, lavender, and tangerine clouds creating a picturesque sunset over the lake.
* * *
Ally Campanozzi started writing in middle school and has been expanding her passion since. Her background includes a BA in Psychology and an MA in Creative Writing from SNHU. She is currently pursuing an MFA in Fiction Writing. Her poetry has been featured in a few literary magazines and anthologies, including publications by Kelp Journal, The Closed Eye Open, Dream Noire Magazine, Please See Me, and others. Her writing explores psychology, mental health, magical realism, and dream worlds. She lives in Colorado. Follow her work on Instagram: @allycampanozziwriting