I’m just trying to help.” When I said nothing,
she continued. “You are about to graduate high school and enter the
adult world on your own. You appear to be faring well enough—on the
outside.” She paused with her scrutinizing gaze. “But you will be
on your own, with no support. No one will know about Maddie, or Mr.
Nordell, or your near drowning. You have a support system now . Please, won’t you
talk to me about what you’re feeling?”
After a
few moments, I interrupted the usual quiet that took place in
between Ms. Carol’s efforts to break me. “That’s what I
want.”
Ms.
Carol appeared hopeful. “What do you want? To talk about
it?”
“ For no one to know about Maddie, or any of it.” At my
contradictory words, Ms. Carol’s expression dropped. I lowered my
gaze. “I just—I don’t want to be assessed anymore. I don’t want to talk about what
happened!” For the first time with Ms. Carol, my voice raised. I
was done. I wanted to be done.
Ms. Carol’s hands returned to her lap as she quieted a sigh
of defeat. “All right, Allie. If that’s what you want, you can be
done.” She stood up and rifled through a drawer in her desk. She
pulled out a cheap, spiral-bound notebook that would surely unravel
itself with time. “Just one last request,” she said as I accepted
the notebook. “You don’t have to talk about it today, or tomorrow,
or maybe ever. But all I ask is that you write about it. I’m not going to
read it,” she hurriedly added, waving her hand at me. “This
notebook is for you. Just take some time this week to write down
what happened last summer—every detail.”
“ What’s the point?” I asked, flipping through the blank pages
grudgingly.
“ The point is to get it out of your head,” Ms. Carol
explained, opening her office door to release me. “You are free to
go.”
***
I sat in
my room that night, after barely touching dinner. Ms. Carol’s words
repeated in my mind, her instructions clear and terrifying. I ran
my thumb along the plastic, spiral binding, grazing my fingernail
along the edging with indecision. I stood up and sat down too many
times to count, biting the end of my pen until the cap became
irrevocably dented. Finally removing my head from my hands, I
flipped the yellow cover open. I brought my damaged pen to the
empty, white page—took a breath—and began to write…
LAST SUMMER
Last
summer wasn’t supposed to be anything momentous. Every other year,
Dad’s side of the family met up at our cabin in Hidden Pines,
located in the heart of the Sierra Nevadas in California. The drive
up the canyon—with its array of evergreen trees stretching towards
the clouds like skyscrapers—seemed particularly long that day,
perhaps because I had just finished my last day of junior year and
couldn’t wait for a taste of vacation.
“ Can we rent a boat tomorrow?” Leah asked. She sat in the
front seat next to Dad, her smile big and hopeful. After
basketball, wakeboarding was the next best thing, and we were all
eager to get back in the lake.
Dad
nodded. “Absolutely! I can’t wait to see the three of you out there
again.”
Upon
arrival, I jumped out of our suburban, arms open wide to receive
the bullet of blond hair careening into my arms.
“ Allie!” my nine-year-old cousin squealed, matching the eager
grin on my face. She hurried to spread her hugs to Dad, Leah, and
Taylor, but like a loyal pup, she returned to my side. “What took
you guys so long? Come on, come on!” She tugged me along, barely
pausing for me to sling the duffel bag over my shoulder.
We
stepped through the front door, and Maddie loudly announced our
arrival to the open living room. The first thing I noticed was a
delicious roast smell wafting through the air. I waved at Uncle
Bill, who was reclined in the large, brown sectional watching
sports on the flat screen. He hollered a friendly “Hello,”
accompanied with the wide smile that pushed out his double
she continued. “You are about to graduate high school and enter the
adult world on your own. You appear to be faring well enough—on the
outside.” She paused with her scrutinizing gaze. “But you will be
on your own, with no support. No one will know about Maddie, or Mr.
Nordell, or your near drowning. You have a support system now . Please, won’t you
talk to me about what you’re feeling?”
After a
few moments, I interrupted the usual quiet that took place in
between Ms. Carol’s efforts to break me. “That’s what I
want.”
Ms.
Carol appeared hopeful. “What do you want? To talk about
it?”
“ For no one to know about Maddie, or any of it.” At my
contradictory words, Ms. Carol’s expression dropped. I lowered my
gaze. “I just—I don’t want to be assessed anymore. I don’t want to talk about what
happened!” For the first time with Ms. Carol, my voice raised. I
was done. I wanted to be done.
Ms. Carol’s hands returned to her lap as she quieted a sigh
of defeat. “All right, Allie. If that’s what you want, you can be
done.” She stood up and rifled through a drawer in her desk. She
pulled out a cheap, spiral-bound notebook that would surely unravel
itself with time. “Just one last request,” she said as I accepted
the notebook. “You don’t have to talk about it today, or tomorrow,
or maybe ever. But all I ask is that you write about it. I’m not going to
read it,” she hurriedly added, waving her hand at me. “This
notebook is for you. Just take some time this week to write down
what happened last summer—every detail.”
“ What’s the point?” I asked, flipping through the blank pages
grudgingly.
“ The point is to get it out of your head,” Ms. Carol
explained, opening her office door to release me. “You are free to
go.”
***
I sat in
my room that night, after barely touching dinner. Ms. Carol’s words
repeated in my mind, her instructions clear and terrifying. I ran
my thumb along the plastic, spiral binding, grazing my fingernail
along the edging with indecision. I stood up and sat down too many
times to count, biting the end of my pen until the cap became
irrevocably dented. Finally removing my head from my hands, I
flipped the yellow cover open. I brought my damaged pen to the
empty, white page—took a breath—and began to write…
LAST SUMMER
Last
summer wasn’t supposed to be anything momentous. Every other year,
Dad’s side of the family met up at our cabin in Hidden Pines,
located in the heart of the Sierra Nevadas in California. The drive
up the canyon—with its array of evergreen trees stretching towards
the clouds like skyscrapers—seemed particularly long that day,
perhaps because I had just finished my last day of junior year and
couldn’t wait for a taste of vacation.
“ Can we rent a boat tomorrow?” Leah asked. She sat in the
front seat next to Dad, her smile big and hopeful. After
basketball, wakeboarding was the next best thing, and we were all
eager to get back in the lake.
Dad
nodded. “Absolutely! I can’t wait to see the three of you out there
again.”
Upon
arrival, I jumped out of our suburban, arms open wide to receive
the bullet of blond hair careening into my arms.
“ Allie!” my nine-year-old cousin squealed, matching the eager
grin on my face. She hurried to spread her hugs to Dad, Leah, and
Taylor, but like a loyal pup, she returned to my side. “What took
you guys so long? Come on, come on!” She tugged me along, barely
pausing for me to sling the duffel bag over my shoulder.
We
stepped through the front door, and Maddie loudly announced our
arrival to the open living room. The first thing I noticed was a
delicious roast smell wafting through the air. I waved at Uncle
Bill, who was reclined in the large, brown sectional watching
sports on the flat screen. He hollered a friendly “Hello,”
accompanied with the wide smile that pushed out his double
Similar Books
