It takes me a while to remove all the messages, mostly because I’m afraid people will steal them. I stick them inside my locker instead, on top of the pictures I’ve posted. They fill the inside of the doors and the back of my locker, along the sides. The one about Shane, I keep with me, and I stick it next to the Post-it he wrote, so now my binder says, You are the silver lining, and Have faith, Shane will come back.
I’m feeling slightly better, so I go to the Coffee Shop because someone needs to tell them that Shane won’t be showing up for his Sunday showcase in the foreseeable future. The barista actually seems sad to hear it. “I hope everything’s okay?”
I don’t answer her because it’s not, but I don’t want to go into it. I order a chai latte, realizing that I never bought Shane his hot chocolate, and it’s all I can do not to burst into tears. Taking my drink, I head to the Curly Q to offer help for a couple of hours since I missed my shift on Thursday. My boss accepts with the usual amount of complaining. Because Grace is busy and Mildred is cranky, neither of them notice my mood. For my usual four hours, I sweep up hair, shampoo a few clients, make appointments, and handle the register.
On automatic, I put on my reflective tape and pedal home. By seven, Aunt Gabby’s waiting with seitan tacos. I pick at them as she says, “I have good news and bad news.”
“Bad first. Get it over with.”
“Shane’s been sent to Ingram, as we expected. They permit only parental visitation.”
I mutter a bad word and she doesn’t chide me. “So I can’t see him.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“What’s the good news?”
“He can receive unlimited letters. I got the address for you.”
“Wow. That’s old-school. No Internet?”
“From what I’ve gathered, no. But it gets a little better. Once a week—on Saturdays—he’s allowed to make one collect call.”
I’m not even sure if Shane has our home number. He has my cell, but I don’t know if he memorized it, and I have no idea if you can accept collect calls on a cell phone. I suspect not. While I’m thinking of the logistical problems, my aunt hands me a packet of fine stationery, a gel pen, a Post-it with an address on it, and a pack of stamps.
“This will get you started.”
“I’m surprised you’re not telling me I’m better off without him … that he’s trouble.”
“Everyone deserves a second chance,” my aunt says softly.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime. Let me do the dishes tonight. You write to Shane.”
My instinctive reaction is to refuse; I always clean up. But … I want to do this more than I want to be perfect. So I take a deep breath and nod. Oddly, my neck and shoulders feel a little looser as I take everything to my room and shut the door. I don’t think I’ve ever written anyone a letter on actual paper before. I put the date and the time at the top; that might be more journal etiquette than proper letter writing, but Shane won’t care.
Shane,
I wish you hadn’t done that. Dylan Smith isn’t worth your future. It meant more to have you next to me. I felt like I could handle anything then. I really miss you. I have no idea what it’s like for you there. Tell me?
The words come easier after that, and pretty soon I’ve filled a page. Before I can think better of it, I fold the paper and put it in the envelope, then lick the stamp. Gross. I’ll mail this tomorrow.
This sucks in an understated way; I’m acutely conscious of the hole in my life. It’s not that I can’t function without him like my aunt feared, but life has gone monochrome. Shane painted my world in the brightest hues with his smile and his music. Now it’s dull and dark, the worst part of winter without the promise of spring.
Later, Lila and Ryan drag me to a movie, but it’s the opposite of fun.
So, on Saturday, I decide it’s time to take action. I’m sick of feeling sad. I leave a note for my aunt, who’s at the shop, then I ride out to the trailer to check on things. Forty-five minutes later, I push the door open. Shane’s left it unlocked, like he’ll be right back. The lights from Valentine’s Day are still hanging everywhere, the white flowers, too. He didn’t have time to take them down.