All We Left Behind

Marion

The sun parts the trees like lips, golden with half shadows and secrets. Dusk arches over the dirt road ahead, and I double-check the Post-it on my dash. It tells me to drive straight for another six miles out of town through this patchwork of New England trees. But the leaves are flamed orange-gold and so thick I can’t imagine there’s a lake, much less a lake house and a party, somewhere behind them.

Are you sure this is the right way? I ask Lilith, who bares her teeth in the mirror of my passenger-seat visor. Her red mouth fills the whole frame.

Of course it is, Lilith practically snorts, tossing lipstick into her purse and fishing out a silver flask. She opens the cap and gulps back whatever’s inside it, smearing red over the rim. There is only one way, Marion! Lilith bellows, rolling down the window and leaning into the wind. Forward, my friend. Forward, into your future!

The sun winks ominously through the trees, nearly set. The thin fabric of Lilith’s tank top stretches over her cleavage, and I can’t help but think about all the things Lilith knows. All the guys she’s been with and the secrets her body understands, the same way a firefly knows to glow when night arrives, turning on in the dark.

Marion, it’s senior year! Lilith hoots, nudging me as she leans out the window. We’re going to have the best year ever! She laughs and her hair whips wildly, catching whispers of sun. And even though the trees angle in dark ahead of us, I can’t help but smile and roll down my window with her. Because Lilith is so free, and so alive, and so radiant, that I know I’d follow her anywhere, for just a hint of that freedom.

*  *  *

At the end of the road the treetops open up to unveil the lake, and the final winks of gold shine over the mountain. It makes me forget we live near Boston, or that droves of tourists descend upon our small coastal town of Emerson in the summertime. It reminds me that once this land was nothing but virgin forest.

I park near the salt grass and Lilith drums her fingers on the dashboard, nodding to the bonfire by the shore. Two dozen kids from school already surround the flames, drinking and laughing.

Let the mayhem begin! Lilith says dramatically, checking her cleavage in the mirror and fluffing her hair like she’s about to go onstage. My stomach grumbles from hunger or nerves, and I pull a McIntosh apple from my purse.

Appetizer? I offer, and Lilith looks at me like I’m holding a frog.

Damn, Mar-i-doodle! You got a fruit stand in there?

Maybe, I shoot back, nodding to her flask. You got a liquor store in yours?

Touché! She grabs my apple and takes a dramatic bite, then shoves her flask in my hand. Appetizers it is. She motions for me to drink.

I take a swig and the liquid is sweet, but then it hits my throat and burns. Jesus! I spit the rest out the window. What is that!?

Sorry. Lilith laughs. "Okay, maybe you do need to eat before you drink. She hands me back the apple in exchange for her flask. Finish that, fruit-girl, and remind me to find you some bread."

Cold air shoots up my skirt as we walk toward the lake, wind kissing my thighs. I grip the apple and tug at the fabric’s hem.

Be cool, Lilith says, dropping an arm over my shoulders and playing with the blond hair that flows down my back. You got this.

She eyes my hands before throwing back another drink, and I’m not sure what she thinks I’ve got, only she’s already skipping ahead through the reeds and motioning for me to follow. She heads for the bonfire, and from my angle the flames spark around her, wild and snapping.

That’s Lilith.

Always on fire.

I hang by the water’s edge as Lilith skips from one person to the next. She mentioned this party was exclusive, which sounded cool before, but now that we’re here, it really means I don’t know anyone. I don’t even see the drama kids Lilith normally hangs out with. I could be mad at her for not introducing me, but I know better. Lilith bounces from person to person like a manic jumping bean, and I’d rather be a wallflower than get dragged around like a forgotten puppy. She’ll find me when she’s done. She always does.

The heat of the bonfire is surprising. It puffs up my skin like the flesh of a marshmallow. After lingering awhile I discover there’s an invisible line around the fire. A heat line. On one side it’s too hot to stand and on the other side it’s too cold. The flames crackle, whispering secrets to the girls standing close to the blaze with their tan legs and low-cut shirts. They dig their toes into the sand, and the soccer players touch their elbows and waists and hair. I move closer to the fire but the heat feels like Lilith’s breath, hot on my neck.

What if you give yourself a deadline? Lilith asked the other night, her brown hair lying against my white comforter in dark waves. Like Halloween or Thanksgiving?

To find a boyfriend? I shifted uncomfortably beside her.

She laughed. He doesn’t have to be your boyfriend.

I stared at the ceiling. I’d painted it sapphire a few years ago, but you could still see the outlines of the glow-in-the-dark stars and unicorn stickers beneath.

Maybe I want a boyfriend, I threw back at her, and she rolled onto her elbow to face me.

You’re misunderstanding. I don’t mean go out and screw the next guy that comes along. I mean . . . She placed her index finger on my shoulder and started to draw swirls through the cotton of my shirt. She did that when she was thinking, as if the contact helped her to figure out what she meant to say. "It’s not a promise you’re making to me. It’s a promise you’re making to yourself. It’s a promise to your body. Does that make sense?"

Not really, I breathed. Lilith knew how to use her hands. She knew what boys wanted. What to do with them.

Her fingers hit my collarbone and goose bumps frilled over me. Cold then hot. Hot, forcing me to stare at the ceiling so she couldn’t see all the things I couldn’t tell her.

You make the promise to yourself, Marion, Lilith said, her fingers tracing the hem of my skin. Listen to your body.

Lilith dug her toes into the stretch of muscle above my ankle and I could tell she was tired. After ten years of sleepovers, I know the crook of Lilith’s neck. I know the way her elbow bends. Those toes meant she was ready for bed. Or maybe she was just tired of rehashing this conversation.

So, how does it work? I asked, spreading my blond hair over the pillow. I needed a map. Wanting to lose your virginity and losing it are two very different things. "If he’s not my boyfriend? What are the rules?"

There aren’t any rules, Marion. Lilith rolled onto her side and began to braid my hair. You trust your instincts. Let him take the lead. Your body knows what to do.

"But what if I don’t?"

You will. Her fingers moved effortlessly, her hands weaving the braid without even looking. Your body knows things, Marion. Things you can’t even imagine.

I didn’t know what to say to that. Her words were like fog, untouchable and everywhere.

Don’t think about it, Lilith encouraged, eyeing my silence. Just have fun.

That’s it?

Easy peasy! Her voice got high, like maybe that was a lie, and I fixed my gaze outside on the empty sky, imagining it full of fireflies. "Hell, Mar-i-doodle, you’re hot, Lilith continued. So, it’s not like it’s going to be hard."

Right. I nodded, wanting to believe her.

Damn right! she insisted, before sitting up dramatically and putting on her most obnoxious Catholic-nun voice. Of course, you should always remember, she started, wagging her finger in the air. Your body is a temple. You shouldn’t defile it with one of those dirty, dirty boys. You should cherish it and keep your beautiful flower intact for your wedding day!

I grabbed a pillow and smacked her in the face. We both doubled over laughing.

You know, Marion . . . , Lilith said quietly, as our laughter subsided and the smell of pine trees drifted in from the open window.

Yeah?

You can . . . She shook her head, her voice light and dismissive, and I thought maybe I could hear the paint peeling back to expose those plastic stars. "Like if you’re working up to it and, I dunno, you’re not into it or whatever . . . You know you can say no, right?"

My toes dug into the bedspread, squishy as mud.

Of course I know that, I said quickly, shaking my head like she was crazy. Who doesn’t know that?

Sure, Lilith agreed, but then her eyes flicked to me like she wasn’t sure I meant it. I pushed back the comforter and crawled underneath, ignoring the icy draft at the base of my sheets.

Good night, Lilith, I said softly.

Good night, Marion, she said, turning off the light, but in the dark I could still hear her voice echoing in my head. Your body knows things, it whispered as I stared up at my ceiling of sapphire-drowned stars. Things you can’t even imagine.

Kurt

There are black smudges all over my hands. It’s charcoal from the fire pit that Conner and I are building for the party, trying to set it up before everyone gets here. But the dust is everywhere.

We almost done? I ask Conner, who unloads firewood from his SUV and is packing three bundles under each arm. It’s impressive for someone who barely clears five foot five. But that’s the thing about Conner, he’s easy to underestimate.

You got someplace to be? he asks, dumping the wood, and I show him my hands. There’s a lake behind you, dumbass.

Hey, I didn’t even want to be here, I say, dropping my briquettes and walking to the shore. Why didn’t you get the freshmen to do this?

They’re getting the beer. You think I’d trust those JV wimps with matches? You want to burn down my uncle’s house?

"What, and you trust me to light this thing?" I say, dunking my hands in the water.

No, I trust you to shut up and do as you’re told. I smile at that. Conner always knows how to cut through the bullshit. Especially mine.

This bonfire thing is Conner’s idea. Kick off the season. Get laid. He’s been on me all week about how I’m soccer captain and I better be here. So I am. Though he had to practically kidnap me to get me to show up, driving me here himself. I should be into it. It’s senior year. Best damn year of your life. That’s what my sister Josie would say. And what’s not to like about being at a lake house in the middle of nowhere, drinking beer?

I scrub at the damn charcoal on my palms, but it won’t come off. Fuck it. I wipe my hands on my pants, getting them dirty.

There’s a holler and Rory and Troy drive up with coolers and bags of groceries in their backseat. I start helping them unload when Troy wrestles me into a headlock.

Hey, Rory, you owe me ten bucks. I told you this douche would show up.

Excuse me? I twist out of Troy’s grip and turn the tables so it’s me with my arm hooked at his throat. What’s this? You two making bets on me?

"Hey, I bet on you man, not against. Troy struggles and Rory laughs. Lay off."

I don’t let him go.

"You know, your chances of getting laid are better if I’m not here," I say to Troy.

True, he agrees, still struggling. "But you’re always so much fun when you’re drunk. That’s a dig. I rarely drink, and when I do, well, fun" isn’t not the word I’d use to describe it. I’m not mean. Not one of those raging assholes or anything. I’m just not . . . happy.

You don’t need to be drunk to get a little ass, I say. "Well, maybe you do, but—"

Hey, not all of us were blessed with your pretty face. Troy jerks, taking a pretend swipe at my chin with the jab. Some of us have to use our charm.

Charm? I press my weight into him, maybe more than I should. Charm like making bets on who’s going to show up and whose pants you’re going to get into?

Well, I wasn’t planning on getting into yours!

I twist Troy just enough to make him stomp his foot on the ground and I wait for him to call uncle.

Hey! Conner stalks up to us with a giant bag of briquettes. He chucks it at me, forcing me let go of Troy in order to catch the bag and keep it from knocking us over. Black dust kicks up as it slams into my chest. You two done making out? There’s a fire that’s not going to build itself.

Jealous? I smile at Conner, but he glares at me with his stop-fucking-around face.

Sorry, Dad, geeez, Troy says, rolling his eyes and tossing me a look like we’re both in on the joke. Only, Troy doesn’t know when enough’s enough. Hey, Kurt, he continues. Is Josie coming up from BU tonight? He straightens his rumpled shirt and throws me a grin. I mean, if there’s one piece of ass you’re not going to cockblock tonight, that’d be it.

The briquettes hit the dirt, and somehow Conner’s forced his way between me and Troy before I can pummel him. Troy laughs loudly, thinking this is all part of the game we’re playing. But if he could see how hard Conner’s actually gripping me, how much effort it’s taking him to hold me back, Troy would shut up.

Forget him, Conner says in my ear. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

Come on, Troy prods. "You two used to be the life of the party. Well, she used to be anyway."

I step off Conner and pull my weight back. This is why I don’t come to these things, I say to Conner under my breath.

Fine, Conner says, and for the first time it looks like he regrets making me show up. Why don’t you go for a run. Blow off some steam.

My hands are fists. I’d rather break Troy’s nose.

What makes you think my sister would step out on her college education to hang out with you? I throw at Troy, but he shrugs. He doesn’t really care. He’s just busting my balls.

Once a cheerleader, always a cheerleader, he says.

Conner grips my shoulder and points to the woods.

Run, Medford, he says. We can set up the fire.

Right. I laugh, only it’s edged with sarcasm and Conner knows it. "You trust them with matches?"

No. Conner looks me square in the eye. I trust you to shut the fuck up and do as I say. He tosses me a water bottle and I head for the trees.

I follow the shoreline, so I don’t get lost, and cut through the underbrush. My feet pound against the dirt and I forget Troy. Forget Conner. Forget all of them.

I put one foot in front of the other and run. I don’t try. It just works. It’s like there’s something else in there that turns on and goes. Like it isn’t me. Like it’s some superhuman-fast me. I don’t know where it comes from—God or something, that’s what Mom would say. Not that I think I’m superhuman. Not that I think God has anything to do with it.

It’s just sweat and grass, and digging in your heels, and running till your heart wants to burst. Running till you don’t have to breathe anymore. They say that happens when you skydive, that the air around you goes so fast that you don’t have to take a single breath. The oxygen goes right through your skin. It gets inside.

I look down at my hands. They’re still covered in black. I dump the water from the water bottle all over them, but it doesn’t help.

Marion

The bonfire crackles and I step closer to the blaze. My arms heat, but I force myself to stand with those other girls who let the flames singe the hairs from their skin. The back of my throat stings with alcohol and I wonder if I should get another drink, if all of this would be easier if I were drunk. If that’s part of what makes Lilith able to dance with the fire.

I thumb the apple that’s still in my hand, turning it to hide the bite Lilith took. I lift it to my nose, pretending it’s untouched, pressing the waxy skin to my lips. I don’t know what it is about apples, but they’ve always reminded me of Abe, my lab partner, and sitting next to him freshman year, under the tree in his backyard. An uneaten apple always feels like that moment—that perfect space before—waiting for him to kiss me. My lips part and I wonder if Abe will show up tonight, or if he’s too smart for a party like this. I inhale the tawny apple scent and imagine what it will taste like.

Sweet. Slightly sour. Soft yet sharp.

Would it be like that to kiss Abe again? Not that I have a chance with Abe anymore. Not that I didn’t ruin us a long time ago.

Are you going to make out with that apple? Or eat it? Lilith says, appearing from behind the flames. I chuck the apple at her playfully and she dodges it, the fruit rolling into the fire.

Down, girl! she mock scolds, sidling up beside me and hooking her arm through mine. You got a crazy streak in you, lady!

You ain’t seen nothin’, I joke back. Imagine if that had been a papaya.

I’d probably be dead.

Be thankful we live in New England, where exotic fruit doesn’t grow.

Oh, I am. Lilith hands me her flask and I take a swig, forcing myself to keep the burning liquid down. I shake my head as my ears start to buzz. Lilith laughs and takes a drink herself, squeezing her eyes tight as she swallows. Woooo! she exclaims, raising her arms and twirling. Her skirt lights up like a parachute and the curve of her legs becomes silhouetted by fire. People watch. A few clap, and several boys stare at her legs. I want to join her. I want to kick off my shoes and twirl with her laughter, because somehow everything is easier if it’s done with Lilith. She makes anything seem possible.

But then it would be my legs under those eyes. My broken flip-flops left in the sand.

I look past Lilith to the lake. It ripples silently, reflecting the dusky sky. Only, my gaze is drawn to the edge of the water where a reflection of black trees disrupts the surface. It’s in that patch of darkness that you can see the slimy rocks and the mud and all that the lake is hiding. It’s where one might fall in and silently drown.

Lilith loses interest in her performance and drapes herself against me, half-drunk and searching for balance. I love you, she says, nuzzling my neck.

I know, I say, holding on to her weight. She hums for a moment and I watch the skin of my uneaten apple curl back in the fire, turning black with the heat.

I wasn’t kidding, she says, her voice getting low. When I said this should be our best year. I meant that. We’ve only got so much time left. We should drink. Have fun. Live it up. You know?

Absolutely, I agree, the sparks behind us blinking from orange to ash.

Exactly! She squeezes my arm, and the sentimentality in her voice is gone, replaced by her normal frisky charm. So, seriously . . . She turns us in one motion, like we’re attached at the hip, and faces us in the direction of a group of soccer players. Mar-i-doodle, this is the first big party of the year. And, I thought, you know . . . She nods to the boys. They’re the same group of soccer players that has been touching elbows and waists and hair. "Well, I thought this could be a good opportunity."

My neck goes tight when she says the word opportunity.

She’s not talking apples.

She’s talking cherries.

Kurt

The bonfire’s blazing when I come out of the woods. I hear the clank of beer bottles and I’m surprised to see how many people have already shown up. I didn’t think I was out in those woods for very long, but maybe I was.

The driveway’s turned into a parking lot and I hear music up ahead. It’s that angry metal crap Conner likes, where yelling is called singing, and the band can’t play to save their lives. I’ve tried to educate Conner on good music, but he keeps insisting this shit’s the shit. Well, at least he got one part right.

I snag a beer from a cooler along the way and halfway through it I see the golden eagle on the label. My stomach turns and everything in my mouth goes sour. Fucking freshmen! I curse under my breath and tip the bottle over, Mom’s favorite seeping into the dirt. Guess, I’m really not drinking tonight.

Medford!

I turn to see Vanessa walking in my direction. Her mouth is glossy and she deliberately tilts her head so her black hair slides off her shoulder. I chuck the eagle over the cars and into the woods, ignoring the crash of glass that echoes back.

Where have you been? she demands, moving in so close I could kiss her.

Around, I say, checking out the front of her and remembering the way she moved when we skipped class last week. I took her to the dugout behind the baseball diamond, where her mouth had that waxy lipstick taste. The rest of her was soft though. The rest of her was worth enjoying.

Well, good thing I found you, then, she says. "Getting around and all."

I roll my eyes. She likes this game, but I don’t want to play it. She knows there’s only one reason this works. And when it stops working . . . well, then it stops working. I thread a finger through her belt loop, pulling her in, and she hangs an arm over my shoulder.

Geez! She flinches, her arm hitting the sweat on my neck. What did you do? Work out or something? She sounds annoyed but her fingers play with my hair.

What? You don’t like me sweaty?

She smiles mischievously. "I like being the one to make you sweaty."

I laugh and look over her shoulder to the row of parked cars. I could take her to Conner’s SUV, but he’s pissed at me.

I don’t have my car, I say, knowing we could find someplace else, but there’s something in the air, and for whatever reason, I don’t want the easy and the booze. Not tonight.

Kelley has a car, she says, batting her lashes, and I smile at her persistence.

Well, do you have the keys to Kelley’s car?

She tosses her hair again and the strap of her tank top falls from her shoulder. She probably just wants to go into the woods.

No, she admits, moving in to kiss me, but I smell beer, and the last thing I want right now is lipstick and golden-eagle breath. I pull away as smooth as I can and throw on a teasing smile.

Well, I say playfully, running a hand under her shirt, over her stomach, which makes her moan hungrily. Why don’t you find me when you have those keys?

I inch