Noelle August - Boomerang

I hear a few squeaks of excitement as I bring the ball to the foul line and back up.

As I check in with how natural this used to feel, recalling the right amount of power, the right pin to aim for, quiet falls over the lanes around me and then farther, until all I can hear is the pulsing beat of a Rolling Stones song piping through the speakers.

I have an audience, but that doesn’t rattle me. It never has.

I explode forward and drive my foot through the ball. It sails down the lane, and in an instant, nine pins go flying into the backstop. The number ten pin does a slow, teetering spin, and for a second I think I’ve blown it. But, finally, the pin topples over and the boys go ballistic behind me.

A perfect strike.

And it felt awesome.

I turn, looking for Mia, smiling before I even find her. But I don’t find her because she’s not here. Mia is gone.

Mia

Q: Are you generous with your friends?

I wind my way around tables at Maxi’s Café and slide in next to Beth just as Skyler takes the stage. The crowd hoots for her, and she flashes a smile and gives her cello a twirl before settling onto a stool, fluffing out her long butter-yellow dress, and resting the instrument between her thighs.

Usually, I love this moment before Sky starts to play. People look at her and see your typical manic pixie dream girl, with her babydoll bangs and willowy frame. They don’t expect what they get: a musical beast with a ferocious percussive style that shakes the windows.

Tonight, though, I can barely settle into my chair, and my pulse roars like the ocean in my ears.

I ran away from Ethan, away from the truth of what he said and the deeper truth of his hands on my body. He put his arms around me on the lane, his taut body pressed against my back, and a flood of memory rocked me to my brown-and-black bowling shoes.

We’re wet—I still don’t know why we’re wet. But he’s behind me, lifting my dress over my head, flinging it off somewhere. We’re in his kitchen, lights off and laughing, my whole body weak with it and with one too many shots at Duke’s.

I brace against the cool stainless steel of his refrigerator as his hands come around me, cupping my breasts, thumbing the silk of my bra. He brushes aside the heavy curtain of my wet hair and breathes warmth against my neck. His lips move over me, his fingers slip down my body, heating my chilled flesh. The contact makes me shiver, a slow delicious shudder.

I feel like I could dissolve on the spot. My molecules feel like helium, like embers shooting off a sparkler. I press back against him, wanting to turn, to feel his lips on mine, but he holds me there, one hand firm on my stomach, his tongue teasing my skin, lips moving down my shoulder. He’s so hard against me, the feel of him scoops my insides, turns me to liquid.

“That’s not fair,” I say, and my voice feels like it’s drifting down from a far-off cloud.

“What’s not?”

“You’re still dressed.”

And that’s when I pulled away and slung my bowling ball into the other lane like I was throwing a softball pitch.

After that, I couldn’t get away fast enough. I hate that I didn’t say goodbye to the kids or to Rhett, but I just didn’t have it in me. I couldn’t have those images looping through my mind, couldn’t stay there, so close to him. But not with him.

Skyler fires up her drum sampler and launches into a powerhouse version of “Purple Haze,” her blond hair swinging forward and a look of pure joy lighting her face.

Not what we want to be doing.

Ethan’s words ping-pong around in my brain. It’s true. What I want to be doing starts with a replay of that snippet of memory and ends with him naked in my bed. What I will be doing is forcing it into my own thick head that I can’t have that. Even though he slipped tonight, he’s made his feelings clear.

And he’s got Alison now, thanks to me. Which is okay because I have Boomerang and the Vegas trip in just a few weeks. I have my film and my friends and family. That’s plenty, I tell myself.

Really.

Skyler launches into a bossa nova “Bitter Sweet Symphony,” her bow flying over the cello, hands slapping at the fingerboard to create this beautiful chop that’s her signature sound. She’s on fire, and her passion incites me.

I’ve seen so many friends graduate with no idea who they are, really, or what they want. Nothing drives them. So they drift, shifting their discontent from low-wage job to low-wage job.

I’m lucky enough to know—to have always known—where I’m meant to be. I have to stop taking that for granted. I have to attack it the way Skyler attacks that cello. I have to find out who I am and dive deep.

And I will.

For the next hour, I watch my best friends: one of them onstage, transported, in love with what she’s able to do; the other here with me, wearing an avid expression that tells me she’s dreaming of her own turn in the spotlight. I want to thank them both for the awesome gift they give me every day. The gift of being kickass beautiful girls.

Skyler starts in on “Seven Nation Army,” my favorite, and the music lifts me. I want to thank her for giving me that, for dragging me out of my self-pity into a place of inspiration and gratitude.

A mental light bulb pops to life. At the break, I dig in my purse for my cell phone and find the phone number for Brian, my Boomerang date from the other night.

Mia: Hey, want to meet an amazing girl?

Brian: Another one, you mean?

Mia:☺ Maybe THE one.

Brian: You bet.

Mia: Maxi’s Cafe. Half hour?

Brian: See you there.

“What’s got you all smiley all of a sudden?” Beth asks.

I drop my phone back in my purse and give her a smile. “You’ll see,” I promise. And for the first time in a few weeks, I feel certain I’m right.

Ethan

Q: Are you good at facing the music, or do you dance away?

What are you saying?” Rhett jerks the steering wheel, almost hitting the car to our right as he pulls into a parking spot in the underground garage. He cuts the engine and the blasting A/C shuts off, leaving a coating of frost on my dress shirt and tie. “I know I didn’t hear you right.”

Ten minutes ago, we were laughing about how close we came to disaster last night when Milo picked up Raylene’s Jack and Coke instead of his drink. Now we’re on Alison somehow. I don’t know how Rhett got me onto this, but I’m learning that he can do sleight of hand with words.

“You heard right,” I say, forcing myself to sound casual. “I’m going to Colorado with her this weekend.”

Rhett’s features go even sharper with a scowl. “Your ex-girlfriend?”

“Yes, Rhett. My ex. We went for sushi after we left and—”

“Damn . . . Bowling to sashimi.” He shakes his head. “That offends me for some reason.”

“Yeah, the whole night had more twists than a bag of pretzels. Speaking of which”—I push his shoulder—“What’s with you and Raylene?”

“Nothing.” Rhett’s eyebrows snap together, and he’s suddenly serious. “She’s a nice lady, that’s all.”

I grin. “Definitely not all, Rhett.”

“It’s not what you think.” He makes a dismissive motion with his hand. “We talked divorce lawyers. Alimony. Stuff like that. Trust me, youngster. Things get complicated when you’re an old dog in your early thirties.”

“Dang. And here I was enjoying the simplicity of my social life now.”

“My point exactly, Vance. Going away for the weekend with your ex-girlfriend is a very bad call. Sorry, man. I try not to meddle. I haven’t said anything about the stunt you’re trying to pull with Cookie—”

“You know about that?”

“You mean the seventeen-thousand-dollar video game you’re developing without her approval? Yeah, I know about that. Guess who’s covering your ass?”

A combination of embarrassment and anger spreads heat through me. I can’t let Rhett take the fall for me. “I didn’t ask you to get involved in my business.”

“Your business is the same as mine, Ethan. And it’s too late, I’m already in, but that’s not what we’re talking about right now. Going to Colorado with your psychotic ex is like launching a grenade into your personal life.”

“Alison’s not psychotic.”

“See? She’s already breaking down your defenses.”

“She is not. We’ve—accepted each other in a new way. We put the past where it belongs.”

Rhett’s scowl deepens. “She has you speaking in greeting card, bro. You can’t reduce life to a pithy statement.”

“You sound a lot smarter when you’re pissed.”

“You commit to stupid shit when you go to sushi with your ex.”

“I retract my last statement.”

“Retract your weekend plans too. She’s reeling you back in. Can’t you see that?”

Sitting across the table from Alison last night, she seemed so different. So vulnerable and honest. She doesn’t want me back. Not in the way Rhett thinks.

“No,” I say. “She’s letting me catch a ride on her private jet so I can see my parents. Her family owns a ranch an hour away from my house, and my dad’s birthday is this weekend. And my brother, Chris, is coming home from college—” I’m starting to sound like I’m asking for permission so I wrap it up. “It’s a convenience thing, that’s all.”