A Kind of Goodbye

mom jeans, dissection, drive thru, coincidence     -sarah               

Just as she had shoved half a burger in her mouth, cheese dripping and ketchup squirting, June saw him. Sitting on the passenger’s side, mumbling something to his mother... He looked up—maybe at her, maybe not at her; June couldn’t tell because she had flinched, immediately snapping her head to the opposite side.

“What’s wrong?” her dad asked, pushing the carton of fries towards her. “Eating too much too fast?” He chuckled and took a swig of cola.

June wanted to say something, wanted to tell her dad that yes, something is wrong, something is so, so wrong, my stomach hurts. But she couldn’t. She was rooted to the spot, ketchup smeared across her cheek and hands so greasy that they wouldn’t be able to wipe her face should she begin crying. Her heart squeezed and shrunk, squeezed and shrunk. Her brain was screaming, and her mom jeans—which she had proudly purchased just yesterday—now felt silly and tight around her waist. It was as if half her body was undergoing a bad dissection.

One side of June wanted to laugh: this entire scene was a bad soap opera, some stupid rom-com she would have otherwise made fun of. The other side of her ached to relive all those beautiful, hurtful memories she had shared with him, the boy in the car—to cry the night away in solitude and grief. June knew it was pathetic and cheesy, but she couldn’t help it.

She tried to blink back tears, but it was a war she didn’t know if she could win. How could a single glance his way summon such a strong wave of sadness? How could she be so weak?

Be strong, be brave, it’s okay, you’re okay, her mind chanted. Focus, focus.

June never ran away from things, but this time, she wished she could. At the same time, she wondered if he had seen her through the window, if his heart had broken again, like hers had. She wondered if he wanted to rush inside and tell her all the things he had never said, to let them flood out of him like hot air escaping a balloon—forget his mom in the car, forget her dad in the burger booth, forget everyone, forget everything, forget that this was just another drive thru fast food joint, forget that they were just another heartbroken pair of kids who would probably never be able to reconcile their feelings. 

June knew, deep inside, that he wouldn’t dare to do it, just as she wasn’t daring to look his way. They would both dismiss it as a bad coincidence, the same sort of lucky misfortune you experience when you find a penny on the street but convince yourself it’s too dirty to pick up. Maybe that’s what June’s dad meant when he said, “It’s just life, Juju.”

It was just life, but what would happen if she looked out the window again, one more time? Maybe the ending wasn't a fairy tale, but what if she could still love him? What if here, now—

“Juju?” her dad called, this time less jokingly. “You good?”

June quietly cleared her throat, pushing her thoughts to the side. She hoped her voice wouldn’t crack. She blinked once, twice, to make sure that no tears would fall once she lifted her head. Then she shoved two fries in her mouth and bravely looked into her father’s eyes. Sound chirpy, Ju, she told herself. You’re okay.

“Too much too fast, that’s all,” she burbled. June threw a nonchalant smile his way. Unable to maintain it, she covered her mouth with a napkin and pretended to wipe off ketchup. Slow back and forth motions. Left right, left right, up down, up down. Then, despite herself, June peered through the window to search for the boy who broke her heart.

He was gone. There was no car, no comfortable mother-son exchange, nothing to make her breathing race and decelerate all at once. Maybe it was better that way after all.

June stuffed the last bite of meat and bun in her mouth, her heart choking slightly. At least this time she was able to control her tears. She crumpled up the soggy burger wrapping and, holding out her hand, asked her dad if he was done. Be strong, be brave, she echoed to herself. And when her dad wondered aloud, one more time, whether or not she really was okay, June lifted her lips in a soft smile as if to say, "It’s just life.”

Then she walked towards the trash can and slipped the paper plates inside, ketchup and all.