Hailey

                                -University of Virginia Graduation June, 2014-

                                      -Class Speaker: Hailey Anderson-

            Four years ago today, I got a late start on life but a fresh start on living. Eighteen-year-old me was all about timelines. Getting to school on time. Turning in papers on time. Everything had to be on time, and on time for me meant as soon as possible. Typical overachiever.

But on the morning of the first day of my shiny new future, I was late. Late to a train life didn't want me to catch. So I didn't. Rule number one: never talk to strangers. Rule number two: Don't crash into strangers 'cause crashing leads to conversation. And I slammed into a boy who didn't care about timelines or trains, but a target. When a target's your ticket to surviving, nothing else seems all that important.

All of us lucky enough to be here today are products of privilege. Since the day you were born, your parents had their eyes on your future. They sacrificed and saved so that you could stand on this stage with me ready to use your hard-earned diplomas as diving boards into your dreams. Your future has always been priority number one. But his future didn't make that list.

When it came to his dreams and the world he wanted, he dove into the deep end of an empty pool. We're lucky to be here. I used to think luck was a matter of hard work and determination, but luck is a blessing that always comes in disguise because so few of us recognize it when we have it.

I think about that boy everyday and how lucky I was to learn the things I did from him. How lucky I was to see that the world isn’t made of privilege for everyone, and the importance for everyday people to change that.

So live differently. Run out into the world barefoot so that you know what life's cuts and bruises feel like. Talk to strangers, because strangers can change your life, and you change theirs. On the car ride here today, my mom freaked out because I’d spent weeks writing this speech and hadn’t told her I’d be talking about my kidnapping to my classmates for the first time.

So today is the first day of me being a new me in front of an audience full of friends and welcomed strangers. My hope for UVA’s class of 2014 is that today will be the first day of new starts and new perspectives for all of you. Thank you for listening, and congratulations!

                                                                               ***

            I saw a ghost at my graduation, and I don’t believe in ghosts.

In the last row of the last isle of UVA’s parent-packed lawn was a boy wearing a dusty blue baseball cap, worn-in jeans, and a plain white tee with the dignity of a working class hero. But, like all ghosts eventually do, he stood up and disappeared into a wave of flying caps and shouting graduates.

I’d never had hallucinations, plenty of dreams turned night terrors and misplaced memories, but today was the first time I thought I actually saw him.

There was a traffic jam of outstretched hands, TV cameras, half-hugs, and full-blown compliments standing between me and a mind-bogglingly-close ghost. By the time I got to where I thought he was, a thousand people had filled in the path where he wasn’t anymore.  

While my mom mixed and mingled, I broke away from the crowd and scrambled to find someplace where the world wasn’t spinning. Dr. Greer said anxiety was normal, that being uncomfortable in crowds was something kidnapping victims deal with for years after their incidents. But I had pills for all those things—reds in the morning, white in the afternoon, and blues before bed just to keep me close to normal.

But there aren’t any prescriptions for seeing ghosts at your graduation, and no amount of yoga, meditation, or breathing exercises could make me un-see what I definitely saw. Him.

                                                                            ***

After crawling through forty minutes of post-commencement traffic, Mom and I drove to an intentionally un-fancy graduation dinner at Mel’s cafe. My suggestion. If there’s anyway to provoke a ghost to come out of hiding, it’s to show up at the places where it’ll have to haunt you.

Mel’s hadn’t changed too much over the years except the new owners replaced the booths with classier looking four-seaters. I liked to think that Caleb and my impromptu make-out session was the reason for that but I didn’t hold my breath.

A wiry, bird-nosed waiter showed us to our seats with about as much enthusiasm as someone stuck working the Friday shift could offer. He slapped two menus on the table. The Sugary Supreme was notably missing. Sign number two. I rest my case.

            “Welcome to Mel’s, what can I get started for you?”

He had the less than angelic voice of a person on the losing end of a sinus infection.

            “Two waters to start. Random question, by any chance does Louisa-May still work here?” I asked.

            “Who?”

            “Louisa-May. She’s blonde, in her thirties, wears squeaky red heels?”

            “Um, no. Don’t think so.”

He disappeared in the direction of the kitchen while my Mom scoured the menu for anything remotely vegetarian.

            “Are you sure you’re okay eating here, honey? We can splurge a little, it’s your graduation.”

            “Yeah, I like this place. The waffles are really good.”

Especially when they come with a side of kisses.

            “Well, if you like them, I’ll give them a try. As long as they’re gluten-free—”

            “Mom, it’s a diner, nothing’s gluten free. But you’ll love them, even if they’re not entirely guilt-free.”

            “What the heck, today’s your day.”

She reached across the table for my hands and held on to them with that bird-out-of-the-nest look moms and dads are famous for on milestone days.

            “I’m sorry, Hails.”

I didn’t even need to ask to know who she was apologizing for.

I made a household rule ever since Dad’s trial not to bring him up in conversation. Ever. I spent a year in court, being dragged in and out of trials, thrown in front of press, interviewed, harassed, and stalked by reporters to the point where I nearly didn’t graduate. Half the world watched my family fall apart in front of the media all because of him. So I didn’t want to make today about Dad.

Going to jail was the best thing he ever did for me because it stopped most of the chaos. I still didn’t understand why my mom felt the need to apologize like she was the one at fault for what he did.  

He never said he was sorry for anything—not even almost killing me—because he wasn’t, and someone like that isn’t worth mentioning.

            “I’m gonna go check on our waters.”

            “Hailey, I just wanted to tell you—“

            “I’ll be right back.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t love her enough to talk about Dad; I just wasn’t ready to, especially not at dinner. Even with my meds, there were days when my anxiety got so bad I’d skip meals, and then skipping meals turned into not eating anything at all.

Whoever said that talking through problems fixes them, clearly never had any. Having a parent in federal prison isn’t exactly dinner table material. So I got up, walked to the lunch counter, and sat down like I was browsing through the milkshake menu even though the idea of actually drinking one made me sick.

            “Can I get you anything, young lady?”

A friendly-faced older woman eyed me through thick-rimmed glasses. I forced a smile, hoping I looked better than I felt.

            “Two waters please.”

The counter tilted on its axis and I looked around, frantic, to see if anyone else noticed the world turning upside down aside from me. I lay my head on the table hoping the flat surface would balance out my unbalanced brain and everything stopped moving—everything except for him.

At the furthest seat, at the furthest end of the counter, a dark-haired ghost in a dusty blue baseball cap slid a couple crumpled dollars next to an empty milkshake glass and got up to leave. I leaped out of my chair, dead set on touching, talking to, or tracking down my hallucination. I needed to know if he was or wasn’t real and if I was or wasn’t crazy.

Half a step away from the counter, the bird-nose waiter appeared out of nowhere, and I hit him hard enough to send him flying backwards into another waitress. For thirty mortifying seconds, everyone’s eyes were on me—the klutzy, crazy girl whose “maybe” ghost managed to slip out of sight in the middle of all her chaos.

The bill for my less than spectacular graduation dinner totaled to four meals, a lot of broken glasses, and a couple broken plates. Safe to say, I wouldn’t be going back to Mel’s in this lifetime or the next.

                                                                              ***

I stayed silent on the drive home.

Even though my Mom was trying her best to strike up filler conversation, I knew she was embarrassed.  Not at me but for me, and from the way she fidgeted with the steering wheel, I knew she was contemplating a phone call to Dr. Greer in the morning. I picked up my phone and texted Dr. Greer the short version of what happened, so my Mom wouldn’t have to explain things.

Mom would never admit it, but the fact that I still wasn’t okay and probably never would be bothered her. She wanted me to have friends, to be out celebrating with my classmates instead of counting the miles left between the highway and home.

But I liked being home, and I liked hanging out with her, because I didn’t have to be Hailey Anderson the basket case, victim, or survivor. I could just be me, and I hadn’t thanked my Mom enough for making living easier on me than the rest of the world.

Mid-text, an unknown number lit up my screen, and I let it ring to voicemail.

            “Who’s that? Someone from school?” She asked.

Her face lit up.

            “I don’t know. No caller ID.”

            “Did they leave a message?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Listen to it, hun.”

            “What if it’s a reporter?

            “What if it isn’t?”

I played the message on speakerphone.

          "Hello? If this is recordin' right, this is a message for Miss Hailey. It's Georgia, honey. I saw your graduation speech on TV, and I wanted to call to invite you to visit if you'd like to celebrate! So come on up and see me whenever you can. I’ve got some things we need to talk about! Okay, call me back if you get this."

I hadn’t heard Georgia's voice since the night she left Caleb and I at Mel's. I thought about seeing her for the good part of four years. I wrote her once, to thank her for everything she did for us, and she wrote back asking me to come see her, but I freaked out.

I wasn't ready--not for that house, not for that barn, not for anything. So I went back to studying, buried myself in books, and lost touch—until today. Today, I had a ghost to get away from, and leaving Charlottesville was the perfect escape.

                                                                                ***

Georgia’s gingerbread house looked exactly the same as I left it, like a Christmas cabin quietly nestled between the pines in the middle of nowhere.  I turned into her driveway, and the familiar rush of nervous excitement hit me so hard that I thought about running to Georgia’s front door at first.

But when the butterflies died away, the ache of his absence spread out from the pit of my stomach to as far as my fingertips, and my whole body reminded itself that half of what it’d been missing was still gone.

I spent three months of my life in the hospital thinking he was alive somewhere, imagining him in prison at the worst, but never anywhere too far out of reach. I pushed myself through recovery because I had it my head that being better somehow meant being closer to seeing him again.

I never asked why the doctors thought it best that I not watch the news, or use my phone, or surf the internet because the only thing that mattered to me was seeing Caleb, not reading about him in sensationalized stories and overblown reports.

Headlines always lie. So when my Mom broke the news to me about Caleb, I lost it. I locked myself in my room trying to understand why life lets you love a person and lose a person without warning. Four years later, I was still waiting for a good reason, but there probably wasn’t one.

I sat in Georgia’s driveway, still in my graduation dress, debating whether or not locking myself in my car and running back home was better than seeing her. But in true Georgia fashion, she heard me idling outside and was on her porch waving me towards the house before I could run from it.

            “Miss Hailey, you look even prettier than when I last saw you.”

I popped out of the car and walked straight into one of Georgia’s boney bear hugs. If anything, she seemed younger than she did four years ago. I wish I could’ve said the same.

            “I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment, Georgia. Last time I was here, I hadn’t bathed in three days.”

            “Well you’ve grown up into beautiful young woman. C’mon inside I’ve got some food ready if you’re hungry.”

That was the first time in twenty-four hours that someone had offered me food and I’d actually wanted to eat it.  Georgia’s kitchen still smelled like fresh baked biscuits and buttery grits. Her old, straight-slab dining table had been replaced with beautifully hand carved new one, complete with four ladderback chairs she seldom had the company to fill. 

Georgia brought over three plates, one for herself, one for me, and placed the last one in front of an empty chair.

            “I’m sorry, Georgia. I didn’t know you were expecting anyone. When you called I just got in the car and drove, maybe I should’ve waited ‘til the morning.”

            “Oh shush. I was hopin’ you’d come tonight anyway. The man whose been helping me fix up the house is coming by in bit to finish sanding some of the new furniture he dropped off, and I figured I fix him something. It’s nothing special. ”

            “I’m glad hear you have some company. I’m sorry I didn’t come and see you earlier. I just was—”

            “Miss Hailey, you don’t have to apologize for taking your time. Life happens, and sometimes you gotta wait out the worst of it ‘til you feel good enough to get on your feet again.”

On the way here, I promised myself that I’d do my best not to start crying. Granted, I’d made that promise hundreds of times before and it’d never worked out. I wanted to look stronger than I was, and hold it together enough to not have full-blown breakdown in front of Georgia.

But she had a way of saying things that made you feel like it was okay to lose yourself a little bit. So I lost myself a lot, and Georgia got up and hugged me through the worst of it ‘til I managed to calm down enough to catch my breath.

       “I keep thinking that everyday when I get up, it’ll be easier for me to stop thinking about everything, about him, but that doesn’t happen and I hate myself for not being able to just move on the way I’m supposed to.  It’s harder than people think, Georgia.”

           “I know, honey. But you just have to believe that tomorrow will be different. It always is. You can stay here tonight if you like, there’s plenty of room upstairs.”

            “Are you sure? I didn’t bring any clothes.”

            “I’ve got extras. They’re not as fancy as yours, but they’ll do.”

There was a knock at the front door, and while Georgia hobbled over to answer it I opted to wash the dishes so she wouldn’t have to. I still worried about her living alone. If there were any jobs in Midland that made sense for my major, I’d move here in a heartbeat just to check in on her sometimes. Even after living in Charlottesville, little rural towns still felt more like home to me.

            “Georgia, did you still want me to sand these chairs tonight, or would you mind if I finished em’ tomorrow? I’m tired from driving.”  

A husky familiar voice cut through the quiet.

            “We’re all tired. Sir, if you wanna complain, complain to Witness Protection. What kind of man gets a second chance handed to him and fusses about it? Now sit down, shut up, and eat somethin’ before you finish those chairs.”

            “Alright.”

            “And say hello to our guest, but if my memory serves, y’all have already met.”

I scrambled to get out of my dishwashing gloves and wiped away the few rouge soapsuds from my face before turning around. Even on my worst days, presentation mattered and I could fake a smile better than anyone. At least, I used to.

            “I’m Hailey, nice to—“

Dusty-blue baseball cap.

             “—meet you.”

Stormy grey-blues.

        “How do you do that?” He asked, the husky warmth of his voice sending years of lying headlines up in flames.

            “Do what?”

            “Get prettier every time I see you.”

I thought about crying. I thought about fainting, or freaking out, or blinking over and over again ‘til the ghost standing in front of me disappeared like he did four years ago.

But he didn’t. He just stood there looking at me like he was more sure of everything, like coming back from the dead had changed him from shy boy to superman. And I felt like Lex Luthor because everything he said to me stung. Everything he said hit me where it hurt because no amount of medication could turn my heart off and he had access to the “on” button every time he smiled.

God, I’d missed the way he smiled, and the way he smelled, and the way he made me feel like the universe wasn’t a big black hole after all because I mattered to someone in it.

So when he leaned in and kissed me, I stopped believing in ghost stories and started believing in ours, even though our odds sucked. Statistically, we were impossible, just two broken people with pseudo-feelings that fell somewhere between Stockholm syndrome and psychosis.

We had a one in a million chance of making things work, and 999,999 study-approved reasons to fall apart. But I’d take our 1% over never, because never didn’t mean forever anymore.

 Fingers crossed.