The Farewell

It’s a harsh summer evening when Emily gives us the news of her departure. We’re just a group of lanky teenagers sitting on the bank of the river, but the most important thing to us is each other. She prepared a going away present for all of us, something to remember her by. She gives it to me last, pushing back her wild brown curls and pressing something from her equally sweaty hand into mine; I am reminded again of why I don’t want her to leave. We don’t stay much longer after that, and everyone is a mess of sticky sweat and tears while we say goodbye for the last time to Emily. I open my hand on the way home, not wanting to see the gift when I could spend my time looking at her and find a little green gem, wrapped in wire and hung on a thick black string.

When I approach my house, still looking at the string I am stopped in the middle of my driveway by the sight of my mother on the porch. She has a large black duffle bag in front of her and the half-smoked cigarette makes her face hazy with smoke.

“I’m tired of this.” She says, voice gravelly from years of carcinogenic abuse. I know what she means, I fought with my brother last night, broke his nose, I can see him peering at me from his window near the back of the house. I shove the present in my pocket, knowing my mother would ask questions, and she never liked Emily anyway. “I can’t keep cleaning up after you. You need to go.” She kicks the duffel toward me and takes a long drag, keeping eye contact; the kind meant to be intimidating.

I can feel my brother’s eyes tracking my movement as I finish walking up the drive and pick up the duffel bag. He sneaks out of his room and continues tracking my movements as I fill the provided duffle bag with my things – a few clothes, some cracked CD cases with mix tapes, a worse for wear teddy bear, and a picture frame holding a worn picture of my late father. I leave the house, trailing my hand along the back of the chair my father used to sit in and walk past my mother, she’s lit another cigarette and the smoke stings my lungs as I walk through it. At the end of the driveway, I look back, just once to my brother peering over the windowsill of what used to be my room; my mother doesn’t even look at me as she puts out the cigarette on the porch. I know they won’t call me back, especially as my mother slams the screen door and I see the glass quiver, my brother hastily shutting the window in my former room with a dull thud.

The little gem on a string is a heavy weight in my pocket as I walk down the road. I think of how mad my mom would be if she saw me wearing it with Emily on my arm. I take it out and I’ve just finished tying it when I reach Emily’s house. The movers are gone for the day, but the truck is still sitting outside, Emily answers when I knock with the brightest smile, I like to pretend she reserves just for me.

“What’s that?” She asks, pointing at the duffle bag, when I tell her she looks at it again and quickly pulls me into the house. “You’re 18, so she can’t really say anything about you tagging along with us.” Her mother makes us dinner as Emily tells her the plan, and I smile for the first time that day.

Before long Emily is sending my mom emails and pictures of us every day. She’s telling her how well I’m doing, that she’s taking care of me. She makes sure that the pictures she sends have her kissing my cheek, and I’m always wearing that little gem she meant as a farewell. I never ask if my mother replies, and she doesn’t tell me, I’m just happy to be accepted.