When I walked into the dealership last March, I paid cash for the ’95 Jeep Grand Cherokee and figured I’d leave it for Maggie when it was time for me to go home. Which is why I put the title in her name. It’s also why I chose the color blue. “That’s okay. I hoped you would.”
She gives me a funny look, and I’m pretty sure she’s about to start asking questions I don’t want to answer.
“I’ve got to run. I’m meeting Anna in town. Drive the car as much as you want. I’ll just tell you if I need it, okay?” I step onto the porch and pull the door closed behind me.
8
Anna and I spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around downtown Evanston shopping for clothes. Anna’s dad gave her money to buy some new running shoes, so we start there. Then we start looking for clothes for me. Plaid Bermuda shorts appear to be in style, but I can’t seem to bring myself to even try them on. Instead, I grab another pair of jeans.
Anna picks out a button-down shirt and holds it up to me for size.
“What do you think?”
I don’t even look at it. I just grab her by the shoulders and pull her into me, and she looks down and laughs when she sees the shirt she picked out smashed in between our chests. “It’s perfect,” I say, and I kiss her, right in the middle of the Gap.
An hour and four stores later, I have a new pair of Chuck Taylors and enough mid-90s fashion to get me through the next few months.
We head over to the deli and order huge subs to eat in the park. We hang out for a long time, talking about everything
She kisses me. When she pulls away, I look straight into her eyes. “What was that for?”
She shrugs. “I just love you.”
“Good. I just love you too.”
She kisses me again. Then she stands up, brushes the dirt off her shorts, and offers her hand to help me up. “Time to get you some music.”
Justin is busy ringing up a customer, but he waves when he sees us come in. Anna waves back, and then leads me down one of the narrow aisles. I twist my head as we walk by the wooden bins, trying to get a better glimpse of the CDs.
We’re near the back of the store looking through the Hot Summer Sounds kiosk when Justin comes up behind us. “You’re back. How was the world?”
Anna flips around. “I don’t know about the world, but Mexico was really, really good,” she says, throwing her arms around him. When Justin hugs her, he closes his eyes. But it must click that I’m standing here watching, because they suddenly spring open and lock on mine. I smile at him as his arms fall to his sides. He takes a big step back.
“Well, I’m glad you’re home,” he says to her.
“Me too.”
He lifts his chin in my direction. “What’s up?” He raises his hand in the air and I start to give him a fist bump, but then I realize that his palm is open. I correct quickly, giving him a high five instead. “So, you’re back.” The inflection in his voice makes it more of a question than a statement.
“Yeah. For now.”
Anna shoots me a sideways glance and changes the subject. “What’s this?” she asks, pointing up to the ceiling.
“Latest from Blind Melon.” He gives a disappointed shake of his head. “Nowhere near as good as the last one. I think they’re done.” When Justin turns his back, Anna gives me a questioning look and I return it with a shrug. I’ve never heard of them, so I can only assume he’s right.
“You two catch up, I’m going to go look around.” I’m happy to leave them alone. This place is far too fascinating to spend another second talking when I could be thumbing through the bins.
Hand drawn signs hang from the ceiling and identify each section—R&B, Jazz, Rock. I wander around the record store, picking up CDs and turning them over to read the track lists, adding to my mental list of concerts I want to check out. I’m heading to the Ska section when I spot the poster rack in the far corner.
This proves to be even more entertaining. I stand there for a long time, flipping through the posters, wondering who half of these musicians are, and laughing out loud at the impressive collection of 90s boy bands.
I flip a few more frames and stop. “That one,” I hear Anna say from behind me. I didn’t even know she was standing there. She slides in front of me and taps on Billy Corgan’s chest. “Please tell me you know these guys.”
“Yeah.” I nod, staring at the Smashing Pumpkins, marveling at the ridiculous amount of eyeliner they’re each wearing.
“Have you seen them?” she asks.
I glance around to be sure Justin’s nowhere near us. “Three times,” I say. I rest my chin on Anna’s shoulder and whisper in her ear, “Miami in ’97, Dublin in 2000, Sydney in 2010.”
She tilts her head toward me. I can tell from the look on her face that she’s surprised to hear me share even the slightest hint of future information. “Good,” she says with a satisfied grin. “They’re from Chicago.”
“I know.”
Then I tell her what Maggie said about decorating my room and making it my own. “I could hang this one next to the window. Or maybe on the wall by the closet.” I shrug. “Of course, it’s kind of pointless to put posters on the walls if I won’t be coming back here to visit.”
She bites her lip and stares at me. Then she reaches down into the bin, grabs a rolled-up poster, and hands it to me. When I take it, she turns on her heel and walks away. I’m smiling as I pick out a second one.
By late Friday afternoon, my room at Maggie’s is starting to come together. Anna’s photograph of our beach in La Paz is in a new frame and hanging above my bed. The closet is filled with enough new clothes to take me through the rest of the summer and well into fall, and I already had plenty of stuff to keep me warm this winter. I thumbtacked the postcards that used to be hidden in my top drawer onto the wall above my desk, and I hung a 1995 wall calendar there too, so I wouldn’t forget
We hung the Weezer poster on the left side of the window and we’re almost done hanging the Smashing Pumpkins on the right. “Down just a bit,” Anna says. “There. Stop.”
“It’s good?” I raise an eyebrow and look over my shoulder at her. When she nods, I tape the corner in place and then take a few steps back to check out the result. “Better?” I ask.
She flops down on the edge of my bed and folds her legs underneath her. Reclining back on her hands, she slowly scans the room. “It’s starting to look like you,” she says. I take my own glance around. She’s right: it does look more like me, but that wasn’t my only intention. I wanted it to look more permanent, partially for me, but also for her.
“What are you going to do if I tell you I don’t want you to keep coming back?” she asks.
I walk toward her, shaking my head. “I don’t know.… Show up in a few weeks, I guess. Say good-bye to you and Maggie. Haul all this stuff up to the attic as slowly as possible, hoping the entire time that you’ll change your mind.”
“You seriously want to keep coming back here?”
I plant both palms on the bed, right next to her hips, and lean over her. “I told you before. I’ll keep coming back until you’re sick of me.” Her lower lip quivers, like she’s trying not to smile. “I don’t know. Something tells me
