May

2007

It's a weird feeling –sitting in a classroom and knowing it's your last day of school ever. The excitement, the jitters, the unquenchable thirst to party, I'm feeling it all. Professor Newman drones on for the last time, but it is merely a formality, so much so that the back row has taken to playing paper football. There's a tournament going.

I glance at the clock on the wall. Only six minutes stand between me and officially being graduate Amanda Marin, Bachelor of Arts. The half-full bottle of Gatorade will outlast my college career. I mindlessly play with the split-ends of my French braids.

"Okay, I think that just about finishes this course," Professor Newman says dully.

Finally, the clock strikes 12:00 and the last class block of the semester ends. A cacophony of scraping chairs disrupts the doldrums. I make quick work of slipping from my seat, grabbing my bag, and exiting the seminar-style classroom. I'll never know how the tournament ends.

It's easy to pack up my dorm. I'm not one for clutter, so besides the clothes in my closet, some framed photos, and what's left of the makeshift pantry beneath my bed, I don't have much to take home. Dee, my roommate, has already left without a goodbye. I do see she left me the broken stereo as a parting gift, so I suppose I shouldn't be too offended.

Aunt Pea picks me up just before dinner, apologizing that my mother sent her instead, but that an emergency came up at the hospital and she was called into her shift early.

"It's no problem," I tell her. "I'm happy to see you!"

I hug her and together we toss my college life into her trunk and back seat, dispersing the lingering cloud of her floral perfume.

"Are you sad it's all over, honey?" She asks. "I remember when you were still deciding which high school to go to."

"Not at all. So ready to be done, but I will miss some things," I smile. "It'll be nice to be home for the summer."

"We will miss you once you leave. When does your internship begin?" Aunt Pea asks from the driver seat.

"Last week of August. And it's not an internship," I remind her. "But it is minimal pay, so it may as well be."

"You'll get paid in–"

"Experience, I know." I laugh. That was Aunt Pea's favorite adage. "If only experience paid the bills."

At the end of summer, I'll be joining a group of recent grads on a photography portfolio building adventure. It is a very exclusive program, and I had to submit samples and interview and everything. First stop is NYC.

I am looking forward to spending the summer at home, just me and mom and Ashley, who has been texting me non-stop all morning. She must be over her data plan by now. I've known Ashley since elementary school. She's my oldest and best friend at home. She's also my favorite surf partner in crime.

It's only an hour drive back to my quaint hometown of Cape May. It's sleepy, in the off-season at least, coastal, and nostalgic. It's everything coming home should be. The closer we get, the stronger the smell of that sea breeze air. By the time Aunt Pea pulls into our driveway, the salt is practically seeping in through the cracked windows.

I'm home. And I'm determined to have the best summer of my life.

...

Mom wakes me up in the morning, bringing me breakfast in bed, complete with coffee and a magazine. She's always spoiled me like this, but it's gotten worse ever since I started college. Really, I think she's just glad to have me back again.

"Thanks, mama," I say, sitting against the ratty old headboard.

"Anything for my favorite daughter," she smiles. She sets a delicate vase with a singular flower in it on my bedside table.

"Only daughter," I correct her.

"Don't forget, once you're ready, I'd like to get a head start on the garden today." She is already back at the doorway.

"Okay, give me an hour," I say, stretching. My stomach growls at the gourmet spread in front of me.

An hour later I find myself waiting for my mom in the front yard. Bags of fertilizer are stacked against the shed, and I see new potters in the garden. It's not much of a garden, more of a fenced in yard where she lets the wildflowers grow free. There is a boxed-table planter in the back, still filled with what's left of last year's tomato vine and thyme.

I traipse through the overgrown brush, aiming for the thin path of pebbles my mom put down three summers ago. I pass a bush of basil and what used to be a spindly lemon tree. It's fragrant, if nothing else.

The beat-up old Ford pulls into the driveway, and I help unload trays of new perennials –pink and white and yellow. We spend the afternoon weeding, planting, and raking mulch over the flowerbeds. Sweat drops glisten on my arms and my T-shirt is soaked through by the time we decide to stop.

"Any plans for this weekend, hon?" My mom asks, handing me a lemonade once we are back on the porch. She tucks garden gloves into her pale-striped apron.

"Nothing yet. Ashley was mentioning maybe having some dinner and going for a surf," I say, smacking my lips.

We admire our little quilt-patch garden from the porch. It's not bad for a few hours' work.

"It's nice you get to see her so often. What will she do when you leave at the end of summer?" She asks.

"I'm sure Ashley will have plenty to do this fall. She was looking into starting master's coursework." 

"What's she studying, again?" She asks.

"Psychology."

"That's right. I knew it was something like mind medicine." My mom shakes her head as if to say it slipped her mind. "Is she still dating that boy at the restaurant? What's his name with all the tattoos?"

"Kyle? No, they broke up sometime around Christmas."

"That's right. I remember her moping when she came here for our cookie exchange."

"Yes," I agree almost absent-mindedly.

My mom always has a holiday cookie exchange –with all her nurse-friends from the hospital –and yes, I distinctly remember Ashley emotionally coping by eating an entire batch of chocolate chip dough.

"Alright, hon," mom my says. "I've got to shower up before I head in. I left some of last night's leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry tonight."

"Thanks, mom."

...

Three weeks down and almost three weeks into June. It's been bittersweet. I've surfed almost every dawn, sunbathed every day, and am enjoying my way through an oyster crawl of every bar in town. Still, there's a real finality to it all –the fact that this is my last summer home before the real world kicks in.

I've caught captivating sunsets on film, and marine life stills, moored sailboat shots, and even a set of boardwalk pictures. I managed to convince CG Gallery to house some of my prints. CG is right on the boardwalk and there's a lot of foot traffic. I've already had to replace an entire collection of beachscapes that sold out fast. I've got more pocket change than I anticipated.

"There you are!" Ashley says, shuffling into my bedroom.

"Hey! Did you ring the bell and I missed it?" I ask, folding a pile of laundry on my dresser.

"Nope. Passed Patty on the lawn and she just sent me on up." Ashley sips on her soda.

"What's my mom up to?" I ask.

"She was holding a coiled hose. Said something about cleaning out the guest house before she gets going."

"Oh, right," I say. "She's visiting Aunt Pea this weekend."

Our property has a detached little shed of a carriage house. Before my father passed, we used to rent it out every summer. It was an easy way to make quick cash. It's been four years now. It's too difficult for mom to upkeep, so it's sort of a bit rundown now. She says it takes away from the property value. I tell her it adds to the charm.

"Anyway, are you about ready?" She asks, plopping herself across my bed. "I've had a day and a half. Could use a drink and some loud music."

"The restaurant again?"

"Breakfast and lunch shifts, 7 AM to 4 PM. Nine whole hours of people being useless and whining over tables missing ketchup."

"Sorry, hon. Every summer you say you're going to quit," I tease her.

"The money is just too good to pass up," she says, shrugging.

"We'll get you a large drink, Ashie. Five more minutes. Just need to pick out a top," I say, eyes squinting into my open closet. "You are going in your bikini top?"

"Yea, he's got a pool you know. I love a night swim," Ashley smirks.

"You do love a night swim," I nod. I pull a crochet tank from its hanger. "How's this one?"

"Super cute. Ready now?"

"Almost!"

Ashley pulls out her Sidekick and starts hammering away at the keys. I notice the smile on her face.

"Anyone good?" I don't mind my own business.

"Time will tell."

I laugh at her as I scoot over to my vanity mirror and spruce myself up. My light brown hair is almost blonde now, thanks to the sun. It's down and wavy and still carrying half of my latest surf session in it. I blot a soft pink lip color on and apply mascara. That's the extent of my makeup collection.

In no time at all, we park the car at Chad's and the scene is already promising an unforgettable night with Buy U A Drank blasting from every orifice of the house.

"Did you bring your camera?" Ashley asks, linking her hand through mine and walking us towards the deck.

"Of course."

"Good, because we need lots of pics tonight," she says matter-of-factly.

"That's what you said at the last three parties," I remind her.

"I'm just helping you practice."