Gianna Carruth, “Still Childish”
The end of year celebrations at Franklin High School have a tendency to get out of hand. They’re hosted in the gymnasium, the usually filthy and sweat-stained room transformed into something almost godly each early May. The basketball hoops are put up, banners and ribbons and school spirit balloons cover every inch of the walls, and the air changes, too. Sweat mixes with store bought cookies and spilled lemonades, the sound of laughter, chanting and screaming haunting the whole school. Last year, one kid dressed as an inflatable dinosaur and mutinied the DJ. We danced so ferociously, jumping like it was our final night alive and heaven was inches away, that the campus police had to get involved. They thought we were gonna break the floor. I left that night with a snapped heel, tussled hair, and the widest adrenaline pumped grin on my face. My best friend, Eliana, hung off my shoulder, bubbling with joy as we made our way to the car. “We’ll have an even better time next year,” she promised me.
Since then, we’ve been planning a day so entertaining that it felt almost unreachable. A pre-party hangout where we’d get ready together and leech from her dad’s liquor cabinet, followed by a karaoke car ride and, of course, a post-prom burger dinner at our favorite local stand, where only three of the lights work and we have to eat on the sidewalk. On top of it all, I’d been saving through a (dubiously legal) snack enterprise, and finally had enough to buy the dress of my dreams. Solid blue, skintight but with a flowing bottom, and embroidered gems on the chest. We’d been waiting months to enact our plan.
The party has been going on for just under an hour, and I’ve been waiting at Eliana’s door for the past three minutes. I feel my phone buzzing in my purse, no doubt texts from my other friends telling me to hurry up. I take the device out and see a message from Jack. ‘wya’ it reads, followed by a separate message with a simple question mark. I turn my phone on silent and shove it back in the pocket of my jeans. Just as I’m going to knock again, I hear her thump against the wall. Then, there’s a sliding sound, and another thump, presumably from the floor now.
“Ough,” I hear, pathetically mumbled on the other side.
“Open the door,” I say, making a point to knock louder.
As I wait for her to open the door, I fish out the set of keys Eliana gave me in our Sophomore year.
“Noo,” she groans. I can practically imagine her lying on the floor, her face nuzzled in her carpet and her long hair tangled, unkept as it always gets whenever she’s feverish. “I don’t wanna.”
Instead of waiting for her to get up, which I know will never happen without direct intervention, I insert the keys she gave me. The door swings open. The corner hits her square in the head, and from the ground, I hear her whining. “Sorry,” I say, not feeling sorry at all. She grabs at my calf and uses me to pull herself up, slinging one of her arms over my neck and digging her head in my shoulder.
“Why didn’t you just use the key to begin with?” She nearly complains, rubbing the sore spot on her head on my shoulder. Her breath is hot and sticky. I can practically feel the sickness radiating just from the way she breathes.
I nudge her head over a bit, and regret it when I see her wince. “I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t done something stupid. Like sneak out.”
“I mean, we still could–”
“Nope, don’t even think about it,” I say, trying to prop her up better. Her legs, currently donning prom ready fuzzy cookie monster pajama pants, are quivering, hardly even stable. “You’re so sick that I’m like ninety percent sure I’m gonna need to go to the doctor after this myself.”
She snorts, and snot drips from her nose. “If you cared ‘bout that, you wouldn’t be here.” she says. “I didn’t think you’d come.” I guide her to the couch, the leather one right by her kitchen, and help her sit down. She practically sinks into the material.
“I told you I would. You showed up when I needed it,” I say, already headed to the cabinet where I know she keeps the medicine. “I didn’t even wanna go that much.”
“You were gonna wear that dress. The blue one.”
“Yea,” I say, measuring the cough syrup while Eliana curls deeper into herself. When I turn back, measurements in hand, she’s hiding herself from me. “Ana?”
“It was really pretty,” she says. “Like the sea, kinda. Cerulean.”
I laugh, but she’s still hiding away. “I didn’t know you had that kind of vocabulary,” I say, trying my best to lighten the mood. I sit next to her, the leather gives way to me easily. “Hey.” I nudge her shoulder, and she looks up at me. Her eyes are glassy.
“I’m really sorry you’re here,” she whispers to me. “You should be having fun. Maybe you–it’s still early, maybe you’d have a better time there. She wipes at her eyes, which are already red and agitated.
“Probably,” I admit. Her eyes close. “But I’d rather be here. There’s more important things, you know?”
“No! This is the height of our youth–go live it out, go–just–don’t stick around just for me.” I poke her with the plastic syringe.
“Drink your medicine,” I say. She blinks at me, and I nudge it towards her again. “Go on.” Slowly, she grabs it from my hands and drinks it down, part of the syrup lazily sticking to the container. She winces. “Good. I’m not leaving–” she opens her mouth, but I’m glaring at her harshly enough that she closes it the next second. “Parties like these don’t really matter, anyway. And who would I go with, if not my best friend?”
“I’m sure Jack appreciates that.”
“Jack is going with Arelia,” I brush off. “It doesn’t matter. None of it really does, I don’t think we’ll survive long-distance, if I’m being honest. And he’s immature. He needs to grow up.”
Eliana huffs, and she looks a bit calmer now. “We’re still kids.”
I shrug, and lean as far back into the couch as I can. “I guess so. But things are changing. I want to spend these moments with you, and with the people that matter.”
“Fine, well, I’m still a kid.”
I flick her arm. “Yeah, and you act like it.” She sticks her tongue out, but we’re laughing. “Let’s take your temperature,” I say.
“For what it’s worth, the dress really was pretty.”
“Yeah, I know. But there’s more places to wear it to,” I say. “Our lives aren’t over yet.”
