We sat quietly for a moment, both staring at the blank board.
“What do you want to be when you grow up, Maggie?”
I’d thought about it a lot, that question. What did I want to be? What could I be? An author, maybe. I could publish books through the Internet, and I’d never have to leave my house. Or maybe an artist, and Daddy could take my artwork to fairs to sell it. Or maybe…
I picked up my marker and wrote down exactly what I wanted to be.
Happy.
Brooks picked up a marker of his own and wrote what he wanted to be, too.
Happy.
His fingers wiped away our words, and he leaped from my bed, went over to my desk, and began to scramble through my pens and pencils. When he found the one he wanted, he headed back over to me and began writing on the board.
Someday you’re going to wake up and leave your house, Magnet, and you’re going to discover the world. Someday you’re going to see the whole wide world, Maggie May, and on that day, when you step outside and breathe in your first breath, I want you to find me. No matter what, find me, because I’m going to be the one to show it to you. I’m going to help you cross things off your to-do list. I’m gonna show you the whole wide world.
Just like that, I was his, and he’d never even know it.
Promise? I wrote.
Promise, he replied.
I went to erase the words, and when my hand glided over them, only my promise disappeared. He smiled and showed me his Sharpie marker. “It’s not coming off. I want you to keep the board just like this. Keep it as my promise to you. I’ll get you a new board tomorrow for random conversations.”
My lips parted as if I were going to speak, yet no words came out.
He smiled knowingly. “You’re welcome. Music now?”
I nodded, and we both lay down on my mattress as he pulled out his iPod.
“Waterfall” by The Fresh & Onlys.
“The way the electric guitar climbs in this song is fucking amazing. It feels like you’re in the middle of nothing and everything at the same time. If you listen, you can hear how perfect the bass player is, too. The way they scale up the fretboard is…” He sighed, slamming his hand against his chest. “Gold.?
??
I hardly ever knew what he was talking about when he spoke about music, but I liked the way it brought him to life.
“Brooks.” Calvin poked his head in my doorway and cocked an eyebrow at his best friend. “We’re practicing in five. Come on. We need to go over the letter we’re sending off with the demo tapes,” Calvin said.
Brooks and Calvin were famous…well, kind of famous—the kind of famous only I knew existed. They were the lead singers in their band and were extremely well trained in performing in our garage. Even though they were undiscovered, I knew someday, they’d be something big.
They were too good to not be noticed.
“You’re coming to tape us, right, Magnet?” Brooks asked, standing up from my bed, seemingly chipper as ever.
Of course I was coming. I reached for my camcorder, picked it up, and then stood to my feet. In my other hand, I grabbed my current read. I never missed band practice; it was the highlight of my day. I always sat and recorded them from the kitchen, too. Mama and Daddy had gotten me a camcorder a few years back because a therapist said he thought I might open up and speak to the camera or something. It turned out to be hours of me staring at myself, blinking, so instead of wasting the camcorder, I used it to record my brother’s band.
Before heading downstairs, I moved over to my bedroom window, which faced the street and looked across the road to Mrs. Boone’s front porch, where she rocked back and forth in her wicker chair while Muffins slept beside her.
Her lips moved as if she was holding a conversation with the invisible man sitting in the stationary wicker chair beside her. Her Stanley.
My fingers touched the chilled glass and her lips curved up into a smile. She chuckled at something she said then touched the empty chair beside her and made it move in harmony with her rocking.
Mrs. Boone’s life was slowing down, and for many days she lived in her memories. When she wasn’t living in her memories, she was telling me how I should’ve been making my own. It may have seemed sad to many the way she lived nowadays, but to me, Mrs. Boone seemed so lucky. She might’ve been lonely, but in her mind she was never truly alone.
My memories were sparse, and some of them—maybe most—I was sure I had stolen from storybooks. Parts of me were angry about the way she pushed me, but another part knew I needed to be shoved. She was part of the reason I had a to-do list at all. Even when she was rude, she still believed in me having a future.