Absolutely (Larson)

  Melissa Veracruz

  Copyright © 2013 Melissa Veracruz

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  For permissions, contact melsveracruz@gmail.com.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Ashlyn

  Hello, my name is Ashlyn Claire Ramos. I’m seventeen years old, and I’m an alcoholic.

  No. Not really. I’m actually completely sober. But I had no idea that I even had an issue. It’s more of a drinking problem.

  Turns out I’m alcohol intolerant. Some people think of it as a blessing, some a curse. But no matter what camp you sit in, I'm a cheap drunk. Two’s my absolute limit to be considered frightfully impaired. How’d I find out two’s my limit? You might ask my parents’ claims adjustor, who had to inspect the damage to my white, ’95 Toyota Corolla hatchback. Picked it off the lot myself only nine short months ago as my Christmas present from my parents.

  To say my parents were disappointed is an understatement. I cannot even fully describe the looks on their faces when they heard me recount the sordid details to them. They had put so much trust in me when I asked—no, begged and pleaded with them—to let me go to this one, itty bitty summer party with my best friend, Reyna Castro. Man, what I’d give now for some mistrust then, looking back…

  ***

  Friday morning before the party, I’d said to my parents, “When have I given either of you a reason to believe I’d do anything irresponsible?”

  My mom had replied, “You never have, sweetie.” And they relented, believing in me whole-heartedly.

  Reyna had met me at my house that evening. She was all about the parties. Here in tiny Larson, Texas, she knew where they were, who was going, and what was going down at each and every one. This would be my first party, not because my parents were strict. But because I’d rather do other things. The night life had never appealed to me, until I realized this was, quite possibly, one of the last opportunities to party before school started up again.

  Might as well see what these parties were all about.

  We got ready and I drove us there, to an empty field with a bonfire already burning. People were mingling or lounging around it. Music blared from different car stereos parked at varying distances from the fiery epicenter.

  I could tell where the kegs were set up by the crowds surrounding them. Underage drinking was a rite of passage, evidently, that many parents and other adults supported judging by the sheer volume of alcohol available to us.

  Reyna brought me a red, smallish plastic cup filled partway up. I took a sip knowing I wouldn’t like it; however, I persevered. Reyna took off, joining the “mingling” set. She didn’t have a boyfriend per se; her relationships were mutual agreements that were far from mutually exclusive.

  I didn’t have a boyfriend either. It wasn’t that guys weren’t interested; I had had dates and such. I just hadn’t found the right guy. So I walked off to hunt down the prospects. My beer was less than halfway gone, and I felt giddy and kinda loose in the joints. It felt pleasant, so I kept sipping.

  “Ashlyn!”

  I turned to see Jacob Martin walking toward me. A hottie in my grade. Blonde hair purposely spiked, blue eyes to drown in, and a full ride to any college, he told me once, due to his football prowess. Definitely a prospect, I thought.

  We were walking around when he spotted several of his teammates, and we joined the group while I finished my drink. I laughed at every dumb joke and began feeling more than tipsy. It may have been a hot summer night, but I was way too warm. Jacob laughed when he saw my empty cup.

  “Took you long enough to finish that.”

  I'm not so sure it did take me long enough. But he’d already run off for a refill. When he came back, we were all trying to dance to some rap song. I took the cup from Jacob and proceeded with the sipping. Jacob laughed at me again and tipped the cup up for me to chug.

  Within a 10-minute time span, I was a total mess. Dancing like an idiot, laughing too loud, and saying dumb stuff. Reyna found me later and started screaming about some guy pissing her off and that we needed to leave. I laughed and burped in her face. Not my finest moment.

  “How many has she had?” Reyna asked Jacob.

  “Just the two, I swear,” he replied.

  “Well, I’ve had too many to drive,” she yelled. Then looking at me, Reyna said, “You’re the soberer,” she hiccups, “of us. You drive.”

  In a daze, I followed her, shocked their conversation made any sense to me. Why did I think I could drive? We started swerving almost as soon as I started out. Reyna was yelling, which seemed funny, so I laughed and swerved some more.

  Something happened, I blacked out, and then the flashing red and blue lights woke me up. I smelled the airbags before I saw them. The chemical odor and powder was all over and on me.

  Where was Reyna? I started to panic. But there was no one else in the car with me.

  Wincing, I attempted to remove myself from the car and managed only to fall out of it. An arm shot out to ease the fall.

  “Oh crap,” I moaned. A white officer’s sleeve stopped my tumble.

  I immediately started rambling about my friend, the party, and who knows what else. Then I passed out again.

  I opened my eyes to the sterile surroundings of a hospital room. Oh, and pain. Plenty of that. Then I saw my mom and started to cry. I wanted to know how Reyna was. She could’ve been dead for all I knew.

  At her confusion, I gathered Reyna must be all right, but that was all I got because my dad came in. (Let me preface this by saying, he is an intimidating Hispanic male, not mean but intimidating. Man can fill a room with his presence.) I got the speech of a lifetime about drinking and driving.

  “But, I only had two,” came out of my mouth before I could stop it. Stupid mouth. My brain-to-tongue connections must have been severed.

  “That was two too many,” he said sternly.

  You knew this, I told my stupid mouth.

  He continued, oblivious to my inner dialog, “Your blood-alcohol levels were low, so we know. However, the doctor told us that because you acted completely wasted, that you might have been drugged or you have low alcohol tolerance. Being your dad, I asked him to check for drugs. None, gracias a dios.”

  Well, that was some sort of relief. I hated to think Jacob was a low life. But I still have to ask them—

  “What happened? To me and Reyna?”

  “Reyna? It was just you in the car, sweetie,” my mom replied.

  “No, I'm pretty sure I was driving Reyna home, or else I still would’ve been at the party. I was having fun.” (The Bible says some pretty applicable stuff about the tongue. And a lot of it. Keep it in check, keep your mouth shut, but my favorite? “Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise, when he closes his mouth he is deemed intelligent.” It’s good advice.)

  Suddenly, my dad went off in rapid-fire Spani
sh, pacing the small room. I didn’t understand or speak it, but he sounded pissed. He kept running his fingers through his hair. (Brisa, his daughter and my step-sister, looks just like him, I found myself thinking as he paced. Jet black hair and green eyes. She talks like him too.)

  Breaking me out of my reverie, he spun to face me and yelled in English, “Fun?”

  My mom, a petite brunette like me, stood up to her full 5 feet and put her hands on his shoulders. “Calm down, Marco,” she murmured, saying his name with the perfect inflection, trilling the r. She speaks perfect Spanish, but is a total white chick.

  “Veronica, our daughter just said ‘fun’ to describe a drunken stupor and you’re calming me?”

  “Oh, I'm pissed. But she’s currently lying in a hospital bed with bruised ribs and lots of questions.”

  “Hello? I'm right here!” I reminded them. See? No, brain-to-mouth connectivity.

  They both remembered at the same time and turned on me. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I am an idiot.

  My dad then began to fill in the blanks, keeping it short.

  “You swerved off the road and parked your car in a field occupied with, now, one less cow and 30 feet of broken fence posts.”

  I let it sink in I that I was the reason a cow crossed the “Rainbow Bridge” into bovine heaven. Then I started to wonder how ticked that land owner would be. Cows weren’t exactly sacred here like in India, but cattle was our culture. And fence posts were what kept our culture enclosed.

  I was filled suddenly with a certainty that Reyna was in that car with me.

  “Plus,” Dad added, “you weren’t wearing a seatbelt. To say we’re unhappy, well, that doesn’t even begin to cover it, Ashlyn.” I usually love the way he says my name—Ash-leen—but when he said in that disappointed voice, I wanted to crawl under the dang hospital blanket.

  “My car?” I barely squeaked out. I hit a friggin’ cow.

  “You hit a cow, Ashlyn,” my mom reiterated.

  Yup…

  They left me alone for a little while, no phone, no electronics except for the sucky hospital cable with its shoddy reception. When they came back, it was with a nurse and discharge papers. Evidently, I’ve mostly been “sleeping it off.” Pain pills were prescribed and rest mandated. No problem there—I was beat.

  Going home was torturously quiet. Dad was brooding, Mom was contemplating my punishment, no doubt. We pulled up to our house, a cute one story with blue siding and a time-darkened limestone chimney. It’s been home for over 10 years, now.

  But at that moment, with the tension radiating off my parents, there was an ominous air, like it would soon be a prison.

  They got out and headed in. I waited, postponing my fate. But Brisa came out as they went in. Knowing I was sore, she hugged me gently when she got in the car.

  “I'm so glad you’re alright,” she said in her slight Spanish lilt. I love that she still keeps the accent, I thought as we headed to the house.

  In our room, I recounted to her all I could remember and what I was told. She nodded and oohed and aahed as appropriate. When I was still perplexed over Reyna’s absence, she rolled her eyes at me.

  “Seriously, Ash? This is what you’re focused on? Her name should’ve been your first clue,” Brisa explained.

  “What? Because she’s a Mexican?” I asked, bewildered.

  Brisa collapsed backward on her bed and laughed for quite some time.

  “Ashlyn,” she said, pronouncing my name like Dad does, “why would I, a Mexican, say that? Estupida.” I laughed too, but I'm still not getting it. (And what did she call me?)

  “Haven’t you taken like three years of Spanish? Reyna. Think about it.”

  Nothin’. I got nothin’. The blank look was apparent, so she took pity on me.

  “Reyna, means ‘queen’. She acts like it and that’s how she’s treated. Her mom lets her do anything and anyone. I have no idea how you two are friends.”

  “I’ve known her forever, Bri. We cheer together, we play the same sports, and run track,” I told her. “What does that have to do with why she wasn’t in the car?”

  “Are you that dense or are you in denial?”

  I choose denial for $1000, Alex. I did well in school, after all—except for Spanish.

  “Ashlyn, you got ditched. She was covering her own butt. She split and left you with the blood on your hands.”

  I started giggling at the mention of blood. “That,” I spluttered, “poor…” I tried again through what had become breath-catching laughter, “COW!” I had tears streaming down my face from laughter and so did Brisa. My ribs were starting to throb, but I couldn’t seem to stop.

  Our door flew open, sobering us up instantly. My body jerked, startled, and I grabbed my ribs in agony.

  “Brisa! Ashlyn! What is going on?”

  “She…killed…a COW!” Brisa choked out.

  “Yes, and so both of you realize, just how funny that dead cow is,” she said, then paused for effect, “it’s going to cost us $500 to replace the animal and fix the fence.”

  We’re both immediately quieted except for our labored breathing. It never entered my mind in the past few hours that we’d be footing the bill. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  It wasn’t exactly financial ruin for my parents. But for me? Who knew how Mom and Dad would decide I should compensate them for their monetary loss. I was thinking about the many somethings they might make me give up.

  Sure enough, Mom said, “Ashlyn, we’ll be talking about it all tomorrow. We have some decisions to make.”

  She closed the door behind her and we both collapsed on our respective beds. I was actually quite exhausted by everything, and I asked Brisa to turn off the light so I could crash. I had had enough of this day. Maybe tomorrow would hurt less.

  ***

  Waking up late this morning was excruciating. Yes. I’d been blessed beyond belief that it was only my ribs, but dang that didn’t make breathing any easier.

  In all this mess, it isn’t until this morning that I thought about my phone. I wonder if Reyna had called or texted, if anyone worried about me. My parents must have it, I think, and head in that direction after a long, hot shower.

  They’re in the kitchen dressed in their church clothes. Crap! I forgot it’s Sunday.

  Dad stops me. “Ashlyn, you don’t have to go today,” he says, but he eyes my yoga pants and tank top thinking I’d already made that assumption.

  I clear my throat and respond sheepishly, “I actually forgot what day it was. I can be ready in like 10 minutes.”

  “No,” Mom says. “You can stay home if you want to. You look like you got hit by a—”

  “Cow!” Brisa finishes for her as she comes in, interrupting Mom.

  “Brisa!” Dad reprimands.

  “Sad, but true,” I say, shaking my head. I know my face has some bruising and a bit of chemical burn from the air bags, but I have concealer for that. “I’ll go get ready.” No place like church to talk to God about forgiveness.

  After church and after a long church social luncheon, we get home and the verdict is about to be read. I’d been preparing for the worst. Heck, I took a life. I brace myself as Mom begins.

  “We’ve discussed this at length. Since you wrecked your car, you don’t get to use ours either. Your dad and I can take you wherever you need to go. Depending on the insurance company’s decision, you may not even have a car, but either way, you’re going to be without one for at least a month—”

  “But—” I interrupt.

  “No, ma’am. Your turn to listen,” Dad states. My stupid mouth still wants to say, But school’s starting tomorrow. I barely manage to clamp it shut.

  “The same with your phone. For one whole month,” Mom continues.

  I cringed. I all but have to sew my mouth shut to keep from whining. My phone has my Internet, my social media, my pictures, my music, my life! This is legit punishment. No phone, no car. At least I have a hope of using their cars in a mon
th if mine’s on death row.

  I know I’ve wrecked more than my car. The trust they had in me is in shambles.

  “One last thing,” Dad got my attention. “If they total your car, we are not buying you another one. You can get a job to save up for one.”

  There are no words to be said at that moment. I stare at him, deer-in-the-headlights style. They get up to leave the living room. Mom reaches down to hug me.

  “Mom,” I murmur, “Can I just check my messages before you take it away?”

  She looks at Dad for confirmation and he nods. They are all about the Parental United Front. She holds it out for me. I check it quickly. There are no messages from Reyna, not one. There’s one from Jacob to see if I’d made it home, sent only 15 minutes after we’d left the party.

  A few of my other friends sent quick “What up?” messages and one wanted to “hang” at my house as a cover for a make-out session with flavor-of-the-week.

  I didn’t respond to any of them, since I’d only asked to check them and hand it back, watching as she tucks it into her front pocket. I sigh longingly.

  ***

  The last two weeks of summer are strange. I don’t get calls from any of my friends on the house phone, and I occasionally sneak onto the Internet using Brisa’s iPad. Some of my “friends” have stopped showing up in my social media, including Reyna. What the heck?

  Mom drives me to school the Saturday before school starts to attend a cheer practice. It’s my first since the accident. I'm being ignored by most, including Reyna. I decide to talk to her once we finish.

  She’s standing with Britney Ray and Lauren Sterling, two of our close friends. I go over to them.

  “Reyna,” I say, “How are you doing? You freaked me out when you weren’t in the car after the accident!”

  “Ashlyn, I’ve been meaning to call you to see how you were after the accident. Sweetie,” her voice going saccharine, “I didn’t get in the car with you. You were a hot mess. So drunk it was kinda humiliating.”

  Lauren and Britney snicker. Reyna’s not finished yet, “You really are a sloppy drunk. Jacob said he practically had to pry you off of him. It’s sad, really.”

  “What?” I finally manage to say, shaking my head, “No, Reyna, you were in my car. I clearly remember that. You were yelling at me to stop swerving! You were right there!” I’m feeling sick to my stomach at this point because that was one of the few moments of clarity I had.