See you soon

From our kitchen window, I watch my best friend Tommy waiting for the school bus. I know it’s wrong, but seeing his grin stretch wider than his face, doubling over with laughter—probably from one of Clayton’s stupid jokes—makes something twist inside me. I should be out there laughing with them. But the moment I spot Billy Krudd, the class bully, my legs freeze.

My stomach churns like a pack of candy pop rocks exploding, while my eyes blur with tears gathering at the corners. On mornings like this, Nana used to drive me to school. But those days are gone. She was my strength—my knight in a flowered dress—tall, beautiful, and brave. Her knowing smile helped me through countless storms. She understood the tears I brought home. While Dad would get frustrated and tell me to stand up to bullies, Nana comforted me with gentle words. She was always there when I needed her most.

Then I hear her voice—soft and familiar.
“What’s troubling you, Hooty?”

She used to call me that because when I was a toddler, instead of talking, I’d hoot like an owl.

Turning around, I see her by the kitchen sink, smiling, wiping her hands on her favorite apron—just like the last time I saw her.

I shrug, glance down, and mumble, “Nothin’.”

“Nothing?” She arches an eyebrow. She never liked bad grammar. But she smiles anyway and waits patiently.

I glance back at the bus—Tommy and Clayton are getting on.

“Ah,” she says gently. “You wish I could drive you, don’t you?”

My chest tightens so hard it hurts. I nod slowly.
“Yes,” I whisper.

With the grace of an angel, she floats over to the kitchen table and pats the chair beside her.
“Oh, Hooty. I wish I still could.”

Sitting this close to her, I want to hold her hand, or curl up on her lap like I used to—but I know I can’t. I tried once before. It felt like falling into a bowl of whipped cream. Knowing I’ll never truly feel her arms again—that’s the hardest part of losing her.

A light autumn rain begins to fall, just like it always does the first week of school. We sit in silence, watching mist cloud the window as raindrops tap softly against the glass, like they’re asking to come inside. Then I notice something strange—a beam of sunlight breaks through the clouds and wraps around her like a golden halo.

I close my eyes and picture the inside of the school bus: the buzz of nervous laughter, the squeak of the windshield wipers, Angela Wheeler’s blonde hair swaying across her face as she whispers secrets to Becky, the driver shouting for kids to sit down. I should be part of that noise, that life.

I should be on that bus.

This was the year I promised Nana I’d go on my own. I glance at her again and see that same knowing look in her eyes.

“Do you think the teachers will notice I’m not there today?” I ask.

“I think they will.”

“It’s only the first day. Maybe they’ll be too busy.”

“They’ll still know.”

“Tommy didn’t even notice. He’s supposed to be my best friend.”

“I think he still is,” she says gently.

“Then why didn’t he come to camp with me?”

“You know why,” she replies, calm but firm.

That week before camp, I’d been anxious—nervous to leave my family, scared of being alone. Tommy would’ve made it easier. Nana had talked me into going. I know now she had her reasons, but I can tell even she wonders if it was the right choice. That morning, something felt… off. Not wrong, just different. I told her that. She smiled, hugged me, and told me it was just nerves. But she was the one shaking when she said goodbye.

We never say goodbye. It’s always “See you soon.”

“I really thought camp would help you,” she says quietly. “I remember how magical it was for me when I was your age. I wanted that for you—to make friends, to have adventures.”

“I did make friends. I still talk to one of them.”

“Oh? Who?” She looks puzzled. Then again, lately she forgets things more often. Mom told me not to worry—Nana’s just tired.

“Dillon. We bunked together. There’s also a new kid who cries a lot. They’re nice… just not like Tommy or Clayton.”

“People change, Hooty. Sometimes we grow apart. It’s hard, but making new friends is part of life.”

“Tommy doesn’t care that I don’t hang out with him anymore. Clayton’s his best friend now.”

Nana stays quiet. I press on, needing her to hear me.

“They didn’t even notice I wasn’t at the bus stop today.”

Her eyes grow serious—not harsh, but firm with love.
“Tommy came to this house every day for the rest of the summer. And as for today, Hooty, I drove you to school more times than I can count.”

“But still…”

“No buts. Children live in the moment. When he realizes you’re not at school, he’ll remember.”

Her words settle deep. She’s right. Nana always is.

I change the subject. “Mom was sad this morning. She smiled, but I know it wasn’t real. Dad left for work without saying anything.”

Nana nods. “They’re grieving. It takes time. Your mother will adjust. When I lost someone, it took me a long time, too. I was about her age. You never really get over it.”

We sit in silence. These are the memories I treasure most—just her and me, no need for words. Then her eyes drift again, like she’s looking for something lost.

In a distant, dreamlike voice, she whispers,
“I’d love a cup of tea.”

A smile forms on my lips. I remember those rainy days—sitting side by side, Nana telling me stories from her childhood. Sometimes she’d pour me a tiny cup of tea with milk and honey. I wasn’t allowed coffee, but tea was our little loophole.

I stand, instinctively reaching for the teapot—then stop. That moment can’t happen again. And I know she feels it too.

To make her smile, I say, “I’m not afraid of Billy Krudd.”

I almost believe myself. Then wonder—why do we always say a bully’s full name?

“I always believed in you, Hooty,” she says, her voice soft, almost breaking.

The rain hammers harder now, and the house gives a gentle shudder. The rhythm on the roof fills the stillness. Then I feel it—a deeper kind of loss, something I didn’t understand until now. This is the third time I’ve seen her since… but like that day before camp, something still feels wrong.

“I miss you, Nana.”

Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, like they always do when I see her. A sorrow so big, a child can’t name it.

Then she starts to fade. I see her try to speak, but the words won’t come—not this time either. I don’t want her to feel guilt. She meant well. She thought sending me to camp would help me grow, help me escape the bullies. How could she have known that all I ever needed… was her?

I shrug and say,
“I wish Dillon and I hadn’t snuck out with the canoe that night.”

The silence is thick. I watch her hands tremble.

“When we flipped, I wasn’t scared. Really.”

She needs to know—it wasn’t her fault. The water was cold, the night was black. We couldn’t see the shore. Dillon wasn’t a strong swimmer, but he was bigger than me. I don’t remember much—just that it felt peaceful.

“There was no pain, Nana.”

The black mascara around her eyes begins to run down her cheeks like watercolor paint in art class.

Her lip quivers as she finally says,
“I miss you so much. I’m sorry… so sorry. If only I hadn’t insisted you go to camp…”

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