Responsibility

The Wednesday before the world stopped, Emily asked me to drive to Keene with her after school.

She had had her license for six months, and was using any excuse to take advantage of her newfound freedom. It wasn’t as though either of us needed anything, but between her new car and my new job, it felt like something normal teenagers would do. We were sitting on the track field bleachers at the end of English class. It was surprisingly warm for March.

I was supposed to take the bus home. I had a lot of homework. And normally, I would have said no. But I looked out at the glowing, sunny track and out across the parking lot and thought fuck it. We were seventeen. The world was ending-- everything inside smelled like sanitizer and Clorox. Fuck responsibility.

“I’ll meet you out front?”

I texted my dad that I would be home by five. I didn’t wait for his permission.

We drove down the highway with the skylight open and the music blasting. She had already driven me to and from school enough times that I knew we probably wouldn’t crash. We had voice-texted our friends to ask if they wanted to be picked up, but nobody answered. Secretly, I was glad. I had always preferred one-on-one.

Talking loud over the music and the wind, the conversation turned to the future. College, prom, adulthood. She wanted to be a dental hygienist. I wanted to be an FBI agent. Futures we weren’t even sure we would have. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. We were seventeen. The world wasn’t ending.

Everything was so bright.

There was a pair of sweatpants Emily had seen at Dick’s last week. They cost sixty-dollars, and looked much better on the rack than they did on either of us.

Target was crowded and I couldn’t help wondering if we should really be here as we wandered the aisles aimlessly, but Emily dug her fingers into a fluffy blanket displayed on one shelf, and she looked so happy. I was happy. And I wouldn’t ruin this moment. Not for the world.

She wanted new running sneakers even though we both quit Track after freshman year. The ones she bought from TJ Max were pink and white Nikes, a size too small. I left with a pair of blue and grey Fila Disruptors that I didn’t need, but I was pretty sure they were trendy.

It was four-thirty when we pulled into the Starbucks parking lot. We bought venti coffees-- iced, of course-- and chocolate cake pops. I don’t remember what we talked about on the drive back to Brattleboro, but we were happy. We were happy that we’d found something to buy and that we had coffee and that we were together, and not in school or hunched over homework from our damn English teacher. And I think we were happy because we weren’t thinking about the virus.

I could have stayed in that car forever. I felt more seventeen than I ever had-- alive and slightly rebellious.

She stopped at the end of my dad’s driveway, parking on the curb because the driveway was impossible to turn out of, and I got out, shoe box and Starbucks in hand. I told her thank you.

Emily smiled brilliantly at me in the waning sunlight. “See you tomorrow!”

“Bye!”

It was five-twenty-three as I walked slowly up the driveway. I was late. And I was drinking highly-caffeinated coffee after three. But opening the door and calling out “Dad, I’m home!” into the silence, I absolutely didn’t care.

Fuck responsibility.