Facing the Tide

The beach that Lanie and I had ridden across when we were eight years old spread out in front of me. Streaks of pink, purple, and orange joined the rising sun while the salty waves lapped at the receding shoreline, dampening the sand in foamy groups. I could practically see the hoof prints of the ponies we had ridden those many years ago. We had met at our lesson barn, Longbarak Stables, that morning and our instructor told me that Lanie would be joining us today, adding that we were going to the beach because we could both use a break. I hadn’t seen her around before, not even at competitions, but Lanie turned out to be a talented rider. She had given me several pointers over the years, even when she was just that little girl with the big blue eyes and long black hair that never seemed to be brushed.

I stared out at the water wondering why things had to change. Why couldn’t we be those two little girls galloping along, covering ourselves in saltwater and seaweed? Up until about a week ago, it seemed like things really wouldn’t change: Lanie and I had been best friends since that first ride together and had only grown closer over the years. Yes, our interests changed from playing make-believe to obsessing over boys but I had always seen us as those two little girls on the beach who, at that moment, didn’t have a care in the world.

People say that caring about something real is part of growing up, but I never would have thought that this was what was in store for me. Had I known this was coming I would have found a way to be that little girl at the beach, with her newfound friend, forever. If Lanie knew this was going to happen, I’m sure she would have wanted that too.

I thought back to the events of the past week wondering how I had even made it this long. I was so excited on Sunday because Lanie was coming back from her grandmother’s house where she had been for two weeks. Those weeks were tough without her around but nothing compares to what I’ve gone through this week.

I had rushed over to her house when I saw her mother’s minivan pull onto our street that afternoon, knowing that she had been the one to go and get Lanie and her older brother, Garret, from the airport. I ran up to Lanie, engulfing her in a hug when she was only halfway out of the car. I have so much to tell you! Lanie squealed, returning my embrace. We grabbed her things and followed her family into the house, dropping her stuff in the living room. I can’t sit still anymore! First the plane, and then the car... I sympathized with her knowing that her flight had taken off at 6:30 this morning and that the ride back from the airport was a solid hour at least. Let’s go riding! Lanie didn’t wait for an answer before switching into her paddock boots and racing out to my truck. She knew me well enough to know that I would never turn down another chance to horseback ride just like I knew her well enough to know this was exactly what she would want to do when she got back, which is why I had changed into my riding boots and old jeans before coming over.

We had only been out in the field at Longbarak Stables for about thirty minutes when overcast clouds appeared in the distance, telling Lanie and I to go in. Just one more try! Lanie said, looping back around to try the jump again. She had been helping train one of the new horses before she had left for Maine and Lanie had wanted to see if any progress had been made, or that’s what she said she was doing. I had a sneaking suspicion that she was really more interested in ensuring that none of her progress with King had been undone while she was gone. King was Lanie’s favorite horse at the moment because he provided Lanie with a challenge, something she never could refuse.

I wasn’t as daring as Lanie; I never had any desire to train a horse –it seemed so scary. In fact, I usually stuck to riding well-trained ponies. I’m 5’2’’ so the smaller the pony the better control I have. Lanie wasn’t as vertically challenged as me, so she was always willing to ride the biggest horses in the barn. I remained convinced that if I could possibly walk under their belly without bending over, it wasn’t a good idea for me to ride them.

I watched as Lanie approached the small jump with King fighting to have his way. They were at the perfect angle, but he kept thrashing his head about. I saw Lanie’s lips move; she was probably trying to coax King to jump. King’s ears twitched back and he calmed down considerably. Maybe they would get it this time, I thought, as the clouds grew darker. The pair took off over the jump, leaping unnecessarily high, something that wasn’t uncommon with untrained horses. I smiled at Lanie’s success but I had smiled too soon; a bolt of lighting shot across the sky followed by a loud rumble of thunder. Everything happened so quickly: King spooked causing Lanie to fly right over his head and under his feet. I screamed but there was no reply. King just kept going, dragging Lanie, whose foot had gotten caught in the stirrup. Everything else was a blur. People rushed out of the barn, hearing my scream and the general commotion. Lanie’s foot got untangled and her lower half fell to the ground with a thud. She didn’t move.

I jumped off of my pony and raced over to Lanie’s side. Lanie?

There was no reply. Tears were streaming down my cheek. Someone shouted that the ambulance was on its way. I sat with her until they came while two people went and got the horses. I could barely breathe.

Lanie don’t leave me. That was the last thing I said before I fainted, falling alongside my best friend just as the ambulance pulled up.

***

She’s going to be okay, an unknown voice said from a place that sounded far away but, from the cold hand on my forehead, I knew it wasn’t that far at all. I struggled to open my eyes as the afternoon’s event came over me: Lanie’s return, going to Longbarak Stables, riding in the field, the thunderstorm, Lanie’s fall…

My eyes finally opened and I bolted up screaming Lanie’s name. The only reply I got was a hand on my shoulder keeping me on the ground. Not too fast. I now knew that this unfamiliar voice belonged to an EMT.

I looked around the field as best I could from my seat in the dirt, but I couldn’t find Lanie. Lanie! I cried out again just as my parents crouched down beside me. My mother’s usually obnoxiously white sneakers were coated with a film of dirt.

Mom? She just shook her head, her eyes not daring to meet mine.

Dad?

He took a deep breath, which the EMT took as her cue to leave. I’m sorry, Becca; she didn’t make it.

I shook my head profusely. How was that possible? She had just gotten back this afternoon. How could she not be here anymore? No, it just couldn’t be true. My best friend wouldn’t just leave me like that. She just wouldn’t. She wouldn’t leave me alone.

***

The sound of a seagull’s cry brought me back to the present. The sun was now up and morning joggers were beginning to take over the beach. I wiped away the tears that had formed in my eyes. It hurt to think about Lanie but it hurt even more not to. It was just one of the many things I had to grapple with now. I grabbed my worn flip-flops off of the sand next to me and walked back to my old pick up truck. I had to be strong today. I had to be strong for Lanie.

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Chapter Two

Elaine Carmen Whitman, known to most as Lanie, was a beautiful young lady with so much potential. She was excited to start her senior year at Colonial High where she had been elected class president. While maintaining her role as an honor roll student, Lanie found time to participate in everything from mathletes to theatrical productions. Even with all of her participation in school clubs, teams, and events, nothing could tear Lanie away from her true passion: horses. She was an accomplished rider, receiving many blue ribbons over the years. She had hoped to attend veterinary school where her work would allow her to remain close to the animals she was so fond of. Quite often she talked of opening her own lesson barn and making it big in the horse world. Sadly, her dreams were cut short. Elaine’s family and friends love her very much and will always miss her. Rest in peace, Elaine.

My head had been down for the whole service. I couldn’t stand to look at the pictures of Lanie that had been placed on either side of the closed casket, as the preacher described someone who didn’t sound like the girl I remembered at all. His speech boiled her down to a mere series of notable accomplishments, but she was more than all of that. She was the third-grader who punched the sixth-grade boy that tugged on my braids on the playground. She was the girl who threw me a birthday party every year, even when I was convinced no one would come. She was the successful student who helped me study for a test I was otherwise bound to fail. Most importantly though, she was the best friend a girl could ask for, and now she was gone.

Lanie had been beaten up pretty badly in the accident, so her family decided that the pictures were how they wanted their daughter to be remembered rather than the state that she had passed away in. I looked around me, not trusting myself to look at Lanie’s smiling face for too long. I could see her family, with their hung heads, in the front row. Garret’s arm was around his sobbing mother’s shoulders, moving up and down with every silent heave. Classmates from school quietly approached the front of the church, placing flowers and other mementos by her casket, before turning around and leaving. The only sound I could hear distinctly was the church door opening and then closing again, announcing another person’s escape from the room full of inconsolable people. I couldn’t bring myself to move even though I was just as anxious to get out of the suffocating church that was filling up with tears. It just didn’t seem real.

The church emptied pretty quickly, leaving only the Whitman family, my family, and Christian Guerrero, another student from school. Christian wasn’t just another student though; he had been Lanie’s boyfriend for the past three years. He looked up at me and forced a weak smile. In his hand he held a bouquet of lilies, Lanie’s favorite. I had brought her the same flowers. I forced myself to smile back before hanging my head once more, staring at the lilies in my hand. My best-friends bracelet caught my eye, the red beads glistening in the rays of light that dared to come through the windows, spying on our tears. Lanie and I had bought identical ones at a craft fair when we were thirteen. Just thinking about that day brought even more water to my eyes, and I knew that my attempt at being strong wouldn’t hold up any longer. I rushed up to the casket, practically throwing the flowers at it, before running out of the church. My parents hurried out after me. The Whitman’s would surely understand; I was never as strong as Lanie was.

Dinner was unusually quiet that evening. My parents didn’t know what to say to me, and I didn’t have anything to say to anyone since Lanie’s death. I had all of these thoughts and emotions that I needed to share with someone else, but the person who I shared everything with couldn’t be there for me anymore. I mindlessly moved my food around on my plate, not even pretending to eat any of it. How could I eat? My parents exchanged a worried look but they knew that any efforts they might make to get me to eat would inevitably fail. Besides, it wasn’t like I hadn’t eaten anything at all since Lanie’s death. I would eat a small meal once a day, which I would end up throwing up within the hour. My current existence relied on peanut butter crackers and other small snacks that I could hold down better than an actual meal.

Lack of appetite wasn’t the only change in my behavior. I used to be a deep sleeper who could go to bed early and still manage to wake up with half of the day already behind me. Now, I could barely fall asleep. Every sound startled me. Even the tiniest of noises could awake me from my attempted slumber. Sleep had to find me to get any rest whatsoever, and even then I would only pass out for brief intervals. It was during these short-lived intervals that I could see Lanie and pretend that things were how they were before. I remembered how we would stay up late camping in one of her family’s many fields, with a tent that we always had to get her brother to pitch for us. We’d go horseback riding on the beach, swimming in the creek, and stare up at the sky wondering what was beyond the clouds. I guess Lanie knows the answer to that now.

A tear trickled down my cheek and I excused myself from the table. I wasn’t quick enough to escape my parents’ glances though. Oh honey, my mother said, reaching to wipe my tear. I pulled away, heading up to my room. I knew my parents were worried but I didn’t want them to be. There was no point in them worrying about something they had no control over anyhow; something I didn’t have any control over either.

I don’t know what to do, Paul! I can’t just sit back and watch her wither away in silence. I can’t stand to see her suffer like this! If we don’t do something, we’ll lose her just like the Whitman’s lost Lanie, my mother’s shaky voice echoed up the stairs even though she was trying to whisper.

My father’s voice was louder and more confident. He was always the more decisive of the two. We’ll find her a therapist, Cathy. If she won’t talk to us, that’s about all we can do for her. I’ll ask around at work and set up an appointment for her as soon as I can. Now stop being so dramatic.

A natural hush came over the old house, which was followed by the clanking of dishes and eventually the creaking of the stairs as my parents made their way to bed. I had turned off my bedroom light so that they would think that I had gone to sleep, a trick I had been doing a lot lately. I’m sure they knew I wasn’t getting much rest given the dark circles under my eyes that no amount of makeup could hide, not that I had even bothered to try. What was the point of putting on makeup if it was going to be ruined at the first sign of tears? What was the point of anything anymore?

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Chapter Three

So Becca, do you have any fun trips planned for the rest of the summer? asked Ms. Clementine, the elderly therapist my parents made me go see. With her gray hair that was pulled back into a loosely wound ballerina bun and circular, wire-framed glasses perched upon her pale nose, she looked like she specialized in being a professional grandmother rather than a therapist.

I stared at her, not knowing what to make of her seemingly random question. She nodded at me in encouragement, her plastered smile growing, but I chose to sit in silence instead. Well I just love the summer time! So much time to travel and just lay out in the sun. I bought this new bikini the other day, one of those tan ones that are so in right now. It’s a little smaller than I would have liked but it was final sale so I can’t return it. No worries though, I’ll make it work! Images of her in a bikini were bad enough, but the fact that it was skin tone made it even worse. Some innocent person might spot her and think that she, in her old age, had forgotten the polite public beach etiquette of wearing a swimsuit.

Ms. Clementine continued to rattle on about her latest purchase and how fond she was of the beach while I tried to figure out why my parents thought this would be helpful for me. This wasn’t at all how I thought therapy worked. From what I had gathered from media depictions of therapy, we were supposed to be talking about my problems, which didn’t include purchasing clothing inappropriate for my age in a size that was too small to contain me. I don’t understand. I thought we were going to talk about my problems. I blurted out when I could no longer take our shallow, one-sided conversation.

Oh, we can talk about Lanie if that’s what you want to talk about! Ms. Clementine plastered her smile back on her face, and resumed her good-listener pose.

I took a deep breath. I had thought about Lanie a lot in the week and a half since her death, but I had yet to actually talk about her, but I knew now was as good of time as ever to try. "Lanie is…I mean, was my best friend." I took