Sandbox
Sandbox
Ellie Shuert
Surely the people in the cafe were thinking to themselves, a leaf can’t be that interesting, can it? Meredith’s homework sat in front of her, unfinished, and her coffee as well, untouched, her eyes fixed on the leaf in the palm of her hand. Other customers came to this cafe to look up, preferring to admire the paintings on the deep red wall, which transformed the small industrial space into a quaint retreat for the self-proclaimed creators, deep thinkers, and occasionally pyramid-scheme influencers with their marble laptop covers.
The space didn’t attract the normal Starbucks-type crowd. Instead, you could often find long-haired guys with beanies and girls with sketchbooks and too many earrings, sipping drinks with names too long, coming with the purpose of contemplating the art. Today, Meredith fell into none of the categories, though perhaps she could work towards “deep thinker” if she were actually doing her assigned reading. Instead, she twirled the blue-green leaf in her fingers, wondering if it was her imagination or if its veins were slightly golden.
Even this was beyond her wildest imagination. And Meredith had a big one. She had a reputation for staring off into space, dreaming up stories in her head. She would look inexplicably peaceful to her confused classmates and teachers, and was altogether unfazed by the reality around her, poking at her like a dulled edge. If you visited her room, you would see books scattered on the floors in shapes and pushed aside to make paths.
There is one path you could always find leading to her closet. When no one was home, Meredith would kneel before its mouth, staring into the abyss of tangled, multicolored clothing. Knowing full-well there was a wall behind the t-shirts and sweaters, she would reach a hand through, desperate and praying she might feel anything but that wall--tree branches, soft snow, tall grasses-- always to be disappointed with the smoothness of the wall at her fingertips and the cage of reality becoming apparent around her.
Meredith was the child that chose to believe in Santa Claus long after she suspected his existence. Why not put out the cookies and milk and sprinkle oatmeal on the driveway? Why be weighed down with reality when imagination was so much more enjoyable?
These traits made Meredith quite an acquired taste. Too many of her classmates had stopped reading, obsessed with an instantaneous, omniscience found in their phone screens. If you got her talking about a book or an idea for a book she might write someday, she might talk endlessly. Her classmates asked casually about it, attempting to be nice, then slowly becoming uncomfortable as the conversation went on longer than intended. Few could tolerate her, and even fewer loved her for it. Even fewer now.
Now here she sat, holding a fragment of her own imagination in her palm. A leaf from her closet. No… the world at the back of her closet. She should feel elated; her dreams had literally come true. They had just come true at the worst possible time.
Meredith finally lifted her head to look around her. There were the same long-haired guys and the same paintings on the walls, but the vacancy of the chair across from her was new. Her best friend Jack would usually sit there, always prompt with a witty joke for when homework got too demanding. He had a contagious smile, even if his teeth were a little crooked. He had the air of a person that everyone else was attracted to, like ants to sugar, and Meredith had felt honored when the dark-haired kid in third grade chose -- out of everyone -- her as his best friend.
She finally spotted him in the corner with his new girlfriend. Meredith felt betrayed. He acted studious and diligent as ever. Jack had been the best homework partner. He didn’t distract unless absolutely necessary. Even now, she could see a smile play across his lips as he must have thought of the perfect tension-breaking joke. Then he shook his head, beating the smile back, keeping the joke to himself. It was uncharacteristic… and sad.
Meredith glanced back at the empty seat across from her, lamenting the fact that she had driven him away, but sheltering the hope that maybe she could remedy that. So, with unsteady knees and clenching fists to hide the velvety leaf in her fist, she approached Jack’s table.
“We really need to talk-” she started to say.
“No, we don’t.” Jack cut her off with the sharpness of a blade.
“You’ll need to listen to me sooner or later. Just because I told you the truth about what I thought...” she glanced sideways at New Girlfriend, hoping she was clueless. She was.
“I’m not going to listen. You can’t just blurt out cruel things whenever you feel like it.”
“I’m not the biggest fan of you either if I’m allowed to be honest right now. You can’t just block out what you don’t want to hear. You know I wouldn’t insist on this if it weren’t really important. Can you just forget your pride for one second-”
“Can you just leave me alone?” It was like a serrated knife in her heart. Angry and hurt, she slammed a hand on the table.
“Sandbox.” That finally earned a concerned stare from New Girlfriend. Jack scrunched his eyebrows. “Sandbox sandbox sandbox sandbox sandbox.”
Sandbox was when she broke her mom’s wedding china and needed to hide the shattered remnants. Sandbox was when Jack scraped his knee when he wasn’t supposed to be on his bike in the first place. Sandbox was when Meredith, with embarrassment and tears in her eyes, asked Jack to tutor her so she wouldn’t fail math. Sandbox was when Jack found himself falling for New Girlfriend and needed ideas for a first date. That was the last Sandbox. Meredith’s compliance had wavered. To put it lightly.
“We’re still doing this?” Jack asked, puzzled and exasperated. Meredith stared at him with a piercing, unwavering gaze, right at his eyes, hoping it might stab him the same way his absence had stabbed her. However much venom it carried, it also carried an unspoken yes.
After awkwardly saying goodbye to New Girlfriend, they sat silently in her car, staring straight ahead as Meredith drove them to her house. She kept glancing at the leaf in her lap, staring back at her with a sense of obligation. She should tell him the truth about it. As much as she loved fiction, she had never feared telling the truth before.
After all, the world in the back of her closet didn’t solely belong to her, not when she wasn’t the only one that had written it into existence. Jack had written the story with her, years before. It was a way to blend her imagination and his intellect: a perfectly-crafted, eloquently-written fictional world.
But it was all wrong. If she had told him about it before their fight, then they could have enjoyed it together. What would he do now, after she had hurt him? Maybe, Meredith thought, she should just keep it to herself. It was her closet after all. They could go their separate ways and Meredith could delight in her magical world and Jack could delight in never hearing a word from Meredith again. He would probably like it better that way. All the rocks, rivers, and blue-green leaves with golden veins could belong to her. The idea tempted her like an unoccupied throne.
She jolted in her seat, slamming on the breaks as the light turned red. She had missed the yellow signal.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked, his face showing true concern.
“I’m fine. Just fine.” Meredith replied, putting her face in her hands, slowing down her breathing. She couldn’t just get distracted like that it was dangerous and she was driving her friend and she could have hurt-
“Mare…” Jack said, detecting her lie.
“NO!” Meredith exclaimed. “You don’t get to call me that anymore!”
“Mare…”
“I WILL turn this car around! I don’t need to do this thing at all you don’t have to know I will just return you to your new perfect life if you do so wish in fact I’ll turn it around right now!”
A heavy silence descended on the car. Neither of them moved. I don’t owe him anything, Meredith thought bitterly. She flicked her blinker on to head away from her house.
“Meredith…” Jack whispered. His eyes wouldn’t meet hers. “You said sandbox.” An unspoken promise.
Without a word, Meredith clicked off the blinker. The light changed to green and she headed forward towards her house.
When they arrived, there was no one home. It was usually Meredith’s favorite time of day. No one around to laugh at her and her silly play she was supposed to have outgrown. But as they walked in the front door, her stomach sank with anxiety. He was going to think she had finally gone insane.
“Okay,” she began in a small voice, leading Jack to her room, “I’m going to tell you something crazy.”
“Oh, so just being yourself then,” he responded in a half-hearted attempt to jab at her. She ignored it.
“The story we wrote back in middle school, the one about the world in the back of my closet. The Narnia copycat one. Do you remember it?”
“Our world was much cooler than Narnia if I remember correctly. What does that have to do with anything?” Arriving, she opened the white door to her closet.
Here it comes.
“It’s real. And I know it’s stupid because you and I have both tested that far-fetched theory dozens of times each but I’m telling you, it just popped up out of nowhere. And before you think I’m crazy, take this.” She offered up the crumpled leaf in her hand.
Jack could do nothing but stare down at it. Meredith could almost see the gears turning in his head, analyzing and weighing the evidence of whether she could be right or clinically insane. She watched him think. Her heart was about to beat out of her chest with anticipation. If he didn’t believe her, then not only would he hate her but he would lose the last ounce of respect he had for her too.
Jack looked up, mystified. Having made up his mind, he challenged: “Show me.”
With the agility of a cat, Meredith pushed her hand through the hangers and clothing, reassured each inch her fingers traveled past where the wall should’ve been. Feeling confident the wall had disappeared, she climbed inside the closet, but not before peeking out at Jack and saying, “Your turn.”
On the other side, Meredith and Jack stood side by side, overlooking a place they had only imagined. Meredith took in the greens of the trees and blues of the ocean and the sand made of pure gold lathering the beach. They were so close to the water she could smell the salt. She looked sideways at Jack, trying to read his expression. Surprisingly, she didn’t see shock, nor fear, nor awe. She saw in his expression a peace she hadn’t seen for too long.
“I couldn’t hide it from you,” Meredith began. “I thought about it. But this place is truly ours.”
They didn’t say anything for a long time. The view was breathtaking, but soon enough Meredith was pushing sand around with her toes in impatience, waiting for him to say something to her. Finally:
“I should listen to you more often,” Jack said.
“I say stupid, nasty, condescending things a lot though. It’s probably smart not to listen to me all the time.”
“If I hadn’t listened to you now, I wouldn’t be seeing any of this.”
They said nothing while overlooking the terrain of the world that was theirs. As Meredith stared at the golden sprinkles of sand on her toes, she remembered why their friendship had worked. Their promises didn’t go away. Not in fiction. Not in reality.
Jack spoke softly again, reiterating their promise.
“Sandbox. I will listen.”