Free The Day Before by Lisa Schroeder Page A

him.
“A crazy way to die.”
He’s standing right next to me.
    We both watch
the glowing jellies,
perhaps imagining
reaching in and touching them,
threads of fire
burning our skin.
    “I don’t know,” he says.
“They look so delicate. Pretty.
Prettier than a gun.
Or a rope.”
    I look at him.
“Didn’t anyone tell you
looks aren’t everything?”

like
    “Cade,” he says, sticking out his hand.
    “Amber,” I say, accepting his offer.
The warmth is a shock.
A tremor scurries
down my spine.
    “You from around here?” he asks.
    “Salem.”
    He nods.
    “You?” I ask.
    “Portland.”
    He smiles.
“So. You like jellyfish?”
    I bite my lip
to keep from laughing.
Is he going to order me one
like a cheeseburger?
    “I love them.”
    “Me too.”
    What is he,
a great white
circling his prey?
I don’t think I care.

something special
    Cade motions
with a nod
to follow him.
    He’s holding the pole,
and I’m the
fish on the line.
    Just how far
will he pull me
in?
    Around the corner
only a few kids
are at the
tidal pool touch tank.
    My heart’s racing,
but not from what’s
in the tank.
    With names like
pencil sea urchin,
scarlet hermit crab,
and chocolate chip sea star,
the creatures
all sound friendly.
I reach into the cold water.
    The back of a starfish
feels like wet sandpaper
against my fingertips.
    Cade pets it too, his
fingers almost
touching
mine.
    “When I was little,” he says,
“I wanted to take them home.
Turn my bathtub into a touch pool.”
    It makes me smile because
I was the same way.
    Sea stars
are
    m*a*g*i*c*a*l.
    We wish on stars,
millions of miles away, and
yet here we can touch them.
    I’ve never wished
on a sea star before,
but I want to try it.
I hold my breath and make a wish.
    As he gives the
starfish a final pet,
his fingers graze mine.
Just barely.
But they do.
    And the way I feel
when it happens,
I know I made
the right wish.
    Please don’t let me go quite yet.

ah, to be a snail
    Next to me,
a girl tugs on my jacket.
    Her eyes round as sand dollars,
she asks me, “Why is that shell moving?”
She points to the water where
a shell appears to slide across the tank
by an invisible force.
    “That’s a hermit crab.
There’s a crab underneath the shell.
He carries it with him wherever he goes.”
    She smiles with relief.
“A shell for a home? Lucky!”
    I think about that.
    A shell,
all his own,
no one arguing,
you belong here
or there, with us
or with them.
    Yeah.
I’d have to agree.
Pretty damn lucky.

secrets
    “No school today?” the volunteer asks
from the other side of the display.
I jump.
    I want to tell her
school is the least
of my worries.
    But I don’t respond.
And neither does Cade.
Sometimes you just don’t want
to explain yourself.
    She’s curious
the way a nosy neighbor
is curious,
bringing cookies over,
asking questions,
trying to get the dirt.
    Well, I’m not sharing.
    And apparently
Cade isn’t either.
    He turns
and walks
away.
    I follow,
my resolve
to spend the day alone
softer than I originally
thought.

a keen observation
    Outside
we watch
as sea otters
swim and play
in their small
aquarium world.
    One otter
paddles around
on his back,
spinning a blue ball
on his tummy.
    I could watch them
for hours.
Because they get it.
    They get that
life is short and
you should just
forget the crap
and have fun.
    Another otter
comes to play
and the ball
is batted away.
    Around and around
they twirl through
the water together,
like little boys wrestling.
    “That’s the way to live, huh?” Cade says.
    I guess he gets it too.

Two years, six months ago
Dear Amber,
What a week it’s been. I took two new babies into my day care this week—twins! Their names are Benjamin and Bryce. I’ve never cared for twins before. It’s a bit of a challenge. But they are beautiful, and they smile often. If you’ve ever held a smiling baby, you know there’s nothing quite like it. You are still the most important part of their world. Once they start rolling over, crawling,