Searching for Nirvana

Mrs Winthrop was unusually chilly when she opened the door and saw me. I plastered on a smile, confused by her grave and irritated face.

She opened her mouth, and I suspected it was to get me to leave when I heard Cara's voice yelling from upstairs.

"There you are!" Footsteps thudded on the stairs and my dishevelled, red-jumpsuit wearing secret girlfriend emerged, shooting Mrs Winthrop a grin. "What? Relax, you won't have to deal with her after today." Cara gave me one of her sunny grins, grabbing my hand and tugging me inside.

Mrs Winthrop quietly moved aside, and I barely had the chance to ask anything as Cara pulled me up the stairs.

"-ignore her, okay? She's got nothing against you." Cara was saying and she let go as we entered her room.

"Why-whoa, what happened here?" I asked, my old question dying as I stared at the chaos of Cara's usually immaculate room.

Books had been taken off the shelves and were heaped on the floor. Every drawer in the dresser was open, empty, and tilting downwards moodily. Posters formed rolled up heaps near the foot of the bed.

"They're kicking me out." Cara said bluntly, gesturing to the whole space.

"What? Why?" I asked, narrowly avoiding stepping on the mound of clothes near the closet.

"Because they're insanely homophobic and think I'm choosing to be gay." Cara rolled her eyes, and then expertly sidestepped one of the book stacks to perch onto the edge of her desk.

"Did they find out about us?" I rubbed my eyes, feeling stressed. We were so, so careful: never kissing in front of the house, pretending I had a boyfriend when Mrs Winthrop asked.

"Big time. My cousin had a picture of us kissing, and my mom accidentally saw it."

"Wait, what? Aurora outed us?" No wonder Mrs Winthrop hated me.

"No, Rory is just dumb. She was showing amma potential prom dresses in her camera roll and accidentally flipped to us making out."

"She has a photo of us making out?" I demanded, throwing my arms out.

"No, that would be so weird!" Cara laughed, tilting back. "We kiss-bombed one of her selfies."

I shook my head, deeply worried. "What are you going to do? Maybe just pretend you aren't gay, that it was a phase?" It was a shitty thing to say, but the reality was pretty terrible right now.

Cara glared at me, crossing her arms.

"You have practically no income, nowhere to stay-actually wait, let me talk to my dad real quick." I fumbled for my phone, ignoring Cara's huff. "I'm worried about you, okay?"

"It could be worse, they're not killing me, or I don't know, forcing me to go to conversion camp. It's fine, not having a place to stay is practically part of the gay experience. I already found a shelter I can go to." Cara held up her phone, showing me a website.

"One sec, dad's not picking up." I called him again. Then again. Then I felt Cara's perpetually cool fingers on my wrist. Tracing the light scar there.

"Babe, it's fine. Relax. Can you help me pack?" Cara gestured to everything, taking my phone from me and placing it on a shelf.

"You hate it when I touch your stuff." I pointed out, crossing my arms.

"I'm probably gonna end up selling a ton of it, so I don't know if it counts as mine anymore." Cara winked at me, ruthlessly pragmatic as always.

"Okay, what do you care about the most?" I asked, tucking my hair up into a bun.

"My books."

I rolled my eyes. Pragmatic about everything but her stupid books. "Shouldn't we start with necessities? Clothes? Money, toothpaste?"

Cara laughed again, her easy laugh very different from my automatic frown. "My books are necessities, okay? Life is really sad without them. Also, can I keep some stuff at your house? Just for a little bit?"

I was offended she had to ask. "Of course." We sat down next to the stacks, sorting through the books.

The fell open in my hands, their spines battered from Cara's incessant returns to them. Each book was uniquely hers, gouged with the ink of her many thoughts. Each book was decorated with her interpretations, loving reactions, and frequent underlines.

She made me feel like that too. Seen, heard, understood in a piercing, unremovable analysis.

"Melly, we literally can't sell these vandalized books." I stroked the cursive jotted down on one page.

Cara snickered. "That's the whole point. These are my books, part of my imagination."

"Okay, but there's so many." I closed it gently, tugging a box near me. "Probably we'll have to keep most of them at my house." I lifted a fresh copy of a book. It even smelled new, not imbued with biro and Cara's summery perfume. "Can we please sell the new ones?"

"Sure." Cara shrugged, and I took photos of each new one, so we didn't ever forget which ones to repopulate her library with.

The books slowly found their place in one of two boxes: Sell or Sugar Mama's Crib.

"Why is it called that?" I demanded blushingly when I finally deciphered the sharpie scrawl.

"Because I'm your broke, devastatingly good looking, younger boo." Cara answered, now sorting through clothes.

"You're only younger by 19 days," I rolled my eyes, scooting over to help her with the clothes.

"I don't know if I want you to see my underwear." Cara whispered in my ear and I shoved her.

"Good point, because cartoon, pastel kitten patterns truly turn me on." I held up one example, and both of us started laughing.

"Bestiality is one of the last remaining taboos." Cara said somberly and I shook my head, switching to going through shirts. My girlfriend had an alarming collection of printed T-shirts referencing cartoons or weird, emo skater boy designs.

"Hey, I liked that one!" Cara gasped when I sorted one shirt into the SELL/DONATE pile.

"Do you like it more than your Demon Slayer shirt?" I asked, tossing an unfashionably tight pair of jeans also in the sell pile.

"You know me too well." Cara conceded, tossing a black hoodie in the sell pile.

I was impressed with our sorting at the end, a small, practical yet manageable assortment of clothing had entered the TAKE pile. There was a medium pile in the Sugar Mama collection (that name was so awful), and a massive amount in the sell/donate section.

"Wow, really makes you think about how many clothes you have." I said aloud, folding a jacket onto the TAKE pile.

"I know, right? And half of this stuff I haven't worn in years." Cara scooped up the take pile and shoved it into a backpack.

"Okay, laptop and school things?" I questioned, seeing her school backpack bulge with non-school related items.

"Locker at school." Cara struggled with zipping up the bulging monstrosity.

"What about..." I scanned the room. "Wow, you're leaving your desk and lamp-"

"Public library has those things."

"-your anime bobble head collection-"

"Funkos, but whatever."

"-all your birthday cards?" I asked, hopelessly sentimental as I was.

Cara sighed. "Babe, it's paper and some glitter from a mega company. Not as meaningful as the actual memories."

"Okay," I said slowly, even though it totally didn't feel okay. "Posters?"

"Bought with dirty Winthrop money, all of it goes to Goodwill. Except for the Studio Ghibli one you got me." Cara grinned at me affectionately. "That's already been packed."

I didn't think she'd remembered. "Okay," I said okay way too much, I realized belatedly, trying to kill the blush spreading all over my face.

Cara inspected the room too, searching for leftover things. "Hmm. Well, we can sell the violin I played once. Should get me around 200 dollars. Bedsheets can stay, painting stuff-"

"I'll keep the paints." I offered immediately. It's how we met: both of us painting fanatics, me a Pre-Raphelite/art nouveau enthusiast and her a trippy surrealist.

Watching Cara disappear into her world, one with books, vibrantly unnatural colours, and the careful, frantic moves of her paintbrush... I never wanted to lose that.

"Are you sure? There's already a lot of-"

"Yes, I swear." I smiled at her surprise. "You can't be a broke, stylishly desperate artist without the art."

Cara grinned. "Well, I ended up either selling most of my art or stashing it in the art room at school. Ms D'Amicis was more than happy."

"Okay good." Because it would have been heartbreaking to leave her paintings here, for the Winthrops to do whatever with.

They already saw Cara's painting as a total waste of time and money.

"Well, that's everything." Cara nodded, hands on her hips as she appraised the deconstructed room.

I didn't reply. I'd had to move in a hurry once when my alcoholic mom had finally snapped, breaking my dad's hand when she hit him with a golf club.

You thought you took everything you cared about, and then one day you needed that one thing, that one memento or item you'd always just had on your desk or in a drawer. And the fact it was gone, forever, hurt just as deeply as the events that made you leave.

There was so much being left here. The sticky notes of fake deep thoughts we'd stuck over her bed. The led lights that made this room atmospheric when we felt like ugly singing and..ahem, making out.

One night, feeling a 4 a.m. high, we'd carved C+B 4 LIFE under her shitty IKEA desk. Embarrassing, yes, but something integral to our story.

That was the first time we'd kissed. And then again.

And I bought her that mug perched on her shelf. And we'd "stolen" that branded pen the one time our school took us to a fancy art museum.

Her first-ever skateboard, the one we'd jointly made into 'found' art was shelved on the wall. Another thing we couldn't take.

She had my favourite gum on standby on her desk, and my leave-in conditioner was a permanent sleepover fixture in her bathroom.

"I can't believe you have to go," I murmured into her arm, both of us lounging on the bed, a cartoon playing on her laptop.

"Not going anywhere." Cara kissed the top of my head, snuggling closer. "Just have to leave this room. This house, this super toxic and shitty place."

"I'm worried." I couldn't stop the tears for some reason. Everything seemed fine now, but what if she dropped out? Started doing drugs, or got into trouble? What if foster care stuck her a million miles away from me? What if, what if, what if. And each possibility was worse than the last.

"Don't be. Remember when I jumped off that bridge, but thankfully there were no rocks in the water? You didn't think I'd be fine."

I elbowed her sharply. "I told you not to do that. Moron."

"Yeah, but it all works out, babe," Cara smirked, resting her cheek on the top of my head. "I'm alive, and you're alive, and my parents will always suck. And I'll figure-"

"We'll figure it out." I interrupted, pushing off her side and glaring at her. "I'm not going to be a glorified storage facility. I'm always going to help you. Moron." I stared until Cara's face changed from practical to soft.

Finally, I saw a crack in Cara's carefully constructed mask. She took too long to respond, clearly moved by what I'd said.

I poked her dimple, sad with the realization that simple gestures moved my spontaneous, over the top, clown of a girlfriend.

Cara giggled, half of it a sob. "Fine. We shall figure it all out together. Happy?" She pulled me back in.

We heard some movement downstairs and I checked my phone.

Dad had texted: On my way.

Then, Call me back.

I showed Cara the messages and she groaned, reluctantly getting up.

"Dad?" I said, the second the ringing stopped.

"What's happening? Also, I'm, like five minutes away."

"Dad, the Wintrhops kicked Cara out. Can she please, please-"

"Yes. Is she okay?" Dad asked the anxiety that ran in our family evident in his voice too.

I surreptitiously watched Cara drop one of the birthday cards into the box. "She's dealing with it surprisingly well, dad. Okay, tell me when you get here, and get off your phone!"

Then Cara and I struggled to carry everything downstairs.

In a nasty turn of events, I made eye contact with Mr and Mrs Winthrop. They were seated on the couch, cups of tea clenched in their hands.

Cara raised an eyebrow at them, gesturing to one box. "This stuff is donateable, please donate it at your convenience."

Then she stormed back upstairs, to get the stuff we'd left.

I sighed carefully, trying to not look at the Winthrops.

Then I accidentally looked up, and all of us stared at each other. I never did this, I was not one of those up-in-arms rebel teens.

But I had to.

"Are you guys even super religious?" I asked finally. "Why are you kicking her out? It's 2022."

Mrs Winthrop shook her head wordlessly and dumped her tea in the sink.

"Hello?" I felt the frown twist my face. "What is wrong with the two of you?"

Mr Winthrop fiddled with a cufflink.

Mercifully, I saw my dad's Buick pull into the driveway.

Cara huffed, depositing her backpack and other box at my feet. "Oh, great. Let's go." She spotted my Dad waving at us and hefted up her bag.

"None of you are gonna say goodbye?" I demanded, looking around at them.

"Don't bother," Cara told me, deliberately not looking at her parents. Her bravado seemed to evaporate all at once.

I lifted up a box and opened the door for my Dad.

"You okay, kid?" He took a box from Cara and ruffled her short hair.

"Never better." Cara marched past him, dragging her heavy backpack after her.

"Come on, love." Dad jerked his head towards the car, arms occupied with the Sugar Mama box.

Families didn't have to be torn apart over this. Mine had literally imploded due to mental illness, but this? Stupid, avoidable, dumb. They could just have accepted her.

I took the final box, stepping past the threshold of this house for the last time.

In the car, Cara's hand found mine, and she stubbornly didn't look back.

"You know, kids," My dad blurted, deeply uncomfortable as he was with awkward silences. "I just got some new songs on my phone." He clicked on the speaker and Girl In Red started playing.

"Oh my God, Dad." I winced, shaking my head. "There are other gay artists!"

"You're the best, Mr.Z." Cara laughed, singing along. In her unrefined, horrible voice.

"I hate both of you, you are so embarrassing." I pushed my hands onto my face, watching my dad bop his head completely out of time.

And oh, how it hurts

I can't say

'Cause I'm all out of words