Embracing You, Embracing Me

In loving memory of Gabriel; his blessed
light continues to shine down on those he left behind. We will never forget him.

***

I want to dedicate this book to a few
special people:

Ember; you are without question one of the
strongest women I know and you are a grounding force in my life. I just hope
that I have been as good of a friend to you as you have been to me.

Thank you to Jessica; your vibrant energy
and good humor have always fueled my own. I value your friendship and
unconditional love immensely. It has been quite an adventure and I hope the
next twenty years are just as amusing.

Next, I must thank my Grandma, my mentor,
my friend; your grace is immeasurable. I doubt that I will ever meet someone
who is as selfless and generous as you. You are an angel who walks among us. I
love you.

Thank you to my mother; you always taught
me that I could do anything and be anything that I wanted to be. Thankfully,
because of your strong belief in that concept, I believed it too. Thank you for
giving me that gift. I love you.

Thank you to Matt and Michelle Stephens of
Fingerpress for taking on this project.

***

At sixteen, I was fumbling through the
hormonal turmoil and self-induced drama of life in a dusty little town that was
far smaller than my ambitions. The town consisted of a few modest homes, a
doctor’s office, two mini-marts and a couple of taverns, the suburbs of another
only slightly larger country town in western Oregon. My home was a rusty old
trailer house, its fragile outer shell peeling away from the crusty rivets that
pockmarked its discolored surface. I shared the place with my ailing mother and
loving but strict grandmother, in conditions that drove my daily promise:

“I don’t want to live like this forever. I
will
get out of this godforsaken town and make something of myself someday. I
will
break this cycle of hopelessness and forge my own path.”

AMBER:
It’s not just the fact that Roshell is outspoken and can be
brutally honest, honest to the point where sometimes you just wish she would
keep her mouth shut. It’s more than that. I can trust her with anything.

While I tend to be the type to just kind of
hang out along the fringes people watching, you can bet that Roshell will be
right smack in the middle of whatever is going on, instigating, conspiring and
cheering on a good time. She is so outgoing that even when I feel nervous or
shy in a situation, I usually find myself forgetting all inhibitions as Roshell
steamrolls her way through any and all barriers, and before I know it, I’m totally
immersed into whatever scenario we’ve found ourselves in.

I gave a quick spray of flowery perfume and
patted the stiff bangs that stood up straight in a style comprehended only by
those of us who actually lived through the early nineties. A hairstyle that
required a minimum of fifteen minutes of teasing, curling and more teasing
until the bangs were feathered and vertical, shellacked with enough hairspray
to be considered a weapon. With one last look, I decided I was happy with the
result.

“Yes! A good hair day! I’m outa here!” So,
it would be a good day, I mused snatching up my ratty secondhand backpack and
racing out the front door to catch the bus. I firmly believed that the tone of
a teenage girl’s day was always set by how well her hair behaved. A great hair
day could have her feeling sassy and almost confident while a bad hair day…
well, look out.

I needed a good hair day because after
school my best friend Amber and I were heading to the Friday night High School
football game, then spending the night at Amber’s house. It was a big deal
since I wasn’t usually allowed to join in most of the social events that my
peers participated in. Being raised by a devoted grandma who was set in her
old-fashioned ways was pretty strict business and usually devoid of anything
that even resembled a good time.

Mount Pleasant, Oregon, was benefitting
from an Indian summer. Though it was the end of September, the evening had that
wonderful between-season feel. The air was still warm to the touch, but in the
light breeze there was the hint of the fall that was to come. A pungent yet
crisp scent filled the air. It was the scent of autumn leaves as they turn
vivid reds and oranges before they wither, die and loosen their hold on the
trees.

I took in a deep breath as I strolled alongside
Amber, heading to the game, golden leaves crunching beneath our feet.

We had formed our tight friendship at a
crucial point. The previous year, Amber’s “bestie”, Holly, had the audacity to
drop her for a new girl. At the beginning of eighth grade, I had just moved to Mount Pleasant Middle School and quickly made friends with Mandy, but that friendship
burned out as Mandy sought Courtney to be her new bestie.

I was always baffled by the way girls my
age swapped their best friend forever about as often as some boys changed their
dirty socks. Friendship, to me, was a sacred thing. It was about having a confidante
to share secrets with. It was someone who would never laugh at your dreams, or
tease you when she discovered who your newest crush was. Someone who liked you
no matter what type of house you lived in or how much money your family had, or
rather didn’t have.

It began when we were both invited to
Mandy’s birthday party. It was co-ed, so guaranteed to be a blast. The party
swung into full speed. Mandy cranked up the music and we danced. I was bursting
at the seams to show off my moves to the
New Kids On The Block
hit.

In the middle of some intense gyrations in
the center of the living room floor, I decided to end the number with flair by
sliding down into the splits. A ripping sound cut through the song’s closing
chords. My eyes bulged and my throat tightened as I realized that I had just
split the seam of my jeans. Jumping up, I reached behind, fearing the worst. To
my horror I detected cotton panties in plain view through the butt of my ripped
pants. Holy mother of…

With a sharp intake of breath I clapped my
hand over my mouth. “Oh, my god!” And then I did what I always do when in a
mortifyingly embarrassing situation. I began to laugh hysterically. To my
dismay, so did everyone else in the room. My body went hot with humiliation and
my mind went blank.

Fortunately, Amber was smart enough to
assess the situation and took matters into her own hands. She untied the
sweatshirt from her waist, wrapped it around mine and guided me to a back bedroom
down the hallway.

“Come on, don’t worry about it,” Amber
whispered and closed the door. “I have a spare pair of jeans in my backpack.”

“Oh, yeah, right! I just gave everyone out
there at least three Seinfeld episodes’ worth of jokes and entertainment at my
expense. I will never live this down.” I buried my face in my hands wishing to
hide as a strangled giggle escaped from deep in my throat.

“Sure you will. Just go out and let them
rib you for a few minutes so they can get it out of their systems. Meanwhile,
do what you just did. Laugh with them, brush it off and act like it’s no big
deal, and then so will they.” Her words, said with such confidence, made me
feel calmer, more centered. I took in a cleansing breath, thanked Amber and
slipped into the jeans before we rejoined the party.

Of course it worked out just the way Amber
had predicted. I was relieved and grateful. Proven friends, we hung out for the
remainder of the party and were inseparable from that point on.

Amber with her matter-of-fact and
dependable nature was the first friend that I ever truly respected. She had a
passion for horses and would get up at 5:30 every morning just to care for the
mare that was her pride and joy. After school, she worked at a stable down the
road, both to earn money and to gain exposure to ranch life. She was a country
girl at heart and wasn’t afraid of putting in hard work for the things she
truly desired.  

She could hide intense emotions beneath a
cool exterior. This trait was especially awesome to me because I have always tended
to wear it all right out in the open. But if something was bothering Amber she
just sank into her quiet zone. And the quieter she went, the more worried I
would become, knowing that a storm was brewing.

Amber didn’t let her emotions get the best
of her very often, but when she did, watch out. Her soft hazel eyes would
intensify like incandescent rocks, and one look could burn through you,
flashing her warning. I soon learned to stand back until she returned to her
mellow ways. She exuded a strength and stability that I admired, and needed in
my own life.

As we neared the High School we could see
the stadium lights and hear the pep band warming up, brass instruments
flat-lining.

“How do you French kiss?” Amber blurted the
question and immediately blushed, embarrassed.