Authors: Michele G Miller
She looks back at herself for a moment. Her hair was lighter back then, and pulled up into a side ponytail. Of course, that was the style when she was twelve. She remembers the little black and white halter top tankini she wore as if it was yesterday. She loved that suit. Katie and Tanya, with their matching hairstyles, have their heads butted up against Jules and all three of them have huge grins on their faces. They have always been the three musketeers. Remembering the water is running, she starts to put the picture down when her eye catches sight of a dark, wavy mop of hair two heads over and behind hers. She could identify that messy head in her sleep. It belongs to West, and in the picture he is staring right at her with that half-grin on his lips.
Later that night, she is sitting on her bed looking through a few more pictures from the pool party, ones with West in them, when her mom knocks once before she opens the door and walks in.
"Dad and I are turning in, pumpkin."
Jules gives her a distracted, 'Okay'.
"Whatcha’ looking at?" she asks as she sits on the edge of Jules’ bed. Her eyes light up as she picks up a picture. "Look at you! Look at all of you…when was this?"
"Summer before seventh."
"Did you talk to Stuart tonight?"
"Nope."
"Is there something going on with you two, Jules?"
"I don't know...maybe."
"Oh hun, you've been through a huge, life-changing moment. We all have. Give it a little time."
"I know. And I know he's hurting too, but if I'm honest with myself, we were struggling before this."
"You were?" Her brows rise in mild shock at the confession. Her parents love Stuart.
"Yeah. Honestly, I think we're more friends now than a couple anymore. There's not much of a spark, and we've already discussed how we're most likely going to different colleges and neither of us wants a long distance relationship."
"Sweetie, that's a year away. Neither of you need to be thinking about it right now." Jules feels her face fall and her mother narrows her eyes. "Unless…?" she prods, obviously sensing there is more at play right now.
"I feel so wrong for feeling this way. He's always been the best boyfriend; respectful of me, gets along with you, with my friends, smart, cute
—
everything I should want..."
"But?"
"
But
I tried to kiss West today."
"You what?"
Jules covers her face in embarrassment. "I know, I know. I shouldn't have."
Her mom pulls her hands away from her face and holds them tightly in her own. "Jules, why did you try to kiss him?"
"I think maybe he's crushed on me for years. Years, mom! He looks at me and I melt. I know it's wrong. I have a boyfriend who I shouldn't be screwing around on."
"Ummm, language and explanation, please," she asks, suddenly very stern. Jules realizes how crude her comment probably sounded.
"Not literally, Mom. There's no screwing of any sort going on, promise," she rushes to explain, and then cringes; knowing her mother hates when she uses crass words. "Sorry."
"Jules, I’ll tell you what my mother once told me. Give it time."
"Give it time? That's your big spiel?"
"Yes. I know it doesn't sound like much, but it's really all you need. Honey, maybe you and Stuart aren't meant to be, and if you're not you'll know. West saved your life. Of
course
you're feeling something for him right now. Give it time. Allow yourself to get some sort of normalcy back, and then you can make better decisions."
"Is it wrong for me to be thinking of him? Of West, I mean. Like, all the time?"
"Sweetie, they're your feelings, so they can't be wrong. It's what you do with them that makes all the difference, but you have the right to feel what you feel."
Jules leans in and hugs her neck. "Now
those
are words of wisdom. I love you, momma."
"I love you too, pumpkin, so much. Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day."
"Yeah, I don't know how I'm going to do it. I can't cry anymore, you know. It's like I'm numb, but I miss her so much."
Her mom picks up the picture with Tanya and Katie making faces at the camera. "You'll always carry these memories in your heart, baby. As for tomorrow, you’ll get through it. We
all
will, and then we’ll get through the next day and the one after that. This whole town will; minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. We will keep going.”
* * *
Jules picks up a small frame sitting by her chair and holds it up to the camera. It is a four-by-six frame with an artistically scripted quote on it.
“‘Minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. You will keep going’," she reads aloud before placing the frame back down. "I've used that advice so many times. It’s probably the most relevant piece of advice I've ever gotten in my life," she admits.
Fourteen
A soft cry, followed by a strangled cough pulls Jules out of the oblivion she's been in. Opening her eyes, she is greeted by pitch black surroundings and the chalky scent and taste of dust. She has a difficult time breathing, and coughs to try and clear her throat. Something shifts next to her and she feels a hand drift up her waist.
West, she remembers.
One arm lies under her, holding her hand while he cradles her back to his chest. His free arm shifts to her cheek and he mumbles incoherently and tries to tug at her top. When the house first came down, West ordered her to cover her face with her shirt so they wouldn't breathe in the dust. Her cheerleading top was too short and tight to pull up from the bottom, so she had to duck her face down and pull it up. It barely covers her nose, and even then it’s difficult to keep it up. She takes small breaths now and tries not to stir the rubble around her face too much.
She moans softly and tries to shift. They only have a few inches to maneuver in under the collapsed rubble of the Victorian farmhouse where they sought refuge.
"Jules?" West's voice is raspy and worried.
"Hmmm?" She feels his heat at her back, spooning her, and she wants to turn towards him. She needs to.
"You passed out. You okay? Are you in pain?"
"Passed...out?" she wheezes with a small cough. She thinks for a moment. She feels alright, and other than the burn in her lungs from her harsh breathing, she doesn’t seem to have any injuries. Thanks to West.
"How...you?" She struggles to speak and wiggles a little more, testing her surroundings. Although her free hand touches sheetrock and wood only inches in front of her face, it feels like they are in an open pocket of space. A pocket scarcely big enough for them.
"Don't move. You might hurt yourself or knock something."
"Have...to..." She pulls her hand from his and with a small groan, pushes herself around. The arm that West has on her waist tugs at her as she twists towards him, while his other arm stays wrapped under her. She feels his hand press over her head as if he is protecting it from anything that might fall on her.
"Wow, Buffy
—
good thing you're so tiny." He laughs as her face meets his chest and her knee bumps into his leg.
"No...fair. The air seems...cleaner over here."
"Here." He clutches her hand and pulls it to his waist before guiding it up under his shirt. "Hold it to your face and breathe through it," he explains. She notices his voice sounds a little muffled for the first time.
He must have it pulled over his face too
, she thinks.
She nods and leans forward to stretch the cotton shirt over her mouth as a breathing mask. Her arm rests against his warm stomach and she feels his hand begin to comb through her hair softly.
"We're gonna be okay."
"How long do you think...we've been down here?"
"Not long. They'll look for us, we'll be okay." His free hand restlessly brushes her shoulder, then her waist and hip before she feels it weave under the arm she has in his shirt. It touches her forearm and works its way to find her open fingers holding his shirt to her face. Jules hears him sigh as he covers her hand with his. Once again, they are holding hands.
Jules wakes up in a cold sweat with the smell of dust in her nostrils. Her hand hurts, and she realizes she's been digging her nails into her palm as she slept. Running her thumb over her palm, she can feel the indentations the nails made.
She glances at the clock and is surprised to discover that Jason isn’t in her bed. The clock says it is two a.m., and she sighs as a tear runs down her cheek. Picking up her cell, she makes an impulsive decision. She pulls up the number added barely a few hours earlier and types out a text to West. She rationalizes that he probably has his phone on silent and won’t get it until the morning, but she doesn’t care
—
she
has
to tell him.
Jules: My hand misses your hand
She presses ‘Send’ and then flings herself down on her pillow; ashamed for sending it at all. Almost immediately her cell begins to vibrate…except it isn’t a return text, he is calling her.
"Hi," she answers softly.
"My hand misses yours more," he offers plainly, no salutations necessary.
"Did I wake you?"
"Nah, I couldn't sleep."
"Me either."
"So...your hand just wanted to text me? Let me know she missed my big, tough grip?" His voice is low, playful. It does crazy things to Jules’ stomach.
"My hand’s a little whack these days."
He chuckles. "Why's that, Buffy?"
"Two a.m. texts to your hand? C'mon, that's whack."
"First, stop saying 'whack'. You sound like Ruben, and it's strange. Second, you can call me at any hour. You, or your hand."
"Yeah?" Jules asks breathlessly. When did West Rutledge become such a dang charmer? Everything he says is perfect.
"Yeah. I think going through a near-death experience together has earned us the right to be a little needy."
She processes that comment. Is it the experience they went through that pulls them towards each other? Maybe it is.
"I think you're right. Thank you."
"Don't thank me. I only said it so I’d feel better about the twenty or so text messages I've typed up but didn't send."
"Twenty? What did they say and why didn't you send them?"
"Jules..."
"Send them now and I'll reply back." She waits for an answer and when he doesn’t say anything, she presses on. "Come
on
. We're both up, anyway. You chicken...Spike?"
"I don't think we should go there right now, Jules." He sounds defeated.
"Go where? Come on...I'm hanging up and I want a text in one minute, or my hand will be very mad at yours."
She clicks the ‘End’ button with a smile and waits for his text, feeling giddy, similar to a little girl waiting to open her presents.
West: I can't send you the texts, Jules. It's not right
Jules: I want to know what you were thinking. How can your feelings not be right? They're yours
She smiles as she thinks of the conversation with her mom hours ago. Jules scribbled her mom’s words on a piece of paper as soon as she left the room, and she decided they would be her motto.
Just keep going
, she thinks as she stares at her phone and waits for the text from West. She’s about to give up when her phone vibrates. She scoots down under her covers as she slides the lock button and reads the first text.
West: I can't stop thinking about you
Jules: Is this one of the 20? I had a dream about you. Well about us and being stuck that night
West: Hey Buffy... don't reply. Just let me send them okay? And yes, that was the first one
West: You're with Stuart. I need to stop thinking about you
West: I can’t believe you remembered that kiss. I bribed Karen to pick us. Convinced Wes Gruber to make out with her in exchange for seven minutes with you. I'm not even sorry
Jules laughs; throwing her hand over her mouth as she reads it. He actually bribed Wes and Karen?
West: You smelled like strawberry shampoo. To this day I love the smell of strawberries. It’s because of you
West: Why am I texting and saving messages I'm not going to send?
West: I'm crazy, that’s why. Whatever. Where was I? Oh
—
so strawberries and spearmint. You'd eaten a mint. I saw you pop it into your mouth the minute your name was called.
West: Best damn mint I've ever tasted
West: I was going to ask you out...
West: My mom died two weeks later, Jules
West: So, yeah. Life changed after that. I dropped out of football. I was stupid. I miss football
West: This is crazy
West: Anyway, Stuart moved to town that same summer and took my spot on the team like it was nothing and you were a goner. I don't care what you say everyone knew you had it bad for him