Page 53 of Wanted You More

July Fourth.

Eight thirty-two at night.

The fireworks will start soon.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

I hiccup as I try calming my haphazard breathing. My chest starts to tighten with an oncoming panic attack, but I know it won’t do me any good. Holding my phone a little tighter in my hand, I fight the tears springing in my eyes and sniffle as I dial Dad’s number.

It goes to voicemail, which means he let it die again. He’s horrible at keeping it charged and on him. I used to think that was a good thing because he wasn’t as obsessive about reaching out like he used to be as soon as Wolfe and I got phones too. But now that I need something, his forgetfulness doesn’t feel as welcoming.

Especially not today.

I pinch my eyes closed and weigh my options, knowing there’s only one real logical one. Wiping my wet nose with the back of my hand, I wait until I hear the phone pick up before saying, “Ben? I need your help.”

The alert in Ben’s tone is quick because it’s obvious I’m not okay, thanks to my raspy tone. “Are you okay, Austen?”

There are murmured voices in the background that I can’t quite make out, and I wonder if he’s doing another barbecue with his family or at the pier helping them get ready for the firework display. “There’s a huge hole in my tire, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Where are you?”

I look around, realizing I’m not sure which exit I’m closest to. “I don’t know. I’m on the interstate in between exit thirteen and fifteen I think. I don’t…I wasn’t paying attention.”

He hushes whoever is around. “Take a deep breath. It’s okay. Are you pulled over?”

Sniffling some more, I take another deep, shaky breath. “Yeah, I’m on the shoulder. But I don’t think I have a spare. Who am I supposed to call? Nobody is going to be open on a holiday.”

“Hang tight, kid. I’m coming. I just need to grab a few things. Stay in your car, keep your doors locked, and just…” He cusses. “Put some music on. The fireworks are going to start soon, and I need you to stay calm. Can you do that?”

No.In the most pathetic tone that nobody would believe in a thousand years, I say, “Yes.”

When we hang up, I do as he says and get back inside my car. It’s dark out. I’ve barely got a quarter tank of gas. No spare tire. And no extra spending money to buy a new one, thanks to the books I had to order for school next month.

I try my best not to freak out as I periodically check the time on my phone and dashboard. But with each passing minute, I know I’ll be closer and closer to the memories reigniting the worst moment of my life.

So many people love this holiday because it means warm weather to spend outside barbecuing and celebrating our independence. To some of us, those of us who were at Shakespeare Park that night, freedom is the last thing we feel today. Because those horrible memories—all the sounds, smells, and colors—sink their claws into us and make sure we never forget.

The last thing we are is free.

Least of all from our pasts.

When the first loud crack of light echoes in the sky, my body locks up. Then the second burst of light crackles through the sky minutes later, and I start shaking.

I crank my music louder, but it’s never loud enough to drown out the noise.

I can feel myself being pulled back there.

To the park.

To the crowd of panicked people.

“Mommy?” I cry out, searching frantically as people start running in all different directions. “Mommy? Daddy? Where are you?”

As if I’m right back in the moment of pure terror, I can sense everything as if no time has passed. I can smell the barbecued food from the vendors. Taste the bitter pink lemonade I’d begged Mom and Dad to buy me hours before the fireworks started. Hear the cheerful conversations and buzzing excitement from the show to come.

As if it’s a fever dream, the happiness fades into pure terror.

All I hear is the constantbang, bang, bangand the cheers that turn into something so much more horrifying.

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