Searching for Tomorrow (Tomorrows) (2 page)

I lean back against the closed door and softly beat my head against it
. I take a deep breath in, release it, and anxiously rub my temples, hoping to relieve some of the tension gathering there at an alarming rate. Facing off with Mother Tidwell is never my favorite thing to do, but seriously, with no coffee? That one sip does not count. Just shoot me now and put me out of my misery.

That
woman has hated me from day one, and each year it seems to escalate. Barely civil in the beginning, her erratic behavior these days makes me wonder about her sometimes. I know the only reason she keeps coming back to torture me is so she can build a gap between my munchkins and me, and then wedge herself between us. Some of the things she tells them about me make me wonder if she is delusional, a pathological liar, or she just wants to drive me insane. She is more than aware that I struggle to find the strength to get out of bed every day, much less deal with her. I wish I could dig deep and find the power to fight back against her, but I really don’t know that retaliation would do any good.

With a heavy sigh, I make my way back to the kitchen
, closing my mind to thoughts of her. I am determined to get at least one cup of coffee in me before I get started on my day. I sit with my cup at the table and lay my head down on the sticky surface. I know that I should be thankful that someone is willing to help by taking the girls to school, even if I have to deal with her nasty attitude. I struggle with many simple things. Over the last three years, I have tried to keep all my thoughts and feelings boxed up inside, but to be honest, I am not quite sure my mental box is strong enough to hold it all in anymore. Sometimes, I feel like someone squished me inside a soft drink bottle. With a couple of small shakes, I am ready to explode. Raising three girls, working long hours, dealing with Mother Tidwell, and trying to do it all without asking for help, is beginning to consume my soul. The pressure I have placed on myself since Tripp has been gone is about to crush me, but I go to bed every night praying that tomorrow will be different, and maybe, just maybe a little easier.

My name is Amelia Wrynn Broun Tidwell, but family and friends know me as Wrynn, and I am the mother of those three adorable munchkins. Though I was born and raised on the other side of nowhere, I have lived, loved, and lost more in my twenty-nine years than most people do in a lifetime. Blessed to find my one true love at a very young age, life conspired against me when it took my Tripp from me.

Who is Tripp? That is easy to explain. Tripp was my best friend, my lover, my confidant, my soul mate. He was the salt to my pepper, the peanut butter to my chocolate. He alone brought me love and hope and joy. Together we created our three beautiful girls, and together we looked at the world as ours to conquer. In short, he was my other half, the part that completed me. His absence is the reason that I will never be whole again.

My brother Liam and I were born and raised in the small town of Highlands, North Carolina. At 3,850 feet above sea level, our hometown is the quintessential Small Town, U.S.A., with Asheville being only one and a half hours north, Atlanta only two and a half hours south, and Charlotte a little over three hours east. Though the town is nestled high in the Blue Ridge Mountains, the big cities are close enough that we can travel easily for entertainment, but far enough away that finding a locked front door is a rarity. Children play outside in their yards or down at the local park while moms gather to share recipes or the local gossip.

Tripp and I met in 1992
. It was the first day of the new school year, and we were starting the third grade. Mom made me wear this frilly pink dress along with these hideous pink and white ribbons in my hair. During recess, all the kids went out to the playground. The tire swing was my favorite thing in the world to play on, and it was the first thing I always raced to. Tripp saw me fighting with a boy who was trying to take the tire swing from me, and being the well-mannered young man that he was, he decided he would come to my rescue. He had no idea that the boy he tried to fight off for me was none other than my twin brother Liam. Liam and I were quite used to trading punches. Much to my mother’s chagrin, we wrestled and fought almost daily. Tripp quickly learned that fact when I joined forces with Liam to ‘take that little twerp down’. Nobody could mess with my brother without my stepping in to defend him. From that day forward, Liam, Tripp, and I were inseparable. Like Tripp always said, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

He introduced himself to us
that day as Channing, and we let him keep that stuffy name for a short while. The change from Channing to Tripp was just the beginning of our tomorrows and the new life that began to grow as we built it together.

It
didn’t take our family much time to discover that Channing and his mom lived in the better part of town, several streets away from us. It took us much longer to realize that the family life Channing was born into was so far from our own that my family barely even recognized it. He would often sneak over to our house after school. We would read and do homework, but most of our time would be spent riding bikes, climbing trees, or playing baseball or kickball. If I wanted to swing, Tripp would push me on that old tire swing for hours. We spent as much time playing outside as possible.

O
ne such afternoon, not long after we had met Channing, a sleek black car pulled into our driveway. Because Channing was at home plate for his turn at kickball, his back was turned, and he didn’t notice either the car or the furious woman who peered out the window at us. The look on her face was so scary that if looks could kill, we would all be dead.

Just as Channing
reared back to kick the ball, the angry woman shouted out the car window, “Channing Kennedy Tidwell the Third, get in this car
right this minute.”
She then proceeded to roll her window up and sit there, staring at us with her nose turned up. At first, we all just gaped at the angry woman. Then, Channing seemed to snap out of his trance, and he walked slowly towards the car with his shoulders hung in despair. Never one to take things too seriously, Liam yelled from the outfield, “Channing Kennedy Tidwell the Third? What a mouth full. I think we’ll just call you Tripp.”

The woman in the car glared at
Liam and yelled back to us, “Over my dead body!” With that hateful proclamation, she sealed his fate, and Channing became Tripp to us forevermore.

Of course,
Liam just couldn’t let it go. In a voice just loud enough to carry, he smarted back, “That woman’s crazy.”

It went without saying that
his mother wasn’t happy with the name change. We also discovered she was not too happy with Tripp’s choice of friends. A few years later when we were old enough to understand, we found out that Tripp’s father came from old Atlanta money. Seems someone in Mr. Tidwell’s family was an early investor and stockholder in a popular soft drink company. Thankfully, Tripp’s Papa and Nana Tidwell were humble, honest, down to Earth people. They never made us feel as if we weren’t good enough, and they always warmly welcomed us into their summer home in Highlands. Over time, my mother became the daughter they’d never had, and my father filled the emptiness left when their only son had died. They considered my entire family as their own, and never once allowed us to forget that they loved us. Nana’s chocolate chip peanut butter cookies were the best, and she always made sure to have plenty in her cookie tin because she knew that as soon as they rolled into Highlands, my dad or the three of us kids would be stopping by to gobble them down.

When Tripp’s father passed away, his mother
sold the Atlanta house and moved them north to Highlands. It took a few years, but we eventually came to understand what a trust fund baby was, and we knew we didn’t fit in that category. Because our father worked as both a landscaper and carpenter, and our mother was a teacher, Tripp’s mother did not think we were suitable playmates for her son. She forbade Tripp from playing with us and declared our home off limits to him. After Tripp ran away to our house three nights in a row, his mother finally relented and gave him permission to come over and hang out with us. Unfortunately, that was the most acceptance we could ever come to expect from her. We Brouns could just never quite measure up to her standards. It seemed our kind of people were just a little too common for her tastes.

Thankfully,
Tripp never let his mother’s disposition affect us. He would make his escape, and we continued to play together almost every day during our elementary school years. Mrs. Tidwell even allowed Tripp to spend the night with us occasionally, even though she never permitted us to enter their house. Because we had so much fun together at our home and at Papa and Nana Tidwell’s summer retreat, we never missed not hanging out at Tripp’s house. Our home was gradually becoming his home, too, and our family was by and large working hard to become the family he so desperately needed.

During our middle school years,
Liam and Tripp played football and basketball while I became their personal cheerleader: pompoms, short skirt, splits, kicks, and all. During baseball season, you could find me outside the dugout yelling for my boys, wearing my favorite ball cap with the bill facing backwards. Summer break found us swimming in the creek, hiking up to Jones Knob, or fishing down at the lake. No matter what time of the year, you would find the three of us together everywhere we went. When we walked downtown for ice cream, soda or candy, the shopkeepers would come out and stop us to chat. During the winters, our walks would find us searching for hot chocolate or a bonfire so we could make s'mores. If one of us were missing, folks wanted to know what was wrong with the one not there. Small town life provided the safety and security needed for kids interested in good, clean fun. My mom and dad never had to worry about us because there were more than enough eyes watching wherever we went.

Tripp became such a fixt
ure at our home that my folks became his second set of parents, adopting him as one of their own, and they started referring to him as Son. Mom always made his favorite cake for his birthday, and she even allowed him to make requests for special meals. We treated him as family, because really, he
was
family. If he stepped out of line, needed help with a school project, or had a problem that he couldn’t solve, my mom and dad were always there to help him.

Right before our freshman year of high school began, I started noticing that Tripp and
Liam had changed, seemingly overnight. They were no longer these short stubby fellows with unruly mops hanging in their eyes and limbs too long for their bodies. In the blink of an eye, I somehow missed my boys becoming men. Liam and I still shared the same auburn colored hair and turquoise eyes that marked us as twins, but that is where the similarities ended. Mother Nature decided I should stop growing when I was barely five-foot three inches tall. Liam, on the other hand, started climbing rather quickly towards, and then surpassed, the six-foot mark, with long, lean, muscular arms and legs to go with it.

I guess Tripp decided he
couldn’t let Liam leave him behind, so he filled out and grew as tall as Liam. Tripp’s hair had always been sun-bleached blond, but as he grew taller and broader, it darkened to the most beautiful, warm caramel blond color I had ever seen. During our middle school days, I would always tease him about having owl eyes. When you looked at his face, all you could see were these huge yellow-green orbs. His eyes were so large that they seemed to dominate his face. As he stretched in height, it seemed that his head finally grew enough to catch up with the size of his eyes, balancing out his mismatched features.

When we
walked down the halls at school, a stranger would have thought that I was a celebrity or a famous model. Even though I was more than able to take care of myself, Liam and Tripp flanked my sides at all times, appearing to be my hunky bodyguards. Because they were so protective of me, I always found myself sandwiched between the two of them, with my head not quite reaching their shoulders. The other kids teased me constantly and asked if I had received more fan mail from my stalkers. Thank goodness, the teasing was funny and not malicious because my boys did not take too kindly to anyone who treated me badly. More than once, the boys spoke words in defense of my honor.

D
uring one such walk down the school hallways, Tripp took my hand in his for the first time. The thought of pulling my hand away never even crossed my mind. Holding hands with Tripp seemed second nature to me. When I looked up to see his face, the smile he gave me was so tender that I could not help but smile back. When Liam noticed our joined hands, his only comment was, “It’s about time,” and just like that, our relationship crossed over from simple, innocent friendship to the budding stages of building our own tomorrows together.

For some people, things would have gotten awkward at this point, but not for us
. Having grown up with Liam and me, Tripp was already an accepted member of our family. He naturally transitioned from best friend to boyfriend with nary a hitch. My parents were happy, but not surprised. It seemed they knew this would progress, and had just been waiting for us to see what they had seen and known all along. Liam took the change in stride, never once complaining or treating us differently. The three of us were still inseparable, and Liam’s presence now helped us resist the temptation to move things too far too soon. For the longest time, it seemed that nothing changed in our relationship.

Because he
was six months older than Liam and me, Tripp was the first to get his driver’s license during our sophomore year. We had talked all the time about pooling our money to buy a car, but with all the sports my boys played, neither had time to do more than take a couple of odd jobs here and there. Because his grades were exceptional, his actions were honorable, and he stayed out of trouble, Tripp’s Papa and Nana bought him a truck. When Mrs. Tidwell tried to force Tripp to follow her narrow rules about when and where he could drive the truck and who could ride with him, Tripp just handed the keys to her and turned to walk out the door. He let his mother know that if he had to choose a truck over the Brouns, the Brouns would win every time. After he walked out the door to head to our house, his mother relented. She gave him the truck, and let him keep us too.

Our sophomore year in
high school was the beginning of the best times of our lives. We took that truck on many adventures over the coming years. We travelled down to Asheville to eat and Wilkes County for Merlefest, a three-day outdoor bluegrass festival. We journeyed to waterfalls and campgrounds off the beaten path. We had amazing picnics in the bed of it, and rode down towards Atlanta every month to see Tripp’s Papa and Nana in Smyrna. Tripp kissed me for the first time sitting in that truck while parked beneath a waterfall. Liam later claimed Tripp’s truck as his own and still drives it to this day. It has enough happy memories to last us a lifetime.