Poppy

Bradford Beach was the perfect place to trip. There was so much to experience between the cloudless night sky, Lake Michigan, and the steep bluff across the bridge spanning Lincoln Memorial Drive. The campfire blazed, offering welcome relief from the biting wind that blew off the water. The sand was cold under Poppy’s bare feet. It was late April, just warm enough to smell the promise of the approaching summer. Usually, this meant that a trip to Cape Cod was in the offing. Not this year. Poppy’s parents told her that they’d stay in Wisconsin because Ann refused to go east, and they couldn’t leave her back home alone with the baby. The baby, the baby, the baby. Everything was because of the baby.

Poppy made some new friends from Ann’s year. Kurt Schwartz sat across from Poppy, his face nearly impossible to see under his ashy blond dreadlocks. Angie Dols, who worked at the café and gave them free drinks, was sprawled out on a beach blanket, staring at the stars. They were waiting for the ’shrooms to kick in.

Ann wouldn’t have approved of Poppy hanging out with stoners like Kurt and Angie, and she already knew Michael hadn’t liked them. Poppy thought they were cool; they got high for enlightenment. They wanted to experience stuff Ann wouldn’t understand.

“When’s your sister due?” Kurt asked.

“In two weeks, but it could be any day now,” Poppy said. “She’s starting to clean shit, like she literally cleaned the inside of the dishwasher last night. This morning she emptied out her backpack and put it through the wash. My mom says she’s nesting.”

“Is she going to give it up?” Angie asked. “That’s what I heard.”

Poppy was annoyed by the word “it” and this latest bit of gossip. “Ann never gives anything up.”

Kurt lit a cigarette. “Your parents must be super pissed.”