Miracle Beach

When I was 15 years old, I read "A Tale of Two Cities" by Charles Dickens. I already knew I wanted to be a writer at that time, but that book changed me. It was the first set of written words bound together that made me cry--to feel real, tangible, drippy emotions. I have loved that book, and Dickens, since then.

A year or two before delving into that book, I met a girl named Erin.

Recently I found some photos from the first time I got to spend time with her, and by the sheer amount of photos I uncovered of her, I remembered something long forgotten: From Day 1, she was the person I emulated. I met her when her uncle married my cousin, and immediately I liked her. Not because she was beautiful (she was and still is), not because she had the best clothes (I coveted her flowered dress that night), and not because she had better hair than anyone I'd ever met (all serious considerations for a 13-year old girl), but because she was just so very much herself.

Erin and I became friends immediately. I was extremely excited about this fact because I thought she was the greatest thing since...well, ever...and I figured the fact alone she wanted to be my friend meant that I was worth something. In my formative years I didn't have much self esteem, as it goes with a lot of young girls. I was certainly the least financially sound member of my school age group of friends. I couldn't do all the things they did, or join all the clubs, or have the expensive hobbies. I don't know if they noticed much, but I sure as hell did. I carried that chip of being the wellfare girl. I got free lunch. I couldn't buy the newest ski jackets, or buy a season pass for the ski season, or buy trendy jeans. (I could be the funny one, though. That was free.) Erin, throughout our entire friendship, never once made me doubt my self worth. She never made me feel bad about who I was or where I came from, even at a time when I felt bad about it constantly. Somehow, she never made me feel "less than." Not even a little bit. And when you're a teenage girl in a group of other teenage girls, all vying for attention and boyfriends and being "better" than someone, that's quite a feat.

After high school, as it goes with so many friendships, Erin and I weren't as close as we were when we got to see each other every day. She went to college. I went to college. She went to more college at the college I went to college at, but after I had graduated, so we missed being in the same location. I moved, she moved, etc. Life gets in the way. But it never failed that when I did reconnect with her, it was like we didn't miss a day. Like we were hanging outside our lockers all over again. I love that about us. She is so brilliant, so accomplished, so outstanding, and to this day I feel like that proud 13-year-old girl who gets to call her my friend.

Erin's first novel was published this month. It came out August 4th, and as I anxiously counted down the days to when her book would be available, I watched my bank account dwindle to nothing. Not like, 'oh, I only have $200 in the bank.' Seriously nothing. No dollars. Zero. I couldn't buy her book, and I felt that shame...that 13-year-old, free-lunch-eating, no-cool-clothes-having shame. This whole unemployment plus pregnancy thing is making my financial situation pathetic, and I felt horrible that I couldn't buy her novel the day it came out, to read it and declare triumphantly that I finished it that first week. I know she wouldn't care. But I do. For all the years and the times she has made me proud to be her friend, I felt like I was letting her down.

Finally last week I had some cash flowing into my account, and the first damn thing I did was order "Miracle Beach" by Erin Celello. I received the book Saturday afternoon. I started reading it around 5:30 p.m., and I finished it at midnight. Finished it. All in one sitting. And you know what happened for the second time in my life? I cried like a baby. Not because she's my friend, not because she achieved this amazing goal of getting her first novel published, but because her words honestly made me cry.

So, Erin, again I am in awe of you. You are now in the company of Mr. Charles Dickens on the very short list of authors who made me feel real, drippy, tangible emotions. I have two novel-writing heroes now.

Oh, and those of you who aren't Erin, you need to buy her book.
http://www.amazon.com/Miracle-Beach-Erin-Celello/dp/0451233824/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1314070413&sr=8-1