by Liz Kessler
“Haven’t lost your touch, I see,” I say, attempting a smile.
Autumn picks up another stone and doesn’t reply.
“How can you do this?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“Hang out with them?”
Autumn shrugs. “They take my mind off things,” she says. “It’s better than hanging out on my own.”
I want to tell her she doesn’t ever need to be on her own — she’s got me! But after last time, I know better than to come out with statements that probably don’t match her reality, even if they’re the bedrock of mine.
And I want to tell her about all the snide looks I’ve noticed Christine and Sally passing. I’m sure they’re whispering about us now, in fact. But I don’t want to do anything to give Autumn an excuse to go off on me.
“I still don’t get how you can you bear to be with them,” I say in the end. “They’re so superficial; they’re like plastic dolls! They don’t care about you.”
“Maybe superficial is exactly what I want right now,” Autumn says lifelessly. “If you don’t talk about anything that matters, no one can say anything that’ll hurt you — and you don’t have to talk about the things that are eating away at you from the inside.”
I decide not to push it.
“And, anyway, who says they don’t care about me?” Autumn goes on. “Why would they hang out with me if they didn’t care?”
I shrug, thinking back to the incident with the two boys. “Maybe they want to look good or something. Show off to boys about how sensitive and thoughtful they are.”
Autumn turns to me. “Are you trying to make me feel better?” she asks. “Because if you are, you’re not doing a very good job.”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t trust them, and I don’t like them,” I say. “And I thought you felt the same way.”
Autumn talks to the ground. “Yeah, well, my choices got a bit more limited.”
I don’t know how to reply. I don’t know how we got to this point. All I know is we had an awful argument — a year ago. Is that the last time we spoke?
“Autumn, how did we get to this?” I ask carefully.
“Get to what?”
“This. Not being friends. You’re my best friend, the best friend anyone could want in the whole world. I’m sorry about what I said before.”
“Before?”
“I mean — last year,” I correct myself, feeling ridiculous referring to something that’s only just happened as last year. “Is that what this is about?”
Autumn breathes out heavily. “What else is it going to be about?” she asks.
“So that’s the last time we spoke?” I hold my breath while I wait for her to answer.
“You’ve lost your memory now?” she says. “Or perhaps you’ve just lost another year and gone forward in time again!” She stares at me with a challenge in her eyes. For the first time, there’s a hint of life on her face. Is she asking me to tell her the truth or warning me not to even try it? I don’t dare risk it again — not when we’re actually communicating. I look down and don’t say anything.
“Anyway, you know we’ve talked since then,” Autumn goes on. “But it’s always ended up the same way, so I’m glad we gave up trying. It was too painful.”
“I don’t want us to fight,” I say. “I never wanted that.”
“Too late, Jen. Already happened.”
“You seem to hate me,” I say. “I don’t understand why.”
“I don’t hate you at all,” Autumn says. “I just can’t be around you. Being with Sally and Christine takes me away from it all. Being with you just reminds me how much it all hurts.”
“And that’s why you’ve pushed me away for the last year.”
Autumn shrugs.
As we sit in silence, I try to get my head around what’s happening. Try to believe it could really be true. Two days ago we’d both just arrived at Riverside Village. We hugged each other as soon as we met up in the parking lot; we gossiped right here by the river; we wanted to spend every minute together. She was smiling. Always smiling. This isn’t Autumn. Something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.
“I wish it wasn’t like this,” I say eventually.
“Yeah. Me too,” Autumn replies wistfully. “But it is. I can’t change what happened. No one can. And you know the worst thing?”
“What?”
Autumn pauses for ages. Then almost in a whisper, she says, “I haven’t got anyone to talk to about . . .” She stops, swallows hard, then shakes her head. “Forget it,” she says.
“About what?”
She turns away and swipes her palm across her eyes. “Nothing.”
“Look, I know how hard it’s all been for you. I understand —”
“You don’t know, Jen! You don’t understand!” Autumn bursts out. “That’s just it. No one understands. You don’t get it at all.”
“What don’t I get?”
“How I feel. What it’s like to be me, to have lived my life for the last three years. Was it you who sat by your little brother’s side, holding his hand so long you couldn’t feel your fingers anymore, too scared to let go or fall asleep in case he wasn’t there when you woke up? Was it you who sat there while a surgeon walked into the room and calmly told your parents that your brother had an internal bleed in his head that had spread too far for them to fix because he wasn’t brought to the hospital in time? Was it you who had to hear the words that would break your family into pieces — that your little brother had slipped into a coma and would almost certainly never come out of it?”
I stare at Autumn. I want to hug her, but the person in front of me looks so brittle that if I did, I feel as if it might break her in half. Not that she’d even let me, anyway.
“Three years ago.” She looks at her watch. “A couple of hours from now, when the surgeon told us about Mikey. Two p.m. on the dot. Exactly a day after the accident, my family’s world fell apart. You gained a little sister on the same day as I lost my little brother.”
“You didn’t lose —”
“As good as,” Autumn says before I can finish my sentence.
I bite my tongue.
“And now it’s too late to do anything.”
“What do you mean it’s too late?” I ask.
Autumn shakes her head. “Forget it. Just don’t say you know how hard it’s been. OK?” She drops the stones she was holding in her hands and goes over to Christine and Sally. “Are we going back?” she says to them. “I’ve had enough of it around here.”
Sally and Christine get up. “Yeah, come on, let’s go back to my place,” Sally says. “I’ll paint your nails and do your hair, and then we can go to the game room and see who’s there.”
“Fine. Whatever. Let’s just go,” Autumn says, and walks off. Christine and Sally trail behind, giggling and gossiping all the way.
I run to catch up with Autumn. “Autumn. Come on — do your hair? Paint your nails? Going to the game room to check out the boys? That’s not the Autumn I know!”
“Look, you’re right — I don’t want to do those things. It’s not me. It’s not what I want. OK? Happy? But how can I tell them that? Jenni, don’t you see? I’m not the Autumn you know anymore. That’s the whole point. I hardly know who I am anymore. I know they treat me like an idiot most of the time, and I couldn’t care less about the silly things they talk about — but what options do I have? I just don’t have the strength to tell them to get lost.”
You’ve got me, I want to say. I can be strong enough for us both, if that’s what you need. I keep my mouth shut, though. I don’t want to start another argument.
“And you know what else?” Autumn goes on. “You’re not the Jen I thought I knew anymore, either.”
I look at her for a long time. “No, I’m not,” I say eventually. “And do you know what? It’s time I proved it. It’s time someone stood up for both of us.”
I turn around and wait for the Barbies to catch up. “Hey, guess what,�
�� I say. “Autumn doesn’t want to go to your place. She’s not interested in checking out boys who only talk to you because they think you’re so kind looking after your poor bereaved friend. And she doesn’t need you to do anything to her hair or her nails. She’s fine as she is. Oh, and she couldn’t give two hoots about Pop Star Sensation — and she doesn’t even know who Gary is, let alone care! So you can keep your stupid, superficial world, and you can forget the ‘Oh, we’re so kind, we look after the girl whose brother’s in a coma’ goody-goody-two-shoes act, because she’s not buying it anymore — and neither am I!”
The three of them stare at me. For a moment, I think I’ve gone too far. But Christine and Sally have turned so red, I know I’ve hit the nail on the head.
Christine flicks her head back. “Don’t you start —”
“Yes, I will start!” I cut her off. “And I’ll finish.” I glance at Autumn. She’s staring at me, mouth open, eyes wide. Should I stop? There’s something in Autumn’s eyes that I don’t recognize. Then I realize what it is: admiration, gratitude, even relief. That’s all I need to spur me on.
I turn back to Christine and Sally. “You aren’t real friends,” I say. “You don’t truly care about Autumn. You only ever wanted to be with her because she was popular and you thought it’d make you look good to be seen with her, and now you just want to seem to be caring so you can get noticed by a couple of stupid boys.”
Sally steps forward. “Now, hang on a minute —”
“No, I won’t hang on a minute!” I say, fury and loyalty pushing me on. Someone has to say this — and that someone is going to have to be me. This whole stupid, awful reality has taken so much away from me that I haven’t got anything to lose anymore, so I’m going to tell it how it is.
“Autumn’s not a badge for you to parade around with so you can pick up brownie points. She’s a person — a fantastic person. She’s the best friend anyone could want, and if you don’t realize that, then you’re both even more dumb than I thought!”
Before they have a chance to answer, I turn and stomp up to Autumn. She’s gaping at me. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t want to ruin any of your friendships, and if they truly matter to you, then I’ll apologize to them, once I’ve calmed down. But I had to do that. I’m not going to sit and watch this joke any longer. You matter too much to me for that.”
Autumn swallows, looking across at Christine and Sally. She doesn’t say anything.
“Listen. I don’t want us to fight. I never want us to stop being friends,” I say. “If you feel the same way, come over to my place later.”
Autumn still doesn’t answer.
“If you don’t come, I’ll know you don’t want us to be friends and I’ll leave you alone. I won’t bother you again.”
Eventually, she nods.
“OK,” I say awkwardly. “I’ll leave it up to you.” Then I turn and walk away, heading back to our condo and suddenly realizing yet again that I haven’t got a clue what’s waiting for me when I get there. All I know is that I need to get back to my own territory and find something I can recognize — something that will help me find my way through this crazy, awful world that I’ve landed in.
I need a place where I can think. I need to be on my own. I need to make a plan.
“That you, Jen?” a woman’s voice calls as I close the front door behind me.
I step into the living room. There’s a strange woman sitting on the sofa with Dad. “Who are you?” I ask.
Dad puts his paper down. “Jenni. Don’t be so rude.”
The woman puts her hand on his arm. “It’s all right, darling. I don’t mind.”
“Well, I do,” he says. “Jenni, apologize to Karen now.”
I stare at them both: Dad’s face dark and angry; the strange woman — Karen, apparently — smiling at me through big brown eyes. “She doesn’t have to apologize,” she says. “We’re all right, aren’t we, Jen?”
“I don’t know who you are,” I say before I can stop myself.
Karen sucks in her breath as she half closes her eyes. Then she smiles again. “I’ll make a cup of tea,” she says, leaning forward to get up.
Dad stops her. “No, you won’t,” he says firmly. “Not until Jenni apologizes.” He turns back to me. “We talked this through. We’ve all had plenty of time to get used to it, and if Craig can accept Karen, then I think you can, too.”
My brain tries to do a quick catch-up on three years’ worth of missing facts. Come on, Jenni. Remember you’re fifteen now. Everyone else’s world has moved on three years. Get with it!
“I’m sorry, Karen,” I say, trying to get my voice to come out sounding natural. “It was a shock. I just need to get used to it.”
“Get used to it?” Dad repeats. “You’ve had six months! We talked about Karen coming with us. You said you didn’t mind.”
Six months?
Karen gets up. “I’m going to get that cup of tea,” she says, lightly touching my arm as she passes me.
“I thought you liked Karen,” Dad says in a lower voice. “I thought you got along well.”
“I — I . . .” Say the right things. Act as if you know what’s going on. “I do,” I say eventually. I suppose it’s not Dad’s fault that as far as I’m concerned, he and Mom were still together yesterday. In my world. In my messed-up, impossible world.
“Well, do you think you could act like you do, please?” Dad says sternly. Then his voice softens a little. “We’ve talked about it so much. I know it’s hard for you — it’s hard for me, too, sometimes. You know I’ll always love your mom, and it would have been great if we could have made it work. But we didn’t — and we’re both happy with how things are now. We’re happy enough. Can’t that be enough for you, too?”
I nod. My head is swimming.
“Thank you.” Dad picks up his paper again. “We’re having lunch soon, all right? Try to be civil.”
“I will,” I reply. “Where’s Craig?”
“Out with his pals. He’ll be back soon.”
“Where’s Thea?” I ask, suddenly remembering I have a baby sister now.
Dad shoots me a filthy look.
“What?” I ask.
“You know very well that Thea’s with your mom. Jenni, please stop trying to make this hard for us.”
“I’m not trying —” I let out a heavy breath. “Forget it,” I say. “I’m going to my room.”
I go to the room I share with Craig and slump down on my bed. His side is a complete mess. Dirty khaki pants, inside-out jeans, and crumpled-up T-shirts litter the floor. There are no stuffed animals on his pillow this year. There’s a chemistry set on the floor by his bed.
My side is tidy, the bed made, clothes put away. I sit up and look around. Maybe there’ll be a clue somewhere. Something that can help all of this to make sense, to fit together. Better still — something that could help me work out how to get back. I feel as though I’m doing a jigsaw puzzle; the only problem is that the pieces are from three different puzzles and they’re all mixed up together.
I scavenge through the bits and pieces on the dressing table. Most of it’s Craig’s. Miniature cars broken into pieces with their wheels hanging off, a penknife, screwed-up tissues and bits of paper, a magnifying glass. My side just has a few things on it: a bottle of perfume, two necklaces, some mascara. Mascara! I can’t imagine wearing makeup. Dad’s always had this thing about me being too young, despite the fact that half the girls in my grade already go to school looking like models. I’ve only ever put makeup on at Autumn’s when I’ve been staying over so Dad doesn’t have to realize his little baby’s growing up.
No clues. Nothing to help me work out how to play this new game called my life.
I turn back to the bed and glance at the nightstand. Maybe there’ll be something in there. I yank the drawer open. There’s a book. I pull it out. Of course — my diary! I scan through the pages for the latest entry. It’s dated last Saturday.
I hope Autumn’
s coming to the condo this week. I wish we could go back to how we were. Maybe there we’ll be able to try again. Maybe this time it won’t end up in a huge fight. I just don’t know how to talk to her anymore. It seems there’s nothing I can do that doesn’t create an argument. Maybe she’s right and we should just stop trying — but I can’t. I want her back.
It was awful last Saturday at the club. For once, I was out with Natalie and the others, making a reasonably good attempt at having fun. I’d almost forgotten how miserable this last year has been, but Autumn’s face when she saw me there — it was so horrible. She looked at me as though I was a rodent that had crawled out of the drains. It was as if I had no right to be somewhere that she wanted to be. As if we hadn’t shared everything in our lives like twins up until the last few years. Natalie said it’s best to leave her. It probably is, but — oh, I don’t know. I just miss her so much.
I wish I could have my life back how it used to be. Nothing’s the same. Nothing will ever be the same again.
I wish I’d never gone in that stupid elevator.
At least I’ve got the letter. No one knows about that. I know I’ll find Mrs. Smith again one day — and maybe then we can help each other out of this mess. Maybe if I can help her to be happy, this can all be different. If I could just do one thing right.
The letter! Of course! I’ve been so wrapped up with everything to do with Autumn that I’d forgotten all about it! I still don’t even know what it says.
I reach into my pocket, pull out the pages, and open them up.
Dear Bobby,
I don’t know if you will remember me. In fact, I very much doubt it. I am the girl you spent carefree days with and exchanged childish dreams with many eons ago.
We spent a week of each year together — at the Riverside Hotel — and I have to tell you, those weeks were among the happiest of my life.
Whether you remember those days or not, I wanted to tell you — I have never forgotten them.
In fact, in recent years the memories have played with me and the promises have plagued me. Do you remember our promises?
