Take Me With You When You Go

by David Levithan

  I didn’t tell him about the email address. Not even when he asked if I knew how to find you. Blood is thicker than water, I suppose. It can also leave a much crueler stain.

  We clung to the hope that Sloane would know something, that you’d left some instructions with her. Maybe you were over at her house, waiting for us to find you there. Joe and I tried calling and texting her, but there wasn’t any response. With me, I could almost understand—it wouldn’t have been out of the question for Mom and Darren to commandeer my phone to track you down. But Joe’s calls? I had no idea why she wasn’t answering those.

  I tried to reassure Joe, telling him you’d run away before, that you’d called it “taking a break,” never really going that far. Like the time you got that hotel room in Columbus and crashed that forensics convention until one of the advisors complained you were distracting his team.

  I thought this news would make Joe feel better, but he’d never heard any of these stories before, and that only made him feel like more of a heel. I was accidentally emphasizing how little he knew you. Which was odd, because I would’ve thought he knew you better than I did, for all the time you’ve spent with him these past couple years.

  It’s possible I wasn’t very convincing when I told him about how you always came back. Because those other times didn’t feel like this time. I don’t know how to explain it. I saw that bed and knew you were planning to be gone for good. The fact that you’d cleaned out my hiding place confirmed it. You wouldn’t have done that unless you really, really needed to, right?

  Joe and I got to school, and I was convinced that we knew something that nobody else did—not yet, at least. Everyone was wandering around thinking you were still with us, still a part of the school. Yeah, I can imagine you saying, like they paid so much attention to me while I was there. But some people did. Joe said he’d look for Sloane, and I said I’d do the same, even though from my freshman vantage point it was going to be harder to track down a senior. I’m sure some detective would ask, “Well, what about looking for Bea when you got to school?” But neither of us seriously thought you’d be here. Of all the places in the world, this is the last place you’d escape to.

  Terrence was waiting for me at my locker as usual. And I kissed him hello as usual. He asked me how I was doing…as usual. And I thought: This is where it starts. If I tell someone else, that’s when the new reality begins. I wanted to lie to him. But at the same time, if our family has taught me anything, it’s that lies will come back to haunt you, and that people are more forgiving up front than if they find out later you’ve been lying all along. Seeing what you just did to Joe made me want to avoid doing anything like it to Terrence. So I told him the short version. I made it sound less final than it probably is. But I didn’t pretend it wasn’t there.

  Also, I didn’t tell him about the hiding place, or the missing money, or this email address. I promise I won’t tell anyone about those things.

  Terrence was concerned—asking me if I was okay, asking me if there was anything he could do. I told him I was open to suggestions, and that I was feeling a lot of different emotions at the same time, sad and confused and strangely relieved and deeply unsettled.

  Because he’s sweet, Terrence pretended to understand. He has some issues with his family being pretty don’t-ask-don’t-tell about him being gay, but I’ve never really let him see how monumentally messed up our family is.

  We kissed goodbye, as usual. I went to my morning classes. In your honor, I didn’t pay attention.

  (I know that’s not fair. I know you cared about some things.)

  Now it’s lunchtime and I’m at one of the computers in the library, making sure Mrs. Goldsmith doesn’t look over my shoulder and see what I’m typing. Sloane still hasn’t been found, although Joe has talked to people who’ve seen her at school today, so we know she isn’t off somewhere with you. I think Joe’s disappointed by this, but it makes sense to me, the alone part.

  Poor Joe. Poor Sloane. Poor me.

  You do realize how hard this is going to be, right? You do realize what you’ve left me with? And while I guess I’m happy you gave me the gift of plausible denial (“Really, Darren, I had no idea!”), some prep time would have been nice too.

  And a goodbye. I would’ve liked a goodbye.

  But for now, I’ll settle for you telling me where you are. If you trusted me enough to give me this email, you have to trust me enough to let me know where you are, and that you’re okay. If not the first part, then at least the second. You have it easy—you can picture where I am. You can imagine exactly what I’m doing. You know which computer I’m at—the same one you’ve found me at all year, when the library is about to close and it’s time to look for another place where we can avoid home. You know what it’s going to sound like when I get back and Mom and Darren yell at me some more. You know—you must know—the disappointed, heartbroken look that’s going to be on Joe’s face for a long time. I know you pay attention. You know things I don’t know. And you also know a lot of things I do know. Focus on those for a minute.

  I’m hoping it’s not something I did. I don’t want to be the reason you chose today—the reason you couldn’t wait two months until you graduated. I don’t think I’m the reason, but I just have to put that out there.

  Lunch is almost over. I’m going to hit send. I’ll be very careful to cover my tracks, to make sure no one else will find these emails. So you can write me back.

  Really, Bea. Write me back. It’s going to be very hard to make it through your disappearance without you.

  I know you’ve never needed me, Bea. But fuck it—I really need you.

  Write. Back.

  Ezra

  Subject: Me.

  From: Bea

  To: Ezra

  Date: Tues 26 Mar 02:32 CST

  Dear Ez,

  I’m still breathing, if that’s what you mean by okay. And no, I can’t tell you where I’ve gone or why.

  What I can tell you is that yes, I’m gone for good.

  Goodbye, Hidden Valley Circle. Goodbye, Indiana.

  It’s surprisingly easy. When I knew I was leaving, I did a web search for “how to run away from home,” and I had all the info I ever needed.

  Only run away if you are absolutely sure. (Check.)

  Plan ahead. (Check.)

  Taking a friend can be helpful or harmful. (Obviously I went with harmful.)

  Travel light. (Check.)

  Live somewhere you can handle. (They specifically warn you against staying in a forest because “nature is cruel.” Clearly whoever wrote this never lived with Mom and Darren.)

  Leave when you won’t be seen or noticed. (Check.)

  Do not bring a cell phone or anything else that can be used to track you. (Check.)

  Create a fake identity. (Check.)

  Don’t leave any evidence behind. (Check.)

  Before escaping, act normal. (Check.)

  Cut all contact and don’t look back. (Check. Sort of.)

  On that note, the thing about Beatrix Ahern is that running away is exactly what everyone expects of her. Sure, they’ll be upset for a while, but give them a couple of months and they’ll be sitting around saying, “What did you think was going to happen? There was no hope for her.” Just watch. I almost wish I was going to be there to see it.

  I’m sorry about the money. And I’m sorry about leaving without a goodbye. This was never meant to be a fuck you to you. Of all the people in my life, you’re the last person I would do that to. That’s why I broke the rules and created this email address. If it wasn’t for you, I’d never look back.

  What I can also tell you is:

  I didn’t leave for the reasons you’re thinking.

  I’m not s
urprised Sloane is avoiding Joe’s calls.

  You can feel sorry for Joe, but don’t go overboard. Trust me on this.

  If it ever gets too much living with Mom and Darren, go stay with Terrence. Promise.

  Stop feeling guilty. The sooner you let go of that, the better.

  And don’t think of me as Beatrix anymore. “Beatrix” is the old life. New life, new name, or at least one I’ve decided to borrow for a bit. I’m not telling you this so you can try to track me down, by the way. You’re my little brother and I love you, but I will always be one step ahead of you.

  Love,

  Me

  p.s. Use a private browser every time. NEVER autofill the password. Even when you’re on your own phone.

  Subject: You. Missing.

  From: Ezra

  To: Bea

  Date: Wed 27 Mar 07:45 EST

  Dear BEATRIX,

  I am still going to call you Bea, no matter what you end up calling yourself. Even if you want the world to see you as someone else, you’ll always be Bea to me.

  Also, I am not going to stop asking where you are.

  I know it’s not your problem anymore, but last night was not fun. Mom and Darren have gotten to the stage where they realize that having a missing daughter does not reflect well on their parenting skills. When I got home, the first thing they asked me wasn’t if I’d seen you, but if I’d told anyone. They don’t trust me either.

  I was going to check if there was anything else to find in your room, but I got there a little too late, because while I was at school, Mom ransacked it. Seriously, it looked like about a hundred hounds had been unleashed to tear at everything with their teeth. I mean, it’s not like your room was ever clean, but it was always messy in a really predictable way. Like how you always said you could find whatever you wanted within it—well, I kind-of could too. But not anymore. Clothes were thrown everywhere, the ones you wear all the time mixed with the ones you never wear anymore. (Which ones did you take? I haven’t figured that out yet.) The stuffed animals were pulled off your bookshelf, and it looked like each one had been interrogated. Notes from Joe sat out in the open—not that many of them, and none that recent. Since he was always texting you, it was a surprise to see his handwriting. I guess he passed them to you in class, or between classes, when you weren’t answering your phone.

  Oh, and speaking of phones—your phone was gone.

  I didn’t know what to do. It was hard to be mad on your behalf, since you’d left everything in your room to fend for itself. Maybe if your room wasn’t attached to the rest of the house, you would’ve burned it all before you left. Or maybe you don’t care anymore who sees what. Which is it?

  The funny thing is, even if I wasn’t mad on your behalf, I was still mad. Partly, I’ll admit, because I figured if they could do this to your room, there was no reason they couldn’t do it to mine.

  I made sure Darren was off in the den, then caught Mom in the kitchen. She had the TV on real loud but wasn’t watching it. She barely looked at me when I walked in.

  “What did you do to Bea’s room?” I asked her.

  For a moment, it was like our roles had reversed; she was the child and I was the parent who’d just caught her doing something she wasn’t supposed to do. I saw her eyes admit she’d done a bad thing. But as soon as I saw it, it left.

  She was leveling me with a glance now. “Don’t use that voice with me. I was just trying to find her.”

  “Did you think she was hiding in one of her drawers? In the laundry basket?”

  “Enough.”

  But I had to push it. “Were you looking for drugs? Did you find anything good?”

  Bad move. Really bad move.

  “Darren!” she called.

  “Mom, come on…”

  Darren appeared in the doorway. He was not happy to have been interrupted.

  “What?” he said.

  “Ezra was just telling me that Bea was on drugs.”

  “That’s not what I said!”

  “Why would you ask me if I found drugs if you didn’t think she was on drugs?”

  I CAN’T STAND YOU! I wanted to yell. Just like ninety-nine percent of the time I’m home. How could you leave me trapped with these people? Why do I have to listen to them? I know Mom had a hard time when Dad left. I know it wasn’t easy to raise us alone those few years. I am aware she is the only thing that kept us away from homelessness. I am grateful for that. But if she was smart enough to do all that, at what point did she give it up? Was it the moment she met Darren? Or was it a gradual thing? I can barely remember a time when she was on our side. I know it had to have been the case at some point. But then Darren comes along, and the lines are drawn, and we’re no longer on the same side. I can barely recognize her anymore, she’s so far away.

  Darren’s going on about how he always knew you were on drugs, how it explains the instability, the irresponsibility.

  “Aren’t you worried that she’s hurt?” I had to ask.

  “She’s not hurt,” Mom said flatly.

  And Darren—I swear to god, Darren had to add, “No one’s going to hurt your sister. She’s only capable of self-inflicted wounds.”

  Which was amazing, coming from him. There was no point in arguing, so I didn’t argue. I left.

  Back in my room, I called Joe.

  “What?” he answered, urgent and hopeful. “What is it?”

  And I thought, yeah, he must’ve figured I was calling with news. Good news. But I was only calling because I didn’t know who else to call. And because I wanted to see if he’d still give me a ride in the morning.

  I don’t need your permission to feel sorry for Joe. You have to understand—there’s no way to hear the disappointment in his voice and not feel sorry for him. As for avoiding overboard—well, what’s overboard in this situation, Bea? You’ll have to help me out because from where I’m sitting, the person who may have gone overboard isn’t Joe.

  “Why isn’t she calling?” he asked me.

  And I told him, “Because she doesn’t want us to find her.”

  Here’s the thing: You can say things over and over to yourself, but the moment you say them out loud to someone else, they become something different, like you’re taking a fear and giving it a solid shape so it can actually hurt you. And when someone else says the things you’re saying in your head—that has the same effect. It should feel better to be sharing it, but it also makes it less deniable.

  “She doesn’t want us to find her,” he repeated.

  This was when I should have told him I’d heard from you. It felt selfish not to. But I also felt that if I told him, you’d know. I would have proven that you couldn’t trust me.

  I know you. I know I won’t get a second chance. Not this time.

  So instead of giving him some indication that you’re alive, I asked him if he could still drive me to school in the morning. He said yes. But you can hardly be surprised by that.

  Once we hung up, I called Sloane again.

  She didn’t answer.

  * * *

  —

  I avoided dinner. Mom and Darren ate without me. When I went down later to get something from the fridge, Mom gave me a hard time. Then Darren came in, grabbed the cold pizza off my plate, threw it in the garbage, and stood in front of the fridge until I went back upstairs.

  I ate some of your fruit snacks. Then I felt weird, because I know that if you don’t come home, nobody else will buy them. If I ask Mom, she’ll refuse. They’re yours, and if you’re not here, they have no place in this house.

  I know that’s stupid. I know I can buy them myself. I’m just telling you how my mind is working right now.

  * * *

  —

  Darren stopped by my room after I was in be
d. I hate it when he does that. He always stays in the doorway, like what I have is contagious.

  “Sure is quiet, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Yup,” I said. I know better than to pretend I’m asleep. He always knows.

  “Makes sense that it’s quiet, without your sister blasting her music.”

  I did not point out that it wasn’t quiet, since he kept talking. I just said, “Yup.” Trying to bore him into leaving. This usually works.

  “You’re not like her,” he said. “You’re nothing like her.”

  I think this was meant as a compliment.

  But the way he said it?

  It almost sounded like an insult.

  It almost sounded like he was daring me to leave.

  * * *

  —

  You called it from the very start, didn’t you?

  When Darren came into our lives, I was ready to make him my dad. I used my crayons to draw him into our family portraits. Watched whatever show he wanted to watch. Asked him to play catch. Adored him, because that’s what Mom did, and I thought I was supposed to do it too.

  You saw through it, though. You resisted. Dug in. Threw tantrums on Father’s Day. Refused to acknowledge his right to be at the kitchen table. I have no doubt you were the reason they got married without us there. You saw that he didn’t care about us. Just her. Maybe you even knew that he’d come to convince her not to care about us either.

  You fought for control of the family and lost. I just handed it over with a grin and a homemade card.