All Our Broken Pieces

by L. D. Crichton

  By now I know the way to the park we are beginning to frequent. I know the good Dr. Linderman has been to Thailand and Bali to study alternative medicines and natural approaches. I know he likes to order food from a restaurant in Pasadena, close to where he grew up. I know his first name is Levi and his middle name is James.

  I also know Levi James Linderman is a cool shrink.

  “You look happy today, Lennon,” he remarks. He walks with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture impeccable.

  “I am,” I say.

  “Los Angeles isn’t the cesspool you once feared it was?” he guesses.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Good school?”

  “Not exactly.” I pause. “Do you think it’s weird if you meet someone but feel like you know them, and they know you? Like your soul has perpetually danced with chaos until you met them?”

  Dr. Linderman arches an eyebrow. “Perpetually dancing with chaos.” He’s impressed. “The plot thickens. Did you meet someone like that?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I think so. But maybe it’s not that. Maybe I’m so sad, so shattered, that I’m using the distraction as a way to deal with my grief and none of it means anything.”

  When it feels like everything.

  He pauses. “Why would you think that?”

  “I don’t know, you’re the doctor. Am I just dealing with loss?”

  “When we lose people, Lennon, especially those closest to us, we all deal with our grief differently. Some lash out and become angry, some become reclusive and introverted, depressed, hopeless. Yet there are those who are resilient, and somehow the heartbreak of loss changes them.”

  “So what you’re saying is you have no idea if I’m randomly attaching myself to this person?”

  “I really don’t. Only you can answer that. What is it about this person you like?”

  Everything.

  I don’t answer. A small blond girl races past us, in pursuit of a bright green balloon, her young mother chasing after her. She steals Dr. Linderman’s focus long enough to provide me the opportunity to change the direction of the conversation.

  I can’t walk outside on a warm spring day with a beautiful boy on my mind, surrounded by flowers that stretch toward the sun just trying to feel alive, and be forced to justify the reasons why he’s there. I turn to Dr. Linderman, point to the green balloon that is now chasing the clouds, and ask, “What do you think it’s like to fly?” I spread my arms out and tilt my head to the sun like those flowers, just trying to feel alive.

  “What do you think it’s like?” he asks.

  “Do you always answer questions with questions, Levi?”

  “You mean like the question you answered my question with?”

  “Is it a shrink thing?”

  He laughs. “This could go on forever, couldn’t it?”

  “I think flying would be terrifying,” I tell him. “Think about it, you’re up there at the mercy of the wind, one miscalculation or one simple shift in the air can send your entire trajectory off.”

  “Pretty accurate comparison to life itself, Lennon. Anyone could be a step away from everything they know in life changing forever, but you can’t let that stop you from living it.

  “But since you’re asking, it’s freeing,” he continues. “It’s my experience that the sensation of flying is liberating. Free-falling into oblivion, your heart hammering, your mind living for that exact moment in time. Like nothing from your past matters, and your future is coming at you so hard, so fast, there’s nothing you can do but hold on for the ride.”

  I stop walking. “You have a literal answer for that?”

  “I’m an avid fan of skydiving,” he explains. “Been hang gliding a time or two.”

  “Of course you have.”

  “I try not to wonder what things are like. I do them, so I know firsthand.”

  “Don’t you get scared? What if you die?”

  “Everybody dies sometime, Lennon.”

  “But why would you put yourself at risk?”

  “I guess because I want to feel everything there is about living.”

  “You’re one in a million,” I tell him. “People do everything they can to numb their pain.”

  He considers this before saying, “They should strive to understand it. Pain can be transformative.”

  I walk again, staring down at my shoes.

  If pain is transformative, falling in love must be a complete metamorphosis.

  “YOU’RE THE STRENGTH INSIDE MY WEAKNESS, THE

  KEEPER OF MY PAIN, YOU MAKE THE DARKNESS

  DISAPPEAR, LIKE SUN RIGHT AFTER RAIN.”

  Fire to Dust, Life-Defining Moments EP, “My Sweetest Sin”

  LENNON HAS MY LYRICS. I’ve never let a girl read any of my lyrics before. They are a brief look inside a cluttered mind. Once they’ve been glossed over, joined with music, and formed into a song, it’s kind of remarkable, but when they’re notes scrawled on ripped pages, they are raw and unfiltered and it’s like standing naked in front of a crowd. Exposed. Vulnerable.

  I don’t do vulnerable.

  Or at least I didn’t…until now.

  I’ve never met someone whose wounds run as deep as mine. Buried in layers of flesh, embedded deep into every cell. Small nicks and cuts from life that split open your soul and rot, festering until nothing means anything and everything is numb.

  Lennon knows. I know she knows.

  It’s written in the fire behind her golden eyes that withers to a slow burn when she looks at me. It’s painted in the shape of her mouth when she tries to keep her smiles trapped inside because she doesn’t trust them, and it’s sketched in the way she pauses every so often to stare into nothingness, trying to catch a glimpse of the answer to whether life ever stops hurting.

  This tells me when she reads those words, she will understand.

  She’s lost. I’m lost. Together, we’re somehow found.

  Thoughts of Lennon distract me for a while. Too long, because when I come back down to earth, I witness a particular brand of horror unfolding in front of my eyes. There, a few yards down the hallway, I spot my sister—in Silas’s arms. I take a calming breath, which feels utterly useless in this case, but it manages to dull the anger threatening to bubble up from under my skin. I surge forward before realizing I have to slow my approach. Last thing I want to do is remind Macy of my dad and his temper, barreling down on them like a bat out of hell.

  When I reach them I clear my throat, and Silas pulls away, his face shocked like he’s spotted an alien spacecraft. “Kyler, what’s up?”

  I tilt my head. “Why don’t you tell me?” But before Silas can say anything, I turn my attention to Macy, whose eyes are swollen and red. I immediately soften, forgetting for a millisecond how one of my best friends is holding my sister. “Mae, what’s wrong?”

  Macy is silent.

  My spine stiffens. “Did someone hurt you?”

  “No one hurt me, Kyler, I didn’t get it.”

  “Get what?”

  My question offends her. “The stupid part! The lead role. They gave it to Elena Windham.”

  Swan Lake.

  I look at my shoes. Mae has been busting her ass for months for that role. My gaze darts back to Silas, and my entire perception of the situation shifts, but only slightly. To be fair, it seems he was offering comfort to my distressed sister. I can appreciate the honor in that. But it’s not his job. I look at Silas. “Thanks, but I can take it from here.”

  He completely ignores me and rests his hand on Macy’s shoulder. “You gonna be okay, Mae?”

  She nods and rubs underneath her eyes with the tips of her fingers, sniffling. “Yeah. Thank you.”

  “Text me if you need anything,” Silas offers.

  On instinct, my teeth clench together so hard that my jawbone feels like it might break. But the stabbing pain in my chest, courtesy of a knife forged from sympathy for my little sister, hurts more, so I insert myself between them a
nd do what any good brother would. I wrap my arms around Macy and pull her to me. I’m sure it’s the familiarity—the bond we share from growing up under my father’s rule. Because Macy and I don’t have to hide anything from each other—especially not our weaknesses—so now, in the hallway of Hell Air Learning Academy, she really starts to sob.

  There’s nothing I can say to make it better, although there are a million curse words dancing on the tip of my tongue, ready to come out in a conga line, because damn it, I just don’t like Silas touching my sister.

  Yeah, maybe I’m a jackass to think this way because I should want Macy to be happy, and it’s not that I don’t, but the thing is, someone has to look out for her and that someone has been me since I can remember. Macy is close to perfect and Silas is anything but, so I can’t help but think she’d end up getting hurt. I can’t accept it, no matter how much Mae wishes I would. That’s why Silas and I are good friends. He’s broken like me. Like Lennon. Macy isn’t.

  Her tiny body is heaving, breaths coming in short spurts, and it reminds me of when Lennon told me about her mom. Macy’s situation is obviously less traumatic, but that dumb part in that stupid show meant everything to her.

  “I tried so hard.” Her voice is muffled by the fabric of my shirt, and I feel warm, wet heat on my chest and know her tears have soaked through.

  “Everyone knows you busted your ass, Mae. Everyone.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  “I know. Whoever is in charge is too blind to see what’s right in front of them. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the best I’ve got.”

  “Dad is going to be disappointed.”

  Another stab to my chest. Macy seeks his approval often whereas I gave up a long time ago. “Who cares? And look at it this way, you’ll never be even close to the epic disappointment I am to him, so there’s always that.” She cries for a while longer until she settles, standing in the hallway of our school, her head on my chest and her arms wrapped around my back. I don’t let her go until her breathing evens out completely. “They’re ridiculous not to choose you,” I tell her. “You’re the best ballerina I know.” I tilt my head. “To be fair, you’re also the only ballerina I know, but that’s beside the point.”

  This earns me a sliver of a smile, so I continue. “Oh, and Mae? You might want to fix your face, kid. You’re redder than me. Massive accomplishment there.”

  She looks up at me, better, but still sad. “You’re a good brother.”

  “By ‘good’ I’m sure you meant ‘the best,’ but I’ll forgive you for the oversight.”

  I’m rewarded this time with a laugh. Hardly a good one, but it’s a start. “Text me if you need anything. Like a getaway driver so you don’t have to look at Elena.”

  “She doesn’t even go to our school.”

  “Well, text if you want to skip and go get greasy diner food.” The second coming of Jesus is more realistic than Macy skipping a class, so I don’t expect to hear from her. As she walks away, I think that maybe it’s time Silas and I had a talk.

  * * *

  I don’t see him or Macy for the rest of the day, but I do see Lennon that afternoon. Her backpack is slung over her shoulder, and she’s walking with Jada. She gives me a ghost of a smile, flickering so fast I understand it was only meant for me to see, and after this morning’s incident with my sister, I appreciate it.

  When I’m leaving the school, Macy is in the parking lot talking to Violet, her best friend.

  “Want a ride home, Mae?”

  “Hi, Kyler,” Violet says, waving.

  “What’s up, Vi?”

  “The sophomore who saw more than he bargained for when he caught me using the janitor’s closet to change.”

  I roll my eyes.

  Violet hugs Macy. “See you tomorrow.”

  Macy flips the seat and tosses her book bag in the back before climbing into the passenger side. She buckles her seat belt, then adjusts the visor, making it lower because Silas was the last person to sit there.

  I start the engine. “How are you? Better?”

  She shrugs.

  “Listen, I know you have a thing for Silas and I think he’s kind of feeling the same vibe.”

  She smiles bigger than she would have if I had just told her that she got the lead role in her ballet. “What?”

  “He’s too old for you.”

  “Age is just a number.”

  We spend the rest of the ride in silence, and I’m driving up our street in record time when I spot Lennon, walking from the bus stop.

  “Does she always take the bus?” Macy asks. “You’d figure Josh would get her a car.”

  “I don’t know. It’s not my business.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Deadly,” I reply.

  “The two of you are insta-inseparable. Everybody sees it. You think I haven’t noticed that you check your phone as soon as dinner is done every night, or that you’re constantly sitting on your bed or at your desk, scrawling in that notebook or typing on your phone? A guy is only like that when he’s into a girl. You’re coming out of your hermit land, and being the Kyler I know again,” she says. “It’s obvious. You’re totally comfortable around her.”

  I don’t know if I even have a valid argument to give. It’s obvious. It’s obvious to me, for God’s sake, surely my family—my sister, of all people—would notice that somehow I hate the world less. “Macy, I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of it. I’m a teenage guy. I like a girl. It’s simple.”

  “Because,” Macy says. “You’re you, but…different.”

  “Different good or different bad?”

  “Good,” she says quickly. “You smile more. You smile lots. Usually when you’re looking at your phone.”

  “She makes me smile. Hardly a miracle.”

  “Ha!” Macy says. “It’s more than a miracle. It’s unparalleled.”

  “You’re stretching,” I tell her.

  “For years you’ve been, like, this introvert, but I know when I’m around you, and you’re just yourself, you’re funny and charming and kind. And you’re being you, but with more confidence than you show anyone but us. Mom and me. So I’m guessing she must think a lot like you do.”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “You could say that.”

  “Are you together?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  I grab my bag from the back and shut the door. “Fear.”

  Macy slings her own bag over her shoulder. “Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.”

  “Deep, Mae. Quoting George Addair.”

  “That’s right,” Macy says. “Smart man.”

  FACT: FOR A FEW MOMENTS IN TIME, A SINGLE SUPERNOVA

  CAN TRANSCEND AN ENTIRE GALAXY OF STARS,

  UNLEASHING AS MUCH ENERGY IN A SOLITARY BURST

  AS THE SUN WILL IN ITS 10-BILLION-YEAR LIFE SPAN.

  I SPOT KYLER IN PASSING in the corridor, but he’s blocked by a sea of heads. He shares a glance with me across the mob, and I wish I could break through them and tell him his song lyrics are unbelievable. But I’ll wait. He’s coming over later to start the mask. It’ll be the first time he’s seen my room and the first time we’ll be doing anything other than English work together.

  The clock plays tricks on my eyes all afternoon, and I’m constantly feeling like it’s later than it is. When the dismissal bell rings, I power walk to the bus stop, determined not to miss my ride.

  The house is silent. I drop my keys into the basket on the table near the front door and notice a mountain of crisp white envelopes. Each one is addressed in dense black strokes of ink, handcrafted into exquisite works of art. I pause a moment to marvel at their perfection. I flip to the second card in the pile, and interest takes hold as I riffle through them.

  SunStar Records

  Attention: William Wallen

  Dream Chaser Records

  Attention: Burke Madiso
n

  Electrified Music

  Attention: Michael D. Trevanni

  I run my fingers along the lettering as if I can somehow absorb its flawless loops and arches. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Lost in reflection, enthralled by the writing, I don’t hear Jacob sneak up behind me.

  “What are you doing, Lennon?”

  Startled, I jump and lay my hand across my chest, whirling around to see him aiming his camera at me. “God, Jacob. You scared me.”

  He points the camera at the floor. “Sorry,” he says sadly. He’s positioned in front of me with the blue cape on. Instead of his suit and faux glasses, or his rubber boots, he’s wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and green-and-white-striped socks. The tip of his tongue dances across the ridges of his teeth before it lands on the blank space. He nods at the pile of envelopes in my hand. “Daddy and Mommy have a big party every year when summer starts. Mommy always makes real nice invitations. Nicer than the ones she makes for my birthday.”

  “Yeah, they’re nice,” I admit.

  He nods and repeats his question. “What are you doing?”

  I set the stack of envelopes down and shrug. “Just got home. Figured I’d get a drink and do homework.”

  He smiles. “Mom’s on her way home. We’re going to take Oscar for a walk. Andi’s supposed to be watching me, but she’s in her room.”

  I’m about to ask him if he holds Oscar’s leash when the doorbell rings.

  “That’ll be Kyler.”

  He winces.

  I kneel so I’m eye level with Jacob. “Don’t pay attention to what Andi told you, Jacob. Kyler isn’t scary.”

  He peers at his socks, so I put my hand on his shoulder and his eyes rise to meet mine. “Kyler is cool, Jacob. If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t have asked him over, and I sure wouldn’t let him come anywhere near you.”

  He still seems skeptical. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” I tell him. “I promise.”

  I move toward the door, but Jacob holds out his hand to stop me. He sucks in a breath, as if this is the bravest thing he’s ever done, walks to the door, and opens it.