Thirteen Hours To You

by Annie Emerson

  I loved this moment. I was going to keep it and make it my first great memory because there was so much that changed today, all good. It was like a sweet breath after being deprived of oxygen. My new friends were laughing, and not at me. I was in on the joke; I wasn’t its target. I was a part of this. I belonged here.

  My other favorite part of this new memory? Me, realizing that I was falling for the boy who believed our goodbye was a second chance and believed it enough for the both of us.

  Those variable numbers. The twenty-one days, the thirty, the sixty-six. Whatever. All I could feel was my heart and mind agreeing that it was choosing to throw all evidence-based research out the window. I was going to absorb the here and now and treat it as the gift it was.

  This was the day I stopped counting one, two, three, four, five of sixty-six days. I was throwing Maxwell Maltz’s hypothesis on habits out the window and making my own.

  We all had a choice. At some point we had to be brave enough to pull up alongside choice, take its hand and keep walking without looking back.

  Today was the first day of the beginning. I looked down to my phone and typed out a message.

  Me: Sometimes goodbye is a second chance, huh?

  Meekai: Nope.

  Me: What?

  Meekai: You were never a goodbye, Violet. WE were inevitable.

  Me: Promise to catch me?

  Meekai: Always, Violet. Always . . .

  13

  Radley

  The rest of the week went on much like the first day of vocal isolation, and I’d begun to crave each message Meekai sent. Each piece of himself that he gave made me feel closer as I caught each one and filed it away in the compartment of my heart that was slowly being built just for him.

  When someone gave you a piece of their truth, you held it like lightning in a bottle and cherished it. It didn’t matter if I wanted him there or not, it just happened. Sometimes your heart made choices for you; choices you couldn’t take back because it was usually too late. You’d already fallen on your face while your heart smiled happily, giving you the middle finger as it sashayed away.

  Meekai had told me his mama died just over a year ago, and that his little sister was living with his father back in Adalita. He’d said everything he did now, visiting her every chance he got, wasn’t just for his sister. It was for his mama, too. He was determined to keep her memory alive so his baby sister knew how much she was loved by the woman he knew she would eventually forget. First she’d forget her face, then her voice. Until one day, she’d be nothing but a ghost of a memory.

  In that one admission, a huge part of me unwillingly fell for him; for his determination and the limitless supply of love he held for his sister. Meekai understood how hard it was to hold onto the memory of someone’s face, and how easy it was to forget the sweet melody of their voice, because it was a luxury we took for granted. It was the one thing we had in common.

  I could see the pain. I knew that pain, so I didn’t push him. I was curious, but I was also selfish. For every part of himself he gave to me, I felt I’d have to match it, and I didn’t want to. That meant admitting to my own. That meant the possibility of rejection, if he couldn’t handle how deep my scars went.

  I wanna keep him. Those four words got louder and louder with every message, every truth and every wink he gave as he passed me in the hallway. With every Hershey’s Kiss he placed on my tray at lunch or hid in my locker.

  Meekai: I know I promised I’d never kiss you, but know this, Violet. Every time you unwrap the foil and place the smooth, sugary sweetness between your lips, that’s me. The aftertaste left behind, a promise.

  Me: I wanna mace you.

  I’d used the safe sentence. I didn’t know how to respond, but I couldn’t take my eyes off his lips. It was becoming easier to imagine them on mine. I could feel the itch, a building curiosity that was bent on need and slowly letting go of fear. The fact that he’d said he wouldn’t kiss me, that I would have to initiate that, the easier it was becoming to imagine how I would do it; how I would give him that part of me.

  I wanted him. How did that happen?

  I’d told him about Mama, about Betty and how she only occasionally drove her on the weekends after I was born. She’d determined that when I turned sixteen, she wanted me driving around in nothing less than a beast.

  “Baby girl, I love your daddy’s motorcycle, but there’s no way you’re riding that. The day you were born we did a coin toss; heads, you become a biker chick, tails, you’d be a classics girl.”

  The one thing Daddy didn’t know about Mama? She had a double-sided coin, both sides tails. She’d said Daddy never even questioned the fact that he lost all major life decisions by that coin. Not once had he cottoned onto Mama being a cheat.

  Not long before my sixteenth birthday, she had the gear shift knob custom made for me; her double-sided coin permanently encased in chrome. The coin showed through the clear top that rested under my palm as I drove.

  “There’s no such thing as luck, baby girl. Only blessings given by God. But just in case, I got you double-protected. You’re precious cargo, and I have to cover all my bases. You’re my home plate, baby. Nothing bad will ever happen to you as long as the Lord and my cheatin’ coin are with you. That right there makes you invincible.”

  I’d always grappled with the guilt of that memory. Maybe if Mama hadn’t put the coin in Betty’s gear shift, maybe she’d still be here. Maybe I took all her blessings and her last bit of luck. Some part of me wanted to rip that coin out of Betty and bury it with Mama.

  When I’d found out she was gone, I’d ran out of my bedroom, down the stairs and out the front door. The sky was crying tears of its own, my clothes soaked through not ten feet out the door. I’d yanked the door hard, diving into the front seat and screaming out a guttural, “WHY?”

  I was so determined to rip that gear shift out. The shocked incurable part of me believed if I just gave it back to her, the day would rewind, and she wouldn’t be lying in a morgue with no one to keep her warm.

  Wyatt had to drag me away from Betty as I’d banged against her steering wheel, suffering with what to do. Did I rip it out? Or did I hold onto one of the only pieces of Mama I had left? She loved me enough to give it to me; leave it with me. So, I came to the decision, with Wyatt’s help. I had to respect her by leaving it in the place she’d put it.

  Wyatt was the one who had told me about Mama. Daddy couldn’t speak and Gamma was racing from Georgia. I didn’t know how Wyatt found the strength to do something so horrid, but he’d told me he wouldn’t have had it any other way; that I deserved a place to fall as I broke. He told me that no matter how much I was suffering, he needed me to keep breathing.

  I heard heavy footfalls make their way up the stairs, a gentle rap at my door. Wyatt entered my bedroom without asking. He knew there was no point.

  He gently stroked my hair as I sobbed my grief into the palms of my hands. I’d just been told not one hour before that Mama had probably driven herself into that tree because I was a mistake; a disappointment.

  “Breathe, Radley. Please just keep breathing for me,” Wyatt pleaded.

  I shook with a numb sort of feeling, caught between wanting to hang on and being desperate enough to have the courage to let go.

  It was three days in to being without Mama. I’d gone back to school far too early; a complete masochist desperate to feel something. I knew as soon as I walked through those doors, they’d make me feel.

  Oh, I’d felt.

  I punched Hardy Breeland square in the face and kicked his legs from underneath him. Flat on his back he’d laughed, and the others had joined in, no shame for what they were putting me through. The principle had to intercept and pull me off him as I drew my arm back for a second punch.

  I screamed “Motherfuckers!” As she had security help drag me kicking down the hallway.

  I’d asked that Mrs. Singleton call Wyatt to come and get me. She’d demanded I go home, but I begg
ed her not to call dad. Charlie dropped off Wyatt so he could drive me and Betty home, but he didn’t drive me home. He drove me to The Wall.

  The Wall was a literal brick wall in Adalita. It was one-hundred feet long and twenty-eight feet high. Only the best graffiti artists could express their art there. Whether it be poetry, replicas of art, or an original piece, The Wall was sacred. Nobody but a selected arts council, made up of young adults, were allowed to touch it. Change it. Approve the art that painted each brick.

  Wyatt was the head of the council and was a local tattoo artist. The people of Adalita loved and respected his talent. He swore that no one would ever tattoo me other than him, and that I’d need a really good reason for him to break pure skin. I’d told him he was dramatic, he told me I was right. When it came to me, he always would be. He knew there was only one thing I wanted tattooed on me, and he’d told me he’d know the right time to ink it permanently on my skin.

  There was only one permanent piece of work that was to never be touched or changed. It was a poem written by one of the elder council members who had committed suicide by way of a broken heart he never recovered from. He’d struggled with depression and anxiety but fought

  every day to show up. One day, he just didn’t have the strength to show up. Lost love spat in his face and told him lies he couldn’t recover from.

  The poem read:

  Replace the shadows of my sins

  With a love that refuses to let go.

  Love me with desperation.

  Let me possess every broken piece

  And make it my own.

  Deliver me into the light, my love.

  Lead me out of the dark.

  Everyone had decided that if these were the same words written to express his love for the one that rejected him, then it was to be left; to stand testament to the fact that love isn’t perfect, because none of us were perfect.

  It was the last line that got to me, that I carried with me. I just wanted to be led out of the dark.

  We pulled up to The Wall in silence, Wyatt shut off the engine and waited a good minute before he spoke.

  “Lift your head, Radley.”

  “I can’t imagine there’s anything I wanna see right now, Yeti.”

  “Do you even know the strength you possess, Boo? Those assholes hurt you every day, yet you carry it all on your own, me being the only one that knows the truth. Have I told you lately how I fucking I hate that? The way you feel you have to protect your mama and dad-”

  I cut over the top of him. “Well, don’t worry. I don’t gotta protect Mama now, do I? She’s probably watching down from heaven, disappointed.” I shook my head, rejecting the tears that threatened and stung.

  “Lift your head, Radley. Look straight ahead,” Wyatt persisted.

  I raised my head in slow submission and looked up at the part of the wall that Wyatt had parked Betty in front of. There was a new addition written under the poem that was never to be touched. It was written in Wyatt’s distinctive script.

  “Anyone can let go, but not just anyone can hang on,” Wyatt spoke gently.

  “What did you do, Wye? The others are gonna kill you for touching Casey’s part of the wall.” I turned in my seat, looking at him with one part worry and a whole lot confused.

  “Me and the others discussed it about a day ago and I finished it just before I got the phone call to come get you. Even though that fucker Hardy has taken your chance of friendship and normalcy away, doesn’t mean that everyone agrees. The others see it, they know. When I presented them with this there was no argument, just an agreement that they know and see your silent strength, the will to put one foot in front of the other. It’s a small town, and even though they might not have the balls to stand against Hardy and his parents, threatening to take the wall down is enough to keep them quiet. This is their silent stand with, and for you.”

  He turned to face me.

  “I told them you’re the strongest person I know, my own little hero. When I think of you, Rads, this is what I think.” He pointed to the freshly painted words. “This is permanent, never to be removed. We decided to put it under Casey’s truth because he lost his battle, and he’d be so proud of you for hanging on, especially when it’s not always a choice. But fuck, I’m glad you’ve tried so hard to stay all these years. This is to remind you that you’re not just anyone and I’m in awe of you.”

  “Thank you, Wye,” I struggled past a whisper. “I love you so much.”

  Emotion wrapped itself around his voice and let it break. “I love you too, baby girl.”

  I leaned over Betty’s console and held on tight as he broke to pieces in my ear. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Please hang in and hang on. Please promise me, Radley.” Mama’s favorite words were second nature and part of our family.

  Hang in and hang on, baby girl.

  “I’ll try Wye. I refuse to leave this world behind without knowing a love so big it consumes me. I won’t leave until I’ve laughed so hard there’s no possible way I can keep breathing. I promise you’ll get to see me as more than this town believes me to be. I promise to always question the dosage of steroids that border the lines of safe consumption. ‘Roid rage is real Wye . . .”

  Betty shook under the roar of laughter and Wyatt drove me home. He sat with me countless hours and helped me to hang in hang on. He held me together with his refusal to let go.

  I survived past Mama’s funeral. I survived to the last day at Adalita High.

  I refused to give up breathing.

  14

  Radley

  Here I was, breathing, but barely.

  Today was the phone call with Meekai. I had no idea what to expect, and my nerves felt like they were on fire with anticipation.

  Even though Meekai had given me a safe word-or half a sentence, really-the fact that I had no idea where this would lead excited me. There was a huge part that was warning me to shut my mouth and stick to generic topics, which would keep me safe from telling him my ugly.

  The thing was, he didn’t know how deep the ugly went, and I didn’t need pity, or worse, I didn’t need the possible rejection. I wasn’t ready or willing to show him the place where only him and I existed. I didn’t think I’d ever be ready to give that part of my truth away. A big part of me wanted to let go. To let go is to move forward, right? There was too much attached to the risk I’d be taking just to set myself free.

  I thought about all of the things I was willing to give away, picking and choosing each fault in my head, classifying which ones Meekai might be able to look past. My knee bobbed like a jackhammer as I sat on the edge of my bed, heart thunking, staring at the screen of my cell phone. I watched as 12:59 p.m. clicked over to one p.m.

  Meekai had sent me a picture of himself last night with a sticky note stuck to his lips that read, tomorrow, one p.m., you’re mine, Violet. He’d sent it at 10:23 p.m. and my eyes didn’t leave the screen until sometime after eleven.

  You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine . . .

  I felt those words pulse low within my core. The possessive undertone did something to me that I never thought possible. What would it feel like to belong to someone? For them to not only want you, but to need you. To chase, to beg and feel for you beyond all sane comprehension? How could I earn that? How could I ever deserve a love that ran so deep?

  I hadn’t thought about it since that day, when the possibility of finding first-time love was beaten out of me. Even when things felt impossible, even when people laughed at me, rejected me, I still sat there like the fool I was, wishing and hoping that one day I’d somehow get the chance to know what it was like to be loved that way.

  My dad and mama were sickly in love. I’d always wanted that eternal thing they dripped in. Their love was easy, beautiful, sure and safe. Safe. It seemed I kept coming back to that one word.

  For whatever reason, and no matter how hard I tried to talk myself out of it, Meekai made me feel safe. It was a big statement,
an even bigger realization and completely fucking insane. I barely knew him, but I couldn’t deny the peace that I felt in spite of it.

  Thinking back on the short amount of time we’d know each other, the things I’d said, he’d said, I’d done and he’d done. He was always the one reaching for me; following when I wished he’d go away, never shutting his mouth when I wished he’d stop. He didn’t give up; it was like he was fighting for something I couldn’t see. He was so damn sure of it and I was so damn damaged.

  As my right foot pounded a beat on the floorboards, my bedhead knocked gently against the wall, matching the anxious thrum of my heart. My phone pinged with a message. I took in a deep breath and grazed a shaky thumb across the screen to open the message.

  Meekai: You ready, Violet?

  Fuck.

  Me: I’m scared . . .

  Honesty.

  Meekai: You don’t need to be scared. You’re safe with me.

  And there it was, safe.

  Me: I don’t know what I’m doing . . .

  Why? Why did I do that? How did he unknowingly drag the truth from me? Why didn’t I come with a mute button? Why wasn’t there an option to undo a text message? Why wasn’t there a ten-second delay that gave you the opportunity to take back whatever mistakes you made?

  The bubbles that signified him typing out a reply rose up and down. Writing, deleting, stopping to think. It was the new-aged dance of awkward. Those three bubbles shone a spotlight on a person’s insecurities. It was a dead giveaway to the person on the other end that you might be just as unsure and lost as them.

  The three insecurity bubbles disappeared and were replaced with a ring tone that had my head tilted sideways, questioning what the hell was happening. It Was Always You by Maroon Five blasted from my phone. How the hell did that get on my cell?