A Soul's Kiss

by Debra Chapoton

  Rashanda’s hand was on the door and she stopped short of swinging it wide as someone on the other side made a weak apology and left. “Why did you push me?” Rashanda growled back at me. “Oh, my gosh, you can still see her, can’t you?”

  Jessica

  Friday night

  It’s more intense than I can take. I look away from Tyler, try not to think of that kiss, and stand up. Rashanda is blocking the door and I really want to leave.

  All it takes is a thought, I guess. But why my escaping thought is to come here I totally don’t know.

  I’m alone. The room is dark, naturally, but there are security lights on outside the building that give enough ambient light through the windows for me to read the bulletin board. English class. I’m in my seat at the back of the room. Quiet. Eerie.

  It’s a good place to think. Several things are clear to me: only certain people can see and hear me and only once in a while; I can enter people’s heads when they’re in a dream-like state; I can travel distances in a blink of an eye. There are other things to think about too, like is this going to be permanent? Am I going to die? Am I going to be a vegetable?

  If I get to choose, then I’ll pick vegetable as long as I can exist like this, floating outside of my body. I swallow the lump in my throat, try not to be scared, and make a decision: I will make the best of things. My mission will be to make people happy. That sounds pretty unselfish. Maybe I got that from being in Rashanda’s head and feeling her generous forgiveness. Yes, this is a good plan. This is my version of “hanging in there.” Maybe I can make Michael and Keith and Hannah feel my forgiveness in case they’re blaming themselves.

  Rashanda

  Friday night

  The way Tyler’s face dropped when Jessica disappeared on him tugged at my heart—in a bad way. I told him I’d see him later, grabbed my purse, and rushed out of there. He probably thought I was crazy. I thought I was crazy. My mind was so messed up.

  I phoned my mom as I headed to the recovery area. She was being awfully understanding about me spending so much time there, but she had her limits, and I knew I’d better check in and probably head home soon. Either drive Jessica’s car or have my mom pick me up. I needed to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell about that though I was sure they wouldn’t care. What I really wanted to do was tell them that Jessica was fine. Of course, that depended on your definition of “fine”. Hey, your daughter is just fine, floating around, making new friends, and kissing guys.

  That’s what was really bothering me. That kiss. I felt like it was my kiss. I’d always liked Tyler, but I never considered him for a second because I thought he was as focused on Jessica as, well, like Edward on Bella or Romeo on Juliet or . . . Jessica on Michael.

  But that kiss . . . wow. That could change a girl’s mind.

  I found the Mitchells and they seemed happy and upbeat and positive that Jessica was going to come out of the coma soon. They hugged me and told me to take the car home, not to worry, and not to think I had to spend all day Saturday at the hospital. I thought maybe they were hinting that they didn’t want me to come, but Mrs. Mitchell added that she was sure Jessica appreciated my presence, that she could feel it somehow. Boy, she got that right. Jessica was feeling a lot of stuff and knew everything that was going on.

  I drove home wondering if she’d pop into the seat next to me again since I was thinking about her so much. I even said her name aloud a couple of times to test that, but no Jessica. Maybe she’d come to me as I drifted off to sleep.

  There was a lot of traffic near the high school. Game night. It was a nice evening for it, crisp and clear. Jessica would have gone with me to the game and then to the cider mill. We would have planned out a better synchronized swimming routine even if the one she gave me Thursday had worked out. I thought about the paper she had pressed into my hands with the kip and ballet legs and stupid Gaviota marked under each bar of the music she’d chosen. I pulled into my driveway, parked the car, and began to cry. I didn’t know where that paper was. She was absurdly happy and alive when she gave it to me. Life was so fragile.

  Life was so complicated. I wasn’t sure if I was crying because I was afraid that Jessica was going to die or if I was jealous because of that kiss or if I was stressed out from lack of sleep and food. And I had a mountain of homework to catch up on. My stomach was growling and that usually meant I was going to have an unpleasant episode of diarrhea and pain, but this time it was a good kind of growling: just hungry.

  “Jessica?” I said it out loud in case she was around. For sure she wasn’t in my head. “Jessica, we need to talk. I think I’m feeling something for Tyler. You need to decide between him and Michael.” There. I felt a little better even if she wasn’t invisibly close by. I wiped my eyes.

  Jessica

  Friday night, late

  Suddenly I want to know more about that accident. Maybe it was my fault.

  Where did it take place? A mile from school?

  I glance at the clock above the bulletin board. Nine-thirty. How did it get to be so late? Is time different for me?

  Headlights draw lines across the ceiling. A steady stream of cars turn left from the sports field parking lot across the street. The football game. I wonder who has taken Michael’s place as drum major. Or maybe he was allowed to attend the game. He hadn’t seemed hurt—just shook up about my condition. I smile to myself, remembering his words of sympathy and concern. I think about how I’d touched those lips, but the memory of Tyler’s dream kiss rushes back and pounds down those thoughts. I shiver. Kind of amazing that I can shiver.

  Another thought: does my shivering mean anything physical? I check my gown for blood. Even in the dim light I can tell that it’s fine.

  Again I shiver. I notice, too, a dull ache in my head. Around my eye where I’d been whacked by that kid in the senior hallway. Boy, that seems so long ago. Michael helped me up, Hannah and Keith joined us and we went to the parking lot. I remember!

  It’s clear now. I had kept my head down, staring at the book in my lap, but Hannah was next to me. I leaned toward her as Keith turned the car too sharply when we left the parking lot. I remember the squeal of the tires as he took that turn. There were a couple of times he swerved, maybe passed another car, before the accident. Keith’s driving was, well, like he was playing a video game. And over the speed limit.

  I remember a catch in my throat as I sensed Michael’s whole body shifting in the front seat to look back at me. Or maybe he was looking at Hannah. And then the horns. The crash. The first time I left my body.

  I want to see the place where the accident happened. Where I had first been like this.

  Instantly I’m gone from the classroom and standing at the side of the road, but I have no way of knowing if this is the intersection or not. It’s dark. I walk another block and see a few cars pulling off onto the shoulder. Kids get out of cars and put flowers at the side of the road, then drive on. That solid line of cars leaving the football game slows down here. This has to be it. There are quite a few stuffed animals piling up. A shrine. It makes me sick to see the pieces of metal and glass mixed with the gravel.

  Another car pulls over and I recognize Brittany, one of the senior girls who thinks she’s better than everyone else. There’s another girl in the passenger seat.

  Hannah.

  I want to be in the back seat of that car before it leaves.

  Hannah

  Friday night, late

  “There, that clears my conscience,” I said to Brit as she closed the door. The bunch of flowers I threw out the window made me want to laugh out loud. Flowers. Our code word. Too funny. Those old daisies will die by the side of the road like that freak should have.

  “Can I see your phone?” I asked Brittany as she signaled and pulled back onto the road. I had a sudden monster-in-the-closet feeling and whipped my head around to look in the back seat. Then Brit pushed her phone into my hands and I checked Facebook to see if there were any updates on Jessi-freak’s pag
e. Apparently, her best friend finally did her duty and wrote on her timeline: “Jessica had her spleen removed. She’s in recovery, but still in a coma. Please pray for Jessica.” Yeah, right. I read it aloud to Brittany and set the phone between us. My dad was going to get me a smart phone, but not anymore. I had to use a crappy pay-as-you-go model that was beyond embarrassing.

  “So, are we stopping by Michael’s?” Brittany asked. “It’s only nine-thirty. Or do you think his mom wouldn’t let us in?”

  The hairs on the back of my head tugged tight like they were caught in a comb and goose bumps ran down my arms. Michael. I saw him sacked out on his back on the bed in his room. A vision of him sleeping swept through my mind. I thought I was going to vomit for a second. I almost asked Brit to pull over so I could, but then the nausea passed.

  “No, just take me home. I don’t feel so hot. I probably should have stayed in bed like the doctor said. Sneaking out seemed like a good idea, but maybe it wasn’t.” I tensed, felt the shivers ripple down my body again, felt an ache in my forehead. “Maybe you can hook up with Andrew and the others,” I said.

  Brittany gave me a funny look. “I told you. We broke up.”

  Oh, right, I forgot. Silly me. Aloud I said, “We could make Andrew the next victim if you want.”

  Tyler

  Friday night

  After Jessica disappeared on us Rashanda left to find Jessica’s parents. I followed, but stayed out of sight. When Rashanda finally said goodbye to them I worked up the nerve to talk to them myself. Jessica had the nicest parents on earth. I wonder if she appreciated the fact that she had what all of us wanted—two parents, no divorce, no blended family, no stepparents, no visitation schedule.

  When they found out that I was Keith’s stepbrother they asked about him. At first they seemed interested in his health and how long he would have to stay in the hospital. Then they wanted to know about Hannah and Michael, too, and if I knew why Jessica was in the car. Did I know why she would skip swim practice? Did I know where they were going? Had she gone with them before? I felt like crap telling them that I didn’t know anything when the truth was that when Jessica got into my head, I got a sense of the whole situation.

  And more.

  Anyway, I excused myself, red-faced for sure, and went to Keith’s room where I found my stepdad about to leave, so he drove me home. When we passed the school the lights on the football field drew my attention and I asked him to pull over and let me out. There were only about five minutes left on the game clock. I watched from the fence without really seeing. My heart went into overdrive every time I thought of Jessica. I replayed in my mind every nano-second of when she entered my dream.

  I saw her at her front door. Beautiful. She came out into the snowy whiteness and took my arm as we walked along. I knew things. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew things about her and about Michael and about Rashanda. I stopped thinking about the dream for a second when the crowd roared as the opposing team fumbled the ball. Huh, Jessica was like the football—moving from person to person collecting smudges from everyone who touched her, or rather, from every mind she entered. Jessica had little fingerprints of Rashanda’s life and she had left bits of those prints on me, in my head.

  The realization struck me with the same sharpness of the referee’s final whistle: Jessica must have gotten into Michael’s head, too. I gripped the cold metal of the fence and stared at the shadowed grass beyond. I didn’t see or hear the fans leaving. I couldn’t. I couldn’t think of anything but the shards of memories that seeped into that dream. I had to close my eyes to concentrate and slow down my thoughts. I wanted to rush to the end of the dream where I kissed her and she kissed me back, but there were more important things to remember about the walk. Wisps of thoughts. It was like moving in and out of a radio signal. But I knew things.

  As if Jessica was pushing me herself, I knew I had to go to the accident scene. It was maybe a five minute run from the ball field. I rushed through the exit and ran along the shoulder when the sidewalks ended. A few cars honked at me and somebody yelled, but I didn’t slow down until I saw the corner, the cars flowing past, some stopping . . . flowers, a pile of swept up glass, rubble.

  Jessica! I could have touched her if I’d reached out, but I wasn’t quick enough. One second she was in front of me and the next she was behind a car parked on the shoulder. A second later I saw her silhouette in the back seat. The car took off, but not before I recognized Hannah when she turned her face and the lights from another car revealed that conceited profile.

  Well, at least I knew that Jessica was still around. It sort of made sense that she’d want to get into Hannah’s head. I sorted out the bits of thoughts from Rashanda that had streamed to me through Jessica: Rashanda had been abducted by Hannah and Michael; Rashanda was wary of them. Suspicious with a twinge of fear or dread. Maybe I could get Rashanda to explain.

  I stood on the corner, out of breath from running. I might as well use the extra blood flow and adrenaline to think it out. What did I sense about Michael? Shallow. No feelings for Jessica. Overconfident. Arrogant. Wow, all of that from a little walk next to the girl of my dreams . . . in my dreams. I remembered the snowy mounds, the bird startling us, and I had a happy feeling.

  Crap, I was standing at the side of the road geeking out over a dream. I turned and walked home more deeply in thought than any time in my life. I focused on the parts of the dream that gave me that warm feeling—pure Jessica. I got a sense of her childhood, her friendship with Rashanda, even her hopes. But I didn’t like knowing too much. I didn’t like that when she came into my head she left flakes and slivers and fragments of other people.

  I hardly slept Friday night.

  Jessica

  Saturday morning

  I’m awake. I’m awake from the coma. I’m sure of it even though everything is blacker than black. My head throbs only a little, and not around my eye at least. I. Feel. So. Good!

  I stretch my arms up over my head and yawn. Free. Free of tubes and wires and beeps. Four thoughts shove and push around my mind, each trying to take center stage. Center stage. Ha, that makes me think of drama class and the little scene I did with Michael just two days ago. And now those four thoughts joggle my brain: accident, surgery for spleen, Tyler’s kiss . . . Hannah.

  Hannah. I strain my eyes to see, but the blackness exists as haunting emptiness. I run my fingers down my sides, across my stomach—no bandages. What? Why not? The fabric is different. Softer, thicker. Felt? Flannel? Pajamas. With cuffs, a drawstring, and pockets . . . another pocket over my heart.

  The fear that wells up inside me squashes the joy of a moment before. Can you dream in a coma? Am I cruelly willing myself to imagine an awakening? That’s it for sure. I wouldn’t awake from a coma without a lot of hustle and bustle from nurses, my parents, doctors . . . and there would still be all the medical equipment. And lights. And a stupid thin hospital gown, not these warm pajamas.

  I’m dreaming. Still in the coma. And stuck somewhere dark.

  My thinking seems fine; my sense of touch is all right. I sniff. I put my hand to my mouth and blow. Yup, sense of smell works and I need to gargle. I dig my elbows into the mattress intending to push myself up, but my range of motion stops halfway. Am I strapped down? I bring both legs up to my chest and stretch them straight up, knocking the covers off, and pointing my toes for a synchronized swimmer’s perfect double ballet leg trick. Has to be a dream. I lower my legs by inches, feeling the strength and tautness in my abdominal muscles. No pain, no ripping stitches, no bleeding spleen. A dream.

  A dream in which I can brood over my predicament and contemplate my options. Well, option, singular. All I can do is think.

  I think about Michael, but Hannah’s face keeps interrupting every memory. I think about Rashanda and Tyler, but again Hannah’s voice splits my thoughts in two. Her voice. And what I last heard her say as I sat behind her in her friend’s car last night: “We could make Andrew the next victim if you want.”


  “We could make Andrew the next victim if you want.”

  It echoes. I can remember the entire conversation. And more. I can remember touching my forehead to the back of her head. I got inside, but she would not acknowledge me. I couldn’t get past the boxes of darkness that litter her head. It was like there were doors and more doors, all of them closed, and I didn’t have the keys to open any of them.

  And now I’m stuck. There’s no pulling back out of her mind. Last night I felt her nausea, her migraine. I heard Brittany’s voice, took in their conversation, their goodbyes, the walk into the house. I saw her father, felt Hannah’s disappointment—a mixture of repulsion and love as she sneaked past the snoring hulk sprawled on the living room couch. I remember her, us, getting ready for bed.

  Then this blackness.

  My heart, or maybe it’s Hannah’s, stutters to life in a race to beat my mind to a horrible conclusion: I’m stuck in Hannah and Hannah is waking up.

  Tyler

  Monday morning

  Crap. She was making me go to school. There was no way I was going to convince my mom to excuse me from school and let me stay at the hospital. I spent the whole weekend there and that was enough, according to her. Keith would heal just fine without me, she said. Go to school.

  Worst weekend of my life. I thought I had it all figured out, but Jessica never reappeared on Saturday or Sunday. I thought about looking up Hannah’s address and just showing up there, but that’s just not my style. I had a plan though. Hannah sat with the seniors in the lunchroom. If she bought her lunch I could approach her as she walked to the far end of the cafeteria. Or I could possibly catch her before or after school. I wasn’t sure where her locker was, but I knew where I’d seen her Thursday, when she’d left with Jessica. Maybe . . . maybe if she’d experienced Jessica she’d have a clue or a message or . . . something.