Waiting

by Carol Lynch Williams

  Taylor Curtis sits in the choir seats opposite me here in the congregation. Mom’s not here. She quit church months ago. Anyway, he’s seventeen and has blond hair and this big smile and eyes such a pale green that in black-and-white pictures he looks crazy.

  No one knows this except Zach—I mean he knew it— but I think I loved Taylor before he decided he wanted to be with Heather Nelson.

  “I’ll beat the crap out of him if you want me to,” Zach said. “Look at this.” He showed me his muscles. Flexed. Tried to make me laugh. “Long skinny muscles can pack a punch. Want me to bust his butt?” They were friends, my brother and Taylor. Good friends. On the football team together.

  “WWJD?” I had said.

  “Probably send Taylor’s soul into a herd of pigs that would leap off a cliff and drown in the sea below.” I had laughed then, though I’d been crying before.

  Now Taylor looks at me and he lifts his eyebrows, something he did when we made out, like he’s asking if I want to meet him again.

  No.

  No. Way.

  Even though kissing right now might make me feel better. For sure would make me feel less lonely.

  “He’s right,” Daddy says in a whisper, his hands folded in his lap like he might be praying when he isn’t talking, and for a minute I think he means Taylor was right to like Heather (it didn’t last long). “Jesus is the answer.”

  Oh.

  “He is the answer.” And to hear him say it, why, I know, I know, he believes, even if he carries the whole Castle family belief on his own back.

  Every day.

  Every day is the same

  is like the other

  they run into one another

  look alike.

  I can’t tell a Monday from a Thursday

  only the sadness links me to them.

  In school, in English, that beautiful guy is back.

  I get there early to watch for him. Hurry so I can see him walk into class. And when he strides into the room, his jeans hitched a little low, that shirt open so anyone can see his throat, I know why vampires want to bite necks. My face colors at this stupid thought.

  He’s opposite of what I’m used to—of light-haired Taylor.

  He’s dark-eyed, with nut-colored hair that’s trimmed short. He’s lean, not football hardened.

  I can’t stop looking at him.

  “Hey, Jesse.”

  It’s Lauren Hopkins. She’s run in after him, linked her arm with his, and now she slides down the aisle with him. He glances right at me, just for a moment. Shows a bit of his teeth in an almost-smile. Then looks down at her.

  “Hey,” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or to her, and I say, “Hey,” back, but my voice is lost in the room of kids.

  “You and I are on for tonight, right?” Lauren says. She’s so pretty. Dressed up, like she’s off for a job interview or something.

  He shrugs. “Sure,” he says, and he’s glancing in my direction, but I look away before I can see if he sees me.

  When Mrs. Pray starts teaching, I close my eyes and I think about Jesse walking into the room and in my mind it’s me following, holding on to him, and setting up the date.

  Taylor waits for me after English, another week gone.

  Like he did those few months before a weekend changed his mind. He’s standing there in the hall, leaning on the lockers, waiting.

  I stop so fast that someone runs into me and then gives me a shove, saying, “Jesus,” at the same time. I stumble forward and Taylor steps to greet me. He says hello by lifting his chin and eyebrows, then he cuts through the crowded hallway and when I start walking away, he’s there, walking in time with me.

  “What?” I say. And I wonder where that Jesse is.

  “I thought,” Taylor says, then he stops me by grabbing hold of my elbow. “I thought I could pick you up tonight.

  And we could do something.”

  His hair’s combed forward and he smells good, clean. I can only watch his teeth when he speaks. They’re white.

  He flosses, I know it.

  I just look at his mouth and the whole time I’m thinking,

  Kissing might help me, but I don’t say anything more and so he says, “Me and Heather. We’re over.”

  I shrug. I know that. It didn’t last even a month. It just came at the wrong time, the leaving. I start walking again.

  Jesse’s in my head, so pretty, and Zach’s there saying,

  “Long skinny muscles can pack a punch.”

  “We had fun,” Taylor says.

  “You and Heather?” There are too many people in the hall.

  “You know I mean you and me.”

  I nod. “Sure we did,” I say. “Until my brother died.”

  Someone slams his locker closed and I jump a little. It’s cold here in the hall, even with all these people.

  Taylor’s all quiet and then he says, “It’s been a while now,” all sad.

  I stop moving, but Taylor walks a step or two farther.

  Then he comes back and stands there in front of me.

  He’s not as tall as Jesse. And he’s not dark-haired.

  Something moves in my chest.

  I think of Mom and Daddy and my brother gone and Jesse who doesn’t know me so what does it matter and Lauren Hopkins and me alone, and I touch Taylor’s lips with one finger and his eyes close and I say, “Sure. Why not?”

  The phone’s ringing when I get home.

  I answer it this time. Mom’s car is gone anyway. Maybe she’s with Daddy, helping him look through photos. Ha!

  “Hello?”

  “May I speak to London.” It’s a girl and I almost recognize her voice.

  “This is she.” I walk to my room, holding the house phone between my shoulder and cheek. Taylor will be here just in time for me to not eat dinner alone so I want to change my clothes.

  “Well, this is Lili Fulton and I wanted to call and apologize if I hurt your feelings in the library. I didn’t know about your brother. I just heard you were homeschooled and so were we for two years until my mother was ready to pull her hair out and ours, too, and I’m always saying stupid things. That’s what my brothers say. But, London. I’m so, so sorry.”

  I take a deep breath for her. She didn’t know about Zach? Maybe people aren’t talking still. Someone said something, though, because NOW she knows. Whatever. And then I say it. “Whatever.” It sounds really mean coming out of my mouth, but the word is there and I can’t scoop it back up so I don’t even try. WWJD?

  What would Zach do?

  WWZD?

  “Do you forgive me, then?”

  I choose a shirt from my closet. “Sure,” I say. “Yes.” My face has gone bloodred because of my rudeness. I can see it in the mirror on the door. I look away. “Sure, you’re forgiven.”

  Lili lets out this little squeal. “Homeschoolers are the best. I know it’s weird, but I’ve always been best friends with homeschoolers. You should come over. And we can talk. Or cook something great, but not anything like cinnamon rolls, because my mom still hasn’t figured out the humidity. Can you?”

  I slip off my jeans one handed and pull on leggings.

  They’re black. Would Mom notice? And if she did, would she stop me from leaving the house? Would she actually talk to me? I check out my butt in the mirror. I avoid my face because this is me looking at my body in tight clothes in case a boy might want to see my butt too.

  The whole thing is sick.

  The whole thing is not me.

  Why am I doing it?

  “I can’t tonight.”

  “Then tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” I say again. And I don’t let myself think anything about the answer because I’ll cancel right then and there if I do.

  “Tomorrow night,” she says, and as Lili says something else, I hang up.

  When Zach had sex the first time with Rachel, he told me three days later.

  He said, “London, I can’t believe it. I can’t.
She was so soft.”

  I screamed and covered my ears and he laughed, red-faced. Then he said,

  “I love her, London.” And I could tell he loved Rachel as much as Daddy loves Jesus, when he said those words.

  I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking what brother would tell his little sister he had sex?

  Mine would.

  Zach would.

  You travel all over the world where there are just the two of you, and you become best friends.

  Best friends.

  Taylor picks me up as the sun dips away from the sky. Daddy is still at his office.

  Mom still hasn’t come home.

  When I walk outside, Taylor looks at me all green-eyed and smiling. The color of the early evening sky reminds me there is a God. It’s just that beautiful. The color of a crayon before you swipe it across paper.

  There is a God. There is a God. There is a God.

  I believe that. I do.

  But does He believe in me?

  “So what do you want to do?” Taylor asks.

  He looks so warm and good I can hardly stand it.

  I climb into the car, fasten my seat belt, and wait for him to slide next to me in the driver’s seat. It smells like aftershave in here. I squeeze my eyes shut to the memory.

  “I like your hair.”

  I can’t answer.

  “You okay, London?”

  I shake my head.

  Taylor was my brother’s best friend.

  Not including me.

  Not including Rachel.

  Something is lodged in my throat. Aftershave maybe?

  “Should we go back inside?” he says after a long minute.

  I nod.

  “Do you want me to go home?”

  Yes. No. Yes. No. Yesnoyesnoyesnoyes.

  I shrug.

  “I can always come back.”

  “Okay.” My voice isn’t a whisper. It’s less than that.

  He’s out of the car because now I can’t move right.

  He comes around the front, slouched over a bit, hands shoved in his pockets.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Who am I now?

  How can one person leaving change you so much?

  Taylor opens my door, unfastens my seat belt, takes my hand. He almost has to make me walk. I wonder for a second if I’ve forgotten how to live.

  When we get up on the porch, Taylor puts his arms around me. He pulls me so close I can feel the thread count of his shirt on my cheekbone. “It’ll get better,” he says, then he opens the front door for me, and I go back inside.

  It will get better.

  People always say that.

  Like it really will.

  I lean against the door, eyes closed, that aftershave smell in my mouth.

  Maybe he meant we will get better.

  Me and him.

  Not Mom and me.

  Or just plain ol’ me.

  But Taylor and me.

  Like Before.

  Weekends kill me.

  No pun intended.

  They are sad. Lonely. Heartbreaking.

  Three of us left and still we’re all alone.

  And what about this?

  How did I end up responsible?

  How?

  I choose not to go to Lili’s house, and when she calls I ignore her.

  What if my mother started to care again right this second?

  Would I care if she cared?

  Would I forgive her?

  Yes.

  Yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes.

  I’m weak and needy.

  I need my mom.

  I want my brother.

  I don’t have either.

  We need each other to be whole.

  How can one person take so much with him?

  It is not fair.

  Monday morning, when I walk outside for Daddy to take me to school, I see Taylor. Fog sits close to the ground and Taylor stands next to his car, right there in front of my house, like Before. Like this is normal and we’ve never stopped seeing each other. It’s like my eyes are going bad, the way he kind of fades from view a bit as the fog thickens.

  Daddy sees Taylor too, and I see Daddy pause, take a step, pause, take a step, and then he walks right over to Taylor and throws his arms around him. They’re the same height.

  “How are you?” Daddy says, and Taylor says, “I’m okay.

  Doing better.” Daddy claps Taylor on the back and they stand there a second and Taylor says, “I was going to take London to school. If you want. If that’s okay with you.” And Daddy says, “I’d love for you to. I’ve been so busy down at the church,” and Taylor nods and says, “We’ve heard the first book is doing pretty well. My mom told me to tell you we pray for your family every day.” Then Daddy nods too and says, “Thank you. London? Are you okay with Taylor helping me out?”

  I stand in the doorway, half in, half out, feeling like a burden to my father, like the fog holds me back, books tucked to my chest, the loneliness and safety of my house just a step behind me. “Okay.” But, really, I’m not sure.

  The grass is wet with dew and the tops of my shoes cool as I walk to the side of the road.

  You can do this, I think.

  I’m shaking.

  What if the car has my brother’s smell still? As I head toward Taylor, I know it does. Taylor and Zach were like brothers.

  And when Taylor opens the car door for me, I smell I am right.

  The drive’s quiet.

  Taylor taps the steering wheel, glancing at me every once in a while.

  I look forward, breathing through my mouth.

  “Sorry about the aftershave,” he says.

  I sort of nod.

  “It makes me feel better.”

  When I glance at Taylor, I see he’s hurting too.

  Zach’s circle was a big one—it touched lots of people. I know that with my brain, but my heart hasn’t let me see past me too far.

  All of us are missing something, I realize as I sit there, the Florida morning sweeping past my window. Like, lots of people. Lots. Everyone knew Zach. Everyone loved him.

  “How?” My voice feels unused and sounds that way too.

  I don’t look at Taylor.

  The sun is bright. Cold. I can’t wait for warmer weather.

  Soon, right?

  “It reminds me of him.” Taylor taps at the steering wheel again. Pulls the car to a halt at the stop sign. “We bought this stuff together.”

  “I didn’t know that.”