The Art of Losing

by Lizzy Mason

  “I want to go home,” she said. It sounded like an accusation, as if I was the one keeping her here at camp. Like she was a prisoner, being forced to make baskets and row canoes and play tennis.

  “I know you do, but you can’t,” I said. I tried to be patient. “Even if you called Mom and Dad, they’re in Italy. There’s nothing they can do.”

  Mom and Dad had made it perfectly clear why we were at camp. They’d been planning a European vacation for years, before I was even born. Now they could finally do it.

  I wondered if Audrey had gotten the same postcard I had—the one with the Roman Colosseum on the front. On the back was a hastily scrawled “Thinking of you and missing you in Rome!” I wondered if that was true. Because I didn’t miss them that much. Yet. I had Cassidy with me, for one.

  Audrey was having a tougher time. She had made friends, but at night, she couldn’t sleep because she wasn’t in her own bed. The exhaustion was catching up to her.

  Her chest started to rise and fall rapidly. Her face was blotchy. I could hear her struggling to breathe.

  A ball of dread formed in my stomach. She was panicking.

  I knelt in front of her and grasped her shoulders. “Audy, you need to calm down, okay? Take a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

  This was how my dad handled her when she got this upset. Audrey tried—she took three deep breaths in a row—but she was still shaking in her nightgown.

  I heard her counselor walking up the gravel behind me and Audrey’s eyes grew wide. She started shaking her head rapidly.

  “I don’t want to go,” she whispered. “I don’t want to go! I want to stay with you!” She was shrieking by then and gripping me around the waist.

  I looked back at her counselor and then at mine. She’d gotten out of bed and was now silhouetted in the screen door. She shook her head. I ignored her. I ignored both counselors.

  “You can stay with me tonight,” I said. I knew this could be the end of my new, easy friendships, but I tried not to care. My little sister could share my bed if it meant she would sleep. If it would get rid of the dark circles that had gathered under her eyes.

  That night, spooned against my side, Audrey did sleep. I also got some shit for it, but most of the girls understood. They almost seemed jealous that I had my sister to cuddle with. I think maybe we were all a little homesick, even if we didn’t admit it out loud.

  The next day, I walked Audrey back to her cabin, and I hung out with her cabinmates for a while. I introduced them to Bear Bear, Audrey’s stuffed bear, by way of a song-and-dance number I’d often perform for Audrey. And an hour later, Audrey was showing them her books and iPod, and they were giggling and listening to music, so I tapped her on the foot and waved goodbye.

  “You can come sleep with me again tonight if you need to,” I whispered as she hugged me. But she shook her head.

  “It’s okay, I have Bear Bear,” she assured me.

  By the end of our second week, I’d only seen her across the mess hall when she’d given me a wave and gone back to laughing with her friends. I walked to her cabin one night while the rest of my friends were getting ready for bed.

  The girls in Audrey’s cabin were already in bed as I snuck inside and crouched next to her on the bottom bunk.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, automatically scooching over to make room for me in bed next to her. I climbed into the narrow bed as best I could.

  “I just wanted to make sure you were sleeping okay,” I lied.

  Audrey knew it, too. She pulled Bear Bear out from underneath her and made him look me in the eye.

  “Okay, I’m homesick,” I admitted. I missed my room, my comics, my privacy. A bathroom and shower that I didn’t have to share with a hundred other girls.

  She gave me a hug, with Bear Bear squished between us.

  “Take Bear Bear,” Audrey said. “He’ll keep you company.”

  I was tempted to say no, but the shard in my chest made the decision for me. “Okay,” I said. “But promise you’ll come pick him up tomorrow so he doesn’t get lonely?”

  She stuck out her pinkie and linked it with mine. “Deal.”

  Chapter Ten

  The Fourth of July snuck up on me. I hadn’t made plans and a full day of doing nothing stretched ahead. I couldn’t call Cassidy; she had agreed to take a shift at the coffee shop since Will and Janine planned to see the outdoor concert on the Mall downtown. I’d done that once with Mike. It was enough. Every summer it was the same: some band older than my parents and a bunch of angry protesters, coupled with stifling heat and hordes of sweaty tourists. Mike had brought a mini cooler full of beer. That had not helped the situation.

  I’d gone to the hospital that morning with Dad and Mom. They’d brought miniature American flags and festive window clings to decorate Audrey’s room, but when they left to get lunch, I left, too. By mid-afternoon, I was bored. I was even bored enough to take Floyd out into the muggy summer sun for an impromptu walk. He didn’t seem enthusiastic about the idea.

  We ambled slowly up the street. It was so hot I could see the heat shimmering in the air above the pavement. Floyd gave up a few minutes in, sighing as he lay down on the sidewalk under a tree three houses down from ours.

  “Seriously?” I groaned.

  There was laughter behind me.

  I spun around to see Raf a few feet away. He wore shorts and a white undershirt, with flip-flops on his feet. It was the first time I’d seen him in days . . . since the kiss. The memory of it rushed back.

  He’d texted, but I hadn’t responded. I hadn’t known what to say. I still didn’t.

  He stepped closer and bent down to scratch Floyd behind the ears.

  “This dog is no fool,” Raf said. “He knows when it’s not worth being outside.”

  “I guess it makes me feel better about not having any big barbecue plans today,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he answered, sounding wistful. “Instead of drinking on the Mall, in the sun, with my friends all day, eating mushrooms, and sneaking off to the Porta Potty to get stoned before the fireworks start like I did last year, I’m planning to sit in my basement bedroom and . . . I don’t know, cry?” He laughed, but I didn’t think he was kidding.

  “Would you want to maybe do something with me instead?” I asked before considering whether it was a good idea. My lips formed words independent of my brain, as if they were desperate for another chance to be on his. Traitors.

  He looked at me, squinting. “I was worried you were mad at me or something,” he said. Floyd pawed at him, urging Raf to keep scratching his ears. It gave him an excuse to look away. “You didn’t answer my text from a couple days ago.”

  I chewed my lip. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Things got a little busy. With Audrey and everything.”

  My voice sounded weak and unconvincing. I was a coward for using her as an excuse instead of just telling him the truth: that I was a mess.

  Raf stood up. “I’m going to go to a meeting first, but what did you want to do?”

  In the past, the Fourth of July had always meant a party at our house. A crab feast, with fresh July corn and hush puppies dipped in melted butter. I could almost taste the fresh sliced tomatoes on my tongue. But with Audrey in the hospital, the party was canceled this year. Mom and Dad were spending the evening watching the fireworks on TV in her room in the Neuro ICU.

  “Do you want to go to the high school to watch the fireworks?” I asked. It just wouldn’t feel like the Fourth of July without fireworks.

  Raf’s eyes brightened. “Absolutely. I’ll meet you at the Jeep at eight thirty?”

  I nodded, trying not to show the nerves I was suddenly feeling. “See you then.”

  By the time eight thirty rolled around, it was still muggy, but dusk was falling. Fireflies winked as they hovered in the sky.
>
  I’d deliberately stayed casual, in cutoffs and a T-shirt, my hair in a ponytail. I leaned against his front bumper, already feeling beads of sweat prickling my scalp. Raf came around the side of the house a few minutes later. He’d changed into jeans and a different shirt, and his hair was still wet and combed neatly. As we got in the car, I could smell his shampoo—the same “No Tears” kind he used when we were little.

  “What do you have in your bag there?” he asked, gesturing to the tote bag at my feet.

  “Um, sparkling cider,” I said. “And cookies with red, white, and blue sprinkles.”

  “Patriotic,” he said dryly. “U-S-A . . . U-S-A . . .”

  I smirked. “Don’t get too excited. The sprinkles are already melting from this heat.”

  I didn’t mention that I’d also brought a blanket, but a scratchy one so we wouldn’t be too comfortable. I was determined to keep this friendly tonight.

  But when Raf snuck a glance at me, his eyes roving over my bare legs before turning back to the road, my stomach fluttered, and I knew he didn’t feel the same way. My plan to keep things platonic suddenly felt muddled as I wondered how committed I really was to it.

  “So how is everything?” Raf asked over the rushing wind and the roar of the Jeep’s engine. “With Audrey?”

  “Actually, she’s started waking up a little, opening her eyes and everything.”

  He smiled so wide and for so long I worried bugs might get stuck in his teeth.

  “That’s great!” he said. “How does she seem?”

  I couldn’t manage the same enthusiasm. “It’s hard to say. She hasn’t been awake long enough to be truly conscious of what’s going on. She hasn’t spoken yet, anyway.”

  He glanced at me for a second, but he nodded. “She will, soon,” he said. “She’s strong.”

  I nodded back, wishing I shared his certainty, and closed my eyes as he shifted into a higher gear, the wind blasting in my face. The night air had cooled at least.

  A few minutes later, we pulled into the high school parking lot—the local public school where Raf went. The sun still hadn’t set fully, and the twilight sky was like a countdown clock for when the fireworks would start. Raf and I got out and walked through a full lot of cars, out onto the football field. It was a neighborhood tradition, so hundreds of families sat with their picnic dinners spread around them, their kids running around, chasing each other and screaming.

  I found a small empty patch and spread out the blanket. But once we were side by side, we fell silent for a few awkward moments. The memory of our kiss hung in the air between us like static electricity.

  “Cookie?” I offered, opening the tote bag and taking out the container. Raf reached for the sparkling cider and poured two cups, then clinked his plastic cup against mine. At least now our mouths were full.

  After draining his cup, Raf lay back on the blanket and looked up at me.

  “Lie down,” he said. “It’s nice down here.”

  Holding my breath, I clumsily squeezed next to him on the blanket and crossed my arms over my chest to leave a few inches of space between us. Then I exhaled, trying to relax. It did feel a little quieter and more secluded, being so low to the ground. The sky above us was darkening quickly. It was a cloudless night, but there weren’t any stars past the bright lights on the football field.

  Raf opened his mouth to say something, but just then the floodlights over the field shut off, plunging the area into darkness. A hush fell as the first of the fireworks flew, releasing a high-pitched scream before it exploded in a shower of red sparks. The crowd “oohed.” Another went off, and another, and soon the sky was full of light. Gradually, I felt my muscles loosen, and I let my arms fall to the blanket. I could feel the heat from Raf’s arm next to mine.

  I had always been a sucker for fireworks, and there’s no better way to watch them than lying on the ground as they explode directly above. I glanced over at Raf a few times. He was smiling just as widely as I was.

  After what felt like only a few minutes, the grand finale began, and I felt Raf’s fingers lace through mine. My heart started beating double-time. But I didn’t pull away until the show was over and the sky was thick with smoke. The crowd around us began to stand and disperse, and it would be weird to stay and keep lying there. But in the parking lot, Raf reached for my hand again and pulled me to a stop next to the Jeep.

  “Close your eyes,” he said, uncurling my fingers.

  I looked at him skeptically. Still, I did as he asked. He placed something long, thin, and metallic in my open palm.

  “Okay, open,” he said.

  I opened my eyes and looked down. “A sparkler?”

  He nodded with an impish smile. “Who doesn’t like to play with fire?”

  I laughed, surprised and relieved. I’d assumed he was going to kiss me. Maybe I was hoping he would.

  I watched as he pulled out a lighter and lit the end of my sparkler. Then he lit one of his own, and we stood in the parking lot, writing our names in light. My lips curled up when I saw him trace a heart in the instant before my sparkler died, followed by his. And all that remained were the streaks in my vision, remnants that faded quickly.

  Suddenly I noticed that a crowd of kids had gathered around to watch, mesmerized. I turned toward the Jeep, assuming they’d scatter now that the show was over, but when I glanced back, Raf was distributing sparklers to them all.

  “Stand in a line and put your arms out!” he called. Once they were spaced far enough apart, he walked down the line, lighting each sparkler. The kids squealed as the sparklers lit up their grinning faces. Raf grinned just as widely.

  I couldn’t help remembering the last time I’d seen Mike around kids. Cassidy was babysitting her brothers, who were three and six at the time. I’d gone over to help her study for our geometry test, but Mike and I had just been to the comic book shop. It had only taken Loren five minutes before he had torn the bag off of Mike’s near-mint issue of Superior Spider-Man #1 and crumpled half of its pages. It had taken twenty minutes and a red popsicle to get Loren to stop crying after Mike had screamed at him.

  I closed my eyes against the memory as Raf took the long way home to avoid the crowds. It had been a nice night. It wasn’t supposed to be a date, but it felt like the best one that I’d ever been on. All that was missing was the good-night kiss. But I intended to keep it that way. So when he pulled into the driveway, I gathered my stuff and hopped out, making sure to stay one step ahead of him. And when Raf stopped at the scene of our last kiss, I held up a hand to stop him as he leaned in.

  “I can’t,” I said.

  He blinked, confused.

  “I’m sorry. Mike and I just broke up . . .” He nodded, but I still felt like I needed to explain. “I spent a lot of time doing what Mike wanted. I need to figure out what I want.”

  Raf offered a reassuring smile. “I know,” he said. “And I get it. I want you to figure things out. And to be happy.”

  I stared back at him. Why the hell was I turning down a guy who was so damn nice to me?

  “Thanks,” I managed. “And I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not technically supposed to date until I have a year sober anyway,” he added, and I momentarily felt less doubtful about my decision. “And the fact that I want to kiss you until I forget about that is probably not a good sign.”

  “Yeah, probably not,” I said, blushing and doubting myself all over again. “Well, um, good night.”

  I forced myself to turn around. To walk away. Even though my heart was practically leaping out of my chest, as if trying to get back to him on its own.

  On the morning of July 5, Audrey had a “successful breathing trial.” By that afternoon, Dr. Martinez had agreed to take her off the ventilator. Mom left work early, picked me up, and rushed the two of us to the hospital to meet Dad.

  With
her face no longer obscured, the first thing that struck me was how young Audrey looked. How small and fragile. Not to mention pale. Her freckles stood out in stark relief against her chalky skin. But she was awake when Mom, Dad, and I were finally allowed into her room—really awake—though groggy. Keisha was at her side, moistening a small sponge on the end of a stick and running it across Audrey’s lips. Audrey licked them greedily.

  “Can’t she have water?” Mom asked Keisha. She sounded annoyed. It was clear that she considered Keisha to be an interloper, that she saw caring for her daughter in this way as a mother’s job. She so desperately wanted to do something, to be useful.

  The nurse shook her head. “Soon,” she said. “She’s on IV fluids to keep her hydrated and with the feeding tube in, she’s fine. But we don’t know yet what her motor function is like, and we don’t want her to aspirate while trying to swallow. Her injuries are still too severe.”

  By the time she’d finished, Mom’s face appeared to have aged ten years. The crow’s-feet were more prominent, the frown lines deeper. She pressed the back of Audrey’s hand to her cheek, but Audrey had already started to fade back into sleep. She hadn’t been “really awake” at all, I realized. I’d been fooling myself. We all had.

  By dinnertime, I was ready to leave. I considered watching another movie, but Audrey was asleep, and I somehow couldn’t muster up the same enthusiasm I’d had when she was in a coma. It was ridiculous, but romantic movies had lost some of the magic without Audrey’s creative input. The old Audrey. The new Audrey wouldn’t be able to stay awake for long enough to watch a full movie with me for weeks, most likely. And there was a very good chance she wouldn’t be able to remember, understand, or process what she was seeing, anyway.

  The next morning I came downstairs to find Mom poring over a small stack of framed photos. “Will you take these to the hospital for me?” she asked, without looking up. “I’m not sure if I’ll make it. I have appointments at a few stores today, but I want to be sure Audrey has something to remind her of us.”