by Jo Knowles
“Ready to tell the truth yet, Laine?” she whispers, moving in even closer.
The truth. I don’t even understand what the truth is anymore.
Her boyfriend takes her arm and gives it a tug. She flinches slightly, but recovers fast.
“I wish we were still special friends,” she says louder.
I quickly glance over at the group on the couch again. Lucas is staring at me, totally intrigued.
“Leah, please,” I say. “You’re wasted.”
“I am?” she says in mock surprise. Her boyfriend laughs uncomfortably and tugs her arm again.
“What do you want?” Jess asks, moving in close on my other side. She takes my hand protectively.
Leah notices our hands and laughs. “How interesting,” she says. “You like that, Lainey?”
“Shut up,” I say, letting go of Jess’s hand.
“What’s she talking about?” Jess asks. She steps back and takes Web’s hand with the one that held mine.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Oh, come on, Laine. Tell her. If you don’t, I will.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I say. “You know that.”
“Do I? Think about it, Laine. It’s all still true. You liked it.”
“No,” I say. “I didn’t understand.”
“I think you did,” she says, stepping closer. “Remember what you said to me earlier? ‘Say it out loud. It will make you feel better.’ Or does she already know your secret? Is she the one you practice with now?”
“What’s she talking about?” Jess asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Laine and I used to be special friends, didn’t we, Laine?”
“Babe, come on,” hulky boyfriend says, taking ahold of her arm. Leah smiles uncomfortably, like his grip is hurting her. I hope maybe that will be enough to stop her, but she seems to be on a maniacal roll.
“Leave me alone,” she says to him. “Laine and I are talking.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask. I feel like a child. The corners of my mouth start to press down, the way babies’ do before they start bawling.
“We used to kiss in Laine’s special closet. Remember, Lainey?” she blurts out. She glances at the boyfriend quickly to check his reaction. His mouth drops open. I can’t tell if he’s shocked or turned on.
“No,” I say.
“We did other stuff, too. Remember?”
“Shut up.”
“Till we got caught.”
Someone on the couch kind of laughs.
Web and Jess stand there, not saying anything. The room is totally silent. Web has this look on his face as if I’ve betrayed him. Like he believes her and not me, and that means I’m gay and I never told him. I’m sure Jess is totally freaked out. Maybe she’s remembering our weekend in Maine and how she undressed in front of me. I feel the weight of their disappointment press on my heart. Please, I want to say. Please. But I don’t even know what to ask for.
“We took turns, remember? First I did something to you, then you had to do it to me.”
“No.”
Tears slide down my cheeks, but I don’t wipe them off. Leah reaches forward to touch my face. I slap it away.
She keeps talking, but I don’t listen. I don’t let myself hear her tell Web and Jess and her boyfriend and Lucas and a couch of strangers about all the things we did. As if they are things any two best friends would do. I just stare at her awful, beautiful face and hate her.
Finally, the boyfriend shuts her up.
“We’re leaving.” He wraps his pawlike hand around her arm and pulls her to him. He doesn’t look happy.
Leah smiles at me pitifully. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it? It’s good to get it out in the open. You’ve got to embrace your past, Lainey. That’s the only way to get beyond it. You know I’m right. Right, Lainey? The truth will set you free and all that bullshit? I know I feel a hell of a lot better. Do you?”
But you didn’t tell the whole truth, I think. You didn’t tell all of it. Only her boyfriend is half dragging her away, and I don’t have time to say the words.
Leah’s heels click on the tile in the hallway. “You’re hurting me!” her voice echoes back to us.
Jess and Web are behind me. I don’t dare turn around. I wait for a second for one of them, either one, to put a hand on my shoulder, to tell me it’s OK. But no one touches me. No one says a word before I take off down the hall after Leah.
Outside, Leah and her boyfriend are arguing by a car. He’s still holding her arm.
Hurt her. She deserves it.
Leah says something I can’t hear, and the guy stomps off, all pissed.
“Leah!” I yell.
She doesn’t turn around.
I run toward her.
“Leah, wait!”
I’m sure she can hear me. But she doesn’t turn around. She gets into a sports car parked a few cars over from my dad’s truck and takes off down Web’s long driveway.
“Fucking bitch!” the boyfriend yells. He heads off down the driveway after her, as if he could actually catch up.
I get into the truck, fumble for my keys, and turn the ignition. I pull out of the driveway, past the boyfriend waiting at the corner, and follow Leah. I’ll follow her all the way home if I have to. I don’t know what I’ll say to her, but I have to confront her. I see the look of hate in her eyes again. Feel it grab hold of my heart. Why does she hate me so much? Why did she do it? What’s the real reason she chose me? I have to know.
It’s dark on the road. Bugs fly at the headlights. I know that as I drive, I’m killing them by the hundreds. I can almost feel them hitting the hood of the truck, the windshield. I want to stop. Just stop and not go any farther. But I see Leah’s taillights way ahead, so I speed up to catch her.
Her brake lights go on in the distance, but as I get closer, she takes off again. I beep my horn, which is ridiculous, but I don’t know what else to do.
I press the gas. The speedometer climbs from forty to fifty to sixty. I don’t know the road well, but it’s not a highway and there are some sharp turns. Up ahead there’s a yellow diamond-shaped sign with a black squiggly arrow and a “REDUCE SPEED TO 25” warning. Leah’s brake lights go on, and I get close enough to see her license plate. I flash my lights at her and beep the horn again. She speeds up, crossing the double yellow lines.
The lines blur together through my tears. I blink, but it doesn’t help. Please stop. Please stop. I only say the words in my head, but they choke me just the same. I don’t want to think about how drunk and stoned she is, driving so fast. Please stop.
Finally she gets back on the right side, and I find my voice. “Pull over!” I yell to the back of her car. “Pull over before you get yourself killed!”
But as soon as the road straightens out, she goes even faster. My speedometer reaches seventy when I see another yellow sign with a curved black arrow. I wait for Leah’s brake lights to come on, but nothing happens.
“Stop!” I yell at the windshield. “I’m not letting you get away, so just stop!”
But instead of braking, she goes faster. When she reaches the turn, I don’t see her brake lights.
I quickly slam on my own brakes as I reach the turn. The truck’s tires scream. The back end of the truck forces to the right, then the left.
I think I see yellow lights through the trees ahead, but I don’t realize until I stop and the lights are gone that they weren’t mine. They were Leah’s.
Where did she go?
The headlights of the truck light up the road and the trees on the other side of it. Finally I see a set of red taillights. But they aren’t on the road. They’re down the embankment, at the edge of the woods.
I open my door carefully. As soon as I do, the chime goes off, interrupting the silence around me.
Ding ding ding ding . . .
I step down and feel the hard pavement under my feet. I hold myself up with the door handle. My hand is shaking.
&nbs
p; I slowly let go of the handle and cross the road to where I saw the taillights. I step toward the edge of the embankment, afraid to look. Below me, at the tree line, the black sports car is crumpled around a tree in a grotesque sort of hug.
I smell gas.
Everything is quiet except for the ding ding ding from the truck in the distance.
I climb carefully down the embankment.
The dew on the grass is cold and wet in my sandals.
The dinging is a whisper, calling me back to the road. But I keep moving toward the car.
The windshield is cracked into a spiderweb where her head hit but didn’t go through.
I move closer.
It’s still quiet. But now the crickets are beginning to join the steady dinging in the distance. And now the frogs.
The car is just out of reach of the truck’s headlights. I pause, afraid to move into the darkness. The car’s red taillights, like devil eyes, warn me away.
The smell of gas gets stronger as I force myself to move closer.
The driver’s door is smashed inward.
The window is shattered.
I move closer, closer, listening for a sound from inside.
She’s slumped over the steering wheel, not moving. But I see her pink halter. Her long, slender arms. Her blond, bloody hair.
I listen for a sound. A moan. Anything. But it is deadly quiet. So quiet. Except for the normal night sounds.
“Leah?”
She doesn’t move.
“Oh, God. Leah!”
I start to reach inside to shake her, but I stop. Somehow I know.
I know.
“No,” I say to her hair. “No!”
She doesn’t move.
“Wake up!” I scream, even though I know she won’t.
I hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance and panic. I turn and run back to the truck. Lights have come on in houses down the road. I get in and shut the door. The dinging stops, but my ears are ringing with the screaming in my head. No! No! No!
I put the truck in gear and drive, not knowing where to go.
The first thing I see when I open my eyes is the glove compartment of my father’s work truck, held together with a twisted piece of coat hanger. My face feels stuck to the faded and dingy vinyl seat. Above me, the windows are all fogged up. Good. No one can see in. See me.
I breathe in the smell of my father’s work: wood stain, old furniture, sweat. A faded green air freshener in the shape of a pine tree dangles uselessly from the rearview mirror.
I force myself to lift my head to see the clock on the dashboard: 5:32 a.m. When I sit up, I feel the blood rush to my head. Everything hurts.
The key is still in the ignition. When I turn it, the motor starts reluctantly. I turn on the wipers to clear the dew on the windshield and immediately see the store window of the 7-Eleven. There are people inside buying coffee and scratch tickets and doughnuts. I put the truck in reverse before they notice me.
I drive home with the steady hum of the motor drumming into my head.
Leah’s dead. Leah’s dead. Leah’s dead.
When I get home, I open the front door carefully. The house is quiet. I go upstairs, shut my bedroom door, and change into my pajamas. I shove all my dirty clothes under the bed, then crawl into it and listen to the quiet. Listen and think. Listen and try to feel something. Anything. But all there is, is numbness. Nothing. I am empty. I close my eyes and wait for my mother or the police or both to come and tell me what I already know.
Leah Greene is dead.
And it’s my fault.
It’s dark out. I don’t know what time it is. It doesn’t matter. All day I’ve been in and out of sleep, remembering. Ignoring my mother each time she climbs the stairs and asks if she can get me something.
I sit up and see myself in the mirror. I look dirty and matted and disgusting, as if I haven’t showered in days.
I get up slowly, quietly, and creep to the bathroom. I turn the water on full and step in without waiting for the hot to kick in. The tub is cold against my skin. I reach for the soap and a washcloth and rub myself all over. Hard. I scrub and scrub until the water warms up and rises over my ankles, my shins, my knees. I scrub until my skin feels raw and the water is so hot it stings against my skin.
Leah Greene is dead.
It’s all my fault.
Leah Greene is dead.
I lean against the hard back of the tub and close my eyes.
I see flashes of Leah. Hear fragments of her voice.
Remember, Lainey?
Remember when we used to mess around?
First I did something to you, then you had to do it to me.
You liked it. You know you did.
Tears slip down my cheeks and along my neck. I sink under the water to wash them away. Under here, the quiet echo of the water moving makes me feel like I’m in another world. Alone. But I have to come up for air.
“Laine?” My mother knocks on the bathroom door. “Honey? What are you doing in there? Do you know how late it is?”
I don’t know how late it is. I have no idea what time it is.
“No,” I say from my side of the door.
“Honey, it’s nine thirty. Can I — can I come in?”
I sit up. The cold air feels twice as bad after being underwater.
“I’m OK, Mom. I’ll get out in a minute.”
“Laine,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry this happened. Don’t you think — don’t you think we should talk about it?”
Talk about what?
What does she know?
I don’t even know what I know anymore. What was real? What did I imagine?
“Laine?”
“I’m OK, Mom. I just need to be alone. Just a little longer. Please.”
I picture her on the other side of the door, leaning her head against the wood, wondering what she should do. “All right, honey. We’ll talk later.”
Later.
What happens next? Will the police come? Will they take me away?
I sink back down under the water again and listen to the water swish around me, wishing it would swallow me whole.
On the far wall is the door to the doll closet with the worn brass handle that Leah and I touched so many times. I know the nesting doll is in there, all broken on the floor.
Not long after Leah and I became friends, I made the mistake of telling her that when I was really little, I used to think that my dolls and stuffed animals came alive when I left the room. She teased me, saying I still believed. She grabbed my old Curious George and punched him in the face. I laughed, just so she’d stop. But inside, I was cringing. After that, even though I was way too old to believe such a thing, I still imagined that the dolls who watched us in the closet hated Leah. I imagined them giving her the evil eye when we weren’t looking.
I stand up in the tub and let the cold air rush over me. After I dry off, I put my robe on and tie it tightly across my waist. Then I reach for the handle to the closet and open the door.
As soon as I smell the room, old feelings rush through me. I hear her voice, feel her hand.
I can’t do it.
How can I do it?
Slowly I force one bare foot forward across the cold wood floor. Then the other. I breathe in deeply before reaching my head in and pulling the tiny chain that clicks the lightbulb on.
It’s the same as we left it. The little chairs and table are still there. The dolls sit neatly in the corner, still watching. Except for a few bags of outgrown clothes piled in the middle of the room, it looks exactly the same. And on the floor, there’s the nesting doll, all in pieces.
Finally, I can’t hold my breath anymore and let it out. When I breathe in again, I smell the dust and must and memories.
The little doll halves look up at me with their permanent, knowing smiles.
Slowly, I bend down and pick up the pieces. First the smallest one, then the next smallest. I fit them each inside the other until I close the
last shell. I push the two pieces together snugly and glance over at the tiny space where it all started just one more time, before I click off the light.
Back in my room, I put the doll on my dresser, then find my warmest pajamas, grab my ratty old Curious George off the bookcase, and get into bed. Jack snuggles up next to me. I rest my face on his back, and he starts to purr. Soon his fur is wet with my tears. He pulls away, then comes back to sniff around my face. I make room for him next to me. I lean my face against his back again and listen to his deep, soft motor.
The doll stares at me from the dresser, smiling despite it all. I close my eyes, but I still feel her watching me. I can’t take it.
I squeeze the doll in my hands as I carefully open my bedroom door. The house is quiet. I walk silently down the hall, through the darkened dining room, the kitchen, and to the back door. I slip on my mother’s garden clogs, grab the flashlight by the hook next to the door, and step out into the dark.
The grass looks gray-green in the moonlight. I wait until I reach the edge of the woods and the short pathway that leads to the big rock before I turn on the flashlight. I walk the path quickly, still clutching the cold, hard doll in my hands. I feel the trees watching me, their branches ready to reach out and grab me. I want to turn and run back to the house. But I don’t. I get to the rock and kneel down next to it. I place the doll beside the flashlight in the dried leaves. The ground is soft there, and I dig up the leaves and dirt with my hands until I have a hole big enough to bury the doll. I place her in face up, then quickly cover her with the dirt and leaves. I shine the flashlight on the spot. It looks the same way it did before. No one will find her here.
I turn off the light as soon as I reach the backyard safely. Then I quietly make my way back to my room and climb into bed next to Jack and George.
Tomorrow, I think to both of them. Tomorrow I will tell the truth.
I fall asleep to images of Leah. We’re twelve again, cantering around the riding ring, doing our victory lap. Leah waves the strip of newspaper in the air as she turns back to me. “We did it!” she yells over and over again. I wave my own empty hand in the air, following behind her, smiling so hard my face hurts as the crowd cheers, and I make a secret wish that this moment will last forever. That we’ll just keep riding around and around, laughing and waving to each other.
