Elevated
Page 2
“Between three and four, I think.”
My hair twists around and around my pinky.
I want to stop,
To catch my breath,
To feel like I’m put together right,
But I fear I might explode
If I don’t get out of here
Soon.
Now.
“HE ASKED ME!”
Honesty’s squeal into the intercom
Sounds as loud in my head now
As it did a year ago in my apartment.
I PRESSED THE BUZZER TO LET HER IN
Since Harold’s shift didn’t start until six.
Sighed as I checked the freezer for ice cream bars,
Called Trav to cancel our shopping trip happening in twenty minutes.
He wanted me to come along to buy flowers for prom.
I dreamt about him again last night.
Maybe because we talked on the roof until midnight.
I rescheduled with Trav,
Stuffed my feelings into the deepest part of myself,
Put on my game face for Honesty.
She never suspected anything.
Not ever.
I’m really good at hiding things,
Big things,
Important things.
Then,
Now,
Always.
NOW, I CARRY EVERYTHING I NEED IN A BACKPACK,
Or leave it at home.
I don’t go to my locker,
Don’t want to relive the memories,
Don’t want to see Travis.
HE USED TO MEET ME THERE,
Used to smile,
Used to hitch his backpack higher,
Used to say, “You ready?”
Asking me if I had everything so we could head home.
But once, it was so we could go buy flowers for prom.
Once, he swept his dark hair off his forehead,
Zeroed in on me,
Maintained eye contact,
Something that made my heart squeeze,
My stomach swoop.
Once, I said,
“I guess,”
Fell into step beside him.
“This isn’t all that fun for me.”
Once, he pulled out his keys.
Said, “Oh, chill. It’s just flowers. It’s like, ten minutes.”
“For a dance I haven’t been invited to.”
“Someone will ask you.”
Once, I spent all my free time with him or Honesty,
And they had each other.
Who did he think would ask me?
He must’ve felt my doubt,
Seen the scowl on my face.
Because he said, “I’ll tell Jesse to ask you.”
“Gee, thanks. That’s just what I want.
Your scumbag cousin to ask me because you told him to.”
“He’s not a scumbag.”
“Prove it,” I muttered,
Using Trav’s favorite catch phrase.
He said it after nearly everything;
It was almost always highly inappropriate.
He’d laughed at me when I made fun of him,
Once.
JESSE LIVED WITH TRAV
Because Jesse’s mom was in rehab,
And while he was eighteen,
He was a senior
And couldn’t make rent on his own.
He worked delivering pizzas,
Played baseball in his spare time.
He was okay,
I guess.
But Jesse wasn’t Trav.
I SHOVE THE THOUGHTS OF PROM AWAY.
The dance doesn’t matter,
The flowers don’t matter.
Trav doesn’t matter.
Not anymore.
I told myself those lies,
And more,
All the way to the florist shop,
Just as I repeat them now.
HE LOOKED AT ROSES,
Orchids,
Lilies.
Ten minutes turned into thirty.
You’d think Trav was the one who couldn’t make a decision to save his life.
By the time he’d ordered the perfect corsage I wanted to take a thorn,
Stab it into my jugular,
End my misery of watching him choose flowers for
A girl who wasn’t me.
Travis doesn’t matter,
I chanted over and over.
The words became an internal scream when he hugged me,
Thanked me for coming with him,
Smiled like he could hear the stream of lies in my head.
You don’t care about the stupid prom.
You don’t care about getting roses from a boy.
And you certainly don’t care that way about Travis.
I didn’t notice the ride home,
The pathetic parking job Travis did in the garage,
The weight of my homework in my tattered backpack.
I did hear the elevator ding,
Felt the pressure of his hand as Trav pulled me inside.
I looked down,
Found our fingers entwined,
Inhaled the brown sugary smell of his skin,
The mountain stream scented laundry detergent in his shirt,
The tang of oranges from his ChapStick.
“I’ll talk to Jesse, okay?”
Trav’s voice was filled with warmth,
Friendship,
Everything worth having.
He got off on fourteen;
I spent the rest of the evening on the roof,
Trying to erase the guilt over crushing on my best friend’s boyfriend.
THE LIGHTS OVERHEAD FLICKER,
Extinguish,
Leave me trapped in the dark
With Travis.
Silence presses down,
Loud,
Powerful.
We’re both standing stock still,
Waiting.
For Harold,
The emergency phone to ring,
An alarm,
The power to come on,
The other to speak first,
Something.
“Elly,” Travis whisper-says,
“Please, talk to me.”
He makes his words come out at the right time.
Hard things,
Easy things.
I don’t know how he does it.
Every time I try to say what needs to be said,
Something bad happens.
After I told my dad a secret,
He wouldn’t be able to call for a while.
The worry rode in my mother’s eyes,
In the lines on her forehead,
Through my mind.
Then he’d call,
And everything would be fine,
And he’d use code words for the missions he couldn’t talk about,
But I wouldn’t tell him another secret for a while.
After prom,
After the summer,
After Jesse looked me straight in the eyes,
After he demanded the truth,
He left.
Just like he said he would.
He didn’t say goodbye,
Not to me.
Trav said he wanted to,
He really did,
But there wasn’t time.
I’d believed him.
But now, I don’t know what to believe.
I SQUEEZE MY EYES SHUT AGAINST THE DARKNESS,
Breathe in sharply,
Trying
Trying
Trying
To eliminate every memory with Travis in it.
It’s so hard to see him every day,
And not talk to him.
It’s awful to feel this level of hurt,
And not be able to bury my face in his chest,
Cry like I’ve done before.
It’s torture to be reminded of his taste every time I peel an orange.
; Torture,
Every time I fold my laundry and get hit with the smell of detergent.
Absolute one-hundred percent agonizing torture,
To be in this elevator with him and not be kissing.
I LIKE THE HURT.
It reminds me of my plan:
Leave Chicago as soon as finals are over.
Only three more weeks.
TRAVIS MOVES TOWARD ME,
The plastic salad bag rustles,
His wet Converse squeak against the floor,
Screaming protests at his movement.
I’m screaming too.
Inside.
Silently.
Alone.
He doesn’t touch me,
But I know he’s right behind me.
His body heat is a familiar burn,
His steady breathing a needed friend.
I match my breathing to his,
Will myself to be as calm as he is.
My stomach remains heavy,
Pulls me toward the floor—
Through it—
Underground,
Where I don’t have to cope with living anymore.
My fingers curl into fists.
I don’t want to turn,
Don’t want to allow myself to reach for him,
Don’t want him to know how I still feel.
He inhales in a way I’ve heard many times before.
“Please, don’t,” I say,
To cut him off before he can speak.
He does anyway.
“You have to talk to me sometime.”
His voice sounds like a bark:
Sharp,
Short,
Brimming on the edge of anger.
“No, I don’t.”
I grip my cell phone tighter,
Squeeze my eyes shut harder,
Breathe,
Though there’s no hope of finding air.
He’s suffocating me,
He’s so close, so close, so close.
“I’ve called you a million times.”
I listened to all twenty-seven messages,
Even the ones where he didn’t say anything before hanging up.
His voice haunts me when I’m drifting to sleep,
When I’m eating lunch alone in the drama wing,
When I’m walking home in the rain.
I never called him back,
Never wanted to explain the unexplainable.
I didn’t have anything to say.
He had plenty to say,
To everyone.
His mom,
Jesse,
My mom,
Honesty,
Probably even Harold.
Only after he’d confessed,
After,
Did he call me.
Twenty-seven times.
“PLEASE, ELLY.”
His voice claws at the wounds in my heart,
Rips them open,
Makes them bleed.
This always happens when he says my name.
I’ve bandaged my pain with therapy,
With medication,
With isolation,
With self talk about how I don’t need him,
Don’t believe him,
Don’t…
Love him.
“Leave me alone.”
“I won’t,” Travis says.
His hand lands on my shoulder,
A test of my willpower.
A test I will fail.
I HAVEN’T DECIDED WHAT TO DO
When he turns me toward him,
Slides his hand down my arm until it rests against mine,
Palm to palm.
The ache to step into his arms is strong,
Natural.
I keep my eyes shut,
Breathe in the dampness of his hair,
The warmth of his skin,
The sadness in his touch.
Experience has proven that I’m terrible at making choices when I’m with Trav.
That’s why it’s better that we’re not together.
“We have to talk,” he says again.
“Besides, we’re not going anywhere.”
I step away,
Separate my fingers from his,
Press against the elevator wall.
Not going anywhere clouds my head.
A lie,
Because I am going somewhere.
California.
As soon as I possibly can, I’m escaping this oppressive city
So I won’t have to explain to,
Won’t have to see,
Won’t have to breathe in,
Travis
Anymore.
BEFORE PROM,
I practically lived at Trav’s,
Where no one ever bothered to get up and answer the door,
No one cooked,
No one cared if you left your shoes in the middle of the floor.
Before prom,
Trav half-laid, half-sat on the couch,
His Converse sneakers kicked off into the kitchen,
His feet balanced on the coffee table in front of him,
His forty-four-ounce soda stationed nearby.
Before prom,
Jesse sipped from his mug,
His blond hair a mess,
His backpack abandoned by the door,
His trademark smirk stuck to his face.
“I got you a Diet Coke.”
Travis didn’t bother to look up from the video game.
“And your controller needs new batteries.”
“Thanks.”
I snatched two batteries off the counter.
“Hey, Jess, did you get your—?”
“My tie is blue.”
Frustration hid between Jesse’s words.
“Great,” I muttered to the back of his head,
Thinking it’d be easier to hate him if his eyes weren’t greener than grass,
If he’d treat me like his cousin’s annoying friend,
If he wasn’t my bridge to Trav.
VIDEO GAMES COULDN’T DISTRACT ME
From Trav’s laughter,
The heat of his body,
The thought of his lips.
“You’re sucking it up today,” Trav said,
Looking at me
Like there was something wrong.
Jesse’s phone rang,
Saved me from answering,
Spared me from “sucking it up” more.
He yanked the phone out,
Cut off the special ringtone,
Said, “Hey,” as he disappeared down the hall and closed his bedroom door.
With his departure,
I could quit playing,
Could ignore Trav’s statement.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Trav said.
“I don’t keep up with his girls.”
I hoped this whichever-girl didn’t carry a grudge,
Didn’t know my name,
Didn’t care I was going to prom with him
And she wasn’t.
Luckily, I hung in the middle of the crowd.
I wasn’t too smart,
Too pretty,
Too dumb,
Too ugly,
Too loud,
Too rich,
Too quiet,
Too poor,
Or too much of anything.
I coasted in the middle of the swarm,
Which was exactly what I wanted.
So why, then,
Was I sitting on Travis’s couch,
Desperately wishing someone would notice me?
Not someone,
Anyone,
Everyone.
Just him.
“YOU STAYING FOR DINNER?”
Trav’s voice sent chills into my warm places.
“What’re you making?”
“I was hoping you’d cook.” He grinned,
Leaned against my shoulder,
Settled back into the couch.
“Isn’t your mom on nights this week?”
I forced my rippling heartbeat into submission,
Even as I committed the curve of his lips to memory.
“Yeah.”
Mom’s a nurse in the Intensive Care Unit.
Dad’s been deployed to Afghanistan for the past year,
Over halfway done with his assignment.
My twin brothers stay at the neighbor’s when Mom’s on graveyards.
They’d probably eat lasagna,
Garlic bread,
Salad,
With a real family.
Must be great to be ten.
“So whattya gonna make?” Travis nudged my shoulder.
I ignored the flare in my pulse,
The quickness of my breath,
The shakiness in my hands.
“Maybe Jess could get us pizza.”
“He won’t come out for a while,” Travis said,
Gestured wildly with his hands.
“I think that might have been Gina,
So…”
“I can not believe I’m going to my junior prom with him.”
I heaved myself off the couch,
Away from Trav,
Toward the fridge.
WHEN I COOKED AT HOME,
I fantasized about Trav,
How his lips would feel against mine,
How his hand felt at home in mine.
When I cooked at home,