by E. J. Mara
With all of my attention focused on Julia’s appearance, it took a while for me to figure out that we’re not right for each other personality-wise. Julia lives in Julia-world and I live …on earth. Earth is earth, while Julia-world is an imaginary bubble where nothing bad happens because when bad things happen, Julia completely ignores them. She says she ‘doesn’t believe in negativity’.
For example, when I finally decided to trust her with the details of what Mom and I went through with Dad, Julia interrupted me before I could finish, told me I should be strong, and then changed the subject. After that, she never brought it up again. I’ve always wanted to forget about that part of my life, but for some reason I’m not okay with my girlfriend ignoring it. It’s like she didn’t care about who I really am.
“Seth misses you.” Julia’s voice snatches me from my thoughts.
Tearing my eyes away from the Scardinas’ door, I turn to her. Her nose is pink and her eyes are full of tears.
“But I miss you even more.” A tear slides down one of her cheeks and my breath hitches in my chest.
“Please don’t cry.” I reach out, gently wiping the tear away.
“I don’t understand,” she says, her voice shaking, “what I did wrong. Why’d you break up with me?”
Her question sits on my chest, weighing me down with a heaviness that’s getting in the way of my breathing. I struggle to catch my breath, beads of sweat forming on my forehead. This is exactly what happens when I get stuck on the high bar …
“Is it because you think I don’t care enough about your gymnastics goals?” Julia asks, her voice breaking, “I do. And I can care more. I can go to more meets. I can be whatever you need.”
I take a deep breath and try to pull myself together. But everything’s growing blurry through my panic and all I can see are Julia’s glossy pink lips. Strawberries …I wonder if they still taste like strawberries.
No, don’t think about that. Why am I even thinking about that? I don’t want to kiss Julia. Tearing my eyes away from her, I focus on her parent’s garage door and speak carefully, “You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s me. I’m…”
My heart racing, I stop speaking because I have no idea what to say. I can’t just admit that asking out anyone other than Karen was a hormone-induced mistake.
I risk another glance at Julia and she’s got her face in her palms, quietly sobbing as her shoulders move up and down. My stomach drops. “Hey, come on. Don’t cry.”
She shakes her head, her voice muffled as she says, “I can’t help it, I miss you so much.”
I move Julia’s hands from her face and wipe away her tears. Panic fogging my brain, I let my hand linger near her chin and lean towards her.
Her eyes brighten and her lips part. She’s moving towards me and before I know what’s happening, her hands are at the sides of my face as I’m closing my eyes. She plants a strawberry-flavored kiss on my mouth and runs her hands through my hair.
For a moment I’m flying, soaring above my anxiety. And then that sinking feeling of crashing, face-first to the ground overtakes me. I open my eyes, realizing what I’ve done.
Julia’s arms have moved to my neck; a gentle embrace that’s nothing more than a noose. But I’m the one who, like an idiot, picked up the noose and put it around my neck.
Her eyes on mine, Julia whispers, “So, you missed me too.”
I stare back at her, inwardly shouting at myself: what are you doing?!
“It’s, like, not fair how much I need you,” she continues, her eyes boring into mine, “since you broke up with me, I don’t even know who I am. You’re my rock, Nate.”
My stomach turns and remnants of lasagna creep into my throat.
“So, are we, like, are we…going to give it another try?” Julia asks, her voice halting.
I inch away from her, returning to my side of the car.
“Nate?”
I rake a hand through my hair and look up into the night sky. The stars wink back at me, mockingly. They’re up there, free, and I’m here, trapped like a rat in a never-ending maze. Why can’t I escape my own stupidity? Why do I keep making the same mistake over and over again?
“Please, Nate?”
My chest growing heavier by the minute, and Julia’s voice pouring into every space of my lungs, drowning me, my confidence caves like a collapsing building. I glance at her and she’s twisting the promise ring around on her finger, her eyes expectant, trusting that I won’t hurt her.
“Okay,” I hear myself say. “But let’s take it slow.”
My Daddy smart.
Now, we watch movie “To Catch a Thief”.
Ago, when me baby, me and Daddy watch, “To Catch a Thief.” My first movie!
Now, I watch every day.
Me love Cary Grant, he beautiful.
But dead.
My momma dead also.
She eat too many medicines and die. Blood all over.
I cry, cry.
Now, Daddy look to me and sign many signs.
Me not understand.
Me smile and nod.
Maybe Daddy think me smart.
Daddy think Karen smart.
Karen smart yes, but Karen so mean! So bossy!
Me hate Karen.
Me love Karen but me also hate Karen.
Me confused.
I wake to a sinking feeling in my stomach, and for a while all I can do is stare at my ceiling, tallying our loses and gains. Mom’s gone, Dad’s losing his mind, and we’ve got a giant coyote in our backyard: two losses, and one furry gain.
Another potential loss looms in the back of my mind. Something tells me I might lose Nathaniel to Julia again. Why else would he have taken her home after the repast? I push the thought aside and easing out of bed, step over piles of clothes, books, and shoes. I’ll pick them up eventually.
When Mom was in her right mind, she’d constantly get on me about my room by saying things like, ‘It’s better to clean up now. Procrastinate and before you know it you’ll have a big mess on your hands.’
She was right. I’ll definitely clean my room tomorrow.
I open my bedroom window, try not to sneeze as dust from the blinds drifts my way, and glance at Mom’s ring. Yesterday, after realizing Tessa had stolen it, I slipped it on and I haven’t taken it off since. Now, I splay my fingers apart and stare at the odd little cat’s eye stone.
It’s more unique than it is pretty, but I like it. I wish I’d had the decency to tell Mom thank you when she gave it to me. But when she placed it in my palm and told me to keep it, her signing was sloppy, her eyes bloodshot, and she had the “faraway” look she’d get after convincing her doctor to give her yet another unnecessary prescription. So, I was too mad at her for being high to care about the ring.
I should have cared, but then there’s so much I should’ve done. The day she died, I should have gone home on time instead of staying late at gymnastics. And before then, I should’ve had the sense to insist that we keep Mom under twenty-four watch. Why didn’t I think to do that? If I had, she might still be around.
An image of Mom, her eyes wild and glazed over as she gave me the ring, comes to mind.
Dismissing the memory, I tear my gaze away from her ring, exhale, and keep my knees straight as I bend forward from my hips. Stretching …I just need to focus on stretching.
The familiar tingle in my upper thighs feels great. But as much as I enjoy the stretch, focusing on it alone is a problem. My thoughts are like naughty dogs with no leashes in that they keep running back to Nathaniel.
Last night, after the scare with that stupid coyote, I felt like we’d had a moment. And then, twenty minutes later, he offered to drive Julia home. It’s like he still has this need to take care of her, like he’s still her boyfriend …
Actually, why am I even thinking about them? What Nathaniel and Julia do with their relationship or non-relationship or whatever it is they’ve got going on doesn’t matter.
I cut my stre
tching short and jog out of my room. What matters is that I get Tessa and me to school on time because God knows Dad won’t.
I let my hand graze the hallway wall as I make my way past Dad’s workroom and on to Tessa’s room.
Besides, I need to have more faith in Nathaniel. Sure, he was infatuated by Julia for half a second; that’s what happens to most guys when they’re around her. Their brains all but melt as other body parts begin to take over. But Nathaniel’s not as shallow as most guys. I think he’s finally over Julia’s looks and now he sees how wrong they are for each other.
Our wooden floor creaking under my every step, I cross the hallway and come to a halt in front of my sister’s door. Pushing it open, I peer into Tessa’s tidy little room. All of her toys are lined in neat rows beneath her window. Why my sister does this has always been a mystery to us.
Years ago, Mom bought her a large wooden antique chest to match our oak floors, and no matter how many times Mom put Tessa’s toys in the box, my little sister would insist on taking them out and lining them up in neat little rows on the floor of her room. After a while Mom decided that since Tessa kept her room so clean, it didn’t really matter. As long as her toys weren’t strewn all over her room (the way I’d kept mine when I was little) she could do whatever she wanted with them.
Above the line of toys gracing her floor, on her windowsill Tessa has also lined up all eight of her little diaries. And to the left of her window, her bed, made with the precision of a cadet trying to impress their drill sergeant, is empty.
Where is she?
A raucous laugh sounds from the front of our house and I follow it into the living room, where I pause in stride. Tessa and Dad sit on the floor, both of them resting comfortably against the foot of the couch. Tessa’s even got her head against Dad’s shoulder as they watch the very end of her favorite movie, “To Catch a Thief.”
I can’t help but smile at the sight. Crossing my arms, I lean against the wall, watching the two of them.
On screen, Cary Grant and Grace Kelly kiss while my sister points to the TV and signs, “Love, kiss.”
“Yes.” Dad pushes his glasses up on his nose, eagerly signing, “But more importantly, Hitchcock’s signature can be found in the movie’s every shot. This could’ve easily been just another lightweight film, but he turned it into a work of art. He was a genius.”
Tessa nods, her eyes wide as she stares at Dad.
I chuckle. She has no clue what he’s saying, she’s just glad he’s paying attention to her.
I tap my fingers against my forearm, thinking. It is kind of unusual, Dad spending time with Tessa. He loves us, that’s a given. But it’s no secret that we’re second to his never-ending ‘projects,’ whatever they may be. He’s forever locked in his workroom, tinkering away, and if we disturb him, that leads to a long lecture about how we’re supposed to stay away from his workroom …
Outside our living room window, the diesel sound of a garbage truck pulls me from my thoughts and I glance at the time on our VCR. “Hey Dad,” I shout, “Tessa needs to get ready for school.”
He squints at me. “School?”
Geez Louise, the squinting. People always tell me how much I look like Dad and that’s cool, I like his dark hair and dark eyes. But I hate the squinting. Sometimes I catch myself doing it and I’d just rather not look like I’m fighting off a horrible migraine every time I pause to think.
“Yeah.” I nod, and realizing that my little sister is frowning as she watches us, her eyes darting from me to Dad, I start to sign as I speak. It’s not like she’ll 100% understand me, but it’d be rude not to sign.
“People with autism need structure and routine. Right?” I sign.
“Of course,” Dad replies, “that’s why I always …” He stops signing and I blink back at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence.
“That’s why you always what?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Go on.”
I arch an eyebrow at him and he stares at me expectantly, like I’m the one who just randomly stopped speaking midsentence.
“Please, continue,” he urges.
So. Weird.
“Right. Anyway,” I slowly reply, “I was saying that considering what’s happened, Tessa needs to stick to as much of a routine as she can. That’s why we should both go to school.”
Dad nods, and his dark eyes, the same deep brown I see every time I look in a mirror, meet mine as he signs and speaks, “Good idea, very astute Karen.”
I blush, a surge of pride moving through me.
“Me smart too, me smart too,” Tessa signs. A scowl mars her pretty features and her blue eyes narrow as she looks from me to Dad.
He pats her on the head. “Yes Tessa, you do possess a measure of intelligence.”
At this, her scowl is smoothed and she smiles at Dad.
I twist Mom’s ring around on my finger, realizing that as different as my sister and I are, we’re exactly the same in our need for Dad’s approval.
THE FRONT OF the bus is fairly silent, except for the noise of Tessa’s near-frantic pen strokes as she, sitting beside me, scribbles in that diary of hers. Laughter from the rowdy kids in the back of the bus drifts our way and I sigh, wishing they’d take it down a notch.
I stare out of the window and try to ignore their noise as the school bus eases down our street. We pass Ms. Davidson’s house, where I catch a glimpse of her in her kitchen window. She holds a coffee mug that’s even bigger than her permed brown hair and takes intermittent sips of her drink as she watches us pass with her large, all-seeing eyes.
I swear, that woman is always standing at her kitchen window, looking for something to get into or gossip about; she’s pretty much our one-person Neighborhood Watch program.
A little ways past her house is a black Buick, similar to the one that was parked in front of us at Mom’s funeral. I glance at the license plate.
LOUISIANA.
Shifting in my seat, my thoughts return to Ms. Davidson’s warning, “…for the past two days there’s been a black car parked two doors down from me, all day and all night …someone just sitting in there…”
In the chaos of the funeral, I hadn’t paid much attention to Ms. Davidson’s claim. But now I turn around in my seat, watching the strange car and wishing I’d listened more intently.
As we head in the opposite direction, the Buick becomes smaller and smaller. I crane my neck, straining to see if there’s someone in the driver’s seat. I think there is…yeah. There’s definitely a broad-shouldered figure behind the wheel.
We turn onto the next street and I, likewise, turn back to the front, thinking hard. Is there some connection between this Louisiana car and the way Dad was looking at all of the license plates in the parking lot at the funeral?
Tessa grunts and touches my hand. She signs, “See Nathaniel school?”
I roll my eyes. Every Monday through Friday morning on our way to school, Tessa asks me the same question: will we see Nathaniel at school today? You’d think she’d know the answer by now.
“Yes,” I snap, “Nathaniel goes to our school, of course we’ll see him. But don’t try to hug him or bite him. Do you understand me?”
Tessa frowns. “You ugly.” With this declaration, she returns her attention to her diary and continues to write.
I shake my head. If my little sister weren’t slow, I’d find her very difficult to love. Well …actually, I guess that’s not true, because Tessa’s personality would be completely different if she weren’t slow. It’s her mental deficiency that makes her the way she is. That’s why I shouldn’t get mad at her for the things she does and says. I should just put up with it.
A Hershey’s Kiss candy skims my ear as it flies our way and then falls between Tessa and me. As soon as it hits our seat, a peal of laughter erupts from the back of the bus.
Tessa picks up the Kiss and, before I can stop her, it’s in her mouth, some of the wrapper still on it. She turns around, grunting as she
signs, “More.”
The laughter increases and I spin around. Three boys from our neighborhood are laughing their heads off. One of them, a fat kid with curly red hair, blows kisses at Tessa, but stops at the sight of me.
“Hey.” He shrugs. “We just want to give her some candy.”
A blonde, freckled-faced guy beside him holds up a bag of Hershey’s kisses. “Want one?”
Tessa grunts and points to the bag, signing, “More candy. More candy want, give more …”
The boys laugh and throw two more Kisses our way, one of them hitting Tessa in the forehead. This doesn’t seem to bother her at all. She scarfs it down, all the while singing, “More, more.”
How is our bus driver not seeing these idiots throw candy everywhere?! Seething, I glance at our middle-aged driver, and the woman’s eyes are glued to the road.
“Dude, she didn’t even chew it,” one of the boys says with a chuckle, “she eats like my dog.”
“Throw some more,” another boy urges.
Tessa grins and signs, “More candy, more” completely oblivious to the fact that she’s being made fun of.
I should have asked Dad to drive us to school. Even his distracted driving would have been better than this!
I jump to my feet and before I know what’s happening, words are leaving my lips, “Don’t you douchebags have anything better to do? Leave my sister alone!”
“Karen Lyles!” The bus driver yells, startling me. “Sit your butt down and close that filthy mouth! My goodness!”
