• • •
How Devon’s always looking at girls or talking about girls or saying what he just did with some tattooed girl he met behind the liquor store down the street from Horizons.
Days when he seemed so happy and had a hundred ideas for what we should do. Always saying how he was gonna be a fireman when he got older. Or a private detective. Or an NFL announcer. Or a movie director. How fast he’d talk those days, hardly taking a breath, and all he wanted to do was wrestle or shadowbox or play basketball at the park with whoever was there.
Other days when he wouldn’t lift his head to look at me or answer my questions or even say what was wrong.
How much he hates rich people. ’Cause according to him they hoard their money and possessions and use them to feel better than people like us. He thinks worse about people with money than even my dad.
How so many times I wished Devon wasn’t my friend ’cause of all the bad stuff I end up doing when he’s around. And how my therapy person made me promise to keep him out of my life. But then other times when I’d think how good it is to be with another person so you don’t have to feel so lonely.
I’ll never forget seeing Olivia the first time. It was a Saturday, and even though I knew how weekends were different from weekdays, that day I didn’t even think about it and the morning started out like any other morning, with me on Mr. Red’s railroad tie an hour early, in front of his tent, waiting for him to come out so we could start working. Only this time the campsite dog, Peanut, was waiting there with me, sitting in front of my feet and breathing with his mouth open.
I touched his old head and told him: “Hey, boy.”
He licked my hand and went back to breathing with his mouth open and staring at me.
When Mr. Red unzipped his tent flap and stepped out to stretch he didn’t say “There he is!” like he usually did. He got a frown on his face and just stood there staring between me and Peanut.
“What’s going on, Kidd?”
I looked at him confused. “I’m here to work.”
“You realize today’s Saturday, right?”
“Yeah.”
He glanced toward the ocean and then looked back at me and said: “You’ve never had a job before, have you?”
I shrugged, told him not one I got paid for.
He looked at Peanut, who was now laying next to me. “And what’s he doing here?”
I shrugged.
He shook his head. “Not the best-looking dog, eh?”
I looked down at Peanut. He was brown with short shaggy hair and some patches missing and even with his mouth closed you could still see some of his teeth ’cause they were so crooked and one ear sort of stood up and the other flopped down. His eyes were cloudy, too, like one of those snow globes after you shake it up.
Mr. Red held open his tent flap and a different woman came out, one I’d never seen before. She had short black hair and about twenty earrings in each ear and a big tattoo of the sun and moon together on the inside of her forearm.
“Michele,” Mr. Red said, pointing at me, “I want you to meet a colleague of mine. Mr. Kidd Ellison from Fallbrook, California. Pizza of choice: Hawaiian. Ice cream: Neapolitan. Color: magenta.”
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” I said back. “But my favorite color’s not—”
“Trust me,” Michele said, pointing her thumb in Mr. Red’s direction, “I never believe a word that comes out of this one.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“Listen, Kidd,” Mr. Red said, “when your boss says you have weekends off, that means on Saturday and Sunday—the weekend—you don’t have to show up for work.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said.
He pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his trunks and checked a text, then he flipped it closed and looked up at me again and said: “Now go on, Kidd. Get out of here. Enjoy your Saturday.”
I nodded and smiled, turned and started walking away. But I only got like three steps before I spun around and asked Mr. Red where I should go.
He looked at Michele and then looked back at me. “Come on, Kidd, use a little imagination. You got one of the best beaches in the state about twenty-five feet away. Or there’s a park across the highway.”
“What about a museum, Red?” Michele said. “There’s that quaint little gallery on Birmingham.”
Mr. Red rolled his eyes. “And by quaint she means miniature and creepy.”
Michele stared at Mr. Red for a while, and then she punched him in the shoulder. “That is so rude.”
He laughed and said: “Come on, Michele. The big guy doesn’t wanna go to a museum.”
She put her hands on her hips, said: “How do you know?”
“He’d be bored to tears.”
“Oh, is that right?”
“You don’t understand the male mind, Michele. Guys wanna be outside. We wanna surf or throw the football around. Scope out chicks in bikinis. Men seek fresh air, Michele. Adventure.”
“First of all, Red, museums aren’t boring. They’re just beyond your primitive intellect—”
“That weak little museum?”
“And maybe Kidd appreciates art. Not all guys spend every waking minute either surfing or thinking about surfing or ogling every set of boobs that passes through their line of vision.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Mr. Red shrugged and turned back to me. “Look, Kidd, go get some ice cream across the street or rent a kayak or buy yourself some jeans at one of the surf shops along 101. That pair you wear every day could probably use a breather, don’t you think?”
I looked down at my jeans.
Mr. Red loved to mess with me, but I didn’t care. I actually thought it was funny. It’s so weird how when you like somebody they can make fun of you all day and you’ll just sit there and crack up.
“You got money in your pocket now, buddy. Live a little.”
“I know,” I said, and I started backing away again, but as soon as I turned around to leave Mr. Red called out my name.
“Tell you what, tomorrow morning—which, by the way, Kidd, is yet another day off. You don’t work weekends, okay? No trabajas.”
“Yes, sir.”
He made a face.
“I mean, Mr. Red.”
“Tomorrow we’ll rent you a foam board and I’ll take you surfing.”
Michele cleared her throat.
Mr. Red looked at her, then looked back at me. “Guess I already have plans for tomorrow. Maybe next Sunday? I’ll have you doing off-the-lips by lunchtime.”
“Okay,” I said, and after I looked at Peanut I went away from them for real.
Me Trying to Figure Out What to Do
After I left Mr. Red and Michele and Peanut I wandered all over Cardiff by the Sea looking at stuff and thinking how different it was from Fallbrook, where some people rode horses along the side of the road or drove huge trucks with stuff airbrushed on the side, like two girls sitting back-to-back in bikinis.
In Cardiff people wore flip-flops and shorts that weren’t cutoff jeans. And everywhere you looked they were riding beach cruisers with surf racks or jogging or walking their dogs or sitting barefoot in beach chairs on the sand, sipping coffee and looking at the paper.
And you could tell they had money.
I went down on the beach and picked through these big clumps of fly-infested seaweed collecting broken seashells and tiny polished rocks and pieces of ocean-worn glass and then I left them all in a pile by an abandoned sand castle wondering if some little kid like I used to be would find them and think it was a treasure.
I went past these two surfer girls putting on wet suits and they said hi to me and I said hi back, trying to be like I wasn’t shy. But really my entire back felt hot from their eyes and their most likely judging of me. I knew they could tell I was from Fallbrook and that I’d just come from Horizons, where counselors don’t let you do anything by yourself, which makes you seem weird to regular ki
ds.
When I turned around, though, the girls weren’t even looking my way.
I walked back up to the campsites and past Campsite Coffee and the main restroom and out the gate and across the two-lane Highway 101. On the other side was this little valley that had train tracks in the middle. I slid down the cliff on my hands and shoes and walked along one of the metal ties for a while. Then I climbed up the other side and wandered into the park Mr. Red was talking about.
I went past the swings, picturing how my mom used to push me when I was little. I walked the wrong way up the slide and sat there watching a mother squatting next to her little toddler, helping it try to take steps, its tiny hand wrapped around her middle finger and both of them smiling.
Two old guys with baseball caps were throwing horseshoes back and forth on my other side. They’d yell out the score after every shot and sometimes go to their cooler and pull out a water bottle and drink from it and then put it back.
Eventually I ended up sitting in this grassy area near some bushes, watching guys play basketball. I kept thinking of my best friend back in Fallbrook, Devon, and how different we were. Like, he wouldn’t just sit here watching, like me. He’d walk down to the court and ask if he could play, too. And after a few games they’d all be laughing with each other and slapping fives.
My therapist always told me it was unhealthy for me to have a friendship with Devon. She said he was a bad influence, which is true. One of the things she made me do for my program at Horizons was have a talk with Devon to tell him we couldn’t hang out anymore.
I was just sitting there, watching the guys play, picturing me and Devon’s talk and wondering if everybody felt lonely on their day off, when something happened.
Without really thinking anything, I turned and looked at the swing set.
And I saw a girl.
She was just sitting on a swing, reading a book, barely swaying, but my chest got this weird feeling, like when you stare into the eyes of a little baby and the baby looks back up at you and you can feel how pure and innocent it is, so much it makes your stomach feel empty—probably ’cause you realize you used to be pure like that, too, and now you’re not.
But I’d never had that feeling from a girl.
Love at First Sight
She was barely rocking, and she was holding on to only one of the chains with a sweatshirt-covered hand and staring down at her book. I moved behind the bush some more so she wouldn’t catch me watching. She had on a ski cap even though it was hot, and the blond ponytail that came out the bottom was long and straight and beautiful. She had a short flowing green dress on over jeans with a faded surfer sweatshirt and tons of rubber bracelets on her one wrist that was showing and she was concentrating on what she was reading.
It was so weird what happened to me. I had that chest thing like I just talked about and my skin felt warm and even though I hadn’t eaten all day it felt like I’d never be hungry again.
She looked up at me.
And she waved.
My breath instantly stopped and I ducked farther behind the bush and stayed hidden for the longest time, perfectly still, feeling my heartbeat in my throat and staring at this one fallen leaf. It was brown at the very tip and a tiny ant was walking around it in circles, sometimes stopping and feeling with its antennae, then walking in circles again.
I looked slowly past the bush, and her eyes were back on her book, and I let myself breathe.
• • •
For the next half hour I watched her like that, until she got off the swing and put her book in her peace-sign backpack and walked out of the playground.
I followed her, far enough behind that she wouldn’t know I was there, but close enough so I could always see her long blond hair swinging with her steps.
I trailed her out of the park, ducking behind cars every few seconds, past storefronts like the ice cream shop Mr. Red talked about and all the clothes stores and then to this street that went across the 101 back toward the campsites. She went in the entrance, which surprised me, and after waiting a little I went in, too.
When I got through the gate there was no sign of her. I’d waited too long and messed it all up. ’Cause what if I never saw her again?
I remembered how Maria taught me about fate and how there’s somebody out there for everybody, even people who seem like they’re always alone. But what if you wait too long to go in the campsite entrance?
Could somebody ruin their fate?
All of a sudden she jumped out from behind the big tree in front of me and yelled: “Boo!”
I jumped two feet and spun around, and she bent over laughing, holding her hand over her mouth.
She looked up at me and said: “Oh, my God! You totally should’ve seen your face.”
Then she turned and ran away, still laughing, and I just stood there watching as she got farther and farther away from me and then ducked around a corner near Mr. Red’s campsite, out of sight.
I tried to think what just happened.
Her eyes big and green.
Her face white and perfectly smooth.
I hadn’t lost my fate, I thought. It was just hiding behind a tree.
I backed up a few steps and sat on the bench near Campsite Coffee and thought how my stomach ached, but I didn’t want the ache to go away. I thought how weekends really are the best part of your week, like Mr. Red said, ’cause when you get a break from working you can explore new places and walk along the train tracks and almost meet a girl.
I imagined talking to her next time. I had to sound smart. And normal. I had to make her think I was a regular kid.
I breathed in the salty ocean air, feeling so excited in my stomach and feeling instantly older.
Dreams from Solitary Confinement
I’m asleep and dreaming right now, but it’s the kind of dreaming where you know it’s dreaming, and since you want it to keep going you refuse to open your eyes and just lay there and watch.
Like it’s a movie in your head.
In this one I’m sucking in my breath and slipping through solitary bars and floating above the empty prison yard, over armed guards positioned in their towers, up into the nighttime clouds.
I’m looking down on scattered freeway cars whose headlights shine beams of light into the pitch black. Over sleeping houses and empty store lots and lonely train tracks. All the way to the campsites, where everybody who saw me push Devon off the cliff is tucked safely inside their tents, sleeping.
In my dream I slowly lower onto a beach towel spread for me on the sand.
And there’s Olivia.
Waiting.
She’s looking at me with sadness in her eyes, her hair and ski cap hiding the left side of her face like always and her faded sweatshirt covering her wrists. Green eyes clear like glass and cutting into my chest.
I open my mouth to tell her I’m so sorry, and how I never knew if she liked Devon, too. But dreams are wordless in solitary confinement. At least mine are.
’Cause nothing comes out, not even a sound. I’m mute.
Olivia continues talking, and I realize she’s been explaining something this whole time, even before I landed from the sky.
I look all around to see who she’s talking to.
There’s nobody.
She’s talking about the people from Horizons coming and how they told her everything about my psychology and what happened with my parents. At first, she says, she didn’t believe them; she even blamed them. But now she’s not so sure. The only thing she’s sure about is that she’s made a vow to stay here with me until I get out, as long as it takes, even if she misses going to New York and the big appointment her dad made.
And she’s stubborn, she says.
I look out toward the buzzing ocean, too dark to see, and I think how it must be midnight in my dream.
What’s Olivia doing on the beach this late? Without anyone to protect her from drunk college guys or whoever else. I hear a low horn sound, like maybe there’s a s
hip somewhere out there in all that dark.
And right then it hits me—the worst possible thing about being in prison:
I can’t protect Olivia.
She takes a drink from her water bottle and clears her throat. There’s something she’s decided to tell me about, she says. Something important. Something she’s never discussed with anybody.
But tonight she’s going to explain it.
To me.
I look in her eyes and watch her mouth move.
Sometimes we have to be patient, Kidd. There are things people will want from us that we won’t be ready to give. Like with showing people my face.
She smoothes her ski-cap flap and says: But what I wanna tell you about tonight is what happened with me and the piano.
In my dream I open my mouth to tell her how great she is. How the song she played me at the music store is my favorite one in the world. But no words come out. So I just keep looking in her eyes and breathe.
You remember what I told you about surfing, right? So what if you didn’t stand up those first few times Red took you. Surfing’s not some stupid race. I told you maybe you’d stand up the next time. Or the time after that. And you did, remember? You stood up that Sunday morning Red pushed you, and I even got to be on the beach to cheer you on.
She puts her hand on my knee.
My point is, you stood up eventually. At your own pace. And you’ll stand up again.
I lower my eyes to the sand.
In real life I never stood up.
We both look to the water. A tiny moon piece glowing quietly behind thick fog and invisible waves moaning before us and a dot of a ship way out to sea. The midnight cold kept away by us sitting so close on Olivia’s towel, our sweatshirt shoulders almost touching and her hand on my knee.
I Will Save You Page 4
