“I guess so.” I looked at the ground and then looked back at her. I knew Olivia was smarter than me, but her opinion didn’t seem right.
“What?” she said.
“I still think they should’ve stayed together, though. I bet they’re more sad being alone than being ordinary together.”
She nodded and looked at me like she was thinking.
“I don’t know, though,” I said.
“Me either,” she said. “But I love stories like that. Ones that make you really think.”
“Me too.”
“Hey,” she said. “I have an idea. Maybe I could give you the book, and you could read the story for yourself, and when you’re done we can discuss. Like our own book club.”
“Okay,” I said, even though I was nervous about reading the same story as her.
“Nice. Now come on.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me into Moonlight Music.
She waved at the old man behind the counter and we went right up to him. “There she is,” he said, and he slid a key across the counter.
“Bobby’s not doing lessons today, right?” Olivia said.
He shook his head. “Bobby’s fishing in Mexico with his kid.”
“They’re talking again?”
The old guy nodded and looked at me.
“Oh, this is my friend Kidd,” Olivia said, picking up the key. She turned to me. “And this is DJ. He’s owned this place for eighty-something years.”
“Thirty-seven,” DJ said.
“This is where my dad bought my piano.”
“And where Olivia comes to practice when her folks are home. You know she’s a virtuoso, right?”
I looked at Olivia.
She was blushing.
DJ waved us off and said: “Well, you didn’t come here to talk to me. Go on.”
Olivia led me through this solid door, into a room with a piano, and turned around a folding chair. “Okay, you can sit here,” she said. “I’m gonna play this song I wrote about you, okay?”
“You made a song about me?” I couldn’t believe she’d just said that. It didn’t seem possible.
She laughed. “It’s just a silly one, but I promised myself I’d play it for you someday.”
Nobody’d ever done anything like that for me before. My own song. From Olivia. It proved she thought about me sometimes. Even when I wasn’t there. Which made me think maybe Devon was wrong.
I had to tell myself to stop smiling.
“Okay, sit,” she said, pointing to the chair.
“It’s facing the wrong way.”
“Exactly.”
I sat down facing the wall and looked over my shoulder as Olivia went and turned off the overhead light and sat at the piano bench. She turned on this dull night-light on the piano.
“Here are the rules,” she said. “You have to face the other way the whole time, no peeking, and when I’m done you can’t say anything about what I’ve just played. You have to act like it never even happened. Deal?”
“Okay.”
“Good.” She looked at me, said: “Well?”
“Oh,” I said, turning to face the wall.
It was quiet and dark for a few minutes. Three different times Olivia said “okay,” but she still didn’t play. I never thought she’d be so shy.
Then a few low notes came out of the piano.
It was a happy-sounding piano and she hummed with the chords a few times through, and then she started singing. I closed my eyes and listened to her tell the story of me and Mr. Red fixing everything around the campsites and how before we met she considered breaking things on purpose, close to her tent, so we’d have to work next to her, but she didn’t want to make us do more than we had to.
She sang how she’d actually followed me into the park the day I saw her on the swing. She’d been waiting for me to notice her. I was shocked.
It was mostly a funny song, and I was smiling the whole time. But I also had chills, ’cause I kept thinking how Olivia had followed me. And how she’d sat there, writing these lyrics about me. I never would’ve considered that.
After a while I started daydreaming.
I pictured me and her walking to the music store, how the backs of our hands sometimes touched. I pictured her undoing my shoelace and petting Peanut. I pictured Devon holding my arms in the riptide ocean.
Olivia played and sang and I thought about everything, the summer so far, even before the summer, at Horizons, in my therapist’s office, and then my mind went to the craziest thing ever. I pictured me and Olivia facing each other on a stage somewhere, holding each others’ hands, as a priest person said: “You may now kiss the bride.” I saw our faces slowly leaning together and us kissing and everybody cheering and the band playing this exact song.
We just kept kissing.
And the priest said: “I now pronounce you man and wife.”
And right then, at the exact second I was picturing me and Olivia walking off the stage together, going toward our honeymoon, her telling me on the plane how wrong she was about the story of the boy and girl who tested their love, they should’ve just stayed together, like us. Right that second Olivia’s last note faded out.
I opened my eyes and stared at the dark wall in front of me and all my insides felt tight and my head felt dizzy.
I wondered if that’s what love was like.
Becoming unsteady.
Olivia got up and flipped on the lights.
I turned around and went to say something, but she put a finger to my lips and said: “Remember the rules.”
“Okay,” I said, smiling. “But I loved your song.”
“That’s a clear violation.”
“Sorry.”
We were both quiet for a sec, while she turned off the night-light on the piano and fixed my chair. Then she looked up at me and said: “But you see what happened here, right?”
“What?”
“I got you to leave your tent.”
I smiled.
When I took my next breath it seemed like I was breathing in the world.
As we walked out of the piano room I told her: “Hey, Olivia.”
“Yeah?”
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I think that couple in the story should’ve stayed together.”
“I’ve been picking up on that.”
“I believe some things are meant to be.”
She smiled and touched my arm. “I know you do, Kidd.” She flipped off the lights and told me: “And you wanna know something weird?”
“What?”
“That’s one of the reasons I like hanging out with you. I’m secretly hoping you’ll rub off on me.”
… After Devon said his name, he didn’t wait for you to say yours back, he just came in your room and sat on the other end of the bed and looked all around. “Worst thing you can do in here, by the way, is act shy. No foster parent will ever pick you. Especially from a freak show like Horizons. It’s the same as when people go to pick out a puppy from the pound. First one who runs over and licks their stupid hand, man. That’s who they pick. It’s all psychological.”
You just stared at him. You’d never met somebody who’d just come up and start talking like that, like you were supposed to instantly know each other.
“Wanna know why I call Horizons a freak show? It’s ’cause we get the most messed-up kids in San Diego who don’t have parents. Like, I’m guessing something pretty messed up happened with your family for them to ship you out here. Am I right?”
You didn’t answer.
“Maybe your dad’s a serial killer. Or your mom’s a porn star. Or maybe they sold you into child slavery and got thrown in a max-security prison. Or you’re all part of a cult.”
Devon reached across the bed and into your bag, pulled out Mom’s letter and looked at the writing. He flipped it over a couple times, said: “And what do we have here?”
“Nothing,” you told him and reached for it, but he turned to shield you with his back and tore
open the envelope and started reading: “ ‘To My Son …’ ” He turned to look at you. “Wait, you haven’t read this yet?”
You shook your head.
“Oh, damn. So this is, like, a pretty big moment, then. It’s the part of the movie where super-dramatic music starts playing.”
You reached for the letter again, but he held it out of reach.
“You really want me to stop? Or do you want me to keep reading?”
You didn’t answer.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “Let’s be honest—you’re too scared to read it on your own. You’ve been sitting here waiting for someone like me to walk through that door.” He smiled. “I know how it is, dude. Life’s a bitch.” He looked at the letter and started again.
And it was through this kid you’d just met, Devon, that you heard the last thing your Mom ever wrote. How if you were reading this then she had some explaining to do. She’d been dealing with abuse from your father for as long as she could remember. He wasn’t evil, but something had happened to him when he was young. His own father, a construction worker and a drunk, had almost beaten him to death. He was twelve. He’d left his bike in the front yard overnight, and it was stolen. His father had always beaten him and his mom, but this time he put his own son in the hospital. And though he recovered physically, something in his heart died. When she first heard his story she wanted to save him, she wanted to fix him, teach him about love and show him another way to live. And for a while it worked. Their relationship was beautiful. But eventually, she realized, people who’ve been hurt that bad revert back to what they know.
He panicked about the sudden responsibility of having a family. He took it out on her. Eventually he started taking it out on you, too. She kicked him out of the apartment. Things got better. But he’d still come knocking. Mostly when he was using. Or when he needed something. He’d break in, middle of the night. She had bars put on all the windows. But then she’d trust that he was trying to turn his life around and she’d let him in for a few days. Only to have him raise his hand again. She went to the police, got restraining orders, moved to an unlisted address, but he always came back.
The last time he beat her, in the living room, with you standing there watching, it was so bad he knocked her unconscious, broke her arm and her orbital bone and detached her left retina. Laying in the hospital bed, she finally realized what she had to do.
Devon looked up at you with a frowning face and said: “Jesus, dude, is this all true?”
You stared at him.
You could barely breathe.
“Your family’s, like, seriously screwed up.” He shook his head and turned back to the letter. He read on: “ ‘I realized the only thing that matters to me is your safety. Your chance at a real life. So, this time, I’m going to your father. And I’m going to deal with him once and for all. Please understand and forgive me. Please know my only motivation is to set us free.
“ ‘And I want you to promise me something, baby. The Ellison abuse stops with your father. His evil may lurk somewhere inside of you, too. But you don’t have to let it come out. You don’t have to be like him. Or his father. You’re your own person, baby. I want to look down from heaven one day and see you happily married and raising a family. Please. You have to always remember, you’re your very own unique and wonderful kid. And nobody can take that away. Mommy loves you, baby. And she’s so sorry for what she has to do.’ ”
You were staring at the floor, not crying, but your heart racing and your mind thinking everything at once. And Devon snapped for you to look at him, and he said: “Dude, did your mom kill your dad?”
You looked at him. Your breaths going faster and faster.
“She shot him, didn’t she? Because he was a wife beater and a child abuser. Holy shit, dude. That’s right out of a movie!”
You watched Devon fold the letter and put it back in the envelope and flip it toward your bag. Then he stood up, shaking his head. “Look, man, I’m guessing you might need a little solo time. You know, to think about what you just heard.”
You looked at the rug. And his shoes.
“What’s your name, anyway?” he said. “You never told me.”
You looked up, thinking about that question. You knew whatever you said could be the new version of you, the one your mom wanted to look down at from heaven.
“Hello?” Devon said.
“Kidd,” you told him.
“Kidd?”
You nodded.
He smiled. “Look, I know you just heard some pretty heavy news, man. So I’m not gonna bust your balls. But ‘Kidd’? Really? That’s pretty generic brand. What are you gonna do when you turn eighteen, switch your name to ‘Adult’?”
He laughed, then walked out the door.
And you were alone.
You looked at the letter. You opened the envelope and pulled it out and read it, over and over, pausing between every sentence to think what it meant. Between every paragraph. You spent the rest of the night reading it. The rest of the week. The rest of the month and year. You read it so many times the paper turned soft and brown in your hands. It ripped at the creases. You read it until you had every word memorized. Until you could picture the letters floating in the clouds when you closed your eyes at night.
But here’s why you have to remember that night when Devon came in. Because fate brought him when you couldn’t read the letter for yourself. Just like he said. If Devon never walked in that night maybe you never would’ve been able to open it. Maybe it would’ve stayed sealed and stuck inside your bag forever. Buried in your Horizons closet like a pair of new shoes still in the box.
And maybe you never would’ve known what your mom did for you. Or about the evil in your genes. Or the new person you had to become. Kidd Ellison.
What I Remember About My Dad
How he played on a work softball team with the guys from his construction crew, and how one time when I was little he made the game-winning hit and everybody jumped on him at home plate and patted him on the back. And when he came off the field his whole face was a smile and he picked me up and spun me around and everybody was looking.
His skin was dark and hair long and brown and how Mom said all the girls wanted him in high school. How he always wore Dickies pants and a white wife beater and his scraggly beard only on his chin. His arms with tattoos of names and places, the biggest one of an old man in a rocking chair holding up a beer. Him explaining how he dreamed of that man one night and as soon as he woke up he went to the tattoo parlor and had it done so he’d never forget. “Who is it?” I asked him, but he just looked at me.
How he always had a cigarette behind his right ear. Even when he was smoking another one.
Me coming home wearing the Superman cape, telling him about the man in the suit who bought it ’cause he saw me looking at it in the store window. Dad staring at Mom, then shouting: “Take it off!” Him pulling his switchblade and stabbing through it, ripping the costume right down the middle, throwing it in the trash. Saying how he better never hear of me taking something from some rich person ever again. We didn’t need no charity.
Him breaking my nose when he hit me with the back of his hand. Then hugging me and saying he didn’t mean it. And how we both told my mom I fell.
Him riding me on his motorcycle to school that time when I missed the bus and all the kids turning to watch.
The look in his eyes when he got mad. How it didn’t even look like my dad anymore. The veins in his neck as he swung his open hand. The things he’d yell. Spit going from his mouth. “See what you made me do! Do you even understand?”
Him being gone so long and then coming to my bedroom window and knocking and me opening the curtains and how he’d always be smiling, but not his regular one.
But mostly I remember a night when he went in my room with his CD player and made me listen to this old song, over and over. How he said to pay attention to the lyrics. Me listening as hard as I could, and him staring at
me and then playing it again. His face so serious. Tiny red lines in the white parts of his eyes. “You hear what he’s singing?” Me nodding. Him pointing at the CD player and then starting it over. “It’s Nick Drake. He’s singing that he loves the person, but at the same time he doesn’t care. And that last line: ‘Know that I see you / Know I’m not there.’ ”
• • •
How when he finally shut the stereo off he looked down at his hands for the longest time and then he said the song made him think of his old man, and how last night his old man died. Him looking at me and nodding and crying. “You should only believe in animals, little man.” Me nodding. “You understand me?” “Yes, sir.” “Animals are better than people. They’re the only thing that won’t hurt you.” Me nodding, trying not to seem like I knew he was crying. “They’re the only thing you can trust.”
Him crying so hard his whole body was twitching. Me staring at the bedspread and nodding and promising him, over and over, and then him taking his CD player and going out of my room.
“Come on, Special,” Devon said from outside my tent. “How long we gonna play this stupid game?”
I didn’t say anything.
“What, you’re just going radio silent for the rest of your life? You’ll never be able to do it.”
It was a week after Olivia played me her song, and I was laying in my sleeping bag, with all my clothes on, looking at the book Olivia had given me earlier in the day. The one with the story she’d told me about, “The 100% Perfect Girl.”
But I was also ready to do my plan.
Devon had knocked on my tent door like this every single day, at this exact time, and I never answered. He’d stand out there telling me I had to trust him and how I was his best friend and if I kept holding a grudge maybe one day he’d decide to quit coming around altogether. And I’d be totally alone. I’d have no one.
I Will Save You Page 14
