I want to say yes. My heart says yes, but my head is panicking.
Josh looks up at me and frowns. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” I nod emphatically, trying to shut up the inner voices.
He holds out his phone and points to a movie. “This is out next Friday. Have you heard about it? I really want to see it.”
“Oh—yes, me, too. I read a review online.”
And that’s true—I really do want to see it. It would have been an easier decision if he’d said a movie that I knew I’d hate.
“So—next Friday, then? Is it a date?” he asks, smiling.
A date. He actually said the word. Those eyes—they’ve dazzled me, sent me buzzing, because I hear myself answer with the words I know I shouldn’t say.
“Yes, that’d be great.”
His smile is worth it, but my head is beginning to throb.
“I have to go now,” I tell him. “But this was nice.”
“Should I walk you home?” he offers.
“No, that’s okay,” I say. I would have liked him to, but if Mom sees him, I know she’ll pound me with questions I’m not yet ready to answer.
“Can I have your number then?” he asks—and I give it to him. And he gives me his, too. I now have Josh’s number in my phone.
I stand up and my legs feel wobbly. I have to hold on to the table for a moment.
“Are you sure I can’t walk you home?” he says again.
I take deep breaths, hoping desperately that I’m not going to collapse on the floor, then shake my head. “I stood up too quickly,” I tell him. “I’m fine now.”
I pull my wallet out of my bag.
“It’s okay. Put that away,” he says.
“Thanks.”
“See you Friday then,” he says. “I’ll text you.”
“Bye, Josh.”
We walk in opposite directions, and I can’t resist a quick glance back at him. Did all that really happen?
When I get home, the strength drains from me, and I can’t face the stairs. I lie on the sofa for a while. “You haven’t overdone it, have you, Kasia?” Mom fusses when she finds me later.
“No, I just felt like resting here for a while,” I lie.
“Good girl,” says Mom.
But I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I’m so thrilled that Josh has actually asked me out, but I know the movies are a bad idea. I’ve said yes, though, so I’ve got to go.
* * *
Ellie comes over right after school next day. I’ve made it downstairs, and she’s cross-legged beside me on the sofa.
“So—tell me all!” she demands. “How did it go with Josh?”
“We’re going on a date on Friday—to the movies!” I tell her.
“But you told me you can’t even watch TV!”
“I couldn’t say no,” I say. “But I don’t know what to do. I’m not really up to it.”
Ellie’s smile falters a little. “You can’t just do stuff because someone else wants you to, you know.”
“I know!” I say. “But it wasn’t that easy. He likes me, I can tell, and I do want to go on a date with him.”
“But you’ve gone all gooey over him! Don’t let your heart rule your head, or you’ll end up in trouble.”
“I’m not gooey!” I protest. “I just don’t want to mess this up. What do you think I should do? Tell him the truth—that I’m not up to it? I might never hear from him again.”
“But he has to know, doesn’t he?” Ellie says. “If you’re going on a date with him, you can’t just pretend you’re okay.”
“I’m getting better all the time,” I remind her. “I don’t want to blow him off.”
“So you’re going to go to watch a movie even though you don’t feel up to it?”
“Shhh,” I say, looking anxiously toward the bedroom door. “I don’t want my mom to hear.”
She lowers her voice. “You’re going to go to watch a movie even though you don’t feel up to it and you’re not even going to tell your mom what you’re doing?”
“If I tell her, she won’t let me go.”
“This sounds like a bad idea, Kasia.”
“Thanks! Don’t forget you set this all up in the first place!”
“Just be careful, that’s all I’m saying,” says Ellie. Her voice softens, and she makes me soften, too.
I don’t want to fall out with Ellie like I did Nav—I don’t know what I’d do without my best friend.
“I will be careful, Els. If the movie is too flashy, I’ll just close my eyes and meditate. I’m sure Josh won’t notice.”
Ellie laughs.
That night I can’t sleep. I’m thinking about Josh and worrying about the movies. I can’t lie still. I get up and sit by the window, drawing the curtain aside so I can look out. There is a light on in the upstairs room opposite. The curtains are closed, but they must be thin because I can see a silhouette behind them. Is it the girl? I’m sure it must be.
She seems to be just standing there. Maybe the baby has woken up and she is trying to sing him back to sleep. I wish she’d open the curtain and look out. Maybe she would wave to me again.
As I watch I see another silhouette, taller and broader than the girl. I can’t be sure, but it could be the woman who lives there. The silhouettes move, blurred. It’s like watching a shadow puppet play. The arm of the bigger silhouette suddenly swings around, and the smaller silhouette drops out of view.
I gasp. What just happened? I can’t be sure, but it looked as if the woman hit the girl in the head so hard that she fell. Did I really see what I thought I saw? With shadows, it’s very hard to tell what’s happening.
I go back to bed and lie awake for hours.
The baby cried so much today, and even I could not soothe him. I cannot keep my eyes open. I sneak to my room to lie down, while they eat downstairs. If I don’t lie down, I think I will fall. I just want to rest, but I sleep. I did not mean to sleep. I wake with a fright, and Auntie is here, screaming. I jump up so fast. The baby is crying again, and I did not go to him. Lazy, she calls me. Lazy, good for nothing. How dare I lie down? How dare I ignore the baby when he cries!
I feel so angry. “I work hard,” I tell her.
“How dare you answer back!” she screams, her mouth opens wide like a lion’s as she roars. “You are nothing! So ungrateful! You forget how lucky you are to have a home here. You go to him make him stop crying right now!” she demands. “This must not happen again!”
I rush to the baby. I hug him, rock him until he finally sleeps. I am so tired. Too tired.
When I finally can go to bed, I must sleep very deeply, because suddenly the light is on, and she is yelling again.
“What is wrong with you? Can’t you hear him crying? Did you not hear my warning before? You stupid girl!”
I stand quickly, wiping the sleep from my eyes. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t hear!”
Her hand is raised, and she shoves me so hard, I hit the wall behind.
I go to the baby, but it takes a long time to soothe him back to sleep. When I return to bed I want to sleep, but I cannot. This time it is me that cries.
21
Friday has taken so long to come around. Every hour has seemed to last two—but now it’s really here. I am going on a date—a date with Josh. I’m not feeling great, mostly due to lack of sleep and overexcitement, but I am not too bad. Mom and Dad are going out, too, for their anniversary. I’ve convinced Mom that I’m well enough to be left on my own, so I don’t need to tell any lies about where I’m going. They are going early, and I will be back before them. This is clearly meant to be!
Josh texts to say he’ll meet me at the bus stop. I hadn’t even thought about how we were going to get to the movies. I haven’t been on a bus for months and months. At least the bus stop is
close and has seats, and we can get off right outside the theater. I decide I will watch out of the window and go down early, as soon as a bus leaves, so I can be sure of getting a seat at the bus stop. Even if have to sit there an extra ten minutes, it will be worth it.
When the time comes, I head out, crossing the street carefully. Some people are waiting for a different bus, so there are only two free seats, but I get one of them and sigh with relief.
I feel a nudge as someone sits down beside me. I am astonished to see that it’s the woman from across the street—the woman from number 48.
She doesn’t speak, but I’m sure she recognizes me. I think about what I might have seen last night in the window. The woman is sitting here so casually, and she looks so ordinary. She couldn’t have hit the girl, could she? Maybe it was the man—or maybe it simply didn’t happen. I want to say something—to ask about the girl. I try to frame sentences in my mind—something I could say to start a conversation.
“Hi,” I say awkwardly. She turns in surprise.
“Do you remember me?” I ask. “I live across the street.”
She nods and gives a small rather forced half smile. Then she looks at the ground. She obviously doesn’t want to talk to me, but I continue talking anyway.
“How’s the baby?” I try. “Is your niece still helping you out?”
“The baby’s fine—he’s growing fast,” she tells me. “Getting heavy!” She holds her arms out as if carrying a heavy weight and laughs. “And my niece is a great help—I’m lucky to have her.”
Now she seems friendly, though I’m sure it’s an act. It’s so hard to tell. I try to think what else I can say. Do I dare ask again if the girl would like to meet up?
At that moment a bus pulls up, and the woman gives me a nod as she stands. Then she turns away and steps on to the bus.
“Hiya! You look like you’re in a dream!”
I jolt as Josh sits down beside me in the spot the woman has vacated.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I smile at him, and his eyes meet mine. They sparkle in a way that makes my heart flutter. Maybe Ellie’s right—I am going gooey.
He looks at his watch. Was I staring back too hard? “Bus shouldn’t be long,” he says.
I’m glad, because I’m finding the hard bench uncomfortable. It’s hurting the back of my legs, and I could really do with my cushion, but it would have been too embarrassing to bring it with me.
When the bus comes, the seats are at least more comfortable, but I had forgotten how bumpy a bus can be. The way the bus swings around corners and stops abruptly at red lights makes me ache and feel slightly queasy. I cling on tight to the pole beside me, while trying to look relaxed and carefree.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I need to change the subject. “How’s school?” I try.
“S’all right,” he says. “So much homework, though—it’s doing me in. I’m tired—I can imagine what it’s like for you, now!”
“It’s not quite the same,” I reply, feeling a flash of irritation. “It’s not like normal tiredness.” I realize I sounded a little abrupt. I didn’t mean to snap at him. “I’m sure all that studying must be really hard, though,” I add.
“Yes! I’ll be so glad when the exams are over. Do you know Ricky and Raj?”
I shake my head. “What about them?”
“Oh—it’s nothing. Not really interesting if you don’t know them.”
I’m not sure what else to say. I feel like we’re struggling for conversation. Maybe once we get off the bus it will be easier.
“Have you seen any other good movies lately?” I ask.
“Not really,” he says. “The last movie I saw wasn’t great. Chloe thought it was okay, but…”
“Chloe?” I can’t help commenting. “Is she your ex or something?”
“No—we’re friends,” he answers.
I feel myself relax a little. We sit silently, and I think maybe this is okay—to be relaxed together and not feel we have to talk all the time.
At last we reach the theater.
The movie isn’t bad, though it’s a little violent, and it reminds me of what I saw last night across the street. I wonder again what really happened, and I think about the woman at the bus stop—was she being friendly, or was she just pretending in order to shut me up? Then I feel Josh’s fingers reaching for mine. He’s holding my hand. His hand is soft and warm and gentle.
But although I’m caught up in the movie and loving the feel of Josh’s hand in mine, the action scenes are increasing and there are too many flashes and bangs. I start to feel unwell.
“Going to the bathroom,” I whisper, pulling my hand from his clasp.
The dark of the stairs in contrast to the brightness of the screen makes my head spin and I’m relieved to be out in the lobby. When I reach the bathrooms, I splash my face with water, but I don’t feel any better. The glands in my neck are pulsing painfully, my head’s thumping, and I feel weak and dizzy. I realize I won’t be able to go back in. I can’t face it. What is Josh going to think?
I stumble back out into the lobby and sit down on the floor, leaning against the wall. I am not sure how much time passes before Josh appears, looking worried.
“There you are! I thought you were taking a long time. What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, Josh.” Tears start sliding feebly down my face. “I just don’t feel all that great. I’ll probably be okay in a minute.”
“There’s only half an hour to go,” he says. “Come and watch the end, and then I’ll take you home. It’s only sitting down.”
I shake my head. “I can’t. You go back in if you want. I’ll just stay here.”
“Really?”
He looks uncertain, but he’s edging back toward the door to the theater. I feel another wave of irritation that he would do this instead of looking after me. But I brought this on myself. I should never have agreed to come.
“I don’t think there’ll be a bus for half an hour, anyway,” he says.
When I look up, I realize that I can’t wait even that long.
“Josh, actually, I need to go home now. And I don’t feel up to getting the bus.”
“What? Do you want to call your mom to come and get you then? I don’t have money for a cab.”
Tears are streaming down my face now. I feel such a fool. “My mom doesn’t know I’m here.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Why not? Doesn’t she like you dating?”
I don’t answer.
“Where does she think you are?” he asks.
“At home.”
“So, what do you want to do?” he asks.
I’m panicked. I can’t think. “Ellie’s house isn’t far from here,” I tell him, “Crown Street. If I can make it there, maybe she’ll lend me the money for a cab.”
I’m not actually sure I can even manage the short walk to Ellie’s, but I don’t want to admit that.
“Sure—I know Crown Street. Here—hold my hand,” he says, helping me up.
We make it to Ellie’s, and she and her mom fuss over me. Her mom kindly offers to drive me home. I am so grateful. Josh says he hopes I feel better soon, but he doesn’t say anything about texting me or seeing me again.
Back at home, I can’t face the stairs. I lie on the sofa, and suddenly I’m crying, and I can’t stop. I’ve messed it up with Josh. I’ve messed it up completely. It was too soon—I should have waited until I was much better.
And now I’ve lost him. Why would he want to date a girl who can’t even sit through a movie without feeling sick? I feel so pathetic, so stupid. I just about make it up to bed before Mom and Dad get back.
* * *
I have three days where I’m barely able to move. “Very strange,” says Mom, “this sudden relapse out
of nowhere. And when you’d been doing so well.”
Josh doesn’t text. I feel angry. Maybe he doesn’t want to go out with me anymore, but to not even check on how I’m doing isn’t nice. I’m sure he’ll call.
Three more days go by, and I am still in bed. I’m feeling worse. The whole trip to the movies was too much—the bus ride, the strobe-like action of the movie, the walk back to Ellie’s. I can’t stand the light now and need the curtains closed all the time or my head starts pounding. I don’t even feel like I can sit up. I feel so low—as if I have fallen down a deep, deep well. I am stuck in the dark at the bottom and I can’t move. Someone found me and I thought I was going to be rescued, but all they have done is lowered a tube to give me water. I am being kept alive, but no one knows how to get me out. What kind of life is this?
I thought I could fight this illness and beat it, but I can’t. It always wins. Maybe I am never going to get back to school, never going to be able to have a relationship. If this is my life now, then what’s the point? I am not sure if I want to live like this.
Gradually over the next few days I can tolerate light and sit up for a while. After a few more days, I don’t feel able to get out of bed, but I am able to go online for short spurts. I try to distract myself with the Facebook support group. I write about how depressed I feel about my life, but when I read it back it sounds like I am wallowing in self-pity, and I delete it all—every word.
But later, I try again. I write about what happened with Josh in more of a storytelling style, and when I read it back, I’m happy with it. I’ve managed to laugh at myself and my lovesick stupidity, which is something. I didn’t name him, of course—even though it’s a closed group, I wouldn’t want anyone knowing all the details.
I decide to post it on the website, but when I check after half an hour, no one has “liked” it or commented on it, and I feel a wave of disappointment. Maybe they’d rather compare symptoms than talk about relationships.
But later on I check again and I have three “likes” and two comments. Dina says, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You liked him, so it makes sense that you really wanted to go. I’ve never had a date with a boy. The only time one asked me, I had to cancel three times, and then he gave up, believing I was giving him the brush-off—even though I tried so hard to explain it was because I wasn’t well. I hate letting people down all the time. It is so hard to have a boyfriend when you are like this.”
The Girl Who Wasn't There Page 11
