West

by Michele G Miller

  “Mom, stop. You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to get better.” I repeat the words my father has drilled into us boys. We don’t believe them anymore, but we speak them. For her. Or maybe they’re for us.

  “I wanted to see you grow up, West. I’m sorry.”

  My voice breaks with hers as I wrap her in as tight a hug as I dare. “Momma, you will see me. You’ll be with me forever and ever.”

  Her cries lessen as mine grow. Her frail voice tells me what I already know. “I’m so tired, baby. I’m sorry. I’m so tired, but I’m scared. I want to see you and your brothers live. I don’t want to miss it, but I’m going to.”

  “I don’t want you to be afraid for me. For any of us, Mom. We’ll be okay knowing you’re better. Let them go. Close your eyes, take deep breaths, and let them go. Remember that?” I ask with a watery smile as I recall her words of wisdom. “Let the monsters in your head go, and rest.”

  “I love you, my MVP,” she says as she surrenders to sleep.

  I close my eyes at the poignant memories, willing them to go away as, once again, Jules stirs in my arms. It’s been two hours. Mark called the time a moment ago. Two hours, and while we hear sirens in the distance, no one has come to this area yet.

  “I’m scared.”

  I’ve trapped her top leg between mine and I give it a squeeze with my knees. “Why?”

  “Why?” she asks incredulously, her voice stronger this time. “Well, hmm—we’re stuck under the rubble of a house, a tornado has hit our town, and we have no idea what’s going on out there. Listen to all of those sirens. It sounds like a war zone.”

  “O, ye of little faith. This is nothing. I’ve got you.”

  “You’ve got me?”

  “Yeah, Buff. I’ve got you. I’m here and I’ll keep you safe. No worries, okay?”

  She’s primed for a freak out; I can feel the tension in her body. Her arm, pressed between our chests, pushes against me, and she wiggles her legs as though she’s going to change something. It’s as though she thinks some magical portal is going to open up and swallow us through the floor to safety.

  “Hey,” I warn, frustrated with her movements and worried she’ll kick something loose. “Calm down. Breathe.”

  “I want out of here. I can’t breathe, my head hurts, and I want my mom and dad. What if they’re hurt?” Her shoulders shake. “What’s taking them so long to get help?”

  Her fear tamps down my frustration.

  “Jules. Baby, you can’t freak out on me now, please. I need you to stay calm.” Removing my hand from her hair, I find her face and cup her cheek in my palm. “Look at me.”

  “I can’t—I can’t see anything,” she gasps.

  Her fear is tangible. And understandable. I feel claustrophobic myself, the heat is oppressive, the air stale and dirty. Every inch of my body aches. My muscles are constantly tense as they wait for the ceiling to drop on us. But, freaking out won’t get us out of here. So I focus on Jules’ hand, the vision of her red hair blowing in the wind, and her perfect legs and body doing cheers under the Friday night lights. The visuals work for me. They calm the storm inside my chest every time I want to break free of this prison we’re in. Maybe the same tactic will work on her?

  “Pretend, then. Listen to my voice and picture my face in your head. Picture the Ice Shack from before all of this happened.” Moisture hits my hand as she takes a deep breath, and I envision her face. Tears dripping from her blue eyes, fear creasing her forehead. My thumb caresses her cheek and she stills. “That’s good. I can feel you calming down already. I told you we’re not gonna die tonight. Trust me. Will you do that?”

  “How do you know?” she sniffles, “What if—”

  My thumb shifts over her lips, stopping her from getting worked up again. “Because I’ve got stuff I want to do in this life, and I’ll be damned if this is the end.”

  Her teeth graze my thumb as it rubs across her lip. The touch sends a jolt of unexpected desire through me and I lower my voice. “Plus, while I’ve always dreamed of dying in a beautiful woman’s arms, this wasn’t exactly the way I planned it.”

  “Oh wow, was that a pick up line?” Her mouth parts under my thumb and I remove my hand as though I’ve been burned. The reaction my body has to her simple smile floors me. If this house isn’t the death of me, she will be

  “No, gorgeous, that was the truth. I’d show you what I envisioned, but I don’t think we have enough room in this little cave of ours,” I tease boldly.

  “It’s a shame our accommodations are so shabby then. Should I offer you a rain check?” she asks with a touch of humor. I jump at the offer.

  “Hell yeah you should. I’m taking you up on that, too. No backing out now,” I say meaningfully, and she snorts, pressing her face into my chest. I’m on cloud nine for the simple fact that I made her laugh and calm down.

  “I feel as though I’d have to fight off a lot of girls if you tried,” Jules says after a while.

  I’ve been weaving in and out of sleep, the oppressive heat rendering my eyelids heavy as we lay in the dark.

  “Sorry?” I ask as I roll my head around in an attempt to wake up.

  “Are you dating anyone?”

  “No.” But you are, I think with a frown. She’s got Stuart, and she’ll go back to him the moment we’re free from this pit. I can’t forget that, I remind myself even as my fingers rub the base of her skull and tangle in the knots of her hair. Letting her go isn’t going to be easy.

  Subject change. “Tell me about you and Stuart.”

  She refuses, and I pester her. “Come on. Don’t pass up this golden opportunity to gush about the amazing Stuart Daniels.”

  Her head rests on my bicep, and though our surroundings are pitch black, I can tell she’s looking at me. Her head shifts, cocking up as she speaks with exasperation. “You don’t sound like you want to hear about him.”

  “Ha.” She flinches at the abnormally loud sound. “Of course I do. Tell me.” In reality, she’s correct; I don’t want to talk about him, but I’m curious now.

  “Tell you what?”

  “About your boyfriend.”

  She sighs. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  Nothing to tell? Her answer fuels something irrational within me, a wave of jealousy so strong it would knock me off my feet if I were standing rushes in. If I were her boyfriend, there would be a whole lot to tell.

  There’s a cracking sound amongst the boards around us before a sharp snap fills the air.

  “Oh no,” Jules moans.

  Things shift. My hand covers Jules’ head as we brace ourselves for the worst. The dust and dirt of dry wall rain upon us as. Something bounces off my chin, scratching me. Outside the hole, our friends shout our names. Then things settle as quickly as they shifted.

  “We’re good,” I call out to Mark and the others once our muscles relax again. I feel both of our frantic heartbeats against my hand that’s still attached to hers and resting between our bodies. Don’t let her return to panic mode, my inner voice prompts me. Inhaling deeply, I return to our conversation as though the threat of imminent death did not interrupt our conversation.

  “Do you love him?”

  “What?”

  “Do you love Stuart? You’ve been together forever.”

  “Yeah, I love him.” Her heart rate picks up. “No,” she shakes her head.

  “No?” I repeat. Did I hear that correctly?

  “Yeah.”

  “Jules, I’m used to chicks confusing the hell out of me, but you’re winning by a landslide right now,” I groan, trapping her head under my chin again as more debris shifts around us. I close my eyes, wondering how much longer we have. Something must have landed right on top of us that is keeping all of the remnants of an entire house from crushing us. What if it breaks? Each time I hear a creak or dirt falls on us, I picture our safety bubble popping. I don’t want to think about it. I’m tired of being scared down here. Apparently Jules is too because thi
s time—after things quiet—she returns to our conversation and explains her answer.

  “I mean that if I’m honest then, yeah, I love him, but I’m not in love with him anymore.”

  Maintain calm. “Since when?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been a while, I think.”

  “Then why are you still with him?”

  “I don’t know. He loves me. He’s good to me, and like you said, we’ve been together forever.”

  “That’s stupid.” Did I say that out loud?

  “Excuse me?” She jerks back, the top of her skull cracking painfully into my chin.

  “Damn, girl, stay in one spot.”

  “Can I punch you when we get out of here?” she fires back, shifting around beneath me again.

  “If we get out of here, Buffy, you can do whatever you want to me.”

  She stops. “If?”

  Shit. I take another deep breath, mentally kicking myself for making such a comment. I cover the slip-up with a laugh. “I meant when. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

  “Wow, you’re a charmer,” she mumbles.

  Our conversation has taken a drastically wrong turn somewhere, but I lower my voice, happy to irritate this beautifully infuriating girl if it keeps her mind off of worst case scenarios. “Oh, I’m sorry, cheerleader. Did you want me to be charming?” I drawl in my best seductive voice.

  There’s no humor in her reply. “No.”

  Six

  “If I’m going to die, just let me die already.” Jules’ words fall from her lips as though they’re being forced from her mouth. “I’m scared. It hurts,” she whines. Her voice is so raw I barely recognize it. The debris causes my own throat to burn each time I swallow what little moisture I can produce.

  “I wanted to skip school and see a Broadway show,” she continues.

  “Jules?” I brush her temple with my thumb as she mumbles incoherently.

  “And we have homecoming, and prom, and I want to see Jase grow up—”

  “Jules, sweetie, what are you talking about?”

  “My list.”

  “Your list?” I ask, confused at the way her mind leaps from subject to subject.

  “Don’t you have one?”

  “One what? What kind of list are you talking about?”

  “A bucket list. The girls and I, we made one years ago,” she explains. “I want to see Paris and kiss under the Eiffel Tower.”

  “I want to travel too,” I tell her, thinking of the plans our family made for when Mom recovered. “And scuba dive, and jump from a plane someday.” I chuckle, recalling all of the crazy things I’ve always planned on doing.

  “Why?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.” That’s not the truth, but the why doesn’t matter. “How about you? What’s another item on your list?”

  “Kick a field goal,” she says with a giggle. “That’s stupid, isn’t it?”

  “Nah, I like that one. It’s different.” I love her passion for football. “I want to gamble large sums of money in Vegas,” I tell her, opening up to the idea of a bucket list.

  “Why?” she asks again.

  “Do I need a reason?”

  “You do. Wanting something isn’t good enough, you need to have a reason for it. Not just because.”

  “A reason, huh? Well, I want to live. I want to do everything I can to celebrate being alive. That’s my reason.”

  “If we get out of here, I’m not going to care what people think of me anymore. I’m tired of trying to be the perfect girl. Staying with—” she cuts herself off.

  Her forehead rubs against my chest as she clears her throat and shifts on her side. Staying with? What was she about to say?

  “I want to fall in love.” My stomach flips because it’s Jules’ face I see when I think of being in love and I can’t believe I shared that aloud.

  “I want to have sex before I die,” she mumbles. I bite my cheek, surprised at the revelation. “I don’t want to die in a heap of rubble, West. I have so many things I want to do.”

  My eyes close as fear enters her voice once again. “Jules, listen to me. You will do all those things. I’ll make sure of it. We will get out of here and—”

  “Would you take me to Paris?” Her voice fades in and out, as though she’s losing consciousness again.

  “I would if you’d let me,” I promise, kissing her forehead. “I’d kiss you under the Eiffel tower too. Hell, I’d kiss you right now if I could.”

  “I’d let you,” she says, “cause I—I want to live too.”

  “If you’d let me, I’d fall in love with you, cheerleader,” I admit to myself and to the dark. Jules is out again.

  Each time Jules blacks out I’m stuck with nothing but my own reflections. My thoughts have never been pretty, but now, when I’m faced with the idea of being buried alive, they’re impossible to handle. Talking about living, and about the things I want to do in life, only reaffirms all of the things I’ve given up. I think about my brothers, the two people I’ve always looked up to the most, and how they handled our mother’s death. They moved on, they played on. Why didn’t I? I picture my mom in her chair, laying with me day after day during her last month, and I hear her words, “Live, West. Do all of the things you want to do, sweetheart, because you never know.”

  “I see lights! West, Jules, there are lights coming our way.” Ruben declares, his voice filled with elation. The basement goes from silence to cheers at the glorious news and I smile into Jules’ hair. For the first time this evening the shrill echo of sirens is steady and close; moving toward us instead of away. My muscles relax with relief as I hug Jules tighter. She’s fallen into another fitful sleep against my body and I whisper promises of our pending rescue into the dark as I listen to the outside world and wait for help.

  Then, from beneath our pile, I make out masculine voices in the distance. Their calls are answered by shouts of “Help us!” and “Down here!”, and my heart races as a dog’s excited barking fills the air.

  “You kids okay?” a new voice shouts. Dad?

  Mark replies with calm, using my father’s name, confirming it is indeed him. I’m not hallucinating.

  “Dad!” I shout, but my hoarse voice doesn’t carry. I cover Jules’ ear and try again. “Dad!”

  My only reply is the clanking of metal ladders and more voices moving closer. They’re here!

  “Where are they?” my dad asks. He’s nearby now; he sounds as though he’s in the basement with us. Mark’s reply is muffled over the rest of the sounds. A moment later, my father’s voice is closer than ever.

  “West! Can you hear me?” Tears spring to my eyes.

  “Dad! I can hear you, can you hear me?” I shout painfully.

  “I hear you, son. Hold on, okay? There’s a crew setting up. We’re going to dig you out.”

  I don’t reply. I can’t. My throat has closed up, whether from the dust and lack of moisture or from the relief I feel, I’m not sure. All I know is we’ve been found and my dad will do whatever it takes to get us out alive.

  I lay there, mentally counting as I wait. I sing songs. I envision movies and moments of my life. I remain patient as time drags by with little to show for it. The stress in their voices makes it clear this rescue mission isn’t a simple one. Men shout, my dad argues, and lights shine on us from up above. The sight of light, although dim and only through a few cracks, gives me hope. I have hope they’ll find spots to work on soon. Spots where they can carefully remove the wreckage on top of us until we are dug out of this nightmare. Dad says it’s a good thing I can see light. It means the debris pile isn’t thick in those spots. The men go to work, meticulously shifting the wreckage around us.

  I’ve adjusted my position once more, throwing a leg over Jules and pulling her as close as humanly possible. She’s repositioned as well, settling her face into the crook of my neck. The warmth of her breath against my skin gives me chills. Her hands and arms remain between us, one under my shirt intertwined w
ith mine, and the other is up near her chin. Those fingers tickle the base of my neck on and off as they press against me.

  I don’t know how it happened, but everything within me craves this girl. The relief I feel at being rescued is at odds with the indescribable pain I’m beginning to feel at losing her once we’re free.

  Around us, dirt and debris is stirred up as the rescue crew digs through it.

  “Jules?” I say as she rouses, her hips pressing against my thighs as she works herself closer to my body.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Jules, it’s okay. We’re okay. You just woke up, but we are going to be okay.”

  There’s a shout as a pile shifts without warning. Boards tumble and a weight presses across our legs as something slides above us. Jules and I both gasp, her hand tightening in mine. My other hand digs into her silky hair, keeping her head close to me.

  “West!” my dad shouts in a tone of terror I’ve never heard.

  “Gooood!” I manage to answer.

  “Almost there, son. You okay? How’s Jules?”

  I couldn’t answer those questions if I tried. It doesn’t matter how she is. It doesn’t matter how I am. Who knows how we will ever be after this.

  “Just get us out of here. Hurry!” I tell him before once again reassuring Jules, and myself, of our future.

  “I promise you, we are going to live, babe. We are living.”

  Seven

  The first blast of fresh air I’ve breathed in hours hits my face and I squint, turning my head away from the spotlight shining on Jules and I.

  “He’s here,” a voice calls out above me. “Good to see you, West.”

  I take great gulps of the fresh air as I shield my eyes and look up at the shadowed face. Another large piece disappears near our heads and my father comes into view. His gloved hand reaches over the ledge of debris still trapping us in and touches my hair. His face is full of relief. “You okay?”