A Sky Full of Stars

by Melissa Josias

  I manage to lift myself off the bed and join Jodie in the kitchen, where Eric is already peeling onions and dicing tomatoes. He touches my elbow as he passes me to get to the refrigerator, a silent way of telling me that he hopes I’m okay. I smile at him furtively while Jodie speaks, directing her brother in getting pots off high shelves and opening stubborn jar lids.

  Slowly, the kitchen fills with the scent of roasting garlic and tomatoes and grilled chicken that gets my mouth watering long before it’s done.

  We eat in the living room, each with a bottle of apple cider. Jodie and Eric are relaxed sitting cross-legged on the couch while I sit straight backed, watching the two of them intently. We speak about Eric’s work, where he tells her about Charlie and the work he’s been doing for him. We speak about Bay and the accident, which had only happened two weeks ago, and how he seems to be doing okay. There is something about the way that they speak about him that doesn’t quite fit right, like they are skirting around an issue because I’m present. I make a mental note to ask Eric about this at another time.

  Later, after I help Jodie with the dishes and while Eric peruses her movie collection, I step out onto the deck and look out over the lake. Small lanterns that I hadn’t noticed earlier are strung over the deck, swaying softly in the breeze. The other houses are lit up with soft orange lights, and I can hear muffled voices from the neighbours carrying toward me. The moon is high and vivid, and the stars are so clear it’s like I’m back in Charlie’s room, once again awestruck.

  I stay outside for a few minutes, thinking about my family back home, wondering what they are doing. I think of Benjamin, and miss him tremendously. I send out a good thought to him and fling it up amongst the stars.

  We watch a movie, the living room lit only by the light from the TV and the moon through the kitchen window. Jodie falls asleep halfway through, her lips parted slightly like she’s breathing through her mouth. Eric doesn’t speak to me, but keeps his attention to the screen until the movie has finished.

  Eric wakes his sister gently, and tells her that he’ll lock up the house. Jodie mumbles a goodnight when she leaves, half smiling at me when she passes.

  “Abby,” Eric says, walking into the room after his shower, dressed in sweatpants and a vest. “Are you sure you don’t want me to sleep on the couch? If you’re uncomfortable...”

  “It’s fine,” I say, closing the curtains. “Just stay on your side of the bed and we won’t have a problem.”

  Eric grins. “Okay. Well, I’m beat.” He gets onto the bed, long legs stretched out. “Goodnight.”

  I lay down next to him, breathing in the scent of soap. “Goodnight.” I climb under the blankets, the sheets cool against my skin. I switch off the side lamp, the room plunging into semi-darkness. I am constantly aware of the heat of Eric’s body next to me, his closeness, all the energy he’s emitting. We lay in silence for a long time, listening to the sounds of the house settling. Eric’s breathing is so deep I’d taken that he’d fallen asleep already, but when he suddenly speaks, the silence breaks like a shattered window.

  “Abby?”

  I blink in the darkness. “Yes?”

  “Can you explain it to me?”

  “Explain what?”

  He is quiet for a few seconds. Then, “What it feels like wanting to die all the time.”

  I’m not expecting him to ask this question, especially not now. I suppose that anyone would be curious and I probably owe him an explanation. He has been gracious enough to me, not only letting me stay with him but letting me become part of his life. He is, to be fair, keeping me alive at this point, even though I am not ready to admit this to myself.

  “Why do you want to do it? I mean, what is it that you feel?”

  I think about it for a moment, until even he can’t take it anymore and turns to look at me. His face is half in shadow but I can still see his eyes. The story starts to formulate in my head. I have all the answers; I just don’t know what they will sound like if I say them out loud. Would it make any sense to someone who didn’t feel like I did? Would I succeed in not making it sound callow or ridiculous?

  “It’s like I’ve been alive for many lifetimes, always searching for this indescribable thing, yearning and yearning, pining for God knows what, waking up in the next lifetime with the same longing, unnamed and unobtainable.” I pause to take a breath. Eric is listening, his eyes scrunched up at the sides like I am too bright for him to look at. “And every lifetime that I go without finding it, the hole in my chest gets bigger and bigger, sucking away at parts of my soul.”

  Eric blinks, saying nothing.

  “It’s like I’ve lost something very important to me, and I need to get it back in order to be happy, to even just live a normal life.”

  “But you’re not giving yourself a chance to live a normal life. You’re giving up.”

  “I am,” I say, closing my eyes, giving into the feel of the bed. “But I’ve been fighting for so long. You have no idea how tired I am. I am so tired.”

  “Abby.”

  I open my eyes to find Eric staring at me through the moonlight, propped up on his elbow.

  “What?”

  “I don’t think you really want to die.”

  “Really?” I ask, surprised by the laughter in my voice. “Why is that?”

  “You followed your heart to the other side of the world to see California. I find it difficult to believe that you did that just because you wanted to be in a beautiful place when you died. I mean, why not die at home to make it easier on your family. Save them the trouble of schlepping your body from one continent to another.”

  I feel my face heat up. I feel like running away.

  “I don’t think you’re that selfish. I think you felt boxed in, trapped. Desperate for a way out. You sat on a plane for almost an entire day to get here, for God’s sake. I don’t see that as giving up.”

  I lower my eyes to the space between us.

  “You can’t let it destroy you. I know that words are not enough but –”

  “I am destroyed,” I say, my voice soft and low. “It already happened.”

  “And yet you didn’t cease to exist. You’re still here.” Eric keeps his voice low too, not wanting to wake his sister. “Think about this for a second. Do you want to die sad?”

  I hadn’t thought about it that way. In fact, it had never occurred to me that I would be sad when I died. I don’t think that it even matters to me.

  “Like I said, this doesn’t look like giving up. I think this is you trying to save your life.” He lies back down again, setting himself onto the bed. “I think this is you showing yourself how badly you want to live.”

  I wait for a while before I speak. “You don’t even know me. We’re strangers.”

  “And yet here you are, sleeping in the same bed as me, like we do this all the time.”

  Eric falls asleep quickly after that, his breathing deep and strong. I lay straight, arms to the side, trying not to touch him. It isn’t so much that I don’t want to; I’m afraid of what might happen if I do.

  I imagine our skins touching, and sparks going off. I imagine the bed igniting, bursting into flames and burning into embers, our bodies unrecognizable. I imagine fire blazing until the house has turned into ash, into nothingness.

  I turn to look at him. He is turned away from me, his back curved a bit in sleep. The blankets have fallen off his shoulders, revealing the skin of his upper arm. I think about what he’d said and wonder if he’s right. Am I really here to prove to myself that I want to live? A few days ago I was ready to jump off a building, convinced that there was nothing left for me. Now I’m in bed with a man that I really don’t know that well, thinking of the way it would feel to touch his skin, to put my lips to his mouth. I don’t know what I want more; to die or to kiss him.

  I find a spot on the ceiling and focus on that until my eyelids grow heavy, until I can’t fight my exhaustion anymore, until the darkness takes me.

&nbs
p; *

  Sometime during the night, I am awoken by a loud thump. My eyes adjust to the darkness, my brain still heavy from sleep. I hear footsteps walking alongside the house. My ears perk up. I look over at Eric, who is still asleep next to me. I listen further, hearing more sounds, waiting to see if Eric responds to any of them. He doesn’t.

  I creep out of bed and tiptoe toward the bedroom door. The entire house is still dark, although moonlight marks the way for me. I linger in the doorway, squinting down the hallway. I hear a door squeak open and Jodie emerges from her bedroom, sleepily walking towards the front door, eyes still half closed. I watch as she unlocks the door to let Bay in, who kisses her on the forehead when he enters. They mumble something to each other that I can’t hear. Bay nudges Jodie back to her bedroom and then locks the front door, so swift and blithe in the dark that I figure this must be a regular routine for both of them. Bay sneaks into his own room without noticing me.

  I go back to bed without saying a word, pulling the blanket over Eric’s leg that had snuck out at some point. I lay staring at the ceiling until I can no longer hear Bay moving around, until all I can hear is Eric’s breathing, lulling me back to sleep.

  A Brief History Lesson -6 Months Ago

  Someone called me unhinged once. It was said in a joking sort of way, meaning no harm, and I didn’t think much of it at the time. About a week later, when I was sitting by myself with a head full of thoughts, I couldn’t help but picture myself as pieces strung together, like a jigsaw, only whole when all the pieces were accounted for.

  I remember thinking that if I really was becoming unhinged, then I would start to fall apart bit by bit, limbs hanging precariously from my body, bones creaking on the inside but making no noticeable noise to anyone on the outside.

  When it first started, I would wake up really early in the morning, a couple of hours before I had to get up for work, and I would sit in my living room in the dark. The couches were cold from being unused for so many hours. The clock was always too loud, ticking off the seconds I had left in that place. There was something about being awake when everyone else was asleep that made me feel like my bones were too big for my body, like somehow I was going to split at the seams – they were there somewhere, I just had to look closely enough – but still I would sit there and think about what my life meant. For months and months I did this, sacrificing sleep, and for months I could never find an answer.

  A short while after that, during one of my last pre-dawn incidences, an idea struck me quick and hard, like lightning. I had suddenly found an answer. Granted it wasn’t the answer I’d been hoping for, but it was an answer just the same.

  I sat in the receding dark, listening to the house come alive, thinking to myself that if a soul could break, this is what it would feel like.

  Chapter Ten

  On the fifth day of being with Eric, I walk into the kitchen to find Bay at the table, a cup of coffee in his hand. There are several plates of food on the table, the smell of bacon in the air. The day is bright and the birds are chirping over the sounds of the early Saturday morning.

  “Morning, Cape Town,” Bay says, christening me with a nickname I never thought I’d have. The sun is slanting through the white gauzy curtains of the front room.

  “Morning.” I stand next to him, taking note of the lake through the kitchen window. There are people visible in the water.

  “You can grab breakfast while it’s hot,” Bay says, buttering a slice of toast and spearing strips of bacon with a fork.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “I am everyone. Jodie and Eric drove down the store to pick up a few things.”

  “Why are you even up right now? You came back late.”

  He takes a bite of toast. “Five hours of sleep is all I need.” He winks at me. “Come on, join me. It may not seem like it, but I will eat all of this on my own if you don’t fend for yourself.”

  I sit down across from him and start making myself a plate, wondering how long Eric and Jodie have been gone. It’s early and no one had made any noise to wake me up. I pour myself a cup of coffee, and sip it while I watch Bay eat.

  “So,” Bay says, not taking a break from his food. “Quick question. And I’m only asking because I have to get an outside opinion. Have you noticed anything weird about the Teagues siblings?”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  “You must have noticed it by now. For instance, at any time since you’ve met him, have you told Eric something that you would not have readily told anyone else?”

  I think about the moment when I’d first met Eric and told him that I wanted to die. “I have.”

  Bay nods. “And Jodie. Do you feel oddly safe around her? Or here in this house?”

  I feel a smile creeping onto my face. “I do. How did you know that?”

  He shrugs, and takes a sip of orange juice from a glass next to his coffee. His hand looks big around the small glass. I take a bite of toast. It’s salty and buttery.

  “They have this thing about them. My personal theory is that they’re some sort of magic,” Bay says, his eyes dancing with the start of a smile. “People tend to be uncharacteristically honest with Eric. And Jodie? Well, she makes people feel protected.”

  I give Bay a discerning look. “You’re saying that you think they have special powers?”

  He laughs. “Not powers, per se. More like...gifts. But like I said, it’s just a theory.”

  I decide to humour him. “Have you asked them about it?”

  “Why ruin the enchantment of it all?”

  Bay doesn’t say anything more about it, but finishes his plate and then starts dishing him another one. I am still only a third of the way through my first helping.

  “Excuse me for being blunt,” Bay says, after he has started eating again. “But I hear you want to off yourself.”

  His boldness shocks me. I blink at him several times. “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t worry. Things don’t stay secret around here for very long.”

  I eye him but say nothing. I had not expected Eric to tell anyone about how I felt; his sister, maybe. But now Bay knows as well. I start to feel uncomfortable.

  “So why do you want to do it?” he asks. “And please don’t tell me it’s about a guy. That you’re in love with someone who doesn’t love you. Or he loves you but he’s with someone and it’s complicated.”

  I shoot him an indignant look. “Please. I’m not twelve. This isn’t about a guy.”

  Bay nods. “Good,” he says, resting his fork on his plate. “What’s it about then?”

  “Why would I tell you?”

  “Because,” he says, wiping at the corners of his mouth, “maybe I can relate.”

  Bay reaches over to pick up his coffee cup. I catch a glimpse of his good wrist and see that underneath his tattoos three thick scars run along the width of it, hidden almost ingeniously by the coloured ink.

  I look at him. He meets my eye, smiling with half his mouth, eyes sparkling.

  It dawns on me quick and heavy. I suddenly know exactly why Eric had wanted to bring me here. I sit back in my chair involuntarily, feeling like someone has just snipped my strings.

  I gape at Bay. “You tried...” My voice escapes me for a second. “You tried...”

  He sits back in his chair, mirroring my position. “Oh, I tried, all right.”

  I struggle to find my voice. My world is tilting on its axis.

  “You okay, Cape Town? Cause you look like you might throw up.”

  I cover my face in my hands, trying to get my breath back. “I just need a second.”

  “Do you want me to go? I’m still busy eating but I can take my plate with me.”

  I shake my head, still breathing into my fingers. I take several breaths before I can look at him again. He has resumed eating, nonchalant.

  “It’s weird, huh? Finding people like you. I mean, we’re not aliens or something, but I haven’t met a lot of people who are sick of living.”r />
  I still can’t find anything to say.

  “I guess I should have seen it,” Bay says, looking at me. “You have that look in your eyes. And you move like a seventy-five-year-old woman.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I can tell by the way you move. Your bones are heavy. I know what that feels like.”

  My eyes fall back onto his wrist. Now, for some reason, I can’t find the scars so easily; they are hidden well by the tattoos. He isn’t hiding it from me, either, although I don’t know why he would.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Bay says, and attempts to finish his second plate. “Eric is only looking out for you.” On cue, I hear the sound of Eric’s Jeep pulling up to the house. Bay doesn’t react, but I stiffen in my seat. We sit in silence for the few minutes that it takes for Eric and Jodie to get to the front door. They walk in, quiet for once, arms filled with bags.

  I feel suddenly claustrophobic, like I am being ambushed, so I bolt for the side door and run out behind the deck. I hear Jodie call my name, but I don’t stop. I run toward the dock, to where the lake is wide and grand and open. I want to jump into the water, scream ‘FUCK’ over and over underwater until my lungs burn. I want to scream until it hurts my throat so that I can at least a have a reason for feeling shitty. So that I can at least have a reason for feeling pain.

  By the time I realize my mistake it’s already too late. Eric has followed me out and is walking down the dock toward me. I have no place to run.

  I pace the short width of the dock until he reaches me. He looks concerned. He’s about to say something when I interject.

  “Did you bring me here because of Bay?”

  “What?”

  “Did you bring me here because of Bay? Did you want me to come here so that you could hand me off to some guy you think might understand me because he has a propensity for razors?”

  “I didn’t hand you off.”