The Bodies We Wear

by Jeyn Roberts

  And I can’t stop laughing, because those poor things travel so hard and long to search for something they know they’re never going to find, and it’s such a stupid metaphor for how I’m living my own life that I can’t break the image of myself floating along in the wind, powerless to stop, unable to do anything as the dust brushes off my body and I fall to the ground.

  “You’re crying.”

  “I’m suddenly feeling sorry for myself,” I say as I angrily brush away the tears. “Don’t read into this. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “Sure it does.” He leans closer until the thinnest butterfly wing couldn’t get between us. “It’s okay to be vulnerable, you know.”

  I shake my head.

  “You’ve really changed,” he says, but he doesn’t say it in an insulting way. “When you were younger, you used to look at me with such openness. Now you’re trying to close yourself off to the world. I wish I could have been there to watch you grow up.”

  “You were cheated,” I say.

  “I was,” he says, and his face is so close I can feel his breath. “I was just like you. I wanted to do so many things. So many wasted plans. I wanted to protect you. Even when you were little. There was such a bond between us. I thought it could never be broken.”

  “I thought so too.”

  “And when they attacked us that night. I wish I could have been stronger. I wanted to tear them apart for touching you. I wanted to kill them. But I wasn’t tough enough. I couldn’t do anything to save you.” He pauses and looks right into my eyes. “I never meant to leave you.”

  “I know.” The tears are still flowing but I can’t raise my hand to wipe them away. My body has lost all ability to think for itself. I can only look at Chael as he looks down at me.

  “But death couldn’t break our bond.”

  “I don’t want you to leave me again,” I say. “When you were gone, I was all alone. Empty inside. I can’t go through that again.”

  “I won’t. I’m here for you right now. This is our moment.”

  When he kisses me, everything around us ceases to exist.

  Fourteen

  I’m too happy. Even Gazer is looking at me suspiciously every chance he gets. I can see he wants to attack me with questions but he’s holding back. He’s respecting my need to keep this secret.

  I’m not ready to share Chael yet.

  With good reason. I still don’t know what any of this means.

  It’s Friday and I’ve made it through another week of pretending to go to school every morning when in reality I’ve been spending it elsewhere. Mostly I’ve been down at the Heam center, hanging out with Beth. She’s not doing well. She’s lost weight, which is appalling since she is so tiny to begin with. The secondhand clothes she’s been given swallow her whole. Her eyes are always bloodshot, as if she’s wiping away the tears the second she hears me come through the door.

  The counselor, Ramona, tells me that she doesn’t think Beth is going to survive this. She’s seen this too many times before. It’s just a matter of counting the days till she runs away. If she escapes, it won’t be her parents she goes to. But I’m holding strong, refusing to believe it.

  “She’s very lucky,” Ramona says. We’re standing by the front doors and she fiddles with her clipboard. “There are a lot of children that come through here. They don’t have people like you.”

  “Me? I haven’t done anything.”

  “You’ve been here for her,” she says. “That’s a hell of a lot more than most of these kids have. A lot of times they’re completely isolated from society. Even their own parents disown them.”

  “I can’t imagine,” I lie.

  “But you’ve been a good friend to Beth,” she continues as she taps the top of her clipboard with her pen. “Tell me. Have you ever considered getting into this line of work?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Heam counseling.” Ramona leans in closer until her lips are practically pressing against my cheek. “Beth told me about you. I know you’re a survivor. I don’t give a damn what the government and all their statistics say about abusers. I believe that some can still get clean. You’re living proof. With your experience, you’d be perfect for the job.”

  “It’s pointless. That sort of thing requires training, right? No university will take me. Do you know how hard it was to even find a high school?” I pause. I don’t want to admit to this woman that I’ve been expelled. We’re not that close.

  “I might be able to get you into a specialized training program,” Ramona says. “The pay wouldn’t be as good without a degree and you’d have to volunteer first. But it could lead to a good job.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I lie.

  Ramona smiles and nods. As she walks off to do her rounds, I can’t help admiring her for being a good woman. She sees these children for what they’re worth and not for what they’ve done. The world needs more people like her. Even if she is a bit naive.

  Five minutes later, Beth and I get situated for our daily chat.

  “I’m not as tough as you,” Beth says. We’re sitting outside in the garden, a pitiful place with two droopy trees and a few dying bushes. The ground is hard and lifeless. Grass might have grown there a million years ago but now everything is barren. We sit on a metal bench and it reminds me of being with Chael, surrounded by the plants at the arboretum. Well, maybe not quite, but my imagination is kicking in. I try to push away the thoughts. It won’t do Beth any good to see me happy. Not when her hands are shaking so badly she can’t hold the hot chocolate I brought her from the shop down the street.

  “You don’t have to be as strong as me,” I say. “You have to be as strong as you can be.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about it,” she says. She picks at a paint flake that’s peeling from the bench.

  “I know.”

  “I dream about it. Seeing heaven. I close my eyes and it’s there. I can’t understand why I should stay here on earth when such a place is waiting for me. It’s horrible here. So cold.” She picks a dying leaf off the bench and crumbles it between her fingers. “I want to be warm again.”

  “It’s an illusion,” I say again, repeating the exact same thing Gazer always tells me. We’ve had this conversation at least ten times this week. “It’s not real. You know this.”

  Beth nods. Then she says something new. “I don’t care what’s out there when I die. But I think it can’t be worse than here. Nothing is as bad as being here.”

  “What about Joshua?”

  “He’ll get over it. He understands.”

  I take a drink of my coffee, trying to pretend that her talking about killing herself is completely normal. Inside, my stomach is an icicle. I’ve got to remember to tell the therapist about this before I leave. Maybe they can put her on suicide watch or something. Sure, they’re short-staffed, but they should be able to come up with something.

  “Don’t you think he’ll miss you?” I finally ask. “I know I will.”

  Beth turns to me and there’s anger in her eyes. “Don’t be mean, Faye,” she says. “You know what it’s like. I see the hate in your eyes too. You don’t want to be here either.”

  “That’s not true,” I protest, but it’s weak. She’s right. Even I have my bad days. I won’t pretend that I’ve never thought of dying either.

  “It is true,” she says. “No one can understand it. I thought you would.”

  “Beth,” I begin. “Killing yourself isn’t the answer.”

  “But that’s what you’re gonna do,” Beth says. “You told me yourself. You’re going to get revenge and they’ll probably kill you for trying. What you’re doing is the same as me. Don’t try and pretend it’s different.”

  I open my mouth to argue but decide otherwise. She’s right. I never should have told her about my revenge. I thought it might cheer her
up. I can see it was a big mistake. Now she’s going to use it against me.

  “It’s not the same,” I finally say.

  “Go away,” she whispers. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

  When I don’t move, she gets up and runs inside. I sit there in the garden for a bit, trying to ignore the droopy trees. It seems that the rain is pushing them down. Water isn’t enough. Things need sunlight to grow.

  Finally, I go inside and try to find the counselor before I head out. But she’s nowhere in sight.

  “She hates me,” I say. It’s later that evening and I’m sitting with Chael in the coffee shop down the street. I always pick here because it’s close to where Rufus sits at the bar. He’s there tonight. I checked earlier. I need to get back into my routine. I’ve been distracted this week.

  “She doesn’t hate you.” Chael holds on to my hand, turning it in his, fingers tracing the lines along my palm. It tickles but I don’t pull away.

  “She does.”

  “She’s right, though.”

  “Don’t start,” I say, pulling my hand away in annoyance.

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “Sure you are,” I say. “You’re just looking for another excuse to get into it about my revenge. I’m not stopping and you’re not going to fight my battle.”

  “It’s my battle too,” he says. “And you’re right.”

  “About what?”

  “That it’s not my revenge. It’s both of ours. And I think we should look at it from that perspective.”

  “As in?”

  He reaches out and takes my hand again, squeezing tightly. “I think we should do it together.”

  “No way. You’ll find a way to make sure I get nothing.” I try to pull away but he’s holding on too tightly.

  Chael leans forward as if he’s going to whisper in my ear. Not that it matters. The diner is empty and the waitress is watching a television program behind the counter. The volume is up on the miniature flat-screen and we could shout at each other and she probably wouldn’t notice.

  “I know you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself,” Chael says. “And I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. I think we should work together. That way I get my revenge and I get to make sure no one hurts you in the process.”

  “You mean that?” I look right into his eyes, but it’s impossible to tell if he’s lying. His gaze is strong and intense. He looks completely serious.

  “Rufus is mine,” I finally say.

  “And Ming Bao is mine,” he says. “A kill for a kill. Ming took my life. Only fair that I get to return the favor.”

  “What about Phil?”

  “We’ll flip a coin.”

  I giggle and cover my mouth with my hand. This conversation is so absurd. But at the same time, it feels normal. Maybe it is the right thing to do.

  “Okay,” I say, and I take a sip of coffee to try to remain nonchalant. “Suppose I agree to your partnership. How do we go about doing this? How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

  “I haven’t lied to you yet.” The sides of his lips are curling up. He’s as amused by this as I am. “I never lied to you when we were younger.”

  “You lied all the time,” I say. “You lied about seeing the Easter bunny that one time. And you lied about the rabbit you said you had.”

  “That was silly kid stuff,” he says. “This isn’t.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, and I really don’t. This is a new thing for me. I need time to think it over. I’ve spent years plotting this revenge. For me. For Christian. It never occurred to me that he might come back to join me.

  Changing the plan was never part of the deal.

  “Come on,” Chael says, reading my mind. “Let’s get out of here and go for a walk or something. You don’t have to answer right now. Take your time.”

  I nod. Chael tosses some bills on the table.

  “Where do you get your money?” I ask as I slip on my jacket. “I mean, you came back from the dead, right? Did God give you a wallet? What about the clothing? I keep meaning to ask you about it. And where do you sleep? Is there a Heavenly Hotel I don’t know about?”

  Chael smiles but something dark flashes behind his eyes. It’s only there for a second but I see it. He turns to leave but I grab his arm.

  “I really want to know,” I say.

  “I get by,” he says.

  And that’s it. He turns and walks out before I can even open my mouth. Great. My new boyfriend is probably out there jumping people on the train or robbing liquor stores in his free time. Not the kind of guy I want to bring home to Gazer, not that I would. Gazer wouldn’t believe it anyway. He only ever met Christian after he was dead on the alley floor. He can’t see what I see. He’d only see the illegal parts and think I’m being scammed or something. He might even call the police. Robbery is a big deal. The worst part is, I can’t condone it, but I can’t demand that Chael stop either. I’m not exactly an angel myself. It would be hypocritical of me to expect my boyfriend to toe the legal line when we’re talking about murder every other minute.

  Outside, Chael is waiting for me underneath my streetlamp. The light reflects off his damp hair, giving him that funny glowing halo look.

  “Do you want to see my place, then?”

  “Huh?”

  “My place,” Chael repeats. “Where I live. My humble abode. I’m more than happy to take you there.” He looks back at the bar, where Rufus is drinking away his pathetic life. “But not tonight. Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Why not tonight? It’s still early. Gazer won’t be expecting me home till later.”

  Chael looks back at the bar again but no one is coming out. “It’s the maid’s night off,” he says. “I’d hate for you to see it right now. It’s a bit messy.”

  Inside the coffee shop, I can see the waitress cleaning our table. She takes Chael’s money and puts it in her pocket as she picks up the empty coffee cups. Turning, she pauses and looks out the window at us. I smile and nod but she shakes her head and goes back to her work. It worries me; I can’t help wondering if she’s been eavesdropping on our conversations. No, I tell myself. She’d have called the cops by now if she had any idea of what we were planning.

  Chael suddenly swears under his breath and I turn back to him. We’re not alone. I have an excuse. At least I was distracted. No idea why Chael didn’t catch it in time.

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  It’s the girl with the red umbrella, only she doesn’t have it with her this time. She’s standing right in front of us, her arms filled with flyers showing her missing brother. Arnold Bozek. Funny how I can’t remember most of the counselors’ names at Beth’s shelter but I can’t forget his.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask.

  But she’s not looking at me. She’s eyeing Chael and her face is a mess of emotions. Chael won’t even look at her. He stares at the ground, his head down in shame.

  “Why?” she repeats. And then louder. “Why?”

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” I ask her.

  She turns to me and there is enough hatred in her eyes to kill a thousand Heam dealers. “Stop it!” she snaps. “You’re just as bad as him.” She turns back to Chael. “Why won’t you come home? We’ve been looking for you every night and you’ve been here.” She sneers in a way no child should. “With her.”

  Now I’m more than confused. I look at Chael but he’s still looking at the ground. Does she think Chael is her brother? How is that possible? Even a blind man could tell the difference.

  “You need to come home,” the girl says. “Mom isn’t mad at you. She’s crying all the time and it’s your fault. Why won’t you come home? We need you.”

  “I’m not who you think I am,” Chael finally says. “I’m sorry, but I’m not him.”

>   “Yes, you are!” She throws her flyers on the ground and they immediately begin to soak up rainwater. Arnold Bozek’s face becomes blotchy and smeared as the ink runs.

  “Listen to me.” Chael kneels down on the wet cement and puts his hands on the girl’s shoulders. She tries to yank away from him but he holds firm. “Look at me,” he says, and his voice sounds harder than usual.

  The girl won’t look at him. There are tears in her eyes and her nose is running. Her face scrunches up tightly, her mouth puckering into a tiny rosebud. She looks down at the ground defiantly, her eyes holding firm on the mushy flyers. I stand beside them stupidly. I want to stop this. I want to grab Chael by the arm and pull him back. But I need to hear what he’s going to say. I think the girl does too.

  “Look at me,” he repeats, and finally her eyes move up toward his. There are years of pain in those eyes. She’s different from the first time I saw her. She’s aged a lifetime in the course of a few weeks. Losing someone you love does that to you.

  “Chael.” My voice is weak. “I don’t think you should—”

  “You need to go home,” he says to the little girl, effectively cutting me off. “You need to give up this search. Your brother is gone. He’s dead. His soul is gone. There’s no bringing it back. I’m sorry but that’s the way things are.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I wish I were,” he says. “But it’s the truth. Staying out here each night is only going to bring you more pain. I’m not who you think I am. You must believe this.”

  She nods.

  “Arnold must have been a good brother,” Chael says. “Obviously or you wouldn’t still be out torturing yourself every night. He’s gone and you need to move on.”

  “But you’re him.” The girl is sobbing uncontrollably now. The tears and snot meet at her chin and the rainwater attempts to wash away the mess. Her eyes are bright red and she looks at me for only a second before returning her gaze to Chael.