Gone, Gone, Gone

by Hannah Moskowitz

Lio

  God, Lio. What am I going to do with him?

  I resist the urge to open his email up next to Cody’s and compare them. I know which email is better. I know which boy I . . . I think I know which boy I want. So it doesn’t matter.

  I sleep.

  I dream about Cody.

  I wake up feeling dizzy and sick at five in the morning and go upstairs for more food—more food solves everything. And even though there wasn’t a shooting all day, I’m not going back to school, my parents tell me. Because obviously no shooting yesterday means there has to be a shooting today. Exactly like whenever there’s a shooting it means there’s going to be another right after. My parents have gone crazy.

  Dad is going to a meeting with some other principals or the school board or something, and his hands are shaking around his tie. Today they’re figuring out if they’re going to close the local schools.

  I notice for the first time this note by the phone, folded up with my name on it. How long has it been there?

  And inside is the world’s smallest smiley face.

  LIO

  I’M GETTING PRETTY FUCKING SCARED OF GOING TO school. In the car, I ask Dad, “I’ll go today, but can I stay home tomorrow?”

  There are teachers lined up outside the school to make sure I don’t get shot on my way in.

  He takes one of my hands and squeezes. “Yeah, champ. If it makes you feel better.”

  Michelle hasn’t been back since it happened. A lot of the kids from her school haven’t, I think.

  No Craig at school, not that I’m supposed to be looking for him. Second day in a row. And today is the one-week anniversary of realizing I’m in love with him. Yay, my life.

  I celebrate the occasion by attending a Gay-Straight Alliance meeting after school, before therapy. I told my dad this morning that I was going. He nodded and said, “Have fun.” I’m so confused about what he wants me to be and who he thinks I am.

  Everyone mills around, waiting for the meeting to start. There are a few flamboyantly gay guys, who I envy and fear at the same time, and some girls in black buckled boots and eyeliner with really long hair.

  This is my first GSA meeting ever. And I’m here for the sole purpose of picking up boys. Hopefully a few of them. I need one to make out with, but I would also like a posse.

  But more girls come in, dominating the meeting, and there are only three boys who don’t scare the fuck out of me. My radar immediately locks on one—Jack Johannson, he says, when we go around introducing ourselves. Alliterative first and last names are my favorite. Like Peter Parker or Ben Bruckner. Amazing.

  We talk about dental dams and this talent show coming up and gender-queerness, which is a concept that I want to understand but don’t, yet. I sit and listen and don’t talk. Afterward, we mill around and eat chips and soda. I am the only one who doesn’t drink diet. I love gay boys so much.

  I make a beeline to Jack and give him my I’m short and isn’t it cute? smile. Can I do this without talking?

  Apparently so. He smiles at me and holds out his hand. “That’ll get you far. What’s your name, kid?”

  I shake his hand. “Lio.”

  “Like Tolstoy.”

  “Uh-uh. L-i-o, short for Liam. Which is short for William.”

  “A nickname of a nickname.”

  I missed being teased. Craig is too nice to do it. “Can’t get much more abbreviated than that. Soon I’ll just be a thoughtful pause.” This is an old joke, so it isn’t hard to get out.

  He laughs a little. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

  “I’m new. Transfer.”

  “How are you liking the meeting? Are you a freshman?”

  “Hey. Sophomore.”

  He grins and sips from his cup. “Sorry, sorry.”

  “You?”

  “Senior.”

  Ho buddy.

  He takes an Oreo off the table and looks around. Damn. It must be my turn to talk. Um . . . shit. Okay. I say, “So, do you come here a lot?”

  He says, “My best friend actually founded the group. Her name is Leah, funny enough.” He gestures toward her. She’s one of the girls in boots.

  I say, “Hey, that’s like me,” in a dry voice, because clearly that’s the point. He laughs.

  He says, “Yeah, she and her girlfriend were getting some shit written about them in the bathrooms. It was completely cliché and disgusting. We never thought we even needed a GSA branch here, but there you go. And the school was surprisingly open to it, and I think it’s been helpful.”

  “You’re straight, aren’t you?”

  He chuckles in that way again. “Yeah, I put the S in GSA.”

  I snap my fingers like, “damn it.”

  He’s still smiling. “I’m too old for you anyway.”

  And then he gives me a hug.

  He asks me how I’m coping with freshman year. I make a face and hit him. Then he asks how I’m coping with the shootings. I give him my usual one-word answers, but he says, out of nowhere, “You’re used to saying a lot with your eyes, aren’t you?”

  It scares me, being noticed. But I nod. Because I like that I didn’t have to play the dead brother card or the cancer card for him to understand that there’s stuff I’m not saying.

  Sometimes, it’s nice to remember that I have stuff I’m not saying.

  Maybe I’m not as talked out as I thought.

  Because there are things I should have said last night when Craig was telling me that he wasn’t ready, and telling me that I wasn’t ready.

  I should have said:

  It’s up to me whether I’m okay with the possibility of being broken.

  Plus, I’m a tough little son of a bitch, and don’t you forget it.

  If you really don’t want to be with me, you cannot slide out of it sideways. You have to mean it.

  Tomorrow is the one-week anniversary of realizing I’m in love with you.

  I catch my breath.

  I should have said something. And this is maybe the first time I have ever really meant that.

  Jack says, “You okay?”

  “Thinking about a boy.”

  And then Jack makes me talk about Craig. And I do.

  I tell him everything.

  “Yeah,” Jack says. “You need to fight for this boy.”

  And then he tells me about his ex-girlfriend, and we get more chips.

  Eventually, Jasper calls me and says she’s here to bring me to therapy. I tell Jack I have to go spill my issues to a paid professional, and he says, “All right, frosh—”

  “I’m a sophomore!”

  “—get moving. I’ll watch from the window and make sure you’re safe.”

  And he does. He really does. He goes upstairs with me, and I look back while I’m walking—running—to Jasper’s car. He waves.

  I feel really good about all of this, but it’s not much to brag about to Craig.

  That evening, after therapy, there’s another shooting. A guy gets shot while pumping gas.

  It seems so awful and surreal. Couldn’t he have been doing something else? Anything else? Didn’t he watch the news? Is anyone but me and the fucking sniper watching the news?

  We’re safe at school. We’re safe at the gas station. So where the fuck are we really safe?

  Jack IMs me. I tell him I’m scared but not any more scared than I feel like I’m supposed to be, and he says: good. u hold on. C u tomorrow, freshman.

  I have a friend. I really do. And he’s really my first friend in Maryland, in a lot of ways, because Craig doesn’t IM me.

  And I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t care about the sniper, or because he doesn’t care about me.

  So I open up a chat window for him.

  I start a conversation. It’s not the conversation we need to have, but it’s something.

  He deserves that.

  CRAIG

  I’M HAPPY FOR THE KID AND EVERYTHING, BUT REALLY, how the fuck does Lio get a friend before me? I live he
re.

  told you i could do it :) Lio IMs me. I want to rip out that smiley’s eyes.

  But I just say, you’re awesome.

  More importantly, how did I get through more than a year at this school without it bothering me that I have no friends?

  Oh, right: Cody.

  Oh, right: Lio.

  I don’t really feel sorry for myself. After all, it’s all my fault. And the truth is, I could have friends if I wanted them, but I don’t really want them. Honestly, if I could be friends with anyone in the world right now, and this sounds really stupid, it wouldn’t be the kids in the cafeteria who are so charmed they even get their food for free, or that junior girl who everyone says is really hot, or Mansfield or anyone else in my karate class. I think I’d choose my brother.

  But he doesn’t have time for me.

  So I guess I feel a little sorry for myself. And that night I realize I’ve started spending more and more time outside, standing there, volunteering. Not to get shot. I’m not going to get shot. But I’m all right with welcoming the possibility of something happening. To me. Anything.

  To me instead of to Cody instead of to Todd instead of to Lio.

  Because a part of me is nervous for him that he went to GSA alone, that he had to talk to people he didn’t know, that he didn’t have backup, that he was probably scared, and even though nothing bad happened and it’s over, I am still nervous, and this is one of those lines again that I am not supposed to cross.

  I have to find my animals. I have to find them. Every single one. A lady calls who found a cat a while ago and just saw one of my posters and thinks it might be Zebra. She sends me a picture.

  Sometimes I believe in angels.

  One cat.

  One rabbit.

  A guinea pig.

  Slowly, they’re still trickling home. But I know there’s going to be a day when the trickle will

  stop

  and then no more animals.

  But until then.

  Craig—

  Hope you’re doing SWELL. Can we bring “swell” back?

  Lio

  This is a stupid email and it’s stupid. And I’m stupid.

  And stupid Lio is stupid, too. And his hot friend. Well, I haven’t seen him, but Lio doesn’t seem the type to make friends with ugly people. I’m going to tell myself that Lio is really shallow. Shallow shallow Lio.

  Yeah. Sure.

  Lio’s tragic flaw isn’t that he’s shallow, it’s that he’s . . .

  God, I don’t know.

  I need to stop acting like I know the boy.

  It’s just a few IMs and a kiss.

  His tragic flaw is that he is a walking tragedy, and his smile makes me feel alive.

  Friday morning, another guy dies pumping gas. Mom comes home that night and says she didn’t remember putting gas in the car, but the tank was full. Todd doesn’t make eye contact, but she hugs him hard, then smacks him and tells him he’s stupid. I feel like an intruder.

  Mansfield has a girlfriend. Her name is Chelsea. Chelsea and Mansfield. He talks about her through our entire karate class, and between kicks, he’s telling me how they got to third base in the back of the bus under the cover of his ski jacket.

  “It was so hot,” he says. “Hot and wet.”

  I say, “I’m surprised you even ride buses.” I try not to sound jealous that he’s still going to school. “Are the windows made of bulletproof glass?”

  “Ha ha ha. Seriously, you have no idea what it’s like. It’s like . . . Christmas.”

  “Third base is Christmas?”

  “Pussy is Christmas.”

  Ew. I hate that word. Like girls have animals in their pants or something. I have no desire to know what girls have in their pants but I do really hope none of it is alive, and I don’t think even newborn kittens in a girl’s pants could make me go down there. This is so gross. Why am I still thinking about this? I hate karate.

  Afterward, when I’m safely in my mom’s car where no bullets can ever get me, Mom pulls up at our house and says, “Is that Lio?”

  Yes, that’s Lio. He’s standing at my door, shaking a little, looking around nervously. I give him a quick hug, and his heart’s beating so fast. “You okay?”

  He nods.

  “Did our car scare you?”

  He nods again.

  “Shit, I’m sorry.”

  I scared him.

  What is he doing here?

  He says, softly, “Jasper had to drop me off. She couldn’t wait.”

  “Oh, um, okay.” I let him into the house. “Here. I’ll get you something to drink.”

  Now that he’s inside, he’s calming down. He takes off his jacket, and his skin is that plain ghost white, his collar too high to show the scar on his chest, and his skin is probably fifteen shades lighter than mine, and I know there are a shitload of people in the world with lighter skin than mine and it’s really nothing I’m generally excited about or anything, but his feels sort of like a miracle right now, I can’t explain it. It’s just that every single thing about him is a miracle.

  And something just broke open inside of me, seeing him here, at my table, in his jacket in his skin in my house in my head exactly how I pictured him, making me feel alive even though he isn’t smiling, exactly as gorgeous as I remembered he was, and he is here he came back, and my car scared him but I didn’t.

  I did not scare him away, I wasn’t too crazy or too needy and he came back.

  And he starts to say, “I left my hat here,” but he has to say the last few words against my mouth because I cannot believe how badly I have to kiss him. I’m kissing him in the kitchen in front of my mom. I’m such an idiot.

  But it feels right.

  It’s not our first kiss, and it’s not our first good kiss, but it’s the first one that feels right.

  And we keep going until Mom clears her throat.

  We’re in my basement again. We’re having the same talk, but different, because this time Lio is talking too.

  He says, “I’ve been talking to Jack all day. He says I’d be crazy not to fight for you. Gloves are off.”

  I’m saying, “I really like you. I’m still in love with Cody.”

  “I know you’re still in love with Cody.”

  “I’m not sure how or when that’s ever going to stop.”

  “Okay.”

  “But this is my life and, who knows, we could get shot any minute.”

  Lio nods. “Or get cancer.”

  “Or get cancer. Except not you.” And I put my arms all the way around him. I don’t love him because he’s little anymore. I love him including he’s little.

  Fuck, I didn’t mean to say love.

  It wasn’t out loud, but I get the feeling he heard it anyway.

  And that’s okay right now. I love him including loving Cody, and I love him including loving him.

  Lio talks. Lio talks a lot. This is so incredibly weird.

  “I didn’t go to school on Friday,” he says.

  “Yeah, neither did I.”

  “My dad says I don’t have to go back until I’m ready. I think Adelle wants me to go, but she says I should do what I’m comfortable with.”

  I keep touching him, his cheek, his back, the scar on his chest, to make sure he’s still Lio.

  Then I swallow and say, “Are you talking because of Jack?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m talking because I wanted to talk about you.” He grins. “And now I’m talking to you.”

  He tastes like Lio.

  Lio Lio Lio. I want to say it forever. I could whisper it to him while he falls asleep. I am full of stupid thoughts like this.

  “Look how many more animals you have!” He touches every single one he can get his hands on. He has to ask each one of their names about twenty times, but I don’t mind. My parents do too.

  “Hey hey hey, do you want to go outside and look some more?” I ask. I’m so excited I’m nearly bouncing. “I’m sure there are more still
out there, probably they’re sensing the ones that have come home and they’re on their way. We could go get them!”

  But the way he looks at me makes me wish I hadn’t said anything. God, he’s scared. What is he so scared about? Isn’t he the one who taught me about odds? What are the chances, out of all the people in the Maryland-D.C.-Virginia metropolis, we’ll be the ones to be shot?

  A few days ago, he was the one to suggest we go outside. And I was the one who told him we didn’t have to.

  Today he says, “Okay.”

  “I’m going to New York on Monday,” he says when we get to the top of the hill.

  I look at him. He’s not looking at me.

  “For just a few days.” He keeps rubbing his nose and looking at the ground. I want to shake the words out of him. Gently.

  “Why are you going to New York?” I say.

  “My mom.”

  “Your mom’s still in New York?”

  He nods.

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Dad thinks if I’m going to not go to school, I should at least be taking care of Michelle. And she really wants to go. I guess . . . I don’t know. I guess Michelle’s thinking of going to live with her long-term. I guess she doesn’t feel safe here.”

  “What about you?” My voice sounds stupid and too small for me.

  He looks at me. “Craiger, it’s just a visit.” He touches my hand. “I promise. I’ll be back.”

  “You better be.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  We find Hail, my last rabbit, and he’s dead, and something has picked him apart a little. His eyes are closed. He looks like it hurt.

  God damn it. My chest hurts.

  “Shit,” Lio says, softly.

  But I take a deep breath, and I’m the one who says, “It’s okay. Look, it’s going to be okay.”

  “Sleep upstairs with me?” he begs. “Your parents won’t know.”

  I shake my head. “They’re light sleepers.”

  They’re not. They slept through a fucking burglary, for God’s sake.

  It’s just that the thing is that the last time I slept in that bed, I was with Cody.

  No, I wasn’t, but I was still crying about how Cody was gone and how I was never, ever going to be able to deal.

  And I don’t want to think about Cody tonight. Even though I think about Cody every night. Even though as soon as Lio leaves the room, I’m going to hit refresh on my email and beg Cody to talk to me. I’m going to fall asleep with his name on my brain.