Paper Planes and Other Things We Lost

by Michele G Miller

“You’ve reached the Kaminiski’s. Sorry, we’re unable to come to the phone right now, but if you leave us a message, we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.”

  A million words and questions beg to be released—I hang up. If Mr. Kaminski doesn’t know, I don’t want to get Ruby in trouble. I’ll wait for her to call with her explanation.

  Everything will be fine.

  I fall into bed close to midnight. Our phone never rings, and Ruby never answers her line.

  Did I imagine this all?

  CAN’T BREAK IT TO MY HEART

  Ruby

  MONDAY, JUNE 21

  I struggle up the stairs with one of Nana’s suitcases. “Geez, Nana. I didn’t realize you had some many clothes.”

  She follows close behind me. We won’t let her lift or carry anything, so she’s orders us around, telling Dad and me where to put her things. Apparently, the boss in her hasn’t been affected.

  “I’m a woman. We all have too many clothes.”

  Her speech isn’t as measured and slow as it was a few days ago, but the left side of her face is still droopy. How long will it stay that way? Maybe it’s never going to go away.

  “Do you want me to hang up your tops or put them in the chest of drawers?” I set her suitcase on top of the bed and unzip it for her.

  “I can hang those.” She steps up to her open suitcase.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I might not be able to lift anything, but I think I can handle hanging some lightweight material on hangers.”

  I chuckle. “Okay, Nana.” I’m sure she needs this. She’s never been the type of woman to allow other people to do things for her. Having limitations must be killing her.

  Dad crashes through the bedroom door, carrying what appears to be an incredibly heavy box. “Mom, what did you pack in here? Gold bars?”

  “Stefan, if I had gold bars lying around, do you think I’d still be living in that old house and driving around in an Oldsmobile?”

  He drops the box in the middle of the room. “You’re a frugal woman. I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  “Well, I can’t argue that.” She laughs. “You two take a break. I’ll unpack. If I need help, I’ll holler.”

  ***

  “Okay,” Dad comes into my room as I lay, staring up at my paper planes, “so we need to figure out how to get an apartment lined up without going to New York. I’m not letting you fly out there alone to search for one. I started doing some digging last night—”

  “It’s okay, Dad. I’m not going.”

  “What do you mean you’re not going.”

  I keep my eyes trained on the ceiling. “I really don’t want to talk about it, okay? Please? Just accept I’m not going. I’ve made my decision. I’m going to grovel at Berkeley’s feet and pray they let me back in.”

  “Ruby—” I stop him again. The tone in his voice is enough. I know what he’s trying to do. He’s not going to change my mind. I can’t go. I won’t leave him and Nana. At least only being forty minutes away at Berkeley, I’ll be able to come home multiple times during the week to check in on Nana and him. This is how it’s supposed to be.

  I sit up. “Dad, it’s okay. I’m happy with Berkeley. I want to be closer to you and Nana right now.” It’s not a complete lie. It’s closer to the truth than I let myself get before. “When I thought we might lose Nana, too. . .” I sniffle and rub the back of my hand under my nose, blinking away the oncoming tears. “I’m not ready to be away from family yet, okay?”

  He sighs before he hesitantly says, “Okay.”

  “Can I please be alone right now?”

  “Yeah, we’re watching some shows downstairs if you want to come down.”

  I nod and lay back as he closes the door behind him.

  Brett’s colorful island paper plane stares back at me, hovering in the center of the rest. How am I going to tell him I’m not going to NYU anymore? I’ve thought about picking up the phone so many times, but I can’t do it. If Brett tries to convince me to go, I might. The sound of his voice alone could sway me.

  I’m a coward, but chasing my dreams isn’t as important as being with family now. I can’t regret this decision. I can’t back down, no matter what.

  END OF THE ROAD

  Brett

  TUESDAY, JUNE 22

  The house is back to normal. Gram flew home, Cole is in New York, Amber is next to me watching television, and I’m sulking. Derek calls to get me out to the skate park, and I decline. Mike calls twenty minutes later with the same request, and I decline once more.

  “You can’t stay in the house waiting for her call forever, you know.” She hits the mute button on some show where women are fighting over a crop of guys no self-respecting woman would ever fight over.

  “State is going to send you a rejection letter when they find out you watch that crap.”

  “Hardy, har, har.” Her hand sinks into an open box of cereal. “Did you steal the toy again?”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t live until the—” I stretch my neck to get a look at the box and see what she’s looking for, “—finger puppet was mine.” I roll my eyes.

  “You used to always steal the toys.”

  “Yeah, when my age was in single digits. I’ve grown up since then, you should try it.”

  Amber spins in her seat, sitting up and setting the cereal on the table in front of her. “You are so grumpy, call Ruby again.”

  “I’ve called her. She’s never there.”

  “Did you leave a message?” I shrug. “No? Why not? Brett call the girl and leave her a message. Maybe she’s wondering why you didn’t call yet.”

  “I highly doubt that. She could have called me.” Amber glares. “Fine, I’ll call again.”

  “And leave a message,” she calls after me as I leave the room with the cordless phone in hand.

  “And I’ll leave a message,” I repeat.

  I dial her number. Leave a message, don’t hang up. The line rings, one . . . two . . . three times before the familiar machine kicks in. Beep.

  “Um, Ruby, hey, it’s Brett. I’m worried about you, and your dad. You didn’t make it to the memorial . . . is everything okay? I hope so, I hope you’re all safe and, and . . . okay. Um, call me please.” My finger lingers over the button to hang up. I add, “I’m going crazy here, Ruby. Please call me.”

  I toss the phone on my bed and throw myself down. Beside me are the piles of colorful pictures I worked on all weekend. My floor is littered with the pages that didn’t make the cut. My desk is covered with the ones that do. Dancers, islands, skyscrapers and Broadway signs. I’ve drawn mountains and trees, surfboards and beaches, and new designs for my skateboard. Anything to keep my mind busy as I wait to hear from Ruby. I can’t do it anymore.

  I throw a baseball cap on, grab my music and board, and bolt out of the house. I need the clarity and freedom only the rush of wind gives me. My entire body is sore when I return home. It’s a good sore, though. The type that wears you out so thoroughly you can’t wait to lay down and sleep like a hibernating bear.

  Except there’s a letter taped to the front door for me to find. Sleep will wait.

  Nana had a stroke . . . don’t want you to worry about me . . . I feel awful . . . forgive me. I so desperately wanted to see you in person . . . Maybe someday we’ll get this figured out . . .

  She had time to write. Why didn’t she call? I would have called her. It’s been five and a half days. I don’t understand. No, it’s fine. What does it matter? Nana is sick. Ruby is upset. She wrote, she’s okay. She wrote, she wanted to see me. This something we have is something. I didn’t imagine it.

  My brain works overtime, rationalizing events and things said and not said, things done and not done. I shower, eat dinner, and think some more. Finally settling down.

  After all is said and done, nothing matters but hearing her voice. I recall the day she called me to tell me about her mom’s body being found. How being able to be there for her, to listen to her cry w
as the greatest feeling I’d had in a long time. That’s what she needs right now. Or maybe it’s what I need.

  ***

  I stare at the phone. I stare at the clock. It’s dinnertime in California. 6 PM. Tuesday night. Surely, she’s there. She has to be there.

  The musical tone of each number I press is seared on my brain. It’s like a song.

  One ring.

  Two rings.

  “Hello?”

  Crap, crap, crap! “Ruby! Finally, are you okay?” The words rush out. I’m an overeager puppy. Calm down, Brett.

  “Brett, hi. Umm . . . hold on . . . uh . . . let me get to my bedroom.” She clears her throat.

  “Sure, of course.” My heart goes crazy.

  There’s muffled movement on the other end of the line. “Sorry about that. I was with my dad and Nana watching TV.”

  “Your Nana. Shoot, I’m sorry I should have asked about her first. I was just so—” I hesitate. Oh, what the heck. No more hiding. “I was worried about you. Your letter came this afternoon. How is she, how are you and your dad, of course?”

  “We’re okay. She’s going to be living with us for a little bit while she recovers. It was really scary, but she’s doing better.” Her voice changes, softens. “Brett, I’m so sorry.”

  “What are you sorry about? I’m the one who’s sorry. I can’t imagine how scared you were. I know how much she means to you.”

  “I’m fine, really. I feel so awful for worrying you. I hate that you’ve been waiting for this long to know what happened.”

  “Well, I’m not going to lie and say it was fun.” I chuckle nervously. It’s lame. “I called you, a lot. I didn’t leave a message, though. I didn’t know if your dad knew who I was. I didn’t know what to say. Until this morning. I kind of cracked today. I couldn’t stand not knowing. Your letter came at the right time.”

  “I should’ve called you back this morning, but after we got home from her doctor’s appointment, we ate dinner and . . .” She pauses. “I’d have called sooner, but I didn’t know when you were going to be home. And I told my dad about you awhile ago. He found your letter a few months back when he came home early from work.”

  “Oh. I psyched myself out for nothing then?” I laugh nervously again. What am I doing?

  “I’m screwing up all over the place and stressing you out. I could’ve mentioned that earlier. I don’t know why I never did.”

  And now she blames herself. Way to go. I cough lightly, “I’m sorry you missed the memorial.”

  “I’m sorry, too. I wanted to be there so badly. For her.” She pauses. “For you.”

  “I missed you, too.” The silence is deafening. “When do you think you’ll make it here for school? You guys still need to pick out an apartment and stuff, don’t you?”

  She hesitates. “Brett, I need to tell you something.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m not going to NYU.”

  “You’re . . . um, what?” I swallow hard.

  She inhales deeply. “I know. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the last few days. And I can’t leave my dad with Nana like this. She’s dealing with a little bit of memory loss, and she’s still trying to gain her motor skills back, and we don’t know how long that will take. There’s too much to worry about, and I can’t leave it all up to my dad, especially when he still needs someone to take care of him.”

  “You’re not coming to New York? You’re staying there. In California. What about—” me? Us? “—your dreams? Are you sure?”

  She sniffles. “I’m positive. This is what I have to do. This how it has to be.”

  Of course. Of course she’s staying. This is her Gram, her Nana. I’d do the same thing, wouldn’t I? But then why . . . “Why didn’t you call me? Maybe not Thursday or Friday, or even Saturday, for that matter. But today is Tuesday. Would you have ever called me, or was your letter all I was going to get?”

  “I know.” Crap, she’s crying now. Good work, Brett. “I know. I should’ve called. It’s just been really overwhelming going back and forth to the hospital and getting her moved in. And—” She stops.

  “You couldn’t find time . . . I get it.” Pity party for one, coming right up. “I’m sorry, I’m shocked, is all. I thought we—” Nope, it’s doesn’t matter now, does it? She’s not coming. “Sorry, I really wanted to meet you. I drew you a picture. I’ll mail it to you. Maybe it will help your Nana get better quicker.” I ignore the sinking feeling invading my stomach. Evade. Amber does it so well. I’ll push whatever feelings I have down into the empty caverns of my soul.

  “I can’t wait to get it. I’m sure it will help a lot.” Her voice is quiet, apologetic.

  “Good. Okay then, I will write you a letter. Sometime soon.”

  She hesitates. “Sometime soon . . . Okay.”

  What more can I say? My throat tightens. This sucks. I need air, I can’t think. I mutter a ‘goodbye’ and Ruby’s voice is ragged as she replies in turn.

  The phone shuffles on the other end. No, no, no! “Wait! Ruby?”

  “I’m still here.”

  I muster every ounce of courage I have to force my voice from my throat. “I wanted it to be you.”

  Click.

  HERE’S WHERE THE STORY ENDS

  Ruby

  TUESDAY, JUNE 22

  Click.

  I drop the phone with a thud as it hits the carpet at my feet. Everything I knew about a broken heart shatters the moment he hangs up. I fling myself onto my bed and let my tears run freely. Burying my face in my pillows, I let it all out.

  I thought we—

  I thought we did too, Brett! He felt it. I wasn’t alone in my feelings. This wasn’t all in my head. We were this close to being something great. I wanted us to have a chance so desperately.

  There was no way for me to tell Brett I couldn’t call him because he’s the only one who has the power to change my mind. He’s the only one who has the power to change my mind because . . . I love him. Fabulous. This is when the revelation comes? Perfect timing, heart.

  I know—deep in my gut—everything about us will now be referred to in past tense. We used to write letters. He used to draw me pictures. We used to make each other laugh. We made each other happy once.

  I loved him.

  The tether stretching across the U.S. no longer glows radiantly. It snaps, leaving two gray strings dangling in the sky, aimlessly wandering with no destination, nothing to tie them back together.

  I’ll forever be haunted by his last words.

  I wanted it to be you.

  I wanted it to be you.

  I wanted it to be you.

  I wanted it to be you so badly, Brett.

  WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

  Brett

  TUESDAY, JUNE 22

  I hang up and my hand immediately itches to call her back.

  “. . . we hurt people when we’re hurt.”

  That’s what I told Amber. I never imagined my someone to hurt would be Ruby.

  WEDNESDAY, JUNE 23

  Heartache doesn’t feel any better in the light of day. Truth does though, and the truth of the matter is Ruby and I are merely two teens with a lifetime ahead of us.

  Ruby,

  Let me tell you about the Brett I was before June of 1992. I was an adventurer. Thrill seeking was my number one pastime. I wasn’t a partier, although I didn’t mind a good one every now and then. I’ve never been a drinker. I hate smoking and drugs.

  Girls always came second to having a good time with my buds. I dated, but nothing serious. You only live one life, right?

  Then my parents died.

  And one of the last things my dad said to me was, “Watch out for your sister.” Suddenly, the fun Pratt became a parent. I became obsessed with being the son my parents could be proud of. I worked harder this last year in school than ever before. I was never a bad student, but I worked my butt off senior year to make them proud. It meant giving up my time with my buds, it meant trailing Amber to p
arties, it meant finding myself miserably angry and done with everything at the turn of the new year.

  Then you came along.

  Like a light in a dark room, you wrote one letter and made me smile. I’ve re-read those early letters, and looking at them now, I honestly don’t know what it was about them that touched me so deeply. I think it was because of where my head was at the time. It needed you, and it needed Hope.

  Hope and I became a couple for the same reason you and I bonded. She met a need. You met a need. I don’t mean to sound harsh and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way. You gave me an outlet for talking about my parents. You knew what it was like. You made me laugh.

  Then you made me question everything.

  I was falling for Hope. For the first time since Miranda Nevy in the sixth grade, I was wanting a relationship. Except for one little thing. You. I looked at Hope and I saw you. I kissed Hope and my brain betrayed me, imagining it was you.

  You came into my life by chance, Ruby Kaminski. You weren’t meant for me; you were meant for Amber. I stole you from her. And you stole my heart. Only it never should have happened. If we had been meant for each other, you would be coming to New York. You would have made it to the memorial. Fate had other plans, didn’t it?

  And here we are.

  You go to Berkley, and you dance circles around those other students until your name is shining in great, big lights on Broadway someday. I’m going to go to State and find my path, too. I don’t want to be sad about what’s to come. I don’t want to regret meeting you in paper planes.

  Life is this crazy game of chance and odds. Let’s see what it throws at us next.