Hollow Sight

by Kristie Pierce

  Two days after that, I saw him driving in the neighboring town of Carrington. I was on my way to meet Elly for lunch and stopped at one of the lights in town. He was turning left on to the main road and his car passed within feet of mine as he sped past. I couldn’t tell if he’d been looking at me or not because of his deeply tinted windows. I tried not to seem obvious when I was looking, but I’m sure that anyone would’ve been able to tell that I was hopelessly staring into his direction. I cried when I got home that day, and crying is not something I allow myself to do. Crying means that I’m weak and pathetic. Crying means that I still care when he clearly doesn't. And crying sends me into a downward spiral.

  I dread Monday’s, Wednesday’s, and Friday’s – eighth period Calculus. The class hasn’t moved seating assignments all year, and I’m still one desk behind and over from him. So close to touch, to speak to. Those are the worst days in my schedule. I’d actually run right smack into him a month ago, when I was running late for class as I never really watch where I’m going. He and I had been trying to come through the small doorframe at the same time and I bounced off his muscular body like an idiot, dropping my things. He bent down politely and quickly helped me gather my book and papers, but otherwise paid me no attention. He didn’t speak to me – no eye contact either. When I’d muttered a small “thank you”, all he managed in return was a nod into my general direction. At least he’d acknowledged my presence. Or at least that’s what I’d allowed myself to hope to think, until I saw that he was motioning toward someone else in the class. They’d been talking over me as he helped pick up my things, so he hadn’t heard my raspy gratitude.

  The only satisfaction I received out of Calculus was the day Amber noticed his coolness toward me and tried to make her move. After all this time she still hadn’t given up. She sauntered over to him and perched her body on top of his desk, showing off her long legs with the mini-skirt she wore that day. She classically reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, but he caught it midair and simply looked up to meet her confidant gaze and said, “Not if the human race depended on it, Amber. Superficial just isn't my type.”

  She, in all too typical form, shot him a look that made me think, if looks could kill…

  I’d only allowed myself one week of crying in the beginning before I fell asleep at night. I’d never felt more vulnerable and helpless in all my life. I would wake with swollen red eyes every morning feeling even more pitiful than I looked. I’d gotten angry with myself within that time, scolding and cursing the way I allowed despair to rule me. I have never been this way. Especially not over someone else. But he isn’t just someone else.

  He’s everything.

  I’m always pushing back tears, though. After allowing the misery to control my life for seven days straight, I’d made a deal with myself not to let it have me anymore. I sometimes wonder if the headache is from the week-long crying jag.

  It’s a daily effort to continue on normally – whatever normal is. It’s hard to be normal with all the chaotic thoughts in my head. I can’t make sense of them, therefore I can’t make sense of myself. It’s a constant fight – a relentless fight that I’ve come to be pretty good, surprisingly, at winning. But it’s only the daily battles I’m victorious over. My overall war has yet to be won.

  “See you later, Breckin.” Mrs. Kemp says as I head toward the door.

  I come out of my daze to answer her. “Bye.” My voice is deadpan.

  I reach my locker and refuse to look over to where he’s standing. I know he’s there – I’m always hyperaware of his presence – but I will not allow my eyes stray from the dial to my locker. I spin it, stopping at each digit slowly. When I lift the latch, of course the stupid door sticks. I try the trick he had taught me what feels like forever ago, but can never get it to work quite the way he had. The only way I've ever been able to get my locker to budge is to heave on the door until it swings open, and that’s after kicking the bottom of it.

  I gather my books for my next day’s classes. Today had been easy – odd numbered periods. I decide to get ahead on my reading since I don’t have anything else planned for the evening. My good planning leaves me dragging my book bag behind me. The poor thing already has a small hole wearing in the bottom of it from my many trips through the parking lot with it towing behind. I pull my heavy winter coat and scarf from the small space of my locker and shake it out, hoping to bring some life back into the crumpled material. I think it looks exactly the way I feel; crumpled and defeated. I don my knit hat and rummage through my coat pockets to find my gloves. When I slam my locker door shut, there’s an unexpected visitor standing beside it.

  Evie stands with her arms crossed over her chest and her beautiful, transparent face appears annoyed. I’m not completely in shock to see her – I’ve been seeing her quite a lot lately. This annoys the hell out of me because I automatically recall what he’d said about not being able to move on from her. That her presence is still something he can sense, thanks to me. Something I knew long before he did. So how in the world is he supposed to forget her when she continues to come around? She’s never come this close before, however. I only usually see her from across the hall or on the other side of a classroom, but always near him.

  I stand wide eyed and dumbfounded as her face is only a foot from mine.

  “Do you mind telling me what you’re doing?” she asks in her high soprano voice, clear as a bell.

  I can’t answer her – I’m too busy wondering why she’s talking to me. And I’m still baffled to the fact that I am able to hear her so clearly. Other spirits are mostly a muffled, thick sound, and I’ve been an expert in ignoring them lately. Even though it isn’t exactly news to me, that I can hear her so well, being I’d already experienced it that awful day in my room. But it still leaves me standing motionless, mouth hanging open, until I’m able to compose myself.

  “Going home,” I manage to whisper as I reach down to retrieve my bag. Evie won’t be able to hear my thoughts the way Sera can.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about. You’re going to ruin everything.”

  “What are you talking about? Ruin what?” I say through unmoving lips.

  When I straighten up to look at her, she’s gone. Huh. That was weird. At least I don’t have to hear whatever it was she had to say. Right now, I don’t care. The annoyance of her being there is creeping up inside of me.

  I reach the Bronco as all the other students are leaving the lot. I hear the purr of his exhaust leaving the drive to the school, but force myself not to look. I don’t notice Axel standing there as I approach until he hollers at me.

  “C’mon, slow poke,” he yells. “It’s cold out here.”

  Axel’s been extremely understanding considering he’s my little brother and probably couldn’t care less about my love life. But he’d noticed I was off and didn’t ever believe me when I’d told him I was fine. He said fine was girl-code for devastated, sad, angry, and/or all of the above. He continuously badgered me, until finally one day I broke down and explained what had happened – leaving out the details of course that I can see ghosts. What a cliché. I see dead people. Just like that kid in the movie. Boy, had Axel gotten a lot more than he’d bargained for when I finally let loose. Poor kid, he didn’t know what to do with me. But he listened and glamorously shoved tissues up my nose as I cried. I laugh without humor to the memory as I reach my old gal.

  “Want to come over to do some homework? Looks like you got a lot.” Axel knows I don’t like to be alone if I can help it.

  “Um, sure.”

  “You can stay for dinner, too, if ya want.”

  “We’ll see. I don’t know what time Elly will be home. She may be home in time to eat with me.”

  “Okay. Whatever works for you.”

  “Hey,” I say across the rusty hood of my heap. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

  “I don’t mind,” he answers teasingly as he comes over to rip the hat from my head and muss my hair. “Y
ou’ve taken care of me all these years, so I figure it’s my turn.”

  He throws my hat back at me as we both climb into my Bronco. We have to sit for a few minutes while the old defroster does its job. I watch the ice and snow melt from the glass of the windshield as it shapes growing oblong ovals where the heat touches it. I can’t believe that it’s December already. It’s sort of unusual to have this much snow before Christmas. Usually the bad weather comes after the holidays. January and February tend to be Michigan’s worst months. Well, lower Michigan anyway.

  “I’m surprised that you have that much homework the week before Christmas break,” Axel observes.

  I blink a couple of times. I hadn’t realized the date – that it’s that late into the month already. Hadn’t Thanksgiving just past?

  “It’s tomorrow’s assignments,” I say softly.

  “Nerd.” Axel snorts.

  When the windshield is clear of snow and ice, I shift my clunker into first gear and head toward the other Nicolai residence. It’s usually a short drive, but today it takes longer because I can’t seem to get my poor old gal above the fifteen mile-per-hour mark. Good thing the speed limit is only twenty-five through the side streets of town, otherwise I’d probably get pulled over for impeding traffic.

  “Good talk,” Axel says as I pull into his drive.

  “Huh?” I mumble, confused.

  “I’ve been talking to you the entire time and you’ve just been sitting there. Usually you at least pretend like you’re listening. What gives?”

  “Nothing. The date just took me off guard is all. And I have a headache. I’m fine though, it’s nothing.”

  “So does this mean you didn’t get me anything for Christmas?” he jokes with a look of mock horror.

  “Har har. What did you get me, smart ass?”

  “My prismatic and magnetic presence is gift enough.”

  “Sure it is. Hey, I’m just gonna go on home. This headache probably won’t help with my concentration. My homework isn’t that important.”

  Axel appraises me through squinted eyes before he opens the door to get out. A sudden gust of wind whirls through the air and into the truck, waking me up a little.

  “’Kay. Be careful. See you tomorrow,” he calls as he slams the door.

  “See ya.” I mutter after the door slams. I don’t think he heard me.

  I drive home slowly, not allowing the vehicle to reach the speed limit again although she’s more than capable. The wind is blowing, whipping snow drifts across the road. The Bronco shakes from the force of the powerful gusts and I can hear it howling around her big clunky frame. As I pass the sporadically placed houses on my way home, I notice red bows, wreaths, and garland decorating porches and trees. Lawn ornaments stand out with the contrast of the white snow and I can see strategically placed unlit twinkle lights hanging from eaves troughs. The more I think of the approaching holiday, the sadder I become. Sure, now I have a little bit of last minute shopping to do and I’m surprised that Elly hasn’t been bugging me to help put up the decorations yet – we usually put it all up the day after Thanksgiving as we both love Christmas. Maybe she’s been sidetracked with work.

  Tears begin to intrude on my sight and I blink violently, letting them spill over and run down my cheeks. I slow as the tears flow faster and heavier. My heart begins to hammer in my chest, threatening to spit volcanic fire at any minute. I clench the steering wheel with shaky hands as I come to the last stop sign in my short journey. Another mile now, that’s all I have to drive. Then I can let the grief consume me. The fault line in my heart can erupt with pleasure, knowing that my scorched heart will again feel the painful, blistering heat just like the first time it had scalded throughout my chest.

  I pull into the garage and after I shift into first gear and kill the ignition, I hastily gather my heavy bag and hurriedly head for the door to the house. As I make my way up the three steps into the kitchen, something compels me to suddenly stop at the calendar hanging from the wall next to the entryway. Today is December nineteenth.

  Six more days until Christmas.

  Six more days until his birthday.

  My legs give out then, forcing me to sit down on the cold linoleum. This is something I try very hard not to do; not to let the mammoth arms of grief take me under. But my head starts to pound as every moment he and I had together flashes in front of my eyes like a reel of black and white film. All moments in perfectly synchronized order from our first encounter at my locker to the last painful, rainy day in the Perry’s driveway. The skin at my cheek tingles as I picture his hand brushing away a strand of my hair. The memory of his turquoise eyes boring into mine with every time he looked at me causes my breath to gasp. His sweet smile, the one he reserved just for me brings a new ache to my chest. Everything starts to flash quickly in my mind’s eye – the way he helped me when I dropped my things, our drives to nowhere, the tire under the huge oak tree, our nighttime swim, the boat ride and the way it felt to finally hold his hand. The way we proclaimed ourselves to each other even before we could be together, the way his lips felt against mine the first night he’d kissed me, the way he made me feel so alive and heated with fire.

  The way he said, I love you.

  My crying turns to sobbing then, making it almost impossible to breathe. With each ragged breath I manage to gasp, the louder my weeping becomes. My heart is heavy in my chest and it’s surely burnt to a crisp by now as I feel the splintered charcoal happily and knowingly pound against my ribcage. How does a broken, damaged, ashen heart still manage to beat? I don’t know, but it surely does. Pumping the pain throughout my entire body like acid, forcing the slow and scorching, painful burn to smolder and focus its blistering wrath within my chest. As it radiates outward to my arms and my legs, I curl in on myself when all that exists begins to feel heavy against me. I let out a wail as my body pushes into the floor and the heavy hands of grief wrap around me. I can't fight against its strength no matter how hard I try, and at this point I know I’ll lose even if I do. I cinch my hands into tight fists as I imagine myself clasping at the edge. An edge so widespread and great that I see no reprieve or rescue against my fate.

  Please just let me fall.

  Please just let me fall.

  Please just let me fall.

  Please just let me fall.

  I let the sorrow have me as I curl up into a ball right there on the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees. I let the anguish of being without him finally win over my hard fought battle. The battle that isn’t mine to fight.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Merry Christmas, honey!” Elly cheers as she opens my door. “Time to get up! Santa was here, better come see what he brought you!”

  I groan.

  My mother is always so silly around the holidays. I stretch and feel Abigail at the foot of my bed. She’s been spending a lot of nights curled up with me and it’s something I find comforting lately even though it makes for very cramped sleeping positions. My furry friend eyes me with her big brown eyes looking sincere and innocent as her eyebrows raise up and down one at a time with curiosity. She allows her tail to wag excitedly, thumping loudly against the mattress, but waits until I get out of bed until she does as well. Abigail had been the only witness to my most recent breakdown, and since I’d allowed it I’m back to silently crying every night in the solace of my dark bedroom. Rather than moving forward in my life, I’m turning the pages backward in a big, thick book of misery and tears.

  “What’chya think, Abby?” I whisper as her ears perk up. “Merry Christmas,” I say in an upbeat tone – or that’s how I attempt to make my voice sound. “Should we go see what’s out there?”

  “C’mon, Breckin! I’ve got your hot chocolate ready!” Elly yells from the living room.

  I blow out a gust of air as I sit up. I gaze to the alarm clock on my nightstand and notice that I’ve actually slept in. It’s almost eight o’clock and I’ve not slept past six a.m. since… well… since that day. I be
come slightly jittery as I realize my whole schedule will be off now. I stop and force deep, slow breaths. When I swing my feet to the floor, I step on something out of place. I reach down to pick it up and flip to the page I’d left off with.

  Should I forget to remember, or remember to forget?

  Should I remember your lips as they swept over mine,

  or forget the taste of your mouth?

  Should I remember the sound of your sweet accented voice,

  or forget each stolen whisper? A whisper that never failed

  to send hot shivers and fire through my veins.

  Should I remember your arms wrapped around me as we lay in

  the night, or accept the alone and the cold as I forget your warm embrace?

  Should I remember the way it felt when your eyes searched

  mine as they found my soul, or forget the way you stole

  my breath with your precious stare?

  Remembering is all too effortless, as easy as taking a breath.

  Forgetting is impossible and unattainable.

  And although with each bittersweet memory comes an

  unbearable ache, I cannot force myself to remember to forget.

  Forgetting to remember is hopeless.

  As I will always remember, and not forget.

  I stare at the words I’d written in an effort to purge my overwhelming emotions. I run my hands over the lines in the paper, feeling how hard I’d pressed in my hour of heartache. It’s been years since I’ve picked up a pen and written this way. In a moment of lost despair, I’d gone to my closet and found the old journal holding the pages I used to employ as a way to express my feelings. I try to remember with a fondness instead of sadness, try hard, but even now as I reread each line, I’m unable to fight back silent tears from rimming my eyes.

  He’d touched my life so much in such a short clip of life, and even though our time together was a blink of an eye to most, it was a significant dent in time for me. He’d managed to hollow out an actual hole in my history. Enough to cause me to fall to pieces entirely whenever I think of him. It makes no sense for me to react this way, I think, being he really was only in my life for no more than a heartbeat. But I know I’m now altered completely. My heart is not only broken, but I’m broken, too. I thought time healed all wounds, but I’m unsure there will be healing for me. I’m still holding on, but barely. I’d promised to fight for us, but as days pass I find it harder and harder to hold on to that promise. Lately it seems that I can hardly hang on to me.