Blood

by Francine Pascal

  The light changed, and still Gaia remained, standing on a corner next to a trash can. Behind her was a subway stop for the F and the L trains. She felt their rumble beneath her feet. She looked down. There was blood on the toe of her boot.

  Oh my God, what am I going to do? Her friendship with Mary and Ed had seemed to give her life a little structure, purpose. They had cared about her. They had been teaching her how to care about them. As if she could have a normal life. Then Mary had died. In the end, Mary’s seventeen years of life, from birth, through school, through family holidays, through adolescence, had been worth five hundred bucks.

  Revenge against Skizz had been the only thing keeping her going for the past week. It had been the only goal she could wrap her mind around. She had hoped the pain would stop with his death. She’d never figured on someone beating her to him.

  Now what was she going to do with herself? Years of her life stretched before her like some arid chasm, like thousands of miles of desert with no water, no other people in sight. Really, what was the point? Shaking her head, Gaia acknowledged that there was no point. There was no purpose in her going any further with this. This charade of an existence.

  Yes. Just a few quick steps into the street …

  Cream Puff

  ED SAW GAIA STANDING ON THE STREET corner, looking pensive. With a last burst of energy he rolled right up into her, knocking hard against her hip. She winced and sucked in breath.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ed yelled at her. His brown eyes were narrowed, his hair and face damp with sweat. Cheeks flushed, he was still blowing hard with the effort of following her for block after block, catching up with her.

  Gaia turned, anger coloring her cheeks and making her blue eyes ignite. “Why do you always have to interfere?” she asked snidely.

  Ed pushed his sweaty hair back off his forehead with an impatient gesture. “Yeah, you’re bummed. Skizz is dead, and you didn’t get a chance to kill him. You’re disappointed!” he spat. “You’re disappointed you didn’t get to make the stupidest mistake of your life!” He saw her eyes flare open.

  “You’re disappointed you didn’t get to destroy yourself along with destroying him. You stupid idiot! You would have ended up in jail, no better than any other lowlife murderer! Is that what you wanted? You stupid bitch!” he shouted, enraged.

  Gaia stared at him in horror. “Go screw yourself,” she choked out. She moved quickly to the side, obviously intending to lose him.

  Quickly, without thinking, Ed spun sideways as well, making Gaia literally trip over his left wheel.

  “Oof!” She sprawled gracelessly on the filthy sidewalk in front of him. “You shit,” she hissed. “Get out of my way.”

  “Make me,” he taunted. “I’ll get out of your way when you promise to go to Mary’s funeral. That’ll show me you’re not completely hopeless. That’ll show me you still have some human quality in you.”

  “When hell freezes over!” Scrambling to her feet, Gaia backed away from Ed carefully, but he pursued her.

  “If you’re not getting the message, leave me alone!” Gaia snarled.

  “Make me,” Ed said again.

  In the short course of their relationship Ed had never pushed her this far. In any dispute he was always the one to back down, the one who tried to make up, the one who placated. Those days were over.

  “What is wrong with you?” she said, eyes narrowed. She was still backing away from him, and over her right shoulder Ed caught sight of a subway sign. So that was her plan. She knew most subways were Ed-proof. He had to accomplish his mission fast.

  “No, no,” Ed murmured with deadly calm, his brown eyes locked on hers. He was still breathing hard, but he ratcheted down his voice. “The question is, what’s wrong with you? You had exactly two friends in this world, which isn’t a surprise, considering what a cold, insensitive bitch you like to pretend you are.”

  Gaia’s eyes flickered. He reloaded and kept firing at her.

  “You had two friends,” Ed continued, rolling slowly toward her as she backed away. “One of them died a stupid, tragic death. But you know what? Here’s a life lesson for you. The life lesson is that even though you lose one friend, it doesn’t mean you need to lose all your friends. It doesn’t mean you can’t make new friends in the future. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?”

  Gaia made a cruel, mocking face. “Ed, eat shit and die,” she said conversationally. “You don’t know the first thing about me. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Ed felt his face contort again in anger, and he jerked his wheels, making his chair surge forward. He let his metal footrests whack Gaia’s shins painfully, and she shoved at him. He held his wheels in place. She whirled and sprang for the subway opening. He watched almost in amusement as she realized that she didn’t have a token handy to get through the turnstile. But a train had just pulled out, and people were streaming through the swing gate to one side. Gaia darted through, edging past people: totally illegal.

  Two can play at that game, Ed thought, wheeling quickly forward. Ahead of him Gaia looked back, crashing into a young gang banger as Ed pushed himself through the gate. Then Ed was on Gaia again, at the top of a cement stair that led down to the train platform. The air, only feet from the opening, was dank, chill, and smelled of urine and steam.

  “You’re wrong,” he spat out, coming to within a foot of her. “I do know the first thing about you. I know you’re a self-centered asshole. This whole thing with Skizz wasn’t even about Mary! It was all about you! Your ego, your feelings, your pain. You weren’t helping Mary by hunting Skizz—you were helping only yourself.” His jaw was clenched so tightly, it almost hurt to talk. “You’re not in charge of fixing the world, you know? You’re just one person. Give it a rest!”

  Gaia stared at Ed, a tiny muscle under her left eye twitching. He could practically feel the white-hot anger and hatred coming off her. It was like losing a friend all over again, and it made him unbearably sad. But not as sad as the thought of Gaia, beautiful, special Gaia, going through life so totally screwed up.

  “Roll on home, loser,” she said softly.

  “Bite me,” he offered. He shook his head. “You think you’re so tough,” he said. As he spoke, his voice rose in volume and intensity until he was shouting again, so loudly that veins stood out in his neck. “You are such a deluded coward. Tough Gaia. No one touches her. She doesn’t care about anyone. She’s a freaking icicle. But I know the truth, even if you don’t. I know you’re a cream puff! I know you’re hurt about Mary and lonely without me. I know you’re scared to go to Mary’s funeral. You stupid, stupid asshole!” he yelled. “You don’t even know how much you love me!”

  Gaia stepped back, but Ed wasn’t finished. He was more enraged than he’d ever been in his whole life. He saw Gaia force her face into a controlled mask and knew if she said another flippant remark, he’d never forgive her. Without warning his fist swept out and smacked her across the face, hard. Her head snapped sideways, and she staggered, just for a moment.

  Torn Apart

  TIME ALMOST SEEMED TO STOP IN the first few seconds after Ed had hit her. It was funny, Gaia thought dully, holding her hand to her cheek. She had been in more fights than most heavyweights, and this was the first time she actually had felt pain on contact. Slowly she straightened and looked across at Ed. He looked as shocked as she felt, and in his transparent, dark brown eyes she could read regret, fury, love, and a terrible sadness.

  She swallowed hard. Here she’d been so proud of herself for successfully holding herself immune from friendship. Now Skizz was dead; she had no friends, no parents, no nothing. She had been sure she could control the pain, but her hip was killing her, her cheek felt like it was on fire, and her emotions felt like Ed had rolled them through broken glass and then sprayed her with water from the Dead Sea.

  I simply cannot stand this, Gaia thought in the last, silent moment before she pulled back her right arm, swung it i
n a huge, lightning-fast arc, and gave Ed a powerful punch right across his kisser.

  His eyes had just time enough to register surprise before his chair jerked backward and began to fall down the long, scarred cement steps toward the train platform. Ed’s strong arms scrambled for his wheels, and for a second he managed to keep himself upright, but Gaia could see it was only a matter of moments before he tilted backward and crashed down the steps, probably breaking his neck and paralyzing the rest of him.

  Without wasting time on thought, Gaia lunged after Ed and scrabbled for his jacket, his arm, anything. She missed, and he continued to slide backward, now on the third step, now on the fourth. His angle of descent was increasing as his chair leaned farther and farther back. The distant roar of an incoming train grew louder.

  Again Gaia lunged at him, her fingers brushing against his shoe. His wide, frightened eyes locked on hers, but Gaia saw no blame in them—only fear. That odd, familiar emotion that she recognized so easily in others, yet never felt herself.

  Curiously, neither of them made a sound: Ed didn’t cry out for help; Gaia didn’t call his name. A gust of stale air announced that the train was about to reach the station.

  With a last surge Gaia plunged heedlessly down the steps, throwing herself at Ed. Her bloodied glove snatched at Ed’s jacket lapel and held it in an iron grip. With one arm she gave a powerful yank and managed to haul him forward. His wheelchair, freed of its weight, bounced crazily down the remaining steps, gathering momentum. It sprang across the narrow platform and smashed into the front of an express train, steaming through the station on its way to Twenty-third Street. The chair popped up high, seemingly weightless, then crashed down again on the roof of the train’s third car. The train’s speed ricocheted the chair off the track, and it came to rest on the platform twenty feet away. It was mangled, the size of an electric can opener.

  Ed’s ripstop nylon saddlebag, shredded, now consisted of a torn canvas strap and some threads. All of his painstaking class notes were floating through the air like ungainly, oversized snowflakes. They littered the platform, landing on passengers, on the train tracks, on Ed and Gaia.

  The noise of the train faded—it hadn’t even slowed down. The few people coming down the steps simply passed around Gaia and Ed, clutching each other halfway down the stairs. The scene would need to be much more unusual to merit attention.

  Gaia swallowed, clutching Ed. Slowly he braced his arms on the steps and eased himself upward to sit next to her on the step. She didn’t release her hold to make it easier for him. She felt like she could never let him go again. She stared into his eyes, and he returned the look.

  “You still have my handprint on your cheek,” he said in a shaky voice.

  “You still have mine on yours,” she told him, her voice warbling stupidly. The enormity of what had almost happened tried to filter into her brain, but she resisted it.

  Ed gave her a crooked grin, though his face was still white with shock, almost greenish around the edges. “Love pats,” he said.

  Gaia had the sudden certainty that she was going to throw up. Emotion was rising painfully through her chest, and it was terrifying and nauseating. Oh God.

  “I almost lost you,” she blurted out, unable to articulate the kind of disaster she knew his loss would be. Having lost Mary, she now realized that losing Ed would be unbearable. It was as if a stained glass window had shattered inside her mind, showing her the white light of her feelings, her connection to Ed, her best friend. “Ed,” she muttered, overwhelmed. “Oh God.” Now she was trembling more than he was, and she felt his arms come around her strongly, reassuringly.

  “Tell me you love me,” Ed said softly.

  The thought I would rather be torn apart by wild animals crossed her mind, but she shoved it down. This was the test. If she passed this test, she could choose life. If she didn’t pass this test, she might as well have thrown herself into the traffic ten minutes before.

  Oh God. Help.

  She couldn’t look at him. “I love you.” Her voice cracked, and she gave a wet little cough. Ed’s arms tightened around her.

  “I love you, too,” he said back, and kissed her hair. Then she started to cry.

  courage

  Gaia had come through the fire and emerged tempered, not charred.

  Enough Chitchat

  GAIA FROWNED. “WHAT IS THAT?”

  Ed, looking surprisingly presentable in a navy blazer, white shirt, and tie, rolled up to her at the handicapped entrance of the Riverside Chapel. The thin, Wednesday morning light barely dusted his shoulders and glinted off the wheels of a clunky, old-fashioned wheelchair.

  “Rental,” Ed answered glumly. Then his face brightened. “But the ’rents ordered me a new one. A racer.”

  “Good. You needed a style update. Your last chair was so 1999.” Gaia pulled her jacket more tightly around her.

  “Yeah. Is that enough chitchat?” Ed asked.

  “Yes, I think so,” Gaia replied reluctantly.

  “Then let’s hit it.”

  And they went into the chapel to attend Mary Moss’s funeral.

  We Remember You

  THE MOSSES, BOTH PARENTS AND Mary’s three siblings, sat in the first row of the small chapel. Other relatives took up the next four rows. Ed and Gaia sat together in the fifth row, with Ed’s rental chair practically blocking the aisle. He moved backward a few inches to let Gaia out when it was time for her to speak.

  Obviously uncomfortable but moving with her innate grace, Gaia climbed the two steps to the podium to the right of the altar. She tapped the microphone experimentally and sent a buzz through the room. Ed winced, then quickly smoothed his face into what he hoped looked like supportive expectation.

  With her repulsive jacket stuffed under the pew, Gaia looked pretty close to presentable. She wore some sort of dark skirt thing, with a thin, pale blue sweater on top. No jewelry flashed under the lights, but she had actually brushed her hair this morning, and it hung in clean, soft, golden waves down her back. She was gorgeous.

  “Ahem. I, uh, just wanted to say a few words about my friend Mary. Who we’re all here to remember today. On this … sad day.” Gaia drew in a deep breath.

  “Actually, I only knew Mary a really short time. But she made an impression on me that very few other people have made.” She looked out into the chapel and met Ed’s eyes.

  “Mary was an incredibly strong person,” Gaia went on. “She was incredibly brave. Most people can’t face their problems, their faults.” She looked down. “But Mary could and did. And she beat them. She showed me it was possible to do if you have courage.”

  In the front row Mrs. Moss gazed up at Gaia, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Gaia tried not to look at her again.

  “Not only that, but Mary showed me how to have fun. How to enjoy life. How to work with what you have and do the best with it. We had some great times together.” Gaia swallowed. “Times I’ll remember the rest of my life. And she showed me something else: how to be a friend. How to have a friend. What it feels like when someone cares about you.” Looking right at Ed, Gaia said, “Those were lessons I wasn’t ready to learn before. But I’d like to thank Mary now for teaching them to me.” Her voice wobbled, and Gaia frowned and cleared her throat. Then she looked out at the group.

  “Now Mary is going to continue in our memories,” Gaia said. “I hope you all have good memories of her, as I do. I remember her laugh, her crazy red hair, her daring fashion sense.” Some people in the audience smiled. “But I don’t really need to remember Mary on purpose. Because every time I actually manage to be a friend to someone or let them be my friend, I’ll know that Mary is right there with me.”

  Not knowing how to end or if she should say thank you or what, Gaia simply stopped speaking and stepped down from the podium. As she passed the first row, Mr. and Mrs. Moss smiled at her. “Thank you,” whispered Mrs. Moss. Gaia nodded at her.

  Safely back in her own seat, Gaia felt breathless, as i
f she had just run a hundred blocks. The minister stood up in the front of the chapel and started speaking, but Gaia couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying.

  Ed reached across the arm of the pew and took Gaia’s hand. Without looking at him, she squeezed back and held on.

  To: L 43671.1011@alloymail.com

  From: ELJ 239.211@alloymail.com

  Subject was observed at memorial service sitting with young male. They were observed holding hands. Later, subject was observed wiping away tears with sleeve of sweater. Young male subject (in wheelchair) hugged her. She did not resist.

  Something of Katia

  IN THE BACK OF THE CHAPEL TOM Moore turned up the collar of his coat. Something in his chest tightened when he saw the golden head of his daughter lean against the shoulder of the young man in the wheelchair.

  Gaia had gone to Mary Moss’s funeral. Gaia and her handicapped friend had apparently made up. Gaia had been seen to cry, to lean on someone, again.

  An overwhelming sense of joy and relief flooded Tom. This past week his guts had been almost chewed out by his worry about his daughter. His unfeeling, automaton-like daughter. His daughter whose emotions had effectively been destroyed, whose sense of loyalty, of compassion, of humanity had been obliterated, surely and effectively, by decisions he alone had made.

  Who knew what would have happened if she had actually been the one to kill Skizz? Tom winced at the thought. Gaia was capable of great courage. But she was also capable of great rage. It had been the right decision to take Skizz out of the equation. A difficult decision, but the right one.

  But there was no use dwelling on that. Gaia had come through the fire and emerged tempered, not charred. It was more than Tom had hoped for. It was more than he deserved.

  As he stood and made his way quietly to the chapel door, Tom Moore gave thanks that his daughter had some remnants of her mother still existing with her. Katia lived on, in Gaia. And for that Tom was grateful.