by Nessa Morgan
I drop my head to my knees, my hair falling forward to drape around my legs as I cry into my jeans, clutching onto my legs with all my might.
“Joey—?”
“I can’t do this anymore,” I blurt out weakly.
I hear her seat shift. “Can’t do what?” she asks, more concerned than I’ve ever heard from her. It’s thick in her voice, the worry she has for me. Maybe I’ve been underestimating her all these years.
“I just can’t do whatever the fuck is going on with me anymore.”
A hand presses against the back of my head, smoothing my hair. I’m sure it’s a mess, but the touch isn’t to correct any loose strands, it’s soothing, comforting. “What does that mean?” she asks, her hand rubbing lightly against the back of my head.
“I don’t know,” I confess. “I just give up. I’m exhausted and I’m tired of fighting with myself.”
The strokes stop.
“Joey, what do you truly want?” she asks. The question confuses me.
I sit up, looking at Dr. Jett as she sits next to me. “Honestly?” I ask.
She nods. “Honestly.”
I’ve never thought about what I truly wanted. A normal life. To walk down the halls and have no one snicker behind my back. To have my life back.
But I know how to answer that and I’m ashamed I even had to ask myself this question.
“I want Zephyr back.”
NINE
I may not remember much about my earlier years, my childhood, but I do remember the day I met Zephyr Kalivas. I had just stepped from the tiny blue Toyota that Aunt Hil drove all the way from Texas—it died two weeks later in a ball of fire—and my eyes were red and bloodshot from tears. I can’t remember the exact reason why I was crying and why the thought of being any place different terrified me, I just remember my first view of the house—my new home.
Two stories and the color of old snow, large picture windows in the front, a dark, heavy door that leads inside. Hilary mentioned repainting when we drove up, more to herself than me. The previous owners decorated the front panel with broken tile in a puzzle effect—Hilary hated it. The awesome part was the paved walkway; there were tiny colored stones that led to the front door. I later learned they were lights.
“You’ll love it,” Hilary tried to convince me, placing the biggest, happiest, smile on her face just for me, to reassure me that this, the long distance, the travel, was all worth it. She was trying to convince herself of the same thing; I could tell by her eyes, her smile didn’t reach her eyes and her green eyes were dull and pale with exhaustion.
I didn’t respond in any way.
She’d had custody of me for a while by that time and I still wouldn’t speak to her. Not with words, anyway.
Walking through the front door as slowly as my tiny legs will take me; I peek into the large, spacious, living room, spotting new and old furniture, familiar photographs and paintings lining the walls waiting to be hung up on hooks, and boxes everywhere. I have no idea, none brewing whatsoever in my tiny head, where everything came from.
One moment, everything we owned was sitting in our living room in Texas, the next thing I know, after several thousand miles of travel, it’s in Washington.
Hilary follows me through the door, her hand patting me on the head as she walks toward the first box and rips it open. Her hands dig around inside, searching through knickknacks and mementos, looking for something specific. There’s determination on her peaceful face, I notice as I watch her. Not long, her eyes turn to me. I stand frozen in the doorway, looking at everything my aunt owns.
“Go check out your room,” she tells me, a smile on her small face. I stare back at her, too scared to ask which room’s mine. She looks at me as if she knows what I’m thinking. Oftentimes, she’s right. Laughing at herself, she tells me, “You’ll know it when you see it, honey.”
I blink once, twice, before I take off up the stairs, taking large steps because I haven’t hit my growth spurt yet. I listen to the old wood creak and crackle beneath my Sketchers as my body climbs higher and higher, aiming toward a goal. Walking down the hall, I peek through the doors lining the walls, looking into the different rooms. I find the bathroom on my left; the toilet’s a dead giveaway for that. The room next to it is what I believe to be Hilary’s room. At the end of the hall, hidden behind a door with three butterflies dotting it, is where I find my room.
It’s large, bigger than I thought it’d be, definitely bigger than I deserve. The walls are painted a pale pink with butterflies covering, and I mean covered in butterflies—I’ll later keep some of the butterflies on my wall when I redecorate my room for my thirteenth birthday. In the center of the room, surrounded by two dark, wooden nightstands, sits a bed larger than I’ve ever been allowed to sleep in. I smile because it means that I have a harder chance of rolling off the edge, which I do a lot. The blankets are purple with flowers floating throughout the stitching, and all of my stuffed animals line in front of the pillows. Though, they are in the wrong order, but I’m not picky right now.
I clutch Mr. Snuffle Hiccups, the only thing I refused to part with during the long journey, closer to my body as I walk, more like tentatively inch, toward the foreign bed.
“What do you think?” Hilary asks behind me, her voice scares me where I stand. I turn, spotting her leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed along her chest. “I had your Grammy and Grandpa set it up for you. That’s why they were gone for so long, honey.”
I nod frantically, happy to see the room that surrounds me. It’s bright and happy, everything that I need right now—bright and happy, bright and happy, bright and happy.
“So,” she begins, drawing out the word. “There are some people downstairs.” Hilary hitches her thumb, pointing behind her into the hallway. “They’d love very much to meet you.” Her smile is large and bright, now it reaches her eyes. Hilary’s happy, excited, about this.
Who would want to meet me? Neighbors? I don’t remember having neighbors before. It doesn’t make sense to me but I follow her down the stairs anyway, taking each step slowly and discretely, walking directly behind my aunt as she greets the people standing awkwardly in the living room. Before me, as I nervously hide behind my aunt, stands a family—a complete family: a mother, a father, and three kids. Two of the children are my age; one is older.
“This is my niece, Josephine.” She looks behind herself as I grip her leg. An uneasy feeling fills me when she calls me Josephine. In the seven months that I’ve lived with her, she hasn’t called me what Mommy called me. Or what Daddy called me.
Movement catches my eye as a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and pretty blue eyes looks to me. I shrink further back, wishing to be invisible. She places her hands on her knees as she leans forward to take a better look at me. “Hi, Josephine,” she says before she kneels down, becoming eyelevel with me. She extends her hand for me to take, to shake. I don’t. I dodge further behind my aunt, seeking the safety of her legs. Still, that doesn’t deter her from conversation. “My name is Molly,” she tells me kindly. “We live right next door.” She points to my right, her left, toward the wall. Her house must be the one on the right side of the house, the blue house I saw when we drove through the neighborhood.
I nod my head slowly, understanding, my hands tightly fisting the jean fabric covering my aunt’s legs.
“She’s a bit shy,” Hilary tells the woman. She steps to the side in hopes of revealing me but I move with her. She’s my shield. “She hasn’t spoken since she started living with me.”
Not true.
I haven’t spoken since I woke up in the bright white hospital room to beeps and chattering people hovering around me. I felt like I was in the zoo, like one of the lions, or one of the monkeys. I didn’t like them staring at me.
“It’s okay,” Molly says to my aunt. She stands up straight so she can better speak to her. “Well, Josephine, this is Antonios.” She points to a large man standing next to her. His brow
n eyes smile at me when he looks down. He reminds me of a bear. “And these are our children, Aidan, Jamie, and Zephyr.” She points to the oldest son, a smaller version of Antonios, then the girl, a shorter, tanner version of Molly, and finally, the smallest boy, a mini version of Aidan with wilder, funnier hair.
Slowly, I move away from the safety of Aunt Hil’s legs, looking at Zephyr. There’s something nice about him, something sweet about his eyes. Maybe it’s because his eyes remind me of chocolate, I don’t know but they make me want to know him, they make me want to get to know him—mostly, they make me want candy. After looking him over, from his khaki shorts to his Spongebob t-shirt, to his tennis shoes ratty from playing outside so much, I can’t help but think that I’m taller than him. Huh? Cool. However, with his hair, it’s hard to tell.
I wave my free hand while holding my stuffed animal tighter to my body as I feel them all looking at me.
“How would you like to go out and play with Jamie and Zephyr, Josephine?” Hilary asks me. Jamie smiles to me, her head bobbing as she nods to encourage me to say yes, to agree and join them. I can tell that she’s going to be happy I’m here. Zephyr beams a smile at me, one that makes my stomach flutter with nervousness. That’s something I don’t really understand but I guess that I’m scared to play. I mean, I don’t know them.
Looking up, I stare at my aunt. I’m not sure I’d like that. Again, I don’t know these people and I’ve never really had friends before. Not that I remember, anyway. I want to tell her no, I want to decline and run up to my new room, but it seems like a lot of work, a lot of effort, to speak.
“I can take them to the park,” Aidan, the oldest, offers. His voice catches my attention and my eyes dart up. He’s sliding his phone from his pocket, typing out something before replacing it. After he speaks, I sneak further behind my aunt’s legs again, seeking safety.
“That’d be great, honey,” Molly tells him with a pat on the back.
“Uh, I’m not so sure about that,” Hilary starts, reaching for my hand as it slowly climbs up her side, her fingers clasping around mine. “I mean, in the front yard is one thing, but the park…” she trails off, think about her next words. “She’s really tired and we just spent the last week driving.” I look to my aunt as she makes excuses for why I should stay close to the house and close to her.
“She should at least see the park,” Molly reasons, her eyebrows lifting as she looks to my aunt. This woman is definitely trying to force her children upon me. I look back to the two youngest. The girl, Jamie, stands in the middle of her brothers in jeans with flowers embroidered up the sides, a pink t-shirt, and matching sneakers. Her long, dark hair is in two braids down her sides. She keeps looking to me. Eagerly. Zephyr is listening to his mother, staring at her as she speaks to my aunt.
Hilary looks down to me, saying, “Maybe,” as she ponders the plan, trying to decide what she feels to be right. “Only if Josephine really wants to.”
All eyes turn to me. I can feel them blazing against my bare skin.
She’s leaving this up to me?
I don’t answer, I just look at the people staring back at me. They’re waiting for me to make the decision. My breathing begins to quicken, my grip on my aunt’s hand begins to tighten. I need my stuffed animal but I can no longer feel it in my hands. My face heats, growing hotter and hotter. How well does Hilary know these people? We just got here; she didn’t have enough time to make friends while I was up in the room. Is she sure that these people are safe? I don’t want to wind up like the other kids on the news.
But… I like parks. I like the outside and playing with other kids, so I shove away everything I’m feeling, hope that I cool down, and nod. I agree to go wherever they want to take me.
It isn’t long before I find myself sitting on a swing set, my feet kicking bark chips into the air. Mr. Snuffle Hiccups is sitting on my bed waiting for my return. Hilary didn’t think it a good idea for me to take a stuffed toy to the park, especially my favorite one. She made the point of someone taking him away from me, and I agreed with her. The last thing I want is for him to be stolen.
Jamie’s running around the large jungle gym in the center of the bark-covered area. We’re surrounded by other kids, some playing chasing games, others just messing around. Jamie chases her brother while I watch them run around and around in an endless circle. Their older brother disappeared five minutes after we got here. I know I should be worried but I feel fine, I feel safe here.
Bark flies near my feet, covering my shoes as someone stops in front of me. I look up, spotting wild hair and missing teeth as Zephyr smiles at me. “Don’t you want to play with us?” he asks, his tongue poking through the gap in his teeth.
I shrug my shoulders and push my feet back, feeling the swing move back and forth, back and forth, until I plant my feet and stop the movement.
“You don’t say much,” he observes loudly. Zephyr sits on the neighboring swing, the chains rattling. His legs start to pump in and out and the swing starts to climb higher and higher. He soars by me, through the air, as I use my legs to move the swing back and forth, keeping my feet on the ground. I don’t like heights but I like swings.
Feet slide through the bark, chunks of wood and dirty fly through the air as he stops himself from swinging higher.
He turns to me, his eyes wide as he stares at me. It’s so simple. With that one gesture, I feel like he knows me—knows some deep, hidden part of me that I don’t even know myself. “Why are you so quiet?” he asks me. His brown eyes widen and gaze at me. Not with pity like I notice my aunt do, but just looking at me. They’re warm, they’re inviting.
Just looking at him makes me want to talk. It makes me want to speak and say everything that I haven’t said in over a year. I could tell him how heights and spiders scare me, how delicious my Grammy’s apple pie is, how far away my home is.
But that’s not what I do.
“I don’t mean to be,” I answer, whispering quietly. I look to the ground, staring at my shoes as I kick my feet out.
“Zephyr!” Jamie yells. My attention snaps to her as she stands on the top level of the jungle gym.
“Want to play on that?” he points to the large toy in the center of the playground with slides and monkey bars jutting out in random directions. It looks fun, and maybe they’d want to play tag or something—like a normal kid’s game—but I don’t really want to.
I shake my head and grip the chains to the swing tighter. “Not really,” I tell him honestly.
I expect him to leave, to join his sister and leave me alone on the swing set while they play and have fun, but he doesn’t. He just shrugs and starts to pump his legs until he’s once again flying through the air, soaring past me.
The sky starts to darken, the stars start to lightly reveal themselves, and Aidan reappears to usher us to the car, taking us back to the new house. I keep talking to Zephyr, mainly because he keeps asking me questions about Texas.
“Have you ever seen a tumbleweed?” he asks me as we walk through the front door. I hear many voices inside the living room, I hear laughter, and follow the line of people into the large room, spotting their parents and my aunt seated and on the couch and recliner by the window.
From the looks of the room, all the boxes are broken down and leaning against the wall and all the paintings are hanging. It looks nice and livable—it looks like a home I could be proud to call mine one day.
“How was the park?” Molly asks her oldest son from the couch. Her gaze follows us as we move through the room. Jamie drops to the floor in front of her dad and she leans against his legs. I walk near Hilary, Zephyr in tow, and take a seat at the dining room table I remember from her small apartment in Texas. He takes the neighboring seat.
“Fine,” Aidan answers as he drops onto the couch next to his mother. Her hand snakes up and fixes his messy hair, attempting to smooth down the wild curls only for them to spring back up and out.
“We saw a lot on our way here,”
I tell Zephyr, continuing our conversation. “Tumbleweeds look funny.”
The room falls into an eerie silence once the words leave my lips and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. The air in the room shifts, the tensions grows thick, and I suddenly feel the need to crawl under the table to hide.
“Josephine?” Hilary asks from the recliner behind me. I turn to look at her, her shocked face scaring me so much I need to look away.
I slowly turn back to Zephyr, ignoring the shock in the room.
It’s harder to do when no one’s speaking.
“Have you ever seen a roadrunner?” Zephyr asks me, pretending like nothing weird just happened.
I laugh. “I don’t even know what a roadrunner is,” I tell him. He’s been spending too much time with Saturday morning cartoons and Looney Tunes.
No one speaks for a few more moments but I just focus on Zephyr. If I focus on Zephyr then the weirdness isn’t happening. Everything is normal—everything is fine.
For the rest of the night, my aunt continues to steal glances of me, her face covered in fascination as she waited for me to do something unusual. But I never said anything to her or anyone else in the room. I only spoke to the boy from next door. For the first three months, anyone that wanted to talk to me had to go through Zephyr.
He was even the person to tell my aunt that I wanted to be called Joey.
ten
“How do you feel about parties?” Milo asks as he slides up behind my chair in the library, his hands clamping down on the back of it, slightly leaning me backward with his weight as he rests on it.
“Hate them,” I answer with my attention focused on the rough draft of my Catch-22 paper due next week. I don’t have the time to talk about my likes and dislikes of the typical high school social experience.
Given my track record with parties—namely, the ones I’ve been to this year, I’d say hate is the nicest term I could use when the topic swings to large groups of teenagers drinking and swaying pathetically along with loud, annoying music.
