“This whole thing will blow over by then. It’s just a stupid crush.”
Ava laughs out loud like she’s just heard the funniest joke in the world. “No way that is a crush,” she cackles.
“Shut up. You know jack shit, all right?”
“When you have a crush on someone you’re infatuated—you see all the person’s good traits but none of their flaws. You like the idea of the person more than the actual person. This chick is different—you notice everything about her, including the unpleasant things.” Ava playfully nudges my shoulder. “You’re falling for her.”
“I am not.”
“Have you written her a song yet? That’s always your go-to when you’re really into a girl.”
“I haven’t written her a song, damn it.” Well, not really. The fact is that Willa sounds like a cello, and I can’t play mine right now, so writing any music about her consists of doodling staves on napkins. But that does not mean I’m falling in love her. I just like to…y’know, do her in my head and think about her all the fucking time and orchestrate little gestures to make her smile.
“Do you ever meet a person and swear you can hear, like, theme music around them? Like they have their own special tune?” Ava says.
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“You sound like Haydn’s Pereira.”
Typical Ava. “You’re cheating on Phil with a cellist, aren’t you?”
“That is entirely, completely…beside the point.”
I snicker and she punches my shoulder. Not as hard as she used to, because I look breakable now, but hard enough to let me know she’s annoyed.
“Is your girl into music?”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t play.”
“Well that’s a shame.”
The wind is starting to pick up along the beach. I can smell rain moving in, so I suggest we go home. There really is nothing to do in Smiths Falls, after all. On the drive home Ava tells me about her plans to go back to music camp for another crack at some scholarship money. Hearing about her plans and being excited with her is almost enough to make me forget about Willa. Almost.
When Elise gets home from school, she sees Ava’s car in the driveway and comes tearing up the stairs with the force of a small tornado, chanting “Ava! Ava!” in a voice that could strip wallpaper. She bursts into my room and throws herself on Ava.
“My little whore,” Ava greets her warmly. Elise beams like that’s a glowing compliment. “You been using that trick I taught you?” Oh God, what trick? Elise nods like her head is on a spring.
“When did you get here? How long are you staying?”
Ava laughs at Elise’s enthusiasm. “I got here this morning.”
“You’ve been here all freakin’ day and didn’t tell me?” Elise stamps her foot.
“I had to cheer this twat up,” Ava says of me, and rubs my head roughly. “I can’t stay much longer; have to get back to the city.”
Mom calls up the stairs to Elise and she drags her feet along the carpet with a huff. “Coming!” She points a finger at Ava. “And don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye.”
“I won’t,” Ava promises. The second Elise is out of earshot she turns to me and says, “Dude, your sister turned hot.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Ava leaves around four o’clock to be back in Ottawa by dinnertime. After Elise squeezes the hell out of her, we hug goodbye on the porch and she claps me on the shoulder. “I’ll see you soon. Try not to suck too much cock before then; you’ll injure yourself.” Ava descends the porch steps and waves over her shoulder. “Later, slut.”
It’s hard to believe, but I actually missed her.
Friday
It’s Elise’s birthday party tonight. Mom and Dad will be out of the house for the evening in what I think is a remarkable display of trust, and Eric and I will be ‘supervising’ the party. Nonetheless, Mom and Dad aren’t idiots. Mom locks her office, Dad hides the box of cigars he normally keeps on the mantle, and they lock the liquor cabinet. They also place a fire extinguisher on the kitchen counter ‘because accidents happen.’ Mom is a hippie with more wayward youth stories than she cares to divulge, so it’s Dad that reads us the riot act before they leave: no smoking, drinking, nudity, drugs or ‘ingenious’ pranks while they’re gone.
Eric asks for a full breakdown of what falls under the ban of ‘ingenious pranks.’ And it’s quite a long list.
Dad is just getting to the part about no water balloons in the house when Mom comes in with her purse, ready to leave, and says, “I’m not condoning anything, but if circumstances require it, there are condoms in the bathroom cabinet.”
Excuse me while I go hang myself.
I’m putting chips into serving bowls when Elise comes downstairs, dressed up for the party. She has on this black knee-length dress with lace in layers around the skirt and along the collar. She makes a lot of own clothes, and this dress must have taken her weeks. It’s extremely detailed and fits perfectly. She’s sculpted her hair into loose ringlets, made her eyes dark and smoky, and donned a red beret that slouches over her left ear. She looks like the other woman in a 1950s movie, dangerous and beautiful and charming.
“You look good.”
She giggles with delight and the image is broken. She’s still my little Elise, even if that dress does make her boobs look…there.
“I’m gonna go start the music.” She begins to skip away, and then remembers that she’s dressed nicely and puts on a flirty little swagger instead. Where the hell did she learn to do that?
Eric and I are still setting up in the kitchen when the first of Elise’s guests arrive. Figures Carey would be the first to show up. She squeals over Elise’s outfit and then they start to whisper frantically in the foyer. What the hell are they planning?
Eric breaks me out of my reverie by loudly dumping a bin of ice cubes into the sink. We fill the sink with ice and pop, guestimating how much we’ll need. Elise invited about twenty people. Some of those might bring unexpected dates. This house could get pretty crowded by the end of the night.
The guests arrive in twos and threes, in the carpooling nature of teenagers. Some I recognize from the social planning committee, or from clubs and teams at school. Elise is quite the social butterfly, after all. By eleven the party is in full swing. I hang back a little, drifting from room to room. No one talks to me and they avert their eyes when I pass by. I bet if this wasn’t my house they’d be whispering, “Who invited him?”
Out on the porch, I notice Carey flirting with a tall, dark-haired guy who looks too old for her. It takes me a few seconds to place his face: he’s on the basketball team. What is it with these girls? Is it some sort of fad to date a basketball player this week?
I go to the kitchen for another ginger ale. As I cross the front hall the door opens and another cluster of guests welcome themselves in and Fuck. It’s. Him. I didn’t think he’d actually show. I mean, a party is a party, but what self-respecting senior has the time of day for a pipsqueak like Elise?
Speaking of Elise, she’s doomed. The chick this asshole brought with him turns more heads in three seconds than any other girl has all night. She’s sexy. She’s dark. She’s charismatic. The only justice in this world would be if she were as dumb as a rock.
Elise comes dancing across the house to greet this particular guest. Kipp tells her happy birthday and gives her a one-armed hug—his girlfriend is holding his other hand.
“I’m glad you could make it.” Elise surprises me by giving Nina a hug too. Either she’s a better person than I thought, or she is way better at this game than I first suspected.
Again, who the hell taught her to do that?
The happy couple gives Elise a CD wrapped in yellow paper. She opens it in front of them and seems genuinely excited about the gift. When she tilts the case I can see the cover art—it’s a Kimya Dawson CD.
“Just your taste,” I say. Elise looks over her shoulder and jumps a little whe
n she sees how close I am. I know I’m thin, but for crying out loud, I’ve been standing right next to the stairs the whole time.
“You guys know my brother, right?” she says to them.
“Yeah, I know him. I’m Kipp—” I know who he is. He’s the dickhead who has possessed my little sister. “—and this is Nina.” He nods to his girlfriend, the girl who probably exists in voodoo doll form up in Elise’s room.
I complete my half of the introductions and walk away to the kitchen. People part in front of me like the waters of the Red Sea; like I’m a leper and they’d better not get too close.
By the time I get to the kitchen I can’t remember why I wanted to come here. I clean a few empty cans off the counters and put more ice in the sink, but I’m just running on autopilot. There is no one here I want to talk to. No one here wants to talk to me. I wish they would all just leave. The sanctuary of my home, where no one stares anymore, has been ruined for tonight.
I’m considering going into the living room to try to talk to my sister’s friends from drama club when I hear Elise’s distinct chirp: “Willa! What took you so long?”
The universe narrows to a single fact: She’s here, in my house.
Then my focus broadens, and I remember that there are a lot of people in my house.
People to see how even she won’t give you the time of day anymore. To see you be well and truly ignored in your own home.
And it’ll be okay for everyone else to do the same.
“Who’ve you brought with you?” Elise asks warmly. Oh God. Willa brought a date? I don’t even have to wonder who it is. I know.
I slip away from the kitchen, down the hall to the laundry room. It’s a cramped space, and all alone I wait and listen until I’m sure she’s well within the house. The sound of her voice follows Elise to the kitchen, chatting happily. It seems Willa brought food as a hostess gift, because Elise tells her that whatever she brought looks really good and does it need to warm up in the oven first?
I wonder if it’s something I can eat…
So not worth the humiliation to find out.
I wait until their voices fade to leave my hiding spot. I head upstairs to my room and close the door behind me.
You are such a coward.
It’s for the best. She probably doesn’t want to see you.
I fall face down on my bed like a starfish and groan. That girl has an almost supernatural ability to reduce me to my absolute worst without lifting a finger. You’d think she’d been doing it for years.
I’m gone for an hour before anyone notices. Elise knocks on my door and I tell her that I’m not feeling well.
“I could send them all home if you need to rest,” she offers. Because I want to ruin her birthday party on top of everything else I’ve cost her.
“No, don’t. Just let me stay up here awhile, and I’ll come down again later.”
“Okay.” She gives me a hug and a kiss and goes back down to her party. She looks so pretty tonight, dressed up and in her element, surrounded by people. What I’d give to keep her that way: small and happy and quirky as only Elise can be.
I will never be able to pay her back for what she’s given me. And she just keeps giving. No matter how bad it gets, or how much it costs her, she never hesitates, and no amount of red and yellow M&Ms or stuffed owls will make up for her fearlessness and dedication.
That jackass better not break her heart. If he does it just proves what an asshole he is, because her heart is too big and too fierce to be broken easily.
I wonder if his left or right femur would snap more easily…
Decisions, decisions.
*
The first time my throat got too sore to even talk was during my initial rounds of radiation. Elise made me a chart with boxes to point to, each with a common phrase in it. She knew just what to put on it: the usual things, of course, like, Drink please; Food please; I’d like to sit up; I’d like to lay down; I’m hot; I’m cold; etc. A box for each physical need. And right after that she put I need a hug, and I need a kiss. And most understandingly, the capped the list off with: I need to be alone.
The stiff paper she wrote it on (and laminated, in case I puked or bled on it) is pretty worn around the edges now. It’s been folded and marked on and caught in the car door and tacked to the wall beside my bed a couple of times. I run my finger across the last option on the list. I need to be alone. I don’t think that one is necessary anymore. I can’t bear another day of isolation, of walking around like the ghost that everybody can see but pretends to not to notice.
I call Emily. Bizarre impulse, I know, but I’m lonely and she knew me before I was hollowed out by disease. The phone rings three times before her mom answers, and when I ask for Emily I’m told she’s out with friends from school.
“Okay. Thanks anyway.”
“Shall I tell her you called?”
“No, it’s okay. Don’t bother.” I say goodbye and toss the phone on my nightstand. It’s childish and ridiculous, but it feels like Emily abandoned me. I waste half an hour being mad at her, because it feels slightly more productive than being mad at myself, before I pick up the phone again and try my other friends. Morgan is grounded and can’t come to the phone. Ava is out with Emily tonight, according to her brother, and when I try her cell she doesn’t answer. She probably lost it again. Ava is perpetually losing small objects. Caitlin actually answers her phone, but all I can hear is shitty techno playing in the background at top volume. She’s out clubbing tonight.
“Can you hear me?” She can’t, so I ditch the effort and hang up. The only good friend left to try is Kyle, but he’s unreachable at the best of times. He doesn’t have a cell phone because ‘their radiation kills bees’ and his house line is sketchy because his grandma forgets to pay the bill sometimes. Even if I can get through, I’d have to talk to Grandma May for twenty minutes first while she confuses me with her long-lost fuck up of a son, Richard.
With nothing to do and no one to do it with, I just lay back across the foot of my bed and stare at the ceiling. Music and the noise of the party come through the walls, invading my bubble of privacy. I know this song. I know Willa knows this song.
I dare you to go a whole minute without thinking about her.
Fine. I can do that. Easy.
My stomach growls in hunger.
I wonder what Willa brought…
Damn it!
That wasn’t even ten seconds.
Shut up.
Make me.
I don’t want to go downstairs to find food. I’m not that hungry; just peckish. I lay there at the foot of the bed, listening and brooding and wishing that one of my friends had answered my call. I’ve passed out of their lives completely—I’m no longer around, and no longer worrying them with my illness. No need to spare any thought for Jem anymore.
I’m still mad about it when I drift off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. I don’t sleep long before Elise wakes me up with a hand on my cheek.
“W’time is it?” I try to stretch and then think better of it. My joints ache.
“Almost three.” She slips my hat off and sets it aside. I seem to be wrapped up in a blanket. I didn’t fall asleep that way. “You never came down,” she says sadly.
“Stomachache.” Elise nods acceptingly and gives me a hug.
“Sorry you had to miss it.”
“Did you have a good time?”
Elise grins. She pulls her hands in toward her chest and spins on one foot. It’s such a romantically giddy move. “When he said happy birthday he gave me a hug and he smells so…ugh. If only they bottled that smell.”
“Gross, Lise.”
She blows a raspberry at me.
“Tell Carey about that shit, not me.”
“I’m going to bed.” She pulls her beret off and stifles a yawn. “Goodnight.” Elise bends over to give me a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks for the blanket.”
“You already had it on.”
>
“Oh.”
Elise shrugs in a dismissive sort of way. She calls goodnight over her shoulder as she leaves, shutting the door behind her.
Did Willa…?
Don’t even think it.
But—
Don’t. Hell would freeze over.
I find myself sniffing the corner of the blanket for traces of her scent, to prove that it’s not just wishful thinking. Maybe she came up here looking for me. Maybe she wanted to talk—shit, and I missed her.
Do I have to explain the concept of hell freezing over?
Shut up.
Quit sniffing the blanket, you’re not a friggin’ dog.
She’s starting to come around.
Yes, joy—she took thirty seconds away from her time with baby-face to bundle you up like an invalid.
Eric passes my door on his way to bed. He belches loudly and all at once I feel like an idiot. He probably covered me up. He must have come looking for me, wondering where the other ‘supervisor’ of this party was, and found me asleep.
I didn’t think my night could get any worse, but it has. False hope stings. Sleep is a long time coming.
Willa: April 11 to 17
Wednesday
I park myself in front of the TV after school and don’t budge for hours. It’s up to Frank to make dinner tonight, so it’s frozen pierogies and bacon. My phone rings “pick up, it’s me” while I’m watching TV. Jem is beginning to rival Chris Elwood for persistence. I don’t answer the call. I can’t deal with him right now.
He complains that I won’t look at him, as if he truly wants to be seen. I have my doubts about that. And he rarely pauses to consider what it might cost me to look at him; that it might invite things I don’t want or am not ready for, or it might remind me of watching my sister’s descent into illness. That day in the shed when he asked me about suicide… That hurt more than he knew, because part of it was true.
Pills were Jem’s first choice, too—or they would have been, if he had ever come to that. Pills don’t require elaborate planning, see, and complex plans are difficult for a seriously ill person. All one needs is a room with a lock—most bathrooms have one—and a bottle of pills. Swallow, lie down on the floor to avoid alerting others with the sound of a crash, and wait for the bright light at the end of the tunnel. And he had access to sleeping pills; little chance of vomiting, like he would with Oxy, just a guarantee of respiratory and cardiac arrest as the depressant flowed through him.
Wake Page 21
