Erased

by Margaret Chatwin

  All she has to do, now, is relax down on me. I start to wonder how long something like this will take, because I’m totally freaking out. The increase of blood is making everything hurt. I can feel the weight of her hands on my chest, the pressure of her thighs against mine.

  She kisses my mouth, begins to lower herself and suddenly I’m not so sure this is only about her dad. There’s something else. Something . . . I don’t know, just something that’s stopping me.

  “I can’t. I can’t, Tasha.” I’m fully aware that she’s in the controlling position. We’re so close, another fraction of in inch lower and she gets what she wants, and I’m not exactly strong enough to force her off of me. I’m hoping like hell she’ll just respect me.

  She’s surprised and not at all happy.

  “I’m sorry. Damn, I really am.” I say.

  “Ryan.” I can hear all the frustration and disappointment in her single word.

  “I’m sorry, Tasha,” I tell her again.

  She sighs and climbs off of me.

  “Why not?” she asks, falling onto the couch next to me.

  “I don’t know.” I tuck, zip and button.

  “I can’t even count how many times we’ve done it before, why not now?”

  “I don’t know,” I say a lot quieter.

  She sighs again then reaches for the remote and turns on the TV.

  What the hell is wrong with me? She’s the hottest girl in school and maybe even on the planet! And she’s right; a lot of guys would die for the chance I just threw away. I’m chicken shit and I’m embarrassed, too. But I can’t change how I felt and it just didn’t feel right.

  I reach for her hand as a consolation prize and she lets me hold it. Eventually, she even lays her head on my shoulder.

  She doesn’t pull away from me until her dad comes to the door of the livingroom about twenty minutes later, with the announcement that, “The guys are here.”

  It’s Scott and Zane and some girl. Tasha meets them just outside the French doors and I watch Zane discreetly pass her a small bag of weed.

  “Why’s Ryan here?” he asks in a hushed voice.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t invite him, my dad did,” is Tasha’s just as quiet response.

  Her blatant lie confuses me. It hurts, too, but not as much as when she says, “You guys should stay so I don’t have to be alone with him anymore.”

  They come into the living room. The girl, whoever she is, says hi to me like we know each other, and I say hi back. She waits until Tasha picks up her phone then sits down in the chair to the right of the couch. Scott sits next to me, Tasha on the other end, and Zane picks a chair almost directly across from me.

  Then we all just sit there. Scott laughs at the ridiculously stupid program on TV. Tasha texts, and Zane won’t quit staring at me. And I haven’t a clue why, but I wanna get up and hit him in the mouth. I want to watch him bleed.

  FIFTEEN

  “What are you doing here?” Paige’s voice causes me to open my eyes. I’m lying on my back on the grass, knees bent, by the pine tree on the west side of the school. Now she’s standing over me.

  “Do you eat lunch out here alone every day?” I ask her.

  “I’ll have to move inside when it gets cold, but for now, yeah. It’s okay, though, because I like to read.” She pats her bag where she keeps her Kindle.

  “So what am I interrupting – The Hobbit, The Outsiders, what?”

  She giggles. “Those are so middle school, Ryan.”

  “Well, what do I know? Being the super stud jock that I am, I’m pretty positive I’m too cool to have ever picked up a book in my whole life. They are books, right?”

  She knows I’m kidding and laughs until it makes me laugh. That’s what I like about her. She makes me feel good.

  She sits down on the bench beside me and takes her lunch out of the bag. “So, SSJ, you never answered my question,” she says.

  “SSJ? Oh, super stud jock. Good one, PP. You do realize your initials are PP, right? Kind of embarrassing, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I have been pushed into the boy’s restroom and told to go PP a time or two.” She tosses a plastic wrapped sandwich onto my chest. “But usually only by SSJ’s, like you.”

  “See anything interesting while you were in there?”

  “Absolutely not. But how do you guys pee in those urinals when someone else is standing right next to you with his unit sticking out too? So weird.”

  “Just don’t look over, and pray the next guy is living by the same rules.” I pick up the sandwich and inspect it. “You’ll be hungry if you give me this.”

  “Came prepared for such an elite visitor as yourself,” she says and shows me a second sandwich.

  “You rock.” I sit up, drag myself back until I can lean against the bench close to her legs, and then I open the plastic zip top bag.

  “Brought Your Highness cookies, too.”

  “Please, please be those ones your mom makes. Those things are . . . mmm . . . not even words for how good they are. Are they?” I glance back at her. She affirms they are by wiggling her eye brows and I grin.

  I’ve taken several bites of the sandwich before I answer her original question. “I don’t think my friends like me all that much. I guess we’re even, though, because I kind of feel the same about them.”

  “Why do you hang out with them, then?”

  I shrug. “I guess because it’s expected that I do. And, because I don’t want to be alone. I have nothing to read.”

  She knocks me lightly with her leg. “Never heard of a library?”

  “A what? Nah, I mean I don’t mind being alone at home, but at school,” I shake my head. “I just feel like everyone is staring at me and talking about me.”

  “A lot of people do talk about you.” Although she says it with a bit of a laugh, she’s serious and I know it. “But, jeeze, Ryan, why wouldn’t they? From the sounds of it, you were the big it. Then you were involved in a terrible car accident and because everyone knew you, they want to discuss it. They all thought you’d die, but you don’t, so they want to talk about that, too. Now you’re back at school, very different than before, and without a memory. Stuff like that just fuels attention and talk.”

  “Yeah, then throw attempted suicide into the mix and I become a regular on a daytime soap.”

  “As The World of Ryan Farnsworth Turns.”

  I’m quiet after that, and when she leans into my shoulder with her leg, I know she knows that it all hurts right now.

  _____

  Dad’s traveling for business. He’ll be back tomorrow night, but before he left this morning, he made me promise to stay for football practice. So I turn down Paige’s invitation to walk home with her, and I sit on the damn bench again.

  I think Dad is hoping that one of these days, while I’m watching, I’ll be magically healed and spring up off of the bench, snap a ball out of mid-air and run it into the end zone, dodging linebackers twice my size all along the way. I haven’t told him my true feelings about the sport, or all this bench sitting.

  Zane doesn’t tell me to find another ride home. He doesn’t give me one either. He just walks right passed me like I’m not there. I don’t know what the hell happened, but ever since Tasha’s house, last night, things feel weird between me and him – between me and all of them, which is why I avoided them at lunch.

  I feel really messed up all evening, but after getting into bed and sleeping less than an hour, something goes terribly wrong. It feels like a cockroach crawled inside my head and laid eggs. Now there’s millions of them wiggling and scurrying across my brain. It itches. The inside of my head actually itches! And it’s impossible to scratch.

  I lie in bed and squeeze on my head as tightly as I can, hoping to make it stop, but it doesn’t. Then something even weirder happens – the little flashes of pictures begin. Thousands and thousands of them reel through my mind at warp speed. None of them staying long enough for me to figure out if they’re repla
ys of current events, or past ones. They’re just nanosecond glances of faces, places, and things.

  They come in intervals – switching off and on with the terrible itching. Scratch, scratch, SCRATCH! Flash, flash, FLASH! REPEAT, REPEAT, REPEAT!

  I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I feel like I’m going insane!

  Dozens of times I pick up my cell phone and start to call Mom’s number. I do this because I’m scared and I want her to come down here and sit with me. But I always cancel the call because it’s the middle of the night, and because I know where I’ll end up – the ER – and that’s not going to bring me the comfort I’m so desperately seeking.

  I can’t sleep.

  I lie awake in complete inner chaos and watch the clock change to one – two – three a.m. and then I can’t take it a second longer. I get out of bed and even though, physically, I don’t hurt more than I usually do, I swallow down two of the kick my ass pain killers, and then fill the bathtub to the very brim with cold water. I don’t undress, I just get in, causing the water to flood over the side and onto the floor.

  It’s frigid and it shocks my system, but I lower my head below the surface and tell myself not to breathe – to be still and go to sleep.

  I don’t care if I die. I almost hope I do.

  I don’t die. I get sick as hell from the pills and spend the next two hours soaking wet and freezing. I puke until I can’t see straight and then curl into a ball on the floor in front of the toilet and wait until I have to do it again. But it’s worth it, because at least the flashes have stopped.

  Around 5:30, I get back into bed and count down the minutes until it’s okay to call Paige. I don’t know why I want her so badly, but I do, and she’s all I can think about. Her face – her voice – her everything – is in my head and I can’t shake it. I don’t want to, either. I just want time to hurry and pass so I can be with her.

  I can only manage to wait until 7:30.

  It’s obvious that my call wakes her, but she doesn’t complain, even though it’s a Saturday. She tells me to come over, so I get dressed, comb my hair, pretend I’ve had a perfectly fine night and go.

  An hour with her and I’m finally able to stop shaking and I start to feel somewhat better.

  I hang out at her house all day and when it gets dark we take a battery powered lantern and cross the grass to the far corner of her back yard. There’s a little girl’s playhouse there and we both have to duck to get in the door.

  The place has a little plastic stove, fridge, and sink. Lace curtains on the window, and a mini size ladder that leads to a loft that I can touch the bottom of while sitting on the floor.

  It’s barely big enough for the two of us and it makes me think of that scene in Alice in Wonderland, where she grows really big and her arms and legs are sticking out of the doors and windows of that house.

  Paige sets the lantern on top of the fridge and makes herself as comfortable as can be on the floor next to me.

  “Are you alright today, Ryan? You’ve seemed kinda off. You keep pretending you’re okay, but I can tell something’s up. What is it?” She asks this in just the right tone to make me confess.

  When I’m done telling her about the roaches, flashes, pills, tub, and toilet, she’s the one who’s scared. Her gaze holds steady on me and the concern in her eyes goes deeper than any I’ve ever seen anyone display for me.

  “This is bad,” she whispers. And with those three words I’m able to catch a glimpse of what it is she’s afraid of. She’s worried I might be – or become – suicidal again. “I think you should tell your parents.”

  “No. I’m okay now. I think.”

  “Ryan.”

  I didn’t sleep last night and I’m tired as hell – completely and utterly exhausted – and that’s most likely the biggest part of my problem. It’s my excuse for the emotions, anyway.

  They’ve been choking me up, off and on, all day, and right now they’re on the rise again. I don’t know why, there’s really no reason for them, but they’re there, just the same, and I’m having a very difficult time controlling them.

  They’re doing strange things to my chest – making it burn when I exhale – making me never want to let out another breath. And there’s a lump in my throat that I want to go away because I know Paige can see it. She’s watching me closely and I don’t want to cry in front of her. But I think I’m going to.

  I should leave before I do. But I don’t go anywhere. I stay right where I am and keep fighting to regain control.

  She thinks she’s helping when she leans against my shoulder and weaves her arm around mine. It lets me know I’m loved and cared for – and that’s the problem – I need that, and it makes it even harder to fend off the trembling.

  “Talk to me,” she whispers. Her eyes are big, sad, and innocent, and mine are blinking away moisture.

  “Why can’t I remember?” I ask and there’s a crackle in my voice that can’t be hidden. “I could maybe figure some things out if I could just remember them.”

  “I’ve heard the mind has a tendency to block out things that involve more trauma than that person is equipped to deal with. It’s a survival technique,” she says. “Like your car wreck – it’s probably not a good idea that you remember that. It sounds horrific.”

  “But my whole life is gone, Paige. Was the entire thing horrific, too?”

  She’s quiet for a moment, then very gently she speaks. “Apparently you felt it was bad enough to make you want to kill yourself.”

  Damn, she’s right. I mean – of course she’s right. I’ve just never thought of it like that before. Maybe my whole life is a blank because I don’t have what it takes to deal with it.

  My jaw quivers and I try to hold it steady. “I did kill myself, Paige. That old me is dead – I killed him – and I don’t know who this new me is.”

  “I’ll tell you who he is. He’s an amazing, sweet, and strong person that I like very much. He makes me laugh, and I feel good whenever I see him. He’s been a friend to me when I didn’t have any others here, and I need him. Ryan, I hope you don’t want to change him or get rid of him.”

  I don’t realize a tear has fallen until she smiles tenderly and wipes it away.

  I can’t really breathe. My head hurts and I’m trembling again – trying like hell not to break down, but I manage to shake my head.

  She doesn’t seem entirely convinced that my answer is no, I don’t, so she slides her hand into mine and says, “Please don’t hurt him, Ryan. Promise me you won’t.”

  I look at her, so much worry and compassion in her eyes, and I can’t keep myself from touching her. I move my free hand to the side of her face and feel the smooth and delicate texture of her skin.

  She smiles and tilts her head, leaning it into my touch. And as she does, I feel whatever it is she has inside of her pool at the place of contact. It builds, and builds, until the levee breaks and it flows into me. I can feel it travel through my body the way I used to feel the drugs that were injected into my IV at the hospital. It warms, comforts, and relaxes me. It fills me with peace.

  I ease my hand further back until it’s behind her neck, and then I gently pull her toward me. She comes, and when she closes her eyes I know we’re both ready for this.

  Our lips meet, and together we create our first kiss.

  It’s not raw animalistic passion. It’s not tear your clothes off and get it done. What it is, is perfect. It’s healing, respectful, and giving. It’s completely mutual and it’s the best kiss I’ve ever had. And when we’re done I pull her to my chest, whisper, “I promise,” then I hold her there while tears of a different sort flow silently.

  Then I close my eyes.

  “Ryan, it’s nearly one o’clock in the morning.” Dad’s voice is informative and a little stern, but not hostile. Still, it increases the guilt I already feel.

  “I know, Dad. I’m sorry,” I say humbly as I enter the house and close the patio door behind me.

  �
�Is your phone not working? I’ve tried checking up on you.” He’s standing in the great room. Still wearing his business slacks and white shirt. He’s lost the tie, unbuttoned a few buttons and rolled the sleeves. His hands are placed low on his hips. And Luc is there. He’s wearing sweat pants and nothing else. He’s sitting on the couch with enough of an annoyed look to tell me he’s been having a conversation with Dad.

  “I fell asleep. I guess I was too out of it to hear it ring,” I explain.

  “Where you been, Ry?”

  “Paige’s.”

  “Excuse me.”

  I know he heard me.

  “I was unbelievably tired and as soon as I relaxed . . .”

  “You been there all day?” his voice has sharpened. “Your mom said you left this morning and told her you were going to a friend’s. That’s where you’ve been, Paige’s?”

  “It’s not like I lied to Mom,” I say rather quietly.

  “We didn’t worry about you, Ryan, because we thought you were with real friends.” The heavy emphasis on the word real brings Luc’s eyes up quickly. He studies Dad who has his back to him, then transfers his attention to me. A small smile creeps across his mouth and I can tell he’s excited to witness the shit that’s about to hit the fan.

  I just wanna go to bed. I’m worn out, mentally, emotionally, and physically. I ache, too.

  “Ryan, this is unacceptable behavior. I expect better out of you.”

  Better? I wonder if I’d lied and told him I’d gone to a kegger and got loaded, if he’d be patting me on the back right now telling me how proud he is of me. After all, that’s what football jocks do, right?

  Dad shakes his head. “I can’t begin to understand what it is about her that you find so appealing.”

  I’d tell him, but I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to have anything to twist and deform in order to create leverage against her. I want to protect her from that. I want to protect myself from that too, because this hurts.