Comics Will Break Your Heart

by Faith Erin Hicks

“Are you still running?”

  “Of course,” Emma said. “Can’t get fat, not if I want to start working again. Not allowed if you act for a living. No aging either.” She laughed lightly, but he heard the sadness behind it. She hadn’t acted since breaking up with David Warrick and moving away from Los Angeles. He clenched a fist and ground it into his eye socket. Every subject was a minefield with his mother. He was never sure what would remind her of some horrible thing or some sad thing. Or his father.

  “Do you still run at the San Diego waterfront?” Weldon said. “By the convention center?” He was hanging on to the conversation by a fingernail. At any moment his mother would change her mind about talking to him and put down the phone. Even when he was little, she never seemed to want him around the way most kids’ moms did. It was as though her son was an amusing sidekick: fun to have around on occasion, but not an essential part of her narrative. Weldon always felt like he was chasing her, desperate to prove to her that he was interesting and integral. Maybe I did start getting into trouble when she left, Weldon thought. Maybe I thought it was something she might find interesting. He wished he didn’t care so much about her opinion of him. It was the distance between them that made him care; he was always reaching for her, Emma always pulling away.

  “Sometimes,” said Emma, her voice thoughtful. “I have a lot of good memories of that convention. It’s nice to remember sometimes.”

  “Yeah,” said Weldon.

  “Kid, I gotta go,” said Emma. Weldon’s heart lurched.

  “Okay,” he said. At least she doesn’t sound angry anymore, he thought.

  “Be good, kid.”

  “Okay,” said Weldon. The connection went dead on the other end.

  Weldon swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there, staring at the inoffensive cream walls in his aunt and uncle’s spare bedroom. After a few minutes he stood, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, laced up his running shoes, and slipped out the bedroom door.

  The house was quiet. Weldon walked carefully down the stairs toward the front door. Nothing creaked as he moved, the plush carpet draping everything in silence. In the foyer, Weldon paused, looking around. There was a small table with a basket of odds and ends pushed against the wall to his right. On top of the pile of gum packets, receipts, and bills were his uncle’s car keys. Weldon carefully plucked the keys from the basket. They jingled slightly, the tiny noise reverberating throughout the silent house. Weldon held his breath. No other noise followed.

  The front door opened silently. He stood on the front steps of the house and looked out over his aunt and uncle’s lawn. It shone wet and dewy under the down-turned sliver of the moon. Weldon felt strangely calm, as he always did when he’d made up his mind to do something terrible. He was caught in the inevitability of the moment, no other path to take but the one in front of him.

  Weldon walked toward his uncle’s car. It was a large SUV, glowing silver in the half-light. Weldon stuck the key in the lock and opened the door, swinging into the driver’s seat. He popped the parking brake and slid the car into neutral. It rolled silently down the gentle slope of his aunt and uncle’s driveway. On the road, Weldon turned on the engine and pulled away from the house. The neighborhood was cloaked in moonlight, houses with curtains drawn over their windows like closed eyelids. Weldon leaned back in the driver’s seat, adjusting the incline of the chair slightly. No one was awake to see him leave.

  Weldon guided the car in a lazy loop through the neighborhood, passing house after sleeping house. The bridge into town lay before him, the water underneath it black and endless. He slowed the SUV as he drove across the bridge, bringing it to a stop in the middle. Weldon rolled down the car window and leaned out. Above him hung the moon, carved to a sickle shape. The river slid by, ignoring him. He could see a few lights ahead in Sandford’s tiny downtown, and there were several large streetlamps attached to the bridge. But here in the exact middle of the bridge there was nothing but blackness. Weldon looked at the river for a few more seconds, then put the car into gear and drove across the bridge.

  Weldon didn’t see a single person as he drove down Sandford’s main street. No late-night partyers, no homeless people trying to stay warm in some corner, no one who’d worked the night shift and was now on their way home. He was completely alone.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Weldon saw a flash of red and yellow. He stepped on the brake and the SUV obligingly jerked to a halt. It was the Skybound poster in the window of the sad little geek store. There was a small spotlight illuminating the poster, and the bright colors of Skybound’s costume blazed in the dim storefront. Weldon steered the SUV over to the side of the road and stared hard at the poster. Technically it was a fantastic drawing, every detail lovingly rendered. Skybound’s cape seemed to flap in the wind, every muscle in his body etched with precision. Weldon thought of the painting he’d bought, the quick brushstrokes patterned across the faces of Skylark and Skybound. When he peered closely at the painting, the brushstrokes broke apart and became individual color blobs, but when he stood back, everything combined into a beautiful whole. He thought he liked his painting better than this realistically rendered poster.

  I’d like to see that girl again, Weldon thought.

  Weldon turned away from the geek store, looking at his hands on the SUV’s steering wheel. He still had time, hours before anyone woke up and saw what he’d done. He could return the car and try to find that girl, and solve the mystery of why she’d suddenly wanted nothing to do with him. But … I’m already here, Weldon thought. I’ve stolen this car. I’m going to get caught in the morning and then things will happen. This is what I’ve decided to do. Weldon waited, still looking at the steering wheel, rolling the idea around in his head. He glanced to his right and saw the red and yellow of Skybound’s costume. Be good, kid, Emma Sanders whispered.

  Weldon turned the steering wheel and drove the SUV back across the bridge. He cringed at the noise of the engine as he drove the car up the gently sloping driveway, but nothing in the house stirred. He put his uncle’s car keys back in the basket by the front door and slipped into his bedroom. The clock on the nightstand read 3:14 a.m. He’d been gone barely longer than an hour.

  He didn’t think he’d sleep, but when the clock flipped over to 5:00 a.m., Weldon was facedown in his bed, snoring softly.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mir stood outside Sandford High School, a feeling of dread settling over her shoulders. Evan had called her last night, after Mir had returned home from the lake. He had been brief: “I’m starting to think it’s really screwed up how Jamie keeps picking on you.” Mir had tried to laugh, but she was relieved that someone other than her had seen it.

  “It’s not a big deal,” she’d said.

  “Yeah, it kinda is,” Evan said. “He’s not mean to Raleigh, but he’s mean to you, and that’s messed up.”

  “He’s mean to you too,” Mir pointed out.

  “He just thinks I’m an idiot and I think he’s full of shit. Plus, we’re both guys.” Mir could almost hear Evan’s nonchalant shrug through the phone line. “It’s different with you. You’re Raleigh’s best friend. You’ve known her forever, and her boyfriend picks on you any chance he gets. It’s a lot messed up, Mir.”

  Mir hadn’t said anything. She’d just stood in her parents’ kitchen, winding the cord of the old landline phone around her hand.

  “It doesn’t matter, Evan,” Mir said finally. She’d stared at the knot of phone cord twisted around her hand. That’s my parents, she’d thought. So tightfisted they can’t even spring for a cordless phone. They cost, what, thirty dollars? But I bet this ancient contraption was free.

  “It does matter,” Evan said. “We’re Raleigh’s friends. We should matter.”

  She would choose him over us, Mir thought, then felt wretched for thinking so little of Raleigh’s loyalty.

  “I gotta go, Evan. See you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Mir stared at the school entrance
, hands tight on her backpack straps. She’d see Raleigh at her locker, unless Mir went straight to class. But she always put her coat and extra books away before first period, and it would be obvious to Raleigh that she was being avoided if Mir wasn’t there.

  Mir squared her shoulders and stepped into the stream of students heading toward the school.

  Raleigh was waiting by Mir’s locker, swaying anxiously from foot to foot. Her round face split into a relieved grin when she saw Mir.

  “Hey!”

  “Hi,” Mir said, using the motion of taking off her jacket to avoid eye contact with Raleigh.

  “You’re okay, right? Things felt kind of weird yesterday,” Raleigh said, reaching out to touch Mir’s arm.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Mir said. The cheerfulness sounded hollow to her ears, but maybe Raleigh couldn’t tell. Raleigh beamed, and Mir could practically smell the anxiety radiating from her friend.

  “I just wanted to make sure. Last night … it was just weird. You know Jamie doesn’t mean anything, right? He’s just kinda blunt sometimes.”

  “It’s okay, Raleigh,” Mir said. “It’s fine. For real.”

  “Good, I’m glad,” Raleigh said.

  It isn’t okay, Mir thought, packing her afternoon schoolbooks into the locker. Nothing about this is okay. You’re my best friend, so why can’t I tell you that?

  Mir caught a glimpse of herself in the small mirror she’d taped to the locker door. She’d wound her hair up into a bun this morning, pulling it back tightly. She’d felt like she needed the hairdo, something that wasn’t her usual messy-hair-somewhat-constrained-by-a-ponytail look. Stella had sensed something was off, and dug a small jar of styling gel out from the linen closet, wordlessly working over Mir’s hair so every piece of it was tucked perfectly into the bun.

  Raleigh fell into step with her.

  “What book are you reading in Advanced English?” Raleigh asked.

  “The Stone Angel. Just finished it this morning,” Mir lied. She’d finished it two weeks ago, several days after it was assigned. Mir and Raleigh hadn’t been in the same classes since grade nine, when Mir went into the advanced stream and Raleigh remained behind in the general stream. Mir remembered how lonely it had been to start grade ten without Raleigh sitting next to her, as she had all throughout elementary school. The first few weeks she kept looking to her left, expecting to see Raleigh’s familiar shape beside her. They would see each other at lunch and after school and on the weekends, but it hadn’t been the same. And now there was Jamie pulling Raleigh even farther away, in a way that felt permanent.

  “Was it boring?”

  “Yeah, pretty much,” said Mir, forcing out a laugh. “It was a book about an angry old woman who lives in Manitoba. Riveting stuff.” It was, kinda, Mir thought. All I could feel while I read was this woman’s regret and her anger. It was amazing.

  “You make school look so easy,” said Raleigh. “I remember in grade nine, you read all of Brave New World in an afternoon. I thought the teacher’s eyes were going to fall out of his head when you told him.”

  “It’s only, like, two hundred pages,” Mir said. “And I was really bored that night. The only source of entertainment at my house besides reading is gardening, and that’s way too much work for me.”

  “Whenever you came over to my place to watch TV, you’d get completely mesmerized. I had to practically yell your name before you’d hear me,” Raleigh said. “It didn’t matter what show we watched, you were enthralled. Even those tacky old game shows were like magic to you. God forbid anything get between you and The Price is Right.”

  Mir laughed. She remembered her feeling of awe when she first sat in front of Raleigh’s towering television, how the images on the screen closed off the world around her, making everything else inconsequential. She remembered the look of amusement on Raleigh’s face when she finally turned toward her. “Seriously, Mir,” Raleigh had said. “I said your name like five times. You didn’t hear me?”

  “I don’t have any defense against TV,” Mir said now. “If I had regular access, I’d sit in front of the screen all day, every day, and do absolutely nothing else. So maybe it’s good I don’t have one.”

  “Maybe it is,” Raleigh said. “Because then you wouldn’t have the excuse to practically live at my place.”

  “My best memories are of sitting in front of your TV, completely in thrall to its power,” Mir said.

  “Oh, Mir, that’s just so sad,” laughed Raleigh, pressing her hands to her face in mock despair. Mir smiled and with all her might willed the weirdness of last night to be wiped clean. But the feeling of it remained, a current of unease running beneath the sound of Raleigh’s laughter.

  The first bell rang and the halls swelled with students. Mir and Raleigh pushed past a group of ninth graders standing in a semicircle, their heads bent over their phones. First thing I do when I grow up is get a phone and high-speed internet and cable television, Mir thought. Five million channels, I want every single one of them.

  Mir and Raleigh climbed the stairs leading to the school’s upper level, where all the English classes met, both the general and advanced streams. Raleigh turned to say goodbye to Mir, then hesitated, thinking about something.

  “I swear I used to enjoy reading when I was a kid,” Raleigh said. “Then I got to high school. Why can’t we have an English class on The Princess Diaries or Goosebumps or The Magic Tree House? Or any of the manga we read when we were twelve? I could discuss the literary merit of Fruits Basket for hours. Then we could both be in the same classes.”

  “I remember you sneaking me those Goosebumps books,” Mir said. Raleigh laughed.

  “I was your crappy horror book dealer. Wanna buy the latest R. L. Stine? I can hook you up.” Raleigh mimed opening a trench coat, illicit literary wares on display. “Hot off the press.”

  “My mom hated those books,” Mir sighed. “She got so excited when she found out I was reading The Stone Angel. She thinks Margaret Laurence is the ultimate Canadian writer.”

  “But look what it got you,” said Raleigh, and her voice almost sounded wistful. “You had a mom who pushed you to be better, and now you’re the one in the advanced classes. You’re going to university. You’ll leave us all behind.”

  Mir stared at Raleigh, surprised.

  “Raleigh, I would never—”

  Mir’s English teacher walked briskly past her toward the classroom, trailing loose-leaf paper and randomly escaping pens. Mr. Kean had an impressive walrus mustache and was one of the few teachers who could elicit participation out of a class of sleepy first-period eleventh graders. He was a legend.

  “You’ve gotta go,” said Raleigh. She turned and walked away from Mir. Mir watched her go, uneasy.

  During second period, Mir had an appointment with the school guidance counselor. She arrived seven minutes early and sat in the small waiting room outside Ms. Archer’s door, turning her tattered school copy of The Stone Angel over and over in her hands. On the inside of the back cover of the book, someone had written this book is fucking stupid in pencil. Mir dug through her backpack and pulled out an eraser, scrubbing at the words until only a faint impression of them remained.

  Ms. Archer’s door opened, and she stuck her head out, smiling at Mir.

  “Come on in, Miriam.”

  Mir dumped her backpack on one of the two chairs opposite Ms. Archer’s desk and plopped herself in the other one.

  “How’ve you been?” Ms. Archer looked up at Mir, the lines around her eyes crinkling warmly. Mir smiled back. She’d always liked Ms. Archer. She liked the counselor’s short, matter-of-fact haircut, her practical footwear, and the vibrant, patterned sweaters she often wore.

  “Fine, Ms. Archer,” Mir said.

  “School going well?”

  “Yep. Same as always.”

  “Your grades reflect that. You’ve done amazing work this year, Miriam, excelling in many subjects. Which is why I wanted to see you. I wanted to ask if you’ve g
iven any consideration to university or college.”

  Mir stared at her knees. You’ll leave us all behind, Raleigh whispered in the back of her mind, and Mir felt cold. She remembered her first day of grade ten, feeling lost in a classroom without Raleigh beside her. It had been nearly two years since their paths split, but Mir always believed they’d meet up again, maybe on the other side of high school. They had been friends for so long Mir couldn’t remember herself without Raleigh. Mir had read a thousand Goosebumps novels with her, competing to see who could finish their book first. They had watched thousands of hours of cheesy game show TV together, the rest of the world walled off and unimportant.

  But she thinks I’m going to leave, Mir thought, and her chest felt hollow with loneliness. I don’t even know what I want to do after high school, but she thinks I’ve already made my decision. How could she think that?

  “I don’t know,” she finally said.

  “Can you tell me what subjects you’re most interested in?” Ms. Archer asked. “You’ve done a lot of English courses, and you’ve done very well in all of them. You’ve also kept up with biology, though not so much with the math.”

  “I like things…” Mir hesitated. “I guess I like subjects where I can use words to explain things. I want to keep going with some math so I can have those credits, but I don’t like it as much.”

  “Using words, all right,” Ms. Archer said. “You might want to consider a general bachelor’s degree, Miriam. That will allow you to take many different subjects and discover what you’re genuinely interested in pursuing.”

  Mir looked down again. Words were crowding her throat, and she swallowed hard, forcing them downward.

  “I don’t know,” she said again. Ms. Archer looked up at her, curious. “University’s expensive.”

  “There is assistance available to exceptional students who demonstrate financial need. There’s also the possibility of scholarships.”

  “Everyone I know is staying here after graduation,” Mir whispered. “I’d have to leave Sandford if I wanted to go to university.”