* * *
—
It’s not like I don’t think about leaving. But I also know Terrence’s house is as far as I can go, realistically. After that I have nothing. No one. I mean, now I have you, out there somewhere. But right now that’s nowhere I can run to. Your choice, not mine.
* * *
—
It was late, but I called him anyway.
“What’s on your mind?” he said. He didn’t ask me why I was calling. He didn’t complain that I’d woken him, that it was late.
“It’s so quiet here,” I told him. And then I found myself saying something I don’t think I’ve ever said before. “I’m all alone.”
“No, you’re not,” Terrence replied.
And that was it. That was what I needed, to feel that there was someone else who remained.
* * *
—
I know you think I’m young. I know you think Terrence and I are both young. I don’t care. I am old enough to need somebody.
* * *
—
I can’t remember what the last words I said to you were. It’s driving me crazy. I had no idea they were important.
* * *
—
I should send this. It’s early. Mrs. Goldsmith opened the library for me when she got in. Joe wanted to find Sloane.
I wanted to find you.
Write back.
Ezra
Subject: Lunchtime.
From: Ezra
To: Bea
Date: Wed 27 Mar 12:04 EST
The email you sent yesterday said you’re in another time zone. Is that why you haven’t written back?
Subject: Study Hall
From: Ezra
To: Bea
Date: Wed 27 Mar 14:06 EST
It is going to drive me crazy, every time I check this inbox and find it empty. I hope you realize that.
Meanwhile, Sloane is acting weird. And I don’t mean the same kind of weird as me and Joe, missing you and worried about you.
I caught her at the end of lunch, after I checked my email and saw YOU HADN’T WRITTEN BACK. (Okay, moving on.) I know Sloane’s always thought of me as a pest, your over-devoted hanger-on. (I always tried to be a lovable pest. Honest. More a mouse than a rat.) But her annoyance with me always seemed like it was part of an act. This time when she saw me, I felt her want to run away. It was like she couldn’t stand the sight of me.
But I guess she also knew she’d have to talk to me sooner or later. So she didn’t actually run away.
“Do you know anything?” I asked as soon as I got to her. “Did she tell you anything?”
And do you know what she said?
She said, “She hasn’t told me anything in a long time.”
Then, as if she realized how harsh that was, she added, “Just leave her alone. That’s the way she wants to be—absolutely alone. Fuck the rest of us. Don’t make this about you. It’s about her. Only her. That’s also the way she wants things to be.”
She was acting like she’d washed her hands of you, but I could tell you were still all over her hands. What does she know? I’m only asking because there’s no way she’s going to tell me. And not because she doesn’t like me. Because she doesn’t think I deserve to know.
I admit: I got mad. I was like, “What, you’ve known Bea for, what? Three years? Well, I’ve known her my whole life. She’s my sister. I know this isn’t about me. But it has something to do with me, okay? Can you at least acknowledge that?”
She just looked at me like I was as useless as an empty cereal box. Then she left.
She didn’t owe me anything at all.
* * *
—
Also, Lisa Palmer told me her sister asked her to ask me where you are. So I guess people are figuring things out.
Help me understand this.
Ezra
Subject: Midnight
From: Ezra
To: Bea
Date: Wed 27 Mar 23:56 EST
Yes, I’m emailing you from my phone.
Your silence is cruel. You know that.
Cruel, but maybe not unusual?
Subject: RE: Midnight
From: Ezra
To: Bea
Date: Thurs 28 Mar 00:05 EST
I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.
I know this isn’t about me. I know you must be dealing with things.
But still.
Subject: This is not an April Fools’ Joke
From: Ezra
To: Bea
Date: Thurs 28 Mar 12:15 EST
Well, you’ve finally broken my streak.
For the first time ever, I’ve been called down to the office over the PA! That prime spot, at the end of morning announcements! “Ezra Ahern, please report to the office to see Vice Principal Southerly.”
I almost didn’t catch it. I thought my mind had made it up. But then I saw everyone looking at me, and Justin Ling went, “Oooooh…what did you do?”
I mumbled something about not knowing. You would have played it proud, badge of honor. Certified troublemaker.
The best I could do was to try not to shake when I walked into the office.
“Ezra?” the secretary said. I could see her registering what I looked like, for next time.
I nodded. She pointed me toward Mr. Southerly’s office.
I headed in. He was checking something on his computer, but smiled when he saw me and gestured for me to sit down. I wasn’t expecting him to be friendly, but he was.
“So,” he said, “I’ll get right to the point. Do you happen to know if your sister is planning to come back to school? I ask because this is the third day in a row she’s missed, and when we’ve called your house, nobody’s answered. Often this can mean a family vacation—but since you’re here, and since your sister has a history of nonattendance, it felt incumbent upon me to see what was shaking.”
It was so strange to have an adult talking to me rationally. Maybe that’s why I answered honestly.
“I don’t know for sure,” I told him. “But I’d say it’s not looking good for her coming back.”
“Is she at home right now? Do you think I’d be able to talk to her?”
“No, sir,” I said. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
I could feel how mad Mom and Darren would be at me for saying this. But it’s not like they gave me another answer to offer.
Mr. Southerly looked me in the eye, and it wasn’t threatening at all. If anything, I had a sense he had at least an inkling of what I was feeling.
“Look,” he said, “Beatrix is eighteen, so there isn’t anything I can do. And I’m not going to put you in the position of go-between. I just want you to know I’m concerned, and that I’m here for both of you. I know at her age, school can feel unimportant, and graduation can seem unimportant. But that impulse never serves your future well. You don’t have to tell me where she is…but do you know if she’s safe?”
“I think so.”
“And has there been trouble at home?”
Here’s where my honesty failed me. I couldn’t say There’s always trouble at home. Because that’s just an invitation for further questions. Further trouble.
The weird thing is: I felt like Mr. Southerly already knew the real answer. Maybe you made more of an impression than you thought. Or maybe he’s just seen this situation plenty of times before. Maybe there’s nothing at all original about us and our family, Bea. Isn’t that sad?
“There hasn’t been anything out of the ordinary,” I told him.
&nbs
p; He nodded. Also registering me.
“Well,” he said, standing up from his desk, “know that I’m here. I’ll keep trying to contact your parents. I won’t tell them we had this talk—what’s said in this office stays in this office. Come back anytime. Understood?”
Now it was my turn to nod, even though all I wanted to do was disappear.
* * *
—
I can’t spend my whole lunch writing to you. I need to do something else. And you need to write back to me.
Ezra
Subject: Sorry
From: Bea
To: Ezra
Date: Thurs 28 Mar 03:09 CST
Ezra,
If I could make you understand, don’t you know I would?
Me
Subject: more
From: Bea
To: Ezra
Date: Thurs 28 Mar 03:26 CST
Ez,
I should never have given you this email address. You always do this. I can’t do all I need to do and worry about you. I’ve never been good at doing two things at once, you know that.
I don’t think you have a clue what it’s like to let everybody down all the time. In fact, I know you don’t know what it’s like, good little overachiever that you are. I’m not surprised Mom and Darren don’t sound more upset, but it might be nice to hear some concern for, I don’t know, my safety and well-being.
For instance, not to go too far back into the archives, but do you remember when I was eleven and fell off my bike and walked around all day with a broken arm until they came home from work and decided to take me to the doctor—only after they’d made sure I wasn’t bluffing? As if I’d ever made things like that up, because I learned in the wee early hours of my life that pretending you were sick or injured wasn’t a way to get attention.
But the truth is I haven’t been okay in a long time. Maybe never. You see, here’s something no one knows—I worry. At night, when everyone else was sleeping, I would just lie there and think about every bad thing that could happen to me or you. I would think about Joe’s accident and how he almost died and what that would have meant for me, being alone in this world without him, and how he might be the last boy who would ever love me. I would think about Sloane and what would happen if we stopped being friends. I would worry that something would break Joe and me up. That something would make Sloane stop talking to me or turn on me like so many girls do to each other. I would worry that Mom would get in an accident and die and leave us alone with Darren, or that you and Terrence would break up and you would be lost and sad, or that Darren would murder us all in our sleep, and I would worry that somehow all of it would be my fault.
Most of all, I worried about you. That Darren would hurt you or Mom would hurt you and I wouldn’t be able to get in between you fast enough. That I’m not enough to protect you and keep you safe. That something would happen to you and I wouldn’t be there to stop it.
I even worried about Dad. That’s how bad it got.
So you see, I care more than you think. About everything.
Maybe I got tired of letting people down. Of everyone expecting me to be someone who would do something exactly like this—just disappear. No matter how many A’s I got in school, no matter how many grades ahead I was reading. Not even when I tutored that girl, Celia What’s-her-name, during recess because my teacher asked me to, and I did it every single day for two months, even when Celia threatened to kill me if I actually taught her anything. Maybe there’s a part of me that was like, why not do it then? Just give them what they expect? But that’s not why I left.
The trouble with worrying so much is that sometimes you worry something into coming true.
Maybe I just needed to be someone who does the opposite of worry.
But that’s all I can tell you. Don’t ask me for more because I won’t/can’t give it to you.
This is going to be the last you hear from me for a while. I know it’s no use saying this, but please don’t take it personally. It’s not personal. This isn’t about you or Joe (directly, at least) or Sloane (even though she’d like to think so) or dear, blind Mr. Southerly or even Darren and Mom. This is about me.
Take care of yourself. I love you. If you write, I won’t get it. Or maybe I will get it, but I won’t read it. I can’t. Not right now.
Love,
Me
p.s. Lisa Palmer and her sister can kiss my ass.
Subject: p.s.
From: Bea
To: Ezra
Date: Fri 29 Mar 09:11 CST
So I didn’t sleep last night (surprise) because I felt bad about the email. And then I started worrying about leaving you. I’m just angry, Ez. Really angry. Sorry if that came out at you.
p.s. Lisa Palmer and her sister can still kiss my ass.
Subject: ARE YOU OK?
From: Bea
To: Ezra
Date: Fri 5 Apr 12:32 CST
Ez,
I know I told you not to contact me, but let’s face it, I didn’t really expect you to listen to me. I’m on email for the first time in days, and there’s nothing from you. Are you trying to get back at me? Teach me a lesson? We’ve been through too much for this silent treatment bullshit.
Me
Subject: ARE YOU OK?
From: Bea
To: Ezra
Date: Sat 6 Apr 06:43 CST
Where are you?
Subject: EZ! ARE YOU OK?
From: Bea
To: Ezra
Date: Sun 7 Apr 18:01 CST
I’m sorry!
Subject: Seriously. ARE YOU OK? NO REALLY, ARE YOU ALIVE?
From: Bea
To: Ezra
Date: Mon 8 Apr 07:10 CST
Remember when Joe had his accident? Remember how before we knew he’d had an accident I got this cold-all-over feeling and almost passed out? That same thing just happened to me. If you’re screwing with me, I’m going to be so, so mad at you.
Subject: HELLO?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
From: Bea
To: Ezra
Date: Tues 9 Apr 14:22 CST
I know how you hate it when people write all in caps, but THIS ISN’T FUNNY, LITTLE BROTHER! WHERE ARE YOU? I promise I won’t disappear completely, not from you. If you email me, I’ll email back. Just. Please. Email. Me. Already. I left you this email, Ez, the least you could do is use it.
Your concerned big sister who is REALLY TRYING NOT TO FREAK THE HELL OUT,
Bea
Subject: Help
From: Bea
To: Ezra
Date: Wed 10 Apr 21:01 CST
Holy shit, Ez.
I heard about what happened. It was on the news, Ez! The fucking news! I’m barely gone five minutes. WTF?
I need you to get on a bus, train, helicopter, whatever, and meet me at Union Station in St. Louis (that’s in Missouri). Outside the planetarium.
Remember the list of rules for running away. DO EVERYTHING IT SAYS.
Kiss Terrence goodbye. Tell him you love him. Tell him everything you want him to hear in case this is your last conversation, except that you’re leaving. That’s the thing you can’t say.
I’ll be waiting. Let me know you got this. As soon as you know when you’re coming in, tell me. After that, this email will destruct in five, four, three, two…
Love,
B
p.s. Do not bring your phone!
Subject: The News
&nb
sp; From: Ezra
To: Bea
Date: Thurs 11 Apr 04:19 EST
So there is something considerably fucked up about desperately worrying about someone and then having her say that she’s through with worrying, like you can just flick a switch and, wow, all the worrying is gone, only you’re still there and your switch must be stuck because you keep worrying and worrying and she says, sorry, I can’t really talk right now, and have a nice life, because my life is clearly much, much more important than yours, so sorry, sucks to be you. And, okay, you think—she’s handing you scissors and holding the cord real tight so all it will take is one quick snip, so you should cut it, JUST CUT IT, and that way whenever you’re in school and everyone’s looking at you weird and whenever you’re at home and everyone’s looking at you weird, you can just hold up your end of it and say, sorry, no cord, no connection, no way of contacting her, so don’t worry—oh, wait, Bea…you’re not worrying. I’m the only one worrying, because I can’t seem to stop. Stupid stupid me. I thought I was the exception, I thought I was worth holding on to—but nope. When someone tells you that, what do you do? Well, you listen to her, because you realize it’s going to be a fucking struggle every single goddamned minute if you are waiting and waiting and waiting for her to reply. What I’m saying is: You burned the bridge, Bea—and you still wanted me to walk on it? So, yeah, I was upset. And—OH YEAH—I also couldn’t talk about it with anyone because in order to say someone’s cut you off, you have to acknowledge they gave you a way to be in touch in the first place. Tricky!
Take Me With You When You Go Page 3