Take Me With You When You Go

by David Levithan

  To: Ezra

  Date: Wed 17 Apr 13:29 CST

  I, Beatrix Ellen Ahern (if that is my real name), do solemnly swear not to let Mystery Guy get away with anything just because I’m a sentimental idiot who wants her daddy back because all the other parents we’ve ever known are shit.

  I promise to make him earn his right to be our father.

  If he doesn’t deserve that right, I promise to run toward something else as fast as I can. A brick wall maybe. Or an oncoming train. It will have to be something like that because if I don’t have this, I don’t have anything. I’m just a high school dropout runaway with nowhere to go.

  Subject: Or

  From: Bea

  To: Ezra

  Date: Wed 17 Apr 13:35 CST

  I guess I could stay here and ask Franco to give me a permanent job. I can unbox crackers and olive oil and stock shelves for the rest of my life in exchange for a hot meal and a place to sleep. I can sing on the street now and then to earn extra cash, and read every book in the St. Louis Public Library. I can grow old here, and maybe one day, years from now, you and Terrence can come visit me, and you’ll be all, That used to be my sister, but now she’s a sad, sad person I don’t even recognize. And you can spend an hour or two with me out of kindness before heading to dinner (I recommend Lorenzo’s, even though I’ve never eaten there—Irene says it’s “sublime”). Maybe you can even bring me something—breadsticks, maybe, or your leftover ravioli—and I will live for the rest of my short, sad, sad life on the memory of the day my brother came to see me.

  Subject: Please do this one favor for your poor high school

  dropout runaway sister

  From: Bea

  To: Ezra

  Date: Wed 17 Apr 13:41 CST

  I know I dropped this bomb on you, and I know you’re reeling, and I’m sorry, I really am. But let me have my fantasy, Ez. Just for another day.

  And if you could maybe write back with something along the lines of a pep talk and not a rant, that would be nice too.

  Love,

  Bea

  Subject: RE: Please do this one favor for your poor high school

  dropout runaway sister

  From: Ezra

  To: Bea

  Date: Wed 17 Apr 15:12 EST

  Okay.

  Here’s something you don’t know. Or something you do know, but that we’ve never talked about.

  Terrence wasn’t the first boy I kissed. That first actually belongs to Jonny Pryor. A few of us were having a sleepover at his house—this was in seventh grade. The other guys had sleeping bags, and were going to crash in the rec room so they could play Xbox all night. Jonny said I could share his bed, and I thought, yeah, that sounded much more comfortable than a sleeping bag, especially the one we had, which looked like it had been used for shooting practice.

  Anyway, we changed into our pajamas and got into bed. Almost immediately, I was like, Something’s going on here. I became hyperaware of his body and I could tell he was hyperaware of mine. We said goodnight, and then just lay there awake for what felt like hours. Finally, after it felt like the whole house was asleep, he asked me if I was still up, and I said, yeah, I was.

  “I can’t see you—it’s so dark,” he said.

  “I’m right here,” I told him.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “Right here,” I repeated.

  He reached out, just like I knew he would, and touched my shoulder.

  “Oh, there you are,” he said.

  I moved my hand, touched his shoulder, said, “I found you.”

  He moved his hand down my arm. I moved my hand to the back of his neck. And then, with the slightest possible movement, I encouraged him forward.

  You can know something a long time before you can articulate it. You can want to say something a long time before you actually say it. At some point, I’d figured that if I was going to kiss someone, it was going to be a boy. But that was different from making it happen.

  He kissed me first, but I pulled him into it, so maybe that counts as me kissing him first. It started just with lips, but became something that involved our whole bodies. Then, after a while, we settled into each other and fell asleep. When we woke up, we’d come apart, and I knew from the moment he looked at me that it was not something we were going to talk about or explore any further. He jumped out of bed and went to play Xbox with the other guys, telling me to come down whenever. I actually felt for a moment like it had been a dream, but then when I went down to the rec room and saw the way he was dodging my attention, I knew it had happened.

  I didn’t feel bad about it. I wasn’t ashamed. I felt like I had wanted confirmation and had gotten it. Jonny had been the messenger, but the message was the important part.

  It wasn’t until I was walking home that afternoon that I started to feel afraid. The closer I got to our house, the greater Mom and Darren loomed. I felt they would sense it on me, a radiation emanating from my body. I knew they wouldn’t approve—not just because I was gay, but because it was something I had determined for myself. They would see it as defiance. They would see it only in terms of themselves. And they would not be happy.

  By the time I walked in the door, I was in a state of panic. It was almost absurd: Even though I knew they didn’t love me, I was still afraid they would love me less.

  I walked into that house and went straight to your room.

  Even as I spiraled, the wiser part of me knew to spiral toward you. Even as I found a door to the brave new world and didn’t feel brave myself, I knew you would stop me from doing the cowardly thing and closing the door completely.

  You were not in the mood for company. You were blasting vintage Smashing Pumpkins and your door was closed. You were pissed that I walked in without knocking.

  “What do you want?” you snarled, not even looking.

  “Can I just hang out here?” I asked.

  Maybe it was something in my voice. You looked at me then.

  You looked, and you saw I had something in me that I didn’t know how to hold. Somehow you knew not to ask me about it. Somehow you knew the best thing you could do was let me in and let me be.

  This wasn’t the first time I wasn’t ready. And it wouldn’t be the last. But what was true then has remained true ever since: Even when I was far from certain, I could be certain that you would be there for me in a way that nobody else in my life would be.

  We never talked about that afternoon. You might not even remember it, because for you, it was just another Sunday. And for me, it was history being written.

  Flash forward two years. I meet Terrence. I kiss Terrence. It’s amazing. And while I don’t exactly run home to tell you, there’s no question in my mind that you will be the first person I’ll tell about this boy who I really, really want to be my boyfriend. Because, when it all comes down to it, I need you for the good times as much as I do for the confusing ones or the bad ones.

  This doesn’t mean I won’t rant. This doesn’t mean I like being stuck here.

  But it does mean you’ve always done right by me when it counted. And if you need to trust anything right now, trust that.

  Good luck, Bea.

  Ez

  Subject: JONNY PRYOR?!!!!

  From: Bea

  To: Ezra

  Date: Wed 17 Apr 18:01 CST

  I remember you coming home. I remember the look on your face. I remember the mood I was in. I remember (god) the Smashing Pumpkins. I didn’t know what happened to you, only that something had happened to you.

  Oh, Ez. Looking back, I feel like a shitty sister. A really shitty sister. I’ve always been so in my ow
n head about everything, and I’m not going to give a million excuses as to why that is because we all know what they are. For the past, I don’t know, life, I’ve been so focused on building these walls around myself so that Mom and Darren can’t get in, but the thing I didn’t realize until right now, sitting here, at some nice old man’s computer—some nice old stranger in a strange city—is that I’ve been keeping everyone else out too.

  I wish I had asked you about that look on your face. Maybe it was what you needed, to be left alone, but lately I’m thinking we’ve had too much alone time in our lives. Too much of people just letting us be.

  Thank you for being the only person in this world I like, much less love. Thank you for your email. Thank you for you.

  Love,

  B

  Subject: But seriously, JONNY PRYOR?!!!!

  From: Bea

  To: Ezra

  Date: Wed 17 Apr 18:05 CST

  Huh.

  Subject: My first kiss…

  From: Bea

  To: Ezra

  Date: Wed 17 Apr 18:43 CST

  …was Tripp Dugan. It was sixth grade and we were on a field trip to the Children’s Museum, and afterward they fed us lunch in Hayes Park. Everyone was talking about what a baby thing it was, going to a children’s museum, and I played along even though I secretly loved it. As in LOVED it. I still love that place. Everything is so hands-on and “this is how this works” and “this is where this came from” and “here, why don’t you try for yourself!” It felt like the happiest place I’d ever been or could ever be. All of it so positive and interesting, and encouraging you to ask questions and be curious, not telling you to shut up and mind your manners and don’t be so stupid and if you can’t be smart, be silent.

  But I was twelve, and worried about fitting in, and so I pretended it was a silly, baby place and I was so, so bored, and much too grown-up for something like that.

  At lunch Tripp sat next to me. He said, “Wasn’t that just the worst?”

  And I said, “It really was.” Kind of hating myself for saying anything mean about a place I actually loved. “I’m too old for baby things.”

  “Me too.” And then he pressed his leg against mine under the table, and at first I thought it was a mistake, but then he kept pressing, and so I set down my sandwich and pretended to yawn like he was boring me too. All the while my heart was going, OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD.

  He said, “You know what I’m old enough for?”

  “What?”

  “Sex.”

  It’s amazing I didn’t laugh in his face. But in the moment, Ez, it was thrilling.

  I just shrugged, like oh, sex, that old thing.

  He said, “I’m going to kiss you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t you want me to?”

  “I don’t care if you do or don’t.”

  He just smirked at me—remember that smirk he had? Back when he was younger? Before he turned mean? He said, “I’ll bet.”

  He took his leg away, and I thought it was done, that I’d missed my chance, and part of me was relieved and part of me was sad. But then, on the way back to school, it happened on the bus. I sat in the very back, where I always sat, trying to keep to myself, and he came along and stood there for a minute and then dropped right down next to me. I knew then it was going to happen. He pressed his leg into mine again, and we rode like this for maybe a mile before he said, “What’s that out there?”

  “Out where?”

  “Out the window.” He pointed past me, and I turned to look, and then when I didn’t see anything but trees and traffic I turned back and there was his face, right by mine. I think my eyes fluttered closed all on their own, and even as I was wondering why my eyes were doing that, he leaned in and kissed me.

  It didn’t last long. It was really just his lips against my lips. Mouths closed. Tongues well-behaved. Just a little exchange of pressure. But it felt momentous and enormous and like the biggest thing that could ever happen to anyone.

  He never tried to do it again, not to me at least. (I found out later he was something of a serial kisser, which makes sense given the fact that he’s gotten how many girls pregnant?) But from that day on I felt like I had this wonderful little secret, and somehow having that secret felt like protection. As long as I had that secret, they couldn’t get to me, not really—Mom and Darren or the mean girls at school or teachers I didn’t like or the world. I would be safe.

  You’re the only person I’ve told. In the scheme of things, I know it’s nothing, but it isn’t nothing to me. It’s something. And it feels like the least I can give you right now.

  Love,

  Bea

  Subject: Goodnight

  From: Bea

  To: Ezra

  Date: Wed 17 Apr 19:07 CST

  Franco needs to use the computer, so I’m signing off for now, little brother. Thank you for distracting me tonight. I’ll write more tomorrow after I’ve met him.

  God.

  After I’ve met him.

  I feel like I’m going to throw up.

  I may actually throw up.

  Okay, I had to run to the bathroom and throw up, but now I’m back, and poor Franco is worried about me. He says his sister Dorothea used to get sick to her stomach all the time, and they later found out she had some sort of parasite in her intestine. Can you imagine? That’s all I need right now.

  But it’s really nice for a change to have someone care enough to worry. Other than you, I mean. I’m working for him in the market and I’ve officially moved into the office. So things are looking up.

  Listen, no matter what happens tomorrow we’ll be okay. Right? We will. You and me. We’ve been through so much already. This is just one more thing.

  We’ll be fine.

  Love,

  Beatrix Ellen Ahern

  Subject: With friends like these…

  From: Ezra

  To: Bea

  Date: Wed 17 Apr 23:33 EST

  I know you already know this, but let me state for the record once again: Our mother is a very strange woman.

  Not only did she call Joe’s mother again tonight to accuse her of harboring a fugitive (those were not her exact words), but apparently she also called Terrence’s mom, which (according to Terrence) was extremely awkward because even though I’ve always been welcome over there as Terrence’s “friend,” Mom made it sound as if Terrence’s whole family had swung me over to the gay side, and were therefore responsible for my deviant behavior in all regards—an accusation that Terrence’s mom wasn’t particularly equipped to counter. After she hung up, she called Terrence into the kitchen and basically asked him if I was planning on moving into his bedroom, to which he said no, no, absolutely not.

  Terrence told all this to me over text, and ended the no, no, absolutely not part with a:

  Sorry

  The amazing part is, of course, for all her ranting and raving, Mom hasn’t called me once.

  I guess she’d rather talk to Terrence’s mom.

  But, really, that’s not the only thing I have to tell you. Because tonight I decided to go on a spying excursion. And you’re going to be verrrry interested in what I found.

  * * *

  —

  As you know, I’ve been experiencing Nonstop Joe these past few days. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing much new he could tell me. But there’s always been another missing piece: Sloane. She’s still been treating me like I’m nonexistent in school. Even after Darren blew his fuse—not a word. I wasn’t expecting congratulations or anything. Just recognition.

  But she was avoiding me. She was definitely avoiding me. />
  So I decided it was time to throw myself in her way.

  * * *

  —

  I couldn’t ask Joe to drive me; if I did, I knew he wouldn’t just drop me off. So after school, I just started walking.

  I think it’s safe to say that I took for granted all the rides I got from you. But I also have to say, there’s something that calms me down when I walk places. It gives me room to think, instead of always feeling contained—by school, by our house, by a car. It makes me realize how much of my life I’ve spent hunched over, rushing by something I’m trying to avoid—Mom in the kitchen, Darren in the den, them both in their bedroom. Duck and cover. Don’t make any noise. If that’s your mindset at home, it can become your mindset for life. Rush by all the other houses. Rush through the halls of school. If you don’t pay any attention to anyone else, they won’t pay any attention to you.

  Now, walking by houses instead of driving by them, I have time to wonder if maybe there are other houses like ours. Like, maybe the secrets are there, and they’re just relying on us to not pay attention. I keep thinking about what you said about Jessica Wei. Why the fuck didn’t I know that?

  It has to be because I was rushing by. Right?

  By the time I got to The Coffee Tree, I realized that instead of thinking about houses and rushing, I probably should have been thinking about what I was going to say to Sloane. She was behind the counter, like I knew she’d be. And it was pretty empty because, let’s face it, Starbucks is still cooler than The Coffee Tree, and Starbucks is also much closer to school. There were a few people at the tables—senior citizens on the fourth section of their morning paper, and a few college students who were treating their tables like they were at a library.