Take Me With You When You Go

by David Levithan

  Love,

  Your sister,

  Bea

  Subject: Allies

  From: Ezra

  To: Bea

  Date: Tues 23 Apr 00:35 EST

  Terrence is asleep, so I can take my time here. My head is spinning, but maybe if I get some words out, it won’t spin quite as much.

  First up, it feels like you traveled into the Alternate Universe of Dad. That’s the only way I can think of it, as this thing that’s run parallel to my life but will never connect. I know I should feel something, reading about it. But I don’t. My life isn’t there. My life is here. I’m sure it would be different if he was alive and there was a chance of a new start. But that’s not what we’re looking at, is it?

  But who am I kidding? Something this sharp is bound to sink in, right? Wiping us off our father’s map? Who the hell is our mother, Bea?

  I’m starting to think there’s only one way to find out. Go straight to the source.

  And at the same time, I’m also realizing how much we learned about our own family by comparison, which a lot of the time was the same thing as omission. Like that first time in elementary school when someone told me about the book they were reading with their mom or dad before they went to bed, and I thought, Oh, is that a thing parents do? Or when you’d go to a birthday party and the parents wouldn’t be acting like it was some contractual obligation to be there. And now that I’m at Terrence’s house, I can see all these ways that he’s included in the conversations, in a way we were never included. I don’t think Mom and Darren ever cared very much what we said, as long as what we said followed whatever rules they’d laid down. The quieter we were, the more they liked us. No, that feels like too much. Did they ever really like us? So I’ll say it like this: The quieter we were, the more they didn’t seem to mind that we were there.

  All of which is I guess my way of saying that you going to see the Alternate Universe of Dad is the most extreme game of compare/contrast yet.

  Maybe the mistake was thinking we were one family in our house. What if we were really two families? Mom and Darren in one, and you and me in another. Or Mom and Darren in one, and then outside of that, or overlapping a little, the four of us. It just happened that the Mom-and-Darren family was always the more important one. We were just too young to see it. Or too scared. I don’t know.

  I also have to say this (then I’m going to bed).

  I guess I’m glad our dad tried to write to us.

  But at the same time, I think I’m always going to feel he could’ve tried a little harder than that.

  Subject: Alternate Universe of Bea

  From: Bea

  To: Ezra

  Date: Tues 23 Apr 09:02 CST

  I am in Patch’s room. He has class and his roommate has class, and I am here, sitting on the floor, back against his bed, the contents of that shoe box spread out before me. I’m pretending this is my room, with the vintage whiskey posters tacked to the walls and the smell of boy everywhere. I imagine my life as a college student. Hanging out in the dorm between classes, going to parties, reading every book in the library, actually checking them out and taking them back to my room because I’d have my own student ID, one that would entitle me to books and meals in the cafeteria. Getting into passionate, life-altering debates in class, and the other students—my fellow students—being like, “That’s just Bea. There she goes again.” And maybe even saying, “Bea Ahern knows her shit,” with a huge degree of awe. I imagine interning for professors—maybe something to do with publishing or writing. Definitely something to do with reading. I imagine venturing out into the world with a college degree, able to go anywhere and do anything I want.

  Someone pounds on the door and yells, “You in there, bro?”

  I’m so deep in my fictitious college life that I jump about ten feet. I yell back, “No!” in the deepest, loudest voice I can muster. They stand there a minute—I can see the shadow of feet under the door—but eventually they go away.

  There are sixteen letters from Dad.

  Sixteen.

  I expected more. Do we think there should be more? I can’t decide. How many is enough in this situation? Over a span of, what, fourteen or fifteen years?

  The first letter goes back to the year you were born, five months after Mom left him. You hadn’t arrived yet. You still had a month to go. Dad asks our mother to come home. He says:

  We can work this out. Our daughter, not us. Let’s not fuck her up the way our parents fucked us up. Please come back and we can talk about this, or I can meet you somewhere.

  The letter came back as “undeliverable.” None of the others were mailed.

  Here’s another:

  You were the one who said we never should have gotten married. For a long time, I didn’t want to believe you, but guess what, you were right. You were right, Anne. Is that what you need to hear? I’m sorry I didn’t believe you and that I held out hope that our marriage could actually be a real and happy union. By the time I recognized that, I met Amelia and you know what happens afterward. If it makes you feel better to call me a shit heel and tell everyone I wronged you, go ahead.

  Bottom line is I’m not interested in rehashing us. I just want you to bring my daughter back. I’m sorry for what I said. She could never be in the way. Not of us, not of me, not of our life. I didn’t mean it, not even as I was saying it.

  She could never be in the way.

  Which implies that he must have, at some point, told her I was in the way.

  If we were ever wondering if our parents were the great American love story, Ez, this confirms that they weren’t. More like American Horror Story. But didn’t you hope they might have loved each other for at least a little while?

  Subject: Alternate Universe of Bea (two)

  From: Bea

  To: Ezra

  Date: Tues 23 Apr 09:48 CST

  Five months.

  I sit there thinking about that.

  Why did he wait five months?

  Maybe he was hoping she’d come back. Or maybe he was trying to figure out where to resend that first letter. But there’s this awful nagging at the back of my head that keeps going, Why did he wait?

  If it had been my kid, I would’ve been out there looking.

  Subject: Alternate Universe of Bea (three)

  From: Bea

  To: Ezra

  Date: Tues 23 Apr 10:16 CST

  More from our father:

  Anne. Please contact me. What you’re doing constitutes kidnapping, only I don’t hear you asking for ransom money. I don’t hear you at all. She’s my kid too. However I screwed things up, whatever I said, don’t make Madelyn pay for it.

  Madelyn.

  Huh.

  This letter, like all but one of the others, was never mailed. This one, like a lot of the others, mentions Madelyn.

  As in Bring Madelyn back.

  Let me see Madelyn.

  Madelyn is my daughter too.

  Madelyn is only three.

  I didn’t mean what I said about Madelyn being in the way.

  You and Madelyn could never be a burden. I should never have said you were tying me down.

  I may not have been a great husband, but I can be a great dad to Madelyn.

  Madelyn.

  Madelyn.

  Madelyn.

  Holy fuck.

  Subject: Alternate Universe of Madelyn

  From: Bea

  To: Ezra

  Date: Tues 23 Apr 10:42 CST

  Madelyn Sierra Wooster was born August 22 at 6:33 pm in St. Luke’s Hospital, St. Louis, Missouri. She weig
hed seven pounds, three ounces.

  She was named for a great-aunt somewhere on her father’s side and the California Sierras, honeymoon destination of Jonathan Calvin Wooster and Anne Vanessa Mathis.

  Madelyn’s first steps were at ten months old.

  Her first word was “Up,” delivered at age one, followed by “Yes” and, at fourteen months, an entire sentence: “I will do it myself.”

  She had her father’s ears and nose and dark-blond hair. She had her mother’s eyes, cheekbones, and large hands.

  Her mom called her Maddy but her dad called her Bee because of the way she buzzed around the house once she started walking, and then running, and then running and humming at the same time.

  Subject: Alternate Universe of Madelyn (two)

  From: Bea

  To: Ezra

  Date: Tues 23 Apr 11:03 CST

  HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

  Madelyn Sierra Wooster

  Date Missing: September 15

  Missing From: St. Louis, MO

  Age at Disappearance: 3

  Sex: Female

  Race: Caucasian

  Height: 38"

  Weight: 35 lbs.

  Eyes: Brown

  Hair: Blond/Brown

  Other: Her ears are pierced. Sometimes answers to “Bee.”

  Circumstances: Madelyn went missing from St. Louis, Missouri, on September 15, in the company of her mother (description available). She has not been seen or heard from since her disappearance.

  Subject: Alternate Universe of Madelyn (three)

  From: Bea

  To: Ezra

  Date: Tues 23 Apr 11:10 CST

  I don’t read them all. Not yet. They’re just the same thing over and over. And I have this sinking feeling that makes me box them back up and slide them under Patch’s bed. Don’t get me wrong. It’s so thoughtful of Dad to create a missing poster for his child. But did he actually do anything with it? Did he post it on street signs or store windows or on the internet?

  I don’t know.

  But I can’t shake the feeling that he could have done more. Like why didn’t he at least file a police report? Why didn’t he write more than sixteen letters? As far as I can tell, he loved me and wanted me back—shitty as it was to tell Mom I would be in the way—but was it that he really wanted me back? Okay, was it that he wanted Madelyn back? Or did he just want to punish Mom for taking me away?

  My head is going round and round. I want to get drunk as hell and drown every thought, but then I would sober up and the thoughts would still be there, and I can’t stay drunk the rest of my life, can I?

  Can I?

  I’ve chewed the skin around what remains of my nails so that it’s cracked and bloody. Maybe I’ll chew all the way up to my elbows or shoulders or head and make myself disappear. I wish I could make myself disappear.

  But I did, didn’t I? That’s exactly what I did. Bea Ahern—gone. Madelyn Wooster—also gone. So that there’s nothing left of either of me.

  Subject: Alternate Universe of Madelyn (four)

  From: Bea

  To: Ezra

  Date: Tues 23 Apr 11:18 CST

  I’m sorry to write all this, Ez. At least he knew about me. I get that. I’m not trying to make you feel shittier than you already feel. I’m just falling apart and the world is upside down, and I need someone who’s on my side. Not Patch, nice as he is. But someone who knows me. Not just someone—you.

  Speaking of Patch. He’ll be back any minute.

  I slept with him. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I’m trying to be honest in this new life of mine, and I don’t have anyone else to tell. It isn’t exactly the kind of thing I want to share with Franco.

  I’ll spare you the details, but it happened in his room last night after I emailed you. It wasn’t my first time—that honor went to Joe—but it was my first time with someone more man than boy, who knows who he is and whose happiness doesn’t seem to depend on me (I know how shitty and small that sounds, but we both know Joe has dependency issues).

  Don’t worry about Patch. He’s one of the good ones. If anything, his friends should be warning him about me.

  Love,

  Your sister

  p.s. I don’t know why I said that. Habit maybe. I really like this guy. He’s literally my best friend right now. You’d like him too. Maybe someday you’ll get to meet him.

  p.p.s. What if I fall in love with him?

  p.p.p.s. I can’t stay in his room much longer. Especially now that we’re sleeping together. I’m just not sure where to go.

  Subject: Unexpected allies

  From: Ezra

  To: Bea

  Date: Tues 23 Apr 13:10 EST

  I’m really happy you found Patch. Truly. I hope I get to meet him soon too.

  I honestly don’t know if I want to hear any more of our father’s letters, though. Not only because I’m a non-person to him. (Although that doesn’t feel great, as you can imagine.) I guess what I’m feeling is that the past can’t help us now, Bea. Nothing in the past can help us. Whether he hung MISSING posters from sea to shining sea, or whether he just mocked one up to make himself feel better. Whether Mom had a solid reason to get away from him or whether Mom made the wrong decision and then kept running with it. Whether your name’s been Madelyn or Martha or Beatrix or Anastasia, you are still the you you’ve become and I’m still the me I’ve become and there’s no time machine that will ever make it otherwise. I know there are loose ends (like: we have a brother?), but I can’t tie myself to them now. And I don’t think you should, either. I know this sounds harsh, but I don’t think it matters whether our father loved you or not. If there was no way for you to know that love, if there was no way for you to feel that love, if there was no way for that love to protect you or sustain you or give you a reason to fight another day…well, what good is it? I know shit about getting drunk, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say: This isn’t worth you getting drunk over. Especially not for the rest of your life. He doesn’t deserve that. I’ll say it again: The past can’t help us now. What-ifs aren’t going to help us forward; they’re only going to drag us back.

  Don’t leave me for the Alternate Universe, Bea. I need your mind in this one.

  * * *

  —

  Meanwhile, I’m here in school with plenty of people you already know.

  Terrence has been wonderful (of course) and while I’m sure his parents are having plenty of whispered conversations about what to do about the fugitive they’re harboring, Darren helped my argument immeasurably when he went after me on their front lawn. I don’t think I’m going to be turned out anytime soon. But I know it’s not a permanent solution. Terrence is talking like he thinks it is, but I know it isn’t. I don’t think he’s prepared for all the sides of me he’ll see if we’re living together 24/7 for years. At a certain point, you can’t feel like you have to be on your best behavior all the time when you’re at home. And I will always feel like I should be on my best behavior in his house.

  And speaking of people whose homes I’ve shared…Joe surprised me this morning at my locker. He came up to me all hangdog, and asked, “Are you avoiding me?”

  I almost said, “Yes,” and let that say everything, case closed.

  But here’s the thing, Bea. He genuinely looked sad about it. And I guess that reminded me he’d lost something too. It might have been an illusion, but losing illusions can hurt almost as much as losing people, I think.

  When I didn’t say anything right away, he added, “Look, I messed up. I get it. Your sister just gets to me, and I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.”


  “It’s fine,” I said. And honestly, it was.

  “You still have stuff at my house. Do you want me to bring it to you at Terrence’s? That’s where you are now, right?”

  “Well, I certainly didn’t go back to Mom and Darren.”

  “Thank God.”

  The way he said it, Bea—he’d seriously been worried that I’d gone back there. Or that I’d been sent back there.

  “I’m never going back there,” I told him. “To get the rest of my stuff, yes. To say my peace, maybe. But to live? Never. Never ever ever.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder. “Good.” Then he looked me right in the eye and said, “You have no idea how much I wanted her to get out of there, Ezra. I would’ve done anything to get her out of there. That’s the part of her leaving that I understand. I just don’t know if I’ll ever understand why she didn’t ask me to help.”

  His body language was all real talk, so I decided I’d give him some real talk back. “Because you wouldn’t have let her go, Joe,” I said.

  “I would’ve tried to get her to stay. Totally. But if she’d said no, if she’d said she had to get out of here, I would’ve helped her go.”

  “Okay,” I said. What else could I say?

  “So what I want to tell you is…I want to help you too. If you need me, I’m here. I’ll be your driver, your backup, your friend. I owe you that.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “No—that came out wrong. What I mean is, when I was recovering from the accident, a lot of it was on me, but there was another part that had to be a team effort. So when you get to that part that needs to be a team effort, I want to be on the team. That’s what I’m saying.”