“Oh, it’s not far. Two blocks that way, an easy walk to the beach. You can turn left right there.” A silence. “Oh, you missed it.”
Hannah’s smile is still plastered hard on her mouth, humorless as she answers, “We’re so close to this really cool spot and I heard that some really hot guys hang out there. It’s like a clubhouse sort of. I just want to check it out real quick. There’s no hurry, right?” She drives on and turns into a two-track lane, pleased with Amy’s silent compliance. She turns off the windshield wipers as the rain lets up and pulls up close to the old Quonset hut. “Have you ever been here before?”
Amy shakes her head no; her hands rest lightly over the wet beach towel in her lap, a bottle of baby oil cradled in its folds. She’s curious.
Hannah gets out of the car first and waves an encouragement to Amy who follows, bringing the towel and baby oil with her. The closer they get to the hut the louder the strains of music become. It sounds like Jason Mraz. Hannah smiles and moves her head with the music, singing along. She knocks a one-four-two pattern on the door and several voices, male and female, call out in response, musically in three notes, come i-in.
Hannah
Monday morning
Errrggghh, I didn’t want to feel like this! I rushed to use the toilet as soon as that Amy-girl left, then spent some extra time washing my hands. As if I could wash away certain memories, certain suspicions. I never asked Michael what had happened or how Amy had escaped.
I had to go and re-park the car a block away, off the road and next to the other cars. I wasn’t too happy to walk back because the rain had started up again. I waited out the downpour ten minutes. When the rain finally let up, I picked my way slowly along a muddy path, the afternoon more dark and gray than light and summery. Michael was alone in the hut when I knocked, the music now blasting some hard rock alternative with insanely profane lyrics.
“Where’d . . . ?” I started to ask, but cut myself off as he stuffed something under the mattress and the others burst through the door knocking into me, wet, laughing, and out of breath. Then it was party time as the rain pounded harder and we had to turn up the music even more. It took a while for them to explain what I missed. Hard to imagine so much stuff could go down in fifteen or twenty minutes. And I was only getting half the story. Michael had clammed up.
I took a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and patted my hands, still thinking of that day. I felt like I was explaining it to someone. I didn’t do anything bad to Amy, and she obviously got home safe and sound. I never saw her at the beach again, but when school started I saw her . . . hardly recognized her. She was no longer the cute little sexy thing that Michael used to stare at. He thought I didn’t notice, but that was why I picked her; she deserved what she got.
I left the restroom and wandered the halls a bit before stopping in front of Michael’s classroom. The teacher was bent over some kid’s desk helping with work so I stood there until I got Michael’s attention. My heart zoomed around my chest when he looked up; I’d never been so glad to see him. Where were you this morning? I mouthed. Late, he mimed back. See you at lunch. He nodded and went back to writing, but I couldn’t move from the spot. It was like I was locked on to him with a laser beam. I realized that my lips were curling up and my heart was beating fiercely. Michael was actually pretty awesome. And he was mine. Mine.
I unglued my feet from the tiles and let my face crumple into a frown. Mine! And you can’t have him! I was screaming in my head at myself and as I moved away from the open door, I brought the wooden hall pass up hard against my head. What the—?
Jessica
Monday morning
I feel that blow, too. Did I do that? Well, at least I get to see Michael for a second. He is sooo cute and I, we, are going to see him at lunch. Oh, I hope Hannah lets me back up front by then. Right now it is dark and sad and lonely in here. So many locked doors, but I find some small ones I can push open. Hannah’s childhood.
I walk around the memory trying to get a better angle on the scene.
The room is small, closet-sized small, with a lumpy bed and barely a foot of space between it and the wall. A mound of clothing fills the gap. I hear a whimper and I’m overwhelmed with the desire to choke back sobs. My sobs. Hannah’s sobs. She is wedged between the mattress and the wall while her two older sisters lie like puffy growths bulging beneath the thin blanket.
Such miserable despair. It engulfs me.
I wait for the scene to change, move on, but nothing else happens. Come on, Hannah, crawl back into bed, I coax, but I guess I can’t be the stage manager of a memory. This snapshot of her life plucks at my heart and I turn around looking for something better. The next one isn’t so static.
The large family has gone to the Cider Mill and they’re walking along the railroad tracks with half a donut each. They follow the long line into the barn to watch the giant paddlewheel turn, and beg together—as only five shrill little girls can—for a pony ride. The sweet memory turns black with anger as Hannah’s father loses his patience and spanks each girl for a reason that is hidden from Hannah’s understanding.
I shake my head, think of my own father, always so patient. He and Mom are probably holding my hand right now, praying, hoping, willing me to wake up. It is far too desperate and lonely in Hannah’s life. The aches she has buried here and the yearning I feel for my own parents encircle me in a shroud of misery like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Silently, I cry.
Michael
Monday, mid-morning
I looked up and saw Hannah standing outside my classroom. We hadn’t talked at all this weekend. I didn’t feel like calling her. My mom insisted that I stay home.
I went straight to the coach’s office this morning and went in punching an invisible boxing bag, jogging in place, and smiling to beat the band—literally. Coach was glad to see me and kept me past the bell, telling me about Friday’s game and all. He told me I was excused from practice today and gave me a tardy pass. I left the gym area and started to cut through the social studies wing when I saw Hannah at a desk in the hallway. Her head was in her hand and she was writing frantically. Make-up test. Poor Hannah, if only her mental skills were as sharp as her social skills. I ended up going the long way to class—I didn’t know why. A single isolated touch of anger had knotted in my stomach and I did not want to pass by Hannah.
When I saw her outside my classroom during second period the knot was gone. She mouthed something to me. I think it was Where were you this morning? so I mouthed back Late. She said something else, but I didn’t get it so I just nodded and looked down at the paper I was working on. When I raised my eyes a couple of seconds later, she was walking away smacking herself in the head with the hall pass. That was so not like her. I laughed inside. Maybe we wouldn’t break up yet.
It was hard to get through the halls as usual because the school was overcrowded, but even harder today because everyone and his brother wanted to say some blathering nonsense about the accident, my return, the game, the band, the weekend. It got to be annoying. I reached Hannah’s locker as Brittany was leaving. Brittany had a weird look on her face and rolled her eyes at me, mouthing something that once again I could not interpret—at least not until I saw Hannah’s face. It was puckered into that blubbering-I’m-about-to-cry look. I’ve practiced that one, even though I hope I’ll never play a part that requires a man to break down crying, but, hey, if Jude Law can cry, then so can I.
“What’s the matter, Hannie? Ya miss me?” I tried to be cute. Her face flickered between joy and despair. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could ever produce such a combination on purpose, but her eyes locked onto mine and I saw, felt, something I couldn’t explain.
Hannah threw her arms around me. I almost dropped my books. I gave her a one-arm hug and asked, “What’s the matter?” as throngs of kids hustled by and I caught a glimpse of that Emma chick who sent me the naked photo.
Hannah let go of me and threw her hands o
ver her face, crying. I wondered if the doctor had given her some prescription that was having an adverse effect, making her space out. She cried behind her fingers then began to laugh. She dropped her hands to cover her smile and she blubbered out a word that sounded like balloons.
“What?” My heart vaulted over my ribs as the look in her eyes changed again, drew me in.
“Balloons,” she repeated, laughing, “balloons on the floor.”
* * *
“Are you going to tell me what that was all about earlier?” I asked at lunch. We set our trays down at our usual spot. We had a minute or so to talk privately before the table would fill up. “Are you on painkillers or something?”
Hannah looked at me like I was insane. “No, are you?”
“So why were you crying at your locker about balloons on the floor? I told you about that, right?”
Her eyes sparkled for a second and then she frowned. “I don’t know what the heck you’re talking about. I never said any such thing.”
The whole lunch hour passed in a surreal drama. Hannah coiled, recoiled, sprang at me like a snake. Angry one second, sad the next. Then she perked up and seemed to enjoy herself, brightening and looking happier than I’d ever seen her. She said some silly things that reminded me of someone else. She flicked a balled up straw wrapper at me and leaned forward to say something private. She stopped before the words came out. She pulled back again and got all glum and gloomy. I was sure she was on something and just didn’t remember taking it.
I offered to get her an ice cream, but she said no. I bussed both our trays and stood in line at the vending machine for a while. When I came back, Tyler Dolan was getting up from my seat. Yeah, you better get outta my way.
“What did he want?” I demanded. I kicked at the chair leg and stared at that quitter’s back as he hurried out the door that connected to the school store.
Hannah’s face was neither cheerful nor sullen. Not angry, not sad. This was a totally new expression. Something I’d never seen on her face before. Not ever.
Hannah was frightened.
Tyler
Monday, noon
Crap. That did not go well.
“Hey,” I’d said, coming over to the table as soon as Michael crossed the room. I eased into the chair opposite Hannah.
“Oh, it’s you again. Do I know you?” She brushed her hair off her shoulder, turning her head and looking back at Michael for an instant before giving me her reluctant attention. Her expression was neutral.
“I’m Keith’s brother, stepbrother, and you need to go to the hospital.” There, I got it out without stuttering. She stared at me like I was an idiot. Maybe she thought I was hitting on her. I put my hands out on the table, ready to launch myself off from it if Michael turned around. I felt the grit of crumbs beneath my fingertips.
“What’s your name?” Hannah glanced at the kids on either side of me. I knew they were staring. This was a seniors’ table.
Oh, crap, this was a bad idea. “Tyler,” I said and I watched her face change from anger to surprise to something else. Jessica, are you in there?
“Tyler, huh? I knew that.” She reached her hand out and touched mine. The tingling heat spread up my arm. I kept my eyes on hers and watched her face. What would the signs be that Jessica was in there? Was it Jessica who was touching me? Was that a signal? I raised my eyebrows, smiled, and tried again, “So . . . uh, the hospital? You need to visit Jessica there.” Hannah’s face froze in a panicked air of disbelief.
“I don’t really know her.” The words came out one at a time, stilted and unnatural. “Tyler.”
I glanced down at my hand. Hannah had squeezed it as she said my name. Her eyes followed mine and her expression changed to one of shock. She jerked back her hand and swore at me.
I knew it then. Crap. Jessica was there, all right, fighting to be heard. I told Hannah what I thought. I was talking to one of the cutest girls in the school and I was making the most impossibly ridiculous assertion, but I swore I could see Jessica in her eyes. I didn’t know if I said she was possessed by Jessica’s spirit or soul or what, but I tried to spill it all out before Michael got halfway back across the cafeteria. The laughter from the other kids was hard to misinterpret. I sounded like a lunatic. I heard my old nickname, Tomato, a couple of times as I took off.
Jessica
Monday, mid-morning to noon
I can feel Hannah’s body shaking with my sobs. We are connected. We’re at her locker and Brittany is talking, “Give it a break. I’ll see ya later.” And then the next instant I hear Michael’s voice. Yes, yes, I’m so excited and Hannah is letting me through a little.
“What’s the matter, Hannie? Ya miss me?”
This is awesome. I relish the thrill that circles and swirls through my middle. Will he kiss me, her, us? I’d cried inside at the memory of Hannah’s childhood disappointments and I’m pretty sure that my sorrow and distress for her has affected Hannah based on the things that her locker partner said. We look at him and I realize how awful and yet wonderful it is to be Hannah. I look into his eyes, really look, and I try to push Hannah aside. I throw my arms around him, but she’s the one to hold onto him.
“What’s the matter?” he says, giving her, us, a weak squeeze. We break apart and I accidentally slip into another childhood memory of Hannah’s: a birthday party for her when she was eight with hand-me-downs for presents and day old balloons that had lost their helium. They flutter around the floor where her younger sisters pop them. I gasp at the irony of balloons on the floor—the very thing that Michael had joked he was afraid of. I have to laugh. This is funny, I scream at Hannah. Don’t you see how funny this is? Balloons!
Aloud I say, “Balloons, balloons on the floor.” I peek between my fingers at Michael to see if he gets the absurdity of it all, then Hannah waves him off and turns back to her locker to grab a notebook. I hear him mumble something about girls before Hannah wipes at her tears and sends me deep into the recesses and corridors of her childhood. But I have spoken—I’ve broken through.
I spend the rest of the morning watching scenes from a sad little girl’s life. From time to time I hear a teacher’s voice or glimpse a classmate and once a door to a recent memory opens all the way, but it doesn’t give me any reason to change my opinion of Hannah. She is messed up. Sad, angry, belligerent. Hard. Maybe it’s up to me to work some happiness into her life, because, even though I don’t like her much and I’m jealous of her having Michael as a boyfriend, I have a scary feeling that I might not ever get back to my own body. What if they’re pulling the plug on me right now? I have no way of knowing.
I become aware of what is happening when Hannah enters the cafeteria. We’re hungry. I can see again and we’re headed toward the seniors’ table. This isn’t my lunch hour—I can tell by the kids who are already sitting down.
Michael takes the seat across from us and says, “Are you going to tell me what that was all about earlier? Are you on painkillers or something?” His eyebrows dip together in a vee. It’s too corny, his scowl, too affected. Mrs. Clark would give him a little direction if this was a play and Michael, being the wonderful actor that he is, would relax that grimace. Even so, I can’t take my attention away from him.
I miss Hannah’s response. Miss most of the conversation as they eat, but I try really, really hard to butt in once in a while, like when Hannah is busy chewing and swallowing. She might have reached across and touched his knuckles on her own, but I’m sure that I nudged her to do it, and I take advantage of it.
A couple of times someone at the table talks to them and I spend the time staring and mentally drooling over Michael. Rashanda would be throwing up if she could see this. I wonder then if she’s in the cafeteria. There are three lunch periods and we don’t have the same one. This might be hers. I look all around and wonder how I’m doing that without Hannah’s head moving. Strange. I am tethered to her somehow and yet I have certain freedoms.
“Do you want an ice crea
m?” Oh my gosh, yes. That sounds so good, but Hannah says no, shakes her head. Michael leaves the table and Hannah lets her guard down. A door opens in her mind and I sneak in.
Holy cow! She’s thinking about last weekend. Her plan. Her body. Michael. Sex.
I duck out, embarrassed. Disgusted.
“Do I know you?” I hear Hannah say. I look at Michael’s spot and see Tyler sitting down. He looks incredibly shy and nervous. My heart leaps to my throat and I clutch at the memory of our dream kiss. I do not want Hannah to see or feel or know about it and I’m not sure if my thoughts are as hard for her to access as hers are for me. Hi, Tyler.
I see him through her eyes. She thinks he’s pretty cute, likes the freckles, admires the blue sparkle in his eyes. She compares him to Michael. Her thoughts flicker back and forth between memories of kissing Michael and thinking about Tyler’s lips and wondering about kissing him. I don’t know why I feel so possessive of Tyler, but I do. I don’t like where her thoughts are going. Doors are swinging open around me and I jump in and out of Hannah’s recollections, wishes, hopes, and half-remembered dreams and finally plunge myself into her foremost consciousness.
“What’s your name?” she asks Tyler. Like she doesn’t know—I practically screamed it in her head this morning. I’m the tiniest bit jealous that he is sitting here talking to my archrival. For half a second it occurs to me that this could be a good thing. She thinks he’s hot so maybe she’d drop Michael for him and then I could step in.
“Tyler.”
“Tyler, huh? I knew that.”
“So . . . uh, the hospital? You need to visit Jessica there.” Oh, how sweet. He isn’t hitting on her—he’s thinking of me. I wonder if he spent the weekend at the hospital. Ask him, Hannah. Ask him about me. Ask him about Jessica! Hannah! Touch his hand! Let him know I’m here!
A Soul's Kiss Page 11