A Soul's Kiss

by Debra Chapoton

  Hannah

  Monday, late afternoon

  I wore a hot pink dress to Homecoming last year. That’s all I could think of as I made us race up the stairs. My mind was pretty jumbled. Had been ever since this afternoon. I totally lost it in that hospital room. It was like drowning. One second I was in control and the next I was going under, suffocating, my terrible life flashing through my head. Guilt, regret, shame. I caved to Jessica and just let her take over. So not like me.

  Watching, waiting, thinking. She wasn’t so bad, though. I never knew anyone so perky. She was one surprise after another. She’d shown me a partial memory of some Disney kiss with Tyler and I was utterly mystified. Why was she going after my boyfriend when she had a Prince Charming at her command?

  We reached my room and she went to the closet to pull my new dress off the hanger. Royal blue, spaghetti straps, sequins. I’d ignored the niggling feeling this weekend when I’d put it on again. It must have been her voice in my head that was appraising the gown as slinky and sexy.

  We slipped into the dress and had it all zipped up when Rashanda appeared at the door.

  “Jessica?”

  “Yeah,” we answered. “What do you think? How do I look?”

  Watching Jessica’s friend evaluate how we looked had me holding my mental breath. Why did I care? But Jessica cared and her friendship with Rashanda radiated honesty, warmth, and something I couldn’t quite understand. I guess I let Jessica dominate me because I wanted to know more. I wasn’t completely under her rule. After all, it was my idea to model the dress in front of Tyler.

  “This is what you wanted to show me and Tyler? Uh, you look awesome. That is, Hannah looks awesome. She’ll be a beautiful queen, if she wins.”

  “Thanks, we’ll win.” We twirled and then picked up the high heels I wore last year. They were silver and went with a matching handbag and shawl. I really wanted to get something new, but my dad couldn’t afford it. Shoplifting came to mind, followed by a pang of guilt, due to Miss Goody Two Shoes, I’m sure.

  “Wait,” Rashanda said. She caught my arm and we looked her in the eyes. “Why do you want to show Tyler how Hannah will look for Homecoming?”

  I waited, listened to Jessica argue with me for a moment. I felt a spasm of resolve, like I could take back control, then Jessica wrenched it away and answered, “Because he’s plan B, remember?”

  “That makes no sense.” Rashanda didn’t let go of us.

  “I’m covering every base, that’s all. You see me, don’t you? And so does Tyler, I bet. So what’s wrong with, you know, taking advantage?”

  Rashanda dropped her hold, but didn’t smile. “I don’t think you should go down there like this and confuse him more, that’s all.” She did one of those exasperated sighs and Jessica responded to her by keeping our feet parked where they were.

  So I stabbed Jessica. Right in the heart. With a big knifeful of classic Hannah. And I got her to move those feet down the stairs and we did a big hip-sway across the floor in the family room and twirled again in front of a wide-eyed Tyler.

  Tyler

  Monday evening

  I didn’t believe in psychics or stuff like that. Crap, maybe I should have. Maybe some fortune teller could’ve helped us help Jessica.

  We didn’t stay long at Hannah’s house after she came down wearing something that made her look like a movie star. She looked hot, but her whole attitude had changed. I kept telling myself it was Jessica, but there was a definite change. Rashanda wanted to leave so we said our goodbyes. I nearly knocked over a trio of empty beer bottles on the end table when I got up. Clumsy. Or distracted.

  Rashanda avoided talking on the short drive to her house. I told her I’d look into researching about coma victims and she said she’d check into the out-of-body stuff.

  What I really wanted to do was go back to the hospital and whisper some more into Jessica’s ear. Something told me that was the best way to bring her back.

  Anyway, I learned about the Glasgow Scale for coma victims. It looked like the higher the score, between 3 and 15, after the first twenty-four hours, the better the chances for recovery and limited disability. I racked my brain to remember if there was some number on the whiteboard in Jessica’s hospital room that indicated that score. Seemed like I could picture the number 13.

  All the other facts and rules and studies I found didn’t help me figure out anything. Some woman was in a coma for thirty-seven years and then died; another guy woke up from a coma after nearly twenty years; most people woke up or died a lot sooner.

  Crap, crap, crap.

  Todd came over and we shot some hoops until my stepdad pulled in and blocked the net. He had some good news about Keith. He’d be getting out of the hospital on Friday. Cool. I didn’t think that meant I’d see him this weekend, though. He’d be staying at his mom’s and I could imagine what that would mean if my stepdad had to go over there all the time to visit. My mom would freak out for sure.

  Sometimes I hated my life. I wished my real dad hadn’t died in a car crash when I was four. I wished I had a real brother or even a sister. I wished I wasn’t so shy around girls.

  And I wished Jessica would wake up.

  It was probably a stupid thing to do, but I went back to the hospital with my mom. My stepdad told her that his ex was only staying until eight so if my mom and I wanted to go see him without any hassles then that would be a good time.

  Ten minutes into the visit I said I needed to use the bathroom and skated over to Jessica’s room instead. Her parents were just leaving, but saw me coming and reentered the room with me and made me sit beside the bed. They chattered on with optimism about Jessica’s slow recovery. I checked the whiteboard for the Glasgow score and any updates, but all that was written was the name of the night nurse.

  I told them how Keith was doing when they asked. I could see in their faces a cross between joy and sorrow. They were envious of his upcoming discharge.

  “Well, my mom’s waiting for me,” I told them and we all went out together. I turned left and waited around the corner until I heard the elevator doors close then I sneaked back into Jessica’s room. Mom was going to wonder what was taking me so long, but Keith would know. I could count on him to make excuses for me.

  “Jessica,” I whispered. Crap, I should be able to talk to a sleeping girl without getting all sweaty and nervous. “Jessica, you have to come back to your body. Please.” And then I dared to spend five more minutes telling her stuff I never thought I’d say to a girl. She twitched a few times. I’m sure she heard me.

  Michael

  Monday night

  I paced when thinking because that was what actors did on stage. My bedroom was only big enough to walk four steps before turning, but that was enough.

  Something weird was up. Because of the accident. My headaches were different. Spikey pangs lanced behind my right eye. The aspirin wasn’t kicking in.

  Drugs, I needed stronger drugs. My short path back and forth seemed to emphasize that thought. My open closet door caught my eye, my dirty laundry basket overflowing. I stopped my pacing to dig through the mess. I found the jeans I’d been wearing on Thursday. My mom had brought them home from the hospital that night and they were still rolled around my shirt and socks. She must have tossed them in the basket without checking the pockets. I gave a well-practiced evil laugh to underscore my luck. I remembered being panicked that she might find the naked picture of Emma on my phone, but I never gave a thought to what would have happened if she discovered the drugs in my pocket.

  Good luck for me. Nothing but good luck. I could take the pill right now knowing I wouldn’t remember that headache for long, but something stopped me. Some half memory, half dream. Weird. I felt like I was experiencing some kind of déjà vu. Some kind of reluctance. Maybe a conscience? I was surprised at myself when I threw the pill in the wastebasket.

  Several quick bullets of pain exploded in the back of my head and I winced. I shed my clothes and stretched o
ut on my bed. I left the light on and stared at the ceiling. Strange thoughts pierced the pain and I tried to concentrate on the more interesting ones: Rashanda’s weird statement to me, Hannah’s personality change, Jessica’s quivering body, what Hannah said about not being pregnant, Tyler’s anger.

  Of all those things the most intriguing was Jessica’s twitching. I knew I should feel something for her situation, maybe sorrow or regret, but all I felt was curiosity. What was she dreaming? Did she hear us talking? I had flashes of scenes from her life stuck in my head like memories.

  I put my elbow over my eyes when I started to see spots from the ceiling light. The sharp pains in my head subsided, replaced by stabs of emotion. Real emotion. A feeling of lightness came first, and all without illegal drugs. The lightness was a funny sensation, accompanied by another scene, another memory, from coma-girl’s life. I fell asleep and dreamed I felt the grip of someone’s feet against her jaws, as if I were her. Then her head was pulled back under the water as her arms sculled and her feet clasped the face of another swimmer. I was excited to feel waves of emotion—joy, passion, confidence.

  I shifted on the bed, rolled to my stomach, and opened and closed my eyes. I forgot to text Hannah. I drifted to sleep again, and I could see Hannah with her beautiful blonde hair, and then I could see Jessica as she looked in drama class, all animated, energetic, and playful. She was cute.

  I liked her.

  My last conscious thought was that Hannah would be pissed if I went to the hospital after practice tomorrow.

  Hannah

  Monday night and Tuesday morning

  I couldn’t let Jessica ruin dinner. After her friends left, we hung up the dress and got busy preparing supper to my specifications. The middle school bus dropped my two younger sisters off and they burst into the house arguing as usual. When they saw me already working in the kitchen they mobbed me for snacks. They never offered to help, pretty much stayed glued to the television until I had their plates fixed. The three of us eating together was about as close as we got to family time. My mom worked two jobs now and my dad ate leftovers when he finally stumbled in half drunk.

  Jessica was ready to pounce on my sisters with motherly questions about their school day. I pushed Jessica down deep until I couldn’t feel her at all. But I thought about her questions and I tried them out on Hillary and Heather as we sat at the kitchen table, orphaned. I didn’t get angry at Hillary for once and Heather’s answers made me think how much she was like me. The knot in my stomach, the tightness in my gut loosened for once. For a split second I let Jessica come up and look at my little sisters again. When I saw them through her eyes they seemed less like burdens. I still resented them some. I wasn’t going to give up all of my bitter anger just because the soul of some smug know-it-all thinks they’re cute. I hated having this responsibility. When I was their age I was looking after them, so why aren’t they old enough to look after themselves now?

  Brittany called and told me some shocking news about someone we pranked—that stupid Ashley girl. I was scared for a second that everything would unravel back to me.

  I actually did a little homework before bed, but I refused to let Jessica take back total control. I started to worry that she might not sleep when I did. The thought of her pushing her holier-than-thou attitude into my dreams stressed me out. The sleepier I got, the harder it was to suppress the little demon. Finally I promised her that I would let her kiss Michael. I didn’t tell her though that I’d make her kiss Keith first.

  Morning came fast, with the eerie feeling of unfinished dreams, and a text message from Michael. Luv u babe is his standard greeting on days we wouldn’t see each other much. He’d be marching with the band before school, working out in the weight room instead of having lunch with me, and practicing on the football field after school. Boring. But I had options. I knew exactly who I was going to look for in the lunch room—a certain tall junior. I fantasized a little about how I could put him on the spot, make him turn cherry red, and then let Jessica deal with it.

  I brushed the snarls out of my hair and did my makeup while I fished around my conscience for that other presence.

  Good morning, Jessica.

  Hannah, why do you keep shutting me out?

  I know what you’re up to, freak. You are not going to take my place as Homecoming queen.

  I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about that all night. I was wrong. You can have your dress and heels and the crown and sash and everything. I’m really sorry.

  Okay, apology accepted. Now jump out.

  Let me out.

  I don’t know how to let you out. Just go. Go back to your twitchy body.

  It doesn’t seem to be that easy. Maybe I need to talk to Keith about it. He knows how to move around out-of-body and he was, uh, body hopping after the accident.

  Fine. We’ll go to the hospital after school, but if I have to slit my wrists to get you out, I swear I’ll do it.

  I closed my mind to her as soon as my words were thought and shoved her into the darkest place I had.

  Of course I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it. I wasn’t going to let her go that easy. The girl had smarts. I could use some of her brains to raise my grades. I could get a job and let her work while I snoozed. She wasn’t the only one who was thinking all night. With her inside I could be a super hero and it was going to be awesome. And I was going to start this afternoon, right after school. I was going to show up at swimming practice. I could barely tread water, but something told me that I wouldn’t have to worry about drowning.

  I saw my mom for a whole five minutes before I left. I told her that she better tell Hillary and Heather to go to the neighbor’s house after school because I had swim practice. My shocking announcement left her tongue-tied.

  Jessica

  Monday night and Tuesday morning

  Hannah has the cutest little sisters. I would love to have a younger sister that I could mentor. Someone who would look up to me and think I was cool, just like I look up to my sister, Janelle. Janelle has been living with a family in Spain and studying at the University of Málaga for the last four months. Her most recent email brimmed over with advice about high school and dating and classes and applying for colleges. I miss her; she was never bossy or bratty with me like Hannah is with her sisters.

  For sure mom and dad have told her I’m in a coma, but the cost of coming back and missing classes and all would be costly. I’d be glad if she showed up, but scared that it meant something bad for me, like I’m dying. I wonder how freaked out she’d be if I emailed her one of the times that Hannah lets me get control. Probably not a good idea.

  I keep hearing voices in my head, even in the dark places of Hannah’s mind. My mom’s voice, my dad’s, probably that nice nurse, too. Mostly I hear the same plea repeated: wake up.

  And Tyler’s voice.

  It gives me goose bumps, as if my soul can get chills. Good chills. I’m not sure exactly what his words are, but they’re nice. Warm, like that imaginary kiss. Friendly like when he walked me home. Appealing like being wrapped in a cozy blanket by a winter fire.

  I start looking around for Hannah’s thoughts about Tyler. She definitely has some ulterior motive where he’s concerned. She was quite happy with his reaction to us, to her, in that sexy prom dress. But that’s all I find. Most doors stay closed.

  She works on her homework and I suppose I distract her, make her angry. I don’t know why. The sleepier she gets the more I snoop around and that’s not a good idea. We have an argument that I would never repeat to Rashanda or I’d get a lecture. I win the fight though and Hannah promises me that she’ll let me surface when Michael is about to kiss her. Kiss us.

  Kiss me.

  That’s worth waiting for and worth calming down in Hannah’s head.

  * * *

  I spend all night testing those closed doors, seeing some dreams, bits and pieces anyway, as she cycles through deep and light sleep. I consider interacting with her in the
dreams but they’re so random and fast that I merely observe. The only dream that makes sense is one in which she’s wearing that blue gown. The dress is torn at the hem and it has a pocket, a long patched-on pocket. A dark-haired doll is stuffed in it along with a flower. Hannah pulls the doll out and twists its head—it looks like me—and then stuffs it back into the pocket. Over and over.

  I’m not as smart as Rashanda, but I’ve learned a few things from her about how to analyze characters in books and figure out symbolism and themes. Something bothers me about the pocket dream and I think it’s that Hannah repeats the action. Rashanda would say this meant that Hannah and I had formed a bond that was like a tug-of-war between good and evil. The pocket thing has me remembering something. Breath mints? Insecurity? Discharge papers? Uncertainty?

  Indecision?

  When she isn’t dreaming I review my silly plot to be Homecoming queen. That was stupid of me. And a long shot. What if she doesn’t get enough votes after all? And when I really think about it, I don’t want to be Michael’s girlfriend Hannah. I want to be Michael’s girlfriend Jessica. I want him to like the real me, which is not going to happen while I’m in a coma. My new goal is twofold: first, to get to know him quietly and invisibly while I can and second, to fly or float back into my own body. I have no success with that now, and I am honestly trying my hardest to leave her. I concentrate on places I’d rather be and try to teleport myself there like when I zipped from the classroom to the side of the road. But I keep failing to leave her even when I manage to add some fear or anger to the desire.

  I don’t like when Hannah keeps me in the dark. We’re like two kids on a teeter-totter and I’m scared that she’ll jump off and leave me to bang down hard and forever.

  We rub each other the wrong way. If we aren’t careful we’re going to infect each other with our worst traits. I want to leave behind a little hope, patience, and caring when I leave her, but I doubt that she has anything good to share with me other than access to Michael.