A Soul's Kiss

by Debra Chapoton

The library appears deserted but from my nebulous vantage point I find three people. I choose to follow Amy again. Something about her draws me despite my curiosity about Rashanda and Tyler’s huddled conversation. I have all the time in the world. Now that I’m free of Hannah I can mind-meld with Rashanda later. In fact, she might be glad for my company in first hour. If I can’t physically sit next to her, at least I can sit with her ‘in spirit’.

  Amy pulls a thick book from the stack and thumbs to the index. She runs her fingers down the page and stops on depression. I wonder why she doesn’t simply do a search on a computer. A prickle of fear stabs me in the heart. I know why. Amy is using the slow and archaic method of research so as not to leave a trace of her actions. She turns several more pages and lands in the S’s: suicide.

  “Amy! Amy!” Her spirit self ignores me and naturally the real Amy can’t hear me either. “What are you planning? Is this for a paper or something? You’re not really that depressed, are you?” I guess my encouragement in the car had fallen on deaf ears. I swat at her vapory image. I figure I have two or three options.

  I can do nothing.

  Or I can try to alert my friends.

  Or I can press my forehead to hers. The possibility of being trapped inside a suicidal teenager is no more frightening than my present condition. I’m going to die anyway.

  No. I clap my hands to my head. No, again. Clinging to life, no matter how tenuous the thread, is preferable to giving up.

  My best option is to get Rashanda and Tyler to help her.

  I’m at their study carrel in an instant and catch the tail end of an odd conversation.

  Tyler speaks with intensity, “. . . if we can get Hannah to let go of her it’ll be easier for her to return to her body.”

  “He thinks Hannah is holding her? I don’t believe it. Jessica wants to stay. If anything, she’s the one who won’t let go.”

  Who thought Hannah was holding me? Were they talking about Michael?

  “Here I am, guys.” I jump up and down in front of them, wave my arms, do a little barefoot dance. Tyler gets real quiet and Rashanda looks around the library. “Look. Right here. Here I am.”

  But they ignore me.

  Rashanda looks at Tyler again and says, “So, about Michael’s car. Do you want me to tell Jessica to ask him for the keys?”

  He shakes his head. “I saw the keys on his locker shelf. It’d be better if she just took them.” Rashanda doesn’t say anything for a moment and then Tyler continues, “It shouldn’t be a big deal for her. I’ve seen her drive her boyfriend’s car before. Like to away games. Do you think we can convince one of them to do it?”

  Convince one of us to do what? I want to scream. I press my head up to Rashanda’s nose; a strand of hair tickles us both. She brushes it and me away. I try Tyler then. His aura is looser and I wave my hand through the colors before bumping my forehead on his.

  But I can’t force myself in. Not with my mother’s voice in my ear. And then my father’s. They both plead with me to wake up.

  No, not yet.

  But I wiggle my thumb.

  Tyler

  Wednesday morning

  Every hair on my neck stood up. I looked back at Rashanda. She was tapping her eraser on the corner of her worksheet. This was the third time today that I sensed Jessica was near, first at Michael’s locker, then in the library, and now in first hour. I thought that maybe Hannah was passing by our classroom.

  English class was only interesting because of the student teacher’s enthusiasm, but she’d only taught for half the period. The worksheet she passed out was review work and I had been as bored as Rashanda until I had that odd perception of Jessica. I scanned the room, closed my eyes, and waited.

  Come on, Jessica. If she popped into my head I could run all the way to the hospital with her. I put my head down on my forearm and hoped Ms. Gardner wouldn’t look up from the papers she was checking.

  I let my mind wander and tried not to concentrate on the specific things that entered my thoughts. Fragments of conversations ambushed my mind.

  Dr. Winston: “I felt her in the room when she had the splenectomy.”

  Hannah: “Do you like my dress, Tyler?”

  Rashanda: “They’re kidnapping her.”

  Michael: “What are you looking at, quitter?”

  My own voice: “So you must have some bits of Michael in your head.”

  Then images formed. I saw the accident site with the flowers strewn around. Hannah’s family room with all the clutter. The hospital waiting room with the line of chairs against the wall. Jessica’s breathing machine with all the tubes and wires. The cute nurse. Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell hiding their concern as they spoke in whispers. Keith’s mom and her pastor walking away from Keith’s hospital room. Michael’s angry face as I left Hannah’s lunch table.

  I got the prickly hair feeling again. Come on, Jessica. Be in my dreams.

  A wave of smells rushed my senses all at once. Disinfectant and flowers and blood and perfume.

  The bell rang and I jerked awake. Nothing. No Jessica. The room was emptying out. I folded the worksheet and stuck it in my pocket. Ms. Gardner stared at me with her brow puckered. Oh, great. She caught me sleeping. I let the kids behind me jostle their way past my desk before I rose. Rashanda was a row over and walking slowly up the aisle.

  “See ya, Tyler,” she said. I nodded and headed for Ms. Gardner.

  “I’m really sorry about that,” I told Ms. Gardner. “I’m not one of those losers who sleep in class all the time. It’s just that, um—”

  “It’s all right, Tyler.” She stood up and pointed at the edge of the worksheet that was sticking out of my pocket. She forced a laugh then frowned and said, “I know your family is going through a rough patch. You’re probably not getting enough rest. I’ve heard of sleepwalking, but that was the first time I ever witnessed sleep writing. I’m curious . . . can I see your paper?” She held her hand out.

  I might have finished three quarters of the answers before I put my head down. I had no idea what she was talking about. I sure wasn’t sleepwalking around the classroom. I knew my skin was coloring as I pulled the paper out and handed it over. Ms. Gardner unfolded it. I glanced toward the door as the last two kids left snickering at me. I was even more embarrassed.

  “Okay,” she said. “Good job. I guess I was wrong. Oh, and I’d change your answer to number twenty four. Think about it, Tyler.”

  I took the paper back totally uncertain about what my mistake had been. I scrutinized my answers as I walked out into the hallway.

  Number 24: In The Scarlet Letter the experience of Hester and Dimmesdale recalls the story of Adam and Eve because, in both cases, sin results in ___________ and ____________.

  Instead of writing expulsion and suffering in the blanks, which I knew were the answers she wanted, I’d written in small hard letters depression and suicide.

  Holy crap! I moved like lightning to the stairs and called after Rashanda, but with the crowds of kids filling the stairwell she’d have to be super human to switch directions, let alone hear me. My second hour class was on this floor so I decided not to try to follow her. We were going to meet up before third hour at her locker anyway. She swore that Jessica would be there if she was in control.

  Depression and suicide. What in the world was Jessica thinking?

  Michael

  Wednesday morning

  Tuxedoes were not cheap. I called that Emma chick after I dropped Hannah off. Thought that maybe we could hook up for Homecoming. No dice. She had a date already. I’ll bet that dude will be one lucky sucker after the dance. So, since I couldn’t get my money back on the tickets or tux I didn’t have a problem with giving in to Hannah’s worshipful adoration as soon as we saw each other at school this morning.

  Hannah was stranger than a cat. Hormones, I guess. She had her eye on that Homecoming queen crown and who was I to leave her dateless? Being king would be next to impossible though. Something had to give. I did
n’t know how I’d play in the game, direct the band, ride in the float . . . I needed to split into two or three people.

  Woke up today without a headache. Paid attention in first hour. Walked Hannah to second hour. Flirted with a blonde from drama class between third and fourth—Kayla something. Headed for the lunch line and looked over to our table. No Hannah.

  Then I saw her talking to that a-hole, Tyler. What the—? And Rashanda was standing there, too. Hannah wouldn’t be trying to get their votes because they were only juniors.

  All I could think as I walked across the cafeteria was what is Hannah planning now? It was weird enough when the four of us were in that hospital room. Theatrical. Bizarre. Uncomfortable.

  “Hey,” I said. I startled all of them.

  Hannah grabbed my arm. “Be cool,” she said. She put more pressure into her grip. “Listen. You have to drive us to the hospital. Please.” She looked frightened and agitated beyond her normal high maintenance self. “It’s important. Life or death important.”

  Right. I started shaking my head, searching her eyes for some clue. Was this another prank? An on-the-fly thrill plan? I looked back at our table to see our friends taking their seats, totally unaware of this new development. Or, maybe it was an effort to gain the sympathy vote.

  “Whose life, whose death?” I asked, feeling her grip loosen.

  “It’s kind of hard to explain,” Hannah said.

  “Jessica’s.” Tyler clipped his answer. I mimicked how he clenched his jaw. It hurt my teeth. “And this could affect Hannah, too, maybe permanently.”

  Rashanda seemed to puff herself up and said, “It’s a really long story, and you’re probably not going to believe us, but your girlfriend has been, uh, responsible for Jessica’s condition. And we need her to go to the hospital to help Jessica wake up from the coma and not be a vegetable.”

  I looked at each of them, trying to read their body language.

  Tyler looked like he was going to start a fight with me. “Look, we need to hurry. Are you going to help or not? We need your car.”

  “The keys are in my locker,” I said. I still hadn’t decided if I was going to skip out with them.

  “No, they’re not.” Hannah jangled my set of keys at me. I could not figure out what the deal was. It looked like she was planning on leaving with these two regardless. Now I was angry and significantly curious.

  I grabbed the keys and said, “Okay, then. Let’s go. But you’re explaining everything on the way.”

  * * *

  It was a wonder that I could keep the car on the road. They took turns blurting out impossible statements about the ghost of Jessica inhabiting each of us at different times. The story was completely convoluted and ridiculous, but each of them added some things that were too precise to disregard. I couldn’t ignore certain facts. Like Tyler knew things about me that I’d never told anyone. Like Rashanda could describe that time she was a victim . . . but from my point of view. Not possible.

  Hannah insisted that she’d turned into Jessica when we walked out of the hospital. I remembered how weird she had acted then. But . . . not feasible. Out of the question that Jessica’s spirit was floating around invading people’s consciousness. And yet . . . I remembered thinking how flashes of scenes from Jessica’s life were stuck in my head like memories.

  Then Tyler recited some stuff a doctor had told him. Some doctor we were going to meet at noon. I kept checking the rear view mirror to see the expressions on his face. I wondered if he could change colors on purpose. I drove slower than usual just to watch his anxiety rise.

  “Can you step on it, Michael?” Hannah’s impatience was obvious. “She might still be inside me. Tyler says he can sense her when he’s around me. I thought she left when we pulled out of Stony last night.”

  “But maybe not.” Rashanda was breathless. “Maybe she got weaker. Anyway, she was strong enough this morning to make you come to my locker between classes.”

  “I told you, that was my idea. I felt I should tell you that she was gone. I almost called you last night to tell you that.”

  “But you didn’t. She’s still in you. We could always throw you in the pool to find out for sure.” Rashanda had been leaning forward, out of my view, and finished her threat by sitting back hard. I wondered how much time Hannah and Rashanda had spent together the last few days. The pool thing was news to me. Hannah would only go in the lake up to her waist last summer.

  “There’s something else,” Tyler said. Hannah looked back at him, but I couldn’t. I had to watch for traffic to make a left onto the boulevard. “Something more recent. Crap. I don’t know how to explain it, but Jessica made me write some words this morning. Depression. And suicide.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.” Rashanda sounded angry. It clashed with the flowery scent she gave off.

  I made the turn. We were only a block from the hospital.

  “I didn’t get the chance. Hannah came up to your locker at the same time and, you know, we started in on her about stealing the keys.”

  “Wait a minute,” Hannah said. “So is she inside me or floating around the school? And whose suicide? Do you mean that Jessica might try to kill herself if she’s in me? She’d kill me?”

  “Never,” Rashanda’s voice hit two high notes. “She would never do that.”

  Maybe she would. I remembered that stupid drama class scene from last week. Jessica was pretty convincing about stabbing Kayla in the heart. And Kayla looked a lot like Hannah, come to think of it. I made the turn into the parking lot and thought about how little I cared about what might happen to Hannah or Jessica. I was purely interested in watching everyone else’s responses. There was a feast of emotions here and I could learn a lot. I laughed to myself as I remembered one more thing—the balloons on the floor comment that Hannah had made at her locker Monday morning. Funny how such a little thing could convince you of such a big thing.

  Jessica

  Wednesday morning

  For some reason I can’t see my feet anymore. I can’t really look down even though I see the floor, the steps, the ugly tile of the school hallways. It’s like I’m flying with my legs stretched out behind me. People and walls sway with the same movement. I feel nauseated.

  Ever since I heard my parents’ voices pleading for me to wake up my anxiety level has shot through the roof. Not that I can see the roof. The ceilings around here are apparently non-existent for me. Or else I am developing a kind of tunnel vision.

  My hearing is fine though. The first warning bell shrieks and I listen to mobs of kids using their last free minute to gab with friends before scurrying to class. Amy melts into a pack of kids headed toward the gym. I follow.

  She changes in the locker room and files out into the gymnasium with three dozen other girls to line up for roll. My nausea lightens as I take a seat on the bench by the fountain. I can see my feet again. My bare feet. My very pale and nearly transparent bare feet.

  Amy’s spirit self is not behind her. I wonder if Amy can suck her up somehow. She stands straighter and looks as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.

  “She’s dying.”

  I jump. That is, if floating up an inch suddenly can be called a jump. Amy’s spirit self is seated next to me.

  “We’re all dying,” I answer. It’s not what I want to say. It just comes out. Maybe my mouth knows something my head doesn’t. Like why I’m growing fainter.

  “I’m not dying,” Amy’s spirit self whispers. “I’m getting better. I thought I should tell you. You know, in case you were worried.”

  “I am worried,” I say.

  “Don’t be. I heard what you said in the car. I’m . . . we’re working on things.”

  “Suicide is not the answer.” My voice cracks. I begin to hiccup.

  “Suicide was already the answer. She’s dying.”

  “She? Who?” I search my mind and think I have a clue. A portion of a phone call from Brittany to Hannah echoes in a corner of my head. I’d h
eard a few words when Hannah’s heart lurched with a sudden stab of alarm. A victim. Someone they pranked.

  Amy’s spirit flashes away and I open my mouth to yell at the real Amy. I make horrible loud sounds as each hiccup makes me gasp. No one in the line looks my way, but a few of the girls have auras that I’ve not seen before, and they swell with each of my wheezes. I am fascinated with my new ability to see this phenomenon and wonder why Tyler’s was so much deeper in color.

  Instantly I materialize in my first hour English class, right next to Rashanda. Well, materialize isn’t the right word. I’m undetectable. I tap her hand a bunch of times. Someone needs to help Amy and evidently it needs to be someone in physical form. My hiccupping has stopped. Thank goodness, because I thought those annoying convulsions were going to kill me.

  Tyler looks back at us. Yes! The color around him is glowing. He puts his head down on his arm and I fly to his shoulder. Tyler could help Amy. He is so soothing and gentle and nice and kind. Why do I think these things about him?

  I center my focus on his head and try to melt into him. I try for what seems like half the class period. The sounds of the classroom drum on and on in my ears: rustling papers, squirming, coughing, nails tapping. Kids just breathing loudly—it all is so normal and so irritating at the same time. All I want to do is get into Tyler’s head.

  It doesn’t work.

  His right hand still holds his pencil. I have an idea. If I can’t wake him up or get into his dreams in my weakened state, maybe I can at least control his hand. I touch his fingers and remember the warmth. I put my whole hand over his and guide the pencil, carefully and slowly, over the worksheet.

  Depression. Suicide.

  He’ll understand. I only need to steer him to Amy.

  * * *

  The whole morning skips by as if I’m dozing. Or going in and out of consciousness. I follow my schedule, sit in my assigned seat, and try to control my urge to berate the idiots in second hour and the dimwitted losers in third hour. Since no one can hear me, I’m tempted to go ahead and tell off a few people. Sometimes I have no patience. But I control myself and I don’t even take advantage of the situation to criticize Mr. Jeffries to his face. He’s the most obnoxious, full of bologna teacher I’ve ever had. He thinks the fate of the world is in his hands. His class just isn’t that important. But I stay quiet. No other choice.