You and Me and Misery
Page 4
I tell him everything. Everything I regret. And how there are things I can’t regret. I cry to him. Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him how I didn’t mean to not pay attention. Didn’t mean to miss the red warning signs on his strangely ghostly skin. How I wished I was right there even though I was there all along. I tell him that I wish I told him I was gay sooner. I tell him how I was scared.
Johnny
Tug-of-War
We go back and forth. Like tug-of-war with apologies. Apologies that are so jumbled with sobs that eventually we both just stop. And then start laughing so hard we cry again. Look, I say as my mother pokes her head in to check on us. I made a best friend.
Gin
Recovery
Johnny spends the next three weeks in an eating disorder inpatient facility. Not too far from home. Every day after school, Mrs. Collins drives me there and back in time for dinner. On weekends, I walk early to her house, have breakfast, and then we make our way to see Johnny again.
Mrs. Collins Cried
on my shoulder last night when I came over for dinner. But before that she hadn’t said much. It was when I was leaving. Standing in her doorway. She hugged me goodbye and then she cried. I’m sorry, Gin, she said. Her voice breaking somehow within those three words.
I Have Questions
and like most things I can’t find the right time to ask them. On this Saturday morning, I feel anxious, unsteady, as we drive to the treatment center. Like a buoy in rapid waters. Mrs. Collins, I say. But she doesn’t respond at first. I clear my throat. Mrs. Collins, I try to say as politely as the first time. But this time it lands like a pinch. She jumps a little.
Hm? She Replies.
I inhale sharply and exhale it out. What happened to Mr. Collins? She says nothing and then we pull into a visitor’s spot and the gear is shifted to park. Then her voice is suddenly so low, I hardly recognize it. Jail, she says. And I pray he rots.
One of the Days
when Johnny is at the clinic, we make a pact. It is simple. No more secrets. And it reminds me of Nila and her Truths. When I see myself as a tree now, there is a branch that is fully bloomed. The other branches try but need more light.
Johnny
I Walk Gin Home
from school the first day I am back. She is holding my hand. Sweat pools between our palms. When she pushes her front door open, her uncle is standing in the kitchen across from us. Uncle Leon, she says.
Gin
I Push the Door Open
and Uncle Leon’s standing in the kitchen. He doesn’t look up from his phone. When I step back to abort the mission, Johnny grips my hand tighter. No more secrets. Uncle Leon, I say.
Seuss
What’s up, guys? Uncle Leon asks, still looking at his phone. He’s been back for eight days. I walk up to the counter he leans on. Johnny is close behind. It’s so nice out, don’t you think? I ask. Uh-huh, he says. And then it all falls out of my mouth at once: I missed you, how was your day, also I’m gay, what do you say? (I realize I sound like Dr. Seuss.) Oh, he says, clicking off his phone. Yeah, I know. He breaks into a smile. And when I exhale, he stands beside me. Puts his arm around my shoulder. Turns to look at Johnny and says, Now what should we have for dinner?
Mr. Collins
There is no contact from Mr. Collins after the arrest. We don’t talk about him because that’s what we agreed on. After a couple weeks of having Johnny home, I help him and his mom unpack some boxes. Fresh start, I say. Mrs. Collins smiles and says, Oh, we’re getting by.
The Wall
At Johnny’s new apartment, there is a random wall. We climb it sometimes. When I climb up it today, Johnny yells from below, Mirror, mirror on this random wall, who’s the greatest of them all? You are, I say. You are! he says back. And as I bow from up top, the old lady a couple doors down shouts, Get down from there! You’ll crack your head open. And we laugh so hard as we run. We laugh so hard I think my face cracks.
Johnny
Mother
She is humming now. I can’t really make out the song. I’m not even sure it has any words. But she’s humming and it’s beautiful. So loud it fills every room of this tiny apartment. Every hall, every corner.
First Date
Gin has her first date today since Nila. Her name is Julie. They met when she visited me at the treatment center where Julie volunteers. As Gin shifts her shirt, she looks at me, tears forming in her eyes. Johnny, what if— Knock ‘em dead, killer, I say. I squeeze her really tight. Break her heart, I say. But I know that Gin is not the kind to break hearts.
Gin
First Date Questions
Your first celebrity girl crush? I ask. Easy, Julia says. 1990s Julia Roberts! I laugh. That’s cute, I kid. Julie and Julia sittin’ in a tree! She tickles the palm of my hand that she’s been holding. And you? she asks. I take a large bite of my slice of pizza to stall time. Jolie, I say, my cheeks now full of crust. What? Angelina Jolie! I shout in the middle of the food court. And we both almost fall out of our chairs, we laugh so hard. Soda dribbles out her nose, we laugh so hard.
Johnny
This Summer
goes by fast, even though I am taking it slow. We spend most of our days sitting on the wall. It’s wide enough that we can play board games and cards on top. And if we aren’t there, we are inside. Having dinner with my mother or at Gin’s house, playing catch in her small backyard. Recovery feels so far away, college even farther. So we measure our days in small parts. We take our time, for both of our sakes. Not as much hers, it seems, as mine.
Gin
Senior Year
I am back here again and not much is different. The clocks still have black rims. Classrooms still smell stale. All the chairs are still that ugly green. The halls still have gritty yellow tiles. But this year is our final year. And this time I’ve got my best friend.
Johnny
Here Again
Finding myself here again feels like throwing a found needle into a larger haystack.
Gin
Four Weeks Later
I haven’t run into Johnny so far today. But, I don’t think much of it. Our classes don’t line up as well as they did last year. I tell myself it’s because of this.
It Has Been a While
Maybe a couple of weeks since I last had dinner at Johnny’s. Tonight, I’m back. Heading back from the bathroom, I catch Johnny in his room pinching his skin and poking himself in the stomach. He is standing in front of his bedroom mirror. Broken mirror on the wall, he says. Who’s the— Fairest, I interrupt. Fairest of them all. Johnny, you are. You’re the best. When he sees me, he slowly folds toward the ground. I kneel with him and catch his head with my lap. His tears darken my jeans.
Mirror Image
When I look at Johnny, it’s like standing in front of my reflection. There are layers, mixtures of joy, fear, and misery in him. And they mirror mine. And I think how I have never found that in anyone else.
Guidance
I have another meeting with the guidance counselor today. For once, I’m not dreading it. A corner-torn paper is clipped to tomorrow’s history assignment. It has a list of colleges I’ve sent an application to. For once, my future seems bright.
But
when I get to guidance, I don’t see pamphlets spread out like a fan on the desk. Instead I see the counselor’s hand stretched out, asking me to take a seat.
It’s About Johnny
She keeps talking, but I can’t hear. All I can see is her hand. All I can think is how red her nail polish is. Blood red, I think, red as the blood that rushes to my ears. My cheeks. I don’t need to hear her, though. I already know what has happened.
Johnny Relapsed
He has made visits to the PRIVATE room without me a couple of times this week. He admits he did it again and again the four weeks before.
Routine
Mrs. Collins and I start up breakfasts again. I visit Johnny almost every day after school. And like before, she remembers to avoid the
highways because of Mom. At times, even Julie comes along to “hitch a ride to volunteering,” but really to lend a hand.
I Don’t Talk to Johnny
about how well things are going between Julie and I. I don’t talk about what he missed at school. No, not this time around. When he wants silence, I’m quiet. When he wants to play board games, we play them. When he needs to cry, we cry together. And sometimes he refuses our visits. This time around is different. This time around he feels defeat. It has swallowed him whole.
Second Try
When Johnny comes home, he is struggling more than the first time. I come over after school for dinner and tutoring some days. Remind Johnny that he is the smartest of us two. I hug him tight before I leave. And sometimes, he doesn’t hug back. His arms underneath my squeeze feel weak. His bones feel as if they bend to my grip. As if they could snap.
In My Dreams
Johnny is a small bird. I go to reach into his cage and tape up his wing. But when I try, he’s just too far out of reach. It’s almost like he’s afraid. Or am I?
I Don’t Talk to Johnny
about how Julie and I broke up. How much it hurt. I don’t talk to Johnny about such things because he’s my best friend and I want to spare him my sadness since I can’t spare him his own.
Johnny
Five Weeks Later
With counseling, my lungs feel as if they are able to expand a little easier as time goes by. Sometimes, the fear of relapsing feels as if one of my lungs has cracked. But jeez, does it feel good to breathe.
Gin
My First Letter
Mrs. Collins has us over for dinner, Uncle Leon and me. I haven’t opened it yet. Johnny insists that any college letter “calls for celebration regardless of the answer.” I slide the small envelope across the table.
Johnny
I Pick It Up
and even though it’s light, both Gin and I have held it like it’s lead. Every move I make opening it is fast. I know she is impatient. When I see the first few words, I begin to cry.
Gin
Johnny’s Crying,
so of course I cry, too. And I don’t even know what the letter says. You’ve been accepted, he screams. Somehow sobbing while smiling. I’ve been accepted, I scream, and I do the same, a crash of emotions. Uncle Leon and Mrs. Collins just grin at us.
Johnny
For Now, We Are Okay
Gin’s acceptance letter helped me realize a few things. 1. “All college acceptance letters come in a big envelope” is a myth! 2. It’s okay that sometimes where you saw yourself, who you saw yourself with, or what you thought you never could do, all change. 3. Just because you’re walking at your own pace doesn’t mean you’re moving slow. It just means you’re taking your time. That time is yours.
When I’m Ready
I will send in my applications. But like our summer, I find myself wanting to meet smaller goals still. Between counseling, the rest of senior year, and graduation, I choose not to add anything else to my plate. When I tell her all of this, my mother grabs my arm and with a smile on her face she squeezes it tight. From now on, it’s not just to get by. It’s to get through, she says. And just like the times when I was little, when we’d sing in the car between school and double shifts, it feels like we are in this together. And it feels like peace.
Supernova
If anyone ever asks what I’d like to be in the next life, I’ll say a star. Because they’re Gin’s favorite. And because I imagine, like the nova of streetlights, how wonderful it must be to bounce and shine on the leaves of trees.
Gin
The Brightest Stars
We lay on our backs. Johnny points at three of the brightest stars. And he says, Look Gin. It’s you. Not knowing that those three make up a part of Mom. I put my hands behind my head. Yeah, Johnny, I say. I can see that.
A Blank Beginning
I remember the day I was born. This is important because I was not born the way other babies are born. And I was not born to be like other babies. The room was so bright. There were nine others. Exactly nine others born that day. Nine like me. None like me. A speaker boomed over each of us. From my speaker came a voice. And that voice said Alex, Alex, Alex, Alex, Alex, Alex.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Raised by her Haitian grandmother, Rayel Louis-Charles is a multiracial, queer author who identifies as, first and foremost, a poet. She has participated in spoken word competitions and drama performances. Much of her writing is a result of her personal traumas and struggles with identity and abandonment, as well as her own discoveries, hopes, and accomplishments. She hopes to reach young teens with her novel in order to remind a lonely young heart that this loneliness exists in others as well. Also, to stress the importance of consideration for others, not knowing that their story could be similar to your own.