Today my picture looks different. There are two stick figures instead of one. Two swimmers—moving toward each other—dodging riptides, sharks, and exhaustion. Will they reach each other? Only time will tell.
Lagan walks past my desk to the front of the class to turn in his paper. On his way back, I slide my folded drawing to the edge of the table. He slows his pace when he nears. I smile to myself and slip the paper off, watching it sail to the ground. Lagan picks it up, and instead of returning it, he puts a different paper on my desk.
He coined this “TGE” for The Great Exchange. It’s our way of sharing with each other how we feel at the start of the day. No words allowed. After I know he is well past me, back in his seat, I unfold his paper and gasp in disbelief.
The ocean. There are two swimmers. Swimming toward each other. The sun is rising in his sketch. I remember how he mentioned that his favorite color is red. Something about the color of the sunrise. There are no sharks in his picture. However, one detail makes me wince. There are storm clouds, but they aren’t in the sky. Instead, they rage in the water with lightning bolts darting to and fro. And the kicker, they only surround one of the swimmers. The female swimmer. Me.
I take my pencil and flip it to the eraser side. I try to erase the clouds. My fury at my life rises, and I rip through the picture. I rip his picture.
What do you want from me? I can only give what I can give, what I can afford, without Dad finding out. Who am I kidding? Graduation is around the corner. Four months away. I only have four months of Lagan left. It’s not enough. But what choice do I have? I can’t live for the future.
Too many dreams of make-believe futures have been shattered. I know better than to hold too tightly to my dreams. I lost the dreams I thought were plausible. Mom used to put flowers in my hair on my wedding day. Jesse used to run along the beach with me, flying kites on a breezy summer evening. Dad used to disappear. Nowhere to be found. Missing. No access to me or Jess.
Like sand slipping through my clasped hands, my dreams only leave me wanting. Then, when despair morphs to rage, the sand solidifies into broken glass. My hands now clasp foolishly, full of shards where hope bleeds from me, one broken promise at a time.
With bloody hands, my rage craves revenge. Last night, I dreamt of taking a knife to Dad’s throat. I awoke to find myself standing in the kitchen with a butter knife between my tightly squeezed fingers. Terrified of what I was capable of, I knew I needed to distract my mind before I returned to bed and laid my head down on my pillow.
That’s when I first opened it, The Beautiful Fight, the book that Lagan marked with blank Post-its. I skimmed one story, carefully replacing the yellow Sticky Note before nodding off to sleep.
In the story I read, a woman had been bleeding for twelve years. My lips have been bleeding for more than a decade. The woman in the story wanted help, but she didn’t want anyone to know her business. She was afraid to ask out loud. I can relate to that. She had spent her every penny on doctors, but to no avail. Her bleeding persisted. I feel spent, thinking of my own journey. Thinking about Mom and Jess, and how I still bleed, and no one arrives to rescue me. No cure I can afford seems to exist.
The woman in the story did something strange, but it doesn’t seem so strange to me. People do strange things when they’re desperate. Desperation drove her to search for help in an odd place. A garden of all places. Greenery surrounded a large crowd that followed a gardener. Then the woman reached forward, into the crowd, and stole. Just a touch. Of the gardener’s back. And just like that, she stopped bleeding.
All night, I dreamt that I was the woman, following the crowd, pressing forward, hoping to reach forward and just brush his shoulder. The crowd faded in my dream, and all I could see was the cloth in front of me. But, just as I lunged forward, an axe fell in front of my grasp, just missing my wrist.
Turning my head to see where he was, I saw him inches away from me, removing his hood. He’d been walking in the crowd the whole time, watching me. Dad stood still, hood back, holding the axe to the ground, staring right at me, shaking his head no. Not now. Not ever. Don’t even think about it.
The crowd moved on without me. As did the gardener, his back blurring with the distance. Dream over.
The bell rings, startling me from my excursion from now. I crumple up the drawing, gather my things, and shuffle quickly out of class—alone. Lagan runs up behind me, but I ignore him. Just when I’ve resolved that I can handle this, I can’t. I am better off alone. Can’t you see that? I am the personification of complicated. And no one wants complicated.
I know it’s not fair, but life isn’t fair. Fair is for fairy tales. I live on the other side of the tracks. Where the king hurts the princess, and the prince never arrives in time. The dragon burns down the castle. The queen stopped breathing a long time ago. And no one lives happily ever after.
So much for starting my day with anticipation. Just like that, the candle is blown out by the frigid breeze of my reality. I promise to back away. To detach my heart strings, one at a time. I need to get used to the fact that forever is for other girls. The ones whose fathers teach them how to dance as they get ready for prom. The only prom I’ll ever attend will occur in my room. By myself, wearing the single pretty black dress I own from Mom’s funeral. I’ll dance with my shadow. Even Jess can’t dance with me.
Thinking of Jesse, I recall seeing him lift his legs in the morning. That’s it. I’ll focus on my brother. Today is the perfect day to start. I’ll rush home, finish my chores quickly, then spend the rest of the evening until Dad returns, helping Jess with his physical therapy. Thankful for my baby brother, I vow to do whatever it takes to get Jess back on his feet.
Keeping my eyes on my feet as I move to my next class, I note that Lagan no longer follows me. Good. Maybe he’s used to my roller-coaster temperament. Or maybe he’s decided to finally leave me alone. I drift from class to class, creating a new schedule in my head to work with Jess. Each time Lagan slips me a Sticky Note, I throw it into the trash without reading it. I know this hurts him, but I have to cut this off. I’m used to bleeding. He’ll get over me. Brad did. And so will he.
As I take my lunch to the girl’s locker room, I plop down on the bench and wonder which one of Lagan’s many friends will keep him company today. My appetite disappears with my reflection as I close my eyes to the yellow bathroom tile that surrounds me. I hate who I’ve become. Now Lagan will have to pick the sad face if I say my name. I’d pick the sad face, too. For everything.
I think about the picture Lagan drew. Why does it make me so angry? What is it about the clouds that make me cave into despair? Maybe because the clouds sit so close to me, I sense Lagan suggesting that it’s all my fault. I’m the reason that we can’t get close. Closer. The clouds are my problems. My roadblocks. My no’s. I have listed more than enough for the both of us. Meanwhile, Lagan swims free, basking in the sun.
Indecisive should be my middle name. I flip-flop back and forth until I’m reminded of the bleeding woman in Lagan’s book. At some point, she had to come out of hiding. She had to remove the mask of I’m fine. Terrified to admit to too much, I debate asking Lagan about the clouds. Up to now, I have never shared any concrete details regarding Dad. I don’t want sympathy. That never solves anything. And changes nothing.
How can I forget the first time that Lagan took a risk and tried asking? About my lips? Something inside of me wants to tell him. A little. Just so he might understand that I don’t choose these clouds that hold me captive. To know that if I could remove the clouds, I would. I really would. But how? How can I tell him without saying it? Without writing it down? Without leaving evidence?
My whole life I have imagined this moment when I would tell someone the truth. The truth of the madness that I live every day. I imagine what it will be like to invite someone into my world. Even just for a moment. To not be alone. And then it hits me. Dad’s in Vegas today. Who knows what time his red eye lands? Should I? Do I dare?
What if Dad shows up? My mind has played this game a million times. Falling off the tightrope into the unknown. Crossing wobbly bridges, knowing too well that alligators snip at my heels. What difference does it make? I’m drowning anyway. May as well go down with a little fight. No regrets. Something like that. When I recall Jess lifting his legs, an unfamiliar desire to dance stirs inside me.
I quickly throw the rest of my lunch away, realizing that I only have five minutes before the lunch bell will sound. Phrasing and rephrasing the question in my head, I race against the clock as blood pulses in my ears, and my heart pounds two feet in front of me. I close my eyes to get a grip and run right into Lagan’s chest.
“Looking for someone?” Lagan asks, half-smiling.
“Face-to-face. Was this your idea or mine?” I’m so glad he’s here.
“You hated my picture.” Lagan cuts to the chase.
“No.” I start to lie. “It’s just that the clouds. Why so many? And around just me?” Bodies bump us left and right as students head to lockers for afternoon books.
“The clouds.” Lagan inhales. “The clouds were really hard for me to draw.”
“What do you mean?” I ask as we move down the hallway, toward my locker, elbows touching, more and more kids filing in.
“The clouds are your hurts. Even though the ocean is full of water, you can’t hide your sadness from me. I see you’re sad. I just don’t know why. I want to reach you, but your sadness keeps me away. Without knowing where the clouds are coming from, I have no way of knowing how to move past them. Like it’s always cloudy in your world. Your eyes. No matter how often I steal a smile from your lips, it’s still raining in your eyes.” Lagan pauses, then he finishes. “I’m sorry.”
How many times has Lagan apologized to me since I met him? It’s not his fault. None of this. My life is not your fault. I take a deep breath and say two words that I have never said to another soul: “Come over.”
“Today?” Lagan’s eyebrows furrow toward each other with understandable skepticism.
“Yes. After school. For an hour.” I know this chance might never come again.
“Are you sure?” He puts his hand on my arm as he looks into my eyes.
When I nod yes, he pulls closer and whispers into my ear, “Should I wear a tie?”
“Only if you’re worried about impressing my brother.” I giggle, and we part for our afternoon classes. I smile through the rest of my day, and when the last bell rings, my smile turns to pressed lips, attempting to keep out an intruder. Doubt. It’s time.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I find a Post-it on my locker when I return to get my textbooks.
Meet U outside by the gym doors. If U change yur mind, no biggie. Still want 2 have lunch with U tom.
L
Just like Lagan, always giving me an out. I pack my books quickly, clip my lock, and head out the back doors. Walking around to the side of the school, I spot Lagan’s tall, lanky figure leaning against the school’s renovated brick. Shades and black winter cap pulled over his ears, his head bops to some tune on his iPod as he dribbles his basketball. He catches me looking toward him, and picks up his dribble, pulls one ear bud out, and saunters in my direction. Smiling, perhaps relieved that I didn’t bail.
During the trek home, I can hear the basketball hit the pavement behind me, a sound that simultaneously gives me anxiety and joy. Picking up my pace when we reach past two blocks away from school property, I focus my mind on Jesse to keep my mind from dwelling on the possibilities of Dad’s rage. Not sure how Jess will feel about me bringing Lagan home.
The image of an army of white blood cells rushing to guard the entryway into our cancer cell floods my mind. Which makes Lagan a rookie covert-ops agent, entering a realm of terror beyond his skills of training. No one has prepped him. He has no map. Land mines lay all around, and my feet continue to step forward—back into my world.
Not even twenty-four hours have passed since I told my brother about Lagan. I hope Jess is still in a good mood. And if Jess says no, I’ll just send Lagan away. Keep it simple is my mantra for this anything-but-simple experiment.
When we reach a block from my house, I turn to look back. Lagan’s still dribbling, approximately three sidewalk squares behind me. He smiles, raising his eyebrows above his shades. That dimple always manages to surge my pulsing heart.
I turn to face forward. Take a deep breath. Then another. I have to say something as a head’s up. A little background info, just so Lagan won’t totally be caught off guard.
After inhaling once more, I start to explain. “My brother...”
“Yes.” Lagan lets me know from behind that he can hear me.
“My brother.” I start over. “He doesn’t talk.”
“Okay.” Lagan waits.
“Or walk.”
Lagan picks up his dribble. “Oh.”
Another deep breath.
“Or much of anything. He needs a lot of help.” I finish, the house now in sight. “I need to spend a few minutes helping him when we first get there.”
“Okay,” Lagan says and resumes dribbling. “Should I wait outside? I could wait outside.”
“Yeah. That’s a good idea. I’ll come out to get you in a few.”
We’re home. I look down the stone path to my front door. I scan the driveway like a car could magically appear that isn’t there. Then my eyes roam the street and all around. No site of Dad.
I look directly at Lagan and quickly instruct, “You can wait in the backyard. There’s a bench. I’ll see you soon.”
With that, I run to the front entrance, unlock it, and shut the door behind me.
“Jess! Jess, I’m home.” Grabbing the list, I race up to Jess’s room to tell him the news.
Except that Jess is not in his room. What? My heart sinks. Where is he?
“Jess! Jess!” I scream. Where are you?
Our house is not that big. I run through the other bedrooms, back down to the kitchen. Nope. I run to the living room. Not there either. From bathroom to bathroom and still no luck. Then I see the door on Dad’s office partially ajar, and I slow my pace. We’re not allowed in Dad’s office. It’s up there with the roof rule.
“Jessie!” I find my brother laying down on his chest, to the side of Dad’s computer desk.
“Jess?” I kneel to look into his eyes. “Jess? What are you doing? How did you get here?”
Jess’s eyes shift back and forth to his elbows. They are scraped up, dried blood speckles a few of the sea green tiles. He dragged himself? But then my eyes see it. The bottom drawer is pulled out and something silver glitters in the light. A gun. What the? A real gun!
“Jesse!” Heat surges into my ears. “What were you thinking?”
I slam the drawer shut and start shaking Jesse’s shoulders.
I keep screaming. “Jesse, I don’t care what you were thinking, okay. Promise me!”
I need to lower my voice and calm down. I hate being screamed at. I hate the sound of my voice screaming more.
I repeat more calmly, looking Jesse right in his eyes. “Promise me that you’ll never leave me.”
Jesse looks away.
I cup his face and turn it back toward mine.
“Promise me.” I am not taking no for an answer. “Promise me now. I cannot do this alone. I need you.”
Jesse exhales and says one word: “Okay.” Then he looks away again. I feel bad for yelling at him. Sheesh. I totally forget that Lagan is waiting out back. I need to clean up this mess first. Story of my life.
“Let’s get y
ou in your chair.” I force a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
I walk back to Jess’s room, and as I gather some wet washcloths to clean up the blood, I imagine my life without my brother. The thought sends shivers down my neck. Flashbacks from the roof reel in my mind, as I realize that Jesse is not safe left alone. Today the gun. Tomorrow a knife. Again and again, I am reminded that I have no control of the future. But I have to try. I will not give up without a fight.
I wheel his chair back to the den, and after cleaning up Jess, wiping down the floor, and restoring Dad’s office, we move to the kitchen. I really hope that Dad sticks to his note and returns home late. It’s time to tell Jesse.
“Jesse, I’m going to forget about what happened today,” I lie. I will never forget this, I think to myself, as I gather some fruit out of the fridge to make a salad. “I have something to tell you.”
Jesse looks up at me now, his mouth curving at the edges to make a small smile.
“Well, not exactly a something. More like a someone. There’s someone I want you to meet.” I watch closely for any sign of resistance.
Jess shrugs his shoulders, so I continue talking. “He’s out back. His name is Lagan. Yes. The same Lagan I told you about last night.”
Jess nods. This could not be a worse moment to introduce a stranger into our house. Moments after discovering my brother’s second suicide attempt, I change the topic. Forcing us both to move on, move past, and move into another person’s world.
Yet, I don’t want to send Lagan away. I know that this opportunity might never... And just maybe, Jess and Lagan would become friends, and... I am getting ahead of myself. First things first.
“Do you want to meet him?” I need his permission.
Jess stares down at his lap. I keep cutting and peeling. Peeling and cutting. The words forget it, another time are on the tip of my tongue when Jess raises his head and nods yes.
I put the knife down, wipe my hands on a paper towel, and rush past my little brother. “I’ll be right back.”
Swimming Through Clouds (A YA Contemporary Novel) Page 7