Because You'll Never Meet Me

by Leah Thomas

  “Um, no. I don’t think so. I’ll be able to see the electricity from pretty far away, and I should be able to tell how strong it is. Whether it’s just a phone, or a mini-fridge or a car or whatever. Don’t worry about me.”

  “So—you’re almost psychic? You can tell what sort of electrical object it is from far away? Get outta town!”

  “I’ve never been to town. And I never … I mean, no. I don’t think of it that way. It’s really mostly useless.”

  “Stop stuttering, you idiot. Nobody thinks you’re weird anymore. You’re old news.” I did not know whether Liz was joking with this little outburst, but at least she was talking, walking abreast with us.

  “I’m old hat, huh?”

  “The oldest hat.”

  “Like bowler hats, Dickens.”

  “Like Grecian diadems, Homer.”

  “Like Egyptian headdresses … erm, Ra?”

  “Whatever, dork.” But her lips curled upward, and before long she was far ahead of us, hopping over puddles, cheeks flushed pink.

  When she was very nearly out of sight, Joe inched closer.

  “Hey, I think this weekend’s your shot, buddy. Go for it! I give you permission. Heh.”

  I felt the blood rush to my face. “I don’t know what you—”

  “Oh, come on. You’re a hermit, yes, but you’re also a teenage boy and she’s a beautiful girl, my niece. Some people don’t ’preciate that, maybe. But don’t tell me you ain’t got your hopes up.”

  “I wouldn’t even—I don’t even know—”

  “You’ll get your chance, Ollie. I’ll be sure to wander off at the perfect moment. Probably sometime this evening, after we set up camp. I’ll give you a signal, right? You’ll know it when you see it!”

  I waved my hands. “No, please don’t—”

  “What are you so afraid of, Oliver?”

  I stopped walking. The wind blew the scent of pine up my nose, twigs against my ankles. I looked at the lantern dangling from the side of my backpack.

  “Why would someone like Liz want anything like that from someone like me?”

  “ ’Cause you have the decency to even wonder about that, you eejit. Now, let’s catch up. She’s probably halfway to China by now.”

  But she was only several yards ahead, hiding behind low pine boughs.

  “Boo!” she cried, leaping out in front of us, kicking up the leaves.

  “Gorram, girl!” Joe clutched his chest. “How old are you?”

  I worried she’d overheard us. I thought she was blushing, but that could have been the October air nipping her. She was laughing breezes.

  And then I was, too, and so was he.

  “I wanna get there before sunset. Come on.”

  We spotted Marl Lake in the late afternoon. We could see it sparkling up ahead from between the trees. More than that, we could smell it, taste it in the way the air grew soggier. I was glad that it was autumn, or else the mosquitoes would have been sucking us something awful.

  Finally we stepped out of the forest and almost right into the dark water. I could see pines lining the opposite bank a few hundred yards away. The sun was rippling along the soft black waves, and skippers darted across the surface of the water by the shore. Frogs were rustling the long grass. We stepped onto moist ground that gave beneath our feet.

  “Wow,” I said. “That is slightly better than your average puddle.”

  “A little bigger,” said Liz. “Nice to know there are bigger things in the world.”

  “You think it’s purty now? Jist wait until sunset.”

  And then he did something terrible, Junkyard Joe:

  “Yeah, sunset!” he shouted, giving me two thumbs up and heartily winking. “That’s when I’ll be at the deer blind, don’t you know. At. Sunset.”

  “My uncle’s a crackpot,” said Liz.

  Before we made camp, Joe led us north along a thin trail through the cattails beside the lakeside and then into the woods a little ways to point out his deer blind. It was essentially a large green tree fort decked out in camouflage flock and layered in plastic tarps for the off-season. We clambered up the wooden ladder behind him—he had a cozy setup in there, with a couple of chairs and space for a sleeping bag, although he was right about needing to patch it up a bit. Water had been leaking through and rotting the plywood by the ladder, the floor was coated in pine needles and leaves, and a robin had left the debris of a nest in an upper corner of the wall. We got a good sense of why he was so proud of the blind: the vantage point from up there was vast. We could see the lakeshore, where deer were likely to drink, and the long grass, where they were likely to graze.

  We set up the tents a little ways away from the water and the blind, on the most level ground we could find and not too close to the lake; we didn’t want to get flooded out if it rained. Joe had been right about other campers: I could see a faint electric haze—the smog made it look like three large vehicles at least—across the water, but we were far enough away that I wasn’t worried.

  It took some time to sort out the tent poles and dig a pit for the campfire and gather kindling. It was my job to dig two holes far away from camp: one for doing our business in, and another for burying food scrap in. All this was fun because we worked together on it.

  Before long, we’d cooked our hot dogs and eaten them, too, and then, as it was starting to get sunset-y out, Joe waggled his eyebrows at me and announced that he was “OFF TO THE BLIND FOR A LONG BIT OF TIME SO DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME COMING BACK RIGHT AWAY AND PLEASE ENJOY YOURSELVES.”

  Is there a name for the action of putting your head in your hands? There should be, Moritz.

  Because once Liz and I were left alone, it seemed like neither of us knew exactly what to say.

  “Nice fire, eh?” I said anyway. “Very fiery, isn’t it?”

  “Actually, it’s getting too hot.” Liz stood up. “Wanna go down to the lake?”

  “Why not.”

  I’ll tell you why not. Because I had been thinking, while we were eating hot dogs and I was digging poop holes and climbing the ladder to the deer blind and looking out across my first-ever lake, I wasn’t seeing much but the way Liz couldn’t seem to look at me and I couldn’t seem to look at her, either.

  All that time I was thinking about what Junkyard Joe had told me about this being my chance.

  And I was thinking that he was right, and I was going to take it.

  So we had only been standing awkwardly by the water, watching dragonflies flutter around and shine in the last few golden minutes of daylight as the sun was sinking just oh-so-perfectly down into the horizon, when I said:

  “People in novels like to confess love at sunset, you know.”

  Liz stared at me. “Yeah, it’s the same in movies. Like seeing the sun go away makes people want to make out because they’re afraid to be alone once it’s dark.”

  “Well, the dark can be scary, Liz.”

  “Hmmph.” She tucked her bangs behind her ear, but they fell right back into her face again. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s better when you can’t see what you’re doing. And other people can’t see you or—anyhow, sunset confessions are totally lame, Ollie.”

  “Yeah, totally. The worst.”

  “Mmmm.”

  The light was fading, and so was the promised chance. Or it felt like it. Maybe people confess at sunset because it feels like time is running out.

  “Except, well. Okay, can I say something?”

  She chuckled. “Since when do you ever ask that?”

  “Well, regardless of the sunset. I mean, it’s just a coincidence. Um, I think I may kind of love you? Just so you know. Not to be weird or whatever. But anyway.”

  I waited. Water lapped at the edges of our boots.

  “Well, it’s not like you have other options, is it?”

  “Well, no. That’s true.”

  She smacked me on the arm.

  “Ow!”

  “Well, thanks, Captain Tact!” She spun on her hee
l and began clambering up the muddy shore toward the trees.

  “Wait—why does that matter? Why are you freaking out?”

  I didn’t follow her, but she stopped. “What?”

  “Why does it matter whether or not you’re the only girl I know, if I think I sort of love you or whatever?”

  “Ugh. God, I wish you’d seen a romantic comedy at some point in your life, Ollie.”

  “No, I mean it. Explain why you hit me.”

  She clambered back down the shore again. “What you’re saying is that you might have ‘maybe fallen in love’ with anyone who happened to meet you at the power line and offer you blackberries. That it didn’t have to be me.”

  “Yeah, well. Maybe. So?”

  “Gah!” This time she shoved me, and I fell back enough to put one foot into the cold water.

  I squeaked like an unmanly mouse and she couldn’t help but laugh. You would have laughed, too.

  “I’m sorry!”

  She took my hand and yanked me back out. I tried kicking the worst of the water from my boot, but it was already creeping icily between my toes.

  “Freakin’ cold!”

  “Sorry, sorry. We’ll go back to the campfire. Sorry!”

  It was finally dark out as we stumbled into the forest hand in hand.

  “I still don’t get why what I said was wrong, though.”

  “Oh, shut up about it, Ollie!” She pushed a branch out of her way, and it smacked me in the shoulder when it snapped back. We came to a hollow dip in the forest floor, a circular indentation in the soil where the leaves were flattened. And suddenly we were standing in a deer hollow and this felt more like the place to do it than any sunset-y lake.

  “I mean, you were the one who was there asking me about deep-sea diving, not someone else. It was you. And now it can never be anyone else, because it already happened and that’s it. I mean, you’re already it for me. All hypothetical, other girls already missed their chance with the local hermit.”

  “You total idiot.” She let me go. “You don’t know anything about other girls! I go to school with people—people way better than me, you know? I know so many people, Ollie, and I can’t compete with some of them. I know people who are beautiful. People with talents and charm and money.” She smiled sadly. “People with bathtubs, okay? So for you to just say something like this is just … it’s not fair to you. There are so many people you haven’t met. I’m no one.”

  “Yeah. But I haven’t met them. I met you. Basically to me you’re everything, you know?”

  Without warning, she leaned forward and pushed her mouth against mine.

  There, when I was about fourteen, I had my first kiss with the girl who makes me lovesick. It was a sloppy, tooth-mashing affair that didn’t do much for either of us.

  And I wouldn’t have traded it for the entire Internet or all the humidifiers in the world.

  I wish, Moritz, that I could stop my story here. I wish I could say that this was the last of it. I wish that I could say we had many more kisses and they weren’t as terrible as that one.

  But we didn’t.

  I can’t face writing this now. I’m just really tired again.

  So why not just go ahead and tell me about Owen Abend. Or scold me some more. Whatever. Give me the snowfall.

  ~ O

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Dead Mouse

  Oliver.

  I don’t want to scold you. You are my truest friend.

  Do you understand that?

  I apologize for making you think otherwise. Like you, I am trying.

  Tell me whatever you need to. I will not discourage you. I don’t know what possessed me. Please, speak if you must.

  I know how valuable speech is. Especially after the night at the Diskothek. It was the strangest of nights. It reminded me that perhaps silence really doesn’t help either of us. I will find the strength to confide in you when I can. Truly.

  For now, let me tell you about my meeting with Owen Abend.

  I appeared in the entranceway to our cramped apartment in my carefully selected outfit. Fieke raised her eyebrows. She didn’t offer commentary.

  Father scratched the back of his head. I had never had any guests over before. Perhaps he wondered whether Fieke was a nightmarish apparition.

  She was still wearing lace-up boots, but these had heels like knives. Stilettos, yes? I worried that she would not be as illuminating, given her change of footwear. Then she took a step forward. Those heels clicked piercing visions into my head.

  “Um. Shall we?”

  She sniggered. Jingle. “We shall.”

  Dad stopped scratching his head. He put his hand on my shoulder as I followed her out.

  I waited for him to say, “Fly! Fly, you fool!”

  But he said only: “Be kind.”

  I asked whether we could walk there. Fieke pointed wordlessly to her feet. Walking on knifepoint pains the sole. She led me to the train station. I swallowed hard. Plunged down the stairs after her.

  We stood on the echoing platform.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she said.

  “People are staring. Rude, isn’t it?”

  “That’s because you’re clicking like a mad thing on steroids.”

  “They can rot. But yes. I’m anxious.”

  She elbowed me. “About your hot date with Owen.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t do well with public transportation.”

  “Is it to do with the shrieking?” she shrieked. The train pulled in, shrieking.

  “I am used to shrieking. Unfortunately.”

  The doors hissed open. Expunged steamy air. How many bodies were in that car?

  “But I am very unbalanced.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I mean—”

  “Then hold me, baby.”

  She took my hand and led me into the smothering walls of the train car.

  It was only three stops to the nightclub district. The train was weaving and clacking as we rode through the city. I was disoriented. I couldn’t tell where we were headed. I couldn’t stand alone without falling over. This wasn’t fun.

  Transportation of any kind all but cripples me. I can’t hear properly with the background noise of motion. The constant movement jars any potential echoes into nebulousness. Everything outside the windows is invisible to me. In cars I can sit down at least. But the trains in Kreiszig are overcrowded. Seats are never guaranteed. So I stood there, queasy and unbalanced. Many of the other passengers were anticipating a fine night out. They laughed and chattered as the train rattled onward.

  I held Fieke’s hand. I could smell the smoke on her and it did not ground me.

  She needed to trim her nails. Were they painted black as well?

  Black is the only color I am certain I have seen. That’s a story for another never.

  We took the subway to Kreiszig Central. When we climbed the stairs and reached the respite of open air, I wished I had visited before. I did not despise it yet. Partygänger was not even close to being the only Diskothek in the city. This was an entire block smattered with them.

  We left Grühl Street and wandered south toward the Disko itself. We passed a Marktplatz that smelled of roasted chicken, teriyaki, and incense. The air was full of noise. People eating. Tumultuous movement and shouting and music from each and every direction. A great number of people dressed exuberantly for the night out. Wearing leather and spikes and all manner of strange attire. My goggles were hardly remarkable alongside those chains and Mohawks. Ollie, you said walking in the woods with Liz felt wonderful, like dream-walking? Perhaps this was what I was doing. I was light-headed from the train journey, but this made it all the more vibrant: the popping of greasy meat on spits illuminated stallholders’ faces, the buzz of bulbs overhead caught moths in the night, the clip-clop of footsteps showed me the cobbles in wondrous detail. From somewhere nearby, bass was pounding the earth, jolting everyone in and out of clarity with dizzying effect.
>
  I stopped in the street, Ollie. Simply to listen to it all.

  Fieke, ahead of me as always, stopped as well. She did not ask me what I was doing. She looked back at my face, smirked, and took my hand once more.

  “Come on. He’s waiting for you.”

  As much as I love hip-hop concerts, I have never been enough of a dancer to visit a Diskothek. The world should be grateful. But even while we waited in line, it became apparent that I had been missing out on a novel experience. The noise! I saw the world in bass tremors.

  “Maybe if you looked this excited at school, people would want to talk to you rather than beat your face in.” She couldn’t be smiling? Happy dolphin-waves, Oliver.

  “I appreciate loud music.”

  “I gathered that, Brille.”

  Before we reached the door, two young men a few places ahead of us were ousted by a bouncer. He hoisted them up by their belt loops. Dropped them off the sidewalk. He pocketed their false identification cards.

  “Fieke. I’m underage.”

  She raised a pierced eyebrow. “No shit.”

  I hunched my shoulders. Attempted to sidle from the queue. Fieke grabbed me.

  “Now, this is more like you.”

  “But—”

  “Shut it.”

  We reached the door. The bouncer, large and awkwardly haircutted as one might expect, clapped Fieke on the back.

  “Fee! Where’ve you been hiding? Who’s your date?”

  “Mel, Mel. He’s Owen’s, not mine.”

  “Really?” He scanned me. I did not squirm. Much. “Nice goggles, kid.”

  He held open a palm.

  “Thank you.” I reached out to shake his hand, but he pointed to my goggles.

  “’Thek policy and city regulation. I can’t allow any guests to obscure their faces.”

  “Oh, come on. He’s too short to be a criminal.”

  Mel cracked his knuckles much as Lenz does. His fists appeared before me in sharp detail. They were large fists.

  “Fair enough. Owen will have to meet us outside.”

  I tried slinking backward. Fieke clutched my arm tighter.

  “Aw, come on, Mel. For me?”

  He shook his meaty head. “Bad enough I let you in as it is. But I’m not getting fired over a Cyclops visor.”