All We Could Have Been

by TE Carter

  “Really?”

  “It’s just … So, every time this happens, someone finds out and they tell everyone and then even the people I thought cared turn out to be awful. They’re usually awful in different ways, but every year ends up the same: They find out, it’s horrible, and I leave. But the thing is … I’ve never told them. So maybe it’s partly on me? Like, if I told them first, maybe they wouldn’t hate me for lying? Because I’d be the one telling them?”

  “I don’t know,” Marcus says. “Yeah, it makes sense, but … I don’t know. That requires more faith in people than I generally have, and … I don’t want you to…”

  Inside my head, I see two paths. I can go home, visit my brother, and then come back afterward and keep lying, all while I spend the rest of the year hoping no one finds out. I can still be with Marcus, and he can hold my secrets for me. We can continue in a suspended reality that’s only part of what I am.

  Or I can tell everyone. I can tell them who I am, and then I can be who I am fully. With Marcus. With Ryan. With myself. And if I tell them myself, it would be the first time. Whatever happens after telling them would be a consequence of my choice.

  “There’s some control in it,” I say. “I’ve never had that. I’m always trying so hard to control time, to control what I wear, to control how I think.… But with other people … Like, you can’t control them.”

  “No, but you can control how much you let them in.”

  “Eventually they’re going to find out, or I’m going to run away. I don’t know how it will happen, or what it will be like. But if I tell them, if I control how it happens, I know when it does. I know when they know.”

  “And that matters? I mean, sure, I get that it matters … but…”

  “It does, because the anticipation makes it hard for me to be fully here. To actually be present with you, around anyone. To be myself. I’m always afraid. Always waiting and looking behind me. So if I told them instead, I’d be free of that. I’d be actually living, maybe. For the first time.”

  “Have you ever told anyone before?” he asks.

  “Besides you? No. Only my parents and my therapist know anything about me. And now you.”

  “I’m flattered. But … your therapist—Heath, right?”

  “Yeah, Heath.”

  “What does he think?” Marcus asks. “Does he think it’s a good idea?”

  I shrug. “I asked you first.”

  “Damn, Lexi. That’s a hell of a lot of pressure.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I guess I just wanted to put it out there. To see how it felt to say it to someone.”

  “How does it feel?”

  “Good,” I admit. “It actually feels right.”

  Marcus moves again so he’s lying on his back. His shirt rides up a little over his belt, and I tell myself to stop looking. I have no idea what’s wrong with me. This moment is important. This decision is important. And here I am, staring at the little bit of Marcus’s stomach I can see.

  “Do you mind giving me a sort of rundown of what’s happened?” he asks. “I mean, I know you move a lot. And I know people suck and all that. But I guess I don’t know what’s happened, and I don’t know how you handled it. I don’t want to tell you what I think, when I don’t know what it might do.”

  I tuck myself into the space between his body and his arm. “Which time?”

  “Start from the beginning,” he says. “That’s usually a good place to start.”

  “Well, the beginning was back home. Stonebridge. Before it happened, Scott was … We were really close. He was my best friend. My only true friend, really. We spent all our time together in the summers, because my parents were always off doing something for their research, or they’d taken on summer courses.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s hard to lose someone who isn’t really gone.”

  “Someone who’s just let you down?” I ask. He nods. “Yeah. It really is.”

  I want to remember Scott before, but that’s not the point, and Marcus is right. It’s nearly impossible. The pain of missing someone who’s there but who isn’t the person you thought they were is unbearable.

  “After, though … It happened in the fall of seventh grade. Everyone stared at me. They talked about me all the time—kids, adults, strangers. People left things in our mailbox. They threatened me. It was all really bad, and I started…” I look down at my arms, where the memories of their words are only faded white and red lines on my skin now. “I used to keep a record of what they said. The names they called me.”

  Marcus leans over and runs his fingers over the scars. “I noticed. I just didn’t want to say anything. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

  “That was when Heath suggested starting over. New place. New name. Whatever. So for eighth grade, my parents sent me to live with my cousin. And it did help at first. It even helped with the cutting. But people there found out about Scott, and then I had to leave again.”

  “What did they do?” he asks.

  “Nothing, really. I mean, it wasn’t big. Nothing major, I guess. But it hurt, you know? It hurt to think I could move on, that maybe there was a version of me that wasn’t linked to Scott. And they refused to let that be possible. They just kept reminding me. If they weren’t harassing me and calling me names, they were asking a million questions. Just making sure it was all of who I was, instead of something that happened. Just one part of who I was supposed to be.”

  He looks at my arms, at the words they used. “When did you stop … with the…”

  “The cutting? At the end of the following year. After boarding school in ninth grade. When I was there … well, my roommate…”

  I stop, remembering her. Grace Cohen. She was my best friend. We told each other so many secrets at night after the dorm chaperones came by and made us turn out the lights. She trusted me with everything, and I trusted her, too. Well, with almost everything. But even that was asking too much of her, I guess.

  “She saw the scars,” I tell Marcus. “I had gotten smarter about it. My arms were too obvious. People asked questions, so—” He runs his hand under my shirt and traces the lines along my stomach and torso, as if he has them memorized. He’s not looking, but he knows where the ugly parts of me are. “Exactly. So one night we were getting ready and we were in the showers and she saw them.”

  “The idea of girls all standing around naked in showers together isn’t just some fantasy concocted by … well, me?” he asks, laughing.

  I smack his shoulder lightly. “Gross. But no, it’s not like it happens all the time. We just happened to be in the shower area, and she noticed while I was putting on my shirt.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing, really. She asked and I told her. I told her as much as I could without telling her exactly what had happened. I told her the things people had said, that I’d needed to leave, that my family had secrets and I was trying to get away from them. I thought she was my friend. She even listened like she was my friend.”

  I remember Grace. I remember crying to her, and her hugging me, telling me it would be okay. “And then she filled in the rest herself,” I say. “She made a point to dig, to fill in what I hadn’t told her, and then she told everyone what I hadn’t said. Along with what I had.”

  “What kind of person asks about something like that and then uses it against someone?” Marcus asks.

  “Grace, apparently. I trusted her. And she pretended she got it. That she understood. I went to sleep trusting her, feeling like I had made some kind of progress. And the next day everyone knew. They knew everything. So I left. Again.”

  “Why would … They didn’t even know those people. They only knew you, so why…?”

  “Why would they hate me for it?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I guess people are just shitty, but I don’t get it.”

  “It’s weird. Some of them thrive on drama, I suppose. When Grace started with the newspapers on my door, when she started saying she w
as terrified in her own room, people got really into it. I don’t think they cared what the real story was. I think they just liked being part of something.”

  “Is that always what it’s like?”

  “Pretty much. Sometimes it’s different. Not better, but different. Like last year … at first, people weren’t horrible at all. They were nice, but it wasn’t real. It was a weird nice. They were nice because they wanted more. They needed to know details. There was this one group … They were obsessed with it. They wouldn’t stop asking me questions. They’d get mad when I said I didn’t want to talk about it. At first most people were more curious than mean. But when I started shutting them out because I couldn’t handle it, that’s when they got cruel. It didn’t matter, because … well, as soon as everyone found out … My boyfriend … He couldn’t stand the way it was all people talked about. How they kept asking him what I was really like. How they asked him things like what kind of knife my brother used or if I knew what bands he liked.”

  “That’s random.”

  “People were fascinated by it,” I explain. “I think they thought my brother was some kind of celebrity. Like they were walking the same halls as someone who knew Charles Manson. And they wanted it to wear off on them, whatever it was.”

  “Man, people are fucked up.” Marcus pauses. “Well, if you haven’t told people, but all this happened … what makes you think—?”

  “That Ryan and Lauren and Rory and them are any different?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Nothing. I don’t know if they’re different. I want to hope they are. Also I think maybe … maybe it’s time. Maybe I’m different. So if they’re not … if they can’t handle it, I think I can. I think I can move forward.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “Not remotely,” I admit. “But I’m really tired, you know? It’s hard to be scared of everything all the time. It’s hard to obsess over what you wear, because that’s the only thing that stops you from dragging a razor over your skin again. It’s just exhausting to be someone else constantly.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Marcus says. “But whatever you decide … it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything, all right?”

  “You don’t need to tell me what to do. I don’t want you to be responsible for that. I just needed to say it. To see how it felt. To see how I felt.”

  We don’t move or speak for a while, with only the noise of traffic fading outside to let us know time is passing. Eventually I turn over and look at him.

  “Can we just stay here?” I ask. “Like, forever? I changed my mind. I don’t have to tell anyone anything, and the whole world can just disappear, and this can be everything there is.”

  “I do have a giant tub of pretzels,” he says. “It can hold us for a while.”

  “Perfect. You, me, some pretzels. That’s pretty much my life goal anyway.”

  “It’s a solid goal.”

  I sigh. “I wish that was possible. But … I think I need to do this.”

  “When do you think you’ll tell them?”

  “There’s a drama meeting tomorrow. I could tell them after that?”

  Marcus nods and sits up. “Okay. And after that … I’ll be here. Regardless. And if things don’t go well…”

  “They might not. I hate thinking it, but I need to admit that. It could be horrible. Right now I don’t think it will. Right now I think I’ll be okay even if they’re not, but…”

  “I know. But I’m still here either way, okay?”

  Since it’s getting late, I get up to leave, hugging him before I go. I try to hold on to the way his arms reach around me. The way he smells. How his head feels resting against mine. Wanting to remember him. Regardless of what happens, I know it won’t affect him at school, because he doesn’t really know any of the same people I do, but what if I do it only to realize I can’t handle what comes next? What if I think this is fine, and then suddenly it’s not, and I do what I always do, leaving the pieces of whatever this is behind?

  “If things don’t work out, there’s always a lifetime of pretzels, right?” I ask, pretending not to feel as anxious as I do.

  “Nothing they say changes you, Lexi. Remember that. No matter what, nothing that comes next is about you. It’s on them.”

  I cling to him, knowing I should get back to my aunt’s. Knowing I should be stronger than I am.

  This is my choice, I tell myself. And I can still change my mind. But being here with Marcus makes me even more sure I need to do this.

  I need to face the truth of myself if I ever want to move forward. Even if it turns out like it always has in the past, I need to stop hiding.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It’s hard knowing something is coming and letting it sit inside you all day. I spend the afternoon before the drama meeting talking myself through everything I need to say, playing out the ways it could go. There are so many possibilities, and by the time we get to the auditorium, I’m mostly desperate to see what happens.

  I can’t keep living in a million versions of could-be.

  Heath would warn me that I’m trying to control time. That’s what he says when I make rash decisions. I know he’d have plenty to say about this in general, but I think of all the times he’s also told me I should be an active participant rather than a spectator in my life. For the first time I feel like I get what he was saying. You don’t get more active than dumping truth at people’s feet and seeing what they do with it.

  It won’t be a big deal, I tell myself. It can’t be. Sure, maybe it will be to Chloe, who already hates me, but Lauren is nice. She’s not the type to get wrapped up in what other people say. Ryan will understand because he knows what it feels like to have to deny who you are to people. And Rory will probably create T-shirts or something, turning me into her newest pet cause.

  I tell myself it will be fine. That there has to be good left in people.

  You’re okay, I repeat in my head over and over for about an hour.

  When the meeting ends, everyone leaves except Ryan, Rory, Lauren, and Chloe. The auditorium is too vast to hold the five of us and everything I need to say, and I start feeling it close in on me. I tell myself to remember everything Heath has taught me over the years. I talk myself into the moment, rationalizing away all my thoughts.

  “Can I talk to you all about something?” I ask.

  “Sure. What’s up?” Lauren asks.

  “Well…” I try to figure out how to start. “So … I guess the first thing is that my real name isn’t Lexi Lawlor. It’s Stewart. Alexia Stewart.”

  They all look at me, not reacting, and I continue. “I didn’t move here for school. I mean, my GPA is fine. It’s always fine. But I had to move here. I had to move this year because I move every year. Because I’ve been running away from something my whole life.”

  “You can tell us, whatever it is,” Ryan says. “We’re your friends.”

  “Definitely, Lexi. You’ll always be safe here,” Rory agrees.

  I take a deep breath. “When I was growing up … my brother and I were always close. But he’s … My brother, Scott, isn’t the person he was then. At fifteen … when I was twelve…”

  They’re all silent, and their faces reveal nothing as I tell them everything. They don’t gasp or start talking. They just nod and shake their heads to show understanding or sympathy. I let the words spill out, like they did with Marcus. It’s not the same, though, and I find myself yearning to feel the same way I did when I told him. Still, I fight through it. Everyone’s in a different aisle from me, and I suddenly feel how small the auditorium is getting, and I try not to remember the blood on the stage and the feeling of the cold on my back when I was on the floor.

  When it’s over, it’s quiet, and this huge open space just sits, waiting for something. I can hear the buzzing of the stage lights as the voices in my head start up again:

  You shouldn’t have said anything. They’re going to make it hell for you. Yo
u couldn’t do it. Of course you couldn’t fucking do it. You are such a failure.

  I bite down on my lip, trying to distract myself with pain.

  Finally Lauren says, “Well, I don’t care what your name is. You’re still Elaine to me.”

  “She’s right,” Rory says, getting up and sitting beside me. “It’s something we hadn’t talked about, but it doesn’t change things. Everyone has skeletons, right? At least now we know your real name.”

  Ryan nods, but he’s quiet. Chloe simply stares at me.

  “I’m sorry I lied,” I say.

  Rory smiles. “I get it. I mean, that’s a lot to deal with. I can’t even imagine how hard that was for you. I think you’re really brave to tell us. I’m so glad you trusted us with something like that.”

  “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that,” I tell her. “I was so scared—”

  “Our ride’s here,” Chloe interrupts. “I’m sure we can hear all about it tomorrow at lunch. I’m sure we’ll all be dying to know more.”

  “Chloe!… God,” Rory snaps as she stands up.

  “What?”

  “‘Dying to know more’? What the hell is wrong with you?” Rory whispers, but her voice is loud enough that I catch it. While Chloe pretty much acted like I expected, I’m relieved that Rory and Lauren understand. They both hug me before they leave with Chloe.

  When it’s just me and Ryan, I collapse back into my seat. “I was so scared that wouldn’t go well.”

  He doesn’t respond. He won’t even look at me. “Hey. What’s up? Are you okay?”

  “I wish you would’ve told me,” he says.

  “I did. I literally just told you.”

  “No, I wish you would’ve told me. Before you told them.”

  “Why? What does it matter? It’s out. I’ve been carrying that for years, Ryan. And I needed to let it go.” I pause, looking at him. He keeps staring at the ground. “You’re not upset with me, are you?”

  He shakes his head. “No. It’s not you. It’s just … I really hope it’s fine.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Finally he looks at me, his eyes dark. “We’ve all got secrets. Sometimes it’s better not to trust certain people with them. I wouldn’t have cared. I mean, I don’t care. Not about your past or your brother. I don’t know … I’m sorry. Forget it.”