Ghost Time

by Courtney Eldridge

  A week later, the van was there when I got home from school. My dad was staying at a hotel by then, and my mom was handling all the packing alone. The plan was: I go home after school, the last day before winter break, and as soon as the movers were done, we’d follow them to the storage unit Mom had rented. She’d been offered a job as a paralegal in some town, upstate, so she drove up one day to meet with them. Of course I was praying she’d hate it there, so we could stay in Poughkeepsie, but no such luck. When she came home that night, she tried selling me on it, moving to some place called Fort Marshall, and I said, Indiana? We’re moving to Indiana? Mom laughed and goes: No, that’s Fort Wayne, baby, but I didn’t even care. I was just like, Ohmygod, last time I wanted to live in a place called Fort anything, I was five. Honestly, I didn’t like the sound of it from the first moment, and I didn’t try to hide the fact, but Mom smiled and said it was just a couple hours northwest of Poughkeepsie. When she said that, I was like, Just a couple hours? Canada’s just a couple hours northwest, too, so why don’t we move there? She ignored me, going on about how beautiful and safe and clean it was, this town I’d never ever heard of in my entire life, and when clean is a selling point, you know it’s bad, really bad. I couldn’t even look at her, listening to her going on about how we’d stay in a motel or whatever until we got settled, and that we’d go apartment hunting together, like how fun, right? It’ll be a whole new life, she said, and I said, Can we not talk about this right now? We were eating pizza at our kitchen table, the night before we moved out, and she looked hurt. But I didn’t care: I loved my old life, and just because she didn’t, I’m sorry.

  We’ll give it a year and see what happens, she said, returning to the table with a beer, and for a moment, I don’t know why, but out of nowhere, I just wanted to hurt her. I got up to carry my paper plate to the trash, which at that point was a black Hefty bag on the floor, in front of the back door, and the rest of the kitchen was packed. There were boxes stacked everywhere, all very clearly marked in my mom’s perfect handwriting, and it looked so sad. I didn’t understand our things, boxed like that, but then again, I didn’t understand anything.

  I looked at her, and I was just like, What? I go, What, Mom? And she goes, Come here, and I stood on the staircase, wanting to say no. Thea, come here, she said; I was so annoyed, I wanted to scream. I don’t know why, really, but I was annoyed with her all the time by then. So I rolled my eyes, turning around and walking back into the dining room. What! I said, not asking her, telling her, making sure she knew how irritated I was. Good night, she said, looking like herself again for a second, with that look in her eyes, telling me I knew better, because we always said good night, especially the last night in our own home. Good night, I said, turning around.

  I think that was the last time I saw my mom. I mean the woman I remember her being. It didn’t hit me until I grabbed the rail, and then, walking upstairs, I felt like I was going to cry all of a sudden. I made it to my room, and closed the door, and I wanted to—I even sat down on the side of my bed, ready for it, but nothing came. Guess my tears got packed, too.

  The next day, when I got home from school, the movers only had a few boxes left to load into the truck. It took about five minutes for them to finish up, while Mom and I stood in the living room, looking at it, nothing to say. So when we heard them open their doors, we locked up for the last time and we got in Mom’s car, ready to follow the moving van to the storage unit. I’d been thinking about that moment for a couple weeks, and to be honest, I was glad they’d taken the boxes away, because it was too painful. But once I got in the car and put on my seat belt, looking at our house one last time, I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t ready to go.

  Wait, I said, and I told my mom I had to pee. I held my breath while she reached for her purse and took out some Kleenex and handed them to me with her set of house keys, because I didn’t even have my own keys anymore. I don’t know if she knew or not, but I didn’t have to pee; I wanted to be in our house, alone, for a few minutes. I wanted to say good-bye in my own way.

  The thing is, when I walked in, it didn’t feel like our house anymore. I’d never seen it like that, so empty and naked and… lonely. Our house had never been lonely before; it always had us there. It was too much, so I went upstairs, heading toward my room, but before I got to the end of the hall, I stopped in my parent’s bedroom, their old bedroom, whatever, facing the driveway. The curtains were still there, because Mom was just too burned out by the very end to pull them down, and she didn’t want things from that room anymore, anyway, she said. So I walked over, and I stood, looking out the window. My mom had gotten out of the car, and she’d turned her back to the house, leaning against her car door.

  She was smoking. She’d started smoking again. We’d gotten into it a few times, and then she gave me, Who’s the mom here, you or I? I said, If you have to ask, that’s a problem, don’t you think? She knew, at the very least, she couldn’t smoke in the car, because I get carsick, but still. It was gross, and it was needy, and to me, it seemed like she was turning into this sad, old divorced woman, overnight, and it made me so angry. Everything was making me so angry, and then, catching her, sneaking in another smoke, I wanted to knock on the window, yell down at her, but I didn’t. I just stood there watching her leaning against the car, smoking, and I was just like, Who is this woman, and what have you done to my mother?

  You know they must do something, real estate agents, to get the old juju or mojo or whatever you want to call it out of house—us, how to get us out. I mean, you don’t just walk into an empty house where people have lived twelve years and not feel their presence. It’s not the same as ghosts, but it’s haunted in a way, because if you ask me, the living can be as haunted as the dead. And looking around their bedroom, I thought, How do I say good-bye to my own life? You want to know? I’ll tell you how: in as few words as possible.

  You know, to this day, after everything that’s happened—the divorce, moving to this town, my breakdown, the hospital, all of it, my mom still tries talking to me about it sometimes. Like when my dad calls and I won’t return his calls, she’s always telling me that I’m the one being eaten up by my anger. She always says I’m the one who pays the price, and she might be right, but I’m just like, Well, the thing is, I can afford to pay right now. I mean, I’m fifteen, I’m allowed to hate my dad, you know? And the truth is, I can’t forgive him for what he did to us, not yet. And honestly, I know it makes me sound like a terrible person, but I’m not sure if I ever will forgive him. It’s like, I know forgiveness is divine, but maybe I don’t need to be divine, maybe I just need to be a girl.

  TUESDAY, MAY 17, 2011

  (SIX WEEKS LATER)

  5:42 PM

  It was nice out, so when I got to their house, Knox helped Mel out of her chair, and I spread out a blanket, even though Melody never liked lying on the blanket. So we lay on the blanket until Knox went inside, because he didn’t like her on the grass and he wouldn’t listen. Anyhow, after he went in, I slipped the blanket out, beneath her, so she could feel the grass.

  You want to hear a new scene I’m working on for La Marxiste? she said, knowing the answer was yes. That’s what we decided to call our film, La Marxiste, the story of Violaine, the beautiful runaway time-traveling teenage girl. So I’d bring Mel playlists, and she’s tell me about a new scene she’d come up with. We had at least twenty La Marxiste soundtracks, and some days we spent the whole time listening to a new playlist and talking about what actress could play Violaine in the movie. I was thinking Taylor Momsen or Emma Watson, maybe, if she can do an American accent, but she’s so big, we talked about finding a complete unknown. This is a role that’s going to make her a star, whoever she is, Mel said, and I laughed, and she was like, What? I mean, I totally agreed, but it was just funny. These days, Mel’s the only person who can make me laugh, and seeing her is the only thing keeping me sane. Or as close I get, at least.

  The one thing that’s really hard with her is th
at all I wanted to do after school was to forget about school, and when we’re together, all Mel wants to hear about is my day and what high school’s like. Mel’s completely obsessed with high school, just like I was, until I became a freshman. She wants details so badly, too. If it were up to Melody, I would’ve been wired up with a video camera, filming my every move—which I feel like I am, actually, but I never tell her about that. Me and Knox, we have an agreement that we don’t talk about that with her, because… because I don’t want her involved, that’s why. Anyhow.

  Mel loves watching reality shows on MTV. Teen Mom, My Super Sweet 16. Anything with teenagers, and then she’ll ask me if it’s true. Is it really like this? God, I’d love to sit in a desk, just once, she said. Walk down the halls, carrying my books, have people bump into me, not noticing me because I’m a freshman. Buying new school supplies, getting a new locker, and I go, I know what you mean, but believe me, the excitement wears thin before you even learn your combination.

  She goes, It’s not just school, it’s everything, Thea. I want to know how it feels to skin your knee, to climb trees, to cry yourself to sleep over some guy who was a total dick to you—. I go, Yep, you’re really missing out And she goes, I am! I am missing out! We’d reached that point where she could be joking, half joking, or she could be angry. I didn’t know where we’d fall, or what to say. Not because I was afraid of her being angry, really, I just didn’t always know how to deal with it. I mean, I barely knew how to deal with my own anger, you know? So I didn’t say anything, and she got quiet.

  I could tell she’d been wanting to ask me something, and then she finally did. She goes, You aren’t popular, are you, Thea? I go, Whatever gave you that impression? And she goes, Because if you were, why would you be here, with me? I cocked my head at her, like, Stop. You know you could be, if you wanted to, she said, and I go, Mel, I don’t care about being popular, I really don’t. I used to, but not anymore. Mel said, Wouldn’t school be so much easier if you had friends? I shook my head no and said, Mel, I had friends, and believe me, it wasn’t easier. She goes, Why don’t you try, at least? I said, Because I’m not like you. Social, I said, clarifying. Yeah, I’m so social, she said, look at me. I go, You are, Mel, you’re much more outgoing than I am, even if I’m the only person who knows that. Tell me why, she said. Seriously, Thea, why don’t you have any friends?

  I knew she wasn’t going to drop it, so I decided to get it over with, tell her what happened. I go, I don’t try anymore because I had friends, or people I thought were my friends, but turned out, they weren’t. Those girls weren’t my friends at all, and so it’s just easier to hang on my own, instead of pretending. I mean, everything changed after I met Cam, but I don’t know… some people are good at school or sports or singing, and some people are good at people, and I’m not good at any of those things, I said. And I’m okay with that. Really, I’ve made my peace. She goes, What happened? Tell me, Thee, she said, and I knew she wouldn’t drop it, ever, so I finally told her.

  I said, It’s hard to explain, but last year, freshman year, I got the flu and I missed a slumber party, and I guess some things were said about me. I don’t know what, really, but by Monday morning, my friends didn’t like me anymore. She goes, Wait, because you missed a party, your friends didn’t like you? I said, It doesn’t really make sense, but wait. Let me just tell you what happened, and then you can ask, all right? All right, she said. I go, Because that’s how it happens with girls sometimes. One night, someone smells blood, and they all get in on it. And the thing is, these girls, this group of girls, I told them lots of things about myself. So they knew where I was coming from, and they did it anyway, they kicked me out of the circle. I thought if I pretended nothing had happened, that I didn’t notice anything different, they’d forget about not liking me, and things would go back to normal. Then, about a month later, we all went to a party, and I thought we were all friends again, and I was so happy, and then someone spiked my drink. I honestly don’t remember anything that happened after that, but I found out I was hanging all over the guys, taking my shirt off, dancing on a table. My friends, the girls I thought were my friends, knew who did it, but they never told. Because they were already in so much trouble for what went down at the party, I said.

  Mel didn’t know what to say, because it was one of those situations she doesn’t understand. And I could tell she felt like she should really say something, but it was one of those moments when you realize no matter how much teen drama you watch on TV, that doesn’t help at all when it’s happening to you, when the problem is real and even your best friend doesn’t have a clue how to help. Finally, she spoke up: So what you’re saying is you weren’t always a loser? Is that what you’re telling me, Thee? No, I said, trying to laugh off her teasing. Believe it or not, I was popular once. For a long time, but… I said, shrugging: that was then, and this is now.

  After that party, it was such a mess at school, I quit sitting with my friends, quit going to the cafeteria at lunch. I’d find a corner in the library and draw, I said, and Mel goes, So they’re still in school with you? These girls? And I go, Yep, I see them every day. We still say hi, whatever, I said, but rolling my eyes, because it was so fake. Did they ever apologize? she said. For lying about the boys? No. Never, I said. Actually, they got really hostile with me for a while after they lied. Like they were trying to convince themselves it was my fault, that I was the one who lied about the guys who spiked my drink, saying that I showed up at the party screwed up. I mean, they’d practically hiss, seeing me in the hall. My so-called friends, I said.

  The next morning, Saturday morning, after that party, I woke up, and I felt awful. Not just hungover, different. I thought I had a flu, maybe, and I told my mom I had the flu again, and she looked at me, and she didn’t believe me, but she couldn’t be certain. So she told me to stay in bed, but she wasn’t really as sweet as she is when she knows I’m sick-sick, you know? But I was definitely sick, and I stayed in bed all day. So I didn’t notice, really, until Sunday that no one called me all day. Not a text, nothing. And then, by Sunday night, no one answered my calls, either.

  Monday, heading to Stella’s locker, when they turned to look at me—all three of them, Leila, Stella, Danielle—I knew it was over. I was out, but the thing is, I couldn’t remember anything about Friday night, after we got to the party. I remember drinking a beer, and that’s it. The rest is a blur. And whatever I did, I just wanted someone to tell me, you know? Like no matter how awful, no matter how totally mortifying it was, I wanted to hear it, because it was actually worse not knowing. So when they three of them turned their heads, looking at me, and I said, Hey, I saw it pass through them. This current of… hatred.

  It’s one thing I’d never ever wish on you, knowing how that feels, I said. If I’m grateful for anything, it’s that you could never be hurt like that. She goes, That’s not a silver lining. And if I could walk, I wouldn’t care, she said. Yes, you would, I said. You’d just be able to walk. It’s humiliating, Mel: that’s the part I wouldn’t want you to feel, I said. Because I wouldn’t know about that, would I? she said. I said, That’s not what I mean, Mel, and she goes, No, but it’s true, and you know what I’m saying. I go, I know what you’re saying, all right. And I’m not trying to compare, I’m just trying to tell you that I wouldn’t want anyone to be mean to you, I said. Melody didn’t say anything, and I knew I was digging a deeper hole.

  So what happened after that? she said, wanting to hear the end of the story. I go, Nobody talked to me most of the week. And then, one by one, people started looking at me strange in the halls, laughing at me, or more like snickering. I remember walking around, thinking, This is bad. This is really, really bad. You know how I finally found out what happened at the party? Raymond, I said. He was friends or worked with one of their dads, with Stella’s dad, and her dad heard all about it, when everyone got busted for the party.

  Melody goes, Wait, how did they get busted? I said, Oh. The pictures. Someone t
ook pictures, and then there was like a thirty-second video of me, too, and it made the rounds, all over school, all over the Internet. I was such a mess, too, dancing, screaming, taking my clothes off. I’m telling you, all I can remember is talking to Leila, and then Spencer walking over, bringing us our drinks, that was it. But no one believed me. I’m not even sure my mom believed me, I said, and Mel goes, Your mom saw the video, the pictures? I go, She had to. All the parents were called in. All the kids, all the parents, we were all called in with Principal Cheswick, I said.

  You have no idea how hard it is to go to school, knowing everybody has seen you in your bra, pulling your pants down, showing your ass, ohmygod… I could barely look anyone in the eye for the rest of the third quarter of school, not even my teachers. Then my grades dropped, and things started going haywire again, and that’s when I shut down, I said, and I almost told her about the hospital. I almost told her that that’s when I really lost it, cutting myself, and my mom found me, the whole story. But I didn’t. Maybe it’s dishonest or cowardly, I don’t know, but there is a part of me, a real part that just wants to protect her. Except, I’m not even sure what that means anymore.

  I go, When I met Cam, I think I was so cold to him for so long because I knew he would see those pictures, one day, that someone would show them to him, and if he did actually like me, he wouldn’t after he saw that. How could he like me after he saw me acting like that, you know? And she goes, But he did—Cam did like you. And when she said that, I got another knot in my throat, and all I could do was nod yes. He did, but… I couldn’t finish my sentence. But what? she said, and I go, But it was really hard, trusting him, and I could see she didn’t understand. I go, It’s hard to trust somebody, because it’s easier not having something than to have something and have it taken away, you know? Thea, she said, and she sounded so serious, I felt better for a second, because I thought she was going to tell me something secret about herself. And she did, but not what I was expecting at all. I go, What? Tell me what you want to know, I said, and then she said, What’s it feel like? I knew, right away, but I didn’t say anything, so she said it, point-blank. She looks at me and straight out she goes, Tell me what sex feels like.