Is this what it was like for those other girls? They slipped through his window because their worlds were falling apart? Or maybe they really wanted to. Maybe for them, it was fun and powerful, an adventure and an awakening. Seems like that'd be nice. Maybe some of them just wanted to be next to someone.
That’s been the hardest thing, Janie. I miss the closeness we had. Even when you were thousands of miles away without Internet, I still felt you around me. Like how a blanket fresh out of the dryer holds its warmth for hours if you snuggle up tight enough. I hated having you gone, but every time you came back, it was like our lives were one long conversation and we had just paused for a second to catch our breath. And now you’re gone, really gone, and it’s over.
I’ve never felt this alone. I don’t know how to do it. Every time I write a letter to no one, it rips a hole through me. I knew Dean couldn’t fill the empty spaces you left, but I was desperate. So, I let him peel off my clothes like layers on an onion.
And before you even ask, yes, we used protection. I may be stupid, but I’m not dumb.
And it was fine. Sometimes it was kind of awkward, but he was sweet, and it only hurt a little, and it really wasn’t awful or anything. But what do you do with the feelings after? When they’re too big and you’re not ready for them? I think you talk to your big sister about them, only that’s not an option for me anymore.
When it was over, he held me close and told me he loved me.
I nuzzled my head under his chin, and whispered, “Let me fall asleep first.”
“What?”
“I don’t want your eyes to close first. Let me fall asleep first.”
“Okay.” I could tell he thought it was weird, but what guy who just got to have sex is going to argue about something so minor?
So, I pulled my T-shirt back over my head, and snuggled up beside him. His big hand spanning my shoulder blades felt like safety. I closed my eyes as he was still staring into them, and, as promised, he let me fall asleep first. When I was in that space between awake and dreaming, I felt like everything might be okay. But when I woke up, I felt more alone than ever.
Could you please just come back? I need you, okay.
Hope
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
DATE: May 17, 3:47 AM
SUBJECT: Questions I wish they’d stop asking me
Are you going to go to Emory like Janie?
Are you going to major in Biomedical Engineering like Janie?
Do you want to work for a foundation someday like Janie?
Do you like jelly on your chicken biscuits like Janie?
Like Janie. Like Janie. Like Janie.
Jun 7
Dear Janie,
It’s over. First boyfriend, first time, first breakup, first everything—you can take them all and put them in a box of firsts, and I don’t even care if you use those stupid Styrofoam packing peanuts or not because these aren’t the kind of memories I want to keep for posterity. If I could blot Dean out of The History of Hope with one flick of my wrist, I would do it.
We did not have the most amicable breakup. Can you tell?
So, you already know I slept with him. (I know you know because I can feel you making the silent judgey face all the way from heaven.) And you already know it was a huge mistake. (But really, couldn’t you have made a tree fall in front of his window or something?)
Anyway. So, we did it, and I didn’t want to do it again, except sometimes I was just so upset and wanted to feel close to someone, so sometimes I would do it again. Turns out missing your dead sister is not a good reason to have sex with someone. And apparently Dean is not built to handle relationships that are mostly crying and only sometimes hooking up because a couple weeks ago we were sitting in his truck in the KFC parking lot, and out of nowhere he said, “I have needs.”
And at first I was like, “What are you talking about?” Because I had no idea at all. He has needs. What, like, for fried chicken? Because we could’ve fixed that right then.
(Side note: The KFC parking lot is a TERRIBLE place to break up with someone. They can’t go anywhere after, so you’re both stuck with a catastrophically awkward ride home.)
And then he was all, “I know you’re going through a lot, and I’m trying to be there for you, but we hardly ever go on dates anymore, and we never hook up, and . . . I have needs.” He said it all slowly like he was talking to a child. Maybe that was the part that made me snap.
I started insta-crying, the tears flowing fast and thick. Dean was pressed against the door, as far away from me as he could get. “Can you not see that I am drowning in need?” I managed to get out.
“This isn’t working for me.”
Wait. This wasn’t just a talk, this was The Talk. The one we don’t come back from.
“What are you saying? You don’t love me anymore?”
“Hope.” He looked like he wanted to crawl out the window, but I wasn’t about to let him off that easy.
“Well?”
He squirmed in his leather seat. “You’re not giving me anything to love.”
I didn’t know anything could hurt that much, J. If telling someone you love them is a gift, then revoking that love is like cutting the tightrope out from under them. That’s when the real falling begins.
“This was supposed to be forever.” Wasn’t it? Why does everything have to be over so quickly? Why doesn’t anything last?
He looked at me like I was crazy. “We’re in high school.”
“How can you do this to me?”
Dean’s voice was exasperated with a side of guilty. “I’m not doing it to hurt you. If I stay, it’ll only make it worse. It would be like lying.”
Something about the way he said it. “Are you cheating on me?”
A flash in my head—him after practice. Talking to a girl with long brown hair and hands that flew around when she talked.
“No.” Did he say it too fast or just fast enough?
It didn’t matter. We were still over. It didn’t even matter that a few days later I spotted a girl with long brown hair tapping on his window. I didn’t wait to see if she talked with her hands.
Because with every day that goes by, I’m starting to realize he could have been anyone. As first boyfriends go, he was pretty dashing, but no matter what, this was a relationship I was destined to destroy. Because right now I need more than anyone can give me. Right now, I want every relationship to be forever because the person I thought I’d have forever with is gone.
So, that’s it then. We’re done. In the words of Nellie from South Pacific, “I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair.” I just wish you were here to tell me approximately how many washes it will take.
Love you,
Hope
Jun 16
Hope’s Triathlon Training Schedule (pre-Janie):
Sunday - Run 4 miles, swim 20 minutes
Monday - Off
Tuesday - Bike 10 miles
Wednesday - Run 6 miles
Thursday - Swim 30 minutes
Friday - Off
Saturday - Bike 20 miles
Hope’s Triathlon Training Schedule (post-Janie):
Running and crying
Swimming and crying
Biking and crying
Jun 19
Hey Janie,
Things are bad. Well, they haven’t been good since that day you were supposed to come home, and instead collapsed on an airplane, but now they’re worse. I’m sitting in a tornado of papers right now, and I’m worried you’re going to hate me, but I had to take control. I can’t keep living like this.
See, after about a month of listening to me whine about Dean, Spencer decided it would be a good idea to kidnap me. It wasn’t the scary kind of kidnapping—usually bringing your grandma along is a good indicator that nothing sinister is about to happen. But I’m still calling it what it was—a kidnapping. I was sprawled on the floor of my bedroom this af
ternoon, listening to every sad song in the world and cutting up pictures of Dean while hooked up to an IV drip of chocolate. And Spencer decided to bust in and demand that I get in the car with him, even though, hello, I was obviously very busy.
I figured we were going to get peach ice cream or something, and it didn’t even occur to me to ask where we were going until I realized we were on 75 and getting farther away from Peach Valley by the minute.
“Um, where are we going?” I asked.
Spencer looked damn pleased with himself. “You’ll see.”
“Mimi, where are we going?”
“North Georgia.”
“Mimi! You promised,” said Spencer, just as I said, “What?! That’ll take hours!”
“I’m sure Dean’s head will be just as ready to get chopped off when we get back.”
I glared at him and turned my whole body sideways toward the window. He may have dragged me on this adventure to nowhere, but he couldn’t make me talk to him.
Janie, do you know how long an hour is to sit in the car with someone without talking? It’s a really freaking long time. It is also, it turns out, my breaking point.
“So, where is it that we’re going?” I directed my question at Mimi, keeping my head pointed straight toward the driver’s seat like Spencer wasn’t even in the car (we both know I’m an expert at a freeze-out).
“She already told you. North Georgia.”
“Yeah. But why? Are you planning on taking me to a secluded cabin and dicing me into little pieces?”
“Lands sakes, Hope.” Mimi put a hand over her heart, but you know she reads too much true crime to be really, truly scandalized.
“We’re going to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park,” Spencer said. Well, actually, he sighed it. I think he was annoyed at having to reveal his big secret.
“Again with my original question. Why?”
“Photinus carolinus.”
“Bugs? You’re kidnapping me and driving me hours away to the mountains to look at bugs?”
“They’re not just bugs.” Spencer made his mortally offended face. “They’re—well, I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but you’ll see.”
I kept up a steady stream of complaining as we drove along roads that were increasingly winding, and my ears started to pop as we pulled into a parking lot with what felt like thousands of other cars. Picture that time Mom and Dad thought it would be a good idea to drive all the way to Kentucky, only worse. We meandered our way to the front of a line that seemed to be for a trolley. There was a big yellow sign at the front. If there hadn’t been so many sweaty kids blocking it, I might have been able to see what I was in for. A guy wearing one of those fishing hats with all the lures herded two kids onto the shuttle, and I was finally able to see the sign.
“Fireflies!” I punched Spencer in the arm.
He looked appropriately startled. “What?”
I pointed at the sign and the words Firefly Viewing Information, which were now plainly in view.
“Would it have been so hard to tell me that?”
“I did tell you. Photinus carolinus.”
“Hmph.”
An old-fashioned trolley pulled up, painted bright red and green, with beige-rimmed windows. For some reason, I felt like I was about to go for a ride on the very hungry caterpillar. It made me smile for the first time since Spencer dragged me on this impromptu bug-watching trip. Spencer paid our fare—one dollar apiece, cash only, exact change. It was nearly twilight by the time we curved around the top of the mountain. I remember him tic-ing a lot on the way there.
“We’re almost at the Elkmont trailhead.” Spencer handed us each a flashlight with the end wrapped in red cellophane. “Be ready. We need to get a good spot.”
“Why are they red?”
“Because we don’t want to disrupt the fireflies or impair our night vision.” Like, obviously. Like, this was Firefly-Watching 101. “Keep it pointed at the ground and only use it to find me. Then turn it off.”
“Where are you going to be?”
“Getting our spot!” And with that, he shot off through the crowd of fanny-pack-wearing tourists.
He raced around, darting through trees and tall grass, until he found the perfect place to set up a folding chair for Mimi and a blanket for us. I wasn’t sure what made that spot any better than the spots thousands of other people were clustered in, but if anyone would know about finding the best spot, it’d be Spencer.
In the walk from the trolley to The Best Firefly-Watching Spot Ever, I received no less than eleven mosquito bites. It didn’t matter that they could be biting any number of other people. Remember how Mama always used to say we must be made of sugar with the way the mosquitoes eat us alive? Anyway, Mimi passed me some lotion, and I flashed her a grateful smile. My gratitude did not extend to Spencer, who was two seconds away from clapping his hands together with glee.
“These better be some damn good fireflies,” I told him.
“They will be,” he replied, all confidence and honesty.
I sat beside him on the blanket, and we watched the last bits of sunlight seep out of the sky. Nothing was happening yet, so I stared at the thumbnail moon that seemed to appear out of nowhere. And I waited. I was thinking about complaining again when it happened. Fireflies. And not just a few, but thousands. All at once, in a ripple of light that fanned out through the trees. Like one little guy decided to shine, and then all the other little guys were trying to catch up so as not to be outdone.
And then darkness.
I held my breath, wondering if that was it, and then it happened again. The woods were on fire, every last insect lighting up at once. Except it wasn’t really all at once, it was more like a pattern. A dance. Dominoes falling and a swaying constellation and fifty thousand fireflies playing a game of Telephone.
It was so beautiful, I stood without thinking about it. Spencer rose at the same time, like we were connected pieces of the same being. Maybe the bugs were rubbing off on us.
“It’s like watching music,” I whispered.
He didn’t say anything, just nodded and took my hand, and we watched and we watched, and every six seconds, there was darkness, and every six seconds, the universe unfolded in front of us. As the waves of glowing lights swept across me, the tight, dark things in my chest loosened. Tears formed on my eyelashes, but I didn’t wipe them away.
Spencer’s hand in mine, it felt good to be tethered to someone. The power of what I was seeing might’ve whisked me away if I didn’t hold on tight.
I emerged from the woods with the heady feeling that I’d been changed forever. And then I spotted a girl with hair the precise honey-on-whole-wheat shade that you had, J. I had seen something breathtaking, heart melding, majestic. And you were the only person I wanted to tell.
Spencer bounced along beside me. “So? Great, huh?”
“Yeah. It was really great.”
“I knew it! I knew you’d love it!”
The good things I was feeling curled up at the edges and collapsed in on each other. Because what I saw felt life changing, but with every step back to the trolley and real life, I was hit with a crushing realization: Nothing had actually changed, and nothing was going to change. You’re not coming back.
I pretended to sleep on the way back to get out of talking to Spencer. It’s mean, I know, but I knew what he was trying to do with this lightning bug thing, and I just couldn’t.
But Spencer was determined. He walked me home, and not just to my door, all the way up to my room. And I was yawning and stretching and dropping every hint, but he just kept pelting me with questions, and finally, I snapped.
“Damn it, Spencer. What do you want from me? Do you want me to say it’s okay that my sister’s dead and that it’s okay your brother had sex with me and then dumped me just because some stupid-ass lightning bugs all light up at the same time? Because it’s not. Nothing is okay. Nothing will ever be okay again.”
He stood there, stunned. I had
finally stopped the flow of questions.
As if to prove my point, I noticed your purple J practically blinking at me from the map across the room. The pin was still sunk into Samoa, but it might as well have been digging its way into my brain. I crossed the room in two angry steps and ripped it out of the wall. The anger licked at my heart, and it felt good. Strong. Better than feeling weak any day. I decided the other purple pins needed to go and tore them out, one after the other. (Please don’t be mad.)
Spencer was horrified. “What are you doing?”
“She doesn’t need them anymore,” I said through my teeth. And then I was really fighting mad. “And neither do I.”
I tore down the blues and yellows, too. Spencer tried to block me, but I was possessed. None of it mattered anymore. The places I’d been? All colored by memories of you. Painful. Better to be removed. This list of places you’ll never get to go? It needed to come down right then.
There was stuff flying everywhere. I peeled away a map of New Zealand, and the picture behind it gave me a stab wound. It was a drawing of two little boys in Haiti holding hands after a storm. The first drawing you ever sent me. And I broke.
At least Spencer was there to catch me. I fell into his hug and cried into his T-shirt, and we stayed that way for a long time, him patting my back and whispering things that didn’t quite come together in my head but comforted me just the same. My foot started to fall asleep, but I didn’t want to let go, so I shifted my weight to the other foot. And then something happened. I felt Spencer, against me. I mean, we were hugging, so of course I felt him against me, but I felt something else against me. At least, I was pretty sure I did. And then he backed away all freaked out which pretty much confirmed it.
“I’m sorry.” He barely managed to get the words out, and then he ran (literally ran) out of my room and down the stairs.
I don’t even know what to do about him. Both right this second and in the meta sense. I know he wants things, and if I’m really being honest with myself, sometimes I think I might want them, too. But it’s more like the shadow of a future want. I can’t be anything to anyone right now, and I need him to get that. But I don’t think he does, and I’m already sorry for how I know I’m going to hurt him. I’m sorry I ripped down everything we built together, too. I’m peering out my window right now, but Spencer’s already safely inside his house. Dean’s light is on, and I wish like anything it wasn’t because I have to go outside to throw all these boxes and papers in the trash. His window is only a few quick steps away, and I don’t know how strong I can be. What if I can’t help myself?
A Taxonomy of Love Page 9