Heart on a Shoestring

by Marilyn Grey

  Smiling, she rubbed the missing letters in the magazine as we walked back to the car. Mrs. Ryan didn’t look up. Not once. Her mind and heart far from Philly. Reminded me of myself. The self I didn’t want to be.

  We parked a block away from an ice cream shop in the middle of the worn out city. I didn’t ask why Miranda thought he’d successfully find his way to an ice cream shop 27 miles from his house in the middle of a huge city, but yes, I had my doubts.

  Mrs. Ryan stayed in the car. Miranda told me to stay with her. I did. Watched Miranda’s pink cast swing down the city sidewalks, her dark blue jean shorts hugging her hips. Simple faded yellow t-shirt down to her back pockets. Long brown hair between her shoulder blades, tossed in the summer breeze. A picture of beauty smashed between old historic buildings and dirty cement. Ashleigh brushed my mind like a cryptic breeze. She looked so different. I remember watching her walk away. Dark blue jeans too. Except she was taller with less hip and more up top. Fake, of course. Always a designer hand bag to match her shoes and necklace. One of five thousand. Her hips didn’t sway as she walked. They jolted back and forth like a runway model with no training. She never seemed to rest. To just be. To wipe off the lipstick and live.

  I forgot about Mrs. Ryan. She seemed to be as deep in thought as me. I turned the music down and relaxed. Looked at her. “Why do you think Max made Mr. Ryan like this?”

  She looked up, then to her right, out the passengers window at a man smoking a pipe. “He always wanted things his way.” She continued staring out the window as she spoke. “I just think life didn’t turn out the way he imagined and he doesn’t know how to handle it. He regrets a lot. He won’t say it. And he won’t change either. He just dwells in it.”

  “I can relate.”

  She finally made eye contact with me. “No, I don’t think you can.”

  I didn’t want to argue with her. People couldn’t imagine Derek as David Bennett and I wasn’t about to help her see my true colors. I nodded. Miranda tapped the hood of my car and came up to her mom. She leaned on the open window. “Have anymore envelopes in there?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  She popped the glove compartment open and snatched an envelope, then hobbled her way back to the ice cream shop. A few seconds later she returned and sat in the back. “No Max, but there was a single mom in there who was trying to use food stamps to get her kids some ice cream. Hope you don’t mind me using the envelope.”

  “Not at all.” I turned the keys in the ignition. The engine rumbled. “That’s what they’re there for.”

  We tried a few more places. Mrs. Ryan wanted to go back home. We dropped her off and drove away. Miranda thought of one more place. An abandoned farm house in the middle of nowhere. Trees lined the driveway and circled around the house. Some windows had boards covering them, others looked worn but functional. The roof needed repair. Gutter hung from the left side like a cracked bone. The sun colored the sky orange behind the rolling hills and trees. We stepped out. Miranda linked her arm with mine and kept the crutches behind. I didn’t mind. I helped her up the porch. The sign on the door said it was the state’s property. Not to trespass. I looked at Miranda. She laughed. I pointed. She laughed again, then directed me to a window on the side of the huge porch. She tried to open it. When she failed, I did.

  She sat on the sill and swung her cast over the window, like saddling up for a ride out west. I followed, looking around for cops.

  “They won’t arrest you. We’ll just say we’re looking for Max. We have a good excuse.”

  Right. Good thinking. We dodged missing floor boards and Miranda stopped at the fireplace, ran her fingers down the edges and swiped the dust from her hand. Ceilings were taller than two stories of most modern homes. Ornate design. Stained victorian wallpaper peeling from the walls. Beautiful. I imagined it restored. The fireplace lit and people crowded around it holding drinks and laughing. For a second I felt like Miranda. And laughed.

  “What?” she said. Her eyes glistened in the fading sunlight.

  I cupped her face with my hand and so badly wanted to kiss her. She swallowed. Couldn’t tell if it was excitement or hesitancy, so I kissed her forehead and turned in a circle. “You think he’s here?”

  She hobbled to the doorway and motioned for me to follow. When I reached her she wrapped her arm around my back and leaned into my shoulder. I supported her with my right arm and we walked up the steps, checked every room, then heard something crack in the hallway.

  A small closet. I opened it and peered up. “This goes to the roof.”

  She went up. The steps were small. Almost child-size. Felt like crawling through a tunnel. I followed her. She pushed the door at the top and revealed the moon. Sunsets never last long enough. She pulled herself out, then I did ... only to put myself right back in, away from the roof.

  My hands trembled and my pulse throbbed in my ears. “I can’t do heights.”

  She vanished from sight. Came back and whispered something I couldn’t hear. Her smile looked super white against the dark blue sky. “He’s up here. He’s on the next level of the roof. Over that way by the chimney.” She pointed to the left. “You need to help or I’ll have to with this cast.” She knelt down and squinted her eyes. “Are you down there?”

  I steadied myself on the shelf to my left. I couldn’t move. My legs weighed a thousand pounds.

  “Derek?” She sighed. “Please.”

  The edges of her face turned black. I closed my eyes. Opened them. It was no use. Everything was blurry. Spinning. And then blackness took over.

  Everything disappeared.

  Ch. 17 | Miranda

  Pretty sure he fainted, but I couldn’t tell. I peeked up at Max, still asleep on the roof with his favorite blanket. I didn’t think I could hop up to that level. Not with my leg. I needed Derek. I needed him to get over his fear of heights.

  I sat there for a minute. Wondering about my own fears and how crippling they became.

  I climbed down to Derek. Rubbed his face. Smoothed his hair. The moonlight cast a blue tint on us. For a moment, I think my desires shifted. Looking at him there, so childlike in his blacked outness, I think I desired love. To love him and be loved by him, regardless of the possible rejection that could come one day. Maybe, I don’t know, nothing seemed certain, but maybe it wasn’t that I wanted to love him. Maybe I already did.

  I kissed his brow down to his cheek, along his jaw, and stopped on his lips. Hovered there. My breath against his skin. His eyes twitched and fluttered, opened and closed. Something crashed and nature flashed a strobe light on us. Lightening. Max. I needed to get him quick. Storms scared him and made him run in circles, his palms against his ears. What if he ran off the roof?

  Derek rose. Slow. Pulled himself up and crawled up the steps. I reminded him where we were, what we were doing, and what I needed him to do.

  He sat at the top of the steps as I stood on the roof. His hands shivered in the warm summer night. I held them. Pressed them between my hands and looked in his eyes. “If you can’t do this, I need to.” Water collected in the corner of his left eye. Couldn’t tell if it was a tear or not. I put his hands in his lap and turned to Max. Thunder blasted and lightening ripped open the sky. Max jumped from his sleep and stood, hands on his ears, terror on his face. The silent scream. He only did it when he was really, really scared. Looked like he was screaming but no sound escaped his gaping mouth. Eyes wide as cookies, he knelt and stood. Couldn’t hear me calling his name. I ran to the other roof as fast as I could, given my casted leg. Pain shot through my hip and thigh. I kept going. No ladder in sight, I used my good leg to jump. Still couldn’t reach the ledge and had no idea how Max did. He was shorter than me.

  I jumped again and fell. “Max!” My screams competed with the thunder and nearly won. “Maxie, I’m here, bud. I’m here. Max!”

  Derek appeared at my side. Every part of his body, ear lobes to fingertips, quaked in the stormy night. Something out of a crazy movie. Not real lif
e.

  “Can you push me up there?” I said.

  Derek shook his head and told me to sit down. I did. He placed one shaky hand on the ledge, then another. “One, two, three.” He pulled his body weight and managed to get a knee on the next roof. Then the other. He disappeared. I stood back. Drizzles turned to buckets of water. I could barely see. Squinting, I saw movement on the other roof, but only Derek. Not Max.

  My heart rate picked up. Rain drenched my clothes and I remembered. Max didn’t like water. Freaked him out even worse than thunder. I paced in a circle with my head in my hands, hobbling.

  Derek reappeared. I pretended not to notice what seemed to be a patch of pee on his jeans. And no, it wasn’t from the rain. I could tell. Still a shaking mess, he handed me a soaked journal.

  “Where is he?” I said over the thunder. Another shriek of lightening lit the sky. “Where’s Max?”

  Derek shook his head, trying to hold back tears. I hit his chest. “Where is he?”

  He motioned to the door that led back to the attic. I climbed down, waited for him, and asked again.

  “I didn’t see him,” he said. “I looked everywhere.”

  I composed myself. “Carry me.”

  “What?”

  “As fast as you possibly can, get me downstairs and outside. If he fell”—I choked on my words, on the possibility—“if he’s dying I don’t want him to be alone.”

  Derek scooped me into his arms and raced down the big empty house. I could still feel his pulse throbbing a mile a minute. He set me down outside and ran the perimeter of the house. Came back a few seconds later. Alone.

  “Where could he have gone?” I said. “We have to find him.”

  “Maybe we should call the cops. I’m not cut out for this.”

  “No. Cops will scare him even more. As if the rain and storm isn’t enough.” I reached for Derek’s hand and squeezed. “When this is over we need to talk.”

  We went back inside. I motioned to the other side of the house. We walked up a different set of stairs from the kitchen to the second floor, then found another set of stairs at the end of the hallway. Once again, they led to a closet that seemed to go to the roof again. Maybe the part Max was on. Derek flung the closet door open.

  Thunder cracked and peeled the sky again. I entered the closet and saw him. Rocking back and forth. Eyes closed. Forehead touching his knees like a recoiled caterpillar.

  I touched his shoulder and exhaled. Relieved. Thankful. Exasperated. “Maxie, it’s sissy.”

  He didn’t move. Continued rocking like a caterpillar. I sat beside him and pulled his head to my chest, cradling my teenage baby brother. We sat in silence until the storm released its grip from the earth. Derek reclined against the wall in the hallway, right outside the closet. I texted Matt. Told him to tell Mom I’d bring Max home within an hour.

  Calmness settled in and I pulled Max’s chin up, made him look at me. He avoided eye contact, but it was close enough.

  “Max, honey.” My eyes swelled with warmth. “I am so, so sorry for everything. I’m still your best friend. I love you. I am going to make it up to you.”

  He inched his cheek toward my lips. I kissed him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lollipop, twirled it in his hands, then moved it near my hand. I took it, thanked him, and led him to the car.

  Derek followed. When we reached the car Max put one foot in and hesitated. I urged him to sit down. He pulled away and flapped his hands. I touched his shoulder and assured him it would be okay. We were taking him home. Tossing his arms in the air, he flung himself to the ground and thrashed his body into the earth.

  Derek backed away. I knelt beside Max, crossed his arms over his chest, and held him on the ground until his tantrum subsided. A few minutes later he stood. My leg seared from my ankle to my sciatic nerve. Finally, I convinced him to sit in the car by telling him he could come home with me. In the car, I called Mom. Told her he’d be at my apartment and she could come over if she wanted. She said she’d meet me there.

  Max never saw my apartment before and he doesn’t do well with new places, but he walked right in and straight to my bedroom. I helped him into one of my old t-shirts and sweatpants. They fit him well enough. Couldn’t get him to rest in my bed, so I streamed Curious George on my computer and tucked him under a blanket on the couch. Derek called Gavin and said he’d stay with me tonight, then took a shower and changed.

  Mom called. “I’m here.”

  I buzzed the door and she walked in. Hair a mess. Face puffy. Tired eyes. She saw him on the couch and collapsed beside him. He looked passed her to the movie as she held his hand to her face, her body wrenching with deep sobs. I walked away. Back to my room. Back to Derek. He smelled like a crisp dew-dropped morning, but looked like a dehydrated plant.

  He made himself comfortable on the floor, but I gave him the bed. I wanted to be near Max. We exchanged smiles. I grabbed Max’s journal from my nightstand and went back to the living room. Mom cuddled with Max. Both already asleep. I sat at their feet and opened the journal. First few pages were torn out. Some had stick figure drawings. Then I finally found his voice again. Stacked in scattered magazine letters.

  Home is not a place to me. Home is not a person to me. Home is not here. It is not with my father, my mother, my brothers, or my sister. I don’t know what home is.

  My sister taught me to plant. If the roots grew strong, the plant would too. I don’t know why I can’t speak. My lips don’t move when I ask them to. I want to tell them I can hear them fighting about me. I want them to know why I take my clothes off in public places and like stairs. They don’t understand. No one understands. I’m not stupid. My roots must be weak.

  The light switch is like life to me. I can’t stop turning them on and off. Today it didn’t work when the storm came. Mom said something about electric. I didn’t understand. I needed the light switch to work. I needed it. Why didn’t it work?

  Someone moved the picture frame on my wall. I couldn’t get it back to the right place. It hurt my head so bad I punched a hole in the wall. Dad and Mom are yelling. Dad hates me. I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know why he hates me. I try to love him, but my body doesn’t let me. I’m sorry. My body doesn’t do what I ask it to do. Sometimes it does the opposite.

  You know that part in Ariel. I hear it a lot in my head. I want to be part of your world. That’s what I say to people, but my lips don’t move.

  I closed the journal. Looked at Max. Amazed that he could communicate. After all these years he could, in some way, speak to the world around him. The words were sad, but I couldn’t cry. Not knowing my brother could speak to me, albeit in slow torn letters pasted on paper. Smiling with the journal against my heart, I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to sweep me away to the land of dreams. The place where autistic children could move their lips and broken hearts were made whole.

  Ch. 18 | Derek

  Miranda sat across from me. Quiet and unable to stop smiling. Silverware clinked and clanged in the background. Waiters and waitresses flicked pens and carried trays, careful not to trip over the kids crawling under the tables and across the carpet.

  Then I saw him.

  I moved over so Miranda’s head blocked his view of me. Last thing I needed was for him to see me. He sat with an air-brushed blonde. Typical. Some people never change.

  I looked at Miranda. And some people change too much.

  The waitress smacked her gum and knelt down, setting her elbows on the table. “What can I get you?”

  “I will have creamed chipped beef with a side of home fries, two slices of French toast, extra syrup, three eggs lightly scrambled, a hot cup of water for tea, some cream, and a large orange juice.” She thought for a second. “And a cranberry lemon muffin grilled with butter. Please.”

  The woman raised her eyebrows. I was used to Miranda’s enormous appetite. Didn’t phase me.

  “I will have an omelette filled with home fries and onions, please.” I ha
nded the waitress our menus as she stood. “Thank you.”

  “That it?” she said.

  I nodded. “She’s the pig. I’m just a human.”

  Miranda laughed. So did the waitress as she disappeared around the mirrored wall.

  “Hey, hey, look who it is.” I knew the voice. Wished I didn’t. I looked up as he pulled Blondie under his arm and squeezed her so forcefully she almost fell over.

  I avoided eye contact.

  “What brings you to Pennsylvania Dr. Bennett?”

  I stood and excused myself. Went to the bathroom. Watched as Shawn and his girl walked away. Miranda smiled and nodded, then looked through the tables for my face. I ducked back into the bathroom, refreshed myself with cool water, then returned to her.

  She didn’t speak, but her eyes said everything. We ignored the obvious questions seated on the edge of her mind and the glowing frustration dangling off the edge of mine.

  After we ate, she leaned on my shoulder as we walked to my car. “You know,” she said. “I won’t force you to tell me, but I won’t stop myself from trying to snoop.”

  “Snoop what?”

  “I want to know who Dr. Bennett is and what he has to do with Derek Rhodes.”

  Somehow I missed that. Didn’t realize he said my name. My other name. I never did get used to being called that. Ashleigh always wondered why I never turned when she yelled, “David.” She thought I was ignoring her and it only pissed her off even more. Good times.

  “So?” Miranda said. “You gonna tell me or do I need to Google?”

  I took Miranda back to her apartment without answering her question. She pat her cast. “I have an appointment with the doc today. We’ll see how it goes.” She glanced to her right at the passing strangers. The open window brushed her hair from her eyes. I reached for her shoulder, then stopped and put my hands back on the steering wheel.