Again Again

by E. Lockhart

  Toby threw a stick for Voldemort and GG Pan while EllaBella trotted around with her nose to the ground, wagging her tail faintly.

  * * *

  —

  Texts.

  Oscar. I’m sorry, but please

  wait

  and come back from Maine on Sunday.

  Not tomorrow.

  …

  …

  Hey. Did you get my earlier text?

  I don’t know if you bought a bus ticket already or anything.

  I didn’t buy a bus ticket.

  Yet.

  Did you change your mind about making the movie?

  No.

  …

  …

  I want to make the movie.

  I love that you offered your help.

  But

  I need to just hang out with my brother.

  It’s like, we forgot we knew each other, forgot we were ever siblings, and we have only now recognized each other again.

  It feels important.

  Family time. I get it.

  My parents weren’t happy about me going anyway.

  I want to see you. I wish you were here.

  ?

  You just told me not to come, Adelaide.

  Sorry. I know.

  …

  …

  Please don’t come. I need the time with Toby. XOXO

  Okay.

  Toby and Adelaide went swimming in the pool and hit each other with brightly colored foam noodles. They got take-out Chinese food and walked around campus eating lo mein out of cardboard containers.

  They shot the vegetable battle on Adelaide’s phone.

  The battle was vigorous and bloody.

  The golden Fool for Love set model did not survive the process. Bits of broccoli got all over it. And carrot grime. And the ketchup they used for blood. One wall fell down.

  It was okay. It was an impermanent object. The summer was over, and it was time for the model to die. They filmed the wreckage as well.

  The next day, they argued about how to edit the film. How to score it. Whether there should be subtitles.

  They didn’t finish it that day, or the day after.

  They got distracted. The new ninth graders showed up for three days’ orientation, and could be seen walking around wearing Alabaster T-shirts and lanyards on their necks, clustering together, holding maps. Rebecca drove up and Levi’s summer position in Admissions ended and he got a couple of days off to spend time with the family.

  Rebecca was laid up with sciatica after the drive, but she emerged from the bedroom for dinner and kept hugging Adelaide sideways the way parents do when they want to be all nurturing but not intrusive. The next day, everyone helped Adelaide move her stuff into the new dorm room.

  They hung fairy lights around her window. Rebecca gave Adelaide a new set of sheets wrapped in gift paper. And she opened the trunk of the car to reveal eight Lego dioramas, carefully packed in Bubble Wrap for the trip. They set them up on Adelaide’s bookshelf after photographing them in some decent light. “Just in case you want them for your college-application portfolio,” Levi said.

  The four of them went for pizza on Toby and Rebecca’s last night.

  “If she keeps touching my face I might vomit,” Adelaide whispered to Toby between bites. “It’s super oppressive.”

  “She’s always trying to touch my face too,” he whispered back. “She does it when she’s feeling the wave of love.”

  “I really want her to stop.”

  “Just let her do it,” Toby said. “Just breathe until it’s over. She’s the mom. You were gone all year. It makes her happy.”

  “Look at them, whispering on their side of the table, just like when they were kids,” said Rebecca.

  “Some things never change,” said Levi.

  But they had changed.

  Adelaide would

  never be the same. Toby would

  never be the same either.

  They could not go back to what they once had been.

  They could only go forward.

  Rebecca insisted on going to the drugstore after dinner. While Adelaide and Toby looked at enormous Toblerones and various types of Goldfish crackers, their mother filled two shopping baskets with what looked like a year’s supply of apricot body lotion, razors, Advil, shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, ChapStick, tampons, panty liners, and condoms.

  “I’m glad you have my lady parts taken care of so thoroughly,” said Adelaide, looking in the basket.

  “I’m not asking your business, but I want you to have them,” said Rebecca, about the condoms. “Safety is very important.”

  “People are going to think I’m a hoarder.”

  “We’ll get a bin for under your bed,” said Rebecca. “I’m a thorough shopper. You like that about me.”

  “Yeah, I do, I guess,” said Adelaide.

  Adelaide was in her dorm room when Oscar called.

  Oscar said he didn’t know how to tell her this.

  Oscar said he was sorry.

  Oscar said he wasn’t coming back.

  Not ever.

  “I need you to explain this to me,” she said. The room swirled around her. She lay down.

  And Oscar explained.

  It was music. His name had been pulled off the wait list at one of the music conservatories he’d applied to. It was in Michigan. There was financial aid.

  So Oscar was going. It was his senior year. It would make a huge difference for him, applying to college. And he wanted to be there. To live in a world of music, to breathe it, to have his mind expanded, to think differently, to play differently.

  “When did you find out?” Adelaide asked him.

  “A week ago,” he said. “I found out a week ago.”

  “Before you offered to come see me?”

  “Yeah. That was why I wanted to come so badly.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me right then?”

  “I wanted to. I wrote ten different texts telling you, but they were all horrible. And I called, but when you picked up you were watching that movie with Toby. Remember? Then I got scared.”

  “Scared of what?”

  “Losing you. I wanted to put it off,” said Oscar. “Because it’s awful.”

  “Yeah,” she told him. “It is awful.”

  “I have to go,” he said. “I want to go.”

  And of course,

  of course,

  he did have to go. He should want to go.

  “When I told you not to come, I thought we had a whole year in front of us,” Adelaide told Oscar. “I needed to be with my brother.”

  “You did.”

  “I thought you’d be back.”

  “I have to go straight from Maine so I can be there on time. Tomorrow, actually. My mom will send the rest of my stuff.”

  “Tomorrow is very soon.”

  “I’ll be back at winter break.”

  “But I’ll be in Baltimore.”

  “I know. I thought of that.”

  “It’s more than a thousand miles away. I might not ever see you again.”

  “I might not ever see you either,” Oscar said.

  She loved him. She wanted everything for him, everything that he hoped for. “Twenty years from now, you’ll see me,” she told him.

  “I will?”

  “I’ll run into you in New York City, by chance, you know? In a movie theater. I’ll be there with my kids,

  and my husband, and

  we’ll be taking the children to see a serious philosophy film,

  or else a film about Lego people having
adventures.

  I’ll have a wedge of Brie in my bag. Wrapped in plastic so it doesn’t smell up my purse. You’ll be standing in the lobby with your gorgeous spouse, talking to this eager old guy who’s a music fan. He stopped you in the lobby because he saw you

  play the piano

  at

  Carnegie Hall

  and it changed his life.

  He can’t believe he’s seeing you in the cinema, holding a handful of buttery popcorn.

  You’ll catch my eye.”

  “My wife will be jealous.”

  “Maybe she will. And you’ll wonder

  if it’s me or

  if it’s someone who reminds you of

  me,

  and I’ll wonder

  if it’s you or

  if it’s someone who reminds me of

  you,

  and you’ll say, Excuse me, I can’t talk to you about Beethoven any longer, good sir, because Adelaide Buchwald is here and she’s old but still super attractive.”

  “I don’t want us to have spouses,” said Oscar. “Can we be single?”

  “Okay.”

  “Single but not like, lonely and sad about it.”

  “All right. We’re single. And

  at first I objectify the hell out of you, because I’m just thinking, Oh, look at that

  fine hunk of a man with the masterful hands and

  the amazing profile, but then I realize it’s

  you,

  the Oscar of my youth.”

  “Do I have all my hair?” asked Oscar. “My dad is bald, and I’d like to have all my hair in this story.”

  “You’re only thirty-seven. You have all your hair. And I have adorable children with me, but I’m divorced, so don’t worry about that. My kids are old enough to go sit in the movie theater alone. I’m wearing fantastic clothes and I’m in New York for an

  exhibition of my miniaturist dollhouses

  filled with dramatizations of famous murders, or possibly for

  a film festival that’s showing my

  stop-motion animation masterpiece.”

  “That sounds like art you would make,” said Oscar.

  “I know it does,” said Adelaide. “I think I’d make an awesome series of dollhouse murder sites.”

  “What’s your stop-motion masterpiece?”

  She considered. “It’s about dogs who have inner lives, like people, but they’re also kind of dogs. You know? They talk a lot about shoe leather and urination.”

  “I don’t think I’ll wonder if it’s you,” said Oscar. “I’ll know it’s you. I’ll always know it’s you, even if you’re old.”

  “You know it’s me,” said Adelaide. “And I know it’s you.

  We sit on a red leather bench in the lobby while my children watch the movie.

  We’re adults, and we have lived a lot of the things there are to live.”

  “I’m very glad to see you,” said Oscar softly.

  “I’m very glad to see you too. It seems like old times.”

  “It seems like old times.”

  He was crying on the phone.

  “You’re going to go make beautiful art and have a huge adventure, Oscar,” Adelaide told him. “I want you to do it. You deserve to do it. But also, I wish you’d stay.”

  “I wish I’d stay, too,” said Oscar. “I can’t imagine a time when I won’t love you and want you.”

  Goodbye.

  Adelaide lay awake for a bit after she hung up. She was filled with love and sadness, and the two emotions swirled around each other. She felt like her chest had more room in it than it used to. Then she fell asleep and it was morning.

  She took a shower and cried under the water.

  She cried for the loss of

  Oscar,

  And the loss of Mikey Double L,

  and of the Toby who Toby used to be.

  She cried for the loss of

  the dogs, who belonged to other people,

  and for

  the loss of Oscar again.

  She cried too for the near impossibility of

  wanting someone and seeing them accurately.

  She felt she had lost Oscar, just when she saw him clearly,

  and that she had never seen Mikey clearly,

  and never would.

  She felt nothing about Jack, of course, because in this possible world, he came and went, never leaving a mark.

  * * *

  —

  Later, she walked to the café with the light wood floors and got an iced latte. She sat inside and texted her dog owners.

  Did they want Adelaide to walk their pets during the school year? With the course schedule she had, she could do a midday walk every weekday.

  She waited while they texted back.

  Pretzel, no thanks.

  GG Pan and Voldemort, yes.

  EllaBella, yes, please.

  Rabbit’s owner texted back when Adelaide was on her way to the school bookstore. “Rabbit is in search of a new home. After much thought, I have decided I cannot live with a biting dog. Also, my house smells of urine. Please tell me if anyone you know might want to take her.”

  Yes, thought Adelaide. I do.

  She wanted Rabbit. True, Rabbit was grumpy. And true, Rabbit had bitten her.

  But Rabbit’s fur was so sleek and soft. Her stocky legs were hilarious. Adelaide was fond of the way Rabbit breathed when a treat was coming out of someone’s pocket. And the way she slept, with her tummy exposed.

  The dog had been so sorry. She would never bite again. She deserved forgiveness.

  She had already been forgiven.

  Adelaide texted the owner. “We’ll take her.”

  Then she called Levi and explained that Rabbit would be coming to live with him. “You need company,” she told him. “You’re sad without Mom.”

  “That might be true,” he said.

  “You’re lonely.”

  “Also true,” he said. “But why is a pit bull the solution?”

  “She can wear this fabric muzzle that she has, when you’re first getting to know her,” Adelaide explained. “I’ll walk her for you in the middle of the day.”

  “I can’t believe you adopted me a dog,” Levi said.

  But he didn’t sound angry.

  They drove together to the store to buy rawhide bones and food. Levi texted with Rabbit’s owner to get details. Then they collected Rabbit. She came with a dog bed, two bowls, and a leash.

  The owner insisted on seeing Adelaide’s scar, where Rabbit’s teeth had gone in. “I felt safe when I got a pit bull,” she said. “I thought she’d protect the house. But honestly, she never barks when anyone comes to the door, and now I’m scared she’ll bite me. I’ve been closing her out of the bedroom.”

  Levi followed Adelaide’s instructions and bent down low to meet Rabbit, holding out his hand. Rabbit wore her muzzle and sniffed his fingers. Then she butted her head up against his hand to be petted, briefly. Your dad smells like a good person, she said to Adelaide.

  “You’ll be really helping him out,” Adelaide told Rabbit. “He needs company.”

  I feel bad that she doesn’t want me anymore. I thought she loved me.

  “We will love you,” said Adelaide.

  They walked Rabbit through the neighborhood and back to the house. They put her worn plaid dog bed on the floor of Levi’s office. They took off the muzzle to give her water and an unscheduled meal, to make her feel at home. Levi made a call about getting his tiny backyard fenced in. They stroked Rabbit’s wide silvery back and told her they would take care of her.

  * * *

  —

  Stacey S drove back to campus the next morning and insisted Adelaide meet her at the
café before she even unpacked her car.

  “I need a double-shot latte with caramel syrup,” she said. “I had so many green smoothies this summer. I am dying for caffeination. Also, I’m done with Camilla. I need to move on.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Adelaide as they waited in line to order coffee. “ ‘Moving on.’ ”

  “I have no idea,” said Stacey. “But it went sour with her at the end. Toxic, toxic.”

  “What flavor of toxic?”

  “Camilla plays head games. Like, she tried to make me jealous. On purpose. What kind of person does that?”

  “Terrible. A terrible person.”

  “Well, a very insecure person, anyway. And kind of mean.”

  They placed their orders. “How was the Toby visit?” asked Stacey.

  “He’s a surprisingly bossy filmmaker,” said Adelaide. “And he smoked me at like, six different board games.”

  “So he’s good.”

  “Yeah,” said Adelaide. “It’s one day at a time, but he’s good.”

  “I saw Mikey Double L standing in front of the dining hall,” said Stacey. “I wanted to snub him but I was in my car.”

  “Ugh. I wish I didn’t have to see him. Ever. Or Aldrich. Or any of their friends. My ideal situation would be for all of them to magically not go to this stupid school anymore.”

  “Exhibit maximum dignity,” said Stacey. “Just say, Hey there, Mikey, slightly condescending. And nothing more. Using there is important, I think. Hey there.”

  Their orders came up. They walked through campus. Adelaide saw Stacey’s new room. They hung posters and made Stacey’s bed. Then they went out on the balcony of Stacey’s dorm. Leaning over the second-floor railing, they looked down on people moving in, lugging suitcases and laundry bags.

  Cars were lined up in front of the buildings. Parents bustled around them, unloading teddy bears and speakers, cardboard boxes of books. They made piles on the stone paths and the steps. A bus from the airport pulled up and a line of students poured out, most of them dragging wheelie bags.

  A disaffected boy in slouchy jeans drank a Coke on the steps.