He reflected a moment. “Both, I suppose.”
“What do you mean?”
A small group of girls and guys our age walked by, a little too rambunctious to carry on an uninterrupted conversation, so he waited until they passed.
“My mother taught me how to be caring and kind, and my uncle taught me how to take care of myself.”
It all sounded so wonderful—if only it was the truth. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I knew it didn’t add up to anything I’d found out about him, and yet he was so convincing. Frustrated, I asked, “Why are you telling me this?”
He looked at me, confused. “Because you asked.”
“No, I mean, why are you telling me things that aren’t true?”
He leaned off the rail at my accusation and faced me. “I don’t know what you mean.” His voice was calm, but his eyes were studying me intensely.
“You said your father died when you were three. I found an article that said he died last year.”
His eyes narrowed as the information registered. “That article was not about my father.”
“So are you telling me there is more than one Weston Wilson II who died in a plane crash?”
“No—”
“Look Weston, I don’t want to bring up things that are painful for you, but I don’t like being lied to either.”
“I’m not lying to you.” His attention was diverted as he looked over his shoulder. I peeked around to see the distraction for myself. He was looking down the pier. I could barely make out the group that walked by us before. I couldn’t hear them anymore, but it looked like one of them was climbing the rail. I quickly focused back to my own conversation.
“Then why did you tell me you lived with an uncle who died fifty years ago?” Upon hearing my question, he whipped his head around.
“How did you know that?”
“I found an article about him, too.”
He dropped his head and closed his eyes. It was enough of an indication to me that what I’d found was correct. I felt a tightening in my chest as I realized that he hadn’t been truthful. Then, I began to feel panicked. I wasn’t even sure who he was. I started to step backward, away from him, but he stepped toward me, holding me by my shoulders. Instinctively, I tried to wriggle free, but he tightened his grip.
“Please, Sophie, listen to me. I didn’t lie to you.”
“Then what do you call it?” I countered.
He looked over his shoulder again in irritation at the group, and his distraction made me even more angry. “What do you call it then?” I repeated, bringing his attention back to me.
“I don’t know, but I didn’t lie. I can’t explain it.”
“Is your name even Wes?”
“Of course it is.”
I pulled his arms down to free myself. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with you or why you’re lying, but I can’t be friends with someone I don’t trust. Unless you’re going to tell me the truth, then I can’t keep seeing you.” I waited for his answer, not even sure that hearing the truth now would suffice.
“I am telling you the truth,” he said. “I wouldn’t tell you lies.” It was as if he wanted to say something more, but he chose not to. He was giving me no reasonable explanation to stay, and although something in me wanted to, I knew I couldn’t be with someone who was dishonest. After a moment of staring at his perfect face, I took a few steps backward. “Fine, I’m leaving.”
He lowered his shoulders at the realization that it was over, but this time he made no attempt to stop me. I turned toward the parking lot and began my walk back from the pier, having reluctantly made up my mind to forget about this seemingly perfect but mysterious boy. Within a few moments, I felt that dreaded lump build in my throat. I couldn’t tell if it was because I was mad or if it was because I was making a mistake, but I kept walking, determined to hold my ground. Somewhere inside, I was hoping to hear him call my name, but he didn’t. Instead, the silence was broken by the sounds of ear-piercing screams. I stiffened and turned back quickly to see where the sound had come from. It was down the pier.
Wes and I simultaneously began to head toward the source. He picked up his pace to a light jog, and I was running heavily to keep up.
By the time we reached the end of the pier, we saw one of the guys climb to the top of the railing and jump over. “Oh my God!” I yelled in shock. There were four other people leaning over the rail. “He just jumped. Oh my God. Why?” I asked, completely frantic.
Another girl was screaming. “I can’t see her. I can’t see.”
Wes was looking over the pier.
“What happened?” I yelled.
“Lisa! She fell over! She was playing around!” a girl yelled, looking at me in desperation.
“No, I saw a guy,” I corrected.
“That’s her boyfriend. He’s going after her.” She turned back to the water, and I looked over as well. It was a long drop, and Wes put his arm around me to hold me steady. We could hardly see anything. A faint glow from the nearby park made it light enough to see a break in the black water. We were all leaning over.
“Clay!” a boy shouted down.
“I can’t find her. I can’t find her!”
He went back under, and I started taking off my coat.
“What are you doing?” Wes asked.
“I’m going in,” I answered, sliding out of my coat.
He slid it back on. “Are you crazy?”
“We can’t just let her drown,” I snapped, looking around, wondering why everyone else was just standing there. Wes studied my face.
“Damn it,” he said, looking over the edge. “No, you stay.”
“I can’t just—”
“I’ll go,” he said, taking off his coat. He climbed the rail faster than I could have told him to stay, and then he was gone. We barely heard a splash at the bottom, but we could see the little ripples from where he went in.
“Somebody call 911!” I was frantically looking around the water for any sign and suddenly feeling guilty for causing him to go in.
“Look right there!” someone shouted. Clay broke the surface again.
“I can’t find her!” he yelled up, even more frantic.
“Clay, wait,” a girl yelled. “Someone is in there helping you.”
He went back under. I searched the water, getting more worried by the second. Another moment or two went by and Clay appeared at the surface again. Where was Wes? I covered my mouth with both hands and tears welled up in my eyes. It was awful. Too much time had passed. I started crying, and my hands shook uncontrollably. The water was so dark, and there were no signs of anyone in it except for Clay going under and coming up.
“Damn it, Wes,” I yelled. “Come on!”
“He’ll be okay,” a girl said, touching my back. I shoved her off. None of us would have been in this predicament had they not been acting so foolishly. The railings reached seven feet high for a reason—so idiots like them wouldn’t go over. I was uncontrollable. I took off my jacket and started climbing.
“You can’t,” said an unknown voice. I ignored the warning. I knew there was probably nothing I could do, but I couldn’t understand how anyone could sit back and watch while other people were in trouble. They needed help, for goodness sake, and what kind of people could just stand up here and watch! It was mind-boggling. I had to do something. I was on the second rail when someone shouted, “Look! Over there! Look!”
I followed the pointed finger.
“Look,” shouted a girl. “He’s got her. He found her!”
My eyes focused hard on the spot where a person broke the surface. I could see her and then I could make out Wes’ cream sweater. By then, Clay was swimming over to them, but Wes was swimming faster to the dock. We ran along side on the pier. It took us about a minute to run around to where he pulled her to land. He rolled her over and started administering CPR, and I dropped down on my knees to help. He was breathing for her, and I took over with the chest compress
ions. Moans and cries were audible from all directions as people started gathering. Clay pulled himself from the water in exhaustion and dropped to his knees beside us.
“Come on, Lisa,” he was saying. “Come on. Please, come on.”
Wes appeared to be working on her more rigorously, the more Clay pleaded. He was working so quickly, I could barely keep up the compressions. I looked at Wes for instruction, and I noticed he was losing color. He looked awful. “Wes.”
“I’m not stopping. She’ll be fine,” he said, trying to reassure me.
That’s not what I meant. I was worried about him. I kept compressing until my arms got tired. I was about to give up when I felt a jolt under my hands. Her chest jerked upward, and Wes quickly rolled her on her side. Water started coming up from her throat and she began vomiting massive amounts of it. Her vomiting turned to gagging and then to coughing. Clay moved me out of the way to get to her face.
“Lisa, Lisa! Oh Lisa, you’re okay. You’re fine. Lisa, you’re going to be just fine.”
He was relieved. “Thank you,” he said, and I couldn’t tell if he was thanking her, God, or Wes, but I imagined it was all three. I was overwhelmingly relieved for him. Wes and I leaned back on the ground, and then I noticed Wes fall all the way back.
“Wes!” I said, springing over to him.
“Are you okay, man?” someone asked, noticing that something was wrong as well. All Wes did was nod and close his eyes. I felt him, and he was freezing.
“He’s cold,” I shouted. “Someone get his coat! It’s on the pier.” About six people stood there looking at me. “Please!” I shouted. “He’s freezing!” One of the girls turned around and started running to get it. Wes lay back on the ground. His color was fading rapidly.
“Sophie.”
“I’m right here, Wes. I’m right here. You’re cold. Someone’s getting your coat.”
I knew he needed more than a coat, but my mind was too cluttered with worry to think straight. A bystander pushed his way through the growing crowd. “Take off his shirt,” he shouted. I tensed at his rapid approach and hovered over Wes in a protective fashion. “He needs to warm up. You have to take off the wet clothes.”
I didn’t want anyone touching him, but I knew we needed to do something.
I leaned away, and the man quickly started pulling off Wes’ wet sweater. His chest was ice cold and turning blue. I could see the shocked reaction in the faces of the hovering crowd. I wrapped my arms around him in an effort to keep him warm until help arrived. I was shivering profusely, but his weakened body was completely still. Panic started taking over.
“Here! Here’s his coat!” the girl shouted as she returned, nervously throwing both his coat, and mine, on the ground. Someone helped me put his on him, and by that time, we could hear the sirens coming. Wes started to stir.
“Sophie?”
“Yes? I’m here.”
“I need you to take me home.” Looking at me, his eyes were glassier than I had ever seen them before. He put his arms around me and pulled me so close to him that my ear was touching his cold lips. “Please. Sophie, you have to get me out of here. I can’t go to the hospital. I can’t.”
I pulled back so he could see my lips. “Wes, you’ll be okay. The ambulance is coming. They’ll help you.”
He roughly grabbed my face. “No! You don’t understand. I can’t go. Please! Trust me. I’ll be fine, but you have to get me home. Promise me.”
“Wes...”
“Please!” He said it with such urgency that I didn’t know what to do. It seemed my only choice was to get him out of there. I made an effort to stand him up.
“What are you doing?” a man asked.
“He wants to go home.”
“You can’t take him home. He needs medical attention.”
“He’ll be fine. He’s just cold,” I lied.
“Look at him,” someone said.
“He wants to go home, so I’m taking him home. He says he’ll be fine,” I growled.
Wes was able to stand up, and I was glad about that because I felt very certain no one was going to help me get him away from there.
“Are you sure?” asked the group simultaneously.
“Yes, he’s sure. Just get her help,” I ordered, pointing to the girl on the ground.
I walked him to my car with his arm around me and what felt like most of his weight on me. I helped him sit in my Jeep, just as the ambulance was passing. I could feel that his pants were still soaking wet as I lifted his legs in the car. “Are you sure?” I asked him. His eyes were rolling slowly toward the back of his head. I was losing my calm. “Wes? I can’t do this! I don’t know what’s wrong. Please!” I pleaded.
He looked at me again and was able to faintly say, “Just help me get warm. I’ll be fine. Trust me.”
Damn it. Why is this happening to me? I don’t trust anything. What am I doing? I cringed as I shut the door and ran around to my driver’s side door. Once I got in, he drifted in and out of consciousness. “Wes! What do you expect me to do? You need help. I can’t help you. I don’t know what I’m doing.” I could barely put the key in the ignition.
He looked over at me with desperate eyes. “Sophie, I’ll explain everything to you later. I promise. Just please, listen to me. My heart rate is dropping and is about to be so slow you won’t be able to feel it. Trust me when I say, I’ll be fine. I just need to get warm. Just please, don’t let them take me.” That was the last thing he said before passing out.
He looked like death. He was pale and cold. I wanted to drive him straight to the emergency room, and I was angry with myself for hesitating. All I wanted that evening was the truth. Instead, I’d ended up with more lies, a drowning girl, and Wes dying beside me. And now, I was fleeing the scene. What the heck am I thinking?
I angrily glanced over at him, waiting for him to give me further instructions, but there was nothing. I started going over the last things he’d said, and the words “be fine” and “trust me” kept repeating in my head, only I wasn’t convinced on either count. I drove down the road, going below the speed limit, as if jarring him in any way would hurt him. It was silly.
Most people in a state of emergency would be driving crazy and rushing to get somewhere. I, on the other hand, was creeping along. Half of me wanted to head to the hospital and the other half didn’t have a clue where to go.
All of the reasons someone would want to avoid medical attention popped up in my mind. Maybe he didn’t want people to find out who he was. That was it. I decided it was a common theme with him, and then I remembered the lies and discrepancies between who he said he was and who he could actually be. All of a sudden, I felt angry again and glanced over at him with pressed lips. Maybe I should let him die, I thought. No, I couldn’t do that. Crap, crap crap! I wasn’t going to purposely let him die, nor accidentally for that matter. I would have to get him home and at least make sure he was okay.
I pressed on the accelerator once I knew for sure which way I was headed. Then, I cranked up the heat, remembering his assurance that he would be okay if I got him warm. It appeared to be working. As the heat kicked in, he started stirring a bit, but his movements were labored. He covered his eyes with his hands and mumbled something about, “Time, make it stop. No, the time, no, stop it.” He wasn’t making any sense, but he was at least coming back to consciousness a bit, so I turned the heat on higher. After a few minutes, I was scorching hot and had to roll my window down to get some cool air. His brief moment of mumbling ceased as he slipped back into unconsciousness. Consequently, I rolled my window back up and suffered from the heat to make him more comfortable. It didn’t work. He was out cold, and he remained that way the rest of the way home.
When I pulled into his driveway, I cringed at the visual of the long flight of stairs leading up to his front door. There was no way I was getting him up those steps. He was going to have to walk. I turned off the car and went around to his side. I opened the door and leaned in.
&
nbsp; “Wes,” I whispered. There was no response. “Wes!” I said louder, and there was still nothing. I shook his arm trying to wake him, but there was still no movement. Instinctively, I put my hands on his face. His skin was cool, but not nearly as icy as it had been at the pier. He was improving. I turned his face toward me. “Wes? Wes! Please. You have to get up.” He started scrunching up his forehead in disgruntlement, and I knew there was no way he was going up that flight of stairs.
I looked around for other options. My eyes scanned the outside of his house for another entryway, and I zeroed in on the garage. If I could get in there, then it would only be a few steps up into the kitchen, and I was hopeful he could manage that.
I began quickly searching for his keys. The first place I looked was in his coat pockets, and they weren’t there. I then searched the pockets of his pants, which were still completely soaked. The keys were there. I ran up the steps and fumbled my way through the front door, opening the garage from the inside. I went ahead and pulled my Jeep into the garage to shorten the walking distance. My car was the runt of the litter amongst the perfect classics sleeping soundly beneath their cloths, but I didn’t care. Any other day, I wouldn’t have dared pull my dirty Jeep in there, but on that night, I pulled right in.
By the time I made it around to his door, I was out of breath from running the stairs and worrying. It made my patience wear thin quickly. I spoke his name only two more times before grabbing him by his jacket collar and shaking him profusely. “Weston!” I shouted. There was still nothing. I shouted it again, and he flinched away. “Wes! Listen to me. You’re home.” I was shouting and shaking him at the same time, trying to get his attention. “Please! Wes, I need to get you inside. You have to get up!”
He covered his eyes again, as if to block the light, only there was no light to block. I pulled his hands down and shouted, “Get up! Walk with me.” He made a small effort to move his legs, and I capitalized on it by pulling him out of the car. He kept his eyes closed in agony.
I guided him toward the kitchen doorway. He was extremely limp and heavy, but he was walking the best he could. It was taking all of my strength to hold him up. Once in the entryway, he moaned and mumbled again about time, and slowing, and not being able to see me. He was pleading with me not to let him sleep past tomorrow. He was delusional. Ideally, I would have liked to get him to his room, but more stairs were out of the question, so I settled on the living room.
The Pace Page 10