The Girl Next Door

by Selene Castrovilla

  He pulled it off and threw it to the floor. Bald or not, he was damn good-looking. “You’re beautiful, Jess,” I told him. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Samantha.”

  We kissed, probing. It felt weird, but in a good way. I’d never even done it before, but I’d read up on it in my mom’s books. I grabbed a condom I’d put on the nightstand. I’d bought three at the corner store the week before—they have them in bins next to the lollipops at the counter—three for four dollars. The wrapper crinkled in my hands as I fumbled, ripping it open. And there it was in my palm—a flimsy elastic disc.

  He studied me with his big, gorgeous eyes. “Sam, are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  ***

  It was over pretty fast. The red numbers on his clock said 2:12 a.m. Wow, was he grateful. He kept kissing me, and babbling that it was better than he’d ever dreamed it could be. He was happy for the first time since he found out he had cancer. I felt glad for him, but I didn’t really enjoy it. It hurt—like something scraped through me—a chisel, maybe.

  He smiled and kissed me for like the ten billionth time. “Hey, did you like it?”

  I wanted to lie, but I couldn’t; I gave him this vague nod. He knew.

  “Sam, I’m sorry… .”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.”

  “This was for you, not me.”

  “It was your first time, too. I ruined it.” He looked crushed.

  “There’s plenty of time for me to learn how,” I said. It was the wrong thing to say; he just stared at the trophies on the wall.

  “Jess, I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant—Jess, look at me.” I grabbed his face and turned it toward me. Now my hot tears fell. “I wanted to do this for you, not me. I wasn’t even thinking about me.”

  He wiped my tears. “Great, now you’re crying. I’m something, aren’t I? A real selfish prick.”

  “No, you’re not… .” I tried to stop crying, but I couldn’t.

  “C’mere.”

  “Why?”

  “Just c’mere.”

  I sniffed and swiped at my face. “What?”

  He started touching me. “I should have done this before. I wasn’t thinking straight. You woke me up and shocked me and all.”

  “Forget it. You don’t have to—”

  “Will you quit talking and enjoy yourself?”

  “I—I—” Suddenly I couldn’t form a sentence; words didn’t matter. Prickly warmth erupted inside, and I was experiencing things I never would have believed.

  I felt my crocus blossoming.

  ***

  “How was that?” he asked.

  I still couldn’t speak. My head was spinning; I felt like I was floating. “Good,” I finally managed.

  His hand was on my thigh, warm and loving. “Listen,” he said, squeezing a little. “You got another condom?”

  Chapter Seven

  We made love whenever he could. He was a different person in bed—happy. And I was happy, too. I just made sure to go back into my bed afterward. One mess-up and Gwen would throw me out.

  Maria knew. She cornered me in the kitchen after school one day. I was making ham sandwiches for Jess and me.

  “Sammy.” She touched my arm as I shredded lettuce.

  “Yeah?” I kept cutting.

  “Jesse, hees in betta mood lately.”

  “Yeah?” I sliced up a tomato.

  “And you … you have dis glow… .”

  I looked up. “A glow? I don’t think so.” I went back to my project, rolling up slices of ham and placing them on the bread.

  Her hand gripped my shoulder. “Sammy, I jus’ wan’ you ta be careful.”

  I closed the sandwiches up. “Careful?”

  “Sammy, hee’s dyin’… .”

  I whipped around sharply, looking her in the face. “Dying? He’s dying? Why do you say that? How can you say that?” The words poured out, burning hot. “Don’t you believe in your spells and chanting anymore? Can’t the spirits save Jess—” As suddenly as I’d begun my rant, I stopped. I could barely get Jess’s name out—it was like I’d choked on it.

  “Sammy.” Maria had both hands on my shoulders now. “Sammy, we all doin’ what we can, but you gotta face da facts.”

  “The facts can go to hell,” I said, so maturely. “With all that doctors can do, why can’t they save him? Why can’t someone save him?” It wasn’t like my dad, gone without warning. Jess was here, he was still here, he had a chance… .

  “I don’ know, Sammy… . They tryin’, we all tryin’ our best for him. But what about you?” We stayed like that for a long minute. I felt her stare, but I kept my focus on the sandwiches waiting for me on the counter. Jess was waiting for me, too. I just wanted to go back and be with him. Was that so much to ask?

  She let go of my shoulders. “You gotta protect youself. You gettin’ deeper—too deep.”

  Still looking away, I picked up my plates. “I’ll be okay.” I brushed against her apron as I left.

  “I hope so, Sammy,” I heard behind me. “I hope so.”

  ***

  Jesse threw up the sandwich. “I’m sorry,” he said between heaves. “I liked … bluuh … it. Really … bluuh …”

  I didn’t care about the sandwich and I told him so. He rinsed out his mouth, then pulled himself up, lurching painfully into the bathroom to gargle.

  Poor Jess, back on his chemo cycle. Just when he was getting used to not barfing.

  I got rid of the barf pot in the kitchen. Then I came back and curled up next to him.

  “Feel better?” I rubbed his back.

  “Kind of … yeah, mostly. Just a little queasy.” He stiffened. “Hey, you better get off. What if Mom—”

  “She was meeting her friends for drinks after shopping. They’re a bunch of alchies; she won’t be home for hours.” I smoothed his shirt, caressing him.

  “We shouldn’t take the chance.”

  My hands went lower, and under the shirt. I slid them around his stomach to the front.

  “Sam, cut it out.”

  “Why? I want to make you feel better.” To soothe him, even in some small way.

  “You’re turning into a sex addict. And we can’t do anything until after eleven, Sam. You know that.”

  “Okay, okay.” I moved to his back again. I wasn’t a sex addict; it wasn’t the sex I craved. It was the normalcy; when we were having sex, we were like everyone else. For just that little while, neither of us was dying.

  “You’ve become so … aggressive,” he said.

  “You don’t like that?” I lifted my hands.

  “I do … I do.”

  I went back to massaging. What he saw as aggressive, I saw as making the best of each moment. But I didn’t say it out loud; I didn’t want to waste any time talking about it. So I just kept pressing into his back to make him feel better—and to touch him. Just to touch him, and not think, and be normal.

  He said, “It’s just—you’re different.”

  “We weren’t having sex before. Now we’re both different.” I kissed his head. “At least I got you to stop wearing that hat.”

  He turned around, groaning loudly. “I hope we did the right thing.”

  I stared into his eyes. What does he mean? Does he regret sleeping with me? Am I not good enough? Does he wish he was with Cindy? All these ugly questions swirled inside, but part of me knew enough to keep them bottled up. It knew not to give them a voice. Because what would happen if I did?

  Jess took my hand, squeezed it.

  He cares … doesn’t he? Not that I had any right to expect him to care. Sex was sex. I’d crawled into his bed, not vice versa. I’d done him a favor; but he owed me nothing in return. If I cared about him—God it hurt to even think this—if I cared about him more than I should, it was my own damn problem.

  Maybe Jess didn’t mean anything bad at all; maybe he was worried about me, like Maria.

  Why doe
s that thought bother me, too? All I wanted to do was quit thinking.

  Jess was still holding my hand. It was so confusing—part of me wanted him to stop, and part of me wanted him to never let go. Like that was even possible.

  I told him, “We did the only thing we could do.”

  ***

  “You ever think about your dad?” Jess asked me in the dark. It was midnight, but I wasn’t sleeping; not even close.

  “Of course,” I said. “Every day.” More than thinking of him, I’d see him. Hints of him, as brief as one inhaled breath. In the hallway, when the elevator doors opened, I’d catch a glimpse of his overcoat. Sunday mornings at the breakfast table, I’d see his hands holding the ends of The New York Times open wide. When I walked by Mom’s room, I’d see his form under the covers on his side of the bed. Just for a moment, I’d see a piece of him; then he was gone.

  “You don’t talk about him.” His voice was incredibly low.

  “I guess I didn’t think you wanted to hear it.” Was it a ghost, or was it my mind? I had no way of knowing, and what did it matter anyway? Either way, I couldn’t have him back.

  “Hear what?”

  “How much I miss him.” I hated it. I hated seeing him for split seconds, then losing him again, over and over. How can I tell Jess that?

  Jess sucked in air and let it out slowly. “There’s where you’re wrong; not only do I want to know, but I need to know.”

  “Why?” What possible good would it do him to know how tortured I was? I did my best not to think about it myself—to shove my father’s haunting of me into a hidden corner of my mind.

  “’Cause what scares me the most about dying … more than being gone—” He took a breath. When he spoke again, his voice shook. “The worst thing is to be forgotten. Like I wasn’t even here.”

  That snapped me out of my Hamlet-like thoughts; I sat up and turned on the light. “Jesse, I haven’t forgotten my dad, and I’m not going to forget you.”

  “Maybe not in the beginning, but one day.” He avoided my gaze, staring at the ceiling. “One day you’ll have a family, and my pictures’ll be packed up in a cardboard box in your attic, next to the Christmas decorations.”

  My eyes went to the snapshot on the bedside table: Jess and his friends at senior movie night. And me, too. Always with them—Samantha, the junior tagalong.

  “That won’t happen,” I said, staring at the faces from the past. Innocent faces. Unaffected, unaware of what would come.

  “You don’t know—you can’t promise that,” he said.

  Pete on one side of Jess, me on the other. No Miss Perfect Cindy Evans to annoy me, because she and Jess were in breakup mode. Our biggest problem was Pete and me getting on each other’s nerves, each jealous of the other’s closeness with Jess. So stupid and trivial, except who knew that at the time? Jagged cracks ran through our faces, mine and Pete’s, like punishment; slaps for being so petty. Jess at the photo’s center, his big smile unobliterated despite the crack running through it.

  I looked over at Jess now. The broken Jess, fractured like the plastic frame. Stripped of his smile.

  I answered him. “Yes, I can, and I do. You mean everything to me, Jess. Everything. No matter what, I’ll always remember that.”

  He looked at me, a frightened little boy, vulnerable and alone. I blinked back the tears. I needed to be strong, for him. I kicked back my covers, got up, and climbed into his bed, reaching for him. He was shaking.

  “I want to believe you,” he said. “So much, I want to believe you.”

  I pressed into him with all my strength. “You can.”

  ***

  We lay like that for a while, not speaking. Then I told him about my dad. “It bothers me that I can never see his face,” I said.

  “How long has this been happening?”

  “I don’t know … not that long. A couple of months, I guess.”

  “Wow, I can’t believe you never said anything before.”

  “I was afraid you’d think I was crazy.” Plus, there’s the death thing I don’t want to bring up.

  “I don’t think you’re crazy,” Jess said, giving me a squeeze. “I think you’re sad.”

  “Well, yeah.” What is there to be happy about?

  “What about you?” I asked him. “You think about your dad?”

  “Dick?” Jess’s voice turned angry. “Gee, what’s there to think about a guy who likes to be called ‘Dick’?”

  “He’s your father.”

  “Yeah, like Darth Vader is Luke Skywalker’s: in sperm only.” He gave a sharp laugh. “Hey, at least Darth was a good guy, once.” He raised his eyebrows. “You think ‘the dark side’

  made Dick like he is?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, be serious.” It was a hard subject for Jesse; that’s why he made it a joke. “I still say you should call him.”

  “Yeah. That’d be a great conversation. ‘Hey, Dad. Just wanted to let you know I’m dying, in case you care. Sorry I couldn’t do it a little younger and save you some support checks.’ Just terrific.”

  “Whatever.”

  Jesse took in a deep breath, then released it. I rose and fell with his chest. “Sam, he walked out on me and my mom. You don’t get what that’s like; you had a dad who loved you.”

  “You don’t know that he doesn’t love you.”

  “I don’t want or need the kind of love that makes leaving and never looking back okay,” he said. “He broke my mom’s heart.”

  I hadn’t thought of it like that; that must’ve sucked for Gwen. And even if she wasn’t the greatest mom, at least she’d been there for Jess—as much as she was capable of.

  “You’re right,” I told him. His father was a jerk, but what could be done about that? Nothing. Sometimes, the only answer was nothing. The hard thing was to find peace with that.

  Only Jess could know if he’d done that, so I had to let it go.

  Meanwhile, what I’d really wanted to bring up—what I couldn’t bring myself to ask all night—was rising to the surface.

  “Jess?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Maria told me Dr. Raab suggested some experimental treatments to you.”

  His body stiffened. “So?”

  “She said you refused them.”

  “So?” He’d tightened up even more, so much so that I felt uncomfortable and even unwelcome lying on him.

  I didn’t move, though. Nor did I sway from the topic. “Why’d you do that?”

  He didn’t speak for a while.

  I waited.

  Finally he said, “I don’t feel like being a guinea pig, some lab rat. I’m starting the radiation again—the return of lobster boy. That’s enough.”

  It wasn’t enough. “If the doctor thinks they’re a good idea—”

  He waved his free arm, all disgusted. “Ahhhggg … probably just more money for him. I’m sick of being a pin cushion for no reason.” He gave me an angry peck and pulled away from me. “I’m tired. You’d better go back in your bed.”

  This is what sunk my heart, more than anything. That he was just going to lie down and die.

  Chapter Eight

  June already. Prom night for Midland Prep at Tavern on the Green—for everyone except Jesse.

  He could have gone. Everyone in school missed him. His friends called, especially Pete, but he still wouldn’t talk to them. He always said no to visits. It might have been embarrassment, partly. I’m sure he didn’t want his pals to see him bald and unable to walk much. But it was more the other thing: he didn’t want to be reminded of what he’d lost.

  And I couldn’t let the night just go by. So two days before the prom, after school, I went shopping. Friday afternoon I made some preparations. And then I showed him my surprise.

  “What’s this?” he asked, his voice stone cold.

  “What does it look like? It’s a tux.”

  He slammed his hands on the bar, gripping hard. “You know I’m not going to the prom!”
r />   “No, I know. I’m taking you out—just us.”

  “I don’t want to go anywhere, Sam.”

  I’d expected some resistance. “Hey, I worked hard on this.”

  “I don’t want to sit in some restaurant—”

  “No restaurant.”

  “Or club—”

  “No club.”

  “Or any place packed with people—”

  “No people.”

  His eyebrows raised. “No people?”

  I came over and rested my hand over his tight, white knuckles. “Just us.”

  His grip relaxed. “Where can we go in New York City where it’ll be just us?”

  I gave his hand a final squeeze and headed for the door. “Put your tux on. I’m going home to get ready.”

  “Sam—”

  “Trust me, okay? I’m going to show you a good time.”

  He looked doubtful. “I guess you can try.”

  **

  “Oh, Samantha!” Mom put her hand to her mouth. “You look beautiful.”

  I felt ridiculous. I never even put on lipstick, and here I was in pink satin and taffeta, rhinestone belt and earrings, and pearl necklace. Full prom throttle. “Can you help me do my hair?”

  “You know how long I’ve waited for you to ask?”

  “Sam!” Teddy yanked on my hemline. “Sam!” He pointed to my pink pumps. “Can I borrow those shoes sometime?”

  “Sure, Teddy.”

  Mom and I went into her room, and I sat in front of the mirror. She brushed my hair out. “Baby?”

  “Yeah?” I was fascinated by my made-up face—the reflection of a stranger.

  “I thought Jesse didn’t want to go to his prom.”

  “We’re not going to the prom.”

  “Then where are you going?”

  “I’m taking him somewhere else.”

  “Where?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Don’t worry about it?” Her voice had a sudden sharp edge. She swiveled my chair around. “You’re my seventeen-year-old daughter. You sleep in a boy’s room every night. And I’m not supposed to ask any questions?”

  “It’s not just any boy. It’s Jesse.” God, that wall was back.

  “You’re sleeping with him.”

  “Mom!” I couldn’t take the stare.