The Girl Next Door

by Selene Castrovilla

  I stared at him. “I thought you meant it like—like always. I mean, we’ve—we’ve always loved … each other.” I was tripping over the words.

  “I didn’t know I needed to formally ask you out,” he snapped. “I thought it was obvious I meant the other kind of love.”

  “I—I—I—” I was real smooth.

  “I kind of got the feeling you were falling in love with me, too. But I guess I was wrong.”

  “Yeah, you were wrong,” I said, shoving myself off the bed. “Because I was in love with you long before we ever had sex.” I couldn’t look at him. I just headed for the door. “Years,” I added, gripping the handle. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, wiping tears from my eyes. I’d never admitted that before, even to myself.

  God, love is draining.

  So now I had what I’d never dared think of. Why did I feel so damn heartbroken?

  ***

  I ran out of Jesse’s apartment, through the Emerald City. There’s no place like home… . I didn’t have my key, and I leaned on the bell, letting it ring and ring as my tears rained on to our welcome mat.

  Mom swung the door open. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  I fell into her arms, sobbing. “Is it Jesse?” she asked, hugging me tightly.

  I couldn’t give a clear answer. The words came out garbled.

  “Sam? Is Jesse okay?”

  I nodded yes, pressing into her shoulder. I felt her cheek against the top of my hair.

  “Did you have a fight?”

  I nodded yes again; I coughed, choking on tears.

  “Come lie down. Your brother’s sleeping over at his friend Ben’s apartment, thank goodness. I think he’s seen enough, don’t you?”

  She led me down the hall and into my room. My bed creaked as I climbed on to it, and again when Mom lay next to me. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “He said—he said—” I blubbered out tears and the words were bogged in saliva. “He said he loves me.”

  “And?”

  “That’s it. He’s in love with me.” I grabbed a patchwork pillow and clutched it against me, tracing the stitching with my hands.

  “And this upsets you?”

  A sob burst from my throat. “Yeah. I don’t know why, but it’s like …” My voice quavered. “It’s like the saddest thing ever.”

  “I don’t understand, baby.” She stroked my hair.

  “I—I don’t either. It’s just that I loved him for sooo long… .” I stopped to take a deep breath. “And now, when he’s so sick, now he loves me back?”

  “Maybe he loved you all along, too. Maybe he just didn’t know it.” She kissed my forehead. “You guys are so young.”

  “But I knew.”

  “When it comes to love, sweetheart, guys are generally years behind girls.”

  “S—S—Sam …” Jesse’s faint voice startled us. He was leaning in the door frame, clutching it for support and gasping for breath.

  Mom and I rushed over and got him. We each took an arm and guided him to the bed. It creaked again as we helped him lie on the quilt. He was wheezing like an asthmatic, and his heart was doing laps.

  “Jesse, should we call 911?” Mom asked.

  He just kept gasping and coughing.

  God, what did I do to him?

  “Jesse,” Mom repeated. She grabbed his face and held it. “Look at me. Should I call an ambulance?”

  He shook his head no. “Maria—,” he managed before another coughing fit.

  “You need Maria?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Oxy—”

  “He wants his oxygen mask,” I said. I started to go get it, but his hand shot up and grabbed my wrist.

  “St—stay,” he said.

  “I’ll go,” Mom said. There were tears in her eyes now as she sprinted out.

  Jesse pulled at my wrist. He wanted me to sit next to him. My butt caused more creaking. “S—sorry,” he panted. “S—stupid me …” His chest heaved up and down, up and down, up and down.

  I started to cry again. I knew I should have controlled myself, I knew I should have been helping him, but it was all too much.

  “I—” He pushed out the word slowly, like a dying old man. “I—I—” He choked hard, and I pulled him up, afraid he couldn’t breathe lying down. Then he fell against me, still making horrible sounds.

  “Jesus Chris’! Whatsamatta?” Maria bellowed as she burst in, carrying the portable oxygen tank and mask. Mom was right behind her, completely pale.

  I tried to get up and out of the way, but Jess clung to me like a life raft in the sea.

  Maria slipped the mask over his nose and mouth, pulling the elastic behind his ears. She gave him a gentle push. “Lie back, Jesse. Lie back an’ breathe slow, okay?”

  He held on to me and I sank on to the bed with him. He was still making choking noises. “Clos’ you eyes and relax, Jesse. Breathe deeep. Be calm,” Maria said. His chest was still heaving and he squeezed into my arms, trembling.

  “Jess, please. Please listen to Maria,” I begged.

  His fingers dug into my flesh. He tried to speak and couldn’t with the mask on. But his eyes were pleading.

  “I’m not going to leave, Jess. I’ll stay here all night with you. Just please, calm down.”

  “Jesse,” Maria said again, “jus’ relax and breathe. Put everythin’ outta your head, unless you wanna go ta da hospital. I’m gonna call 911 in a minute if you no betta.”

  His eyes closed, his breathing slowed; he was coughing and wheezing less and less. Finally, thank God, he was just breathing. He turned a little and opened his eyes, looking at me with this incredible love. A serenity flowed through me, and I felt completely calm.

  Maybe I’d read one too many of Mom’s novels.

  Jesse’s eyes flickered, then shut. “Good, he’s restin’ now,” Maria said to my mom.

  They were beside us, watching, both with deep worry on their faces. Then they got blurry; I shifted, burrowing myself comfortably against Jesse, and my eyelids dropped shut.

  I felt my mom kiss my cheek somewhere in the distance as I fell asleep. “Love you, baby.”

  I wanted to tell her I loved her, too; but I was already miles away.

  With Jesse.

  Chapter Twelve

  I woke up in the dark, my mouth tasting like sandpaper. My head lay against Jesse’s chest and his heart thumped, loud—in normal time, thank God. I felt his face: the mask was off. Maria must have taken it away after I fell asleep. He was in a deep sleep now. I smoothed my hand over his T-shirt, down his stomach.

  God, I loved him. I pecked his forehead and got out of bed.

  I’d fallen asleep in my sneakers. I kicked them off, felt the plush area rug under my feet. Opening my door slowly, I slipped out sideways, trying not to let too much light into the room, and blinked, adjusting my eyes.

  Voices were coming from my living room. I went into the bathroom and drank a glass of water. Then I crept down the bare-wood hallway and pressed myself against the wall between the doorway and the gold-framed painting of tulips.

  Gwen was hammering my mom. “You didn’t even call me. And Maria didn’t contact me until an hour after it happened!”

  “Sorry. We were more concerned about Jesse’s welfare than with prying your lips from your martini glass.”

  “How dare you! My son had some sort of panic attack and you didn’t think it important enough … ?”

  “Listen, Gwen. Maria and I stood watch by Jesse for an hour after he fell asleep to make sure he was okay. That’s why it took so long for her to call you. And I’ll tell you something else: if my child had terminal cancer, I wouldn’t need to be called if there was an emergency. I’d already be there.”

  “So you think you know what it’s like … ?”

  “No, I don’t know what it’s like, Gwen. But do you know that Sam cuts school to go with Jesse to his treatments?”

  “I’m not surprised. She’s become more and more uncontro
llable.”

  “She doesn’t want him to go through it by himself. Tell me, why is it that his own mother sends him off with a car service, instead of going with him?”

  “Don’t you judge me!”

  Mom’s voice toned down a smidge, but it was still firm. “I don’t judge people. But you asked why I didn’t call you. You leave your dying son alone, to face his demons daily, so you can soak your liver in alcohol. Who’d expect you’d ever come running?”

  There was a long silence. Then Gwen spoke. “He doesn’t want me there.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He doesn’t want me with him at the treatments. That’s why I don’t go.”

  “He’s told you this?”

  “No, no. It’s just … he’s so sarcastic when he speaks to me. He’s got this coldness in his voice.” Gwen’s voice was so low, it was barely audible. “He hates me.”

  “He doesn’t hate you, Gwen. He’s afraid, that’s all. Terror makes people behave badly. He hates what’s happening to him, not you. When your husband walked out, you were scared, weren’t you? Jesse felt like you didn’t care about him because of your behavior, but you did care, didn’t you?”

  “I loved—I love him so much.” I remembered that day, when Gwen said she cared about Jess as she was headed for the door, and how he hadn’t heard her. Why hadn’t I told him? God, I’d been so wrapped up in my own drama, I’d forgotten to tell him. So selfish, so self-absorbed.

  “You can still tell him, Gwen,” Mom said. “It’s not too late. I don’t think it’s ever too late. I tell my husband I love him all the time.”

  Huh. Suddenly I wondered if I was the only one having visions of my dad. But I didn’t get a chance to think much about that because Gwen asked the questions I’d been dreading: “What was he doing here anyway? What brought this all on?”

  Don’t tell her, don’t tell her, I begged silently.

  “The kids had a fight; Sam ran out and he came after her. He probably tried to move too fast—and he was upset.” My mother cannot tell a lie.

  Gwen sighed. “All right; I’ve had enough. I’m sending your daughter packing.”

  No!

  “No, Gwen, you’re not.” Mom’s voice wasn’t nasty, but it was firm. It left no room for argument.

  Mom went on, “You should thank God Jesse has Sam, and that he’s had her all these years. I know you’ve had your issues, and I know you love him. But the sad thing is, I doubt he knows it. Don’t you think he deserves to have someone with him he’s sure cares?”

  Gwen made a choking sound; I couldn’t make out what it meant, if she was trying to say something, or what.

  “Are you all right?” Mom asked her. “You’re very flushed.”

  “I’m fine—I just feel a little dizzy.”

  “Do you want some water?”

  Uh-oh. I got ready to run.

  “No. I—” She let out a long sigh. “I just don’t know how everything went so wrong.”

  Mom didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, really. People usually know exactly where things went wrong. It’s just easier to pretend that they don’t.

  “May I see Jesse, please?” Gwen’s voice was quiet again, and really sad.

  “Of course.”

  I rushed back to my room and climbed in next to Jesse, shutting my eyes.

  I heard Mom and Gwen walk in. “May I sit by him?”

  “Sure. I’ll get the chair for you.”

  Gwen’s body moved in next to Jesse. Her breath sounded heavy.

  “I’ll leave you alone,” Mom said.

  This was creepy, in the dark with Gwen, and Jesse asleep.

  She made a strange noise, a sucking-in kind of sound. Then sharp, staggered gulps. Is Gwen crying?

  I had to peek.

  The door was cracked open, allowing a beam of light in. It was enough to see the tears—and something else: Gwen was holding Jesse’s hand.

  ***

  I woke to lips pressing all over my face. “Forgive me, Sam,” Jess said, between kisses.

  Forgive him? I nearly killed him yesterday.

  “It was my fault. I sent you into convulsions.”

  He stroked my hair. “Are we okay now?”

  I nodded. “Are you okay?”

  “I feel tired, that’s all. And I had this crazy dream that my mom was holding my hand. Talk about a long shot.”

  “That wasn’t a dream.”

  “What?”

  “It wasn’t a dream. Gwen was holding your hand. She was crying, too.”

  “What?” he asked again.

  “Shocking, I know. And there’s more.” I told him what I’d heard last night, and what I’d heard Gwen say months ago when she was leaving his room.

  “Wow,” he said. He tilted away from me and sniffed. I turned his head back toward me and faced the tears. We’d never really talked about his mom’s behavior, in all this time.

  “It wasn’t you, Jess. It was her. She sees it, now—that she was wrong.” He tried to look past me, toward my desk, but I grabbed his face again; I was going to be there for him whether he liked it or not.

  And he didn’t like it. “Sam, just leave me alone for a while, okay?”

  “You mean that?”

  He hesitated. “It isn’t right, you picking up my pieces all the time. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”

  “Macho idiot,” I said. I leaned against him. “You glued me back together two and a half years ago, remember? So let me have my turn.”

  “Fine,” he croaked as his tears erupted, saturating my shirt. “If you insist.”

  ***

  There was a rap at my bedroom door. “Come in,” I called. Jess was lying against me, red-eyed, sniffling a little.

  The door opened and Mom stuck her face in. “How are you guys doing?”

  “We’re okay,” I said.

  She stepped in all the way and looked at Jess. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a stuffy voice. “Mrs. Everfield, I’m really sorry about the trouble I caused you last night.” He looked away.

  Mom came closer. “Number one, Jesse: how many years do I have to tell you to call me Ellen? Number two, there’s no reason to apologize. Nothing you can ever do will cause me trouble. I’m just glad you’re feeling better.” She smiled. “I made breakfast. Do you want it in the dining room, or in here?”

  “I’ll get up,” Jesse said. “Got to do it sometime, right?” He looked around the room, and then settled his eyes on Mom. “Although I wouldn’t mind sticking around here for a while.”

  “You can always use this as your oasis, Jesse.” She gave him a kiss, and then me. “You too, Sam.”

  Ha ha, Mom.

  “Just a warning, though. Teddy’s home, and he’s in a real bouncy mood.”

  “That’s cool. Maybe he can pass some bounce my way,” Jesse said.

  “Well, breakfast—and Teddy—are ready whenever you are.” Mom smiled again and left.

  “Jess, you go ahead. I want to get changed.”

  Jesse laughed. “You kidding me? We sleep together. You can’t get dressed in front of me?”

  “My mom’s outside. I don’t feel right changing with you in here.”

  “Yeah, okay. I didn’t think about that.” He lurched out of my bed with a groan. “I’ll see you in a few.”

  I pawed through my drawers, looking for God knows what, because my spring wardrobe was simple—jeans, sweats, and T-shirts, pretty interchangeable. But my mind wasn’t focusing on the clothes. It was more like I was digging through my life, trying to find something to salvage, something to hold on to. I couldn’t lose the feeling that I was a paper doll, just like Mom and me used to make, and someone was ripping, shredding me into pieces.

  Without taking anything out, I shoved the drawer shut so hard that the stupid knickknacks cluttering the top of the dresser shook. These were what I was left with, useless tokens: the purple ceramic kitten, the porcelain eggs, the shell c
ollection. The angel figurines with their mocking faces. I’d thought they were so important when I’d put them all there. Now I hated them all.

  I swept them all to the floor. Since my area rug didn’t reach to the dresser, everything fell on to hard wood. It felt damn good hearing all that crashing. Then I fell on to my knees, right on top of the rubble. On top of the broken ceramic kitty and the pulverized porcelain eggs, and the fractured shells and everything else. The pieces ground into my sweats, stabbing into my knees. And it felt good. It felt good to have destroyed those ridiculous trinkets.

  “Sam, Sam.” Jesse’s arms were around me from behind, and I didn’t even know how they got there. His head brushed the side of my hair. “Sweetheart, get up.”

  But I couldn’t. I was too busy sifting my fingers through the grainy, glorious ruins.

  “Baby?” Mom called from the doorway. I didn’t answer. “Jesse, what’s wrong with her?”

  “Mommy, Mommy, let me through. I want to see what made all that noise,” Teddy whined.

  I wouldn’t look away from my thrilling, gritty mess.

  “Just keep Teddy out of here,” Jesse said. “I’ll take care of her.”

  “Jesse—” Mom’s voice shook. Why couldn’t I care? All that mattered was examining the shards, making sure every single thing had been smashed.

  “I’ve got her, Ellen,” he said softly; he had such a sweet voice. But I couldn’t think about anything except my work. Had to make sure I got everything… .

  “Lemme see! Lemme see!” my brother said, right before the door closed.

  “Sam, we have to get up now,” Jesse said into my ear.

  I didn’t say anything; I just kept shifting broken shards through my fingers and pressing my knees into the debris, mashing it more.

  Jesse picked up a purple ear. “Why’d you do this? I gave you this kitten on your tenth birthday. Remember? And the glass tulip…” He pinched a red shimmering sliver between his fingers. “Your dad brought this back from Holland that time.”

  It was true. Everything on that dresser came from my dad or Jesse. It was like I’d created a shrine to them or something. I didn’t remember separating out their gifts and souvenirs, but I had. Even the shells. I’d found them with my dad along the beach on Long Island. The harvest of years of summer collecting… .