Love Rewards The Brave
Page 9
Terry’s been asking me some variation
of the same
question
for the past forty minutes
and I wonder what she thinks is going to
happen?
If she asks me one more time I just
might give her what she wants:
Truth.
“Louisa, I know you weren’t exactly happy when I gave them to you, do you want to talk about why?” she asks.
Again.
“Stop it. Okay? Just stop asking me. Okay?”
I speak louder than I have in..
Ever?
“You want to know how I felt when you gave them to me? I felt scared. Scared that you might have read them. Scared of where they’ve been hiding for two years.”
I’m screaming now,
the voice no longer mine.
It’s another girl.
A girl who is temporarily
speaking on my behalf
because I know I would never be
strong enough to
talk about the
aftermath
of getting those old books.
“I was scared of what I would remember. Scared that the pages will make the monster that is my dad come back to life and haunt in ways I can’t handle. Scared that the words would swallow me whole.”
The girl disappears
as quickly as she came
and I am left
gasping for
breath
with a shocked
counselor
looking like she’s
never seen me
before.
86.
I walk out of the office
pretty quickly after the
bodily takeover
alien encounter
case of the body snatchers
that just happened.
I walk straight past Ms. Francine
and leave through
the front door.
It takes her a while to catch up
probably a debrief with Terry
over what went
Wrong?
Right?
Was there a fight?
Ms. F comes to the car
drives us slowly to
a diner
not far from our house.
I’ve never been to this place.
“Sometimes we just need a change of pace,” Ms. F says.
As if
she was reading
my mind.
We order.
For me:
Fries.
Burger.
Shake.
She says, “I’ll have the same.”
I look at her a little
freakishly.
What’s going on here?
First the takeover
that happened with
Terry,
now Ms. F is forgoing a
green salad
opting instead
for a greasy sandwich.
“What?” she asks. “Sometimes you just need to let go, you know, let loose.”
“I get it.” I say, registering her metaphor.
Rolling my eyes for
some reason I can’t quite
place
because
Ms. F isn’t being showy
or bossy
or I told you so.
It’s more like:
I know.
“So you decided to give Terry what she had coming?”
I look at her like
I don’t know what she
means.
Back to my old routine
pretend like you don’t know
then you won’t have to show
something
real.
“Just so you know, Louisa, I was wondering the same thing about where your journals came from, after all this time. I emailed Terry about it over the weekend, but I didn’t want to be the one to talk to you about it. It seemed like it was something between the two of you. I’m proud of you for talking to her.”
This idea of me
working things out with Terry
would have worked better
if I’d stayed
around and
found
out the answers.
“Do you want to talk about it now?” she asks.
The waitress
sets down the food.
I pick up a fry
breaking it in half.
I feel
divided
undecided
on which direction I want to go.
Do I say yes to her
and get shit out
or do I continue to live
in a make-believe world
riddled with doubt?
Why is this a hard question?
87.
“I want to talk about it, but it,” I say, then pause. “It’s really hard.”
I speak as
calmly as I can.
Wanting her to understand
that I can’t do this
on my own.
“Why don’t I help you then? Terry told me the journals have been sitting in a storage office in the police department for two years. Apparently someone went through the space last week and came across several bins, marked with your name, of things an apartment manager had taken there when you and Benji were first placed in custody.”
I stare down my strawberry shake
wanting her to take a break
before I decide whether
or not
I can look at her.
“Most of the stuff was old clothing, although there was an old blanket that had Benji stitched on it, so that was returned to him. Your caseworker was given the box of your journals, who then gave it to Terry. I don’t know if she read any of them, though.”
I breathe out.
It’s not as
scary
as I was anticipating
nearly hyperventilating.
“Why does it bother you if Terry read your books?”
I look at her.
Ms. F- a woman in her thirties
probably has a better place to be
then sitting in a booth with me.
Yet
Here
She
Is.
“I guess. Um. If she read them, she might, you know, see me?”
“And you don’t want to be seen?”
“Of course not.”
“Why, Louisa?”
She doesn’t like
my cryptic
way of attempting to
avoid
all those kinds of contact
I hate.
I close my eyes.
“People could leave me if they really see me. Like Jess. Or You.”
“Margot read some. She didn’t run away from you.”
Why am I doing this?
Why am I answering these questions?
The ones Terry has been asking
for two years?
“It doesn’t make it any easier, though, Ms. Francine. I’ve been undone in a thousand ways. I’m not going to be whole again in a day.”
“Do you think you can ever be whole again?” she asks.
“I hope so,” I admit.
I open my eyes.
Allowing
her
to
make
contact.
88.
“So let me get this straight, she actually offered you a job?”
I look at Jess, sitting so close
to Markus you could start a fire
and I don’t think a match will be
required.
“Yeah. I start this weekend. You know with the holidays and all.”
I try and sound casual,
like this is a normal thing
not a dream gig
for a high school kid.
Markus whistles.
“Man, you’re so lu
cky. My parents keep bitching at me to get a job. But all the jobs at the mall suck. But to work at 6-Spot Records? Killer.”
I smile.
Liking how it feels
when someone is
impressed with me
the place I’m going to be
working.
“So, you’re basically going be too busy for me all of Christmas break?” Jess pouts.
But I doubt
her sincerity.
“I think you’ll be fine without me.”
I stand up and throw my trash away
look back at them and say:
“You’ve got each other.”
And for the first time
in a long, long
time
I’m okay to be doing
something
new
because I know I won’t be
alone.
89.
I feel
like a fish out of water
or however the saying goes
when you’re
the only person who
has a question.
And the asking is terrifying
but not asking
is worse because then you’re going to
be stuck looking stupid
when you pretend you know
what the hell you are doing.
Not to mention the music blares at
a million decimals (is that what it’s called?)
the entire shift where I’m
“In Training”
obliterating
whatever it is I am
supposed to be doing.
Margot comes over to me
always saying something nice
like, “Isn’t Toby the best?”
Toby’s my supervisor,
the one teaching me what button to push
and what shelf to stock
and where to take out the trash
what door to lock.
My head spins.
And not just at the influx of information
but also the assimilation to
the fact that everyone around me
looks album cover cool.
Toby?
God. He’s a cross between
Hipster-everything
and I-don’t-care-about-anything
and eyes so fucking blue
they will sear into your memory.
I sit down to take my first break of the day.
Finally a chance to let myself cool
down in the afternoon lull.
Ms. F packed me a granola bar and an apple.
I’m thinking more like Snickers and Snapple.
Margot comes into the back room
fast
goes right past
Toby
and comes to me.
“Louisa, there’s been an emergency. You need to get your things, Francine will be here in a minute for you.”
Her eyes scan mine.
I turn away
my instincts run strong
deep down and long.
“Louisa, can I help you get your coat? Did you bring anything else?”
I guess I’m frozen in place
and looking like a nut case
because Toby is helping Margot put my coat over my shoulders
and I am still trying to find words that are stuck in
my throat.
I grab for Margot when I feel a word
lodged between thought and sound
lost and found.
“Benji?”
She nods her head.
My heart drops.
90.
The hospital is just like it seems
in TV shows.
A recreated safety zone.
I always find myself
in the gray,
but here it’s all white
and big bright lights.
I like the idea of that,
all that white.
But white is scary, all I’ve ever known is
cloudy and muddled
dark storm brewing nights.
I know nothing about clear sky days.
Snow started dumping on our drive
over.
All white on the road
and wouldn’t you know, snow’s what Ms. F
fears the most.
She said so as her hands clenched the
steering wheel,
snowflake knuckles.
“Over here, Miss.”
The nurse ushers me into a room
the social worker guy here, too.
And my
Benji
Boy.
I’m dizzy, need the wall to stand.
The bright white snow is falling
lights in the hospital
room are glowing
I can’t see much
I suddenly feel blindfolded.
Black.
Black is the color of his eyes
and that is with them closed,
but I know what’s hidden behind
without
him even opening them
up.
His wrists are wrapped in more white.
Nice and tight
looks like the bandages gave a fair fight.
I’m scared of what I might
hear
if I ask questions
about why he’s
here.
91.
On the way over Ms. Francine tried
to prepare, make me aware
of what had happened.
The details still unclear.
But one thing was certain
blood dripped where it shouldn’t have been
the ambulance running
the moment someone found him
still.
But still
breathing.
And now he’s sleeping.
Strapped down for safety (his own).
I want to wake him up and yell in his face
I know our lives have been
shitty and fucked up
but what is he thinking?
He is trying to leave
me
too.
All I want is us to go back
to the room we occupied so many years ago
sleeping under the
moonlight
after we gave up our fight.
Back then
we were at least in it
together.
We promised we would be
forever.
But now Benji’s is trying hard to go
alone.
I sit in a chair,
not knowing what to say
to the social worker guy who clearly
wants to
“talk about it.”
I ignore
his looks in my direction
I’m not looking for a
connection.
Right now I need to focus my eyes
my thoughts and
my
no longer
half-assed prayers
up to the great beyond
so that Benji
will wake up
Whole.
92.
“Benji?” I whisper.
I’ve been sitting ready
steady, feeling heavy
on this still same chair
scared to go anywhere.
Watching the clock tick-tock
wanting him to wake so we could talk
it out.
I’m not wanting to shout
I just want to know where he went
what it meant
for us.
“Lou-Lou?”
He looks at me and I see that boy again.
The one I was scared I’d lost forever
the one I promised to be beside whatever
the weather.
For better or worse.
I know those kind of promises can be hard to ke
ep
I know that most people wouldn’t expect it,
but
Benji and me?
We’re not most people.
“Benji, you scared me. So much. I can’t lose you.”
I choke out the words
hoping they’ll
reach
him somewhere
inside.
But I can tell he wants to hide
because he turns
his face from me.
I take his hand.
The hand I want to hang onto
thinking if it is wrapped in mine
then he’ll never
find
a way to leave.
“Why did you try to go?” I ask.
Trying to keep my blurry
heart from getting caught up
in my eyes.
He doesn’t answer.
“That might be enough for today, Louisa, Benji needs to rest. He’s had quite a day and they are going to be discharging him from the ER soon.”
I look over at the social worker guy
wondering when he got here?
Wondering if he never left?
I swear the world had emptied for a minute there
as I confessed
my fears.
“Where will he go?” I ask.
“Somewhere where he’ll be safe. I’m sorry, Louisa, I’m not permitted to tell you more, until we have the plans worked out. You won’t be apart of the decision because you’re not his guardian.”
Maybe not his guardian,
but the only one who can
Guard Him.
“Fine. I just need to hear him say something, anything, before I can go.” I try again, “Benji, I love you. We are going to be okay, okay?”