“I never stopped being your friend! You got weirder and weirder and shut me out of your life!” he yelled at me, really loud at the top of his lungs. It completely startled me and I took a closer look at him. He was pale, and shaking, with two red blotches high on his cheeks. That’s what he looked like when he was really super angry, always had been since we’d known each other. Like from birth. I all of the sudden realized that his mom must not have told him anything about my problem. Was that possible? She hadn't blabbed? I know that she knows, her and my mom are thick as thieves. But she kept it from Jesse; why?
There he was, this kid that use to be my best friend, just standing there in the middle of my room breathing hard and glaring at me, one hand gripping my notebook and the other curled into a fist at his side. He looked like he wanted to deck me. I took a deep breath and stepped closer to him, looking up at his angry face. And then I did something really stupid. I said, “You want to know, Jesse? You really want to know why I am this way?”
He didn’t say anything for a long time but that pissed off look started to drain off and was unfortunately replaced with something closer to determination. “I have been waiting for so long for you to let me in, Eva.” Shit.
Dammit! I gotta go, my mom is calling me down for dinner. I’ll write down the rest later.
October 18, 2013
There’s been another “drowning” in my notebook. Here it is.
October 20, 2013
I have been so depressed lately. I can barely drag myself out of bed. But I was thinking I’d better finish writing what happened when Jesse was at my house the other day. Before I was so rudely interrupted by my mother's lasagna.
After we stared at each other for a while, it occurred to me how freaking tall he was so I turned and sat cross legged on my bed, hugging my pillow to my stomach and curling over it like a giant prawn. He came and sat down next to me, kinda perched on the edge of my bed, and we didn’t say anything for a long time. I finally grabbed my notebook from his hand, and opened it to the front page, and handed it back to him. "Read from the beginning, every page, in order."
I watched him thoroughly inspect the pages, his brows all furrowed up in concentration. It was so cute, really; he still has that line that goes down through the center of his eyebrows when he’s concentrating super hard. He reads really fast too; I watched his eyes scan back and forth through the words and pages with incredible speed. I mean, it's not the same as this electronic journal, it's all drawings and words from whoever uses me to channel their stuff, but it's still a whole notebook full of stuff.
In much less time than it would have taken me, he was done. He closed my notebook and laid it gently on the bed next to him, and then he just stared down at his clasped hands, his head kind of hanging down. That stupid part of my brain started whispering things like, now he knows what a freak you are and he’ll never speak to you again, so I of course had to say something. Did I mention that I read a lot? I know that what I did next is called a preemptive strike.
“Now that you know, you don’t have to worry about me trying to be friends with you. I won’t interfere in your perfect life.”
"How long, Eva? How long have you been writing these things?"
"Hey genius, I don't write them. It's called spirit writing, ok? There's something wrong with me, where someone or something, some DEAD thing, can just use my hands and brain to write or draw whatever they want!" I'm practically shouting at this point and his astonished look is sort of worth it. "And there isn't SHIT I can do about it! It's like a trance. You get it? I have no idea it's happened until I sort of wake back up and there it is. And it's happened to me my entire life! Not that you would know anything about my life the past several years, right?"
I wasn’t really prepared for what happened next; I guess I was expecting him to just leave. But instead he turned to me and, faster than I’ve ever seen a human move, he grabbed my pillow, flung it away and wrapped his arms around me, dragging me onto his lap and holding me really tight. Naturally, I struggled to get away because I’m a complete idiot. After all, it wasn’t as though my childhood friend turned complete hunk was hugging me, or anything. Eva Dunbar…genius.
But he didn’t let me go. He just waited; hanging on with those iron arms, until I wore myself out which wasn’t long. Clearly, I don’t spend as much time in the gym as he does. But then the worst thing happened. I finally lay there all limp and exhausted in his arms, and he pulled me closer, and whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You shouldn’t have had to go through all this by yourself.”
Cue Eva, the Queen of the Waterworks. I swear it was the most embarrassing thing. I’m just sitting there crying like a freaking baby, getting his (probably) expensive shirt all wet with my tears and snot. And then I got mad. Because when I cry, I get mad. How dare he feel sorry for me? How dare he make me cry? I was handling all this shit just fine without his help! And he was the one who stopped coming over! He left me! So I got really pissed and pushed him away. I stood over him, looking at his shocked face, and yelled and screamed at him about how he had abandoned me so how could I tell him, and I didn’t need him to save and protect me, and a bunch of other really mean things I’m ashamed of and can’t write down. Basically, I threw some books at him and ran him out of my house. I might have even told him that I didn't like him. I thought he was an asshole, and he should go crawling back to that slut, whore, Natasha, who obviously thinks the sun shines out of his ass, or something like that. God, I wished I were dead right now. I wish that a lot.
Jesse
Jesse was elated when the English teacher paired him up with Eva on the Learning Teams for MacBeth. The two other team members were buddies of his, so he quickly outlined a plan for the team. "Me and Eva will take the first ten questions. You guys can take the last ten, and then give them all to me and I'll put them together, with Eva's help." Everyone nodded except Eva. "Is that ok, Ev?" "Fine," she mumbled. Jesse frowned. Not exactly the cheery response he'd hoped for but he'd take it. At least she said something to him. God, how he missed her.
He decided to go over to her house a few days after the assignment had been given, to go over their parts and maybe study together; any excuse to be near her, really. He wanted nothing more than to find excuses to touch her soft skin, give her a hug and feel her fragile bones under his arms and protect them with his strength, or to smell the coconut shampoo scent of her rich, dark hair. Anything.
He drove his Jeep over to her house, and the route from his house to her house felt like deja vu. He'd gone there so many times, back and forth from house to house, but not for the last few years. He noticed weeds where there hadn't been before, and new cracks in the sidewalks they used run and ride their bikes on. He felt kind of sad seeing all that decay where once they'd played, happily.
He parked in her driveway, noticing both her parents weren't home. She answered the door wearing a hoodie sweatshirt and a pair of pajama pants, her hair pulled up in a messy bun, looking downright adorable.
He followed her up her stairs to her room, making some lame comment about the paint. He felt so tongue-tied around her now that he had her to himself, away from school and other people. He had no idea what to say. She started picking up her room when they got there, seeming embarrassed by the mess. She'd always been messy though, maybe she thought he'd forgotten? He tried to help her out, but just made it worse by grabbing a pile of clothes with her bra under it; a very lacy bra, a very pink, skimpy, lacy bra. He might never wash that hand again, he thought.
He finally found some common ground, though, when he spied her notebook on the bed. As a kid, she'd always carried one of these around but when he asked her about it, she said she was just drawing doodles and writing notes in them. He never thought much of it. Girls were different like that, right? Sometimes she'd draw him, playing with the soccer ball or standing on his head, and then show him so he always figured that's what it was. But when he grabbed the one on her bed, she went after him and his na
tural reaction was to hold it over his head where she couldn't reach it. And it was worth the angry look in her eyes because her action threw her entire body up against his. His whole side tingled where she was pressed up against him, her breast squished against his ribcage and her soft hip pushed into his leg. She was so soft in so many places, and yet he could feel how fragile she was under all that softness. He was sorry when she pushed away from him, like he'd suddenly caught on fire and she was burned or something.
He tried to distract himself, and his body, by flipping through the pages of her notebook. He slowed down, though, as he actually looked closer at what was in there. Page after page of little stick figures with XX's for eyes, ropes around their necks, or knives sticking out of them. The last few pages had one that had writing on it, where the word "drowning" was scratched in with wobbly handwriting. It wasn't like Eva's normally bubbly handwriting; he knew, because he watched her write in class. Her regular writing was more rounded. He was instantly suspicious. Did she have a boyfriend with a learning disorder that he didn't know about?
His questioning of the notebook contents did not go well, probably because he was trying to hide how suspicious he was. She got pretty mad at him and threatened to have herself switched off their learning team and accused him of abandoning their friendship. Jesse lost his temper.
“I never stopped being your friend! You got weirder and weirder and shut me out of your life!” he shouted at her. He immediately regretted yelling, since it hurt his throat and did nothing to remove that wounded animal look from her eyes. Plus, it wasn't entirely true. The shame of his lie burned his throat with a taste as bitter as bile.
He didn't know how long he could take the silence, until she finally cracked and showed him what she had been hiding from him for all those years. At first, Jesse couldn't believe his eyes. He thought maybe Eva was really mentally disturbed and he nearly excused himself to call his mother and explain how Eva needed help right away. His mom was a nurse, and she'd always helped Eva's parents when she was sick. But then he noticed that the notebook had different types of writing. And some of the pictures were more sophisticated than the others. It was as if different hands had written and drawn these things in the notebooks. He wondered if it could be multiple personality disorder? She claimed the spirits of dead people were using her hands to write these things. She was so earnest, Jesse almost believed her.
He gathered her close to him, just to hold her and let her know she wasn't alone anymore. Eva always hated crying, so he should have known better but God, he didn't know what else to do. He still had all these feelings for her, and they were more intense than ever now that he was in her presence again. But Jesus, she was crazy, wasn't she? She had to be, there was no such thing as ghosts or spirits or spirit writing in Jesse's philosophy.
But there was also no such thing as a world without Eva. Although she had gotten so pissed off at him, he was sure she would never want to see him again. She threw a couple of the books she was reading at his head, and he dodged them easily as he made his way down the stairs, two at a time. He decided to give her a little time. Maybe her story would change if he were patient with her. Then he could get her some help. He felt sorry for the girl who had been his friend, all those years ago.
Eva
October 24, 2013
I feel sick about what I did. None of this was Jesse’s fault. I don’t know why he stopped coming over but the spirit-writing thing had nothing to do with him. I guess it scares me sometimes, no matter how much I say it doesn’t, and I have no one who understands to talk to about it. I took all that out on him and now, when I see him in the hallway at school, I look down really quick and run the other way. I should apologize to him but I’m too much of a coward. I feel like I’m going to puke just writing about it. I just hope he forgets what he read in my notebook and forgets about me completely. That would be the best thing for us both, even though that makes my chest hurt, and I have trouble breathing just thinking about it. I guess that’s why I’m so depressed. Also it’s almost Halloween, and things are always worse around then. I go for days feeling like my skin is crawling and that something is watching me. And there’s always new words or drawings in my book, like I spend more time outside myself than in. I’m dreading it.
School has been relentless, to top off my utterly stupid temper tantrum that drove away the most amazing guy on earth. The teachers are giving us more homework than ever, I haven't even started on my English crap, and people keep messing with my locker. Yesterday, someone wrote "FREAK" on it in black magic marker and even the janitor had a hard time getting it off. I finally had to talk to the principal, Mr. Herron, about it and now they let me carry every single book I have in a ginormous backpack to all my classes. Maybe I'll get some muscles, since I'm not getting any curves.
October 30, 2013
It is so cold here; endless white
Drives madly about my feet.
A swirling blizzard; snowy
And unforgiving.
It is so dark here; seething black
Surrounds cruelly around my neck.
A suffocating madness; void
And unforgiving.
It is so lonely here; expanding grey
Whirls crazily inside my head.
A dizzying vertigo; cloudy
And unforgiving.
It is so empty here; surrounding clear
Follows hungrily around my heart.
A cloying storm; transparent
And unforgiving.
It is so lost here; despairing colors
Clutch eagerly at my soul.
A hopeless wind; damaged
And unforgiving.
October 31, 2013
November 1, 2013
November 2, 2013
November 4, 2013
I’ve been in this bed for over a week. I’m never getting out of it. I feel cold all over. No blankets can make me warm ever again. I wish I were dead.
November 8, 2013
Mom made me eat soup. It was so hot. I’m so cold. I’ve been shivering for days and days. I heard my dad’s voice say I should go to the hospital but my mom said it was just a virus, nothing but a virus. Virus. Virus, virus, virus.
November 16, 2013
Tell me how.
November 18, 2013
That was the worst I’ve ever felt. Right now I’m sitting up in my bed, for the first time in days. It’s never been this bad before. Usually there is a lot more spirit writing in my notebook but this time I was really sick. I’m used to being kind of depressed most of the time. I think that’s from being a teenage girl, and oh yes, also a freak. I dunno. But this time I really wanted to kill myself. I got so cold and felt as though I’d never be warm again. There was only four spirit-writing sessions too. I wonder if it was because I was ill. Maybe they can’t get through when I’m delirious? A more chilling thought happened when I saw what I'd drawn though. What if I spent more time out of my body, than in it? I've spent most of today scanning the notebook pages into this journal. I don't remember writing much of those posts, but in a normal "hey, I'm sick" kind of way instead of a creepy way. I tried to just put the notebook pictures in where I think they fit best; there were no dates on them in the notebook. Random randomness is thy name, ha-ha.
November 19, 2013
OMG. Jesse just left my house. I have to write down what happened before I forget every amazing second.
So, my mom comes upstairs and checks my forehead and I’m all cranky from being in sweat pants and under blankets for like two weeks. Thank god I took a shower yesterday; after that drawing I can never take a bath again, so thanks for that, who or whatever you are. But the shower felt good on my aching muscles, though it took about an hour to comb out my ratty hair. Anyway, so Mom is checking me out to see if I’m still alive and then she goes, “Do you feel up to company, honey?” and I’m at DEFCON 5 immediately because: a) no one ever comes to see me, and b) she’s being all nicey-nice since I was sick. I know tha
t she knows damn good and well what happened aside from the actual virus. But what can either of us do about it? So we pretend as usual that I was only just “sick” and not possessed or whatever happened. Still the over solicitous thing is sort of bizarre. We don’t do that in our family. Everyone does pretty much their own thing; like a bunch of roommates or something.
I must have looked pretty suspicious because she says, “Jesse Williams is here to see you,” and I freaked the hell out.
“Mom! No, don’t let him in here,” I basically hissed at her. But it was too late. I saw him coming up the stairs like some glorious Greek god, holding flowers of all things. Mom just smiled at me and patted him on the shoulder as she left. The traitor!
There he was, coming up the stairs with this massive bouquet of stargazer lilies, which are my favorite flowers, and a heart-breaking smile. I’m so rude, I just go, “What are you doing here?” hoping he’ll go away. But leave the flowers.
He laid the flowers down gently on my desk, powdering my papers all gold with flower dust, which is beautiful and makes my eyes tear up for some reason. He comes over and sits on the edge of my bed, again, just like last time and I’m sort of panicking inside because the last time he came near me things went horribly wrong and I was terrible to him. Just thinking about that made me feel so bad, I blurted out, “Jesse, I’m really sorry about all that crap I said to you when you were here before.” There. That felt good. "But I'm really sick and you should probably go before you catch my cooties or something."
He just smiled at me. His eyes searched my face for something…he must not have found it because his smile faded and he leaned a little closer. His breath was so minty and delicious smelling that it made me a little dizzy. And before I knew it, he was kissing me. His lips were soft, but sort of demanding, which I liked. I closed my eyes, and put my arms around his neck, just like in the movies. His hand reached forward and crept up the back of my head, burying his fingers in my thankfully untangled hair and pulling me closer. He touched my lips with his. Soon we were exploring with tongues and lips until I broke the kiss, gasping for breath. How romantic. I can see the epitaph on my tombstone now: Eva died from her first kiss due to sinus congestion.
Dead in the Water Page 2