Carry the Ocean

by Heidi Cullinan

  There wasn’t much to say to that, so I said nothing and continued to study him. He was handsome. Dark brown hair cut close to his head, a smart goatee—though I could see the rough spots under his chin where he hadn’t been shaved properly. He would have to be shaved too, since his hands clearly didn’t work well enough for him to do it himself. He wore a bright green shirt with yellow and white geometrics across the front, and a pair of jeans. I wanted to stare at his still torso and legs, mesmerized by how little he moved. His legs were smaller than seemed right too—atrophy. I didn’t get around much, but I did enough movement to build basic muscle. The only way his muscles moved was if someone moved them for him.

  When I glanced up at his face, he was watching me. I blushed, ready to stammer an apology for ogling him, but he spoke before I could.

  “Are you seriously dating Train Man?”

  I wasn’t expecting that question, and I glanced around awkwardly. “Yes. I’m dating Emmet.” My face heated as I got ready for him to make fun of me, and panic encroached as I realized I couldn’t leave if he got insulting.

  “Like—dating him. You’re not playing along? You’re straight-up boyfriends?”

  He didn’t sound as if he were making fun, more earnestly asking a question, but I still felt uneasy. “Yes.”

  “How did that happen?” He turned his chair so it faced me more fully. “I mean—I thought they were all no-touchy and isolated.”

  They being autistic people. I began to understand why Emmet hated him so much. I didn’t know what to say, so I looked away and hoped he’d give up.

  No such luck, though he did ease up a little. “Sorry. That was crass.” He stared off into the playground. “I’m asking because it’s what I want back the most. Being able to date somebody. I’d figured I was out of the scene, now that I’m glued to this chair and live in the Special Snowflake House. But you’re dating someone. For real. Not a game. That’s what I’m asking about. How you got it. What it’s like. If you don’t mind talking about it.”

  I leaned against the tree, hunching my shoulders as I put my hands in my shorts pockets. “We met at a picnic earlier this year. He introduced himself to me. We hung out, and…” I averted my gaze to the ground, thinking of the right turn my summer had taken.

  “What are you in for again?” David’s voice was light, but not teasing. “You seem so normal.”

  “I’m so far from normal I can’t see it anymore.” I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye, so I stared at the handle of his chair. “I have major depressive disorder.” I thought of what Dr. North had said and added, my lips pursed, “And clinical anxiety.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  I grimaced. “I was in the hospital until a few weeks ago because I tried to kill myself.”

  “Oh. Okay. Yeah. That’s bad.” He got uncharacteristically quiet, and when I dared to glance at his face, all his bravado had fallen. He couldn’t meet me in the eye now. “That’s the thing about being a C4 quad. You need an assistant for suicide.”

  His confession hung in the air a few seconds, and I remembered what Emmet had overheard the day David moved in. “Do you still wish you could? Kill yourself?” Then it hit me how that sounded and added, “I’m not offering or anything. Just wondering.”

  His shoulders rose clumsily—that was a shrug. “Sometimes. I’m not as serious about it as I used to be. I used to lie awake in my bed trying to figure out how I could get it done. The realization I couldn’t made me more suicidal.” He jerked his head at the building. “That’s when Dad started The Roosevelt. I told him I didn’t want it, but my therapist pointed out I’m so busy being angry at him now for spending all his money on this that I don’t wish myself dead anymore. So I guess it’s good for something.”

  “I’m glad your dad set up The Roosevelt. Otherwise I’d be living in a group home.”

  He frowned. “But why? Depressives don’t have to live in a clinical setting, right?” When I glanced away, feeling awkward again, he continued. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be a jerk.”

  “I’m embarrassed I’m such a mess.”

  David snorted. “Somebody has to reach into my rectum with a finger and pull out my turds every night after dinner. I’m pretty sure anything you have to confess isn’t any grosser than that.”

  I blinked at him, and I’m embarrassed to say my mouth fell open. I thought for sure he had to be kidding, but he wasn’t. Holy crap.

  Pardon the pun.

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “So. You were telling me about why you have to live here or in a group home.”

  “I get anxious and panicky, and I’m easily overwhelmed. I have a difficult time keeping things put away, and sometimes thinking about what to make for dinner exhausts me. Emmet kind of handles all that. I mean, I cook with him, but he decides what we’re eating. He asks me, but mostly I agree with whatever he says.” I rubbed my toe in the dirt in front of me. “I can’t live at home. My parents think I should get over it, but I can’t. They make me worse. I love living here, but I can’t keep a job. I’ve filled out Social Security paperwork, but I need to work too. For money, but also because it’s not good to sit there watching TV all day until Emmet gets home from school. I can’t even shelve books at the library, though.”

  “Why not? What happens?”

  I shrugged, the shock of his poop story wearing off, leaving me feeling like a freak again. “In public places I panic. Not all places, not all the time, but it’s always a danger. I didn’t use to be this bad, but I keep getting worse. Dr. North says it’s okay, that this is how I’m finding safe spaces or something, but I feel like a big loser. Everybody else has a job.”

  “Hello. I have to have a babysitter to sit under a fucking tree. You think I have a job?”

  “No, but people don’t expect you to. Everyone thinks I’m normal. They can’t see the mess in my head, so they get annoyed I don’t behave the way regular people do. You at least have the chair to make them leave you alone.”

  “Huh.” He tipped his head to the side, looking thoughtful. “I’ll be damned. So I feel normal but look like a mess, and you look normal and feel like a mess. We need to get together more often, dude.” He straightened his head, and his eyes went wide. “Hold it. Hold it. That’s it. That’s totally it.” He rolled closer, his expression excited and intense. “You should work for me.”

  “Work for you?” I thought about the turd removal and got nervous. “What…would I do?”

  “All kinds of shit. Open doors for me. Help me do my hair in a way that doesn’t make me look dorky. Feed me my lunch without treating me like a baby. Hang out with me in the shade. Anything. Everything.”

  It sounded simple, wonderful even, but I was sure there had to be a catch. “I’m not a nurse or an aide. I barely got through high school.”

  “I don’t want you to be a nurse. A companion or whatever. Someone to help me get to class, if I ever get the guts to go back to college.”

  How did agreeing to sit with him outside for a few minutes turn into this? “You want to pay me to hang out with you?”

  He made another clumsy shrug. “Not like that, no. But hanging out with me is work.” He grinned. “Come on. Say you’ll do it. I don’t have to ask my dad. I know he’ll go for it.”

  I wanted to. It surprised me, but it was true. And since I wanted it so much, I tried to tear it down. “I’ll screw it up. I screw everything up.”

  “You won’t.”

  “You don’t know me enough to know that.”

  “You’re right. But, dude, I want to try. You have no idea how crazy I get, sitting inside this head by myself. I’m a rolling sob story to most people. Not to you, though. I don’t care if you melt down every few feet or can’t figure out what you want for dinner. You’ve treated me more like a man than anybody has in a long time. I’d pay you to sit and talk to me.”


  I felt warm, and hopeful—and nervous. “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll talk to my dad. He’ll convince you.”

  The back door to The Roosevelt opened, and a short, round, smiling woman came down the ramp toward us. “There you are. David, are you ready to go have dinner?”

  Missy did talk to him as if he were an infant. I think it was probably how she’d talk to anybody she was taking care of, not something personal to David, but I understood how frustrating that would be, to have everyone treat you that way all day long. I still wasn’t sure I’d be right for the job he was talking about, but I wished I could be.

  David ignored his nurse, still looking at me expectantly.

  “I’ll think about it,” I told him, and he grinned.

  David ended up calling his dad then and there, and when Bob heard the idea, he came right over.

  “So we’d hire you as an informal aide?” Bob’s eyes had the same intensity as David’s. “Kind of a modern-day companion. He’d still need a professional nurse’s aide for day-to-day care, but you could help him with simpler things, ordering and eating lunch, getting on a bus.”

  I balked at that. “I get anxious in public. I’m not sure how well that would work. I wouldn’t be any good if something really bad went wrong.”

  Bob waved this objection away. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll find some things work and some don’t. But if you were with him on a bus and something went south, you could call me or his mom, or an ambulance. From what I understand, David wants you to help be his hands and legs. We wouldn’t want to put you in a situation that triggered your own issues, but from where I sit, there’s a lot of room between those and what David’s looking for.” He beamed. “This is a great idea. I’m one hundred percent on board if you decide to do it, Jeremey.”

  David huffed. “I’ll convince him.”

  I drifted to my apartment in a giddy haze. I’d told them I’d think about it and get back to them, but I wanted to do it. I would do it. I’d try, at least.

  I was nervous but excited too. I felt good about myself, and I loved the idea of getting up to go hang out with David as my job instead of moping around feeling useless and worthless. When Emmet came home, I still felt good, and as I looked at him, handsome and familiar and smiling at me, all the good feelings swirled like a tornado, and I went soft inside, wanting him.

  This was what I’d been missing. A sense of purpose, an idea that I wasn’t a waste of space. Normally I’d try to tear down all my own potential, but every time I tried, I saw David staring at me with so much yearning and hope, wanting, needing me to help him. To help him not feel like a waste of space, either.

  I could do this, I thought. I really could do this. The thought made me feel as if I could fly.

  Emmet’s gaze didn’t meet mine, but he smiled. “You’re happy. That’s good. You usually aren’t happy.”

  “I am.” I wasn’t just happy. I was giddy, bouncy.

  Horny.

  Feeling brave, I gave the sign for sex.

  He paused, still holding the strap of his backpack. His gaze moved closer to me. “Right now? I haven’t had a snack yet.”

  Once upon a time that comment would have made me self-conscious, but this wasn’t a rejection from Emmet, only him processing a potential alteration in his schedule. Smiling, I made the sign again.

  I grinned wider as he put down his backpack and took me by the hand, leading me toward his bedroom as he said, “We’ll have a snack after.”

  The sex was better than usual too. I was electrically charged even before Emmet told me to get undressed, but when he kissed me and rubbed our bodies together, I felt like I was full of bubbling orange soda. I came quicker than usual, then lay there vibrating until he’d come as well. As he cleaned me up with a warm wet wipe, I smiled sleepily at him as he touched me.

  “I have something to tell you.” I needed to touch him. Catching his hand carefully, I drew it to my mouth and kissed the tips of his fingers. “I think I might have a job.”

  “That’s good. Let me clean up and put my shorts on, and you can tell me about it.”

  I waited, watching as he wiped himself off and climbed into a pair of boxers. When he’d finished, he lay beside me and took me into his arms. We were less clumsy now because we knew how to move together.

  “Tell me about your job,” he said.

  I knew he didn’t like David, but I told myself he’d understand. I’d work him in slowly, talking about the abstract and not the specific. “It happened by accident. But I’m going to be helping a resident here, maybe. With things that are no big deal to you and me, but everything to him. It’d be more than Sally having to find something for me to do to keep me busy. It would be real work. Taking him out into the community and everything. I think I’m going to tell them in the morning that I’ll do it, after I think on it tonight.”

  Emmet squeezed my hand. “That’s good news. Who would you be helping?”

  My belly flipped over with nerves, but I told myself this one time I’d believe for once everything could be okay. “That’s the craziest part, actually. It’s David.”

  Wouldn’t you know it. The one time I don’t panic and think everything will fall down around me before I have a chance to try, this time it turns out everything wasn’t okay.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Emmet

  I sat up in bed, pressing a hand over my chest. My breath came fast, and so did my anger. Everything swirled in dark colors inside me. Jeremey asked me what was wrong, and I couldn’t use words. I couldn’t even sign.

  I got out of the bed and stood in the center of the room. I wanted to flap and scream and yell, but I couldn’t do anything.

  Jeremey was working for David. David, my enemy.

  It hurt so much I couldn’t breathe.

  Jeremey climbed out of bed and stood beside me. He wasn’t wearing any clothes. “Don’t be angry,” he kept saying, worrying his hands in that way I always thought of as Jeremey-flapping. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry with me for working for David.”

  I was angry. I was furious. I wanted to shout so much it made my ears ache. “You can’t work for him. He’s a jerk.”

  “David’s not a jerk, not really. He’s super nice. He’s lonely, and he’s scared, and he needs friends.” Jeremey moved to stand in front of me. He looked ready to cry.

  I didn’t want to make Jeremey cry, but he couldn’t work for David. “I don’t want to be his friend.”

  Jeremey stopped fussing with his hands and wrapped his arms around his belly. “It’s the perfect job for me. I’ll help him get on the bus, brush his teeth, eat, get dressed—”

  “You can’t see David naked!”

  My shout made Jeremey startle and hunch his shoulders. I thought he’d say okay, I won’t work for him, which is what I wanted. But that’s not what Jeremey did. “David’s not gay. Also, he can’t move most of his body. And I’m your boyfriend. This isn’t about seeing him naked. It’s about helping. I like helping him.”

  My head hurt. My heart hurt. I wanted to yell, to hit, but I couldn’t. I felt so confused and frustrated. I didn’t want to hurt or upset Jeremey, but I was so angry I also did want to hurt him. I needed to leave. That would upset him too, but less than me yelling or hitting. Except I couldn’t be in the apartment. I didn’t want to be anywhere Jeremey was right now.

  I went into my room and put on clothes. My Dalek shirt and black shorts and black shoes. Jeremey didn’t follow me into the room, but he talked to me through the door, begging me to listen. I couldn’t listen, and I couldn’t stay in the apartment, not if he was going to try to talk to me when I was this upset.

  I picked up my keys and my backpack, and I left.

  He called after me, but I didn’t answer, and he couldn’t follow me, since he was still naked. My heart raced, and I thought I might have a panic
attack. I didn’t know what to do, where to go. I stood on the front steps, trying to decide if I should go onto the playground equipment or to my parents’ house, and that’s when Sally found me.

  “Hey.” Sally stood in front of me but slightly off to the side so she wasn’t blocking my way. “What’s up, Emmet? Are you heading out somewhere?”

  I put my hand over my left ear.

  She kept smiling, and she didn’t leave. When she spoke again, her voice sounded like a teacher’s. “That’s fine. We don’t have to talk. But I can tell you’re upset, even without your Dalek shirt, and it’s my job to make sure you’re okay. Here are your choices: I can take you somewhere safe to be until you’re not upset. I can call your mom or dad. Or you can tell me where you want to be, and I can sit with you. But if you choose that option, you have to let me check in with Tammy first so she knows she has the place to herself.”

  I didn’t care for any of her options. I wanted to break things. I wanted to yell.

  The door behind me opened. “Emmet—Emmet, please.” Jeremey appeared in front of me, his face twisted up with loud hurt and anger. “This is a good thing for me. You’ve seen how impossible it’s been for me to keep a job. Please, I need to do this.”

  Sally put her hand on Jeremey’s shoulder and spoke quietly. I didn’t listen to what she said, focusing on how she knew how to touch him, how her touch was magic. Not like me, who had to think how to do it for five minutes and talk myself into being okay doing it.

  At least David couldn’t touch Jeremey.

  I did my best to calm myself. A whistle told me a train was approaching, and I went to the edge of the stoop to watch the cars go by. Three engines, thirty corn syrup cars, twenty boxcars. No one interrupted me while I counted, and when the train passed, I felt better.

  But only a little.

  I turned to Sally. I could see Jeremey beside her, his eyes red, his breathing coming fast. I was giving him a panic attack, which made me sad, but I couldn’t stop being angry.