Learning Not to Drown

by Anna Shinoda

  have something to say. “I’m not Luke, Mom. You don’t

  have to worry about me like you worry about him. I’m going to make my own decisions. And I hope most of

  the time they’ll be good ones.” Like apple-green paint.

  “So just treat me like Clare. Like we don’t have Luke in

  the middle all the time.”

  She looks from me to her ornaments, and for a

  moment I think I’ve said something that has reached

  her. But she responds, “I always know what’s best, Clare.

  I always know what’s best.”

  I throw up my hands. “Fine. I tried.”

  Dad’s now blocking the entrance to the hall. I push

  past him and throw my room door open. I’m greeted

  by my window beautifully framing the apple tree. Tiny

  leaves are sprouting from each branch, white blossoms

  beginning to emerge.

  It’s spring. A pang of guilt hits me. There are four blankets that wasted a winter under my bed instead of being with a child. I decide I’m not going to dwell on the guilt. Peggy won’t care. She’ll be happy to see me,

  and they’ll always have use for the blankets.

  An excited jitter runs through my body as I pull the

  box out. I love knitting the blankets. I love delivering

  them even more. In fact, the only thing that will make it

  better is sharing it with a friend. I text Drea, and in ten

  minutes she’s in my car.

  As Drea watches me hand the blankets to Peggy, I

  realize how weird and ridiculous it was to keep this part

  of my life a secret from everyone. I can’t explain why I

  did that, why it felt so right at the time. All I know is,

  now I’m seeing everything with clarity.

  Chapter 54

  Making Peace

  NOW

  That night, on my bed, relaxed, I watch the fish in the tank swimming slowly, in and out of the log, under and above the castle. It’s all very peaceful in my apple-green room.

  I open the letter again, read through slowly. Luke wants someone to support him, love him, believe in him.

  But what do I want?

  Let me try to analyze this, like I am analyzing a branch of government or a famous piece of literature.

  What do I want?

  I want the lake, without the swamp, without the poisonous snakes, without the thin ice. I want peace.

  I pull down my wooden box, open it to see all the letters, and the photos, and my locket. Add the new letter to the box and leave the house for the third time today.

  Around the lake, I walk by moonlight to the deepest part, steps before the swamp. Standing with my bare toes curled around the edge of the cement rim, I put the box out far, far in front of me.

  “Good-bye,” I say, sticking to my decision, unclamping my fingers from the sides, releasing the box for my treasures, every memory of Luke, good and bad. Releasing it. Watching it sink slowly down until it disappears. I imagine it hitting the bottom, the swampy silt swallowing it.

  It is a good decision. I am sad but relieved. My memories of Luke will rest here, in the lake that can’t help but have equally good and bad sides to it.

  When I turn around, Skeleton is behind me, watching with big empty eyes. He tips his hat at me, gives a nod of approval. But he still doesn’t leave.

  Chapter 55

  Mom’s Family Skeleton

  NOW

  Spring break. My senior year. There are one million things I’d rather be doing, but Granny needs help, and offered to pay me for my work, which is fantastic, since I still haven’t been able to get a job in town. The farm has sold, leaving Granny thirty days to sort everything she owns, take a few things with her, give the rest to family, donate anything left to charity.

  The farmhouse is empty now. We’ve been working all week. My suitcase is upstairs, waiting for me to pick it up, so I can fly back home.

  I stand at the foot of the staircase, looking up, watching the splintered bowing wood, the nails pulling up on either side. I stand watching nothing. Nothing stands on the stairs. Nothing strolls or thumps or squeaks. There is only me, me and my tightened chest, my sweaty feet, my hairs on my neck slowly rising, one by one.

  I look up these stairs, knowing I have never seen a ghost, never watched doors open and close on their own, or lights flicker on and off without a finger on the switch.

  Here I am, eighteen years old, a senior in high school, an adult, and I am hair-raising scared because I can’t explain or understand my body’s physical and emotional clues: get ready to fight or run. Something is askew.

  Is it possible, I wonder, for a house to retain the memory of something bad that has happened there? Is it possible for skeletons, still locked in closets, to cause my body to react like this to these stairs?

  Here on the steps it feels like broken windows, like bloody trails leading through the living room, like a metal utensil sticking out of a human limb.

  It feels like, if I were to guess, something terrible might have happened to my mother on these steps, in this house. An extra chill runs along my spine as visions of my grandfather swirl around me. He’s angry drunk, violent. And he is on these stairs.

  Mom’s family skeleton peeks out of the upstairs hall linen closet, only its skull and bony fingertips. The vision of Papa slips away.

  I’ll never know what happened to Mom. What makes her protect Luke, even after he did awful things. What makes her mood change like someone has hit a switch. What makes her feel the need to keep her ornaments perfect. Because Mom will never tell whatever happened to her when she was growing up that causes her to need so much control. She’ll continue to weave and spin a story of a small-town girl, growing up in an innocent farmer family, complete with eggs for breakfast, collected fresh that morning, and milk still warm from the cow. She’ll spin and weave, blocking the closet door with her web, trying to keep her family skeleton tightly locked away.

  But skeletons are resourceful. They don’t like to be locked up. It’ll peek out, rattle its bones, reminding her of its existence at any part of the day or night.

  My Skeleton joins me on the stairs. He taps my shoulder, his eye sockets long and sad. Even though Mom can be a complete nightmare, neither of us wants to think of her being hurt.

  Together Skeleton and I start up the steps. Slow, deliberate strides. We will not run. We walk to her family skeleton. We do not push the closet shut, do not try to lock it away.

  Skeleton extends his hand to me, and for the first time I take it, feeling a strange gratitude. He is part of who I am. A result of experiences. He has given me sharper intuition, the ability to feel fear, love, hate, sadness, all at once. He has allowed me to see the truth about my family.

  Chapter 56

  Protection

  NOW

  Gummy bears fly from Drea’s hand onto my lap. “Shut up!” she squeals. “You are not telling me the

  truth.”

  “Oh, yes,” I say, ignoring the gummy bears. Carefully

  steering each S-turn. “It was amazing. As she was going

  out the back door, Mom’s bedroom door was opening.

  Two seconds earlier, bam! She and Peter would have

  been caught.”

  “Good thing he’s moving out,” Drea says. “That boy

  is almost twenty-two years old. It’s not right for him to

  still be living at home.”

  “Speaking of moving. I got the sheet from UCLA—”

  I start.

  “Wait. What did your mom say?” Drea interrupts. “She gave me a speech about how the Ten Commandments command me to honor my father and mother,

  and therefore I must stay at home and commute to

  Shithole State. Then she added that I will have no support, emotional or financial, if I still choose to disobey

  her and go to UCLA.”

  “
Is that supposed to be a threat? Tell me how that is different from the last eighteen years of your life.” A

  gummy bear angrily bounces off the dashboard. “Her threat may not last. I can tell she likes it when

  people congratulate her on my acceptance to such a

  good school.”

  “She should be proud. My mom is. And it hits an

  eight-point-five on my party scale, so I might just have

  to come up from Long Beach State to visit.”

  “What, so you can study on Friday nights with me?”

  I joke.

  “I guess you better come visit me. So what did UCLA

  send you?”

  “All my dorm information. They gave me my roommate’s name and e-mail so we can get to know each

  other first. I hope she’s normal.” Even though I have

  driven this road many times, I flick on my brights to see

  the turns better in the moonless night.

  “Ha. What if she’s a clean freak who bleaches the

  room every morning and requires you to make your bed

  as soon as you get up.”

  “Worse yet, what if she smells? What if she never takes

  showers?” The headlights illuminate the cliff sides to

  the right, the metal barricades on the left, lining the

  edge.

  “And has a pet rat that she keeps under the bed.”

  Drea’s laughing hard now.

  “And— OH, GOD!” Drea and I gasp. We both saw

  him at the same time.

  Covered in blood, he turns and waves his arms over

  his head. Stop, stop.

  “Don’t stop,” Drea says. “Just keep driving.” “You’re right.” I speed up, taking the turn a little too

  quickly. Then I slow down to stay on the road. There

  was so much blood. All over his hands and legs and

  arms. He could be a murderer who just killed someone.

  Worst was the blood pouring down from the top of his

  head. Bright red covering the left half of his face. He could be someone like Luke, hitchhiking alongside the road, maybe looking for a victim.

  He could just be a guy who took a turn too fast and

  crashed his car.

  “Drea, I’m turning around. We need to go back.” “Clare, are you crazy? He could be dangerous.” “We might be the only ones who come down this road

  tonight. I need to make sure he’s okay. I’m just going to

  slow down. Tell him we’re calling an ambulance.” I turn

  the car around, carefully.

  “I’m calling right now,” Drea says as she dials on her

  phone. “We don’t have to go back.”

  We are nearing the place now. Slow down. Brace

  myself. I still gasp when I see him. There’s so much

  blood.

  As Drea talks to the 911 dispatcher, I pull over on the

  opposite side of the road. From a quarter-rolled-down

  window, I say, “What happened?”

  “I rolled my car off the side,” he replies.

  “We’re getting you help. We called an ambulance.” He is our age. Maybe older, but not too much. “What should we do now?” I whisper to Drea as she

  hangs up the phone.

  “Drive home,” she says.

  “I mean, should we wait with him? For the ambu

  lance to arrive.”

  “Listen, crazy. I don’t see a car, do you?”

  “No.” It could be over the side. Or not.

  “All I see is a bloody guy walking on a deserted road

  through the woods. This is how horror movies start. Two

  dumb girls who were just talking about their great futures

  pull over to help someone. He pulls out a knife and

  cuts them up into little bits, drives away in their car with

  their body parts locked safely in the trunk,” Drea says. “What if he’s just a teenager like us who got into a car

  accident? Wouldn’t you want someone to wait with you?

  The woods are scary.”

  “Yeah. The woods are scary. Especially when there is

  a bloody man walking around in them.”

  “I need to know that he is going to be taken care of.

  I’ll have nightmares for months if we don’t. Besides, I

  don’t want to live thinking there’s a criminal inside of

  every person I come across.”

  She’s processing what I just said.

  “Okay,” Drea says, “but we do it safe. We keep our

  distance.”

  “Thanks for calling,” the guy says. “I have no idea

  where my cell phone flew. Man, this sucks. Do you have

  any cigarettes?”

  We all laugh, uncomfortably. But it’s still a laugh. “No, sorry.”

  “How about some tissues? I tried to clean myself up

  with my shirt . . .” But his shirt was already too bloody. A strip of gray down the center is splattered but relatively clean, considering the rest of it. Dark red sleeves.

  Dark red sides.

  “We do have a bottle of water, if that helps,” Drea

  offers.

  I give her the What the hell are you doing? look. “Yeah. Thanks.” He walks step after step toward the car.

  I check the locks, put the car in drive, get ready to flee. “I got a bloody nose. Tried to stop it. I didn’t realize

  the turn was there. My car rolled off the side.” Closer

  and closer. Stop shaking, arm. Don’t give away how

  scared you are. He is close enough now. His nose looks

  broken, twisted to the side, out of place. Streaks of dark

  red smeared when he tried to wipe his face clean. “I think there’s a big cut above my eye,” he says. Drea

  gives me the bottle and I stick it out the quarter-rolleddown window.

  His hand takes the water bottle. He backs up as slowly

  as he approached. I think he knows how frightening he

  looks.

  “Thanks for the water. And for stopping.”

  Flashing red in my rearview mirror. As the ambulance parks, its lights reveal a crumpled car. This guy

  is not a murderer. He is not someone trying to find an

  easy victim to hurt. He is not someone like Luke. He is

  someone who got into a car wreck and needed help. Later that night, on the trundle bed in Drea’s room,

  I try to get comfortable, telling my brain that I don’t

  need to see the guy covered in blood every time I close

  my eyes, that I don’t need a nightmare.

  •••

  I wake up, confused, surprised. Morning’s pale gray illuminates the edges of the window, the light barely creeping into the room. Not one nightmare. I nestle back under the covers and fall back to sleep to the tick, tick of the grandfather clock in the living room.

  Chapter 57

  Distance

  NOW

  The scene is almost the same as it was one year ago, bonfire crackling and reaching to the sky, peers idly ingesting their substance of choice, Drea’s dark skin almost blue in the full moonlight. And Peter, next to the beer cooler with a new blonde.

  “Little Sister,” he says, “you’re here later than I expected for someone who doesn’t have to sneak out because she has Mom’s permission.”

  “More like we agreed to disagree,” I say. “She let me leave but first gave me a lecture about being responsible that ended with some crap about hoping I do the right thing and stay in. Enough about that. Beverage, please.”

  Drea and I hand our five-dollar bills to Peter, but he waves them away. “Happy Graduation,” he says, handing us each a beer.

  I spot Ryan out of the corner of my eye, his wavy hair peeking out of the beanie I made. “I’ll be back,” I say to Drea.

  “I’ll be over there.” She rai
ses her can in the direction of Omar, Chase, and Skye.

  “Hey,” Ryan says, his face breaking into a wide smile as I walk up. Before I can even say hi, he adds, “So. I, um, I kind of have something for you.”

  He opens his backpack and hands me a hardcover book.

  Soul Escape. Mandy’s photos.

  “I noticed that you kept going into the cafeteria to look at these. Mandy made a bunch of books and gave them to her friends. This was mine. I want you to have it . . . if you want it.”

  “Thank you.” I practically whisper the words, opening the book, taking in one picture after another, then pausing on the one of Luke’s arm.

  “So, how is he?”

  “Luke?” I ask.

  Ryan nods.

  I shrug. “Lonely, I guess. I really don’t have any contact with him. It’s better this way. For me. For now. It’s better.” I pause, then admit, “I still miss him. I still love him. Even if I never talk to him again.” I close the book and hug it to my body.

  “I get that,” Ryan says, even though he doesn’t have to. I know he gets it. He gets me.

  “Thanks again,” I say, then change the subject. “So . . . did you figure it out? How to beat the system and just travel and surf?”

  “Maybe.” He leans against a tree. The light of the bonfire reflects, making his hazel eyes almost orange. “I’m actually going to college. I’m studying nonprofits, so maybe I can work for an organization like Surfrider Foundation. Something that works with the oceans.” I hold my can up to his. “Congrats.”

  “What school did you decide on? Still thinking of doing something with marine biology?” He leans closer to me.

  “UCLA. I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life, but I guess I have time to figure that one out.”

  “You can probably beat the system. Do something that will get you in the water swimming every day. Speaking of . . . This summer, any chance I’ll see you out on the lake?”

  “I’m not going to be working there, but I’ll be swimming. Most likely in the mornings.”

  “Your favorite part of the day,” Ryan says, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear. “So it’s a date, then?”

  “It’s a date.”

  Graduation. The field lights are on, my name has been called, and I am walking across the dais.