by Alex Flinn
And his looks? His appearance has become irrelevant to me. It would be even less relevant here, where we can walk outside freely, away from the harsh gaze of the world. After all, aren’t we both equally strange, equally damaged?
The only difference is, my damage is inside.
Perhaps I love him, not merely despite but because of his appearance.
Maybe that’s what makes him perfect for me.
But do I love him enough to give up everything else?
December 31
The answer is yes.
Yes. I love him enough. I love him so much that nothing else matters, not what everyone thinks, not normalcy, not conforming to some picture of what people should look like or be, not even the fact that, yes, I’ll be trapped here, maybe forever. It doesn’t matter. After all, unlike with my father, it’s not Adrian’s fault he’s like this. He’s not weak like my father. Rather, being like this has made him stronger.
When I first moved into his house, I made a big deal, every night, of locking my door so he wouldn’t be able to come in, wouldn’t attack me. Now, I know he would never do something like that. I don’t lock my door anymore. I feel safe. I never thought he’d come in.
But last night, it was colder than usual when I went to bed. Bitter, really. And, later, when I woke up, the night air nipped at my skin.
Then I felt an extra blanket settling onto me.
I saw his shape. I knew it was him, but I pretended to be asleep. The scene was too intimate. Still, I felt warmed by more than wool.
I snuggled into that blanket and knew I could stay here forever. Someday, I’ll not only let him into my room. I’ll invite him.
Someday soon . . .
December 31 (Later)
We’ve had the most wonderful day! This morning, I was up early, rummaging through the closets (what? me, snoop?), and I found a sled! A SLED! I’ve never been on one before.
But now I have. It was the most incredible experience, flying down a snowy hill, the wind in my face. I was a little scared, but Adrian and I went together. He held me. It felt so warm and safe in his arms. I wanted to stay there forever.
I will stay forever. I plan to tell him tonight. I love him.
The only thing is, I want to check on my father. Just one last time. It’s stupid, I know. Maybe it seems like a step backward after so many months without this crazy, codependent relationship. Still, I worry.
But tonight, I’ll tell Adrian, and we’ll start the new year together!
January 1
Last night, New Year’s Eve, was the night I was going to tell Adrian I loved him. I think Adrian suspected it too. At least, he made the scene very romantic. There was a fire in the fireplace, and I noticed Will and Magda were nowhere to be seen. When I asked Adrian, he said they were watching Times Square on television. Outside was bitter cold, but the fire was warm, and Adrian sat beside me on the sofa—not too close, but we’d be closer soon enough.
It was quiet, so quiet. The only sounds that penetrated the silence were the crackling wood and the wind from outside. I turned to gaze out the window. It is so dark here, which makes the stars more prominent. There were a multitude of them, and just when you think you’ve seen all of them, there are more. What looks like a cloud is really the Milky Way. I pictured it as a white hill for sledding angels.
Adrian was watching, then he said, “Lindy, you don’t still hate me, do you?”
I smiled. He was so sweet. I said, “What do you think?”
“I think no. But would you be happy to stay with me forever?”
It was like he’d read my mind. I looked at him, remembering how I’d once tried to avoid doing so. Now his face wasn’t disturbing. It was just his face, the face of my beloved. His eyes were so beautiful and hopeful. He drew in his breath, and I could tell he was holding it, awaiting my answer. I thought about leaning toward him, thought about kissing him. Maybe I should have. If I’d kissed him, everything might have been different.
Instead, I spoke. I told him that in some ways, I was happier than I’d ever been. I liked being with him.
The fire was hot, hotter than before. He said, “So you’re happy, then?”
Yes, I told him. “Except . . .”
“Except what?” I saw the concern on his face.
So I said it. “My father. I worry about him, what might happen if I’m not around to run interference. He’s sick, Adrian, and I was the one who took care of him. And I miss him. I know you must think it’s stupid to miss someone who left me without a look back.”
“No. I understand. Your parents are your parents, no matter what. Even if they don’t love you back, they’re all you have.”
I knew he did understand. He loved his own father too.
I turned to look at the fire and said, “Adrian, I am happy here. It’s just . . . if I could only know he’s okay. If I could only see him for a moment.”
He looked sad, then panicked. But then he said, “Wait here.”
And then, he left. I heard him running up the stairs to his room. He returned several minutes later with an object. He handed it to me.
It was a mirror, a silver mirror, ornate, like something from another time. I stared into it, and I saw my face. I looked worried.
He told me it was a special mirror. “By looking at it, you can see anyone you want, anywhere in the world.”
I laughed. Of course I didn’t believe him. But then he took it from me. He held it up, saying, “I want to see Will.”
And then, it was the most bizarre thing, the mirror or spy cam or whatever it was changed to a picture
of Will. Or not a picture, but the actual moving Will, up in his room, wearing the same clothes he’d had on before.
How was this possible? Magic? Of course not. It must be some incredible technology. He had everything money could buy, after all.
“Can I try it?” I asked.
He nodded and handed me the mirror, telling me that, by asking, I could see anyone. I said, “I want to see . . . Sloane Hagen.” I wanted to choose someone Adrian didn’t know, in case it was a trick, and Sloane’s was the first name that popped into my head.
But sure enough, there was Little Miss Perfect . . . and she was popping a zit!
“Ew!” I said. Adrian laughed too.
And then I wanted to see more people. In particular, I wanted to see Kyle. I’d always wondered what had happened to him.
But Adrian reminded me about Dad, so I asked to see him.
The image changed from Sloane’s brightly colored bathroom to a gloomy New York street, far from the lights of Times Square. At first, I couldn’t make out anything but gray snowdrifts and garbage.
Then, the garbage moved. It was a man! He coughed.
My father! He was homeless, on the street. He was sick!
My throat clenched, and, despite my resolve not to care, my resolve to live my
own life, I started to cry. I started crying, and I couldn’t stop. I had been wrong to think he could survive without me, wronger still to think I didn’t care. This was all my fault. No, not all my fault. My father’s fault too, and Adrian’s fault for making me stay, making me care about him, making me think I could be anything but some junkie’s daughter. Making me think things could be different when they can’t.
He tried to put his arms around me, but I pushed him away. It wouldn’t work. Maybe he could live in this fantasy world, but I couldn’t. I had to have cold, bleak reality.
So I was surprised when he said, “You should go to him.”
And then, in minutes, it was settled. I would leave. Tomorrow. Today, now. On the first bus. He would give me money, and I would go to the very street where my father now was. I would rescue him once again, as usual. Then, later on, I’d come back to Adrian, maybe once he got to the city. I wasn’t really mad at him. I love him. But it doesn’t matter. I can never be the same. Clearly, I can’t leave my father. I can never have my own life
.
I know it’s the
right thing to do, the humane thing. Still, I didn’t want Adrian to know how close I’d come to chucking it all, to staying with him forever.
So I said, “I’ll miss you. You are the truest friend I’ve ever had.”
I could see that my words were a knife in his gut. Yet, it seemed kinder than the alternative, for him to know I love him, but that I’m leaving anyway.
It hurts me, too. But what else is there to be than my father’s daughter?
January 1 (Still)
Now, in my room, I envision some “deleted scenes” version of our story playing out. In it, I tell Adrian I love him. Our eyes meet. Then, our lips. I take his hand and lead him upstairs. I tell him I’ll never leave him. I mean it.
If this was a DVD, I’d love that alternate ending.
January 1, Later
I’m gone. I left on the first bus. I’m on it now. I didn’t even see Adrian before I left. He said that if he came down to say good-bye, he might not let me go. He couldn’t handle it.
I guess I understood that at the time. But now, by daylight, as I speed back to a city I’d never left before but which I was willing, for a moment, to leave forever, it makes me sad and lonely. I always have to handle stuff alone.
I’ve been staring out the window for about an hour. I get to see the mountains by daylight, and the Hudson River, sparkling in the morning sun. But the mountains look cold and mournful, and the sun off the river hurts my eyes and makes them tear up. I wonder if I’ll ever see Adrian again. The past week, the past five months, seem like a kind of dream, one from which I’m being painfully wrenched awake.
I pass some boys, one pulling another on a sled, and I remember how, just yesterday, that was me. Now it’s over. In a way, I hate Adrian for taking me out of my life, for making me think anything could be different . . . and I hate him for sending me back too. Maybe if he’d said, “Don’t go,” it would have given me the excuse I needed to stay. But I know that’s wrong. I have to go. He was good to let me. He was always good to me.
January 1, Even Later
I’m back in NYC, and I’m in a limo!
When I reached my station, I saw a man holding a sign that said, “Linda Owens.” I asked him what he wanted.
“I’ve been instructed to pick you up and also to give you this.” He handed me an envelope.
When I opened it, I found an ATM card and a note that said, Stay safe and come back.
Maybe I’m not actually angry.
January 1, Much Later
I found my father. At first, when he saw me, he started yelling—yelling!—at me to leave. And I was ready to! I knew it was because he thought Adrian would turn him in. But once he let me talk, and I explained that Adrian had released me, that he’d never forced me to stay, that he wasn’t going to the police, my father stopped screaming and let me take him to a clinic.
Then I went to the bank and checked the balance on Adrian’s ATM card, and it’s enough for rehab, rent, whatever I need. I didn’t want to take the money, not when I’d left him, but I had to, for my father.
Money sure does fix things, doesn’t it? Except for things that can’t be fixed.
Like broken hearts.
January 8
It’s been a week since I came back to the city. My father is in rehab, so I don’t have to deal with that, and I’m staying with our old neighbors, the Lesters, while I look for a place that will have us once my father comes home. Every time I see the kids playing with their Christmas toys, I remember Adrian.
I haven’t heard from him. I guess I didn’t expect to. I know he was upset that I called him a friend and nothing else. I understand, but it still hurts.
I enrolled in a school near here. The magnitude of its suckishness goes without saying. I called Tuttle, but since I basically just didn’t show up for school, I lost my scholarship, and they’re not really sympathetic.
So everything’s pretty much horrible, as expected.
January 10
I miss him.
January 11
I miss him. I wonder what he’s doing right now, if he’s off in the woods, walking in the snow, or skating without me. If I close my eyes, I can picture him, gliding around and around the lake, faster and faster, maybe fast enough to forget all about me.
January 12
I found an apartment. It wasn’t easy as a teen, and my dad’s not exactly a safe bet. But it got easier when I offered to pay cash.
Adrian hasn’t tried to contact me. Is that because he doesn’t care? Or because he thinks I don’t?
January 13
I wonder if he watches me in the mirror ever.
School is an epic fail. Someone made fun of me yesterday for answering a question about The Great Gatsby, and it’s supposed to be Honors English.
I miss Will too, and Magda.
January 14
It’s strange how quickly my life with Adrian became my life, how wherever he was became home. I miss home. This isn’t it.
January 15
Dad’s back, full of promises to stay
straight, get a job, do better, be a father. I wish I could believe it. I’m going to try to.
Still nothing from Adrian.
January 22
Dad’s been clean a whole week, which is nothing, but it’s a lot for him. Maybe losing me and being on the streets was a wake-up call. Maybe it inspired him to do better.
But what that tells me is, I need to be here for him now, taking care of him, not off somewhere with Adrian.
It’s hard because I know Adrian needs me too.
And because I love him.
January 25
It’s probably not helpful to sit around wallowing in what might have been. I need to worry about what is. I’m not going to write for a while. I have no time.
March 1
My father didn’t come home last night. His bed hasn’t been slept in. There have been other things, including some scary-looking guys on our doorstep. Funny how those guys can find you, even when you move.
Or, probably, my father found them.
But maybe I’m wrong.
March 10
I’m not wrong. He’s using again.
March 30
He’s using again. I can’t deny it anymore. He says he doesn’t have to work just because I want him to, that he liked it better when I was gone. It’s like my old life all over again, only worse, because now I’ve tasted something different. It’s like spending years watching nothing but reality TV, then someone gives you a ticket to a Broadway show.
The night before I left the house upstate, I talked to Will. He was upset that I was leaving. “To paraphrase Mr. Bennet in Pride and Prejudice,” he said, “without you, the conversation will lose much of its animation and all of its sense.” Will’s so like that.
I had laughed, though I didn’t feel it. “Flattering,” I said, “but Adrian and Magda are perfectly sensible.”
“I know,” he said, “but we’ll still be lonely without you, all of us, but especially Adrian. You can come back, if not here, then in the city. We’ll be there in spring, no matter what. Will you come to us then? In the spring?”
I assured him I would.
Spring. It is bitterly cold now, colder still in our apartment. Yet, the vernal equinox—the first day of spring—was last week, and the forsythia is beginning to bud, if not bloom. He should be here soon.
I will go to him. I realize I should never have left.
April 7
I don’t reme
mber where the house is, which sounds crazy, but every time I saw it, it was dark and someone was leading me. I never thought about having to find it.
Now I do. I want Adrian. I asked my father where the brownstone is, but he won’t tell me.
I’ve decided I’m going to go to every subway station in Brooklyn and look for a house with a greenhouse. I know he was near a station. I could see it through the window. I just have to find the right one.
It’s April now, spring by a
nyone’s definition. He must be back.
I will find him.
April 8
I started looking today, after school. No luck. I’ll keep looking, though. I’ll find him.
April 9
Nothing today. And we got a notice on the door for unpaid rent. Adrian’s money ran out, and even though I’m
working, without my tutoring jobs, it’s hard to make ends meet. Have to beg the landlord to wait.
April 12
I found a house today I thought was it. But when I knocked on the door, an older woman answered. Wrong house.
April 15
Some good news. I applied back to Tuttle, and they approved my scholarship. I can go there in September.
If I last until September.
April 20
Today, I saw a house I was sure was it. It was in Park Slope, near a train station, and also near a church that looked like the one where we saw the live nativity. It had a greenhouse in back.