The Bodies We Wear

by Jeyn Roberts

  “There has to be more than that,” I say. “I know you came from a Catholic family. You were raised that way. You told me.”

  “There is,” Gazer says, and he gives me a look that suggests he doesn’t want to go any further. But he sits down on one of the chairs and rubs his fingers through his hair, which is pulled back into a ponytail. There are a lot more white strands than brown. Gazer may still be only in his late thirties but some days he looks much older. Especially when he frowns like he’s doing now.

  “I lost my faith when my wife died,” he says. “I stood by her hospital bed and I watched the life fade and there was nothing I could do to help her. They’d put her on Valium to help with the pain. She should have just slept her life away. But when her time came, she opened her eyes and looked right at me. Except I don’t think she saw me.”

  “What did she see?”

  “I don’t know. There was pain there. And fear. Lots of fear. I saw the terror and she opened her mouth to tell me something but she couldn’t speak. All she could do was grit her teeth. Then she was gone.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “I think that’s when I lost God,” Gazer says. “I don’t understand how anyone can look at something like that and still believe in such things.”

  “So you believe there is nothing after we die,” I say. “Don’t you find that depressing?”

  “Not really. Just like going to sleep and not dreaming.” He stands and picks up his empty coffee cup. “I’m going to go get a refill and you should get in the shower. You don’t want to be late for school.”

  I wait till he disappears up the stairs. His words echo in my mind.

  Just like going to sleep.

  Only you never wake up.

  No, I can’t believe that. Because if I did, that would mean I’m just going insane and Chael is nothing but a figment of my memory. And I’m pretty darn sure I’m not that crazy.

  Yet.

  “What if they could come back?” I ask Gazer after I’ve showered and changed into a uniform I’m no longer supposed to wear.

  “What do you mean?”

  I reach forward and grab an apple off the table, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible. “I mean, what if you woke up one day and found someone at your doorstep who’d died. Just as if nothing happened. Back from the great beyond or whatever it might be.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “But what if it were?”

  Gazer puts down his newspaper and gives me a sad smile. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think I’d be ashamed if she could see the way I turned out. She’s been gone all these years and I’m still waiting for her. But that’s something that’s never going to happen so I don’t know why you’re wasting your thoughts on such things. What-ifs aren’t real. You’ll drive yourself crazy reliving moments the way you wish they could have been. What if I had been there for her? I wasn’t. There’s nothing I can do to change that.”

  “But what if they could come back? Don’t you ever think about it?”

  “No.” Gazer purses his lips and I can tell he’s getting annoyed at me. “It’s no different from how I already live. I should have moved on but I can’t. Every morning I wake up, looking at the empty pillow where she should be resting. Sometimes I even believe I can hear her voice. But what I do isn’t healthy. She would have hated to see me like this. This is why I can’t stress enough that you need to forget about revenge. Life is too short, Faye. Don’t waste it on nothing. Don’t be like me.”

  “That would be easier to believe if I had something to waste,” I say, grabbing my books and heading out the door before he can give me another lecture.

  Of course it’s raining again and by the time I get to the train station, I’m soaking wet. I should have brought an umbrella. I go into the bathroom and change into the clothing I shoved in my backpack. Then I toss everything in a day locker so I don’t have to cart it around. When I go back outside, Chael is waiting for me under the awning. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and a pair of nice-looking jeans today and I briefly wonder where he gets his clothing from. He’s also wearing a fedora that pushes his hair flat against his forehead. When he came back from the dead, did they give him an allowance? A gift certificate for the Gap?

  He smiles at me and for a second I’m eleven again and there are no monsters under my skin.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a secret.”

  “Then let’s grab a cup of coffee for the road,” I say. “I had one hell of a workout this morning. I’d hate to get there and sleep through everything.”

  “There’s a place along the way,” he says. He holds out his arm for me, as if he’s leading me off to the Queen’s Ball or something. I take it and he guides me down into the dark train tunnels.

  It’s about half an hour to reach our destination. We don’t talk much, mostly because every time I try quizzing him on where we’re going, he refuses to say a word. It is fun, though, and I find myself relaxing. Chael is in a good mood and it’s a nice change from the seriousness of the night before. Sometimes I find myself on the verge of teasing, but I pull back just in time. I’m worried that he might take it as flirting. Can you hit on a dead guy? I think that’s a boundary I really don’t want to cross.

  Finally, we reach a stop I’m not familiar with and Chael stands and tells me this is it. I’ve never been here before. I always thought it was just a middle-class suburb. The kind of area I have no business being in.

  We ride the escalator up to the top and step outside. I was right. There’s nothing but housing here.

  “You’re taking me to someone’s house?” I say with a smirk.

  “We have to catch a bus,” he says mysteriously.

  So we do. The bus is packed but we still manage to find a seat at the back. We ride for a while through a residential area with the occasional strip mall and nothing else. It’s a nice neighborhood. There are no all-night liquor stores or strip clubs. No Heam dealers or gutter rats on the corners. I look out the window but the glass is fogged and I can barely see anything because of all the rain. After fifteen minutes or so, the housing thins out and suddenly we’re in the country. Well, okay, not the country, but there are a lot of trees.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “The university.”

  Of course. I should have known this. Not that I’ve ever been here before but I knew it existed.

  We get off at the next stop. The campus stretches out around us. Old mismatched buildings made of stone line the street, hidden behind century-old trees. It’s quite pretty, even with all the rain. Such a refreshing change from the city. I can’t even remember the last time I saw so many trees. All around us are students who struggle under the weight of book-filled backpacks. They are rushing in all directions and most of them look like the worst thing in their lives is whether or not they’re late for class.

  They all look so healthy. So wholesome.

  Such a different world.

  Suddenly I feel very small in my old jacket and jeans with the tear in the knee. I wonder if they can tell I’m not one of them. How can they not? I’m shabby and uncultured. I don’t accessorize well. My hair isn’t full of expensive products that make it shine. I could go on and on all day. This is the type of place where Paige will end up after high school. Girls like her will fit in without even trying. Girls like me will be the sore thumbs. A group of students rush by in a flurry of umbrellas and book bags. Chael presses closer against me to let them pass. But if they notice my differences, they don’t say anything. They talk loudly to each other, giggling and sipping on water bottles and from coffee cups. Mostly they ignore us as we walk along, Chael protectively sticking close to my side as if he can read my thoughts.

&nb
sp; We continue to walk along the road and I watch everyone, trying to ignore the jealousy that burns in my chest. They’re so carefree. Well, most of them. Some look a tad stressed, probably on their way to take an exam or maybe they’re simply late for class. I step off the sidewalk to let a student riding a skateboard zip past me. Her hair is tucked underneath a baseball cap and she keeps her face down to protect herself from the rain. Her cheeks are rosy and her top is low-cut, showing off wet skin. What I wouldn’t give to be able to wear something so deliciously brazen without having people stare at me in fear and disgust.

  I glance over at Chael and he’s watching me intently, almost as if he’s reading my mind. My cheeks burn and I look away, concentrating on the buildings. It’s one thing to be jealous of these kids with their bright futures; it’s another to have to admit it openly. I don’t want Chael feeling sorry for me. Not right now.

  “We’re here,” he says after a while.

  “Where?”

  “Come on,” he says, turning off the sidewalk and onto a path that leads to one of the newer buildings. It’s several stories high and made almost entirely out of glass. The windows are fogged up and I can’t see inside. There’s a big sign outside the main door.

  ARBORETUM

  He opens the door for me and holds it as I walk through. Inside, a big information desk is positioned in the middle of the room, with another glass entrance beyond it. A very tiny woman in a blue uniform watches us as we approach. Chael pulls out his wallet.

  “Two, please,” he says.

  He pays the money and gets tickets in return. I stand beside him, cold and wet, wondering if I should go to the bathroom and try to dry myself off a bit before we go inside.

  “Come on,” he says.

  Beyond the glass doors is a jungle. The humid air hits my face, instantly bringing warmth to my clammy skin. Hundreds, no, thousands of plants of all different kinds and sizes cover the entire space. I can hear water in the distance, maybe a waterfall of sorts, and there’s a cobblestone path that leads off into all that gigantic greenery.

  It’s insanely beautiful. There are colors everywhere. Brilliant red flowers I don’t recognize are to the right of me. To my left are cacti, long and slender, prickly to the touch. We follow the path slowly; every few feet I stop to stare at something new. A palm tree reaches down with its long branches, tickling the top of Chael’s hat. I bend over to sniff something that looks like a lily although I’m not fully sure. I’ve never seen a lily before except in books. For all I know, it could be something else. Maybe an iris? Not a rose. I know those.

  There are signs everywhere. Amaranthus caudatus. Rhopalostylis sapida. Spathodea campanulata. Words I couldn’t possibly pronounce properly or remember, even if someone tried explaining them to me over and over.

  I touch the soft dainty petals of a Eucharis grandiflora. It’s softer than a baby’s skin. The scent reaches my nose, making it tingle and itch slightly.

  “It’s so beautiful,” I say.

  Chael doesn’t say anything. He reaches out to gently stroke the pins on a cactus that’s almost as tall as him.

  There are metal love seats beside the waterfall. It circles the room, a man-made stream of crystal-clear water. Chael sits down and waits while I dip my fingers in the coolness and then lean over to sniff some daisies. He leans back and closes his eyes. For a moment, I’m distracted and turn away from the flowers.

  With his eyes closed, I can study him without him knowing. I can admire the way his hair curls slightly at the back of his neck. His jaw is firm, his lips slightly parted. I can see the top row of his teeth. He is exactly the way Christian would have looked if he’d been given the chance to grow up.

  I don’t understand how I didn’t see it before. Maybe because I wasn’t looking? But now that I am, he’s exactly how I remembered him. Sure, the muscles are better developed; he was thinner when he was younger. He’s more filled out now. His jacket is open and I can see the shirt pressing against his chest. It rises and falls as he breathes. His legs are lean and long, stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles. He always had long legs but when he was thirteen, they looked skinny and awkward. Now they’re muscular and pressed tight against his jeans.

  Chael opens his eyes and catches me watching him. He smiles and winks and I look away in embarrassment. Oh, great. I wish I were better at this sort of thing. I should have winked back or tossed my hair over my shoulder in a flirtatious manner. Instead, I’ve managed to act like a shy little girl with a schoolboy crush.

  I force myself to head over to where he is and I sit down next to him on the bench. His fingers tap lazily on the metal.

  “So what do you think?” he asks.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say. “I never knew there were so many flowers. It’s almost overwhelming.”

  “Yeah, I thought you’d like it.”

  I nod, leaning over to put my hand back in the water. The rushing noise fills my ears and I close my eyes for a moment and listen to how pretty everything sounds. The coolness on my fingers, the smell of perfume in my nose—I could spend all day here and probably be begging to come back the next morning.

  “I was right. It looks good on you.”

  “Huh?” I open my eyes.

  Chael points up at the ceiling, where bright lights shine down on us. “The sun. It looks good on you.”

  “It’s artificial.”

  “Close enough.”

  I tilt my face up and let the air warm my face. It feels good. The sun in the city is never like this. Never this fresh. I dip my hand in the water again and try to catch it between my fingers. Light reflects off the drops and my skin sparkles like crystals. I touch my face, tracing wet circles on my cheeks. I want to remember this moment because it’s been too long since I’ve felt this good. If I could get away with it, I’d kick off my shoes and jump into the waterfall and sit there until I’m wrinkled all over. I’d close my eyes and imagine myself on a tropical beach. Lying on the sand, letting the salty air dry my skin while I drink something fancy like a mai tai or piña colada. I’d wear a bikini because there wouldn’t be anyone around to see me. No one for miles. Just me and the ocean.

  I open my eyes and squint under the greenhouse lighting. Now it’s Chael who is watching me but he’s not smiling. The look on his face is hard to read.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Just watching you,” he says unabashedly. “Your cheeks are wet.”

  I pull myself upward until I’m sitting rigidly enough to break my back. I wipe my fingers on my pants and then use my shirt to dry off my face. I must look like an idiot, playing with the water like I’m a little girl all over again.

  “This is nice,” Chael continues. “It’s good to see you happy. I was beginning to worry about you.”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” I say. I wish I could argue with him and come up with a million ways to prove him wrong. But he’s right. I haven’t been happy. To say otherwise would be a lie and I never was good at lying to him when we were kids. He could always see right through me.

  “Don’t say that,” Chael says, and suddenly he’s very close to me. He’s shifted on the bench until we’re practically touching. “There’s a lot in this world to be happy for. You just haven’t found it. You should look in a mirror more often because when you smile, you’re beautiful.”

  I can’t look at him. So I stare down at the stream of water as it rushes away in a continuous loop. Kind of like me. Moving constantly but never getting anywhere.

  “We should move on,” Chael finally says. “There’s something else I want to show you.”

  I stand up to leave but my attention span is cut short when I see orchids over to my left. I bend down and sniff the petals. So beautiful. I run my fingers along the stem and then touch the damp earth below. When I’m done, Chael reaches out to take my hand and this time I let him. His skin is warm
and his fingers wrap around mine, making me feel safer than I’ve felt in a very long time.

  Another area in the back of the arboretum. There is a screen covering the door and Chael pulls it back so I can step inside.

  A butterfly room.

  I’ve never seen so many. Or ones of such bright colors. Stepping beside a tree, I look straight up and the ceiling is a tangle of vines and green leafy branches. It’s like being in the middle of a rain forest. And everything is alive. Above my head is a multitude of pink, blue, orange, and purple fluttering wings.

  The ground is soft beneath my feet and I watch where I step, careful to make sure I don’t accidently squish something. There is a ledge lining the wall and flowers rest in pots. Butterflies feed off of them, their small feelers twitching as they move their wings gracefully. When I look closer, I can see dozens of tiny cocoons mixed in amongst the plants. I even spot a caterpillar as it creeps along a daisy’s petals.

  One of the butterflies floats beside my face, coming to rest on a vine that drifts down from the ceiling. It’s huge, almost the size of my hand. Its orange-and-black wings stretch out, quivering as it tries to attract a mate.

  “It’s a monarch,” Chael says. “Some people call it the wanderer butterfly. They migrate thousands of miles each year. Many of them die along the way, never finding what they’re looking for.”

  “He’s beautiful,” I say. I want to reach out and rub my finger against that velvety softness but I know that’s a bad idea. His wings are fragile and even the slightest touch can hurt. I don’t want to imagine the guilt I might feel if I end up injuring him for no reason except my own selfishness. That would be unfair. Everything deserves to live, no matter how small and helpless.

  “Did you know some of them are territorial?” Chael says. “Butterflies may look harmless but they can be quite mean. They’ll fight to the death if another gets in their way.”

  I look up and watch as a purple butterfly with red-tipped wings moves across the room to perch on top of Chael’s head. It makes me grin and suddenly I’m laughing, wondering if it might end up doing something unsightly on his black hat. The thought of Chael covered in butterfly poop suddenly has me laughing so hard there are tears streaming down my face.