Heart on a String

by Susan Soares

  “No, wait a minute.” He stood up now. “I wanted to meet Ginny’s family and then tell her about mine.”

  “Yeah, right.” I tugged on a hangnail.

  “I’m serious. I was going to tell her then bring her to meet you guys. Honest. I was even going to take her to the grave. It’s just kind of messed up that I ran into you before all that happened.”

  Gram tried to sit herself up in her bed, and Marc rushed to her side to help adjust her pillows. “I’m just glad you’re here now.” She lifted her arms and hugged him.

  He embraced her, and then to me he said, “Marissa, do you believe me?” He crossed over to me.

  “Why should I?” How could I?

  “Because I swear.” He stood in front of me. “I swear on Mom’s grave.”

  On Mom’s grave? That was it; the tears came, heavy and hard. Marc helped me stand up, and I sobbed into his chest. He held me, and for the first time in years, I felt safe.

  ****

  Marc and I were driving back to the house when I got a text. I stared at the words on the screen. They seemed to be glowing.

  I think we need 2 talk. And Brandon was right. We did need to talk. The problem was that I didn’t know what to say. I knew it sounded stupid, but when you’ve been hiding major aspects of your life from someone, it’s just not that simple to suddenly expose who you truly are to them. Part of me felt so emotionally stunted, like my mom’s death had stopped me from being able to feel anything. Happiness, sadness, whatever, all emotions felt like they were coated in hot tar, sticky and black, and I didn’t know if I could move on. Sure, I could just blurt everything out to Brandon. Get it all out in one fell swoop. Over and over, I played the possible scenarios out in my head. Although I couldn’t be sure what reaction he would have. Anger, disdain, betrayal, sympathy, pity, rage. None of them were good. But I knew at this point I was in too deep. Things had to change. I just didn’t know how much.

  My hands shook as I texted him back. Yeah. 2morrow K? At school

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I was having one of those lucid dreams. In the middle of the empty school hallways, I stood still with Brandon at one end and Marc at the other. My books surrounded me, and my clothes felt like they were made out of liquid. The fabric dripped all the different colors of my outfit, mixing them into a pool of gray around my feet. When I looked to Marc, he was surrounded by shades of blue and green. He motioned for me to come to him, but my feet couldn’t move, as if they were cemented to the floor. When I looked to Brandon, he was surrounded by shades of purple and gold. Even in my lucid state, I recognized that blues were my mom’s favorite color, and the purples were my favorite color. As I began to lean toward Brandon’s direction, Marc called to me. When I looked to him again, he was holding a bouquet of balloons, all bright red and heart-shaped. Then images of my mom were floating all around him. My liquid outfit turned red, and it seeped from me into the floor. A waterfall opened up from the ceiling and cascaded down on me, washing me and all my colors down into the basement of the school where everything was black.

  Back in my bed, I woke up gasping for air, my hands clutching my chest. I thought there was ringing in my ears, but that was before I realized the ringing was my phone.

  “Hello?” I was classically dazed and confused and willing my heart rate to slow down.

  Zoe sounded like she was in a tunnel. “Marissa, where are you?”

  “Zoe? Why do you sound all echo-y?” I rubbed my eyes.

  “I’m in the girls’ bathroom. Why aren’t you in school? Are you okay? Is your grandmother okay?”

  School? “What? What time is it?” What day was it?

  “It’s ten. What’s going on?” I could hear the chatter of girls in the background.

  After assuring her that I was all right and that my grandmother was all right, I then dropped the bomb that Marc was back. Her response to everything was, “Are you serious?”

  Apparently, my lucid dream had caused me to sleep through my first three classes. The damage was already done, so I was just going to skip. I knew it was totally irresponsible, but my brother had just returned from the beyond, and my grandmother was in the hospital. All things being relative, I deserved a break.

  After I dragged myself out of bed, I headed to the kitchen. I made a large pot of coffee, double strength. As the coffee percolated in the background, I poked my head into Marc’s room and saw he was still sleeping. It was an odd sensation to see him in there, in his bed. I had an urge to pour cold water on him to wake him up. I’d give him five more minutes. While I waited, I sat at the kitchen table dunking a stale blueberry muffin into my coffee. I checked my phone for missed messages and saw I had four texts, all from Brandon.

  U here? Looked 4 u in parking lot…

  U ok?

  Shld I be worried or angry?

  Ok I’m worried

  Still dunking my muffin, I stared at the texts, unsure how to respond. I was gearing up for how I was going to lay everything out to Brandon. The last thing I wanted was to lose him. He was sweet, sincere, compassionate, funny, cute, smart. UGH. He just didn’t know what a pitiful coward I was. I washed down the last bit of my muffin with some coffee, and that’s when I heard a knock at the door.

  My knees buckled when I saw him standing on my doorstep. “Brandon.”

  “Marissa, I know I probably shouldn’t have come here, but I don’t know, you’ve just… you’ve just got me crazy worried about you.” He looked a bit like he was shaking. I moved to the side so he could come in. “Just tell me if you’re all right?”

  I shut the door but couldn’t turn to face him. “I’m all right.”

  “That’s funny, because yesterday you came to my house all heated up, acting all weird, then you take off.” He moved my body so I was facing him now. “You don’t call me. You don’t return my texts.” He took in a big breath and exhaled it slowly. “You leave me hanging in the dark wondering if you’ve been in a car wreck or you’ve just lost your mind.” He paused. “And then some dude answers your phone, and I’m thinking what’s up with the girl?”

  “Brandon, I—” In my peripheral vision, I saw Marc walking down the hall. I wanted to wave my arms wildly to motion for him to go back to his bedroom.

  But it was too late. Marc walked right past us, in his pajama bottoms, yawning and scratching his head. “Morning,” he mumbled as he meandered to the kitchen.

  “Brandon,” I started again.

  “Oh I see.” Brandon moved to the door. “I see perfectly now.” He opened the door. “Thanks, Marissa.” A puff of air blew in my face as he slammed the door behind him.

  No! I ran after him. “Brandon you don’t get it!” I had trouble keeping up with his long strides.

  “I understand everything now, Marissa.” His hand was on his car door handle, and I thrust myself in front of him.

  “He’s my brother!” The words were loud and hot on my tongue. I watched Brandon’s eyes change from anger to confusion.

  “Your brother?” He cocked his head to the side. “You never told me you had a brother.” His eyes were now filled with questions.

  “I know.” Like a timid rabbit, I moved closer to him. “It’s a long story.” I pushed myself into his chest and prayed he’d wrap his arms around me. And he did.

  ****

  Zoe was sitting at the end of my bed with my left foot in her hand. She was painting my toenails a bright fuchsia color. I tried to stay still, but when someone is touching your feet, and those feet happen to be ticklish, it could sometimes be hard.

  “Stop fidgeting!” She pulled on my big toe.

  “Sorry.”

  Zoe cleaned up the mess she made on my pinky toe with a cotton swab. “So, what happened after you told him about Marc?” She started to blow on my toes to help dry them, but that just made me giggle, so she stopped.

  Zoe had come over about ten minutes after Brandon had left. I gave her the friend-9-1-1 text. Brandon and I had driven to the coffee shop to
talk. I told him stories about Marc, funny stories from when we were growing up together. Then, I told him about how Marc had taken off on his own. He wondered why we didn’t call the cops, and I explained that he was eighteen at the time and that my family knew what was going on. Marc had told us he was leaving, but we just didn’t think he was leaving permanently. When he asked what my family thought was the reason for him taking off, I just spun it like he was a rebel and wanted out of this small town for bigger, better things. I never actually mentioned my mom. Instead, I used the phrase ‘my family’ and nothing more specific. It just seemed like too much information to plop down all at once. I needed to drop the bombs in chunks, for his sake. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. First, I’d get out my dysfunctional family dynamic with my brother, and then I’d mention that I didn’t have a mom. That just couldn’t be told all at once, not today.

  “He was totally supportive. He said all families are different and that no family is totally normal.” I said as Zoe started painting the toes on my right foot.

  “So what happened when you mentioned your mom?” She raised an eyebrow at me.

  I fidgeted a bit. “That kind of… didn’t come up.”

  She tossed my foot off her and plopped herself right next to me. “Marissa!”

  “What?” I pushed back from her.

  “You had the prime opportunity to get out everything about your life, and you didn’t do it?” She shook her head.

  I glanced down at my toes that had brushed up against my sheets, leaving bright fuchsia stains on them. “I’m sorry. It just… wasn’t the right time.”

  “Marissa! Seriously! I mean, seriously? Like, you’re acting like a baby at this point!” Now she was standing with her hands on her head, pretending to pull her hair out.

  “A baby? That’s pretty harsh.” I felt a lump form in the back of my throat, and I fought to swallow it down. “You know what I’ve been through.” The lump reappeared.

  “Yes, Marissa, I do.” She sat next to me on my bed. “And that’s why now is the time. Seriously, I love you Marissa, but this is it. I’m going to say something here that you won’t want to hear.” I could see the tears in her eyes.

  “I’m listening,” I said, even though I was trying not to.

  “You’re letting your mom’s death, like, destroy you.” A tear ran down her cheek, ruining her perfectly applied makeup.

  She was right. I felt like all my bones were breaking and my body was an unconnected lump. Zoe stretched out her arms, and I cried on her shoulder for a long time. When she had to go home, I made a promise to her that I would run the breast cancer race, and I would use it as a platform to tell Brandon. The promise wasn’t just to her; it was to me as well. And I honestly meant it.

  ****

  The next day at school, I had a lot of work to catch up on, so I spent my lunch and study hall gathering up the work I had missed from the previous day. At lunchtime, I talked to Gram, and I was happy to hear that she was being released from the hospital that afternoon. Marc was going to pick her up and bring her home. It was surreal to think that Gram and Marc and I would be in the same house again. Marc said he was extending his stay. He didn’t say for how long, but my heart hoped for permanently.

  This was going to be a big day for me. It was the day I planned to tell Brandon about my mom. I meant to bring the pamphlet with me so I could do it right after school let out, but I left it at home. For some reason, I needed the physical pamphlet to open the discussion. It was like a security blanket, and I just knew that with the pamphlet in my hand I could do it. That morning, I saw Brandon quickly in the parking lot, and he asked if I wanted to hang out after school. I figured I’d have us go to my house, and I’d do it there. That would be good. Then I could even show him pictures of her. For some reason, I felt less afraid now. Once Zoe had talked to me about freeing myself from my mom’s death, something seemed to click. And now, more than anything, I wanted to be free.

  I met Brandon in the parking lot after school. He greeted me with a hug. His hugs felt great. “I have to do something for my mom, and I was wondering how you’d feel about coming with me.”

  Something about his tone made me nervous. It was serious, and a little cautious. “What do you need to do?”

  He kicked at a pebble on the ground. “My Aunt Mary went and put some flowers on Bobby’s grave, and the thing is, you’re not allowed to put real flowers at the gravesite. Something about too much maintenance for the staff of the cemetery or whatever. So you can only leave plastic flowers. My mom wants me to go and remove the flowers my aunt left. And I wanted to know if you’d come with me.”

  To the cemetery? “Oh Brandon.” There was a lump in my throat the size of a softball.

  He took my hands in his. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but after you told me about your brother… I don’t know. I feel closer to you or something. I mean, Bobby was my brother, and he meant the world to me. I think he’d be cool with the girl I’m falling for paying him a visit. What do you think?” His eyes were so soft, and I felt like I could see his sweet spirit inside him. Maybe it was the part of Bobby that he carried with him that shone through his eyes. Whatever it was, I had to say yes. Today was going to be a day of going forward, not backward.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  If there had ever been a time to have a panic attack, it was that moment. And I was pretty sure I was on the verge of one. Brandon was driving, and with each road that took us closer to the cemetery, a new symptom would manifest itself. It started with sweaty palms. Simultaneously, my heart rate accelerated, and my stomach felt queasy. My throat felt numb. I tried sitting on my hands to stop them from shaking, but then my knees were bopping up and down.

  “Are you cold?” Brandon asked when he saw me shaking.

  “What? Oh, no. I’m fine. In fact, I’m a little warm.” I rolled down my window and let the cool, late afternoon air whip against my face. By the time we got to the cemetery, I practically had my whole head sticking out the window, like a dog on a long car trip.

  Brandon held my hand, and we walked to Bobby’s grave. Pins and needles were shooting off throughout my entire body. I shouldn’t have been there. Part of me wanted to ask him if I could stay in the car, but right when we got there, he thanked me again for coming with him. That and the sweetest, softest kiss he had ever given me was what got me out of the car. Soon after, we were standing at Bobby’s grave. My breath quickened, and I needed to close my eyes and concentrate on not passing out.

  “You know what’s weird?” Brandon said, “It feels so different when I’m here. I feel closer to him or something.” He looked at me, his eyes searching for a sign of approval.

  “That’s not so weird.” Right after my mom died we all went to the grave, and I almost didn’t want to feel the closeness I did to her then. After all, she was dead. I wanted to feel her, not her spirit.

  “Well I have this uncle, my mom’s brother, who’s never been here. When Bobby first died, I came here every day for two weeks. Then one day, my uncle said to me, ‘You know he’s not there. Bobby’s long gone. His spirit’s long gone too. You’re just standing at a grave marker. You could just as well stare at his picture. There’s no reason to go to the grave.’ After he said that, I stopped coming till the day Nicholas and my mom came, so Nicholas could let the balloon go.” He knelt down, and removed the stargazer lilies that his aunt had placed on the grave marker. My eyes began to tear up as I watched him brush away any dirt or pebbles or grass pieces that were strewn about on the grave marker. “I still feel him, though.” He stood up and looked at me. “Hey, are you okay?”

  I wiped a stray tear that escaped my eye. “I’m fine. It’s just nice to hear how you talk about your brother. It must be so hard for you.”

  He wrapped an arm around me and returned his gaze to the grave. “It is. But, I learned pretty quick that even though he was gone, I wasn’t.”

  I looked up at him, and his entire face was soft, with a look of subt
le sadness crossing over him. “How did you learn that?” I wanted to know because over a year later I hadn’t even learned that.

  “One of the days I was sitting here, just staring at the grave, I sat here for like an hour, just looking at his name etched into stone. And the year markers. February 12, 2001 to April 6, 2012. And I just kept staring at those dates, and I became fixated on the dash.”

  He had lost me. “The dash?”

  “Yeah, the dash. You have the date you were born and the date you die, and then in between is the dash. The dash is your life. Bobby’s dash was filled with long summer days playing baseball. And nights he stayed up past his bedtime playing video games with me. And Thanksgivings where he would always try to eat an entire drumstick all by himself. And Christmas mornings, and Mom’s homemade mac and cheese, and winter colds, and water balloon fights, and dodgeball, and jumping in piles of newly raked leaves. The dash is our lives. Some of us just have a bigger dash than others.” He faced me, staring deep into my eyes. “I don’t want to waste my dash.”

  It took everything I had not to break down right then. I bit my tongue to the point of almost making it bleed, so I could hold back the waterworks.

  “I guess that might only be profound if you’ve lost somebody close to you though.” He handed the stargazer lilies to me. “Have you ever lost someone like that?”

  “Yes,” I squeaked out. He had given me the perfect opening, but something wasn’t right. It wasn’t the right place. Not here in the cemetery. I had no strength standing there. I wouldn’t survive the words — they’d eat me alive. I had to get him back to my house so I could show him the pamphlet. Then I could do it, but not here. Not standing at Bobby’s grave.

  “Can we go to my house now?” I was barely able to whisper.