Devine Intervention

by Martha Brockenbrough

  “What just happened? I felt like my whole body was starting to, I don’t know, vanish.”

  “Really?” Jerome said. He turned her toward the front door, nudging her through it. “You looked totally fine to me. Let’s go talk to Megan already.”

  Heidi felt uneasy entering Megan’s house without knocking. Mrs. Lin had always told her to make herself comfortable, but she might as well have been saying “Go roller-skate with a giraffe on the patio.” Heidi had wished for the power to make herself invisible more than once in her presence, especially when Mrs. Lin had her home leg-waxing kit going.

  “It’s just sugar and lemon juice cooked on the stove!” Mrs. Lin would say, slathering her legs in goo. “If you don’t mind a little leg hair, you can eat the stuff!”

  Heidi’s great fear had been that someday Mrs. Lin would wax her legs and make her eat the peelings. The thought made her uncomfortable on every level, and maybe even on levels she wasn’t aware she had. Heidi didn’t touch her own legs all that often if she could help it. Instead, she preferred to treat her body as if it were a distant relative, one she’d acknowledge politely on holidays.

  With a jolt, Heidi remembered something Mrs. Lin said about the leg waxing: “Someday, Heidi,” she grunted, ripping a strip of hairy wax from her shin, “someday, you will join in the fun of this life. I have psychic gifts and I see your soul, and it is hungry enough to eat the sugar and lemon juice, even with the hair.”

  Heidi couldn’t imagine ever being that hungry. Even now.

  “You comin’?” Jerome said. He jerked his thumb toward Megan’s room.

  “How’d you know — wait — you watched me here too?”

  “Rehab guardian angel. My job. But don’t worry. You didn’t do anything too embarrassing. Usually.”

  As if. Megan’s house was an epicenter of personal embarrassment, ranging from middle school kissing practice to things Heidi didn’t even want to review in her own memory. Her face blazed and she put her hand over her mouth.

  Jerome leaned against Megan’s door. “Yeah, about that. When you do actually kiss a boy, go easy on the ChapStick. We don’t want to feel like we’ve been eating ham. Not that ham isn’t really good —”

  Something awakened inside her, buzzing her head and heating her skin. She recognized the feeling: anger, the first she’d felt of it in ages. Here she thought she’d been crazy, but instead, Jerome was watching her — judging her — even when she was doing things that were supposed to be private. The closeness she felt to him on the train evaporated.

  “Shut up, Jerome. Just shut up and leave me alone with Megan.”

  She stood there, momentarily stunned that she’d actually said something like that. She never told people to shut up. She hated conflict, avoiding it even more than she avoided Mrs. Lin’s wackadamia-nut grooming rituals. Still, a small part of her felt free. Maybe it was something to do with being outside of her body at last.

  She closed her eyes and passed through Megan’s door, ignoring Jerome as he followed her into the room. Megan had fallen asleep with the light on, and her jeans and sweater lay in piles on the floor. That was unlike her. Megan was an extreme folder. She’d even bought a scored blue plastic sheet on an infomercial so she could get her T-shirts the same size for stacking, which she used religiously until she discovered a better method of folding in a Japanese video online. She’d converted all her fellow employees at the Gap to it, until she quit that job so she might dedicate herself more fully to honing her psychic abilities, something her mom was certain would get her into college. Heidi thought it was crazy but didn’t feel entitled to be particularly judgmental on that score.

  “Megan?” Heidi whispered into her ear, hoping to rouse her gently.

  Megan stirred and rolled onto her back. She flung one arm over her head. Her eyes were puffy, her skin raw. She’d been crying, which was oddly satisfying. Still, Heidi wanted her to wake up and she didn’t, and the frustration of it made her start tearing up again in front of Jerome. She wiped her eyes hard, as though she could push the tears back inside.

  “Megan!” she said, louder this time. Nothing happened.

  Jerome stepped forward, licked his finger, and stuck it in Megan’s ear. Then he bent and whispered something. Megan’s short lashes fluttered. She opened her eyes and sat up. Her blanket, which had been pulled up to her shoulders, slipped down.

  Great. She’d gone to bed topless. One more opportunity for a Jerome privacy invasion. “Megan! Cover up!” Heidi yelled, but Megan didn’t even blink.

  “Heidi, relax,” Jerome said, turning to face her. “You know she wouldn’t care.”

  “She might not, but I do.” She stepped between Jerome and Megan, trying to block his view.

  Megan stretched, yawned, and reached for her glasses as Jerome positioned himself against her desk.

  “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he said, crossing his arms. “Come on, Heidi.”

  Heidi glared. “Is that something you’re proud of?”

  She took a step in his direction, and Jerome shied backward until he was sitting on the desk. He swallowed hard.

  “You guys were funny. I once even made a game out of the things you always used to do.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a notebook, and flipped to a hand-drawn bingo card, mostly filled out, cataloging various embarrassments. “Look, this one was almost a slantwise win.”

  Heidi’s mouth fell open. He’d made a game of their friendship. A game! And if he’d done that with Megan when the two of them were together, what had he done with her when she was alone? A slap to the face would’ve felt better.

  It took her a while to find her words. “How would you feel if someone spied on you?” She clenched and opened her fists, trying to do something with the energy that was pooling in her hands. “What if that was a person you thought liked you? A person you —” Her tongue stumbled. She couldn’t say any more.

  Jerome started to talk, but appeared to think better of it.

  Megan slipped her bra on, picked up her T-shirt, and snapped out the creases before she pulled it over her head.

  Jerome cleared his throat. “If I’d said anything, you’d’ve been embarrassed.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose. “It was better this way.”

  Heidi sat cross-legged on the floor, her chin in her hands.

  “I’m embarrassed now. Mortified.”

  He looked up toward the ceiling, as if help might come from above, and his voice was quiet and strained. “Look, I never showed anyone the game. I never told anyone what you did. That means it’s as good as not happening. And you have to admit it’s kind of funny. I even give myself bonus points when you guys do the whole pregnancy thing.”

  “Only Megan does that.”

  Megan had a whole stages-of-life routine, in which she’d go from being an infant to being an old woman in the span of two minutes. The part where she was pregnant was Heidi’s secret favorite — Megan would put on a huge striped shirt, stuff a pillow under it, and yell “MY WATER BROKE.”

  Heidi crossed her arms and gave Jerome a hard look. “The things you do when no one is watching are the true test of your character. They do matter. A lot.”

  There was a long silence, broken by the sound of Megan zipping her jeans.

  “I know,” he said, his voice no more than a whisper.

  Heidi had a sudden urge to take his notebook from him, to take it and rip it up. She marched to the desk and grabbed at it, but he held it over her head. She moved in close and strained upward until she realized their bodies were almost touching. She stepped back. It was one thing to be next to him when he was listening to her, to what she chose to share, and trying to make her feel better. It was another thing when her life had already been opened like a can of tuna.

  She lowered herself once more to the floor and looked at her feet.

  “Heidi, don’t get mad at me for this. Come on. I was just keeping track of you, and I had to do something to keep quiet. I hate not hearing mysel
f talk. I go crazy. Scooch over.”

  He took a step toward Heidi, as if he planned to sit next to her, but stopped when she looked up suddenly, her eyes squinted in anger. He flopped down on Megan’s bed instead.

  Megan, fully dressed, sat in her chair, opened her desk drawer, and pulled out a small bottle of reddish-black nail polish. Vamp. The stuff they’d been saving for some unspecified important thing — and it had already been opened. Heidi was aghast that Megan had used it without her. As Megan painted, a tear slid down her cheek. Heidi had to press her hand against her mouth to keep from crying out.

  Megan whistled air through her lips to dry each nail, and Heidi made herself look at Jerome. “Can’t you help me? I want to talk to her. To say good-bye, to tell her I … I loved her before it’s too late.”

  He stretched out on the bed with his hands beneath his head. “I’ve done everything I can think of. Just let me say whatever you want to say.”

  “And have her hear your voice? No, thanks. She’d think she was losing it. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

  “I’ll make it high,” he said, sitting up. “Like this.”

  “Jerome, come on. That’s idiotic. Aren’t there instructions or anything? How’d they activate your voice when you got to rehab?”

  Jerome pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know,” he said. “It just always worked for me. Let me do your talking for you. It’s the least I can do.” He cracked his knuckles and looked at her expectantly.

  “Not in a million years.” She flicked his toes. “God, get your shoes off her blanket.”

  “Come on. I’ll tell her whatever you want.” He swung his feet over the edge of the bed. “Anything. Tell me what I should say.”

  She looked at the ceiling. There were so many things. So many sentences that started, “Remember that time …”

  But none of them seemed right, especially since they almost always ended with Heidi being a reluctant participant at best. Heidi maybe hadn’t been wrong to resist Megan’s wackier plans, given how Talentpalooza!! turned out. But it wasn’t as if she died of embarrassment. She’d drowned. And Megan was right about the thing she said in the cafeteria. Now the penguin incident really did seem like no big deal, and instead of memories of a lifetime of boldness, Heidi was left with something that felt decidedly cramped. She was like the rose she’d once sketched in a middle school art class, a flower that shriveled instead of breaking free from the protective cage of leaves around its bud. No wonder Megan had gone ahead and used the nail polish. She’d been humoring Heidi all along. Their friendship was based on pity.

  The weakness struck again, crashing like a wave over her, dimming the lights, prickling her soul with white-hot needles of pain. She slipped all the way to the floor. Jerome said something she couldn’t quite hear. He hopped off the bed, wrapped his fingers around hers. She held on.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she whispered.

  As the world darkened around her, Jerome’s face lit up.

  “I remember where it is,” he said. “But you have to promise to keep your eyes shut.”

  Heidi neither knew nor cared what he was talking about. She nodded and closed her eyes. As he grabbed her other hand, the world slid away all around her.

  Chapter 1, Subsection ii:

  The Ten Commandments for the Dead

  I. THOU SHALT NOT COMPLAIN ABOUT BEING DEAD.

  II. THOU SHALT NOT ENGAGE IN DISCOURSE WITH THE LIVING.

  III. THOU SHALT GIVE UP EARTHLY ATTACHMENTS.

  IV. THOU SHALT HONOR THINE HEAVENLY ADVISORS.

  V. THOU SHALT NOT COVET THE FOOD OR THE DRINK OF THE LIVING.

  VI. THOU SHALT NOT LIE.

  VII. THOU SHALT NOT UNDERMINE THE DIGNITY OF THE LIVING.

  VIII. THOU SHALT NOT UTTER OATHS.

  WHEN HEIDI WAS crying about not being able to talk to Megan, and going all blurry around her edges, I remembered where I’d stashed the handbook. At my dad’s house in the little drawer of mystery under the oven. I used to hide stuff there before I died, like spare cash, report cards, that sort of thing. It was a good hiding place even though it was a little dusty and greasy, because no one ever opened it. Opening it would’ve meant we put pans away, and we only ever washed things on an as-needed basis.

  But even if Dad had opened the drawer, he wouldn’t have found the book because it’s a celestial object. If you’ve ever walked from one room to the other and forgotten what you were doing, you most likely passed something an angel hid. Celestial objects give off vibes meant to keep people from noticing them, and sometimes the vibes are strong enough to erase your last couple thoughts. Howard thinks it’s hilarious to hide some of his Chevy in schools. Jerk.

  When we got to Dad’s house, I slapped my hands over Heidi’s eyes before she could see the place. I wished I could bring her anywhere but there, but the good news was, her edges had crisped up again. Maybe the air at my dad’s house was good for giving people a dose of reality.

  “I’m already closing my eyes,” she said. “You don’t need to do that. And you’re squashing my nose.”

  I stood behind her with my arms sort of around her so I could reach both her eyes, and she felt warm and good, and she still smelled a little bit like cookies, so on the one hand, I thought about staying where I was. But on the other hand, I wasn’t going to be able to get into the drawer if I had my palms stuck on her face.

  “Fine,” I said. “Keep ’em closed.”

  I walked into the kitchen, which wasn’t far from where she was standing, and every so often, I looked back at her. Dad wasn’t home, but he’d left a lamp on, and the light from it shined through her hair and blazed up the side of her face so that she sort of looked like one of those pictures they take when you’re graduating high school. If she had put her chin on her fist and stayed there for a year, boom! Senior portrait.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  Her eyes were still closed.

  “I’m staring at you, you dumbapple,” I said. Tip: If you tell people what you’re actually doing in a certain kind of voice, they think you’re lying. “Good work keeping your eyes shut. If there was an actual job doing that, you would be employee of the month.”

  “What’s that smell? It is not good, Jerome. Not good.”

  I ignored her and bent down and stuck my hand through the drawer and rummaged around in there and pretty soon I felt the handbook. I shoved it in my pocket. Then came the sound of my pop’s key in the lock. Heidi opened her eyes. The door creaked and Pop walked in looking about a thousand years old and like maybe he’d stopped at a bar on his way home from work.

  “Who’s that?” she said, taking a step backward. “Where are we?”

  “Nobody,” I said. “We’re nowhere.”

  I touched her elbow real light and we shooped back to her house so fast it made my head spin. It was worse for Heidi, judging by the way she hung on to me.

  “Jerome, you have to tell me first before we do that.” She shoved me away and took a couple of wobbly steps, like she was dizzy or something.

  The scene at her house was totally different. People kept coming up to the door, bringing casseroles to one of her mom’s work friends, who was stationed in the entry. We hung out in the bedroom to check out the manual without getting bugged.

  I’d always liked her room better anyway.

  It was like the garage of her life, a place where you keep everything that used to be important on account of it might come in handy someday. She still had a shelf full of smelly old kids’ books and a teddy bear that looked like it got chewed on by a dinosaur. She had her shrine to that vampire guy: the poster with him bending down over his girlfriend’s neck, and Megan’s doll-in-a-box thing she put on the shelf next to it, only someone had taken him out of the box, which was gonna hack Heidi off once she noticed.

  But she also had her desk and a computer and a bunch of humongous books that she used when she was doing her homework and sometimes, when I used to watch her, I cou
ld imagine what she’d look like all grown up. It was a real mind-flask. I mean, someday, she’d be older than me. She’d have a job and an apartment and a husband and kids, or, knowing her, a bunch of cats wearing sweaters Megan had knitted.

  Maybe I would’ve still been in the picture, the one angel who never made it out of rehab, and I’d be there with her, telling her what to say to the people who gave her Chevy at work and at bars and stuff, because when she was old enough, we were for sure going to hang out at the ones that had sports on TV and darts and wet T-shirt contests every Saturday night. Well, maybe not the darts because those are just little arrows and I’ve had enough of those.

  But she never was going to get old enough, was she?

  There was only one chair, and Heidi sat on it. I was on the bed all by myself, which was fine because I was not thinking about the sort of thing I used to think about doing when I was in bed with a girl, namely, getting a little handsy with her milk cartons. Not that that ever actually happened.

  She was still mad at me because of the bingo thing.

  “It’s just really embarrassing that you did that,” she said. “I feel like Megan had no privacy at all. Like I had no privacy.”

  “Look,” I said. “I’m sorry. What would you have done if you were me?”

  “I can’t even imagine being you,” she said, in a way that made me feel like something you wouldn’t want to step in. “And that’s not the point. The point is, you weren’t respectful of me.”

  She crossed her arms and wouldn’t look at my face. Gabe’s instruction manual felt crummy in my pocket, especially given my other assets, so I pulled it out and cracked it open.

  “What is that?” she said, pointing at my hands.

  “Book. Instructions.”

  “Instructions for what? Helping me talk?”

  “More than that. All of death, I guess. Never really read it, so be a little more shh so I can figure something out.”

  The one time I looked at the handbook, I would’ve died of boredom except for the fact of my already being dead. It has, like, seventeen chapters, some with footnotes at the end, which is the worst. They put the longest words there and they make them so small you have to push your face into the paper. Who needs that? And there’s this chart with arrows and things. Just looking at it makes my head hurt.