22
Bryn
I went to sleep every night afraid. Of the darkness. Of slipping into another episode. Of not. I watched the ceiling, waiting for the shadow, for that feeling that someone was watching me. That maybe they always had been. But when it didn’t come all I could do was think about what I’d overheard outside of Dr. Sabine’s office.
Again. I let that one word swell inside me, filling every empty space until I was raw. Until I was afraid. Because that was the sound I’d heard in their voices through the door to Dr. Sabine’s office. It wasn’t curiosity or even caution. It was fear I’d heard and it was fear I’d felt as I rushed down the hall to meet Felix and Dani in the courtyard the next day at school.
I stepped outside and Trisha Berry noticed me lingering a little too close to her table and tossed her bag in the only empty chair. Two years later and she still hated me for passing out on stage during the spring play freshman year. It was right in the middle of her solo.
People were congregating near the gym doors, everyone pushing to get a better look at something up in the trees. I spotted Felix’s green baseball cap and then Dani standing next to him, pointing at something.
I made my way toward them, people heading back to their tables.
“What is it?” I asked when I reached Dani.
She pointed. “Jerks. Some kind of prank.”
I looked up and I saw the kites, the entire senior class’ final English project strewn among the branches.
“What?”
I scanned the leaves for ours, big red pomegranate flush to the leaves, and then one fluttered down, landing at my feet with a crack.
“Idiots. Mrs. Ward better give us all As. Bryn?” Dani grabbed my arm. “You okay?”
I shook off the blank stare and nodded even though I wasn’t sure. I’d seen the kites just like this with Roman and I’d thought they’d gotten stuck when the landscape changed or that my memory had gotten twisted somehow. But it wasn’t a memory. It was…
“Hello? Bryn?”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t freak. I know you stayed up all weekend finishing your half but—”
“It’s not…I’m...”
I let Dani lead me to an empty table and I tried not to glance over my shoulder, to see if they were still there or if I was still dreaming.
“You feeling okay?” Felix asked. “You don’t look so good.”
“I…something happened.”
“What do you mean?” Dani asked. “Is this about…?” She gave me a look. “You know.”
“I went to the doctor.”
“Did you finally decide to tell her?”
I nodded.
“Well?” Felix pressed.
“She told me it was just another coping mechanism.”
“How does that even make sense?” Felix said.
“Apparently, I made him up because I’m lonely.”
“She said that?” Dani snapped.
“That’s not all they said. After my appointment I went back to her office to get my mom’s bag that she’d left. I was about to knock when I heard…”
“What?”
“Two new doctors from Germany. They said that I was running out of time and then they said something about it not happening again.”
Dani raised an eyebrow. “It…?”
“It was hard to make out every word but they said they’d have to keep a close eye on me.” I gripped the braided tabletop. “What if they meant…?”
“No.” Dani looked down. “Don’t go there. Not yet.”
“Yeah,” Felix said. “They could have been talking about anything.”
“They were talking about me,” I said. “Me. There’s something wrong with me.”
“So they gave you some fake explanation,” Felix said. “It doesn’t mean the real one is as bad as you think it is. Maybe they don’t even have a real explanation yet.”
“Then why all the secrecy?” I said.
“Sounds like they’re still putting the pieces together. They probably don’t want you to worry.”
“But I am worried. I’m kind of freaking the fuck out. I’m seeing things and hearing things. And there’s something…something out there…”
“Whoa, Bryn. Calm down.” Dani reached for me and then she gave Felix a small nod.
“Bryn, I found something.” Felix pulled out his cell phone, thumbs racing over the keypad. He laid it on the table and pushed it over to me. “Mismatched Machine. Finally found them last night.”
“You what?” I reached for it, scrolling through their webpage. I clicked on one of their song titles and it started to play.
“I’ve never heard of them,” Dani said.
“You wouldn’t listening to that top forty bullshit,” Felix shot back.
“Yeah, me and the rest of the world.”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t get me started on corporate conspiracies and the communist mind fuck that is public radio.”
“Okay. Guys. Focus.” I stared at the screen, some Julian Casablancas look-alike screaming into a microphone. “Are they local?”
Felix shook his head. “They’re from Seattle, I think.”
“How obscure are they exactly?”
“Strictly digital, if that’s what you mean,” Felix said.
“Great.”
“Don’t you have an iPod?”
I did but in the land of lost memories an iPod was like a needle in a haystack. Maybe it was somewhere on my grandfather’s bookshelf. Maybe it was tucked under the pillow on my mom’s childhood bed. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen it there and if I wanted to show the band to Roman I had to have something tangible.
“So what now?” Dani asked. “I mean, we know his first name and we know his favorite band. What do we do with that?”
“It’s just pieces,” I said.
“Just pieces,” Felix repeated. “But it’s more pieces than your doctors might have. I say we put this shit together before they do and find out what exactly it is they’re hiding.”
“And how do we do that?” Dani asked.
Felix chewed on his lip, mouth slipping into a smile. “I might be able to come up with something.”
Felix told us to hang tight with our cell phones, a pair of running shoes, and a black hoodie nearby. So far his plan didn’t exactly sound fool proof but what other choice did I have?
I sat at my desk the rest of the afternoon, loading my hard drive with a bunch of songs I’d never heard of. I was scrolling through the playlist I’d just made when I saw my uncle’s truck pull into the driveway. I watched him walk to the front door, which was unusual considering he always came in through the garage. Then he knocked, which was even weirder.
I opened the door. “What’s with all the formalities?”
“Bryn. Hey, kiddo. Is anyone else around? Your mom’s car—”
“She’s out. You two still avoiding each other?” I asked, taking a step back so he could come inside.
He leaned against the kitchen counter. “Bryn, about what happened…”
I waved a hand. “Please. I’m over it.”
He hung his head. “Good. I mean I’m relieved. I thought maybe you’d hate me.” He tried to smile.
“Why? You’re not my father.”
“He hasn’t come by again, has he?”
I stared at the floor. I hadn’t told my mom that he’d come by. For some reason I kind of liked keeping our little confrontation a secret. It made me feel like an adult somehow, doing my own dirty work this time and sparing my mom’s feelings instead of the other way around. But I’d said things to him, things I’d never said to anyone. And as I’d said them, I’d realized that they were less of a reproach for my dad and more of a thanks to the man who’d been nothing but.
“He did,” I finally said. “Once, while mom was out.”
“Did you see him?”
“I may have opened the door.”
“Why?”
“I just…
I was angry, I guess. Everyone’s said their piece but me. Mom always sends me inside or makes me wait in the car or go to my room. I understand her not wanting me to be upset but it’s too late for that. I had things I needed to say too.”
He cleared his throat, bracing himself. “Like what?”
“I told him being a dad is something you earn.” I looked at my uncle. “And I told him that I already had one. I didn’t want him to ever think he was doing us any favors by just showing up here. Like we need him. We don’t. Not when we have you.”
“You said that?”
My throat was dry. I swallowed. “It’s the truth.”
He gripped my shoulder, his jaw tight. “You’re a good kid.”
“You’re a good dad.”
He hugged me, hard, and I felt everything I’d ever needed from my dad in that hug. Only it was better because my uncle didn’t stick around out of obligation or guilt. He stuck around because he loved us, and not the easy, inherited kind of love either.
Our relationship hadn’t been forged just by blood, it had been forged by afternoons spent out in the garage, me holding the spotlight while he worked on my mom’s car, by summers coaching my co-ed softball team and dragging little boys off the field by their shirt collars when they told me I threw like a girl. Time had forged that bond. Memories. Things that were thicker than blood. Things that were more important.
“I’m okay,” I said, “with you and her. If that’s what you want.”
He ran a hand down his face. “I don’t know what she wants anymore.”
“She’s afraid.”
They were the same words I’d told Felix about Dani. Why were the women in my family so afraid of everything?
“You know her,” he said.
“I do.”
“Do you think she’ll come around?”
“If you do. No more avoiding us.”
“Deal. This last month was torture,” he laughed.
The front door pushed open and my uncle grew still. My mom walked in, mirroring his stiffness as she set a bag of takeout on the kitchen counter.
“Brian.”
“I just stopped by,” he said. “Thought I’d check on Bryn.”
They both just stood there, staring at each other.
“Is this Chinese?” I said. “Smells great.” I reached for the carton with my name on it. “I think I’ll eat in my room.”
They barely registered my exit and I was relieved. I ate at my desk, still waiting for a text from Felix but it never came.
I finally curled into bed, jeans still on under my bedspread, and spent the night listening to Mismatched Machine. I stared at the flow of my iPod until my eyes burned, tracing the symbols from Roman’s shirt as the songs wandered between prolific concept ballads and electronic instrumentals. It was this twisted hodgepodge of South Eastern influence, contemporary street poetry, and heavy metal. One minute every instrument was grinding at a fever pitch and then the song would reach this abrupt lull, the lead singer’s voice clinging to the rhythm more like an echo while my ears tried to adjust.
It was wild and honeyed and electric. I thought of Roman dropping the needle on that Rush album, lips parting slightly as if it was so good he’d wanted to taste it. This is him, I thought, and through whatever reconfiguration and almost drowning he’d been through, that part of him was still intact. Individual. Inherent. Maybe I hadn’t made him up. How could I have?
I played the next track, eyes burning from the bright blue glow of my iPod. I let them flutter shut. Just for a second. Just for…
23
Roman
I knelt by the window, fingers parting the blinds, peering out. The sun was still out and I examined the trees, waiting for every dark corner and every shadow to swell like the forest’s lungs. I waited for it to come for me. But back in Bryn’s tree house, when I’d reached for her hand, stroking empty air, she wasn’t the only thing that had disappeared.
When I’d turned back around the shadow was gone too and so was the cold. When the ice in my veins finally started to melt that’s when I ran back to the farmhouse.
I heard the door shudder, the knob turning, and I bolted upright. When I saw that it was Bryn, her smile impossibly wide as she stepped through the front door, my stomach clenched. She found me?
Bryn reached for me, lacing her arms around my neck, pulling me tight. “You’re alright,” she breathed into my shirt.
“And you?”
Her eyes darkened, remembering. “I’ve seen it but that’s it. I’m not sure what it is…”
I felt the chill of it hanging over us again, shook off the memory. “Or what it wants.”
She pulled away, quiet. I watched her make her way to the bookshelf, lifting things, pushing them aside, looking for something.
“What is it?” I asked.
She searched her mom’s old room, stripping the bed, emptying the pillowcases.
“My iPod.”
“Is it here?”
“Not sure.”
She moved to her grandparent’s bedroom, rifling through the closets, checking the pockets on every article of clothing, inside shoeboxes, and beneath the faulty floorboards. I looked too. Checking under the mattresses, on the top shelf of the closets where she couldn’t reach. But there was nothing. We went back to the living room and she searched the kitchen cabinets and in the utensil drawers before wandering back to the bookshelf, tipping the spines of books back one more time. She finally sunk down on the couch.
“I found something,” she said.
“What?” I stood in front of her, restless.
“Your shirt. That symbol, it’s a logo for a band called Mismatched Machine.”
My hands grazed the raised monogram on my shirt, cracked and fading. I tried to remember where I’d bought it—a concert, an old record store, some shoddy band website. I tried to remember slipping it on, the scent of cigarette smoke still clinging to the fabric.
“Wait.” Bryn slipped her hands between the couch cushions, digging under the pillows.
I helped her pull them free, exposing the springs underneath, and there wedged between the frame of the pull out bed were those signature white ear buds, cord snaking down to something shiny. Bryn pulled out her iPod, thumb tracing over the screen, waking it. Then she slipped one tiny speaker in her ear and the other in mine.
I caught hold of the bass, tethering myself to it as the song sprang into chaos. The first verse kicked in and I tried to recognize the sound of his voice. Then I felt Bryn’s gaze slip to my lips. I felt them mouthing the words.
“I…I remember this song.”
But that wasn’t all I remembered. I remembered bodies pressed against me, the smell of their sweat and beer and cigarette smoke. I remembered screaming until my lungs burned. I remembered the pulse of the drum writhing against my heartbeat. Every city. Every concert. I grabbed the iPod, scrolling through songs—choruses and drum solos ignited in my memory.
My finger bounced off another one of the tracks, a growl buzzing in my ears. “Holy shit!”
I grabbed Bryn by the shoulders, shaking her, and she laughed.
“Holy fucking shit is right,” she said.
In that moment of remembering I forgot about being embarrassed, or wrong, or afraid, or empty. I scooped her up with one arm, the two of us spinning and jumping and laughing. And singing. I was singing, my voice swelling and then cracking. I thought I might choke on the words. I thought I might cry. I almost did. But then I looked at Bryn, at her flushed cheeks, the birthmark on her chapped lips, her eyes—green irises fluttering like a pair of leaves—and I knew. That she was real and so was I. That I was real and I was somewhere and she would be the one to find me.
So I let it simmer, hope filling me to the brim. And it felt good. Touching her, that thrum of the music riding under my pulse, knowing it could last. It felt good.
Bryn grew still as she stared through the open front door. I turned, the trees bleeding into the sky. Dark trunks splayi
ng into these pale blossoms, the petals swirling and spilling to the ground like snow. She led me into the dizzying scent of spring, flowers bedding in her hair. We stood under the branches, sunlight a shadow against the white leaves, me staring straight into it, her staring straight into me.
“You’re real,” she said.
I looked down at her. “I’m real. I’m real and you’re going to find me.” My fingers scaled her arms, her shoulders, the slope of her neck. They curled into her hair, warm, soft. “Please don’t disappear this time.”
She held her breath, waiting for me to kiss her, to wake up. But it wasn’t her this time. This time it was me. I kissed her, letting the heat trail from her lips to mine. Still. Soft. Unrelenting. And when I opened my eyes I was for the first time, finally and undeniably awake.
She saw the moment it happened but the second I met her eyes they fell. Straight down. Away from me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She wrestled with something, words and worries that weren’t supposed to exist now that I was real. All that was supposed to exist was us. Here. Now. The realness better than magic.
“Bryn?”
“What if you’re not sick?” She finally said, still not looking up at me.
I let out a tight breath, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what if I find you and you’re not sick? What if you’re normal?”
“Then how would I be here?” I said, still trying to figure out where she was going with this.
“I don’t know,” Bryn said. “But hypothetically, what if we’re different?”
“Then we’re different.”
“That doesn’t scare you?” she asked.
The only thing that scared me was Bryn disappearing for good.
“No,” I said. “Why should it?”
She shook her head, eyes pleading with me, but for what I didn’t know. “You don’t know what it’s like. It’s hard. It’s not—”
The Girl In Between series: Books 1-4 Page 18