Rewrite Redemption

by Walker, J. H.

  Through the family-room door, I saw my brother, strapped to his wheelchair. He was slamming wildly into the controller as though his life depended on it. It was all he did the whole frickin day. The home health worker said Devon had to go through the stages of grief about being paralyzed. But Devon seemed determined to stay in the angry stage. He revved up his anger by slaughtering stuff on the screen. He took his anger out on anyone in range.

  I crept down the hall to my dad’s office. He was hunched over his desk with headphones, trying to escape into his computer. He looked a decade older than he had six months ago. He hadn’t shaved, his clothes were wrinkled, and I could swear he was getting grayer every day. I decided not to bother him and returned to the family room. Maybe I could get my brother to turn the game down.

  But before I could do anything, my mom was trying, once again, to talk to him. “Devon, Honey, how about a little dinner?” she asked with her hand on his shoulder.

  He ignored her.

  “There’s food on the stove, Devon, if you’re hungry.” She tried again.

  He shrugged her hand away. Then he lurched abruptly forward and slashed the head off something. The head rolled, and blood splattered across the screen about twice as loud as it had been just seconds ago. My mom jumped.

  I was in hell.

  Devon had to have turned it up just to freak her out, the little jerk. My mom’s Joker smile collapsed into defeat. Tears streaming down her face, she fled to her bedroom. It wasn’t pretty. I wanted to punch my brother. I knew things sucked for him, but he didn’t have to take it out on my mother. But as pissed as I was at him, I didn’t want to make things worse.

  I knew the best thing I could do for my mom was to get the sound turned down. So I sucked it up and tried to talk to him. I tapped him on the shoulder. “Dev, lower the volume, Dude. Come on, it’s way too loud. I can hear it two houses down. Mom and Dad are losing it.”

  Nothing.

  “Dude, come on, be reasonable. The neighbors are going to complain again. You’re freaking mom out. You need to let up on that.”

  “Blow it out your ass, Jerkwad.” He glared at me for a second and then turned back to the screen. But after a couple of minutes, he lowered the sound a little.

  There was mac and cheese on the stove in the kitchen. I scooped out a bowl full and took it out back to the deck. I dropped into a lawn chair, trying to figure out how I could get my brother to mellow out a bit. Devon was angry. I knew that. A chunk of that anger was focused on me—his big brother, the track star—his big brother, the musician. I think that at that point in his recovery, he hated me, the brother still walking around. I didn’t know how to handle it.

  I have a natural affinity for music. From the time I was really young, I could hear the music in the energy waves around me. It just floated there in the background of my awareness. I understood harmony and I understood it well. I spoke the language.

  I started piano at six. By the time I was nine, I’d moved on to the guitar. I have big hands and long fingers that move fast and fluidly over the strings. I play a pretty mean guitar. I like the bass best. I love how it holds all the other sounds together. And even though I was still in high school, before I left Seattle, I was in a band that landed professional gigs regularly.

  Devon had always been jealous about that. He played, but he didn’t seem to have music in his soul, like say, my best friend, Daniel. Devon struggled on even simple songs. He resented that it came easily for me. He resented me for doing better in school. He resented my wins at track. But once he hit middle school and found football, everything changed.

  Suddenly he was the star. He was better than I was at something which changed everything between us. He was a brick wall that no one could get past, and it made him feel ten feet tall. When he made the team, he wore the stupid jacket 24/7. My parents, who didn’t know football from hacky sack, went to the games and loaded on the praise. I did too. And Devon, with his cheerleader girlfriend, was so high he was living on the moon.

  Cue Constantine, the Destroyer, with his awesome idea.

  Idiot!

  I told him not to do it alone. I told him to wear shoes that would grip the roof. I told him to watch out for the extension cords. But I should have known he wouldn’t listen. He never listened to me. I was just trying to share something with him, trying to be a big brother, trying to have a moment.

  But a moment was all it took.

  In an instant, he lost the one thing he loved. If I lost my legs, I’d still have music. Being physical was everything to Devon.

  There’s this part of me I call the critic. It’s this voice in the back of my head that gives me shit when I screw up. It had been on my case pretty bad since the accident. And at that moment, it was reading me the riot act for wrecking my family’s lives. I tried hard to ignore it. But between the chaos in the family room and the chaos in my head, I didn’t know how I was going to make it through the weekend.

  Hard to believe, at that point, I dreaded weekends and couldn’t wait for Mondays. Talk about ironic. And for the cherry on top of my suck-sundae, I was getting nowhere with the Shadow.

  There was nothing I could do for my mom, and there was nothing I could do about Devon. Even though I’d just gotten home, all I wanted to do was to get the heck out of there. I went back inside and stuck the bowl in the fridge. Then I went to tell my dad I was going for a run.

  I pretty much yelled that at him. But he had on Bose noise-cancelling headphones, probably over earplugs. He didn’t hear me. He just sat there staring at his computer screen.

  I wrote a note on a yellow sticky:

  I stuck it on his screen. He blinked for a moment, looked over at me, and nodded. Then he turned back to his computer. I was a commercial, not worth sustained attention. I was a ghost in my own life.

  I pulled on some sweats and stomped out the door, cuing up angry tunes. I’d start with that and pound out some of the rage. I figured I needed a couple of hard, slamming, rap miles, before I could make my way to electronic and then rock. Then I’d move gradually down my play list into mellow, so maybe I could sleep.”

  I didn’t plan on going there again.

  Really.

  Well, maybe deep in my subconscious, but my subconscious was pissed at me, and we weren’t talking. I took off in the opposite direction. The good me was trying to behave, do the right thing. He was ready to travel the straight and narrow and all those metaphors you hear in lectures. Not that he was any kind of saint or anything. He just wanted his life back. And he felt guilty as hell about his family.

  But the screw-up me, AKA the do-the-wrong-thing-anyway me—who was rapidly becoming the stalker me—wanted to feel better. And he knew where to find the drug to do the trick. So before the good me noticed, we were circling around the other way. The good me just went with it.

  He was too stressed to argue.

  “I don’t know what you’re expecting here,” I said, as Lex applied a hot oil treatment on my hair.

  “Hold still. I’m expecting to find a girl,” she said.

  “Ow,” I complained, as she caught a snarl. “I wouldn’t get my hopes too high, if I were you.”

  “You’re totally clueless,” she said. “You’ve been in hiding for so long; you think that hoodie is a part of your skin. You just wait.”

  While the hair treatment was cooking, she put a masque on my face and did my nails in a clear polish. Then she sorted through her stuff to find something suitable for me to wear. She didn’t even bother looking through my things.

  “I can’t change completely overnight,” I said. “I still need to be incognito. I need a hoodie, maybe not my big black one, but something.”

  She sighed, but then looked at me with concern. I could tell she was torn between wanting to complete her project and wanting me to be okay. We compromised on a pair of trendy jeans with boots and a shirt in an amber color that matched my eyes. It was layered over an copper tee and topped by a filmy silk sweater with a hood. Sh
e laid it all out on the towel rack.

  “I don’t know,” I said, hesitating.

  But she just shoved me into the shower to wash off the oil and masque. It was strange to be the focus of this attention, even from Lex. I avoided mirrors. I tried to forget what I looked like. I considered that part of being invisible. I didn’t even want me to notice me.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if I was some great beauty. I guess I still saw myself as the flat-chested, skinny girl with braces and ugly glasses. I ran my tongue across my front teeth…silky smooth. No braces. Lex was right. There had been some changes. But my mouth was still too big, I didn’t have much in the way of cleavage, and my eyes were still strange. I didn’t see what Lex could do to change any of that.

  After I dried off and put on a robe, she sat me down on a stool in the bathroom and combed out my hair. She trimmed off a few inches so it was midway between my waist and my shoulders. She cut pieces around my face and a few bangs. Then she spent about twenty minutes putting in a few little braids.

  “You’re wearing it down tomorrow,” she announced.

  “No make-up. I feel like a clown whenever you put it on me.”

  “That hasn’t happened since we were ten. Of course, you looked like a clown. You were ten, with makeup on. And I’m sure I just slathered it on. And why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

  “Because I was ten,” she said, making a face at me. “Fine, no makeup, but we’re dying your lashes.”

  “What! No way.”

  “It’s either make-up or dye, and the dye is easier because you don’t have to do it every day. You have great lashes, really long and thick. But they’re invisible because they’re so light. Wait till you see what you look like when I’m done. You won’t recognize yourself.”

  I knew it would be useless to argue. She pulled her kit out from under the bathroom sink and went to work. She wouldn’t even let me look. When she was done, she blew my hair dry, made me try on the clothes, and then steered me in front of the mirror.

  Someone else stared back at me.

  She was right. I didn’t recognize myself. My eyebrows arched now. My eyelashes were dark but still soft. My eyes looked huge but not goopy like the Bratz Doll and her sidekicks. For the very first time, they didn’t seem quite as strange. Plus, I looked really different with some hair framing my face—instead of being pulled back severely in a braid—almost like a different person. I didn’t know what to think.

  “Well?” she asked, grinning.

  “Hello, Fairy Godmother,” I said. I was blown away. I looked like a real girl.

  She laughed and then she hugged me. “You look amazing, Sweetie, absolutely amazing.” She opened the bedroom slider and yelled for Ipod, who was in the tree house.

  “Go down to the living room with Sam,” she ordered, “now.”

  She twirled me around looking for flaws. Then, seemingly satisfied, she pulled me down the stairs before I could argue.

  Sam was sitting in his chair, reading a book. Lex cleared her throat and stood pointing to me as if I was a piece of art she’d created. I kept expecting her to say “ta da.”

  Ipod walked in and stood there with his mouth hanging open. “You look amazing,” he mouthed behind Sam’s back.

  Lex grinned, as if she’d made me herself out of thin air.

  “Autumn?” Sam asked. He got a funny look on his face and hesitated a moment. “You look just like your mother,” he said quietly.

  Lex flinched, and I froze, waiting. No one wanted to set Sam off on a binge.

  “You look…lovely,” he said, finally. He smiled. “Good job, Lexie. Autumn shouldn’t hide the way she does. It’s not healthy.”

  Lex and I both let out a breath and then grinned at each other.

  “Thanks, Sam,” Lex said. “I appreciate your support.”

  He reached out and touched my cheek, making me feel warm and fuzzy. “I’d forgotten how beautiful your hair is. It’s been so long since I’ve seen it down. What’s the occasion? Are you guys going somewhere?”

  “Just time for a change,” replied Lex, grinning. “Out with the old—in with the new.”

  “Well, how about we order some Thai to celebrate,” offered Sam. He didn’t like my hoodie either.

  “Excellent idea,” said Ipod. Thai was his favorite.

  “That’d be really nice, Sam,” said Lex.

  I just smiled.

  We ordered Pad Thai and coconut curry with cash that Sam scrounged up from who knows where. Then we watched two movies all smashed together on the sofa. My looking like my mom didn’t kick Sam into a funk at all. He even laughed at the funny parts of the movie. He nursed the same glass of wine all evening. Nobody mentioned it, but we all noticed, and it definitely added to the festive mood.

  Lex made popcorn which we ate even though we were stuffed. It was one of the best nights I could remember. It was as if we were a real family. I didn’t even feel exposed without my disguise. Of course school was another matter altogether.

  Towards the end of the first movie, Sam moved to his chair. By the second he was zonked out and snoring. Lex pulled a blanket over him, and we headed out to the tree house. It was getting late, but we weren’t quite ready to let the night end. We had so few family-type evenings.

  The moon was full, and the night was absolutely spectacular. It was one of those Colorado, spring evenings where the temperature is perfect, the sky is clear, and you get a hint of summer to come. One Christmas, we’d strung those tiny, white lights that hang down like icicles. We loved how they cast a magical glow to the darkness, and we’d never taken them down. Every once in a while we’d turn them on. It was a comfort thing.

  “Plug in the lights,” Lex said to me, as she dropped into a deck chair.

  “You read my mind,” I said, grabbing the cords.

  When they flashed on, I caught my breath at the beauty of everything around me. Earlier, there’d been a light, misting rain, and the lush yard was covered in tiny droplets. The water sparkled in the glow of the lights, and the backyard looked magical. The lilacs were in full bloom, and the air was saturated with their scent. As I breathed it in, I heard Lex sigh in contentment. I smiled to myself and took the other deck chair.

  Ipod walked out with his violin to play on the porch so Lex and I could change for bed. It was our bedtime ritual. Tonight his notes sounded so very sweet, I could hardly stand it.

  I was feeling so alive and in the moment, that I ran across the bridge to the bedroom and pulled out the silk nightgown that my grandparents had sent me for Christmas. Lex had been bugging me to try it on for months. I wanted to show her how much I appreciated our wonderful evening, you know, make an effort.

  The ivory gown was an old-fashioned Juliet with lace and a long, streaming blue ribbon that tied under my breasts. The sleeves draped down at the wrist, and the skirt flowed around my calves. Lex loved it but I’d never worn it—too conspicuous. Tonight, I just didn’t care about being seen. Of course, it was just Lex and Ipod, but still. Lex made Sam smile and I owed her big. I wanted to make her smile too. I pulled on the gown. It fit perfectly, and it felt silky smooth against my skin.

  Lex was slumped in a deck chair listening to Ipod play. So I pirouetted barefoot across the bridge, the gown blowing against me in the soft breeze. Ipod grinned and launched into a waltz. I twirled a few times, making a show of it. Lex clapped. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so happy. It was like there was something in the air that was infecting all of us, even Sam.

  After a few songs, Ipod put down the violin and joined us on the bridge. We stood there looking at the stars. I liked the way the breeze blew the silk against my body and my hair out into the wind. It gave me a sense of what it might feel like to fly like Wendy in Peter Pan, soaring through the night in her white nightgown. How cool that would be…so free, so powerful.

  I held out my arms so the sleeves could fill with air. Queen of the world! It was as
if the energy had followed me home. I felt incredible. Even Sam had seemed normal, almost happy. Seeing Sam smile, watching him laugh—heck, I’d dress better, no problem, if that’s what it took to make him whole. I mean, I couldn’t change overnight, but I could make an effort.

  I leaned my head against Lex and we looked for the big dipper. All this time I’d been trying to pinpoint the energy source. Maybe it wasn’t from somewhere or something.

  Maybe it just was.

  At that moment, I didn’t need to know. I just wanted to be there with my family having a moment of happy. No matter what sucked in my life, no matter how crazy it was, I had the two of them to make me laugh, help with Sam, and to you know…give a damn.

  What I really needed was to find a way to hold on to the house, so we could keep the family together. I knew that. But for then, I was content.

  Making a good memory, for a change.

  The good me and the screw-up me fought in my head nonstop for the first two miles of my run. Annoyed and agitated, I cranked my tunes and focused laser sharp on the lyrics. By the middle of mile three, I managed to shut down the internal chatter, but not from concentrating on the music. It was from knowing what a relief it would be, if I could tap a little energy from the tree in her front yard…or from the kid, if she was home, and she was broadcasting.

  My left foot hit the edge of a pothole, and I had to catch myself to keep from stumbling. I couldn’t believe how weak I felt. The air was so much thinner in the Rockies. Seattle was at sea level so I could run five…six miles, full bore, and barely break a sweat. I could probably do twenty at a descent pace. Now, only a few miles into the run, I was winded. My lungs hurt and my head ached. I had this feeling of impending doom—like my cells were all freaking out. I needed tree juice.

  I needed it bad.

  I’d never gone more than a day without tapping energy from my tree. It had always been there, making me sharper, stronger…giving me an edge. I totally took it for granted, never having a clue how much I depended on it, never having a clue how life would be without it. I wished I’d listened when the Regents told me to be sure to get a house with a suitable tree. I wished I’d listened when they told me about withdrawal. I wished I’d listened to a lot of things.