by B. R. Myers
No, that was stupid.
For the first time, I found myself agreeing with Lacey. Boys were hard…on the head.
I went to the laundry room and threw my soccer shirt in for the hot, hot, hot cycle and ended up throwing out my windbreaker and favourite jeans. They were so thick with gross slime, I didn’t even want to touch them. Besides, I was ready to trash anything associated with today.
Back in my shed, I got into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. Something hit the floor. It was the cloth bag Kirk had given me. When I grabbed my stuff for the shower, I threw it on the bed. To be honest, I’d forgotten about it. I didn’t have a good track record with surprises. What would be an appropriate gift from the Brothers Grimm? A spider’s nest? A poisonous, spore emitting mushroom? Curiosity trumped my fear and I slipped my hand inside the bag. My fingers touched the familiar edges and my heart started to race.
Impossible.
I pulled it out of the bag and stared at it, lying in my palm.
Dear Diary,
He wasn’t looking for eel goo after all. The first time I noticed Kirk diving was after Liam faked his own drowning; after I’d lost my necklace. I was convinced it would rot on the bottom of the lake forever. But like everything else, I was wrong. I am so stupid…
THIRTY-TWO
I stared at the clock all night. By five thirty I gave up. I stood in front of the little mirror taped to the wall and put on my necklace. It was bent a bit and didn’t wrap around my neck the same way. The silver charm lay awkwardly and no longer dangled above Kirk’s kissing place. I pictured a fish gnawing on it a few times before giving up and swimming away. The image gave me goosebumps.
I took it off and went to the window. The sky was beginning to lighten. I pulled my hair into a ponytail, laced up my runners, and went outside. I needed advice, and at this hour of the morning, I knew where to find it.
The kitchen light was on. I knocked lightly on the wooden door frame. Lewis came over and stood behind the screen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. Two flowered aprons were hanging on a hook on the far wall; the Brasseau sisters were still asleep, thankfully.
“A bit early for midnight strollers, isn’t it?” he asked. I was surprised by the edge in his voice.
Still, he stepped aside. Gingerly, I walked into the kitchen. The smell of yeast filled the room. “I need advice,” I told him.
“No kidding.” He turned his back to me and continued working with the dough. Crap, even Lewis was mad at me.
I sat one of the stools across from him, but he remained focused his work, waiting for me to start. I looked down at my runners for inspiration. “I wasn’t made for flirting or playing guys off against each other,” I admitted. “In fact, I got sick of it after a few hours. I know you’re good friends with Kirk and that you’re on his side. But so am I.”
“Really?”
“Please, you know how clueless I can be.” I stopped and took a deep breath.
He rolled out a perfect rectangle of dough. “Ben-Hur seems to have his eyes on you.”
I squirmed on the stool, he wasn’t making this easy. “Ben and I are, um…”
“You mean Dill Pickle?” he interrupted.
“It’s not what you think,” I said. I tried to explain about the popcorn seasoning.
“So, you didn’t relish kissing Dill Pickle?”
I smiled at his comment. At least his tone was lighter. “Smart ass,” I said. I told him about my messy evening, ending with the discovery of the necklace. The whole time Lewis stayed quiet, but it wasn’t like his usual attentiveness. He seemed more interested in spreading the butter perfectly over the dough.
I had to prompt him with a question. “He hates me, doesn’t he?” I asked.
Lewis stopped working and turned to me. “Kirk found your necklace right before the football game. I still can’t believe he found it at all. The thing he brought to me was all bent, and covered with algae.” He shot me a look. “We worked on it for hours.”
Seeing Lewis pissed was unnerving. My face grew hot. “I…I didn’t know,” I mumbled.
He glared back at me. “You owe me a new toothbrush, by the way.”
My pulse started to throb in my temples. I hadn’t slept since the night before last. Where did he get off being so mad with me? It’s not like I actually did anything to screw up his life. “Geez,” I finally said, “would you quit with the attitude?”
Lewis snorted. “You complain about how horrible your cabin is to you, and then when you get a chance to leave them, you throw a fit. What the hell do you want, anyway? A perfect life? Everything to go your way, all the time? Christ, Jesse, you have no idea how lucky you are.”
My mouth hung open. “Excuse me?”
“I got beat up by my first kiss, remember? And the whole town knew…and I mean everyone.” He said it slowly, like a deep growl. He leaned closer, and I was sure he could see my bottom lip quivering. “I had to go to school with a cast on my face. But you don’t see me dragging my ass all over camp, complaining about ‘feeling left out.’ Life sucks, all right, but you suck it up and move on.”
He gave his head a slight shake, then stepped back and stood against the counter. He dropped his gaze to the floor.
My heart was beating so fast I thought it would explode. He had no idea. “Move on?” I spat. He looked up abruptly. “Is that what you call hiding in the kitchen with the Brasseau sisters? If you have all the answers, why are you still afraid to get out there?” I pointed to window. “You’re not moving on, you’re stuck. You mean to tell me that in this whole camp you’re the only gay guy?”
He opened his mouth but I kept talking, I wasn’t finished. “What happened to you was horrible, I get that, but you have both parents to talk to—you’re not living a lie anymore. You have no idea how lucky you are. You can email your parents and tell them how shitty you feel, or how lonely it is here…and they’ll understand.”
I didn’t bother waiting for his answer; I was on a roll. “Do you know who I get to talk to? No one! My emails are all lies. I tell them I make everyone laugh. I brag that my cabin has won two awards already. I do that so they won’t worry.” My voice broke at the end. I swallowed a few times, feeling my eyes fill up. “So,” I sniffed. “If it looks like I’m dragging my ass it’s because I’m so exhausted from being the perfect daughter back home. I’m. Just. So. Exhausted. And I thought as my friend, you’d understand.”
Lewis blinked hard a few times. His shoulders slumped and his wiped his hands together, sending bits of dough to the floor. “No one has it easy, Jesse,” he said, sounding as tired as I felt. “Everyone’s trying to survive growing up, you know.”
I stared back, waiting for him to say more, or at least to apologize for being such as ass. But he stayed quiet. I felt the rage build. “Everyone except me, right?” I asked. “Because I’m such a whiner I’m not even trying.” I scraped back the stool, and stood up. “I’m sorry you had to spend time with a loser like me.”
Lewis made an exaggerated sigh. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” He brushed his hair away from his face with his forearm. His voice became softer. “Why are you so determined to let go of everything that makes you happy? First you quit running, then you turned your back and Kirk. And now you’re pushing me away.”
I brushed past him, but he stopped me at the door. His eyes searched my face, trying to figure out why I was so defensive. There was a reason. I’d known the truth for months, but saying it out loud made it for certain.
“It’s because I don’t deserve to be happy,” I finally admitted. “You proved your point. I’m better off on my own, that way I can’t bring anyone down to my level.” I moved his arm out of the way and ran out the door, not even looking back.
I strode across the grass leaving angry streaks in the dew. I hated Lewis. I hated Kirk. I hated the triathlon cup. I hated the ee
ls. I hated Ben, Lacey, Spencer, and everything else about this stupid Kamp Krystal Lake.
Most of all I hated me.
My eyes focused on Cabin 4A, picturing the four terrors sleeping comfortably, happy to have finally gotten rid of me. I put my head down and ran across a patch of messed up grass, leading to the dock. My feet picked up the pace and I started to sprint—full out.
I didn’t care what might happen. All I wanted was get as far away as I could and never look back. I passed my little shed and went into the woods. It got darker as I ran under the canopy of trees. A stitch started in my side, but I ignored it, digging in my feet harder with each stride up the hill. I gritted my teeth, keeping my eyes on the twists ahead. My ankle rolled on a loose rock and I faltered a bit.
“Feet and lungs, Jesse,” Dad’s voice called out.
My sneakers skidded in the dirt and I froze on the spot. It was completely silent. Then I heard a slight knocking. Overhead I saw a woodpecker. My breath caught in my throat.
Oh no.
A voice inside my head warned me.
Get back to the lake before it’s too late.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Let’s do that.”
I headed down the spongy dirt trail on legs that felt like cooked spaghetti. I had to hurry, the spots were already in front of my eyes. Coming around the last corner, I stopped and stared at Dad’s body lying on the trail, his pale face covered in mud. The woodpecker’s knock echoed again.
Get back to the lake before it’s too late.
I closed my eyes and tiptoed around his corpse. When I was safely past, I scrambled along the footpath. I was almost to the opening of the green lawn, things should have been getting brighter, but the darkness was coming in quickly from my periphery. Why is the ground rising so fast? I thought.
But it wasn’t coming up, I was falling down.
Then everything went black.
THIRTY-THREE
I opened my eyes and saw the alarm clock. Five fifty-eight. I reached out from under the yellow chenille bedspread and held my finger over the reset button. I liked to wake up before the radio came on—another way I like to beat the clock.
Besides, I’m always worried about waking Grandma. Six o’clock. There was a soft click, followed by a few seconds of music, and then I silenced the alarm. I had laid out my winter running clothes the night before. My feet danced on the cold floor as I slipped them on quickly. I glanced out my bedroom window. It was still so dark it could have been midnight.
I didn’t mind getting up this early; I was excited. University scouts were coming to my school next week, and I had been training more than usual to get ready.
Mom wasn’t sure what the panic was about. “You have next year too, Jesse,” she had said, whipping the garlic potatoes the night before.
“What’s wrong with getting in early?” I had asked, taking a finger swipe from her mixing bowl.
“This particular scout is from Queen’s, Maria,” Dad said.
“And Queen’s University has the best athletic department,” Mom recited. She’d heard Dad and I talk about it so much it was ingrained in her memory.
Grandma asked, “Is Queen’s far enough away?”
Dad snuggled up beside Mom then faked her out by taking a spoon of the potatoes. “Far enough?” Dad asked, through a mouthful.
“You two are eating all the supper!” Mom teased, pushing him away.
“Long legs are great,” Grandma said. “But Jesse needs her wings too.” She patted my cheek.
“Wings,” Dad grumbled.
“Oh, Stevie,” Grandma reached over and flicked his ear. “She’s growing up, no matter how fast you try to make her run away from it.”
“That’s why we’re working on getting her into university,” he said, passing her a pamphlet.
“Say, Legs,” Grandma said, eyes twinkling, “is Queen’s coed?”
Dad put his hands over his ears. “I’m leaving the room now,” he said. Grandma was so predictable.
“Hold on, Stevie,” Grandma said, holding up the pamphlet. “It says here there are lots of wonderful ice cream socials for the young people to meet and trade baseball cards.”
“I’m not listening,” Dad hollered from the living room.
Poor Dad, he was always outnumbered. It’s not like he was overly protective—I think every Dad is, but the truth is I never found anything that made my heart race faster than speed training. My passion was track, and most guys wanted you to text them back within two minutes. No thanks; I saved all my free time for Chloe.
I tiptoed down the steps with my runners tucked under my arm. The kitchen was empty. That was weird. Dad was usually the first one up. I drank a glass of orange juice and ate a banana while I waited. Finally I heard their bedroom door open and close. He came around the corner, scratching his head and yawning.
“Did you even sleep?” I asked, looking at the dark circles under his eyes.
“Nightmares,” he groaned, opening the fridge. “About you sprouting wings and flying with your grandma from nightclub to nightclub.”
I waited by the front door with my wool hat and gloves already on. Dad pulled on his jacket and patted down the pockets. He unzipped one and pulled out his cell phone.
“Oh damn,” he said. “The battery is dead. I forgot to charge it last night.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, tugging on his arm. “Let’s go!”
He laid it on the hall table and grabbed the car keys. I helped him scrape the frost off the car windows. The last snowstorm had melted away, leaving the streets and sidewalks clear; perfect for a morning run. I danced on the spot and groaned at his slowness.
“Dad! Come on.”
He bent and stretched his arm a few times, wincing. “I must have slept funny.”
“Are you able to drive the van?” I teased. “Or do you need some of Grandma’s pills?” I jumped in the front seat and adjusted the radio station.
“Jesse,” Dad moaned. “It’s six in the morning.”
“You’re so old.” I bobbed my head to the music. “Rap is the jazz of the new millennium!”
“Just because it comes out of Grandma’s mouth, doesn’t mean it’s true.”
I turned up the radio even louder and made Dad sing along; well, sort of. We drove to the park through empty streets feeling like we were the only two people awake in the world.
“I can’t wait until it’s sunny in the morning,” he yawned.
“Maybe I should consider a school in Florida?”
“It’s possible,” he smiled. “Some of the scouts next week are from the States.”
I frowned back at him. “What about Queen’s?”
“There’s nothing wrong with having more than one option.”
“I guess,” I said unconvinced.
Dad picked up on my tone. “You have to be ready for all kinds of situations in the next few years.”
“Yeah, but Queen’s has always been the finish line,” I reasoned. “It’s hard to race if I don’t know what I’m running for.”
Dad looked at me sideways.
“I need to have a visual,” I told him. “It’s like that quote from Jesse Owens. When he talks about how the one hundred meter dash is really over in three seconds.”
“‘The first second is when you come out of the blocks,’” he recited. “‘The next is when you look up and take your first few strides to get your position. And by that time, the race is actually about half over.’”
I picked up where he left off. “‘And the final second, the longest for any athlete,’” I continued. “‘Is the last half of the race.’”
“Because…” Dad prompted, leaving me the best part.
“‘Because that’s when you really bear down, and see what you’re made of.’”
“So,” he smiled. “What
are you racing for? Wings?”
I reached over and patted him on the head like he was a little kid. “I’m keeping it simple,” I said. “Today I’m racing for you, because you got up when your poor old bones wanted to stay in bed.”
We pulled into the empty parking lot. Dad turned off the ignition and popped the trunk. He growled and I walked around to the back of the van. “What is it?”
“I forgot to bring the bike,” he said. “I’m in a bit of a fog this morning.” He checked his watch then turned around and looked down the street, weighing if it was worth going back home for the bike.
“Dad! We’ve already lost ten minutes.” I jogged on the spot, my perfect morning ticking away.
He opened and closed his fist a few times and frowned.
“Forget about the bike,” I said. “It won’t kill you to run with me, will it?”
He nodded toward the pathway, telling me to start.
I began my route into the tree-lined pathway. Soon Dad was beside me, helping me warm up, our breath coming out like puffs of steam.
“Jesse,” he began.
I smiled. This was when Dad and I really talked. It was hard to get a conversation in at home without Mom or Grandma weighing in. I think Dad felt more on a level playing field when it was only the two of us, outside in the quiet morning air.
“I’m not too strict, am I?” he asked.
I glanced at him like he had three heads. “Strict? Don’t be mental. I’m the one who wanted to train harder these last few weeks.”
“I mean, about what Grandma said. You know, getting wings and all that.”
“All that?” Oh god! Please don’t let my dad say the word sex. I’ll vomit right here on the trail. “Um…you don’t have to worry, Mom already covered that.”
Dad winced and then cleared his throat. “I want you to be safe, but not afraid. Training is a big part of your life, and I always hoped it would make you strong enough for the outside world.”
“Geez, you make it sound like I’ve been wrapped up in cotton.”