The Ethan I Was Before

by Ali Standish

  “At least now you’ve finally learned that good friends are hard to come by. Next time, maybe you’ll choose better.” She giggles. “But at least you have Herman.”

  Once Suzanne has skipped off, Herman pats my back with an awkward hand. “I’m sorry, Ethan,” he says. “I didn’t know Coralee was saying those things, or I would have told you.”

  “That’s okay, Herman,” I croak back. “You’re—you’re a better friend than Suzanne will ever be.”

  The monitor I tricked yesterday stalks up to our table.

  “Get to the gym, young man,” she scolds. “No more shenanigans. Not on my watch.”

  I glare at her but do as she says. Where else do I have to go, anyway?

  Truth

  I BARELY REACT IN Mr. Charles’s class when I get called to the office over the intercom. Ms. Silva told me to expect a meeting with Mr. Beasley. I take my time getting there, dragging my hand along the lockers.

  The air-conditioning is broken in the main office, and the first thing I see is Mrs. Oakley, sitting at the front desk, using a packet of paper to fan herself. When she sees me come in, she drops the paper and gives me a faltering smile.

  The second thing I see is a group of three people standing in a conspiratorial clump. Mr. Beasley, Ms. Silva, and, to my surprise, Grandpa Ike. Mr. Beasley catches my eye and clears his throat. Ms. Silva is wringing her hands.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask Grandpa Ike, not bothering to conceal my disdain.

  “I’m taking you home, Ethan.”

  I look at Ms. Silva in confusion. “I thought we were having a meeting? Because I’m in trouble?”

  “Well, your grandfather is here now, Ethan,” Ms. Silva says. “And he thinks that it would be best if you went home with him. We can have our meeting another time.”

  Mr. Beasley nods eagerly, crossing his hands over his jutting belly. “Don’t think about it, sport,” he says. “We’ll sort it out when you get back.”

  “When I get back?” I ask. “Where am I going?”

  “Ah—well,” Mr. Beasley starts.

  “There’s a storm coming,” says Grandpa Ike. “So there might not be any school tomorrow.”

  “Exactly,” Mr. Beasley says, nodding. “So stay safe, and we’ll see you soon.” He claps Grandpa Ike on the back, throws me one last pained glance, and disappears into his office.

  “C’mon, Ethan,” Grandpa Ike says, taking my shoulders under his firm grip and steering me from the office.

  I shiver involuntarily as we walk into the air-conditioned hall.

  “Why are you taking me out of school if the storm’s not coming until tomorrow?”

  “Your mom and dad just want you home,” Grandpa Ike says, wiping his creased brow.

  Unlike you, I think.

  “Are they going to tell me what’s going on?” I ask. “Because if not, then I don’t see any reason for me to miss more school.”

  It’s not like I want to be here, either. The only place I want to be is with Kacey.

  The only person left I can trust, and I can’t ever be with her again.

  “They’re going to tell you,” Grandpa Ike replies. “They’re going to tell you the truth.”

  “Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Well. Good.”

  But suddenly every muscle in my body is tense, like it’s preparing for a fall.

  We sit in silence as we move through town at a crawl. We have to wait for a long line of cars turning into the Sand Pit.

  “Everyone is stocking up for the storm,” Grandpa Ike says.

  I look out over the bay, where men in orange reflective vests are stacking big bags of sand atop the rocks that separate land from sea. The sky is already a deep shade of gray, with hives of angry purple clouds hovering in the distance.

  “Ethan, about what I said last night. I didn’t mean it, about wanting you to leave. Sometimes I let my anger get the best of me.”

  Grandpa Ike doesn’t usually string together so many words, which makes me think that he’s spent a while planning this pathetic apology.

  I don’t reply.

  A taut silence stretches between us as we drive over the inlet bridge, past the strawberry fields and the empty farm stands.

  “Listen, Ethan,” Grandpa Ike says when we reach the driveway. He turns the ignition off and tucks the key underneath the visor. “Before we go in there—you remember what I said, back when you first got here, about kids being stronger than their parents give them credit for?”

  “Yeah,” I say, my hand hesitating on the door handle. “I guess.”

  “You remember that, whatever happens. You are stronger than you know. You hear me?”

  My hand trembles against the metal of the handle as Grandpa Ike’s words crash down on me, like the first rain of the coming storm.

  That’s when I know that something is truly, desperately wrong.

  Mr. Reid

  WHEN WE ENTER THE living room, Mom and Dad are sitting on the couch that faces the kitchen. Mom’s skin has gone white, except for her nose, which is red. Her hands are folded gently in her lap like a pair of doves. Dad taps his pointer finger around his knee in a feeble way, and Roddie slouches on the little cushioned bench, which is too small for him, in front of the darkened fireplace.

  “Sit down, son,” Dad says, gesturing to the opposite couch.

  Dad never calls me “son.”

  Grandpa Ike pats my shoulder and takes his usual seat.

  Then silence prowls between us, an unspoken threat.

  “Ethan,” Mom says finally, “we need to talk.”

  It’s the same thing she said to me after I ran away for the second time. The time I almost made it.

  Ethan, we need to talk. You can’t keep running away.

  The first time I ran away, the night I stole the bill from Kacey’s doorstep and found the address for the nursing home, I only made it to South Station before the police caught me, so it wasn’t as big a deal. But the second time—

  “You know we’ve been talking to Kacey’s dad.”

  The second time, I almost made it to Kacey before Mr. Reid stopped me.

  Kacey’s dad, blocking my way to Kacey’s room. Kacey’s mom, exhausted, crying next to him. My voice: Where is Kacey, is Kacey okay, when can I see Kacey?

  I braced myself for what he was going to say.

  “Kacey’s dead. You killed her, Ethan Truitt.”

  But that’s not what he said at all.

  What he said was worse.

  “Ethan?” Mom repeats gently. “Are you listening?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Kacey’s dad. He’s been calling here.”

  “Right. Your father and I, well, we thought it was best not to talk with you until we knew anything for certain. We didn’t want to upset you again.”

  I struggle to keep Mom’s words and Grandpa Ike’s living room in focus.

  The stench of sickness and sorrow hitting me as I run through the doors of the nursing home where Kacey’s parents have taken her without telling me. Kacey’s dad advances toward me, like he’s about to hit me. His back is as straight as a baseball bat; his eyes burn with fury. I take a step back in my sneakers, soggy from running through the rain to get here.

  His voice cuts into me like a bolt of jagged lightning. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see Kacey. To see how she’s doing.”

  “Even if she could see you, what makes you think she would want to? You’re the reason she’s here in the first place.”

  “Please, if I could just—”

  “You don’t deserve to be here. Not any more than my daughter deserves to be lying in a nursing home, being kept alive by machines.”

  “Kacey’s going to be okay. I can make things okay.”

  Kacey’s dad points his finger at me and pushes it into my chest.

  He looms over me.

  “You? You can make things okay? Because of you, she’s never going to wake up. You did this to her. Now get out. GET OUT!” />
  Kacey, Kacey, Kacey

  I SQUEEZE MY EYES shut, and Mr. Reid disappears. Mom and Dad are staring at me. Dad opens his mouth to speak, but I wish he wouldn’t. I really wish he wouldn’t.

  I already know what he’s going to say.

  “Mr. Reid has been calling to let us know, er, how Kacey is doing,” Dad says. “They’ve been hoping that Kacey will show some signs of progress.”

  Signs of progress.

  He means signs that Kacey is still in there somewhere, trapped in her own body.

  “Kacey’s family has been thinking a lot about what’s best for her,” says Mom.

  I wish I could slow time down, to stop Mom’s words from spilling out.

  But she keeps going. “Mr. Reid has felt for a while now that it would be kinder to Kacey to let her let go. He called a little while ago to let us know that— Oh, Ethan.”

  Her voice breaks.

  “Mrs. Reid has finally agreed with him,” Dad says. “They’ll be taking Kacey off life support in a few days. Once the family has had time to say good-bye. Which means—”

  I don’t hear Dad’s voice anymore. I don’t see the living room. I don’t see Mr. Reid gnashing his teeth at me. I see Kacey falling through midair. I see early-morning Kacey sleeping next to me on the bus, afternoon Kacey on her skateboard, blond hair tangling with the wind, summer Kacey on a rope swing, screaming with joy as she lets go and splashes into the river, my Kacey smiling as she comes up with her best dare yet.

  Kacey, Kacey, Kacey. Fearless, beautiful, daring Kacey.

  Kacey lying in a nursing home bed, unable to move or think or laugh or breathe.

  Still falling.

  But not for much longer.

  The words that have haunted me since we left Boston are finally about to be true.

  You killed her, Ethan Truitt.

  Pain

  MOM KNOCKS ON MY door, which I haven’t bothered to lock. She holds a glass of water and a little white pill in her hand. I recognize the sleeping pill. I used to take them at night sometimes after the incident. They turned the pain from a thousand pricking needles to a dull, fuzzy stomachache.

  “I don’t want it,” I moan into my pillow.

  This is my pain.

  I need to feel it.

  “Okay. I’ll leave the water here for you. What else can I get you? Something to eat?”

  “I’m tired,” I lie. “I want to sleep.”

  Mom doesn’t take the hint. She pads across the room and perches herself on the edge of my bed. “I know we’ve been over this,” she says. “But I need you to remember that this is not your fault.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Do you want me to get Dr. Gorman on the phone?”

  “No.”

  “Kacey won’t be in pain soon, Ethan. She’ll be somewhere else. Somewhere better.”

  Mom reaches to smooth my hair down over my forehead. I roll to my other side. I can’t tell her what I’m thinking. That part of me is jealous of Kacey, because she won’t be in pain soon, but the pain of missing her will stay with me forever. That she might be going somewhere better, but the world she’s leaving me in will always be a little bit worse without her.

  “I’m sorry, honey, but I have to help get the house ready before Anastasia. It’s supposed to hit tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be back to check on you later. Shout for me if you need anything.”

  I stare out at the marsh. The rippling water and the tangled reeds and the tumble of moss in the trees. It’s all so wild and free. And alive.

  You Killed Her, Ethan Truitt

  I MUST HAVE SOMEHOW managed to fall asleep, because when my eyes fly open again, the marsh is bleak and gray, like a dark veil has fallen over it. The clock on my table says it’s only 6:32 p.m. Not late enough to be this dark. It must be the storm clouds.

  Or maybe knowing Kacey will soon be gone from the world has sucked out all the light.

  Mom knocks on the door three times before it cracks open.

  “Ethan?” she calls softly. “Coralee is here to see you, honey.”

  I sit straight up in bed. “What?”

  “You don’t have to come down if you don’t want to,” she says. Her nose is still red, her hair a mess. “I told her you weren’t feeling well.”

  “No,” I say, putting my feet to the floor and testing how it feels to stand. Unsteady. “I’m coming.”

  How dare Coralee come here? How dare she come here now? After she ignored me? After she told Suzanne that Kacey was dead? That I had killed her?

  Mom’s eyes widen as I brush past her. Coralee is sitting on the sofa in the living room, watching the news with Grandpa Ike and Roddie. She turns around when she hears me coming down the stairs.

  “Ethan!”

  I jerk my head toward the front door. “Porch,” I growl.

  I open the door and let it slam shut in the wind behind me, so that Coralee has to open it again. Then I throw myself down on the porch swing.

  “Ethan?” she says, perching next to me. I shift over, away from her. “Is something wrong? I’m sorry I didn’t call or come by. It’s just—”

  Hearing her voice sends hot flames of anger licking up my neck and cheeks. “I don’t want to hear it, Coralee,” I interrupt. “I don’t want to hear any more lies.”

  I look straight ahead at Grandpa Ike’s truck. But I can hear the confusion trickle into her voice. “L-lies? What do you mean?”

  I bark with hollow laughter. “I know you didn’t go to boarding school. I know Adina’s not your mother. I know everything you say is a lie.”

  I fight to keep my voice calm because I don’t want Mom to come out here. I need to be angry.

  I am so angry.

  “Listen, Ethan, I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but did you ever think that maybe they’re the ones lying? Did you ever think about trusting me?” There’s an edge of anger to Coralee’s voice too.

  “Trusting you?” I bellow. “Trusting you?” I’m on my feet before I realize it, looking into Coralee’s eyes, which have gone wide with shock. “I did trust you! I stuck up for you! I believed all those ridiculous stories you told me. Until Suzanne told me what you said about Kacey. You told her—you told her that Kacey was dead. And now she’s going to die! You said it, and now it’s happening!”

  But even as I accuse Coralee, I know my words aren’t true.

  Kacey isn’t going to die because of what Coralee said. Coralee isn’t even the first person to say that Kacey was already dead.

  Everything goes blurry once again. Coralee’s face is gone, the porch is gone, the driveway and the truck are gone. Hot tears pool in my eyes and splash down my face, and I hear my own voice howling into the wind.

  The door opens, and someone steers me inside. Coralee is shouting something, but all I hear is “sorry” before the door closes again behind me.

  A strong grip on my shoulders, pulling me upstairs.

  Pulling at me like it did that day in Boston, the very last time I tried to run.

  A strong grip on my shoulders, pulling me back, making me lose my balance and fall onto the pavement.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I’m going toward my room, stumbling down the hall, being guided by sturdy hands.

  “Let me go! I have to get to Kacey! I can fix her!”

  “Ethan, listen to me. You’re not going anywhere. You can’t fix Kacey. She was dead from the moment her head hit that rock.”

  “You don’t understand. I can make her better!”

  Rough hands hoist me up off the pavement and pin me against a parked car.

  Gentle hands lay me down on something soft. My bed. The sheets are still warm.

  “You act like if you can see her, you can make her okay. You walk around all day talking about her like she’s going to ring our doorbell any second.”

  “Miracles happen! Even Dr. Gorman admitted that miracles sometimes happen. Mrs. Reid thinks she could still wake up. That’s why they moved her to
the nursing home.”

  “They moved her to the nursing home because it was the only place in the state that would take her. Because everyone knows she’s already dead. Her mom’s in denial, just like you.”

  “No one knows Kacey like me. No one can help her like me. That’s why you have to let me go. LET ME GO!”

  A hand pounds the metal of the car, close to my head.

  “Damn it, Ethan. Mr. Reid doesn’t want you there! And even if he did, she wouldn’t really be there. You can’t be with her. You can never be with her again. People don’t come back from the dead. Mom and Dad are talking about moving us away from Boston if you can’t get a grip. Is that what you want? Why can’t you just accept that she’s gone, and move on?”

  “Because if she’s dead, if she’s really dead, I killed her, didn’t I?”

  I tell myself to stay very still, like I’ve told myself before. If I stay still, eventually everything will stop spinning.

  Or maybe it’s Roddie who says it. Roddie, who’s hovering over me, asking if I’m okay.

  “Is that what you need to hear?” Roddie asks. I can hear a car door slam in the street and Mom and Dad yelling at him to let me go, but he leans in closer.

  “You need someone to tell you what a bad thing you did so it can finally be real to you?” Roddie whispers. “Fine. I’ll say it. You killed her, Ethan Truitt. You killed Kacey. Now get on with your life.”

  The Storm

  WHEN I WAKE UP again, Roddie has gone. It’s pitch-black outside, and the winds howl like a pack of prowling wolves across the marshes. Someone has turned my bedside table lamp on. Memories keep coming back to me in sharp fragments.

  Remembering each one is like cutting myself on a shard of glass.

  “Coralee had to stay home to deal with a family matter, Ethan. . . .”

  “Coralee is not a nice person, Ethan. She tells lies about you, too. . . .”

  “They’ll be taking her off life support in a few days. . . .”

  “You told her that she was dead. And now she’s going to die!”