Shattered Castles 1 : Castles on the Sand

by E. M. Tippetts

  It makes me feel like a stranger in my home, an intruder, someone who isn't welcome. When I walk back to my room, I can't even sit down on my bed, I perch on the edge and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The two black eyes have faded into just dark circles, but I wonder if they'll purple up again.

  Out in the back yard, I sense more than hear her potters wheel start up. I hope that calms her down.

  And I really wish I could call Kailie. I flip through my pitifully short list of phone contacts and stop on John's name. A glance at the clock tells me it's eleven p.m., which means it's midnight in Utah. My thumb hesitates, then punches the send key.

  One ring and I feel like I'm being rude. Two and I feel like I'm taking a bad night and making it a million times worse. Three and I get ready to hang up.

  “Hello?” says a sleepy voice.

  “Hi.”

  “Mmm, hi. Who's this?”

  “It's Madison.”

  “Madison?” He says my name as if I'm a movie star who just called him at home. “Really? How are you? It is so good to hear your voice.”

  “I'm sorry to call so late,” I say.

  “I love you,” is John’s reply.

  “Thanks.”

  “What's wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I lie.

  “If you say so.”

  “Yeah, I'm sorry to bother you. I should just get to bed.”

  “Whoa, hang on. What did I say wrong?”

  “Why do you always have to be such a know-it-all?”

  “I am? Feels like I know nothing. Especially about you.”

  “But when I say nothing's wrong-”

  “You called me at midnight on Wednesday sounding like your puppy died. I may not be super-intuitive, but I can tell something's wrong, but you know what? You don't have to tell me anything. It's your life. I respect that.”

  “I went out with Carson tonight.”

  “That mean things are over with Jean-Pierre?”

  “I don't know. That's kind of complicated.”

  “I'm sorry. Carson's a nice guy, though. He's got a real thing for you. The way he talks about you-”

  “When do you talk to Carson?”

  “We talked when he drove me to the bus stop.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Yeah. He asked if I thought you'd ever be interested, but I told him, it's your call and even if you do like him, he'll never be good enough to date you. No one will.”

  “This is Carson.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “His dad's a bishop.”

  “Which is good for his dad, but who cares?”

  “He's, like, straight-laced Mormon Boy.”

  “I know who he is, okay? I've spent time at his house and eaten at his family's Grille.”

  “He came over to see me the night after he dropped you off at the bus station.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Did you tell him to do that?”

  “No, I’m not like that. You are the most amazing person I've ever known. It’s not like you need any help attracting guys.”

  My tear ducts burn and my vision blurs. “Why do you say stuff like that? You barely know me.”

  “I've got Black Bear here. I know you don't remember him, but he was your favorite toy, and you gave him to me. Wouldn't take him back, even when you were leaving and I'm sure you guessed you might not ever see him again. All the time that I knew you, you were the sweetest, most forgiving person I've ever known. Someone pushed you down, you'd offer them a hug.”

  “Carson says I always do the nice thing.”

  “You do.”

  “So he says I'm destined to end up in a trailer park with some guy just because I can't say no to people.”

  “Fifteen angry emails telling me to shut up says that you have no problem saying no to people. He's wrong.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You don't think so?”

  “JP doesn't want a girlfriend, but whenever he's wanted to hook up, I've gone along with it. It's like I can't say no.”

  “Well, sure, you're human, and I can tell you really like him. This mean you've slept with him?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Don't, and that's not me just being a religious guy. You aren't even in a conventional relationship, which has gotta already be hurtful enough. Don't make it worse.”

  “He's not pushy like that. Except...”

  “Do I need to take a deep breath and count to ten before you tell me this?”

  “I gave him a backrub one night, on my bed and that made things much more... um... heated.”

  “Well, listen, and this isn't just your brother talking, listen to me as a guy. When you're that close with someone, know that you and your body will test any guy's control.”

  “No-”

  “Dead serious. Yes. Guys are wired differently than girls, okay? I'm just telling you how it is. If you weighed 500 pounds and had chin hair, I'd tell you the same thing.”

  I blink and let that sink in. “Okay.”

  “And I told you before, Jean-Pierre didn't make a good impression on me.”

  “I still think you were being a little racist.”

  “I really don't care about his ethnic background. I care that he doesn't realize he's dating one of the most amazing people on the planet.”

  “It'd be nice if he treated me like he thought that.”

  “It'd be more than nice. It'd be normal. Dating someone means you think they're wonderful. I mean, that's kind of central to the whole concept of dating.”

  “I can't imagine a guy treating me like that.”

  “Not even Carson?”

  “He puts me down. Told me I was being charitable for holding his hand tonight.”

  “Was he trying to be mean or was it a misunderstanding?”

  “I think he thought I was flirting with someone else.”

  “And I take it you weren't?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, dumb question. What I should have asked is, was the other guy flirting with you?”

  “No. The guy's psychotic. There's no way.”

  “I think you mean psychopath.”

  “Same difference.”

  “No. Psychopaths are the dangerous ones. They've got no empathy for other people and no innate sense of morality. Psychotic people are the ones who can't tell the difference between real and imaginary and spend a lot of time very confused. Sorry. I'm trying to relearn psych before I start school again.”

  “Well, fine, Alex is the dangerous kind then. Total loner. Never talks. Wears a military jacket all the time and stares at people and flips his lighter.” I realize as I say this that I haven't seen him do the lighter thing for quite a while.

  “Okay. I'm not sure how that would preclude him being interested in you.”

  “He's also really, really good looking. Like, male model good looking.”

  “Uh-huh. And?”

  “Come on, I-”

  “I sense you're about to put yourself down again. Don't do it. I am the Y-chromosome holder in this conversation, so I am the expert.”

  “You're biased. You're my brother.”

  “Yeah, I'd think you were cute no matter what, but I can be objective. You're the kind of sister who makes a brother contemplate getting a firearm. Guys are going to go after you because of how you look, even if they don't appreciate the person you are. Deal with it.”

  “You are... psychotic.”

  He cracks up. “No, I'm not.”

  I chew my lip. “Mom got so mad at me tonight.”

  “Because you went out with Carson?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She's not a big fan of the Church.”

  “I looked up stuff on The Book of Mormon online.”

  “I'm sure you found all kinds of garbage.”

  “Well...” I recite to him what I remember, about Joseph Smith translating gold plates with magic stones and then practicing polygamy and running for president.

  “You've
got the facts right, though I'm sure what you read didn't put the nicest spin on them,” says John.

  “You believe those facts?”

  “Well, those pretty much are the facts. I mean, that is what Joseph Smith said about how he found and translated The Book of Mormon, and the Saints did have to flee west several times.”

  “What about the polygamy thing?”

  “Oh yeah, that's true too. Our great-great-great grandfather had five wives. Scandalous, huh?”

  “And running for president?”

  “Mmm, I've got the election platform he used in my notes somewhere. That happened, yeah.”

  “And you believe this stuff?”

  Much to my surprise, he laughs. “You mean, do I believe the religion that that guy founded? Yes, I do. I don't think he was crazy. I think there's more to life than meets the eye, and some of it will blow your mind. But you have to find out for yourself what the truth is.”

  “What if that isn't possible?”

  “Congratulations, you're agnostic. I'm religious. I believe it is possible.”

  “How? By asking God?”

  “Yeah. Follow the counsel in the Book of James.”

  “In The Book of Mormon?”

  “Bible. New Testament.”

  “You believe in the Bible too?”

  “Yep.”

  “I'm not really interested in all this stuff.”

  “Fine, sure. You're missing out, though.”

  “I read part of The Book of Mormon. It was kinda boring. If you obey God you get blessed, if you disobey you get cursed. I mean, I got it the first time.”

  “There's always more than meets the eye. You can't just read it like a novel. You've got to take your time and think it through.”

  “That sounds... even more boring.”

  “You ever hear of likening scripture?”

  “Lichen scripture?” This, I fear, is going to get really weird.

  “Likening,” corrects my brother. “Taking a situation that comes up in the scriptures and thinking of an equivalent in your life. If you had to trek out into the desert and leave a comfortable life behind in Jerusalem, how grateful would you be to God? There you are, living in a tent when you used to have a house and servants. You think it's easy? You think it's obvious that if you do what God says, you'll be blessed? His first blessing was to get them out of Jerusalem before it was destroyed, but they never saw it actually get destroyed. Talk about needing faith.”

  “Oh, well, I guess I didn't get all that.”

  “The scriptures are about life, about real things that happen to real people.”

  I decide not to bring up again that his scriptures were supposedly taken from some golden plates that are now nowhere to be found.

  “God does communicate with us. You've seen one miracle, after all,” he says.

  “You finding me?”

  “Yep.”

  “I think that was a coincidence.”

  “Yeah, well, here's the thing, we all see miracles. It's what we do once we see them that makes all the difference.”

  “So I should be thanking God that you found me?”

  “Well... only if gratitude really is what you feel. You sure you wouldn't rather tell Him off for putting this really annoying guy in your life?”

  “You aren't that annoying.”

  “Well, thank you for saying that, but... I dunno. I think people overlook a lot of miracles because they're more common than we realize, but if we sit down and think about all the coincidences that help us, we start to see a pattern.”

  “You sure you're not just picking a pattern out of randomness?”

  “Well, try it sometime. See what you think.”

  Out of politeness, I don't answer that. Last time I agreed with someone to be polite, I had the senior class psycho prank me with an assault. “Sorry for telling you off in email.”

  “It's all right. You don't remember me. I get that.”

  “Thanks for talking to me.”

  “Anytime. Seriously. Three a.m., I don't care.”

  “Thanks. I'm gonna go to bed now.”

  “I love you.”

  I have no idea how to respond to that, but without missing a beat, my brother says goodbye and we hang up.

  The next morning I wake up after Mom's already out in the shed and take a good look in the mirror. I can still see the outline of the bruises on my face, but they're still fading. Mom's slap didn't bring any back.

  When I meet up with Kailie to walk to school, though, she takes one look at me and says, “What's wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  “I don't feel good.”

  “Well cheer up!”

  “Yeah, okay, I feel better now.”

  “Don't be a frownie face.”

  I want her to leave me alone, but I know if I ask her to, that'll only provoke a fight. I speed up my steps and she keeps pace with me at first, then complains that I'm going too fast and drops back. Walking away like this is rude and I know it, but I don't know any other way to deal with Kailie.

  This means that I arrive on campus alone, just as the MAV pulls into its parking space and the Mormons all pile out. Carson comes straight towards me, the girls all glare at me and head towards the school, and Alex goes with them, without so much as a glance in my direction.

  Carson, though, wears a broad smile. “Madison, you, me, beach, campfire, marshmallows, Saturday. What do you say?”

  An evening campfire on the beach sounds beautifully romantic and Carson is handsome. The obvious answer is yes.

  But he's still waiting and I haven't said anything. His smile has faded and I can tell he's standing on the brink of major letdown.

  I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Listen, my mom got pretty upset when she heard I went out with you.”

  “Oh.”

  “So... yeah.”

  “Because of what?”

  “She doesn’t like the Church.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “No. It’s all right. It’s not your fault.”

  “I know, but I feel bad.”

  “Bad enough to defy her and go out with me? I mean, you ignore her rules to go out and spend time with Kailie.”

  I am so sick and tired of him digging at me for being nice to Kailie. “Yeah, well, that’s different. I’ll see you around.”

  “Wait...”

  I ignore him and walk away.

  When I go inside the school, JP is waiting at my locker. I approach with caution, it feels like a long time since I've seen him.

  “So this your game?” JP says.

  “I'm not playing a game.”

  “You just take up with someone else?”

  “How do you even know about that?”

  “Kailie told me.”

  Another sabotage attempt by Kailie. Great. “I told you I wanted to talk to you.”

  “You accused me of cheating on you.”

  “Well, I wanted to ask you about that.”

  “I'm insulted. I've never been a cheat.” His anger, the set of his jaw, the tone of his voice, all of these persuade me that he's telling the truth. Now I'm the cheat.

  “I'm sorry,” I say. “I just wanted to talk to you. It made me mad that you blew me off. I don't even have your phone number.”

  “I've been busy. You know how it is. Sometimes I've got a little time, sometimes I don't.”

  “Well I'm not interested in a bunch of fifteen minute hookups.”

  “That's all I got.”

  “You are standing here, talking to me right now. Why can't we do that sometimes? Why can't we at least act like friends in public? What's wrong with that?”

  He looks away.

  “Even if you didn't cheat on me-”

  “Hey-”

  “It'd be easy for you to do.”

  “I don’t do drama.”

  “I just want to be able to talk to you sometimes.”

&
nbsp; “Fine. We're over. Date Carson.”

  Ouch. Even though I'm the one who first declared it over by dating someone else, the words feel like a punch in the gut. I want to disappear, just teleport to my bedroom and hide, but what I do instead is lift my chin and say, “Yeah, I'm gonna date other people. I may even have a boyfriend. Someone who wants to be seen with me.” Big talk, I think.

  “Okay, you know what? I lied. You are fat. You're pasty. You're plain. Good luck finding another guy to date.”

  That hurts and I want to hit back. I want to hurt him like he just hurt me. Instead I take a deep breath, wait for the sting to fade, and say, “Well, you're really hot, so I'm sure you can replace me easily enough.” I shoulder him aside and spin the lock on my locker.

  He stares at me like I just slapped him. “Madison-”

  “Go away.”

  “Come on, I-”

  “Bye.” I don't bother to put my textbooks in my backpack, but rather carry them in my arms so I can get away faster. My locker, I shut with a kick.

  At work that afternoon, there's an email from John.

  Hey Madison,

  Hope you're feeling okay. Let me know if you need anything.

  I love you.

  John

  I click open a reply box.

  Hi John,

  I told Carson I wasn't interested, officially broke up with JP, and still have no idea about what to do with Mom, but at least I didn't bruise any worse. I guess I'm okay.

  Madison

  An hour later, he says:

  Madison,

  Bruise any worse? What happened that would cause a bruise?

  Love,

  John

  John,

  Mom slapped me last night, hard.

  Madison