Cherry Red Summer (Emely and Elyas Book 1)

by Bartsch, Carina

  Opposite the bed was a small black sofa with an armchair next to it, the one where I had seen him sitting and reading. On the wall behind that was a black-and-white poster for Fight Club.

  Elyas set our glasses down on a little table while I looked around. There was a desk in the corner under another window. His computer was on the left side, and on the right were stacks of books, folders, and sticky notes. There were rows of CDs and LPs in the shelves, more than in the living room.

  The room felt tidy but not compulsively so. You could tell someone lived here. Elyas didn’t seem to mind my looking around as he put on some music. I was drawn to the chaos on his desk. His medical books were unfamiliar, and most of the sticky notes had medical concepts on them. The Orishas started playing in the background, and I smiled. That was the album I had been playing when he “visited” me at Purple Haze. I supposed he thought he might make a good impression by playing it again now. I was quickly distracted from the memory of that night by something different: Among the various sheets of paper on his desk, one book stood out.

  “Elyas?” I asked, slowly pulling the book out of the stack.

  “Hmm?” he asked, walking over to me.

  I stared at the author’s name and flipped the book open to make sure there wasn’t a misprint. But, no: I was in fact holding a work by Edgar Allan Poe. Not only that, there were a vast number of sticky notes. More than one on nearly every page.

  “You’re reading Poe?” I gasped.

  I had always thought Elyas was intelligent, but reading Poe had nothing to do with intelligence. Reading Poe required a certain sensibility and sensitivity to the stories—a sensitivity that I would never have ascribed to him.

  “Uh, yeah,” he said. “Sometimes.” He tried to smile and took the book from my hand. He hastily stuffed it onto a shelf, turning his back to me longer than was necessary.

  “You’re not embarrassed about it though, right?” I said cautiously.

  “No,” he said, turning back around. “Why should I be?”

  My brows furrowed. “You shouldn’t. It’s just that reading Poe isn’t something I’d expect from you.”

  He seemed embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to add his standard line, “Well, there are a few things about me you don’t know.” I’d heard those words before but never before considered what they meant. When it came to Elyas, I expected pretty much anything—but not this. My discovery just didn’t match the picture I’d always had of Elyas. First there was his kindness after my parents’ accident, then he was watching movies and listening to music I happened to like, and now he was reading books I loved.

  “Do you like the music?” he asked, changing the subject.

  I hesitated, not wanting to leave the subject of the book. “Yes.”

  It was weird, but looking at Elyas now, I no longer saw the same person. Something had changed.

  I couldn’t deny Elyas had always had a certain effect on me, but I had always chalked it up to his good looks. It wasn’t easy, for anyone, to resist his turquoise-green eyes and pretty face—to say nothing of his body.

  Reducing his appeal to just his appearance had always made it easier for me to stay clear of him. Even if my eyes were blinded, my brain was harder to deceive. Now that I was starting to like his personality . . . well, that was definitely going to become a serious problem.

  Elyas sat on the sofa, pretending the little Poe incident hadn’t occurred. Instead he started telling me about the latest concert he had been to. I also sat on the sofa, cross-legged, slightly facing him. He was sitting sideways, one foot on the floor and one on the sofa. The space between us was just right. I could only hope Elyas wouldn’t come up with the idea of reducing it.

  We gradually fell into an easy conversation. An amazingly normal conversation, for us at least. Talking to him this way wasn’t nearly as unpleasant, not least of all because he didn’t try to touch me for twenty minutes straight. That was a new record.

  I could tell Elyas knew a lot about music, and we shared similar tastes in bands, as I had already noticed in my snooping operations.

  I took a sip of wine during one lull, when Elyas stood up and went over to his desk. He returned with an object from the drawer and resumed his same position on the sofa. On his lap was a foil bag of what seemed to be loose tobacco, which he proceeded to roll into a thin cigarette. He lit it with the lighter that was tucked inside. It didn’t smell like a regular cigarette; the sweet scent rose in small clouds of smoke.

  I hadn’t had a joint in a few years. I must have been seventeen when Alex’s then-boyfriend singlehandedly redefined the term amateur gardener. I had funny memories of that time, but hadn’t smoked any weed since then.

  I looked at the joint that Elyas held out to me. The temptation was great, but I wasn’t sure getting high in front of him was the smartest idea. Ultimately, temptation won out, and I took it. The hot smoke cleared a path down my throat, burning my lungs and making me cough.

  Elyas grinned. “How did you like the album?”

  “What album?” I asked with a scratchy throat, handing the joint back to him.

  “Skindred,” he said.

  Oh, that album. How nice of him to remind me of the underwear incident, which I had actually sort of forgotten about. His smirk reappeared. “It’s great,” I said. “I’ve listened to it probably thirty times now, all the way through.”

  He handed me the joint again. “Which song did you like the best?”

  I took a long drag, paused, and exhaled smoothly without having to cough again. “Hard to say,” I said. “Track one, I think.”

  “Track one?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Oh, no reason . . . ,” he mumbled.

  By now I had taken three more drags off the smoldering roll, and the effect was taking hold. Once we finished the joint, I remembered why I hadn’t smoked for so long: when I was high, I blathered on and on without periods or commas. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut anymore. Everything running through my head had to be said. Elyas listened attentively and with amusement.

  In good spirits, I leaned back and crossed my legs. Elyas rested his head on his outstretched arm and looked deep into my eyes. But that was the last thing I was interested in at that moment. He couldn’t break me down, not even for a second, because I was so focused on talking.

  “Elyas, are you even listening to me?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Good. So, as I was saying, HIV doesn’t spread among gay men because they’re gay. It spreads because they’re men. You see what I’m saying?”

  Elyas smiled and shook his head. “Emely, you have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know how you even got on this topic.”

  I scratched my head. “Didn’t you bring it up first?”

  “I haven’t said a word.” He smiled.

  “Hmm,” I said. “Then I must have brought it up. Do you get what I mean, though?”

  He laughed softly. “No, but I’m sure you’re about to explain it to me.”

  When he was right, he was right.

  “OK, now. Pay attention. See, if a gay man meets a man, then sex is front and center. Y’know?”

  Elyas shrugged but continued paying bemused attention.

  “Most men aren’t overly concerned with getting to know someone first. Gay men are free to sleep with someone and then check to see if a relationship could develop out of it.”

  I looked at him, waited for him to nod, and then continued. “That’s exactly how straight guys would be if they could. A man is a man—gay or straight. The difference is that most women don’t get involved with someone as quickly. If they do, they pay more attention to protection. Y’know?” I blinked at him as though I’d just discovered the solution to an equation that had stumped mathematicians for decades.

  “Yes,
I get it. But what are you trying to tell me by bringing this up?”

  God, how could he be so dense! I sighed. “That HIV doesn’t spread among gay men because they’re gay. It spreads because they’re men!”

  Elyas squeezed the bridge of his nose and laughed hard. “OK, whatever,” he said.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling he wasn’t taking me seriously. But somehow I didn’t care. I took my glass and drank, but the acidic wine did little to quench my thirst. With every gulp, my throat felt drier. I looked at Elyas’s glass, which was filled to the brim with refreshing soda. What I wouldn’t give to switch glasses with him! That bubbly dark liquid had never seemed as appealing as it did now. I could taste it on my tongue already. Cold, fresh, invigorating—I inhaled.

  Asking Elyas for some was out of the question. Normally I didn’t have a problem drinking from other people’s glasses, but with Elyas it was different. Somehow it seemed too . . . intimate.

  “Emely?”

  I looked at him. “Yes?”

  “Would you like some of my Coke?”

  “M-me?” I stammered. “Uh . . . no. Why?”

  “Because you’ve been staring at it for five minutes.”

  Dammit!

  “I-I . . . I think carbonation is fascinating?” I said/asked in a squeaky voice. He leaned forward and handed me the glass.

  “I’m not actually poisonous,” he said solemnly.

  “I’d say that, too, if I were you,” I mumbled, putting the glass to my lips. The liquid flowed into my mouth and I suddenly forgot all my worries, losing myself in the bubbly refreshment.

  “So you weren’t thirsty then,” Elyas said as I set the empty glass back on the table.

  “I didn’t want to be impolite,” I replied. He looked at me, and then his face changed a little. He was still smiling, but it was more serious somehow.

  “Do you know how cute you are?” he asked.

  Ugh. First of all, I definitely was not “cute.” Second, I apparently could still blush while high, because I was acutely aware of blood rushing to my cheeks.

  Time to change subjects. “Speaking of cute,” I said, grinning, “what happened with that perm Alex wanted to give you?” He laughed but didn’t say anything, which didn’t matter, because I barraged him with twenty groundbreaking insights. He seemed interested in everything, though.

  As my mania eventually eased and I started using commas in my speech again, I confessed how envious I was of him for the dormer window over his bed. He smiled, explaining that the window was the main reason he had to have this apartment when he saw it. I had misjudged him yet again, and it was starting to freak me out.

  He described how amazing the view of the nighttime sky was from his bed and, sensing how curious I was, finally suggested I lie down and check it out myself.

  I worried I might be crazy, but said OK. I felt oddly indifferent about it, inexplicably so. Elyas turned off the lights so we could see the stars better. I warned him off any monkey business, saying, “I know where to punch so it hurts.”

  He was good; he lay back with his hands behind his head, as we both silently stared up at the clear night sky, dotted with stars.

  Our highs—mine having been much higher than his—were waning, but the atmosphere didn’t lose its relaxed vibe.

  “What are you thinking about?” he said, disturbing the quiet.

  “No idea,” I said.

  “Surely you know what you’re thinking about,” he calmly replied.

  “As if you’d be interested . . .”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I weren’t interested, knucklehead.”

  I could tell he was smiling.

  Should I tell him what I was thinking about? He would probably just make fun of me. “You wouldn’t understand,” I said.

  “What makes you so sure? Give me a chance, and let’s see.”

  I sighed. “I’m thinking about the universe. About infinity. What it means.”

  It took him a few seconds to respond. “Interesting,” he said. “Go on.”

  “There’s not much to say. Just a couple of questions going through my head while I’m looking at the sky.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  I took a deep breath because it wasn’t easy to put into words.

  “Well,” I began. “I’m wondering what infinity means. I can’t get my mind around the concept. Infinity: people say the word,” I continued, “but you can’t really imagine it. As I look up, it reminds me how insignificant the earth is compared with the universe. How unimportant one individual is on the planet.

  “People weave their wishes and dreams together into a life . . . but they actually don’t mean anything . . . They’re completely unimportant, irrelevant, like one human being. Compared with the expanse of the universe, an individual existence isn’t even worth mentioning.”

  My eyes wandered from jewel to jewel across the heavens, and I lost myself in the darkness of the infinite. “That kind of frustration is hard to bear, but on the other hand it fascinates me time and time again.” I paused before continuing. “Have you ever wondered where the universe is? It has to be somewhere. So what’s behind it? What’s under it? If you don’t believe in God, you’re left with so many unanswered questions. You go from one question to the next without end, never finding an answer.”

  I stopped talking. That had been the CliffsNotes version of my thoughts, though I had still gone into more detail than I wanted. This was one of my favorite topics, and I could philosophize for hours, but that would let Elyas in on my private, inner world.

  I looked at him when he didn’t say anything. He stared out the window and seemed to be just as lost in the darkness. I started to worry after several more minutes passed.

  “Did you fall asleep?” I asked. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I was boring him to death.

  He winced. “What? No, no, I was just thinking about what you said.”

  “Have you by chance come up with the answers to all the questions that keep me up at night?” I asked.

  “No,” he said gently. “But I think they’re going to keep me up at night now, too.”

  He didn’t say anything for a while, and when it occurred to me to look at the clock, I saw it was almost one in the morning. My last bus was leaving in ten minutes. I should have frantically leaped up and run downstairs, but I didn’t move.

  I convinced myself the pot had left my legs too tired. Or I was too lazy to get up now. Or I was afraid of interrupting Alex and Sebastian if I stormed through the living room. Deep inside, though, I knew those were only half-truths.

  The full truth was I liked lying next to Elyas on the bed.

  It was hard to get my brain around. Maybe I didn’t want to get my brain around it.

  In the background, “Give In to Me” by Takida played softly, the lyrics lulling my thoughts along. Reality blurred around me, and the memories of Elyas’s and my past together flitted through my mind. Usually I tried to suppress them, but now I let them take me away.

  CHAPTER 15

  THEN AND NOW

  I still remembered the first time Elyas and I met. I was about four or five, and I was over at the Schwarzes’.

  Alena offered a friendly hello at the front door and led me upstairs to her daughter’s room. Alex was sitting on the floor playing Barbies, the somewhat older Elyas kneeling next to her with his hair tousled up, holding a Barbie as well. As I walked in, the first thing I noticed was his huge, turquoise-green eyes.

  I giggled, pointing at him. “You’re a boy who plays with Barbies!”

  Elyas pursed his lips and glared at me with angry sparks in his eyes. He snorted, stood up, walked over, and whacked me on the head with the Barbie.

  The drama was perfect: I started bawling because he had hit me, Alex started bawling because the Barbie’s head had come off, and
Elyas started bawling because Alena chewed him out and sent him to his room.

  I grinned. That had been so long ago, but I could still picture it so clearly.

  It was much later that I found out Alex had forced him to play Barbies with her, which is why he was so angry about my teasing him.

  Elyas and I didn’t get along for a long time after that, but at some point we overcame our differences and became friends. The three of us did a lot together. Every day we took walks through the woods around Neustadt. We were even the proud owners of our own treehouse, which we had made ourselves.

  At a certain age, Alex stopped wanting to get her clothes dirty. Elyas and I didn’t understand her attitude, but it put an end to our hanging out as a threesome.

  It took another few years for my feelings toward him to change.

  I should mention that kid-Elyas didn’t have much in common with adult-Elyas. Elyas used to be a loner—shy and reserved. He didn’t have many friends, and his free time was mostly spent reading books, studying for school, and playing the piano.

  There wasn’t any one incident—not even a small one—that started me thinking of Elyas as more than a sort of brother. I was fourteen, and he was fifteen, when I found myself hoping I’d run into him whenever I was at the Schwarzes’. But whenever I did run into him, usually in the hallway or at dinner, all I could do was blabber incoherently. I was sure he thought I was a complete idiot, though he didn’t seem to think that. That’s what I told myself, at least, every time he flashed me that magical smile of his.

  Despite my fantasies, I wasn’t dumb enough to think I had a sliver of a chance with him. He was by far the handsomest of any of the boys I knew, and he was also the nicest and most intelligent, too. Why would he be even remotely interested in a nondescript, run-of-the-mill small-town girl like me?

  So I never told him how I felt. I didn’t even tell Alex. I just bottled it all up inside, hoping the feelings would one day evaporate.