by Sonya Sones
He just looks kind of regular!
“My cousin has a service dog,”
he says with a shrug.
“It changed his life.”
I suck in a breath and brace myself.
But he doesn’t ask me
why I have one.
And I’m so grateful to him for this—
for just accepting that I need Pixel
and not pressing me to tell him why . . .
I’m so grateful
that I could kiss him.
But then, I could kiss him anyway . . .
Pixel hops up next to him
and pats his palm with his paw.
“What’s up, dog?” Cristo says with a grin.
Then he looks over at me and says,
“Check it out: Pixel’s high-fiving me!
You teach him how to do that?”
“It’s . . . it’s kind of a long story.”
“Well, then maybe you can tell me someday.
When we have more time.”
And when I hear him say “someday,”
my heart does this weird little flip-flop.
Because that must mean he thinks . . .
Well, that he thinks
this is just the beginning
of something . . .
Of a something
that’s gonna have
a someday!
Whoa . . .
I am sitting here
in my new favorite restaurant
eating a slice of salted caramel pie
while sitting
right across from
my new favorite person
and we’re talking about
how much better both our lives would be
if we were old enough to drive
and how weird it would be
to be the star of our own
reality show
and about how
Cristo once broke
his thumb playing T-ball
and I once broke my nose
walking into a sliding glass door
that was so clean I didn’t see it.
We even talk a little bit
about how hard it must be
to be homeless like Red
and about how much
I want to help her get back
to her family.
And the whole time,
his soulful brown eyes
are gazing into mine . . .
And I have no idea why,
but I can’t even taste
the pie.
When a Boy Walks You Home
After you’ve been on a date
that turned into something else
for a while and then sort of turned back
into a date again at the end,
you feel like each step you take
is happening in a dream.
Or maybe in a memory—a memory
that’s somehow being made right now . . .
When a boy walks you home
after you’ve been on a sort-of first date,
the back of his hand seems to keep
bumping into the back of your hand
and you can’t tell
if it’s by mistake or on purpose,
but either way, every time it happens
it sort of makes you dizzy . . .
When a boy walks you home
after the weirdest but quite possibly
the best first date that any two people
on earth have ever been on,
and you get to your house way too soon
and pause together in the shadow
of the sycamore tree at the edge of your yard,
you suddenly get this feeling—
this feeling like you might faint or something,
because what would you do if he took hold
of your hands, looked into your eyes,
and then . . . then he leaned down
and he kissed you?
But
You
don’t get
to find out.
Because
he doesn’t
kiss you.
Whew . . .
Darn!
Argh . . .
So Now
We’re just sort of standing here instead.
Not kissing.
And all of a sudden Cristo blurts out
that his family’s going on vacation.
That they’re leaving tonight,
taking the red-eye to New York City.
And that until he met me,
he was sort of excited about it.
But now that he has met me
he wishes he didn’t have to go.
He wishes he could stay right here
and help me get Red back to her family.
But he does have to go.
And we both agree that this totally sucks.
Then he smiles at me,
with the saddest, most warmest eyes,
and I just about
keel over.
He shrugs another gorgeous little shrug
and says good-bye.
And I say good-bye back.
And then he starts walking away from me.
Only he’s walking backwards—
so he can keep on looking at me.
And we lock eyes till he disappears
behind my neighbor’s cypress hedge,
like a full moon that’s been
swallowed up by the clouds.
And I’m Staring at That Hedge
Feeling kind of thrilled
but kind of miserable at the same time
because I just realized that Cristo
doesn’t even know my number.
But then—
he pops back into view
and calls out,
“I don’t even know your number.”
And my heart
practically explodes.
I shout it out to him
and he puts it into his phone.
Then he waves good-bye
and I wave back
and then he does
that walking-backwards thing again
until he disappears
behind the hedge a second time.
And I stare at that hedge.
And I wait. And I wait.
Only this time,
he doesn’t reappear.
But Then—My Phone Rings!
And Cristo says,
“I just called to say hi.”
I laugh
and say hi back.
And for
a few seconds,
we just sort of listen to the sound
of each other not saying anything.
Then he says, “So . . . okay. Bye.”
And I say bye back.
And when he hangs up,
I clutch the phone to my chest.
I Sigh
Then I head up the front walk,
and push open the door.
Pixel sniffs the air and darts inside.
I float in behind him
like a starry-eyed girl
from a sappy movie.
But what happens next
makes me feel as if I’ve drifted
into an alternate universe.
Because I could swear I smell latkes—
those perfectly golden,
perfectly crispy potato pancakes
that Mom only makes
once a year . . . during Hanukkah!
She remembered after all!
A second later,
she bursts from the kitchen
with a platter full of them.
And Dad pokes his head out of his den
with a bright smile on his face and says,
“Ready to light the first candle, Mozzarella?”
I nod and swallow hard.
He hasn’t called me Mozzarella for almost a year.
It’s . . . it’s a freaking Hanukkah miracle!
For a split
second, I almost expect to see my
big brother Noah come bounding down the stairs
to wrap me up into one of his famous bear hugs.
But,
of course,
he doesn’t.
My Throat Closes Up
And a wave of guilt and grief
slams into me so hard
it almost knocks me off my feet.
But then Pixel’s here,
working his nose
into my palm.
And the wave passes over me
like the shadow of a cloud
that blows across the lawn
and is gone.
Then I’m Lighting the First Candle
And we’re saying the blessing
and singing,
“I’m spending Hanukkah in Santa Monica,
wearing sandals, lighting candles by the sea . . .”
And all of us are feasting
on Hanukkah treats—
Dad sneaking Pixel
bits of latke,
Mom letting him lick
the applesauce spoon.
And we’re tearing open
little mesh bags of chocolate coins
and spinning dreidels
and laughing together
and everything seems
right with the world.
Until
it doesn’t.
Because All of a Sudden
Mom starts weeping—
like it’s finally dawned on her
that my brother Noah is still missing . . .
Noah—whose Hanukkah puppet shows
were so funny that Mom and Dad and I
always ended up in hysterics . . .
I watch Mom sobbing, and though she’s not
touching me, it feels like her hands are gripping
my neck, squeezing the life right out of me.
Dad reaches out
to stroke her hair.
But she pulls away from him.
He starts rubbing his temples,
asking her why the hell she couldn’t have tried
a little harder to keep it together just this once.
I cross my arms over my chest
and ask both of them why they always
have to ruin everything.
Dad tells me he’s sorry,
scratches Pixel’s sweet spot,
and heads down the hall to his den.
Mom tells me
she’s sorry too,
swiping uselessly at her tears.
Then she kisses Pixel on his head
and shuffles into the family room
to light up a joint and shop till she drops.
Even Pixel
looks like he can’t quite believe
just how awful things are around here.
But I guess if God
hadn’t wanted my life to suck,
He wouldn’t have created my parents.
I Trudge Upstairs to My Room
Feeling so weighed down
it’s as if my pockets are filled with bricks,
so heavy that when I hurl myself onto my bed
I half expect it to collapse beneath me.
But then Pixel
scrambles up next to me.
And I bury my face in his neck,
inhale his sweet dog smell,
and cry until I’m as empty
as an overturned glass.
And when I finally look up,
my eyes land on the duffel bag—
full of all the things
that Red refused to take from me . . .
Maybe I can’t
bring my brother home.
Maybe I can’t
undo what I did.
Maybe I can’t glue my messed-up family
back together again.
But if it’s the last thing I do,
I’ll figure out a way
to reunite Red
with hers.
A Second Later, My Phone Buzzes
I dig it out of my pocket
and find a text
from Cristo!
It’s a selfie,
exaggeratedly sad-faced,
with these words:
I wish I could pack you in my suitcase.
But then there’d be no room
for my footie pajamas.
What a guy!
So ridiculously cute
and hilarious and . . .
I slap a super wistful look onto my face,
snap a selfie of my own,
and send it off.
A second later, he texts me back:
OK. Never mind my footie pajamas.
Come with me to New York?
And I text back:
I sure wish I could
take you up on that!
And he replies: I wish you could too!
Are you okay though? Your eyes look a little
red in that pic you sent . . .
Oh geez. Now what do I do?
I can’t tell him how messed up
my family is . . .
Or how messed up I am . . .
So I Write:
Thanks for asking! I’m fine!
Just got some sunscreen in
my eyes.
But who puts on sunscreen
at ten thirty at night?
So I delete that and write:
Thanks for asking!
I’m OK!
Just the usual teen angst.
But that
makes me sound
like a total loser.
So I delete that too.
And suddenly
I find myself writing:
Have you ever done something
so stupid, so selfish,
so just plain wrong,
that you wish you could turn back the clock,
return to the scene of the crime, and
somehow keep yourself from committing it?
And then, before I have a chance
to change my mind—
I click send.
And I instantly wish I could
turn back the clock and keep myself
from sending that message!
But a Few Seconds Later
My phone rings.
And it’s Cristo. And he says
yes, he has done things like that.
Lots of times.
And though I can’t bring myself
to tell him about my family
or about the actual thing I did
that I wish I could undo,
we end up having the best talk—
all about making mistakes and
about second chances and about
how hard life can be sometimes . . .
In fact,
it’s the best talk
I’ve had with anyone
since Noah disappeared.
The Moonlight
Is filtering through the fronds
of the palms outside my window when
Cristo says he has to head to the airport.
So we say good night and click off.
Then I wrap my arms around Pixel.
Because . . .
Well, because
I have to hold
someone . . .
My fingers are itching to text Rosa
and Jasmine and tell them all about Cristo.
But those days are long gone . . .
So I hang on to Pixel until the urge passes.
And when I finally let go of him,
he hops off the bed and trots across the room.
He picks up an envelope
that’s lying on the rug by the door,
then trots back over with it.
But before
I even have a chance to open it,
a second envelope slides under my door!
Pixel Fetches That One Too
I tear open the first one—
and find two hundred-dollar bills!
&n
bsp; Along with a note.
I read it aloud so Pixel can hear:
Sorry things got so out of control tonight.
Your mother and I thought you’d rather have
this Hanukkah gelt than presents.
Love,
Dad
Pixel wags his tail and looks at me
like, “How about a trip to Petco?”
“Consider it done,” I say.
Then I tear open the second envelope
and find two more hundred-dollar bills!
Plus another note:
Sorry I fell apart tonight and ruined
everything. Your father and I figured
you’d rather have cash than gifts.
Happy(ish) Hanukkah.
xx,
Mom
So Basically
Having parents
who hate each other so much
that they barely even
speak to each other
does have certain . . .
shall we say . . .
perks.
It Takes Me Hours to Fall Asleep
And when I finally do
manage to nod off,
I’m suddenly back
in our synagogue’s chapel,
standing next to that same
awful coffin.
Only this time it’s Noah
who’s trapped inside of it.
And I’m looking down at it,
listening to him screaming in there,
these bone-chilling
horror-movie screams,
and now I’m screaming too
and beating on the lid,
clawing at it, tearing at it
with broken, bloodied nails,
but I can’t pry it open . . .
I can’t . . .
I can’t!
Then—It’s Morning
And I’m drenched
in the usual puddle
of cold sweat.
I drag myself into the bathroom
to splash some water
on my face.
And just as I reach for a towel,
I hear my phone vibrate
in the other room!
I dash back in and find a text from Cristo—
a photo of an enormous snowdrift,
with these words underneath it:
Wish you were here.
No, not in this snowdrift.
In New York City. With me. Right now.
My heart dances a little jig as I dash downstairs,
snap a picture of an ice cube,
and text it to Cristo with these words:
Wish you were here.
No, not in this ice cube.