Saving Red

by Sonya Sones

  Big shock, right?

  I leave him a message about Pixel

  and about how Mom’s too high

  to be any use

  and about how

  I really, really need

  his help right now.

  But I don’t know why I even bother.

  When he sees the call’s from me,

  he probably won’t even listen to it.

  He’ll go right back to his

  earth-shatteringly important meeting.

  Just like he always does.

  I hang up.

  And a second later, the low battery warning

  pops onto my screen.

  Argh! I switch off my phone,

  cram it deep into my pocket,

  and grab hold of my head

  to keep it from exploding.

  All of a Sudden

  I become aware

  of Red’s eyes on me,

  boring into me like two laser beams.

  Then she shifts her gaze

  down to her legs

  and lets out a horrified gasp.

  She brushes madly at her ankles,

  then leaps onto the lounge chair,

  pulls her knees up to her chest,

  and begins

  moaning and rocking

  back and forth.

  “Red . . . ,” I say. “What’s the matter?”

  But she just starts pounding her fists

  against the sides of her head, shouting,

  “It’s not a wonderful life! It’s not!”

  My Mouth Goes Dry as Dust

  I catch hold of her wrists.

  “Stop it!” I shout. “Stop it right now!”

  She struggles a little and then gives up.

  She stares at me with wild, unseeing eyes.

  “It’s all my fault,” she croaks.

  “My fault that Pixel is gone!”

  “No it’s not, Red. You didn’t leave

  that gate open—the gardener did.”

  “But I was the one who told you

  to leave Pixel in the yard,” she cries.

  “I was the one who said it would be

  animal cruelty to make him come with us!”

  And then it hits me—I was the one

  who chose to follow Red’s advice . . .

  The advice of a crazy person.

  It’s my fault . . . Mine . . .

  “The Duke says

  Pixel would still be here

  if it weren’t for me,” she whispers.

  “And Lana says he’s right. He’s right!”

  And that’s when I begin to feel

  all this rage bubbling up inside of me—

  all this rage that’s finally

  coming to a boil.

  “Well, tell them both to shut the hell up!” I shout.

  Red Shrinks Away from Me

  As if I’ve uttered

  the unspeakable.

  “No thanks,” she starts chanting.

  “I better not . . . I better not . . .”

  For a split second, I contemplate

  slapping her across her face—

  like in one of those old movies

  when someone does that

  and the person who’s been slapped

  calms right down

  and says,

  “Thanks. I needed that.”

  But now Red’s curling up into a tight ball

  and sticking her thumb into her mouth.

  It’s obviously going to take

  a whole lot more

  than a slap across the face

  to snap her out

  of

  this.

  But I Don’t Know How to Help Her

  So I lie down next to her.

  Then I reach over and begin stroking

  the top of her head.

  Just like

  I’d stroke Pixel’s head,

  if he were here right now.

  After a few minutes,

  her eyelids begin

  to flutter.

  And a few minutes after that,

  the sound of her heavy rhythmic breathing

  tells me she’s fallen asleep.

  I close my eyes,

  match the rhythm of my own breathing to hers,

  and try not to think about Pixel . . .

  or about Noah . . . or about Cristo . . .

  or about the fact that Red and I

  never did call her mom tonight.

  And now that the moment has passed,

  she probably won’t ever be willing

  to give me her number again.

  I should have entered it into my phone

  the second she told it to me.

  What was I thinking?

  Red was right.

  It’s not a wonderful life.

  Not even close . . .

  Then Suddenly I’m Standing in the Chapel

  And I’m reaching down to claw at the lid

  of that closed coffin again.

  But no matter how hard I try,

  I can’t pry it open . . .

  And now—

  I’m inside of it!

  And there isn’t any air . . .

  And Pixel’s trapped in here with me!

  He’s lying on his back,

  scratching frantically at the lid,

  his claws making no

  sound,

  blood streaming from his paws,

  staining his white fur

  red . . .

  The Crashgrinding Roar

  Of a garbage truck

  stuns me awake at dawn.

  I sit up and instantly notice

  that Red’s not lying next to me.

  My hand flies to my mouth.

  But I tell myself to chill.

  She’s probably

  just in the bathroom.

  I shout her name.

  She doesn’t answer.

  I dash to the bathroom door and knock.

  No reply.

  I shove it open.

  Empty.

  I check the garage.

  Not there either.

  Then my eyes flick to the spot

  where we parked our bikes last night.

  But where

  there should be two—

  there’s only one!

  My Fingers Start Tingling

  What was I thinking?

  How could I have been so stupid . . .

  so selfish . . . so freaking irresponsible?

  I’ve been so worried about Pixel,

  that until just now

  I hadn’t faced the fact

  that his disappearance

  seemed to have pushed Red

  over some kind of edge.

  I can practically hear

  The Duke’s voice,

  growling inside my own head:

  “If something

  happens to Red,

  it will be all your fault.”

  And Lana shouting,

  “How could you have taken

  your eyes off her—even for a minute?”

  I can imagine The Duke bellowing,

  “Didn’t you learn your lesson

  with Noah? And with Pixel?”

  And Lana hissing,

  “No wonder Cristo

  wants nothing to do with you.”

  Then She Bursts Out Laughing

  And The Duke joins in,

  the sound of their laughter

  clanging like evil bells inside my skull.

  I give my head a sharp shake.

  But they keep right on

  laughing,

  the sound of it

  growing louder

  and louder and louder . . .

  “Shut up!” I roar, stamping my foot.

  “Shut up right now!

  Both of you!”

  I dig my fingernails into my scalp,

  trying to claw their voices

  out of my head.

  And that�
��s

  when I notice

  the silence.

  It’s So Total and Complete

  That for a minute

  I think maybe

  I’ve gone deaf.

  Then,

  into the silence

  rushes a question—

  the question

  I’ve been too terrified

  to ask myself until now:

  If I were Red,

  what would I be thinking

  about doing at this moment?

  And a split second later

  the answer rushes in

  right after it,

  like

  a well-aimed

  poison-tipped dart.

  I Leap onto My Bike

  Zip down the alley,

  and zoom through the quiet streets . . .

  Then, up ahead,

  a yellow house catches my eye.

  And when

  I get closer to it,

  I see that right in the center

  of its front yard,

  strung with hundreds

  of tiny white Christmas lights,

  is a lemon tree

  loaded with fruit . . .

  And all of a sudden

  I’m thinking of lemonade.

  And then

  I’m thinking

  of Noah . . .

  But I Can’t!

  I can’t think about Noah now.

  I’ve got to stay focused!

  So I force myself

  to stop staring at that tree,

  and just keep on

  pedaling past it—

  pedaling so fast

  my legs are burning,

  pedaling so hard

  I can barely catch my breath,

  pedaling as if my whole life

  depends on it . . .

  Knowing,

  in the scaredest, deepest part of me,

  that Red’s whole life

  might.

  When I Finally Get to Palisades Park

  My heart’s pounding

  in my ears.

  I turn left

  and tear along the path,

  racing toward

  the spot on the bluff

  where I first

  saw Red.

  I’ve got to

  get there—

  got to get there

  before it’s too late!

  Then

  I see

  Red’s bike!

  It’s leaning up against

  the trunk of a palm tree.

  I screech to a halt

  and hop off my own bike,

  shouting, “Red! Red!

  Where are you, Red?”

  I scramble

  over the low fence,

  ignoring the sign warning me

  that the bluff’s not safe,

  that it could crack off and tumble

  down the cliff

  any second now . . .

  I Whirl Around and Around

  My eyes darting

  everywhere at once,

  calling Red’s name till my throat’s so hoarse

  I can barely whisper.

  If her bike is here, why isn’t she?

  Has my worst fear come true?

  Has she already thrown herself

  off the—

  But

  I won’t

  even let myself ask

  that terrible question.

  I walk numbly toward the cliff,

  stopping a few feet from the edge,

  refusing to let myself look down over it,

  scared that I’ll see Red’s broken body if I do:

  tangled in the brush,

  her arms and legs twisted

  in impossible directions,

  her dead eyes staring up at me

  like two cold stones.

  A Sharp Pain Rips Through My Chest

  And I find myself thinking of Jimmy Stewart—

  of him standing on that bridge

  in It’s a Wonderful Life,

  standing there

  feeling like the people he loves

  would be better off without him.

  I think about Jimmy.

  And about my brother.

  And about Pixel and Cristo and Red . . .

  And,

  for the first time in my life,

  I can almost understand

  why someone

  would want to jump

  off a bridge.

  Or off a cliff . . .

  Did Red Feel Just Like Jimmy?

  Did she inch closer

  to the edge of the bluff,

  the way I’m inching closer

  right now,

  a tsunami of grief and guilt and misery

  whirling through her mind?

  Did she tell herself it was all her fault

  that Pixel went missing?

  Did The Duke and Lana

  urge her on?

  Did they tell her how great

  it would feel to just let herself go,

  to just leap over the edge

  and fly off into the sky

  like a bird

  released from its cage—

  finally

  free?

  Did Red feel

  just like Jimmy?

  Did Red feel

  just like

  me?

  My Body Feels So Heavy All of a Sudden

  Like my limbs

  have turned to lead.

  I sink down onto the cracked cement

  and stare straight ahead,

  out across the deserted beach

  at the pale gray ocean—

  so strangely motionless

  it looks more like

  a photo of the ocean

  than the real thing . . .

  Then I take a long, slow look

  around the park.

  First to the left—

  at the soft green grass,

  the peaceful pathways,

  the statue of Saint Monica.

  Then to the right—

  at the empty benches,

  the palm trees swaying

  in the early morning light,

  the last of the fall roses

  still clinging to life.

  Is this what Red saw?

  Just before she . . . she . . .

  Then I Hear a Sound

  A sound like a handful

  of pebbles tumbling

  down the bluff.

  I whip my head

  back to the left and see—

  Red!

  She’s standing

  at the edge of the cliff.

  Right at the very edge of it!

  She’s just twenty feet away from me,

  her arms spread out on either side of her

  like a tightrope walker.

  She’s Going to Jump!

  I have to stop her!

  But I can’t risk shouting her name.

  I might startle her over

  the edge.

  I scramble silently to my feet

  and fire off a quick prayer.

  Just in case God’s listening.

  Just in case God’s real . . .

  And suddenly

  my mind flashes on the angel.

  The angel who saves Jimmy Stewart

  in It’s a Wonderful Life.

  And now—

  I know exactly what to do.

  I Begin Pretending to Cry

  Very quietly at first,

  gradually letting my sobs

  grow louder.

  Then

  I take a step closer

  to the edge of the cliff.

  Loosely covering my eyes with my hands,

  I shake my head from side to side

  so I can sneak a peek at Red.

  Has she noticed me?

  Yes!

  She has!

  She’s Standing There Frozen

  Just standing there staring at me,


  still as the statue of Saint Monica.

  I turn away from her,

  letting my hands fall from my face.

  Then I take another step forward,

  and then another,

  till my toes are almost

  to the edge of the cement slab.

  And that’s when I hear

  Red’s stifled cry,

  the sound of her footsteps

  running toward me,

  her choked voice,

  quietly calling to me,

  “Stop! Don’t! Please!”

  And Then I’m Running Toward Her Too

  And we’re flinging ourselves

  into each other’s arms,

  both of us crying now,

  our tears shaking us,

  letting all our relief,

  all our grief

  pour out

  into each other.

  We Cry

  Until

  we’re all cried out.

  And we’re just standing here,

  still holding on to each other,

  my head resting on Red’s shoulder,

  her head resting on mine,

  when

  we hear

  a short

  sharp

  bark!

  We Pull Apart and Lock Eyes

  Both of us

  too scared to turn and look.

  “Did you hear that?” I whisper.

  “You mean it wasn’t a hallucination?”

  she whispers back.

  But then we hear another bark.

  And when

  we whip around,

  we see Pixel streaking toward us—

  the most

  beautiful white blur

  in the world.

  And we’re scooping him into our arms

  and he’s licking us everywhere

  and the three of us are a breathless jumble

  of fur and fingers

  and paws and ears

  and skin and grin

  and happy, happy, happy tears.

  A Few Delirious Minutes Later

  When we finally manage

  to unjumble ourselves

  and collapse onto

  the nearest bench,

  Pixel wags his fluffy tail

  and looks at us like,

  “Do you have any idea

  how awesome it is to be leash free?”

  I Can’t Help Cracking Up at This

  And part of me

  sort of half expects