Saved By The Music

by Selene Castrovilla

  Axel’s lips touched my cheek. “I’ll be back soon,” he said.

  I felt the warmth of the throw Axel settled over my covers, but I was still so cold—so damned cold.

  18

  Life’s Fitful Fever

  I woke up in the dark, tangled in covers. Sweating, burning, but still so cold.

  “Axel?”

  No answer.

  “Axel?”

  “What’s up?” Axel’s voice came from the other room. His head peeked in the door. “What’s wrong?”

  I felt so dizzy, and my heart was pounding. “I don’t know. … I don’t know… .”

  He kneeled next to me. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.”

  “Can you lie down with me?”

  He hesitated for a second, then climbed under the covers, wedged against me, put his arm around me. “That better?”

  “Yeah.” There I was, bothering him again. But I was scared out of my skull to be alone in the blackness. “Wh-what did my aunt say?”

  “Let’s talk about this in the morning.”

  “Why? Was she mad at me?”

  “No! No one’s mad at you, Willow, except you. She was upset, but not with you.”

  “But I messed up her plans… .”

  “Get out of here. That shithead was hardly indispensable.”

  “And now she has to deal with my crap… .”

  “She wants to deal with your crap, Willow. She’s your aunt. You’ll see. You’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

  I felt a hot, stinging pain in my chest and throat. “She’s coming here?”

  “Did you think she wouldn’t?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Calm down. I can feel your heart racing, for God’s sake. What do you think Agatha’s gonna do, whip you?”

  “She’s gonna say what she always says, and right now, I really can’t deal with the righteousness of it all.”

  “She’s not a preacher… .”

  “She could write scripture. The gospel by Agatha Moon. It wouldn’t be a real effort. She could just write down whatever comes out of her mouth.”

  “Stop. You’re not being fair.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well … fair is foul, and foul is fair.”

  “Hey, you stealing my Shakespeare quotes?” He laughed. “Are you going back to sleep, or what? Otherwise, I’ll make us something to eat. You realize we didn’t eat dinner?”

  I realized a lot of things. Having missed a meal was the least of them. “I’m not hungry.”

  “All right, that’s something else we need to discuss. You’re turning orange from all the damn carrots you eat.”

  The tears started again. Who knew why … ?

  “Hey, hey … don’t start crying again. I’ll leave you and your carrots alone for now; don’t worry.”

  I sniffed. “How’d you know I was crying? I didn’t make any noise.”

  “Your whole body got stiff. Believe me, I know all the signs of your crying by now.”

  I started sobbing.

  “Oh, Jesus. I didn’t mean… . Turn around, will ya?”

  I shook my head no, pressed my hands against my eyes.

  “Willow … I’m kind of used to only answering to myself, being alone with my fucked-up thoughts. So if I say the wrong thing, you have to forgive and forget it, okay?”

  I faced him, fat drops rolling down my cheeks. “I’m not crying because of you. I’m crying because of me.”

  He held his pinky against my cheek, let a tear land on it, whooshed it like a windshield wiper. “You’re entirely too hard on yourself.”

  But nowhere near as hard as Aunt Agatha was going to be.

  * * *

  The morning had to come, and so it did.

  Axel’s stomach was churning. He got up to scramble some eggs. I asked for egg whites only, but he said no.

  He watched me chew. Nothing to do but swallow the poison. I didn’t eat the toast, but he didn’t say anything about that.

  I asked Axel if he would get me some clothes and my iPod, and to try and stall Aunt Agatha until the afternoon. It was like postponing my sentencing.

  My thighs throbbed with every step, but I had to pull myself together to take a shower. I was overcome with the oily smell of Craig, and felt like he’d smeared his grimy paw prints all over me. It was worse than the smell of puke, and I don’t know how Axel could have lain next to me without heaving from it.

  Left foot, right foot, left, right… . I tried to concentrate on walking, but the inevitability of the future kept forcing its way in.

  Axel felt sorry for me, but that would pass… . He was going to come to his senses. He’d see that I wasn’t worth the effort.

  I made it to the closet. He’d said I could help myself to a T-shirt and sweats for after the shower, in case he wasn’t back when I came out. I opened a built-in drawer and thumbed through the shirts, looking for what? I didn’t know. They were mostly black, with a couple of navy blue thrown in.

  That’s what I’d become. Someone who couldn’t choose between a black or a blue shirt that I was going to wear for ten minutes.

  Black. Blue. Black. Blue. Black and blue. My mind meandered… .

  They more I fought the memory, the more it surfaced. And so this minor decision became nearly impossible because my energy was channeled into blocking the pain.

  I spotted something between the last two shirts: a razor blade. I picked it up, fingered the sharp metal, pressed the dull edge against my fingers. I stared as though it would speak and offer some other explanation. But Axel used disposable razors; they’d been in the bathroom the other day. So what else would Axel need a blade for, besides coke?

  Then I noticed something on the edge. Brown flecks.

  It looked like dried blood.

  I remembered that night on the boat, before Axel put his T-shirt on. All those cuts. Did Axel slash himself with the razor blade?

  Tell you the truth, if I’d had that blade handy the night before, I might have sliced into a vein or two myself. But bleeding to death seemed like a nasty way to go, if you thought it through. Why not take a bunch of pills and just go to sleep?

  I put the blade back and took a black shirt.

  Now I had something to discuss with Axel.

  I found something else tucked on the side of the pants drawer. A photo of a boy, maybe five years old, in a blue suit. Brown hair, dimples. He looked kind of like Axel. Maybe a nephew or something. I stuck it back in and grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants.

  I went into the bathroom and started the shower, waiting for it to get hot. I wanted it to scald, to burn away Craig’s touch. If you boiled water, you distilled it, destroyed the toxins, making it pure. I wanted to distill myself.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid… . Stupid and worthless.

  The water was smoking, and mist filled the room. I climbed in.

  Water pelted my bruises. They lit with fiery pain. I took it. I deserved it. I washed, scrubbed, and would have used steel wool if I’d had some. I thought of Craig behind bars, steaming, too.

  I thought of his hand at my throat. I shoved the knob in to stop the water, grabbed the towel, pushed the terry against my eyes and cried again.

  So much for the cleansing shower.

  Finally, I dried myself off, brushed my teeth with the hospital toothbrush, and put on Axel’s clothes. The pants were baggy, even though I pulled the string tight. Whatever.

  I stepped out of the bathroom. Axel was back. He’d brought my whole suitcase. “Here. You look silly in my sweats. Like your mom bought you the wrong size.”

  I shrugged. Who really cares, anyway? I flopped onto a bench and slumped down against the table.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like someone beat the shit out of me,” I snapped.

  “Okay, got it. Dumb question.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I’m just a complete bitch. I’m sorry.”

  He slid next to me. “Listen, your aunt’s coming in a little bit—”

  I tensed
up. He put his arm around me. “Relax, okay? I told her you’re gonna stay with me a few days. That’s what took me so long, convincing her you’d be all right here. She just wants to see you.”

  He pointed to the counter. “Look. I even brought you your bag of carrots.”

  I leaned into his shoulder. “Why are you so nice to me?”

  “Why do you ask? Can’t you just accept it?”

  I shook my head. “I keep … I keep waiting for it to end.”

  “What?”

  “Your tolerance for me.”

  “It’s not gonna end.” He shifted the towel on my head, pecked the spot he’d uncovered.

  Why, why couldn’t I trust him? “Everything’s so dark, Axel… .”

  “It just seems that way,” he said, rubbing his hand on my back. “If you lighten up … ” His tone changed, taking on an almost scary intensity, and his hand tensed, pressing against me a little too hard. “If you lighten up, so will the world.”

  Interesting words from the guy with the bloody razor blade in his drawer.

  “Hellooo, dear hearts.” Aunt Agatha’s voice catapulted down the hatchway.

  “Oh, God,” I cried. I realized I hadn’t brushed my hair out or gotten dressed. The magnitude of these tasks, combined with Aunt Agatha’s arrival, threatened to burst my brain.

  “Come on in, Agatha,” Axel called. His voice was back to normal. His hand loosened up, and he gave my back a final pat. “She loves you, Willow. She’s on your side.” He got up and leaned against the counter, like he was getting out of the way.

  Aunt Agatha climbed down the steps and headed toward me. She looked so sad. “Willow …” she said, hugging me. “Are you all right?” She tucked a strand of my hair, which had fallen out of the towel, behind my ear.

  Hmmm … She sounded worried, not judgmental. I made myself look at her. “I … I guess.”

  “Scoot over, kid.” She gave me a playful slap on the arm, which hit my bruise. I swallowed the pain.

  “I was so stupid not to notice what was going on with that boy. It’s been a long time since I was a teenager.” She picked up my hand and kissed it. “Can you forgive me, love?”

  Forgive her? It was all my fault.

  I nodded anyway.

  “This is going to be hard work, Willow. You’re going to have to focus to clear your head of all this clutter.”

  Just when I thought things might be different, she was off on her mission and clutching my hand. All good lectures came served with a side of hand-clasping.

  “Wipe your mind clean of it. Don’t let it linger. Wallowing is the devil’s tool.”

  Apparently I was to fear the devil, but I wasn’t allowed to believe in a god on my side. Or was I supposed to think of her as God?

  I felt like someone had shot me up with Novocain, big time.

  “Dear heart, Axel asked me to let you stay here for a few days, so I will. He’s a good friend, I can see that. So rest, but don’t wallow. Don’t cave in to the ego sickness. And when you return, we can move on with our work.”

  She gave an extra tight squeeze, like a big pinch. “Nothing can affect you unless you let it, Willow.”

  Besides everything else, my feelings were my fault, too.

  “I’ve gotta go lie down,” I said, pulling my hand away and getting up. “I haven’t been able to will the pain out of my bruises yet. I need an hour or two more, I guess.”

  I went into the bedroom, pressed my head into the pillow, and tried not to made any noise while I cried.

  I heard the door close. Great. Is Aunt Agatha going to enlighten Axel about ego sickness now? What if he starts spouting that stuff, too?

  I hoisted myself up and headed to the door, leaning my ear against it.

  Axel said, “Agatha, with all due respect, is the word tact in your vocabulary?”

  “Excuse me, darling?”

  “Willow calls you a bulldozer. Get it?”

  “Not really… .”

  “You’re plowing right over her.”

  “That’s absurd!”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But she feels that way. And she thinks you don’t listen.”

  “I do… .”

  “With your ears, but not with your heart.”

  Aunt Agatha didn’t say anything. She has to be getting pissed. What the hell is Axel doing?

  He continued, “What happened to Willow yesterday isn’t something she can just forget. If she doesn’t deal with it, it’s gonna haunt her forever. You’re telling her to repress her emotions, Agatha, and you’re wrong.”

  “I’m not telling her to repress her emotions. I’m telling her to release them.”

  “But she can’t just release them. Not everyone deals with things the same way. She needs to talk out her problems. She’s already weighed down with so much shit from her mom … and now there’s this.”

  There was another long silence. I both wished that I could see and was glad that I couldn’t see her face.

  Axel said, “Here’s the deal. Willow needs you … and she needs you to listen. You telling her she’s suffering from ego sickness makes her feel even worse. And it makes her resent you.”

  Why wouldn’t Aunt Agatha speak? I wanted Axel to shut up already. What if she changes her mind about letting me stay with him?

  But he didn’t shut up. “I know you care about her. I told Willow that, but she sees you as an adversary. She’s screwed up, lonely … and yet you’re right there.”

  “You had to tell her that I cared about her?” She sounded so hurt.

  “Well, I mean … she knows you love her. But she feels trapped by the way you love her … like if she doesn’t do what you say, you’ll take your love away.”

  God, that’s it! That’s it, exactly.

  I didn’t even realize I was crying until I tasted the salty water dripping between my lips.

  “So what do I do?” Aunt Agatha’s voice cracked.

  “Be there for her, with no comment. You can’t control her.”

  “I don’t mean to control her—”

  “Agatha, I hate to tell you this, but it’s controlling to tell someone how to think and how they should deal with their problems.”

  “Young man, you don’t seem to know much about tact, either.”

  “I’m just talking to you like you talk to her.”

  He really did have a lot of guts, saying that all stuff. Or maybe I was just spineless for never having stood up to her. No matter how many times I tried, I’d always backed down.

  Then again, I could never have described it. The pain. It was just too close to get a good look at.

  There was more silence.

  “No one’s ever spoken to me like this,” Aunt Agatha said after a few moments.

  Uh-oh.

  The silence grew so much that it ran out of space and slid under the door, rising in my face like a thick, maddening fog. I wanted to scream, “Say something!”

  As if she heard my thoughts, Aunt Agatha finally spoke: “Thank you, Axel.” Her voice was low and thoughtful.

  I didn’t know what to make of that. It sounded like Axel had gotten through to her, but I couldn’t allow myself to believe that. Who needed more crushed hopes?

  I felt all caught up in the swirling fog. Consumed. I made my way to the bed and closed my eyes.

  19

  The Doors

  I woke to the sound of Axel’s cello. Maybe it was my mental state, but I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. So pure …

  I kept my eyes closed and let the music come for me. It was the first time I’d ever felt completely taken away by classical music. I’d always kept a little cynical piece of me in reserve, like a skeptic leaning against the wall with arms folded, saying, “Whatever.” Now the music lifted me—all of me—to another place. A happy place.

  Go figure.

  The music stopped. The cello thunked as it was settled into its case, and then the latches clicked shut.

  “Willow?” Axel was
next to me. He touched my face. “Willow, you awake?”

  I opened my eyes.

  “I thought I saw you moving around. You feel any better?”

  I shrugged. “I liked your music.”

  “Vivaldi,” he said. “It’s soothing. You were having a nightmare earlier. I tried to lie down with you, but you slapped at me, and… you bit me.” He showed me the bruised teeth marks just below his thumb.

  I gasped, horrified. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you. “Jeez, Axel … I don’t know what to say.”

  He sat down, kept his feet on the floor. “It’s fine. You do whatever you need.”

  “I certainly don’t need to bite you!”

  “Well, I just wanted to calm you down. So I figured a little Vivaldi might do the trick. To me, he’s always been the bridge between the conscious and the unconscious, the conductor to sweet dreams.”

  “I guess you were right. The music really got me.” I sat up and leaned against the wall. “That reminds me of something Jim Morrison said.”

  “Oh, great.”

  “Sorry … I didn’t mean …”

  “No, no. Go ahead. Tell me. I’m dying to hear ol’ Mojo’s sage words.”

  “It’s about why they named the group ‘The Doors.’ He said, ‘There are things known, and there are things unknown. And in between are the doors.’”

  Axel ran his hand back and forth across the teddy bear throw. “Yeah, well, your friend Morrison used drugs to go through the doors of perception. That was his whole rap. Testing the boundaries of reality.”

  He traced the outline of a bear. “I do it with beautiful music.”

  “You do drink… .”

  “I don’t drink to enhance my thoughts. I drink to dull them,” he said in a sharpened voice, with a hard stare.

  Interesting distinction. “It’s funny … you know a lot about someone you can’t stand to hear about.”

  He shrugged and looked down. His voice got soft and low. “My dad’s friend’s wives always went on about him. That’s when I started to lose it a little. I mean, it was like they forgot I was me.”

  I lifted his hand away from its tracing, squeezed into it. “Axel … I’m really sorry… .”

  “It’s okay.” He took his hand back, forced a smile. “What do you want for dinner?”