Dear Cassie

by Burstein, Lisa

  “No,” he said, the pebbles underneath him crunching as he shifted. “Why? Did she tell you I was?”

  “Yeah,” I said, feeling so stupid that I’d ever believed her.

  “Nez is fucking crazy,” he said, shaking his head, smoke dancing around him.

  “You think I am too, don’t you?” I asked.

  “No,” he said.

  “Then why were you ignoring me? I know it’s because of what happened at the infirmary.”

  “I—” He paused, took a long drag. “I just don’t want to let you down again.”

  “Again?” I asked. “You’re, like, further up my ass than Rawe.”

  He laughed.

  “At least you were,” I said, unable to look at him when I did.

  “I understand it’s not about me,” Ben said, his face illuminated in the flashlight beam, his eyes big, like they were the brown paint from two watercolor sets, “but I figure it’s got to be another guy.” He exhaled smoke.

  “You finally guessed right,” I said, taking a long drag. “I wasn’t abducted by aliens.”

  “Anyway,” he said, ignoring me in the way people do when they need to say something no matter what you’ve said first, “I get why you keep pushing me away and if that’s what you want, that’s what you want.”

  “I don’t know what I want,” I said.

  “I’m just trying not to hurt you,” he said. “It seems like you’ve had enough hurt in your life.”

  I felt a warmth in my belly that glowed like my cigarette when I inhaled. Ben’s words were like oxygen stoking a fire, and my body a spark. I reached for his hand in the darkness. He rubbed his thumb on the underside of my palm so gently, so deliberately, the kind of touch that, if you let it, has the power to make you go blind.

  “You really came all the way out here to have a cigarette with me?” I asked.

  “I guess.” He laughed, picking up our hands. “Well, and this.”

  For the first time, I wasn’t afraid to hold on.

  I woke up; the sky was gray. Ben was snoring next to me, a spider web like a lace canopy above us. We had fallen asleep outside the tent with our hands still clasped, sitting in the silence of the woods.

  The early morning was gauzy with dew. I looked at Ben’s face, his soft skin, so calm. It was obvious that he didn’t have nightmares when he slept like I did. Whatever reason he was here for, whatever he kept doing, it wasn’t something that caused him to scream in the night. Unlike me, it was something that allowed him to sleep. Sleep soundly, even.

  I guess it took my brain a few seconds to really wake up and realize Ben shouldn’t be here at all. That sleeping next to me meant he wasn’t in his tent, where Nerone would be looking for him in a matter of minutes.

  “Ben, crap, you slept here!” I said, shoving him.

  He snorted and turned over. Yes, this boy slept just fine with his guilt.

  “Ben,” I said, smacking the back of his head.

  “What the hell, Cassie?” He rubbed where I’d hit him. I guess it had been harder than I thought. He didn’t look surprised to find himself here, waking up next to me. I tried not to think about that.

  “You need to get up,” I said, grabbing his shoulder.

  “What?” he asked, wiping his doe-brown eyes like this was any other morning he was waking up to. Except it wasn’t; he was waking up to getting his ass kicked by Nerone if he didn’t get a move on and get the hell back to camp before the sun came up.

  “You need to leave. You’re going to get in trouble,” I said, talking to him like he was drunk. I mean, he was sort of acting like it. I considered asking him what he had in his canteen.

  “I’m going to get in trouble,” he said, yawning. He closed his eyes again. The sun was about to come up, like a diver hesitantly standing on a diving board.

  “Ben, seriously, go,” I said, pushing him.

  “All right, all right,” he said. He stood up and stretched; his brown hair had leaves in it, pine needles. I didn’t bother to tell him, but I combed at my own hair.

  “Don’t worry, you look great,” he joked, his smile as wide as the open sky above us.

  “I’m certainly not worried about that,” I said, glancing past his shoulder. What would happen to him if he got caught out here with me? What would happen to me?

  “You going to be able to make it through another day and night?” he asked, looking down. It seemed like he wanted to add without me, but he didn’t.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, not really wanting to think about it. I could have said, No, no don’t leave me, and held onto his leg like I was about to fall into quicksand, but I think we both knew I wasn’t going to do that. I think no matter what he’d said, I would have told him I’d be fine.

  He turned to go, then stopped like he remembered something. “I’ll try to come back tonight,” he said. His face was hopeful, as hopeful as the sun that was about to rise.

  “You sure are willing to go through a lot for cigarette smoking and hand holding,” I said.

  “You need to try and remember that.” He watched me. Maybe for the way the sun was starting to color my face, or maybe for the way my eyes were on his, unable to look away.

  Finally he ducked into the woods. I could hear him start to run, the sticks on the ground beneath him breaking with each step. I listened, his footsteps getting quieter as he went back to a day of using his training.

  I went back into the tent. Ben had left his backpack there, and I wondered how he would explain not having it. He would probably get busted, get sent into his own solitary. Would probably be unable to come back tonight by no fault of his own. It was easier for me to consider that than how I was afraid he would decide not to. Would decide that it wasn’t worth it for cigarette smoking and hand holding.

  I opened his pack, hoping there was some water inside. I knew I could go and try to find some to fill my own canteen, but the woods weren’t any less scary to me during the day. I understood that there were predators that arrived when the sun came out that I didn’t want to see. Snakes, for instance, or deer that could bore me like a charging bull with their horns. I would much rather boil in my tent than deal with whatever I might find outside of it.

  Luckily, Ben’s canteen was full and, as excited as I was to see that, I was even more excited when I found his Assessment Diary.

  Well, maybe the word wasn’t excited, it was interested. If I read it I would be able to know exactly what he thought of me. His words were nice and I was starting to believe them, but reading his real, uncensored thoughts … that was something else. I took a long gulp from his canteen and picked the diary up. It felt hot in my hand—or maybe my hand felt hot holding it.

  I stared at it. From the outside it looked like my Assessment Diary, but it wasn’t mine. It was Ben’s and it held every secret thought he’d had since he’d been here. Like mine did. I knew I shouldn’t open it—if anyone read mine I would seriously skin them alive—but there were a lot of hours between now and when Ben might come back. A lot I could learn about him if I took a peek.

  When I cracked the notebook open, I swear my crazy-solitary mind heard it squeak, like it was an attic door or something. He wrote so neatly—print, not cursive, his words little match sticks. The first pages were a lot like mine: What am I doing here? I shouldn’t be here. This place sucks. It is not my fault.

  Blah, blah, blah. Whine, whine, whine.

  I looked for my name, but it wasn’t in the beginning entries. I guess Ben was smarter than me and understood that he needed to keep some secrets hidden. Maybe everyone was smarter than me. I considered that I was the only bozo stupid enough to actually use this thing for my real thoughts. I kept looking, but my name wasn’t there. Whatever he felt about me was hidden deep in his brain.

  I guess what he’d said was true: it wasn’t always about me.

  The name Andrew was mentioned a lot. I thought about the guys in the boys’ camp. None of them was named Andrew and as I continued to skim I reali
zed Andrew’s name was on every page. I did what I had to do for Andrew. Andrew would have done it for me. Of course, I don’t think I would have put Andrew in that position. Especially not twice. But I’m under eighteen and have done this for him before and that matters more than the truth.

  What was the truth?

  I knew a lot about hiding and denying the truth, more than I would probably want to accept. More than I would be able to defend if someone went behind my back and read my Assessment Diary. I knew I should stop reading, but I couldn’t. Maybe I wanted to see if anyone was as fucked up as I was. Maybe I wanted to see if the reason why it seemed that Ben sort of liked me was because he was that fucked up.

  Maybe I wanted to try to understand one person, since I found it so hard to understand myself.

  I read on, flipping through, looking for the name Andrew to try to get some answers, when I found my name.

  Hey Cassie, I knew you liked me and I let you win at basketball. –Ben

  Mother fucker.

  I heard branches crack outside the tent. Finally, Rawe was coming to check on me.

  Perfect fucking timing.

  I stuffed the Assessment Diary back in Ben’s pack and hid it under my sleeping bag. I felt my heart start to pound, my forehead start to sweat. Maybe Rawe wasn’t only coming to check on me. Had Ben been busted and now it was my turn? I crouched on my sleeping bag and waited.

  Rawe banged on the tent, like it was a front door and she was locked out. I unzipped it, bracing myself, and found Troyer standing there.

  I was relieved not to see Rawe, but it also meant she had still not come to check on me. Yet another person from camp had snuck over to see me, but the person who was supposed to be “caring” for me had left me to swing in the wind. I wasn’t sure what that meant.

  Before I could say anything, Troyer walked over and sat down against the tree in the same spot Ben had, like this was a TV show or a movie and I was the one everyone went to for advice. The tree was my bathroom stall, or backseat, or whatever. It was a good thing it wasn’t really a TV show because there was no way I should have been giving anyone advice.

  Troyer’s blond hair was almost as light as a cobweb in the sunlight.

  “Troyer,” I said. “Laura,” I corrected, “what are you doing here?” I didn’t sit down right away. Mostly because I wasn’t sure she wanted me to. I still wasn’t sure what had happened to her the day before, and I’m sure she wasn’t, either.

  I expected her to shrug, to pull out a pad, but instead she spoke, her voice so quiet it was almost like it wasn’t there. So quiet it was like a woodland fairy flying out of her mouth.

  “I don’t know,” she said. It was so strange to hear her talk, but yet, it felt familiar. She was no different, just louder.

  I could have asked her why she was talking, but the big deal I’d made about it yesterday didn’t seem like it had gone over very well. Yesterday? Fuck, it seemed like weeks ago.

  “Aren’t you going to get in trouble?” I asked, still not sitting. Maybe it was really because I didn’t want her to get comfortable. Fucking up Nez’s face and Ben having probably gotten busted for staying last night were about all my overflowing conscience could handle.

  “I’m gathering wood with Eagan,” she said, looking up at me. That was what she was supposed to be doing, but instead she’d come here.

  “Don’t punch him in the nose,” I joked, even adding a laugh, but it was stupid. It made me wish I couldn’t talk, like Troyer hadn’t been able to until yesterday. I kind of understood. If you kept your fat trap shut, you didn’t say stupid shit you would regret. You could keep other people from saying regrettable stupid shit in order to keep up with the regrettable shit you kept saying, which meant you wouldn’t have to hear their stupid shit replaying in your mind like a song on repeat.

  I didn’t know what else to do, so I sat down next to her on the cool ground.

  “So are you talking again?” I finally asked. I’d decided it was weirder not to mention it. If any part of this could have gotten weirder.

  “Not really. I guess only to you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I could have taken the time to explain, but I hoped she understood. I was sorry for opening the dam that had held her words safe. It had been my fault and now she was struggling to put them back in, like bunnies jumping from a cardboard box.

  “It’s okay,” she said. Maybe she knew. Or maybe she didn’t want an apology from me.

  I got that, too.

  An apology from me probably felt like a fly buzzing in her ear. It would have been like getting an apology from Nez. One from Nez would be one I felt like swatting away. One I felt like smashing under a magazine. I had much bigger apologies to deal with.

  She looked at me and waited. The skin on her arms was so pale, it reminded me of a peeled pear.

  I felt the words behind her lips. The words she wrote in her Assessment Diary, that she thought were like her own song on repeat. Just like me.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I said, still staring at her arms, wanting to look anywhere but at her face.

  “You either,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. You would have expected it to be clear and bright from being rested for so long, but it was the opposite. Her voice was a rusty bike that squeaked when you rode it for the first time after the winter.

  “I can’t anyway,” I said, pulling my knees up to my chin. I guess she could see the words behind my lips, too. I guess everyone could. I probably didn’t hide them as well as I thought.

  She nodded. She knew all about not being able to say things. In that moment I saw her as epically strong. The restraint it had taken her to stay silent for so long, it really was incredible. Swearing and yelling and saying words to cover up the words I couldn’t say, that was weak.

  “It’s not the same without you at camp,” she said, pulling her knees to her chin like mine.

  “That’s because Nez is a bitch,” I said.

  Troyer turned to me and did something I didn’t expect: she laughed, long and hard. Her laugh was deep, beautiful. It made me hate whoever it was who made her feel like she had to hide it. It made me hate me for not having laughed like that since I’d been here—since the clinic. It made me hate myself for wondering if I could ever laugh like that again.

  “Ben told me he came to see you last night,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

  I guess he hadn’t been busted. There was that at least.

  “You like him, don’t you?” Troyer said.

  “No,” I said quickly, instead of being a smart-ass and saying Who? like I usually would. It made me wonder if the answer wasn’t really no, wasn’t as easy as no. It was complicated, that was for sure.

  “So, you okay?” Troyer asked.

  “Yeah.” I looked around. “Rawe said I’d get into the solitude.” I pushed my hands straight out, like a surfer guy trying to balance after catching a wave.

  “Rawe’s kind of an idiot,” Troyer said. “Not in a mean way, in a regular way.”

  “Most people are idiots,” I said. “I’m kind of an idiot.” I was honestly surprised I was admitting it. But my time at Turning Pines had made me realize that. Only idiots let themselves get in fucked-up situations with horrible boys that made it hurt to breathe when they thought about it.

  Only idiots let that situation keep ruling their lives.

  “Ha,” Troyer said, “that’s true.”

  If anyone else had agreed I would have throttled them, but Troyer agreeing with me felt right. She deserved to agree.

  “What else did Ben say?” I asked. I thought about his diary. I shouldn’t have read it. I shouldn’t have even looked at it. That was another thing that made me an idiot.

  She shrugged.

  Of course, now she was silent.

  “I came here because I want you to understand,” Troyer said.

  “You don’t have to tell me.” I understood that better than anyone.

  “I have to tell someone,” she s
aid. Her face was so small, like a softball with a wig on.

  “Okay,” I said, breathing in. I don’t know what I was expecting. Her deepest, darkest secret? The reason she was here?

  Was it worse than the reason I was here?

  The real reason?

  It didn’t matter. I would listen. I could at least give her that.

  “I don’t talk because people take your words and do what they want with them,” she said, looking at her feet. “When I got in trouble before I came here I had a lot of people try to tell me what I meant when I said things. What I was really saying. I had people try and take my words and throw them back at me. So I stopped talking. No words, no confusion.”

  It made sense. It made more sense than anything I had done that hadn’t worked yet. Maybe I needed to try keeping my mouth shut for once.

  “I guess it seems stupid now,” she said.

  “Not to me,” I said.

  She leaned into me. Her breath smelled like peanut butter. It made me remember I hadn’t eaten in hours, yet I wasn’t hungry at all. “When I stopped talking they said it was because I couldn’t steal anymore. They said it was like I was stealing my own words. Isn’t that crazy?” she asked.

  It honestly made sense, not like I had the guts to tell her. “Who are ‘they’?”

  “My parents. They’re psychologists,” she said, flattening the word.

  “And they sent you here?” It seemed like there were way better places they could send her. Way better places.

  “When your kid won’t talk and you make your living talking, I guess it freaks you out enough to get drastic.”

  “Here is drastic,” I said.

  “No—here,” she said, patting the ground below us, “is drastic.”

  “It’s not so bad,” I said.

  “You don’t have to lie to me,” she said.

  I knew she wouldn’t believe me. I was learning that Troyer was wise in ways I hadn’t yet realized. “I know,” I said, “I guess I’m kind of lying to myself.”