by M. Leighton
“Then maybe I’ll have to do something fun that you can hear. How ‘bout that?”
“Ooo, like what? Burp the alphabet? Fart The Star Spangled Banner?”
That actually coaxed a laugh out of me. “You’re insane, you know that?”
“Oh, come on. You wouldn’t have me any other way.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t.”
“Ok, so pick me up at eight? Or do you want me to drive?”
“No! No, I’ll take care of the driving. You just worry about getting dressed.
Don’t be wearin’ a Bride of Frankenstein head with a Smurf body.”
“Listen to Ridley, finally catching on.”
“Ha ha.”
“Seriously,” Savannah said, her voice turning solemn. “I don’t want anyone to see me differently, to treat me differently. I can make fun of myself because it’s healthier than letting it eat away at me. So I do.”
“I know, Savannah. It just feels…wrong.”
“Well, I guess you’re just going to have to get over that.”
With an exaggerated sigh, I agreed. “Yep, I guess I will.”
“Alrighty then, eight o’clock?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“Ciao.”
And with that, she hung up in her abrupt, very Savannah-like manner. I had to admit, though, that she’d brightened my day. How pathetic is that, when your mood is so dark that someone who’s just lost her sight and her boyfriend ends up being the cheerful one?
With a renewed zeal for getting out of bed, I pushed back the covers and walked to my closet. I had no idea what to wear to a Halloween costume party. It was the first one the school had ever had. I didn’t think it really mattered, though. It wasn’t the party I was looking forward to as much as spending time with Savannah.
It seemed she was just what I needed—a friend and a distraction.
I pulled out a couple of possibilities and laid them on the bed and then made my way to the kitchen. It was Saturday and Dad was home. That meant only one thing: time to brush off my daytime Emmy and get to work pretending.
Mom was standing in front of the coffee maker. Her back was to me and both hands were flat on the counter, her shoulders hunched as if she was in pain.
“Mom?” I said, rushing to her side. “What’s wrong?”
I leaned around to look into her face. I was relieved to see that there were no tears. No tears meant that whatever was ailing her was fixable.
Haunted, bloodshot eyes met mine. “Your father went to get breakfast. I’m just having some coffee. Why don’t you pour yourself some juice?”
With that, she straightened, her eyes falling to the mug that sat on the counter in front of her. She reached for it with a hand that shook so badly she nearly spilled the hot brew just trying to pick it up.
“Here,” I said, wrapping my fingers around the handle. “Why don’t you come over here and sit down. I’ll get the drinks ready and set the table.”
I carried Mom’s coffee mug for her. When she sat down, she put her elbows on the table and I handed her the cup. Her shaking wasn’t nearly as perceptible with the support of the table under her arms.
She closed her eyes as she took a sip of the steaming liquid. When she opened them, they locked on mine. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. It wasn’t much as far as expressions go, but there was a lot more gratitude in her eyes. Once again, I had helped her avert disaster. She knew it and I knew it.
She was my mother, though, and I loved her. She knew her secret was safe with me.
After all, a family of pretenders had to stick together.
We made it through breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. I knew better than to make too many other plans for the weekend days when Dad was home. He was adamant about spending “quality family time” together. It was a farce, but he was a stickler about it.
With the last of the dinner dishes tucked safely away inside the dishwasher, I closed it and hit the start button. I was on my way back to my room to shower when I remembered something.
I returned to the living room.
“Mom, do you still have that mask that you wore to the masquerade party you guys went to year before last? The silver one?”
I could see Mom struggling to remember. I’m sure it was like trying to flip through the pages of a soggy newspaper.
“Gosh, Ridley, that’s been a while. Why don’t you check the box in the top of my closet. If I kept it, it would probably be in there.”
“Ok. Thanks.”
I headed straight for her room and got the box down. Sure enough, the mask was in there. In tact, too. Luckily, it only covered the top portion of the face, so there was virtually no chance it might have puke on it. Sadly, that was a constant consideration when borrowing anything of Mom’s that didn’t predate Izzy’s death.
After my shower and an intense buffing session, I smoothed on some shimmering lotion and let it dry before slipping into a dress that I’d worn in a beauty pageant a couple years prior. Though it was snug, it still fit, and the tight factor only enhanced the look I was going for.
The dress had a white bodice that hugged me in a corset style. The lower half was fitted and covered in silver sequins. The very bottom of the dress flared out and had layers and layers of white frothy material spilling from beneath the sequins, making it look like a tail. It was a curve-hugging mermaid dress if I’d ever seen one.
I left my hair long, flowing in thick waves down my back. Once I had my makeup on, I sprayed some perfume behind my ears and in my cleavage and then put on the mask. With its silver, white and blue sequins, layed out in a design that curled and swirled around my eyes and over my forehead, I thought I looked the part: a mysterious sea siren.
A little pang of longing and loneliness pinched at my insides. It would be perfect if I was going to the dance with Bo, a magical night to match my magical costume.
I shook off the melancholy direction my thoughts were taking me. Tonight, I refused to mope. For one night, I was going to do my best to pretend that I was a normal teen going to a dance to have a little fun. No drama, no sadness, no soul-mate issues. Just fun. Carefree fun. Plain and simple.
I slipped on my shoes, said my goodbyes and headed for the car. As my hair shifted against my back, I noticed there wasn’t even so much as a prickle of pain where my scratches were. I reached back and felt beneath my hair. The skin was smooth, despite the fact that I hadn’t really focused on my back with my scrubbing and lotion application. The scratches were gone without a trace.
When I got to Savannah’s I walked in tiny steps to the door and knocked.
Her dad answered, letting me inside to await Savannah.
“You look very pretty, Ridley,” he said kindly.
“Thank you, Mr. Grant.”
“Call me Jeremy,” he insisted. “Mermaid?” he asked nodding to my dress.
“Yes, sir,” I said, smiling.
Good. At least there was no question about what I was made up to be. If nothing else, I wanted my costume to be a clear departure from the normal
“everything gone slutty” attire that many females chose to sport on Halloween.
“Would you like something to drink while you wait? I’ve got Dr. Pepper, orange juice, Propel and—”
Mr. Grant’s voice trailed off when movement drew his eye down the hallway behind me. I turned to look in that direction as well.
Savannah was making her way slowly toward us. She looked amazing. How a blind girl accomplished what she had was beyond me.
She was wearing a black dress that looked slick and scaly and it fit her perfectly. She had silver rattles at her wrists and ankles, and she wore silver sunglasses to hide her eyes. Her plump lips were stained blood red and her skin was porcelain smooth.
But it was her hair that told the real story. She had curled her already-wavy mess of red locks and then I assumed used hairspray to define each thick wiggling strand and make it stand away from her scalp. If I’d only
been able to see her head, I’d still have known who she was—Medusa.
“You look awesome!” And I meant it. She did.
“Vanna, you look beautiful,” Mr. Grant said, awe evident in his voice. “You look so much like your mother.”
A sadness that was becoming all too familiar to me lit his eyes when he walked to Savannah and reached out to touch her cheek. In the likeness of his daughter, he was seeing the love of his life, living and breathing again, right in front of him. I knew by the pain in his eyes that he would mourn the loss of her forever.
As I watched him adore his daughter, knowledge slammed into my gut like a steel fist, knowledge that some day—maybe even some day soon—I would lose Bo.
Again. Only this time, for real. Forever. I wouldn’t lose him to death. Never to death. I would lose him to another love, a love I couldn’t compete with. And then I, too, would spend the rest of my life mourning him, the love I loved the most.
“Alright, Dad. Don’t get all creepy and ooey-gooey,” Savannah teased.
When Savannah took off her sunglasses and started fiddling with them, I thought at first that it was a nervous gesture. But then, when she looked up and I saw her eyes, I knew that it wasn’t. The sadness of her father was reflected in the warm brown pools, and I felt guilty for forgetting that Savannah knew all about loss, too.
“Sorry, honey,” he said, plastering a brave smile on his handsome face. “You girls have fun tonight. Just not too much. Stay away from shirtless boys with a six pack and tight pants,” he warned.
“Right, Dad. Way to make things less weird.”
I couldn’t help but grin at their exchange. Their life together, while tragic, was like a reprieve in a way. And their light banter helped to diffuse the desperate sadness that had swallowed up all the air in the room.
Savannah turned and walked cautiously to the door. I followed. So did Mr.
Grant.
He opened the door and held it while we exited. “Home by midnight.”
Savannah sighed. “Fine, Mr. Cleaver. Midnight.”
Mr. Grant smiled tolerantly, shaking his head in exasperation.
I was uncertain what I should do to help Savannah, but she took the reigns and reached out to grab hold of my forearm.
“Just gonna leave a blind girl to trip and fall, is that it?”
I laughed nervously. Her teasing took some getting used to.
“I’m kidding, Ridley. Just let me hold your arm and don’t get too far ahead of me. We’ll be fine.”
She said it so tenderly, so compassionately, as if she knew that I was struggling with my role in the night, with my role as her friend. I just wanted to hug her. Beneath all her joking, wise-cracking and goof-balling, Savannah was really pretty amazing. Devon had seen it first. It had taken the rest of us a little longer to catch on.
Once she was seated in the car, I shut the door and started to walk off. Her shriek stopped me.
“What?” I said, jerking open the door. “What is it?”
“You shut the door on my tail,” she said in a forlorn voice.
It was just then that I saw that her dress tapered off in the back to a long, narrow train that looked like an elegant tail, perfect for Medusa’s lower snakey half.
Savannah picked up the material and placed it gently in her lap, sniffling delicately.
“My tail! It’s broken.”
I know my face must’ve been comically horrified. Until I heard her laughing.
“You’re mean as the snake you’re wearing,” I said, slamming the door shut and walking around to the driver’s side.
“Gotcha ‘gin,” she boasted happily.
“Are you always like this?”
She pursed her lips for just a minute, while she thought. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“How does your dad stand it?”
“He laughs a lot.”
“I bet,” I said, starting the engine and shifting into gear.
Once we’d arrived at the school, there was practically a party around Savannah, our new school celebrity. She handled the spotlight with admirable aplomb, however, and I just stood back and watched her.
I searched the costumes for something that seemed like a Summer look or an Aisha style, but I saw neither of them, nor did I see Drew.
Maybe they’re not here yet, I thought. Or maybe they’re disguised better than what you’d think, like as angels or something equally dichotomous.
To get my mind off them, I surveyed the gym. It was decorated with all sorts of macabre materials and paraphernalia. Tons of spider web loaded with spiders and bloody fingers and severed limbs hung above the dance floor. Black lights stood in all four corners, making the black seem blacker and the white seem to glow. There was a refreshments table set against one wall with a faux stone path that led to it. It wandered through headstones and fog, like you might find in a real cemetery—minus the zombie heads-and-hands emerging from the haze, of course.
I admired it all as the cheerfully costumed students continued to clamor around Savannah.
The loud music faded into the familiar thump of a not-quite-slow song. Its beat brought to mind steamy nights and writhing bodies. The sensual rhythm called to many of the people surrounding Savannah, beckoning them to the dance floor.
Scary couples and gruesome groups started to move in unison to the heavy bass. I searched the made-up and masked faces for Savannah until I located her bright, serpentine halo. She’d been lassoed into a dance by a dead cowboy I recognized.
He sat three rows behind me in study hall.
Suddenly aware of being the lone person not on the dance floor dancing, I turned to make my way around to the refreshments table. I was skirting the writhing mob of dancers when I felt a familiar tug in my belly.
I stopped in my tracks and looked around. Immediately, my heart sped up, banging like a drum, keeping time with the erratic expansion of my lungs as I grew more and more breathless.
I searched the faces for the one that occupied far too many of my thoughts, but I didn’t see him. I could’ve almost convinced myself that I’d been mistaken, but the magnetism that I felt intensified with every breath, assuring me that it was no mistake. Those invisible strings were pulling me, no dragging me into the middle of the crowd, where bodies were crushed together so tightly they moved as if they were one.
Weaving my way through perfumed and cologned figures, I felt like I was getting lost in the fray when I saw a tall, darkly cloaked figure watching me through a break in the mob.
He was dressed as Dracula. His robe was ebony satin with a blood red lining and the hood that covered his head shadowed all but his mouth.
My breath hitched in my throat and burned in my lungs. My pulse thumped wildly and my skin tingled in response to a presence that I couldn’t forget. It was Bo. Beneath the hood that concealed most of his face and the cloak that concealed most of his body, I knew it was him. I’d know him anywhere. I’d love him always.
I could see only his handsomely square jaw and chiseled mouth. My eyes hungrily memorized the lips that I’d never forget the taste of. I felt like I’d been starved of them for far too long.
As Bo’s hand rose slowly from his side, reaching out to me through the crowd of bodies, the words to the song carved themselves onto my heart. Bo was both my sweetest dream and my most beautiful nightmare.
Without hesitation, I stepped forward and slipped my hand into his. A little bolt of electricity shot up my arm when our skin made contact. Bo pulled me to him and I inhaled, reveling in the tangy scent that had teased me for what seemed like forever, and probably always would.
Bodies brushed me from every angle, every direction, but the only thing that I felt was Bo pressed to my front from chest to thigh. I looked up into the most consuming eyes I’d ever seen and I fell into them, sinking into the only place I ever really wanted to be.
I saw Bo’s lips move and, even above the music, I heard his whisper.
“I never thought I’d get to love so
meone so beautiful,” he said.
The words echoed through my soul and warmed me to my toes. With Bo staring down at me, his words in my ears, his body moving gently against mine, it was the most surreal moment—dream-like, so much so I never wanted to wake from it.
The music surrounded us, wrapping us in a pulsing cocoon of privacy amid the sea of bodies. I laid my palms flat against Bo’s chest as one of his hands snaked around my waist. The fingers of his other hand teased the skin of my arm as they made their way up to disappear beneath the hair at my nape. I felt them tangle in my hair and then curl into a light fist.
With one quick tug, Bo pulled my head to the side as he bent toward me.
I gasped when I felt his hot lips at my throat. I pressed my body closer to his, running my hands down the sides of his firm abdomen. I felt the hard muscles contract beneath my fingertips as Bo’s breath hissed through his teeth.
Lyrics about guilty pleasure wove a sensual web around us. My blood heated with thoughts of Bo’s skin on mine, covering me, sliding against me.
The friction of Bo’s body rubbing against mine, moving in time with the music, sang along my nerves and turned my core into a raging inferno. When I felt his tongue licking at the pulse that beat violently beneath my ear, I had to bite my lip to keep a moan from escaping.
“There’s no one like you,” he said, his lips tickling my sensitive skin as he spoke. “There’s no taste like you,” he sighed, trailing his tongue up to tease the lobe of my ear, drawing it gently into his mouth. “No feel like you,” he moaned, his hand moving to the base of my spine and pressing my hips into his. “There’s no one that I need like I need you.”
My insides melted. I wanted to cry with the pleasure of it, the bitter-sweetness of it. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting someone as much as I wanted Bo. I didn’t think my heart could take it without exploding. I would gladly give up years of my life to be with him, if only for a little while. In the end, I knew it would be worth it.
Bo raised his head to look at me, his eyes searing me with a heat so intense, I felt it in my stomach. Without a word, he tightened his hold on me and lifted until my feet were several inches from the ground and my chest was plastered to his.