by R. K. Ryals
“You have a good evening, Danny,” I called, waving.
“Take it easy, giant Eli!”
Chuckling, I walked out of the rescue to find Tansy working in an area near the clinic, plugging stakes into the ground.
She glanced up when she heard me coming, a smile flashing across her face. “I think you may need a ride home.”
“Do I?”
She swept her hands down the sides of her sundress. “Your brother called. He’s headed back in, but it will be a bit. I told Pops and Nana that I’d take you to the orchard.”
Having to be chauffeured around by other people was getting tired, but right now, I had to admit I was glad she volunteered.
She gestured at the van.
Following her, I watched her swinging skirt. “I smell like dog in the worst possible way,” I warned.
“So does the van,” she replied.
Climbing in, I glanced at her. “You look good today.”
She smiled at the windshield. “That’s an actual compliment with no deep shit attached, right?”
“I can take it back.”
“No,” she rushed to say. “I liked it. Thank you.”
“You’re not going to return the favor?” I asked, mock offended.
Her smile grew. “The smell minimizes your magnetism.”
“It’s the shoes. All of the stuff we end up walking through. The rest of me isn’t half bad. Want to test it out?”
She threw me a look. “Someone had a good day.”
“You can tell? Wow, I must be losing my touch.”
She chuckled. “I think I like this Eli.”
“You didn’t like the other one?”
“Oh no, I did … I do. I just mean I like knowing there’s more than one side to you.”
“There usually is with most people.”
The highway flashed beneath us, eaten by the van.
“Speaking of—” I began.
She stopped me. “Keep joking around. Or say something random. It doesn’t matter. Just say anything as long as it’s not about me. Or you. Just something fun.”
I stared at her. “That’s new. A girl not wanting to talk about herself.”
“Not new,” she promised. “You just hang out with the wrong people.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Something random, huh?”
My eyes went to the window, to the roads, trees, businesses, and houses that flashed by. Like a kaleidoscope, a myriad of shapes and colors blending together. Pattern after pattern.
A small backyard pond blurred past, and I watched the sun light up the water before it vanished. “Did you know that the ocean is the world’s largest museum?”
Tansy’s gaze slid from the rearview mirror to me to the road. “I did ask for random, didn’t I?” She shook her head. “Because of all of the shipwrecks?” she asked.
“And planes and other wreckage. Old civilizations swallowed by the waves. The sea holds more artifacts and history than all of the museums in the world.”
“Did you know that octopuses have three hearts?” Tansy asked abruptly.
My brows rose.
She flushed. “Well, we were talking about the ocean, right?”
“Three hearts.” I whistled. “That’s got to be good for romance.”
“Actually, they die after they have sex. The males directly after, and the females after they have babies.”
“And then suddenly it’s tragic, and celibacy looks better than ever.”
She laughed.
“So this is the science geek in you, roof girl?” I asked, leaning against the door, my gaze on her profile. “That thing you said about sides … I think I like this side of you.”
“Because I’m secretly a nerd or because I know that octopuses have three hearts?”
“I won’t be truly impressed until you can tell me a creature that has more than one penis,” I teased.
“Snakes have two,” she informed me.
“No kidding—”
“But they only use one half of it when mating.”
“Oh, and then she hits me with that!” I grabbed my chest dramatically. “The crushing disappointment! Two penises and no chance to get off twice at the same time. How is that fair to the male snake?”
Her answering laughter filled the vehicle, closing us in, tugging at my heart.
“Thank you,” she said, pulling the van into the orchard drive, “for being random with me.”
“I should be thanking you. How many people can boast that they know the octopus has three hearts and the snake two penises? This is life changing information, roof girl.”
Parking, she punched me lightly in the arm. “Get out, roof boy.”
I climbed out, but instead of walking away, I circled the van, pulled open her door, and reached for her. “Don’t forget …” My hand fell on her leg, and she winced. I froze, my words trailing away, my gaze falling to her left thigh. “Tansy?”
She pushed me away. “I’ve got to get back.”
I held the door, refusing to let her close it. “Shit, Tansy, do you have a cut there?”
“Don’t,” she warned.
I sighed because I needed time to bring my emotions under control. During my first alcohol program, I’d met a girl who cut. Even though I didn’t participate much in group sessions, I listened. Anger wasn’t the way to go with Tansy.
“Why?” I asked quietly and calmly.
Turning away, she gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles whitened. “Because of you.”
“Me?”
“I don’t want to like you,” she breathed.
Remembering what she’d written on my punching bag—death and love—I stared. “So being with me is hurting you?”
“No … I don’t know.”
For a long time, I stood there watching the war of emotions that flitted across her face, and something in me shifted.
“So, you did it because you feel something for me?”
“Partly,” she revealed. “It wasn’t all because of you.”
But part of it was. Cutting meant that whatever she’d felt had been too big for her, and that affected me more than I knew how to put into words.
Leaning into the van, I slid my hand behind Tansy’s neck, pulled her toward me, and then kissed her. Soft and slow.
“I like you, too,” I said, releasing her.
Her breathing came in spurts, her cheeks reddening. “This is a really bad time for this. With my dad passing, Deena, the work—”
“Be at the boxing club tomorrow after Deena’s class,” I ordered, interrupting.
“You know, you can really be such an ass.”
I smiled. “If by ass, you mean me stopping you from cataloguing all of the reasons why this is a bad time for the two of us to be interested in each other, then yeah, I’m a total asshole.”
In a relatively short time, Tansy had succeeded in doing something not many people had been able to do after years of knowing me. She’d gotten under my skin.
Part of it was because I saw myself in her; the way she hid from herself and from the idea of relationships. Part of it was because I’d seen so much of her and who she was through her family’s eyes, their anger and their love. I’d been with a lot of women, but I’d never dug deeper than the bedroom with them.
Strange what we discover about ourselves through people. Not things or stuff that happens to us. People.
If there were aliens out there in the universe—Tansy had me on a whole science kick now—I had no doubt they were sitting around eating alien popcorn, watching us like we were the best thing that ever happened to intergalactic reality television.
I blamed my sister Heather for the reality TV analogy. She’d forced enough of that shit down mine and Jonathan’s throats growing up, and yet wasn’t that the appeal of it? Watching people interact with each other, watching how other people reacted to them, and then deciding afterwards if you liked them based on that.
Based on that, I had to admit, I liked
Tansy a lot.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I insisted.
She studied my face, murmured something about how arrogantly relentless I was, and then left.
Afterwards, I wandered around the orchard for hours, night falling around me, smoking a cigarette, and thinking how surprised I was that this place didn’t really bore me. Not like I kept telling everyone it did. How surprised I was that no matter how quiet this place seemed to be, there was still so much going on.
Like space. Looking up at the night sky felt like the loneliest thing in the world until you realized it was crammed full of stars. The moon was the outsider, the intruder circling the Earth surrounded by pinpricks of glitter. How different did that world feel to the moon?
Tansy and her perspective was rubbing off on me. First there was shitting sun babies, and now there was a big giant moon lost in a sea of chaos.
And me. Smoking a cigarette. In the dark. Wondering about that moon.
THIRTY-FIVE
Tansy
Was it possible to feel too much? Was it possible to have so many emotions inside of your body that you just felt like you were going to explode?
This ran through my thoughts for the rest of the night after leaving Eli. The room at my grandmother’s house, her dog, and my knitting had become middle of the night companions. The cutting, too, recently, but not tonight.
Instead, I stared at Snow, who should really be re-named Piss because of her color, and I thought about how much I was beginning to like the dog. How much I loved the orchard and the thought of creating a garden there. My garden. A small thumbprint I could leave on the Earth.
I thought about my mother, which I hadn’t done in forever, and about how crazy I might be. All random thoughts. None of them I had answers for.
Was I crazy? Was that why cutting myself felt so good, why the few times I’d done it felt so needed?
Then again, was everyone crazy? Was the planet full of crazy people, and because we were all crazy, we just didn’t know it?
Like Eli’s mom. She seemed so young and immature, and yet there was something very sad and old about her. Like her body had aged, but she’d fought it every step of the way until she’d worn herself out. A wind-up toy with a broken crank.
When I was a little girl—when my mother was still alive, and the world didn’t seem so dark—she used to tell me that nothing was a coincidence.
We would be at the grocery store, and there’d be a rogue shopping cart barreling toward a car when Mom would catch it, and say, “I’ve got it.” Then she’d looked down at me and add, “Coincidence? I think not.”
She said it so many times that I started to believe it. That people were put in places for a reason, strategic human chess pieces, and that nothing happened by chance.
Coincidence? I think not.
Which is why it hurt so bad when she died. How could the universe do that? How could it place her in a moment that destroyed her? In the game of chess, Mom lost. Checkmate universe. And if there were no coincidences, if everyone’s paths were pre-destined, then why did it have to be so cruel?
I stayed up all night asking myself a million questions I had no answers for. A million questions zipping through my brain until the sun rose and chased them away.
Then, once those were gone, I spent the day trying to decide if I was actually going to go to the boxing club that afternoon or if I was going to fake an illness.
Eli scared the shit out of me.
Had his being on the roof of the hospital been my pre-destined moment? If he was that moment for me, what kind of game, good or bad, was the universe playing with me? Because, no matter what my mother believed, I was ready for some coincidences in my life. I was ready for things to just happen as they happened. No pre-planned shit. No pre-packaged meals, that once opened, became covered in mold.
Just happy coincidences.
Lots and lots of happy coincidences.
THIRTY-SIX
Eli
I was ready, all warmed up and prepared, when my afternoon class came in, Deena bringing up the rear.
“You look different, man,” Roger commented, studying me.
I threw him a look.
He didn’t apologize for the “man” reference.
“You’re smiling,” Deena added. “It’s creepy.”
Said smile grew. “That’s what trainers who intend to inflict a lot of pain do,” I pointed out.
I worked them hard. An hour of stretches, warm up, stance, and blocking. Because one of the most important lessons in boxing was defense. Protecting oneself meant not going down before getting in a punch.
They learned to dance the way boxers dance, not to music but to survive.
“Your objective is to avoid the worst blows,” I told them, “and even then you’re going to get tired. Go into the ring with the assumption that the guy or girl standing across from you is better trained, faster, and throws a much meaner punch. Not because they are or can, but so that you can be better prepared to defend yourself in case they are. Go in there knowing you’re going to have to defend yourself as hard as you’re going to have to fight to win.”
“So you want us to go in feeling less than our opponent?” Carrot asked, annoyed.
“Never,” I answered, staring him down. “You go in there knowing you can win, but you also go in there knowing your opponent is going to surprise you. Expect the worst and work to predict the unexpected so you can get past that and surprise him or her with the best you’ve got.”
“Christ, it sounds like you’re talking in circles,” Deena grumbled.
I smirked. “Sometimes boxing feels like you’re going in circles, but there’s nothing wrong with circles. It’s a damn good shape. Because no matter how beaten up you feel by the end of a fight, you’re going to start back over where you started. Win or lose. Losing just means coming back to that circle stronger, harder, and more prepared the next time.”
“I’m going to have to start bringing a dictionary to this class,” Roger complained.
“Good.” I patted him on the back. “When I’m done with you, you’ll all speak as well as you fight.”
“I think I hate him,” one of the other boys, a brunette who I’d learned was called Nathan, whispered loudly.
I ushered them to the ring, which was empty because unlike the beginning of the week, they were the last class of the day on Wednesdays.
“Let’s dance!” I clapped.
Climbing into the ring, I touched a rope I’d pulled across it, showed them how to use it to learn how to avoid a punch, and then stepped back, letting each of them take a turn at it.
Deena was the last to come through, the tip of her tongue showing through her teeth as she concentrated. The mouth piece was going to be an important piece of equipment for her.
The door to the gym opened, and Jonathan and Tansy walked through.
I glanced at the clock. “That’s it,” I announced. “Time’s up. See you guys next week.”
Like a herd of stampeding, trumpeting elephants, they all left, Roger nudging Deena as he passed.
My gaze found Tansy, my chin rising, preparing for war, because as much as she was going to hate me for it later, I was about to piss her off.
“Hey,” I called, waving at my brother and Tansy. “You two want to try this boxing thing out?”
“Not my sport, remember?” Tansy replied.
Jonathan kept his mouth shut.
“It’s not Jonathan’s either,” leaning over, I picked up a pair of hook and loop gloves, “but he’s given it a go.”
Tansy eyed me, suspicious and confused. “I didn’t come here to try out boxing.”
“You came here because I asked you to, didn’t you?”
Her gaze narrowed. Jonathan and Deena glanced between us.
“What are you up to, Eli?” Tansy asked.
“Are you scared to try?” I persisted.
“Eli—”
“Here I thought you liked pain.”
&n
bsp; It was a low blow and Tansy froze. Jonathan and Deena had no idea what we were talking about, but Tansy did.
I turned to look at Jonathan. “What about you, Jon? Want to get in the ring with me?”
Tansy’s silence was thick enough to fill the room, her cheeks reddening.
“I’m definitely not up for it,” Jonathan said, laughing.
I didn’t look at Tansy, but I knew I’d hurt her. If it was possible to feel fury, her stare would have lit me on fire.
“I’ll have a go at it!” Deena volunteered.
Tansy brushed past her, her hands gripping the edge of the ring. “I’ll do it,” she whispered, cleared her throat, and then said more loudly, “Fight me.”
Jonathan glanced around the empty gym, his gaze darting nervously. “Um, is Ray still here?”
“Nope,” I answered, my gaze locked on Tansy’s. “I’m closing for him. Mouse will be here in a few for the keys.”
The time it took for Jonathan to question me gave Tansy more time to be angry.
Here I thought you liked pain.
Her gaze shot daggers in my direction. “Fight me,” she repeated.
Stepping back, I gestured at the ring, face completely devoid of emotion. This was my house, and I was inviting her into it. She had too many walls, and I had every intention of crumbling a few of them.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Tansy
I hadn’t been sure what to expect when Eli invited me to the boxing club, but this wasn’t it. Humiliation burned my cheeks, and even though I’m sure Jonathan and Deena didn’t know what Eli was referring to with the pain bit, I knew, and it stung. It stung my pride and my heart.
I glowered. “Fight me.”
Eli stepped back, gesturing at the ring.
Deena laughed. “You two are nuts. You don’t even know how to box, Tansy.”
Technically, she didn’t either … yet.
Lifting the ropes, I climbed into the ring and approached Eli. “You got me in here. Is that what you wanted?”
His eyes tracked me. “Take these,” he said, offering me a pair of boxing gloves. “Just pull them on. Ordinarily, I’d wrap your hands and put on a pair of lace up gloves, but this isn’t really about boxing.”