Some Quiet Place

by Kelsey Sutton

  I raise my voice to stop Tim. “Am I allowed to go to Maggie’s funeral tomorrow?” Copying him, I ask it without looking at his face, instead studying that wall like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. The right side of my face is on fire and the yellow flowers on the wallpaper consume me.

  My father pauses. “It would look bad if we didn’t go,” he snaps as an answer.

  As if that’s all that matters.

  She lies there in the casket, her face small, white, still.

  “Maggie spent her life always thinking about others,” Pastor Mike says. He’s the only pastor in Edson. He holds his Bible lightly, looking down at the body with a pasted-on expression of regret. This man didn’t know Maggie. His words are hollow, automatic. He’s probably thinking about what’s going to be on TV tonight. “She would go out of her way to reach those who were in need.”

  Tim and Sarah stand behind me, as does a small portion of the town, including Joshua. He’s been ignoring me so far. At my side are Maggie’s parents, both drawn and gray.

  The sun shines down as Pastor Mike continues his eulogy. We’re all dressed in black. Not sensible, really, since it’s sweltering out today—it seems even Fall isn’t around to do her job. The stench of sweat permeates my senses. I look down into the fresh grave, examine the girl in there.

  The freckles that always marked her and made her Maggie now stand out, a stark feature that looks strange on such a vacant face. She’s wearing a neatly pressed dress. It’s pink. She hated pink. And they’ve actually done her nails. Maggie liked them chewed down to the nub and only used black nail polish. This isn’t Maggie. This isn’t my best friend. This is a person I don’t know. Where’s the life, the illumination? The sweetness, the contemplation, the wild abandon that made so many memories for us when we were young?

  “Come on, Liz!” Maggie runs ahead of me to the ice cream truck, red pigtails bouncing all around her shoulders. I follow more slowly, feeling the heat of the day on my head. I can’t get any treats because Tim got angry when I asked him for money.

  Just as I’m crossing the street, I pause. There’s an Emotion standing on the road, looking right at me. I recognize his white-blond hair.

  “Why did you come back?” I ask him. Maggie is standing in line, getting her ice cream. She’s forgotten about me for the moment.

  The Emotion smiles down at my upturned face. “You interest me. Not much can do that anymore.” There’s a hint of sadness in his eyes.

  I don’t have a chance to answer; Maggie is running back up to me. Her cheeks are flushed and she breathes heavily. She holds two Dilly Bars in her hands.

  “Here!” She thrusts the dripping thing at me, and I take it. “Happy birthday!”

  I look at the bar and back at her. “It’s not my birthday.”

  She grins, eyes sparkling. “It’s not? Oops. Oh, well. Come on!” She takes my hand in hers, dragging me away from the road and the Emotion who’s still staring at me, smiling.

  The ice cream is melting in my hand, so I lick it quickly.

  I stare down at the girl in that casket, feeling my nothingness dig a deeper hole inside of me. “She was often a counselor when her friends came to her in need,” Pastor Mike intones. Wrong, wrong. I was Maggie’s only friend. I never went to her for counsel. I never went to her at all.

  Fear’s words come back to me: You’re a coward.

  Doesn’t he know that if I really could, I would mourn my best friend? It’s not a choice, no matter what anyone believes.

  As if my thoughts have summoned him, suddenly Fear is here, walking through the crowd of black like he belongs. Maybe he does. Apparently the threat at Sophia’s party is no longer a concern. I sense him coming up behind me. The crows on the gravestones hush.

  “Look at her,” Fear murmurs in my ear, his lips brushing my skin. I turn to face him, but he wraps his hands tightly around my arms, forcing me to stay where I am. “No. Look at her, Elizabeth.”

  He shouldn’t be here. Not now. I focus on Maggie’s face again, not really seeing it.

  “Listen to me,” Fear breathes, and the hair on the back of my neck prickles. “I want you to look at your best friend. She’s dead, Elizabeth. She’s gone, and she’s not coming back. You were with her when all the life left her body; you saw every single one of her memories fade. Everything you two ever went through, every experience you ever had.” Somehow he thinks of the exact day I’d been thinking of earlier and uses it against me. “Remember all the times she bought you ice cream because you had no money? Do you remember when Maggie dragged you to the homecoming game, and after everyone left you two sat in the middle of the field and looked at the stars? She told you everything. You told her nothing. She sensed that, but she didn’t care. She always thought you would open up to her one day—”

  “Stop.”

  I hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but my voice slices through the still air. Pastor Mike does stop, staring at me expectantly. Someone coughs in the crowd. I can feel Tim stiffening. John—Maggie’s dad—turns around to look at me, and as his gaze settles on my face, it softens. It’s that expression that makes me realize something. Something bizarre; it doesn’t make sense.

  I’m crying.

  Fear leans down, kissing my neck with his cool lips. He’s accomplished what he came to do. “You will feel. I’m going to make sure of it,” he promises. He leaves me there, sending a chilly breeze over the funeral. Some shiver.

  “Did you have something to say?” Pastor Mike prompts, eyebrows raised. It’s strange—his eyebrows are gray and his hair is black. Obviously dyed.

  There are so many things I could say at this moment. So many words, meanings, memories, opportunities to make up for areas I’ve disappointed.

  I just shake my head, backing away from the casket. I wipe away the strange tears with the back of my dark sleeve. “No, nothing to say. Sorry,” I mumble.

  The pastor eyes me, then seems to mentally shrug. “Everyone loved her and will truly miss her,” he finishes, snapping the Bible shut with a thump.

  I sit in the barn loft with a pad of paper and a pen. The bale of hay pokes at my bottom and legs, but I hardly notice. Mora is restless below; she snaps at another cow. I tap, tap, tap my way into nothing. No rhymes come to mind, not even free verse. Everything I think is numb and shallow … there’s just no inspiration to be found inside of me, and there lies the problem.

  Something nesting in the ceiling beams flutters, and the faint tang of perspiration dots the air. Terror. A scream sounds through the loft a second later.

  I lift my head from the palm of my hand, calling out, “Fear?”

  He doesn’t answer, but I know he’s nearby. He’s avoiding me and my questions about the night of Sophia’s party, but at the same time he wants to be near. “You can’t have it both ways,” I say distractedly, pursing my lips in contemplation. Hiding. Pretending. Protecting oneself. I just have to start—that’s the first step.

  There are different kinds of hiding.

  My handwriting is neat on the page. Fear remains uncharacteristically hushed, and I know he doesn’t plan to come to me tonight. Which means not only is he avoiding me, but he knows something he desperately refuses to tell me. Something arrived at the party that night, something that sent all the Emotions and Elements running. What could it possibly be? It doesn’t matter—the truth will probably come out one way or another, and if not, I’m no worse for wear.

  I bring my knees up to my chest, becoming a ball. The paper rustles and I smooth it out, my fingers tracing the edges. There are different kinds of hiding. I hide, I protect, I pretend. I will not go down in history for my poetry, but my promise to Joshua will be fulfilled; I will finish what I’ve started.

  Will you? my little voice taunts.

  I remember Sarah’s pain as she asked me if I knew where her daughter was. Maggie letting her optimism crumble toward the end, lying there in that bed. Fear’s impossible infatuation. Joshua’s innocence.

 
; I just realized that there are so many things I don’t know about the kids I see every day. How many of them have secrets they keep from the rest of the world? How many of them wear masks everywhere they go? We’re anything but typical.

  Thinking about his words makes me think about Joshua himself. He, too, has been avoiding me. He doesn’t look at me in class. He passes me in the hall without a greeting of any kind. He’s guarded after what he saw at Sophia’s party, after what I said to him on the steps. Just another person in Edson who knows what I am: something strange and unnatural. A freak.

  I made a mistake, saving him and Susie that night. If I know anything about the world, things happen the way they’re supposed to. I interfered in an event that should have taken place. Even the rebellious Emotions can follow the rules I’ve broken.

  An event …

  What if Rebecca warned me against going to the party because she was afraid something specific would take place? Something specific like me losing control. Was there a chance she knew I would reveal an ability I shouldn’t have, an ability I never knew I had until that night? But what if I hadn’t broken any rules? Maybe I’d been … meant to interfere. For reasons I don’t know, maybe I was supposed to stop Joshua from being hurt …

  I set my unfinished poem aside and stand.

  Too many questions, not enough answers.

  My truck rumbles into the school parking lot. As I reach for my bag in the passenger seat, I notice Sophia Richardson glaring at me. She’s probably been making plans to get back at me for a few days now.

  The first bell is already ringing inside. I haul the bag onto my back and start jogging to make it on time.

  Just as I reach the front doors a shadow looms across me, and I turn my head to meet Joshua’s intense gaze.

  I’ve been expecting this.

  “Not now,” I say, stepping past him. “We have to get to class.”

  There’s no trace of the shy, uncertain boy when he sticks his arm out to block my path. “You owe me this,” he says sharply.

  Two girls rush by, hardly noticing Joshua and me as they skirt around. It’s as if neither of us is actually here.

  I yield, stepping away from the doors. “How do I owe you anything?” I question.

  “Because I believe in you,” Joshua tells me simply. The bizarre statement causes my nothingness to twinge.

  After a moment of consideration, I nod. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  This boy I’ve known most of my life takes my arm gently, leading me away from the doors so no teacher sees us. He pulls me around the side of the building, under the shade of some oak trees.

  “We both know what happened the night of the party,” he starts. He folds his arms across his chest in a resolute stance, and once again I notice the rubber band around his wrist.

  “Why do you wear that?” I ask abruptly, motioning at it.

  Joshua blinks. “What?”

  “The rubber band,” I clarify. “Why do you wear it?”

  Suddenly self-conscious, he looks down at the band, toying with it. He allows me to change the subject. “It’s kind of dumb,” he admits. “But it’s a therapy thing. Well, more of a habit, now. A couple months after my mom died, Sally gave it to me. You know Sally, right?”

  When I nod, he goes on. “Anyway, I was ten and I wasn’t talking to anyone. I was depressed, I guess; I started getting into fights with other kids. No one could get anything from me, not even the therapists my dad forced me to go to. So one day Sally comes up to me in the grocery store, squats down so she’s looking me right in the eye, and gives me this rubber band. ‘Every time you think about hurting yourself or someone else, snap this on your wrist,’ she tells me. ‘A rubber band has got to be better than a fist, right?’” He smiles faintly at the memory.

  “Most therapists would try to stop the pain completely,” I comment.

  Joshua shrugs. “That was what was so great about it. She didn’t try to change me or fix me. She just gave me another option. One that didn’t land me in a hospital or more therapy sessions.”

  Joshua doesn’t give me a chance to process this. “Now it’s your turn.” He raises his brows in challenge. He wants the truth—there’s no need to say it out loud. The breeze picks up, and leaves stir above our heads. It’s a content sound.

  So I tell him. “I’m human. I know you’re thinking alien or vampire or something like that, so you can relax. But I don’t feel any emotions. I can run a little faster than a speeding car, and I also see things that no other human can see.” There isn’t much more, but I offer what I can: “I’ve been told I feel nothing because of some sort of power over me, and that I’m expected to break through it soon. I’ve already started to, actually.” I go on to explain the other plane.

  Joshua takes this in without the reaction I was anticipating; there’s no wariness, disbelief, disgust. Even so, it’s a little too much for him.

  Once I’m finished I wait about a minute for him to think about it, then shoulder my bag again. “We really do have to go in,” I remind him.

  He looks around, as if seeing the school for the first time, and lets out a breath. His bangs lift off his forehead, and slowly settle back down, covering his eyes. An odd instinct consumes me to reach out and brush all that hair aside.

  I start to walk toward the doors, and Joshua recovers quickly. He catches up with me. “We’re not done talking about this, you know,” he says. “Not by a long shot.”

  “What else can there be?”

  “Hey.” Joshua touches my elbow, stopping me yet again. His eyes—amber in the sunlight—are solemn. “Just because I know about you now doesn’t mean I’m going to treat you like Sophia Richardson.” He grins. “I mean, you’re still you, right?”

  I study his face. “And who is it, exactly, that you think I am?”

  The boy frowns. “Well, first off, I don’t buy the ‘no Emotion’ shit. You may not be obvious about it, but you’re definitely human in that area.”

  Another person who’s going to deny the truth. Even if I can’t discourage Fear, I can set Joshua straight. “I meant what I said that day on the steps, Joshua,” I say. “Maggie’s death didn’t affect me. You ignoring me didn’t bother me. The fact that my own mother doesn’t love me doesn’t matter. When my father hits me, I feel nothing. My brother acting like everything is perfect and nothing is wrong doesn’t infuriate me. I don’t—”

  “Knock it off,” he cuts in with a downward slash of his hand. “I’m not the one in denial. You are.” It’s as if he’s read my mind.

  I think of all those little things that make him believe this. Memories that aren’t just his. Seemingly human moments. Me offering him a smile in our kindergarten class. Me comforting Maggie on the playground after a boy had called her ugly. Me staring out the classroom window as one of our teachers droned on and on. Me studying the mural on my wall with an expression akin to frustration. Me looking down into Maggie’s casket, those strange tears trailing down my cheeks. Our hands laced together on the table in the library.

  I’m shaking my head. “Joshua, no matter what it seems like—”

  He still won’t let me finish. “It’s a lot to take in, I’ll admit,” he says as if I haven’t spoken. “But I’ve always known something was different. I didn’t care. Do you understand that? I don’t care. You’re Elizabeth, and that is someone, no matter what you think or say.”

  “Joshua—”

  He sighs. “And as far as me ignoring you, well, that wasn’t just because of what you said on the steps or because of what I saw at the party. If you’d bothered paying attention to me at all, you’d know that the crops have me pretty worried, okay?”

  Silence falls between us. A bee whizzes by. The only words that come to mind are I’m sorry, and I won’t say it to him because it would be a lie. I’ve already lied to him, and now … it just doesn’t seem like the correct thing to do.

  “Do you want to come over tonight?”

  It’s out before I’ve th
ought it through, before I have a chance to stop it. Joshua seems just as taken aback as me. As if my hand has a mind of its own—no, I must be losing my mind—my fingers reach out, and gently, so gently, brush those persistent bangs out of the way for the first time. Joshua looks back at me, his gaze finally unhindered by all of that hair.

  “It’s always in the way,” I offer by way of explanation. He just keeps staring at me, and I know he’s wondering what this means.

  Then he grins. A big, slow, smug grin that shows the extent of his renewed hope.

  I spin on my heel and go into the school, my nothingness trembling inside of me. I can hear him following.

  “So I’ll see you tonight?” Joshua calls just as the door closes. I poke my head back out, trying not to think of all the repercussions this entire conversation could have on everything and anything.

  “After my parents are asleep,” I answer against my better judgment. “Late.”

  He nods, jogging up the steps. Just as he’s getting closer I make to vanish again. He says quickly, “See you then, Elizabeth.”

  The way he says my name makes the trembling increase. As if we have a delicious secret no one else in the world knows.

  It reminds me of Fear.

  “Won’t be back until morning!” Charles shouts on his way out the door.

  Sarah waves at him, soap flicking to the tiles, but my brother is already in the driveway. We can hear his truck starting. Silence fills the house again. I’m in the laundry room adjacent to kitchen, standing in front of the washer. I know Sarah’s listening to every move I make, unnerved by my being here. In an effort to put her at ease, I don’t bother attempting conversation.