Pictures of You

by Juliette Caron

  Without fully realizing it, we wandered away from the lights, away from the people. We kicked off our shoes and let the wet, gritty sand enclose the bottoms of our feet, sucking us into the earth. Adrien threw his arm around my waist as we strolled along the edge of the shore.

  “Did you really finish your note?” I asked, feeling defeat creep up on me like a jungle cat.

  He nodded. “Yesterday.”

  “Then why didn’t you…?”

  “I had to say goodbye first. You would’ve killed me otherwise.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I wanted to say goodbye,” he said, tightening his grip around my waist.

  “How very thoughtful of you.” I didn’t bother to mask the sarcasm in my voice.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, stopping mid-stride and turning to face me. He enclosed my hands in his, his skin warm to the touch.

  “I am, too.” I studied his tormented face, consuming every detail. This would be my last chance to see it—in the flesh. “How are you going to…do it?” My voice trembled.

  “I’d rather not say.” He pursed his lips. “You don’t need to live with the image in your head.” I was thankful for that. I guess it was better not to know.

  “Are you scared?”

  He laughed nervously. “Scared as hell. Scared of right before—how much pain will I be in before I go? Scared of what’s after. Heaven? Hell? Or maybe nothing. Maybe when I’m gone, I’m just…gone.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing back tears. Heaven. I wanted to believe in heaven. I wasn’t religious, but it was a kinder, more bearable thought than the alternative. “Tomorrow then?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Morning? Noon? Night?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  We stopped to watch the moon paint the ocean a vibrant yellow-gold. We could hear a seagull cry and kids laughing and faint carnival music playing in the distance. The music seemed to be taunting us. Cheerful music for a far from cheerful evening.

  I wanted to leave then. I had nothing left. Like fireworks, emotions erupted then fizzled inside of me for too long and now I was just tired. So, so, so tired. I was ready to pull away, free myself of Adrien’s gentle grasp. Sleep. I wanted to sleep for days. Months. Wake up when things stopped hurting so damn much. “I think I’m going to go home now.”

  This seemed to surprise him. His eyes bore into mine, his lips parted slightly. “If that’s what you want,” he said, although he kept resting his arm around my waist.

  “I think there’s nothing left to say.”

  “September…You’re right,” he said. “Nothing left to say.”

  I took a shaky breath and collected the courage to say what I’ve wanted to say for days. I didn’t have to keep my promise anymore. Screw promises. “One last thing. You say you don’t want to hurt me. You say you don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. And suicide’s your solution?” He looked at me expectantly. “If you kill yourself, you’ll be hurting everyone. Everyone who loves you. Your parents, your brother, your friends, your co-workers. Your godson. Mary. Probably me the most.”

  He let my arm fall from my waist. “What do you want from me?”

  “You know what I want. Change your mind. Get some help. Choose life. Choose me.”

  “You promised, September. You promised you wouldn’t try to talk me out of it,” he said, his eyes pleading.

  I growled. “I’m passed caring about stupid promises.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like for me. You don’t know what I’m forced to live with every day, who I see when I look in the mirror. I’m a monster. A monster.”

  “You’re not a monster. You’re sweet and gentle and funny. You’re beautiful, in every sense of the word.”

  “I’ve…I…” He shook his head. “Will you settle for a kiss?”

  “The moment’s passed.” I crossed my arms. “It’s too late for—”

  Before I could say anything more, he grabbed me by the small of the back and pulled my body closer to his. He paused, our mouths inches away. He was so close I could feel his hot breath on my lips. “I really shouldn’t do this,” he whispered so soft, I had to strain to hear him over the crashing waves. I squeezed my eyes shut in anticipation, my breath labored, my body trembling. He took one more step, closing the gap between us, his body warm against mine. He kissed me wildly, passionately, like I’d never been kissed before. I returned the kiss, hungry and eager. Just when I thought I’d collapse from the intensity of the moment, he pulled away. I saw he was trembling, too, as he searched my face frantically.

  “Wow. That was…” I touched my throbbing lips, stunned.

  He laughed. “Wow is right. I should’ve kissed you a long time ago.” He cradled my face and kissed me a second time. This kiss was more deliberate, more tender. I wanted to kiss him forever. I could’ve kissed him forever, but my mind forced my body to pull away. I didn’t want this to hurt anymore than it had to.

  “I better go now,” I said, feeling a little dizzy, stumbling in the sand. “Goodbye, Adrien.”

  “September?” I froze, a drop of hope, like a butterfly, fluttered inside me. “I’m sorry. About everything.”

  I was out of words—and the last of the hope dissipated, disappearing into nothingness. I looked at him one last time, drinking in his glorious face, before turning to go.

  I walked away, dragging heavy feet in the sand—hot, bitter tears burning my cheeks.

  27

  In the morning I stayed in bed for hours. I drifted in and out of sleep, being plagued by strange dreams. Each time I’d awake, I’d hope the part about Adrien possibly already being dead was just part of one of the bad dreams. Each time reality struck me like lightening all over again.

  I considered staying in bed for the rest of the day. What reason did I have to get up and face the day? The boy I’d fallen fast and hard for was ending his life—if he didn’t already—and there was nothing left I could do about it. I thought about calling the cops, but Adrien never gave me his number or address. I’d tried other things earlier in the week: Searching for his parents online. There were too many Grays in Las Vegas. Following Adrien home. But instead of heading home, he walked into a book store. I waited outside for two hours until closing time. The oddest thing happened. I never saw him leave. Had he slipped out a back door? Did he know I was following him? I went back to Mike’s Okay Cars to ask for Adrien’s number, his address, any clue to help me find him, but it was closed. A sign taped in the window, written with a sharpie, read: Closed for a family emergency. Smashing the window with a huge rock to find Adrien’s contact information came to mind. But even if I found it, what could I do? Even if I had him institutionalized, he’d be free to harm himself the second he got out. Bottom line: Adrien was free to do as he pleased and ultimately there was no stopping him.

  I hadn’t slept much the night before. I bawled like a baby until Mary threatened to take me to the hospital to have me sedated. “What’s wrong? Is it Hot Waffle Guy? Did he break up with you?”… “Is it John and April? I’ll beat them up for you, I swear I will. Just say the word.”… “Is it Abby? I miss her, too. So much.” I said nothing in reply, too worked up to tell her the story. Mary finally climbed in bed beside me and held me like my mom used to until I fell asleep.

  When I finally did get out of bed, I could barely shovel a few spoonfuls of soggy Cheerios into my mouth. Between my trembling hands and my stomach feeling like it’d become home to dozens of snakes, I didn’t even bother with lunch. Horrifying images of Adrien shot through my mind, a slide show gone awry. The images stalked me throughout the endless morning like the paparazzi. Images of him killing himself in every possible way—ODing, slitting his wrists, hanging himself, carbon monoxide poisoning, jumping from a bridge or tall building—the list was endless. Thoughts of him being all alone in the last minutes of his life. Images of his long body lying in a coffin.

  And then there were the memories. I thought about the day we met at
Anderson Art and Frame. The day we formally introduced ourselves at Tim’s Coffee. Our first date. The morning he made Mary and me waffles. Our photo shoot. Dress shopping. His flu survival kit. The mix CD he’d made me. His smile that turned my insides into mush. The carnival. I thought about our kiss more times than I’d care to admit.

  I tried busying myself, attempting to keep my mind off of him, but nothing worked. I scrubbed every square inch of every tile in the bathroom. I organized the Tupperware. I spent the better part of the afternoon watching Friends reruns on TV, but my mind kept roaming back to Adrien.

  At three I took a shower. By then I was so exhausted, I could barely raise my arms to wash my hair. Like an unsupported clay sculpture, my wobbly legs gave out. I finished the shower sitting on the floor of the tub, bawling like a baby.

  The thought that Adrien could already be dead made me sick. Sick, sick, sick.

  He could be gone. Now. Forever.

  I fell onto my bed, clutching my chest and suffered through a full-blown panic attack. Or could it have been a heart attack? At this point I no longer cared.

  I threw up three times as I dressed myself for work, once on my foot, once on my poor cat. The third I managed to get to the toilet in time.

  “You look horrible,” Mary said, frowning at my bloodshot eyes, my red-and-white crazy quilt skin. “September, please just tell me what’s wrong. Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”

  “I’m okay,” I lied, smiling weakly. I never got around to telling her about Adrien’s impending suicide.

  Mary, who was playing with her keys, sat them down on my nightstand. “I have work in twenty minutes, but maybe I should stay here to take care of you. You’ve never looked worse, not even when you barfed up a lung at the cemetery.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to work, too,” I said, running a comb through my wet hair. I had to see Chris. I had to do something to get my mind off of Adrien.

  “But you look like hell, like the angel of death is hovering—”

  The comb slipped from my fingers when the doorbell rang. Who could that be? Chris? Mrs. Watkins? One of Mary’s friends?

  “You sit. I’ll get it,” she said, shoving me lovingly onto the bed.

  “Mary, who is it?” I called from my bedroom, wiping puke off Tiger—who was glowering at me—with my damp bath towel. I pulled myself off the edge of the bed and stumbled into the hall, tottering my way to the door.

  When I saw Adrien at the door my heart nearly stopped.

  “Adrien?” I said, confused. For several seconds I wondered if I was delusional or dreaming. This was a dream within a dream.

  But no, it wasn’t. This was real.

  He was here. Adrien was here. Alive. In the flesh. Here.

  “September?” he said, his face contorting in pain. “What have I done? You look like you’ve been to hell and back.”

  I laughed, or actually, a strange noise resembling laughter escaped my throat. I took three steps forward and collapsed in his arms. He clutched me—tight—preventing me from crumbling to the floor. His strong arms felt like heaven around me. I took in his amazing scent, the scent I never thought I’d experience again. “You’re alive,” I said, delirious. I held him so close, I was probably crushing his ribs, but I didn’t care. I wanted to hold onto him and never, ever, let go.

  “What have I done?” he echoed, pressing his lips into my hair.

  “You broke her,” Mary said matter-of-factly, sliding into her jacket.

  “I broke her,” Adrien agreed. He shook his head. “I’m a monster.”

  “I don’t know what you did, but after seeing her suffer like this—yeah, you’re pretty much a monster,” she said, half-joking. She pocketed her keys. “Can I trust you to take care of her while I’m gone?” He nodded. “Whatever you did—don’t even think about doing it again,” she threatened, kissing me on the cheek before leaving for work.

  With ease, Adrien picked me up and carried me to the couch. He gently palmed the side of my face before saying, “September. I’m so sorry. I…” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find the words.

  I wanted to say something, but I was paralyzed. So I settled for placing my hand on his.

  “Can we go somewhere?” he asked, his voice urgent. “We need to talk.”

  ***

  I endured what felt like several eternal minutes of silence as Adrien collected his thoughts. What could he possibly have to tell me? And more importantly, is he still planning on…? I squeezed my eyes shut and shuddered.

  It was a crisp, late September afternoon. For whatever reason, Adrien chose Cooper Park of all places to talk. Why a park? Why not my apartment or Tim’s Coffee or someplace warm? Maybe he felt this would be more private. We had a better shot at not being overheard.

  Adrien and I sat shivering on a cold wooden bench. He’d grabbed a plaid blanket from his trunk which was now thrown around our shoulders. In silence we watched bundled up dog owners playing with their little fury companions a few feet away. The air smelled of pollution and hints of early fall.

  “What is it? You can tell me anything,” I finally said, feeling exhausted from anticipation and dread.

  “I’m ready to tell you why I’m…” he trailed off. My heart fluttered. I’d been waiting two weeks to hear this. But it felt much longer than that. Like almost a lifetime ago. “Remember when you asked me about my family?”

  “Yes,” I said weakly.

  “I told you I have a brother, but what I didn’t tell you was…that I had a sister.”

  “Had?” I said, turning to him.

  “When I was a kid I had this huge fascination with fire. I started fires all the time. With matches, lighters, magnifying glasses. Anything I could get my hands on.” He stopped, looking at something off in the distance. He swallowed a few times and collected the courage to continue. “When I was seven I snuck into my Aunt Lora’s purse and borrowed a book of matches. Later when my mom and aunt ran to the grocery store, my sister and I found ourselves alone. Mom usually took us with her on her errands, but she was having a bad day and needed a break. Aunt Lora talked her into leaving us alone, telling Mom I was an unusually mature seven-year-old.

  “It started out so innocent. I was just lying on my bed, striking each match, one by one, watching the flame flicker and then blowing it out before the flame could hit my fingers. But when the phone rang, I must’ve dropped a match because by the time I got back, the entire room was up in flames. At first I froze. I stood and watched the flames consume my room with fascination and horror. I knew I had to call 911, but I panicked. I didn’t want to get into trouble. I was a good boy. I never got into trouble. Desperate for my parents’ approval, I couldn’t stand to see them unhappy with me. So I ran outside and hid in a bush. I didn’t think my sister would be in any danger. She was napping in her bedroom. I didn’t realize the fire could spread. I swear I thought she’d be safe. I sat in the bush bawling like a baby, spinning the wheels of my toy truck. A neighbor must’ve called emergency, but when the firefighters got there, it was too late. My sister was gone.” By now he was in tears, his body trembling.

  “Adrien, I’m so sorry.” I rested a hand on his, squeezing it.

  “They don’t know what got to her first—the smoke or the flames.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “She was four years old, September. She was so innocent, so pure. She had her whole life ahead of her. There’s so much she’ll never experience.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Lily,” he whispered, anguish painting his face.

  “That’s a beautiful name.”

  “It killed my parents. It was unbearable to watch. My mom blamed herself for leaving us alone. She kept saying, ‘I shouldn’t have left them alone, I shouldn’t have left them alone.’ She sunk into a deep depression, never fully recovering. My father blamed me. He couldn’t look at me anymore. He barely spoke to me. They couldn’t take it any longer, the grief destroyed their marri
age. They got a divorce a year and a half later.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I killed her. I killed my sister,” he said, holding my hand so tight, it was cutting off circulation. “I tore my parents apart. I destroyed my family.”

  “It’s not your fault. You were just a kid. You need to forgive yourself.”

  “I don’t deserve forgiveness. I can’t let it go.” He shoved the tears from his face.

  To our left, several yards away, a young boy of six or seven with a huge toothy grin struggled to get his homemade kite to catch the wind. We watched his determined face as he encouraged his handiwork to take flight. When a gust of wind shot the flimsy paper upward after several failed attempts, his triumphant face made us chuckle.

  “Would you forgive him? If he accidentally harmed his sister? Would he deserve a life sentence of guilt and punishment?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” Adrien whispered.

  “You were just a kid,” I repeated, pleading with Adrien with my eyes.

  “I know. But there’s something more. It’s so much more than that.”

  “What is it?”

  “I…can’t say,” he said, kicking a pebble.

  “Just tell me,” I pleaded, tired of secrets. I wanted to finally know the truth—all of it.

  He shook his head. “Later.”

  “Later? There are no laters for us. There are no laters! I hate you,” I said, acting like a three-year-old, pulling away. “I wish we never met.”

  Adrien winced, he green eyes pained. “I deserved that.”

  “I don’t hate you,” I whispered, my mood turning like a leaf in the wind. “You know I don’t hate you. I just want you to stay. There’s so much I want to say to you—need to say. If you’d only stick around a while longer you’d see that time has a way of healing things. Life can be beautiful, Adrien, you just need to push the dark clouds away and you’d see. If you’d just stop being so stubborn and get some help—”