by A. M. Hudson
“I realised that you’re more perceptive and a lot stronger than I first gave you credit for. I—” He paused and looked down, but he mustn’t have found his words on the grass, because he looked up at me, confusion narrowing his eyes.
“You know what, David?” I shook my head. His fingers tried to grip mine as I pulled them free and let out the breath I’d been holding. “You don’t owe me any explanations. I do get it—really, I do. I’m too tragic for you—too much trouble. Please, spare me the lecture.”
“Ara?” He reached for me again.
“No.” I pulled away. “It’s okay. Whatever your reasons are, they mean nothing to me, now. Do you get that? Nothing.” My words were meant as an explanation, but they came across as a harsh accusation in a weakened tone. I turned away again, determined not to look back.
“Ara?” he called.
I shook my head. Just leave me alone. Please?
“No.” His hand shot out, grabbed my arm and he spun me into his chest. “I’m not going to let you go that easily.”
“Well, you don’t have a choice.” Using the tops of my forearms, I pushed his hands off me. “Just like I don’t.”
“Maybe you do have a choice—maybe you just wouldn’t like the other option,” he said spitefully.
“Yeah, well, maybe you should just do us both a favour and leave now.” I turned away again and bit down on my own lip. Why did I say that?
“I just can’t make sense of you, girl.” He appeared in front of me, blocking my path. I stepped around him—he moved to the side and grabbed my arms again—pinning me to the spot. “You begged me to stay. You said you loved me. Were you lying to me?”
The wind brushed my hair into my eyes; I swiped it away and squinted against the sun. “No.”
“Then—” He dropped my arms, and his eyes became liquid with confusion. “Why would you want me to leave?”
My lips twisted up to hide the truth. “Because I don’t love you…anymore,” I lied, shaking my head.
Like a cloud of white just fell from the sky, David went pale and his lips fell softly apart, releasing only a short breath as he stumbled back two steps, clutching his hand to his heart.
I wish I could fall to the ground or run away from this conflict. I’ve never been good at fighting, and this is hurting David—that much is clear. I never wanted to hurt him. I just wanted to stop myself from getting hurt.
I wish I’d never left the house. I wish I could take it all back and start again. But life doesn’t give second chances when you keep messing things up like I do. I’ve pushed him away, and now it’s going to hurt when he’s gone—even more than it would’ve before—because this time, I have no one to blame but myself.
“Ara. I…I don’t want to leave yet. This hurts me as much as it hurts you,” he whispered so faintly I almost didn’t hear him. “I really hope you don’t mean what you just said—” He looked up from the ground and studied my face. “Ara?”
How am I supposed to answer him? Of course I didn’t mean what I said. But somehow, I also did. “Why? David, just tell me why you took me to the lake. The kiss? Why did you do that to me when you knew we had to break up?” No matter how hard I try, I just can’t fit the pieces together.
David’s shoulders dropped and he let his arms hang loosely by his side. “Because, despite what you may think, I lo—” He stopped abruptly and looked over my shoulder.
“What is it?” I turned around to see Ryan running toward us at full speed.
Another cool brush of air swept my hair off my face and I looked back at David; he closed his eyes, sinking back on his heels a little, almost as if he were getting smaller.
Ryan closed the gap quickly, puffing and panting—his face bright red. “Ara, David?” Ryan said. “Thank God.” He walked over and put a hand on David’s shoulder. “David,” he puffed, “I’m sorry man.” He shook his head, trying to catch his breath. “Nathan, he—” But before he could finish, David shrugged him off and walked, without a word, in the direction of the school car park.
“What? What happened?” I asked.
Ryan’s mouth hung open in shock as David, with a brisk, but graceful stride, very uncharacteristically hurried away. We both stood for a moment with nothing but the sound of Ryan’s laboured breathing around us.
I must’ve really hurt David. He would never be rude to someone like that.
Ryan studied my face—forcing me to hold my self-pitying tears a little longer. “Nathan Rossi.” He put his hands on his hips as he breathed in and out, folding over a little. “He passed away early this morning.”
“Oh no!” I covered my mouth and watched as David leaped quickly over the car-park wall and disappeared.
All the pieces suddenly fit together; the sadness in his eyes when I saw him across the road; his reluctance to break up with me when I gave him an easy out. Oh God, what have I done? Clearly, he needed a friend this morning—not a fight—not to break up with his girlfriend. “Did David know?”
Ryan shrugged. “He was closer to Nathan than the rest of us. Guess he mighta got a call this morning. Didn’t he say anything?” He looked back at me, and his brow pulled together.
I rubbed my forehead, shaking my head at myself. “I never gave him the chance.” Maybe I should run after him? “Do you think he’ll be okay?”
Ryan laughed, a small, humourless laugh. “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”
Chapter Fourteen
Emily sat with her hands wedged under her knees, her legs swinging over the edge of the stage, and a forced smile on her lips. I wandered down the aisle silently, hugging my sheet music to my chest—trying not to disturb her quiet speech. “If he was here right now, he’d probably slap us on the shoulder and tell us to get up—that the show must go on.” She sniffed and wiped her face softly with a tissue. “I know it’s been a hard day, and in fact—” she motioned around the room, “—most of us have gone home. But…Nathans gone, and…I know this whole thing started out as a way to help his mum with the hospital bills, but now she’s got a funeral bill on top…of…that.” Her voice broke. Ryan leaped onto the stage and sat beside her, wrapping his arm over her shoulder. “So,” she composed herself, blinking a few times, “having said that, rehearsals will continue and so will the show—as a memorial concert.”
“But we’re not doing it this week, right?” someone in the front row asked.
Emily shook her head. “We don’t have to. Any votes on when we should hold it?”
“Yeah,” a boy said. “Weekend after next. The funeral’s this Thursday, so…” he let his voice trail off.
Emily looked around at the rest of the group. “Everyone agree with that?”
People shrugged or nodded. Emily looked at me and I smiled, bringing one shoulder up to my ear.
“Okay, so, two weekends from now. And we’ll need to draw up new ticket sale signs—if you guys can take care of that?” She nodded toward the Art students; they nodded back. “Okay. So, thanks for coming, everybody, and…” she stood up, “let’s get this show on the road.”
The small group clapped their hands softly, and quietly murmured between themselves. A violin started up on stage, and the others tuned their instruments noisily in the front row of seats.
Ryan, keeping his arm around Emily, walked her off the stage and spoke quietly to her on the last step. She nodded, wiped her face, then hugged him tightly and walked away.
“Hey, Em,” I said, deliberately avoiding how are you or I’m sorry.
“Hey, Ara. Where’s David?”
“Didn’t Ryan tell you?” We slid into the end seats on the front row.
“Mm. No. What happened?” Her eyes narrowed.
I just shattered him to pieces. “He uh—he left school for the day.”
“Really?” She slid down in her seat and covered her eyes with her fingertips. “I feel like such an idiot for crying at school. I wish I’d left, too.”
“Oh, Em—don’t. It’s not silly at all. Hel
l, even I’ve done it.”
“Really?” She sat up a little.
“Mm-hm.” I hugged my music sheets tighter and looked at the performers on stage.
“Well, why? Was someone mean to you?”
I shrugged.
“Who?”
“Remember the theatrical kiss thing—with David?” How he saved my dignity when those girls were mean to me in the bathroom.
“Oh, yeah—Summer and that short girl she hangs around?”
“Yeah.” I laughed; that girl is so much shorter than the blonde one.
“Summer was telling us the whole story, you know, that afternoon.” Emily leaned back in her chair. “No one believed her, though—about David kissing you. I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t told me about it in History class.”
“Why? Is it so hard to believe David would kiss me?”
A breathy laugh blew from Emily’s lips. “It wasn’t that we didn’t believe—it was how Summer said he was doing it to stand up for you. That is hard to believe. David doesn’t stand up for anybody,” she added with a hint of spite.
“He stood up for the Apple King, at lunch that day.”
“Yeah, it seems you’ve unearthed a new David.” She looked down at her hands and clicked her thumbnails together. “So—he went home, huh?”
I shrugged. I don’t know. How would I know where he’s actually gone? I don’t even know where he lives. I mean, he could live in a prison cell or a refuge for boys for all I know. “Do you think he’ll come back?” I asked.
“He does this, you know?” She smiled sympathetically. “If things get too…emotional, he takes off for a few days. But, he’ll be at the funeral on Thursday. I’m sure you can speak to him then.”
“But, what if it wasn’t because of Nathan that he left? What if it was for some other reason? Would he still come back?”
“What other reason would he have?” she asked, smiling at Spencer as he walked past; he didn’t smile back.
Emily looked into her lap—seeming to forget I’d said anything.
Maybe I should tell her about the fight David and I had. But what if she thinks I’m a horrible person for dumping him on the day his friend died? She might not want to be friends with me anymore, and I need a friend right now—someone to make me feel like I do deserve another chance to be happy. But that makes me feel even worse to be keeping Emily as a friend under pretences.
There’s a place for selfish people like me in the afterlife—they call it Hell—and right now, I feel it’s more than I deserve. If David ever talks to me again after I said those horrible things to him, I might be lucky if it’s just to say so long and it’s been great. So, Thursday? I can get through a day and a half without him—I think.
“What’s the deal with Spence?” I asked, changing the subject when Spencer sauntered past, avoiding eye contact with Emily. “Was he close to Nathan?”
Emily shook her head. “No. You saw that, huh? The quick-look-away thing he does.”
“Yeah. Does he do that a lot?”
“Every time I look at him.”
“And you think it’s ‘cause he doesn’t like you?” I tried to stifle a giggle. She is so clueless.
“It must be. Why would he do it if he liked me?”
“Because, Emily—” I shoved my notes on the chair and stood up, “—he’s a guy. They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”
“Ara!” she squeaked. “What are you doing?”
I ignored her and walked over to Ryan, Alana, and Spencer—all talking among themselves. My brilliant idea of setting Emily up with Mike while he’s here is about to go out the window…
“Hey, guys.” I waved as I stepped up to the group.
“Hey, Ara.” Alana leaned a little closer. “I was thinking…about the sleepover this weekend?”
“Yeah.”
“Um, could we…maybe move it to next weekend?”
“The Saturday before the concert?” I confirmed.
“Yeah. With the funeral this week…” She nodded at Emily, sitting low in her chair, staring at her feet. “It might be a bit much.”
“I agree. That’s cool. Next week’ll be fine.”
“So, Ara?” Ryan asked, “Are you coming to the wake at Betty’s on Thursday night?”
“I um—I didn’t know about it. Why is Mrs. Rossi doing it there?” It seems like an odd place for a wake.
“She’s not,” Ryan said, placing his arm around Alana. “It’s just a bunch of us kids fare-welling Nathan in our own way. Betty’s was his favourite burger joint—we figure it’s appropriate.”
“Oh, okay. Well, that sounds cool. I guess I’ll try, but I may have to go to Mrs. Rossi’s with my dad, you know—pay my respects as a family.” I shrugged.
“I get it. Totally cool. If we see you there, we see you there,” Ryan said.
“Hey, so, you two are going together, right?” I asked Alana and Ryan.
“Yup.” Ryan tightened his arm around Alana’s shoulder, grinning.
“So, why don’t you take Emily, Spence? I know she needs a ride,” I lied. I hope he doesn’t pick up on the fact that I couldn’t know that—since I didn’t even know about the wake before now.
Spence smiled and looked over at Emily—looking away before she looked up. Hopefully, this is one more match that’ll work out well.
Grief struck the school like a tidal wave; the teachers cancelled homework for the week, and even my dad, when I woke up this morning and begged him not to make me go to school, just sighed and said, “Fine, stay home—but just for today.” I froze on the spot, thinking, This is some joke, seriously. But Dad’s not his usual self right now. I don’t think he’s coping with the loss of a student.
Everyone around me is heartbroken about Nathan—and I’m heartbroken about David. That’s why I couldn’t go to school, and that’s why no homework for the week is a relief to me. Now, I can spend my afternoons sulking, instead.
There’s no point in going to school, anyway—David won’t be there and I can’t bear the emptiness that surrounds that place without him. I only stayed at school yesterday for the small glimmer of hope that he might decide to come back. He didn’t. David has inflicted on me, a foul taste of what life without him will be like, and already, I can’t take it.
Sam stacked the last of the dinner plates on the bench beside the sink and I flicked the tap on to help wash the scraps down the ancient garbage disposal. There are an awful lot of leftovers tonight, and I know it’s not because Vicki’s lasagne is bad. Dad’s plate doesn’t even have the usual layer of salt over the base of it, and he’s been in a silent-groaning-every-now-and-then-mood since he got home from helping Mrs. Rossi plan the funeral. Even Vicki’s plate looks as though she’s just moved the food around to make it look like she’s eaten something.
Sam handed my plate over next; this is nothing unusual. I never eat my dinner. I just shift a few bites around in my mouth, then claim exhaustion and go upstairs until it’s time to do the dishes—by hand, since Dad doesn’t believe in mod cons. His aversion to technology is something clinical, I think. Sam apparently had to beg him for a TV, and I can only imagine the arguments that went on when Sam sent a letter to Santa, asking for a game console. But, since Dad’s convinced there’s a Santa, he had no choice but to let Sam have an Xbox. That was clever of Sam, who hasn’t believed in Old Big Fat and Red since he was five.
When the clock in the front entrance chimed seven, I sighed. The day is going so slow. I have a stack of dishes left to do, but all I can think of is running upstairs and tossing ideas around in my head about why David would’ve taken me to the lake, dedicated that soul-touching song to me, then told me he’s leaving, only to go and kiss me. Our argument yesterday solved nothing—and he still managed to get away without giving me an answer.
I know I should be thinking about how he’s feeling right now—how devastated he must be over losing his friend, but I can’t help being stuck in why-doesn’t-he-love-me land.
&
nbsp; I mean, why kiss and say I love you to a girl you don’t plan to stay with?
I spent all day on the swing, today—rocking back and forth between conclusions—only to realise in the end, as Vicki called us for dinner, that my thoughts won’t reason beyond emotion; I’m suffering, really suffering right now and worse, I don’t know how I should be feeling. I’m either feeling hurt, sad, angry or betrayed—I think. Confusion is the only emotion I can properly identify, and it’s hovering like humid air.
I thought I’d concluded to let him go, once and for all, but in my heart, that’s not what I want—not really. I’m mad because he keeps things from me and hurt that he finds it so easy to leave—that he’s just going to go, and not even try to fight for us. But I shouldn’t have said I want to break up, because I don’t, and now it’s too late. I said it, and he left. I guess that means we’re not together anymore. That must’ve been the quickest, most tragic tale of true love, ever—aside from Romeo and Juliet.
It’s funny how time passed with David, though, like, we only got together a few days ago, but it feels like I’ve known him and loved him my whole life. He made my days feel full—not slow, like today.
My ears pricked to the sound of Dad and Vicki’s footsteps overhead. It’s unusually empty in this house tonight; there’s no TV buzzing from the lounge room, no laughter from Dad as he tells Vicki about his day, and Sam, who normally tosses the forks in the air and catches them behind his back, dried them slowly and placed them quietly in the drawer. All this silence has given me too much time alone with my thoughts—never a good thing.
God, why didn’t I just let David talk? I was so mean to him. If I’d just given him the chance to get a word in, I would’ve known why he was so sad, but no, I had to go all crazy-cat-throwing-lady—assuming he was sad because he had to leave poor little old me. I should’ve been there for him, and instead, I said things to hurt him. I know I don’t deserve to say sorry, but if I don’t at least say goodbye, I’ll spend the rest of my life wishing I’d had the chance.
The quiet meandering of my thoughts was broken suddenly by a pattering drip and a warm sensation around the base of my singlet top. “Oh crud!” I gasped and jumped back, flicking the kitchen tap off as I lifted the soggy fabric from my belly. What the hell? The sink is totally full. There’s no way I fazed-out for that long.