by Mia Garcia
“What?” She jerked up a bit, trying to see through the fabric.
“Can you pop out of there for a second? It’s getting kind of weird talking to a beige blob. You look like a giant penis.”
“That’s not funny.” She scoffed, elbowing Ryan. “What did you mean by destroy your sketches?”
Ryan rolled off the bed with a thump. “You’ll have to come out of those sheets to find out.”
The bed was empty without him, and she missed the feel of his arms around her. When she poked her head out of the sheets he stood at the foot of her bed, waiting for her, hand outstretched.
She took a breath and took his hand.
They sat at the foot of her bed, a box between them.
“You want to destroy these?” Jess pulled out a sketch at random, a pastel drawing of their school.
“Transform is a better word for it—but I need to tear them up to do it.”
She flipped through paper after paper of old self-portraits and pencil drawings of Jason. “Are you destroying everything?”
“Transform,” he repeated. “And no, I kept a few for myself.”
“Why?”
“For the dreaded self-portrait,” he said, staring at one of the sketches. “It was something my grandmother said, about trying to put something broken back together again.”
Jess fiddled with the edges of the stack in front of her. “That it’s impossible, I remember. Broken is broken.” As she spoke she crumpled the edge of one piece, then tried to uncrumple it, with little success. She couldn’t imagine ripping up the pages, cutting portraits in half until they were nothing. The crumpled edge of the piece reminded her of how she felt: bent, torn, lines showing across her skin no matter how often she tried to iron them out.
“You aren’t broken, Jess.” Ryan reached for Jess’s hand, keeping it in his as he settled closer. “And neither am I. We are something new.”
“I don’t feel new,” her voice cracked.
“Let us help you. We love you.”
“I know, I know.” A sob crawled up her spine and threatened to break free. “There were so many times I wanted to say something, but I thought I could handle it, that I should handle it.”
“Handle what?”
“Everything.” Ryan waited, watching as she picked up another sketch, tracing it with her fingers. She followed the lines of the sketch until her mind calmed and she could speak. “I feel like I can’t breathe, like I ran a marathon when I’ve barely gone a block. Like I’m letting people down constantly no matter what I do.”
“What did your parents say? Did you talk to them?”
“I tried after the accident.” They’d tried so hard, but each time she looked in their faces all she could think of was how much of a burden she was. “But not very well.”
Ryan put his arm around her. “Let us be there for you. If it was happening to me or Lee or Nora you would want them to open up, right? You’d want them to get help. So why are you any less?”
Why was she any less?
Ryan nudged her. “You aren’t a burden. Never think that.”
They sat there for a moment, arms wrapped around each other.
“I like this new Ryan,” she finally said. “Not that I didn’t like the old one, of course. Where did he come from?”
“According to my ama he was always here, I just needed to get over myself.” He smiled. “She didn’t exactly say that last part, but pretty much.”
“And Jason?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, but hopefully he’s happy.”
She adjusted to get a better look at his face. “That’s mature.”
“Yeah, well, I’m about to tear up at least a couple dozen portraits of him, so I’m not sure how mature I’m being.” He laughed. “Ready to do some damage?” Ryan handed Jess a sketch and grabbed one of his own, a pencil sketch of Jason from when they’d started dating.
Jess hesitated.
“Here, I’ll start,” Ryan said, ripping the portrait down the middle, then again until jagged pieces lay all over the floor. “Not destroyed, just transformed.”
With a deep breath she tore the paper in half, feeling fantastic once it was done. “Okay, that was pretty good.”
“Surprisingly, right?” He tore another one. “Ama is always right.”
“I’m sure she knows that already.”
She ripped up another portrait, watching the pieces flutter to the ground; they’d already started to form something new. She felt lighter, steps closer to putting words to emotions she would’ve rather buried. “Thank you.”
Ryan stopped mid-rip, dropping the paper to lean over and hug her. “Don’t you ever leave us again. That’s not allowed. You know we need constant Jess check-ins, or we would all be lost.”
“You’re all stronger than you think.”
“Always better together, though.”
They were, she should’ve never worried about that.
“I owe Lee an apology.” And Nora and Ryan. She should’ve trusted her friends from the beginning; she should’ve asked for help. Jess would’ve demanded the same from any of them. She did, often.
“You do.”
“I do.”
For a while all you could hear was the sound of paper being torn, of two friends laughing over old memories, transforming into something.
Scars and all.
JESS WAS NOT okay.
Breathe.
Jess needed help.
Breathe.
She would tell her friends, but first she would tell her family.
So Jess called a family meeting.
The couch cushions in their old age acted like quicksand around her as she sat. When David took the seat opposite her he didn’t speak, waiting for her to speak first.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” he replied, then moved to sit next to her. “Are you mad?”
“I’m not mad, even though one of you should’ve told me. You’re my brother, and she’s my best friend.” Get to the point. “But I am sorry I didn’t take it well, I haven’t been taking a lot of things well lately.”
“What’s wrong?”
Breathe.
“I need help,” she whispered.
“Dime.” Her mother came around the couch, her father right behind her. Her face said they’d waited for Jess, giving her the time she needed. “We’re listening.”
Breathe.
“I think they are called panic attacks.” She could feel her heart beating against her chest, wouldn’t it be just lovely to get a panic attack while talking about her panic attacks? Just perfect. She didn’t wait for them to sit. “At first I thought they were random or just like a one-time stress thing.”
Her hands started to shake, and her mother reached out to hold them in hers.
“Respira, Jessica,” her father instructed.
A ghost of a laugh tumbled out. “I’m trying.”
She let her heart spill the worry, the thoughts, the echoes that flooded her head. That she thought it was nothing—we all have moments like this—she told herself even if they kept coming. How she thought she could handle everything even as things piled up, even as her body screamed at her that she couldn’t. That she didn’t want to ask for help, didn’t want to let people down, didn’t want to be a burden.
“Burden?” Her father shook his head. “¿Cómo puedes pensar eso?”
But she couldn’t help it—there were moments where she felt like her chest was going to burst.
“You are not a burden, amor mío.” Her mother held her in her arms. “And all of those things? The scholarships, the center, they are not as important as you are, do you understand me?” Jess nodded, watching the tears well up in her mother’s eyes. “And I’m so sorry that I didn’t see it, Mija. That I didn’t think to ask. Perdóname.”
“It’s okay, Mami.” She wasn’t angry at her mother, and there was nothing to forgive.
“It’s not,” her mother said, “but we’ll work toward th
at. Juntos. You are not alone in this.”
They spoke through to the night, until each of them was as spent as the other. Then they made plans to speak again, and again, and again.
That night, for the first time in many months, Jess’s mind was quiet.
Ryan
HE’D SPENT THE morning video chatting with his grandmother, showing her the blank canvas and promising an actual portrait by the end of the day—or the week at least.
She’d signed off by showing him the two portraits he’d done, both up on her wall side by side. “My favorite one yet!” she said, standing next to the newest one for comparison. “Now you go do yours, and we will talk again. I’m off to the travel agent. It’s time to plan my next trip!”
“So soon?”
“Soon?” She laughed. “You can’t keep me down for long. Same as you.”
She has so much faith.
“And maybe,” she brought the phone so close all he could see was her nose and the top of her lip, “I’ll need a travel buddy.”
“That would be amazing.” He’d never been able to go on one of his grandmother’s trips before but had a sneaking suspicion they’d make the perfect pair.
“Go,” she instructed. “Remember you are who you are. Scars and all.”
He’d repeated it over and over again until it felt like a mantra. He texted the group and Blake.
Ryan: I’m going in.
Nora: You can do it.
Lee: No pare! Sigue, sigue!
Jess: Yes you can!
His heart did a little dance each time Jess texted within the group now. She was going to see Lee at this very moment, and Ryan had promised to meet them later tonight. So there was no time to waste. One final text came in.
Blake: I can’t wait to see it. Coffee date tomorrow?
Ryan: You’re on.
The piles of torn sketches sat neatly to his right, on his left were his brushes and dollops of paint in shades of blue, black, and red. He would start with those and see what the canvas needed.
You are who you are.
He remembered the Ryan at the beginning of the year, the canvas covered in charcoal with a light at the center, and started there. He loaded the largest brush with black and circled everything but the center. Dipping a smaller brush in the deepest blue he added strokes to the darkness.
Scars and all.
He sifted through the torn pages, searching through half faces, and at one point he realized he didn’t know which belonged to him and which to Jason.
Broken heart and all.
Picking three, he layered them on top of each other on the canvas, holding them in place with swaths of red and black for the moments his heart hurt the most. Then he picked two more pieces and did it again. Each piece or new color he added looked like they were coming from or going into the stark white center of the canvas.
Still, there was something missing.
He needed yellow, white, and red to form coral. Adding the bright layers in chunks along with the green of overgrown forests in tiny backyards. He crushed the last of the incense his grandmother had brought back from Taipei and blended it into the painting.
More.
He worried that the painting might slip off the canvas with the amount of material on it, so he placed it on the floor of his room and danced around it as he added layer after layer. Sky blue for Jess, Lee, and Nora and the bright futures he saw for them regardless of any storm clouds they might see for themselves. Purple for Blake, for the start of something, the hope of something. Fabric from his first baby blanket he’d kept, the rest of which became a new one for Katie.
White and gold for a trail of scars holding it all together.
When he was done there were specks of paint all over him, down to his scalp; he’d returned to the habit of running his hands through his hair. It felt right, paint was part of him after all. It belonged on his skin like the birthmarks he’d been born with.
He hovered over the painting, walking around it. He wasn’t sure which way was up, but he didn’t mind. There was something about the portrait he couldn’t put his finger on, something it reminded him of.
Taking a photo, he sent it to his grandmother; she of all people would know.
“It’s a galaxy,” she replied in Mandarin.
“Is it?”
He hopped up on his bed and looked at the painting again. Of course she was right, he had painted a galaxy. The things he loved were stars in the darkness, his heartbreak pits of dark matter, his scars the interstellar dust weaving through it all.
This is who you are. Scars and all.
Lee
LEE WAS SURPRISED by how light the disc was, considering how much it held. She placed it on top of the DVD player and immediately needed something to do with her hands.
“Hi.” Jess stood by her door, swallowed up in the world’s largest hoodie. But she looked better, brighter than she’d been since that night. “Can I come in?”
“Yes.” Lee straightened, her heart giving a quick beat. “How are you?”
“I’m sorry, Lee,” Jess said, coming toward her.
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes I do.” Jess pulled her over to the bed, where they sat.
“I should’ve told you.”
“I keep things to myself too, so I shouldn’t judge,” Jess said, her eyes puffy. Lee recognized tired eyes from too much crying.
“You can judge a little if you want.”
“I don’t want to.” Jess shook her head, taking a deep breath. “Do you forgive me?”
“Forgive you? Jess, for what?”
“For not telling you about how the resolution was making me feel,” she corrected herself, “how I was making myself feel. I said yes to everything, but . . . they were the wrong things to say yes to.”
“Of course I forgive you,” Lee said. Out of anyone, Lee could understand keeping things to yourself and internalizing until it was just part of your nature.
She’d never been angry, just worried. Worried she’d hurt her friend; worried she’d let her down.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile that reached her eyes. “So, you and David . . .”
Lee nodded. “Me and David.”
“Do you . . .”
“I like him, Jess.” She felt a warm feeling in her belly as she thought of him. “I really do. I think he likes me too.”
“I know he does,” Jess replied. “Why didn’t you tell me about it? Did you think I would get mad?”
“Maybe?” Lee shook her head. “But . . . okay, can I just be honest?”
“Please.” When Jess said that, she knew she’d missed talking to Lee as much as Lee missed talking to Jess.
“I think I was using him a little bit,” Lee said, waiting for Jess to interrupt, asking Lee to clarify what she meant, but instead she nodded, asking Lee to continue. “As a way to push away the thoughts of the test, of the possible future. When I was with him everything but the present was drowned out, and I couldn’t hear the thoughts anymore. Eventually it became more than just a fun distraction and I looked forward to just being with him, but I was still afraid that if I told you, or anyone, that it would just bring me back to that damn fork in the road.”
Jess nodded. “I get it.”
“You know my dad said my mom was really good at finding ways to be happy even in her worst moments.”
“And?”
“Looking back now, it reminds me of when we talked about the fork in the road and you asked what I saw when I imagined it. And I saw one long road and one dead end.”
A life with Huntington’s. A life with no future.
“Now . . .” She closed her eyes and went back to that road, arriving at the fork. To the right there was life without Huntington’s; it was still long and green and lush. She could see her friends, her family, and milestones, like college and a career. It was a bit too perfect, and Lee needed to work on that too. To the left was her life with Huntington’s. “I can see it bette
r, I can see it how Mami would see it.” That road was bumpy and steep. “I thought it was a dead end, but it’s not. It’s rougher and harder, but it’s still a road. I can make something of it,” Lee said. Jess laced her hand with Lee’s. “And I’m not alone in it.”
And she could see them now, along the path, hands reaching for her: her father, Auntie Rose, Jess, Nora, Ryan, and even David. She was not alone, as her mother had not been alone. Huntington’s would not take them from her.
LEE’S HAND SHOOK as she placed the disc in the player. Once in, she hopped back to the safety of her friends. Lee passed Jess the control, unable to hit play herself. Pictures were one thing, but a video quite another.
Her old house in DC came on-screen, the same couch and chairs just in a different place. Lee had almost forgotten that old house, and now the memories rushed back.
“Might be time for some new furniture,” Ryan mumbled.
“Rude.” Lee smacked him on the shoulder.
“It’s working.” Her father’s voice came from the screen as the camera panned around the room. He turned it around to face him. “At least I think it is.”
“I’m going to regret getting you this.” Lee held her breath at the sound of her mom’s voice, until she came on-screen. Her father zoomed in on her face. “Really, is being this close necessary?”
“We have to document everything for the baby.”
Her mother placed her hands on her hips and looked down at her belly—a barely there bump. “I don’t remember Francheska asking.”
He zoomed in on the belly. “Are we married to that name?”
Her mother’s hand grabbed the camera, bringing it back to her face, her lips pursed.
“I mean, it’s a great name,” her father said.
Lee laughed, feeling the first of the tears gathering, though her heart remained steady. She felt Ryan and Jess close around her, shoulder to shoulder. The screen blanked, then came back to a stunning close-up of her mom, the light from the camera catching her eyes and warm brown skin.
“Is this . . . yes . . . okay!” He turned the camera to beige walls then a heart monitor and finally a very sweaty Paula holding a new Lee. “Welcome to the world, Francheska Lee Carter-Perez. I’m sorry we couldn’t give you a longer name.”