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“I told you I would come back.” She said it again because his eyes were so flat and opaque she could not tell the blackness of his pupils from the blue. Said it again because he seemed to not have heard. He dropped his hand from the screen and stepped back. What was he doing? She was going to take him away. She was going to fight for this but he…he was slipping through her hands. Was it always going to be this way? Parallel lines, their lives. Running side by side but never together. Never to cross and merge. “Did I ever ask you to?” She reeled back. When had his words become blows? Just this moment? Always. She dropped her hand from the metal and when she looked at her palm, the weave of the screen was imprinted there. Suddenly, in her mind she saw the road ahead. A long highway. Twin neon yellow parallel lines she would follow into the horizon. Just like their lives. Parallel lines leading her away. And she knew. “No, you didn’t. It won’t happen again.” He nodded and twisted the edge of his pajama top between his fingers, the skin over his knuckles white. “Goodbye.” She turned to walk down the porch steps. Hesitated for only a breath, her back to him. She did not know if her words were real or the last whisper before the ghost was given up. “Were you always just in my mind?” His only reply was the click of the door closing. Step after careful step back to her mother’s house. There was no need to rush now. No need to run or plan or dream or cry. For the first time, he had made it easy for her. He had taken every possibility away. Leaving her with only one path. Leaving her to leave. Back inside the house, back inside the room of her darkest voice, she closed the curtains over her window. And packed her things with steady hands. In her father’s car, she drove. She drove all morning with the top up and the radio silent. It stopped raining by the time she left the town limits. The sun came out as she drove through Hemery. As she left the state, she finally turned on the radio to drown out his words in her mind. I can’t love you/Will you miss me?/I would know the sound of your footsteps anywhere/No baby. You’re not being punished. I promise/Of course I missed you. Of course I did/The sun hot on my face. The breeze in my hair. You/Can I…can I kiss you?/I’ll be waiting/ Oh god, touch me. Touch me please/ Show me you love me/ Does this mean I’m your man, now?/You were just convenient/Do not touch me/Did I ever ask you to? The station was playing her song. Her possibilities had flown away but her song still remained. Just like desire. Just like that last flicker of flame amongst the ashes. Refusing to die. Refusing to go in peace. She no longer knew what she was. A dying fire? A sad ghost? A withered shadow? A girl who wanted to be in love. A woman who was always in loss. They asked me how I knew
She stopped on a deserted wooden bridge over a small still river in the middle of nowhere. And got out of the car. Stood staring over the side into the dark water below. Ignored the red sun setting around her into gold. She clutched the wooden rail so hard in her hands she felt the satisfying prickles of splinters digging in. The water was so still and calm and black. She wondered what it would feel like. She clambered up on the ledge of the bridge and started to stand up. It was wobbly and unsturdy. Just like her life. She spread out her arms and walked it like a trapeze artist in love with death and without a net. Balancing on the blade edge, balancing on the divide between the present and the past. The line at earth and sky. Here and oblivion. One slip of foot and she would be at peace finally. She wanted it. The water would feel so cool like her mother’s arms. It would taste like him. Filling her mouth, her nostrils, her head. The blackness of it would overcome her darkest voice. All it would take was one slip of foot. She looked up and saw the fading sun. It had bled into gold. Into his golden hair. Blood in his hair. Her foot slipped the other way and she tumbled down onto the bridge. She lay there for a second, an eternity, in a heap and shaking, her feet pierced by splinters. Pierced by love. She stumbled back into the car and turned it around. The highway in her mind led her back. She was wrong before. It would always lead her back. As she drove down the road, her eyes on the parallel yellow lines, she knew. There was only one path. Towards him. She did not know how long she drove. She drove all night with the top down, the only thing in her eyes the stars above in the midnight sky mirrored by the silvery flecks of mica in the black tar highway illuminated by the Buick’s headlights. The pale curve of the moon hung overhead like a question mark. A promise. I knew you would come. She would go to him. Creep into the darkness of his room like she did all those years ago. And cocoon him in her arms and breath and skin and this thing that could not be denied. The beating of his heart drove her on down the long straight road. She could almost hear it in her ears over the rushing of the wind. Almost feel his tongue tracing the beads of sweat down her spine. The night’s heat and her own fever for him coursed through her veins and drove her on, hands caressing the wheel. Driving down the long highway, through the long dark night. Dreaming. When she reached the state limits, it began to sprinkle. When she drove past the town’s welcome sign, the rain came down hard, lashing her face and soaking her hair and dress. She did not bother to put up the top. She wanted to feel this. She was not afraid of lightning or thunder. How could she be when they had brought him into the world? It was almost as if the knowledge of her return was seared into the earth and air. She had never really left. I will always come. Her head was full of storms and him. She didn’t even see the cat as it streaked across the road. Didn’t even realize until she heard a thud and crunch. Then sickening silence. It had not even cried out or made a sound. She stopped the Buick and opened up the door with trembling fingers. Oh, god. She fell to her knees and gathered the cat in her arms, its blue eyes glassy. Its grey striped fur matted with red. It was so light and soft in her arms. She tasted blood on her lips that her teeth had drawn and it was all around her. Coppery and sweet and warm. Blending with the freshness of rainwater, with the saltiness on her cheeks as she ran her hands over the cat’s twisted limbs. Every bone so fragile and hollow. She cradled it and laid it gently in the passenger seat. Wrapped it in a thin cardigan from her suitcase. It was so small, just a baby really. A little lost kitten without its mother. She could understand. She was without too. When she reached Revello Drive and parked the car in the driveway, the sky opened its hands to let through the light and sound. The DeSoto was gone. She now realized she had been driving for a full day. She carried the cat into the house and through the kitchen. Stepped out of the backdoor into her mother’s yard. He was there. Standing in the rain in his blue striped pajamas. His hair matted down with rainwater, his arms slack at his sides. He was there in the rain. Barefoot and shaking in the hard cold summer storm. As if he had fallen from the sky in flash of lightning and thunder. Carried down to the earth by the rain. “What are you doing here?” “Waiting.” “How did you know I would come back?” His teeth were chattering and he was swaying in the stinging downpour. “I didn’t.” How long had he planned to stand there? An hour? A day? Forever? “How long have you been out here?” “I don’t know. Since she left last night.” It was already the mid-morning. She went to the shed and got out a shovel. His head tilted in the direction of her movements. “What are you doing?” “I hit a cat. I have to bury it.” “I’m sorry.” She gritted her teeth and set the cat down and started to dig. Right under the willow tree so its grave would be sheltered by leafy branches. “Why?” He started fidgeting with the edge of his soaked through pajama top. “I lied.” “About what?” “I would always ask you to come back.” She said nothing in reply. Just kept digging. Finally, when the hole was deep enough she placed the cat in its grave and covered it. Looked down at herself. The rain had turned her bloodstained white dress a gory pink. She did not trust herself to speak. She could not hold back her voice. “I can’t go on like this.” But her traitorous body moved towards his. She shivered as his shaky hands ran down her shoulders to find her hands. Before she could stop him, he had brought her bloodstained fingers up to his face. Oh, god. He had the cat’s blood on his face from her hands. Her mind whirled. All she could see was that night. When they carried him out, his face bloody, his lips blue and cold. She wrenched her hands away and slapped him. “Go.” His head snapped back with the force of her blow and her handprint started to bloom red across his pale cheek. “I can’t.” She struck him again. “Yes, you can. Gogogogo!” He grasped her flailing fists that were pounding at his body. “I can’t.” “Goddamn you, Will. Goddamn you.” He pulled her drained body into his arms. “I know.” Her words were muffled into his shoulder. God, she was so tired. “Where is she?” “She left last night. Not long after you. Mrs. Rosenberg fell down the stairs and twisted her hip. She’ll be gone all day.” “Then stay. Stay with me today.” He dropped his arms from her and stepped back. “I…I can’t.” “This is not an invitation. Choose.” She turned and started walking to the backdoor. Stopped and lost her breath when he gave her his answer. “Yes.” She led him inside and wiped off the blood on his face with a damp dishcloth. Washed the blood from her hands at the kitchen faucet. They were both soaked through. The rain was still pouring outside. She could see it sheeting down the windowpane. When a crash of thunder echoed through the house, he jumped. She placed her hand carefully on his shoulder. “It’s okay.” “Is it?” She pushed back the damp strands of hair from his forehead. “I don’t know. I hope so.” He let her lead him out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She was taking him away. Up the golden stair. Up to the room of her girlhood dream of him. Where her ghost still lingered waiting for him. For them to return. He hesitated, pulling back in the hallway. She tugged him inside. “Come. Come with me.” He nodded and entered with her. She closed the door behind them and they stood in the middle of her room. She shivered, suddenly aware of her wet dress sticking to her body. She slipped the straps down her shoulders and took it off. He flushed at the rustling of cloth leaving skin. Even though they had been together, this seemed even more intimate. She hesitated. “Is this okay?” He nodded. She ran her hand down his wet sleeve. His voice was strangled and so unbearably low and soft, she feared she would shatter. “Could you do it for me?” She undid the buttons of his pajama top, feeling him shaking under her fingers. Drew the cloth down his arms and turned to drape it on the chair. When she turned back to him, he was standing facing away from her. His back was so pale and thin; a bloodless heart beating out its final moments for her. She could count every knob of his vertebrae. He dropped his pajama pants and she helped him onto the bed, his teeth chattering. She feared he had gotten sick, standing out in the rain. Standing out all night. Waiting for her. She curled her body around his, her front to his shivering back. Sharing her warmth. She laid her hot cheek against the nape of his neck and breathed in his scent. Like rainwater and loss and her. He reached a tentative hand back to grasp hers, lacing their fingers together. Their entwined hands resting on his hip. Minutes ticked by. Perhaps hours. She did not care. When he finally broke the silence, it was like the sleepy prayers she knew he used to utter as a boy. “Can you tell me a story?” “What kind of story?” “The happy kind. The forever kind.” “Okay. It was an ordinary summer night. A...a woman was sitting on her porch swing eating pickles. It was so hot but she could smell rain. She could almost taste it. A child was heavy in her belly. She was sleepy but she wanted to wait. For the storm. And then she heard a cry and the sky cracked open with lightning and thunder. It rained and rained. And she knew. A child was born. A little boy. And she knew he would not be ordinary.” He had already fallen asleep. His back moving against her with his slow breaths. She touched her lips to his shoulder blade and closed her eyes to follow him. I am not really asleep. I just want to feel you. When she told me she saw you walk out of your mother’s house with a suitcase, I knew I had failed you. I knew I had failed myself. With my lies, my fear, my blank eyes. I know now my heart is dead. I killed it. But you want to give me yours. I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know what to do without you. Your story is my story. The story of how I was born to be yours. Only you can tell it. |