8.2

Cries and Laughter

“She might love me or think me a fool, but she’d be alive. If only I hadn’t been such a coward.”

Diary:

Summer’s almost over and it’s time to get ready for school again. There’s a get-together tomorrow for all Student Council members — to talk, play games, and other silly things like that. I don’t know why it’s necessary. Probably just an excuse for socializing. Most of them already know each other, and they’d probably have a blast, but I don’t want to go. I don’t know them and don’t care to start now. Not because I’m jealous of the popular kids. Maybe I am, I don’t know. Guess I just don’t make friends easily. But I’ll go, do the silly things they ask, I don’t have anything better to do anyway.

My English is much better probably because of all the books I’m reading. I developed a taste for science fiction, reading everything I could. It started as a way to escape, but now it’s a full-blown devotion. It passes the time very well, and I can almost pretend that there’s no trouble at home, at least while I’m reading.

Speaking of which, things aren’t as bad as they used to be. She seems to have given up her cruel games. There’s still hostility, contempt, misunderstanding, and she still throws fits once in a while, but I play a dunce, a victim, and she’s neutralized. My stepsister and I get along great, and maybe that has something to do with it. She has no malice of her mother, and I really like her. Of course, she’s just a little girl, about eight years younger than me, and little girls are easy to get along with. You can be silly with them all the time, and it’s natural, at least with this little girl. I wonder if I can finally be honest with them. No, I’ve worn the mask for so long, I don’t know how to behave differently around them.

The improvement has given me more time to think, unfortunately. I try to stay busy by reading, but it’s not enough. Maybe I’ll get a job when I turn sixteen, anything to keep my mind from wandering, because then I’ll start thinking of Stephanie, and that’s a trip to . . . I’m doing it again.

That day. I keep thinking back to that day. We were supposed to talk; I was going to tell her everything. Tell her what I thought of her, how she made me feel. Finally, be honest, finally show her who I am. But she didn’t come. I waited and waited, but she didn’t come. All the things I wanted to say . . . All the things I wanted to show . . . going through my mind over and over . . . But she didn’t come, I never saw her again.

The grief . . . It’s too much. I can’t even show it because I have no right. I barely knew her, and no one knew how I felt. How ridiculous then for me to show my grief. I deserve this torment for living a lie.

If only . . . If only I refused to let her go and told her how I felt. I could’ve delayed her and maybe she could’ve avoided the accident, maybe she’d be alive today. She might love me or think me a fool, but she’d be alive. If only I hadn’t been such a coward . . .

“Why don’t you join us? It’ll be fun.”

Haven’t I played enough of these silly games? Just leave me alone.

“You go ahead. Think I’ll just sit here for a while.”

“I don’t feel like playing either actually. Mind if I sit?”

“No.”

What’re you doing? Can’t you see I want to be left alone? I’m not much for conversation; you don’t want my company.

“What’s that book you got there?”

“Fiction. ‘Stranger in a Strange Land.’”

“Good book, I’ve read it.”

“Yeah.”

“That must be how you feel. A stranger in a strange land.”

“Sometimes.”

“We Americans must seem very weird to you.”

“Not really.” I’m sure I seem very weird to you.

Laugh.

What’s so funny?

“They think you’re stuck up, the way you don’t even give them the time of day. Like you’re too good for them.”

Oh? Me? Stuck up?

“They’re too good for me. I don’t belong here.”

Stare. Assessing eyes. Not so direct, you’re making me uncomfortable.

“You’re only the most popular guy at school.”

My turn to laugh!

“The most popular guy. With no friends.”

“Only because you don’t choose to.”

“Maybe.”

Come on, get to the point, why’re you sitting here talking to me? Surely not because I’m the most popular guy at school! What, did they send you to tease me into the new clique? Maybe pretend to be nice and then later turn on me when my guard is down? To ridicule me? But you don’t look like someone who’d do that. You look too friendly, too kind, even a bit weary. Maybe that’s why they sent you.

“Stephanie told me so much about you. I feel like I know you myself.”

Stephanie . . . Why do you have to bring her up? That’s right, you don’t know how I feel, how I well up in tears just hearing her name . . .

“She — ”

Pause. Quickly turning away.

What was that? Were those tears I saw?

Now I remember. You were one of her friends, a very close friend. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you. Of course, you miss her. Of course, you are sad.

Don’t force a laugh, you don’t have to hide your tears from me. I know how you feel.

“Did you know we were friends since we were little girls?”

“Really?”

“Yes, best of friends, always playing together.”

“What was she like back then?”

Smile.

“About the same. Except louder. Prettier. And shorter.”

“I can accept ‘shorter’ and maybe ‘louder.’ But ‘prettier’?”

Looking back at me with a broad smile, even broader than mine.

“She was an absolute doll, no one could ever be angry at her for long, she had a way of making you forget. Not that she was bad; on the contrary — ”

I can’t imagine her being bad. Mischievous maybe.

“Did she tell you about the time we almost drowned?”

“No.”

“There’s a lake by my house, and we used to sneak out and play in it though we weren’t supposed to. We were little then and didn’t know how to swim. If my father wasn’t around . . . He got us out of the water and we were all right. Still, he was furious. I knew I was in real trouble, but Stephanie . . . she insisted it was her idea. That wasn’t true, but — ”

Quiet.

“That sounds like her. She lied for me once too.”

“Don’t blame her for lying, she — ”

“I don’t blame her for anything.” How can I? Even her vice is a virtue, while I —

“She said you’re the most honest person she’s ever met. She didn’t think you’d love her if you knew that . . . Not that she lied often.”

Honest? Nothing about me is honest. My whole life is a lie.

Something else, something else you said . . .

“She didn’t think I’d love her?”

Don’t purse your lips, tell me!

“She swore me to secrecy, but I guess it’s okay now.”

Tell me! She won’t think of you as any less of a friend. Just tell me!

“She . . . she loved you. She almost worshipped you.”

What preposterous —

“Since when?”

“I don’t know . . . since she first saw you.”

“What?” How can I believe this?

Don’t tell me she loved me, she couldn’t possibly . . . But those glances, those tender looks . . . Could I’ve read her so completely wrong?

“She wanted to tell you but . . . sometimes you seemed so close and sometimes you seemed so distant . . . Oh, don’t . . .”

She loved me. With all the silly things I’ve said, all the silly things I’ve done, she loved me.

Detached, mistrusting, of course, I couldn’t see, these eyes have been blind for some time. I didn’t deserve either with this bitter heart, but she loved me anyway . . .

And I . . . I’ve been such a fraud, such a liar! Cowering behind a wall of deception, hiding the truth, ignoring the light . . .

“I loved her too.”

Not the person who needs who hear, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

“You — ”

Yes, and I still do. If only you could hear me, if only you could see me, see what I’ve been holding back all this time, see what you should’ve seen long ago . . .

Fluttering whispers of the light, eyes wide and blinking, containing a well of untouched peace now spilling over, little droplets of transparent gems, pure and innocent, fragile and breaking, time slowing down almost to a standstill, forever frozen, forever gone.

Why do you cry, little girl? Did something happen? Did you lose something? Or just mirroring my own eyes?

Show me your hands, your adorable little hands, and take mine. Follow me to . . . But where shall we go? Where is the path? How do we find it again?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

A boy and a girl sitting together, crying. No one dares to approach us. No one dares to even look at us.

Burning contact. Tears boiling away by the embrace, but only encouraging more. Wet, steaming mess of misery.

“I didn’t know . . . But you never — ”

“I know, I know, and now it’s too late.” Too late for truth. Too late for courage. Too late for happiness.

Too late for everything.

A serialized coming-of-age novel about a boy who must decide whether to live or die after surviving an abusive family and the death of his love: first, next.