Whisper to Me(20)

But then he was in the Navy and he got shot. He left, joined civilian life again, and lost his wife. So he’s naturally pessimistic to begin with. But now, because of his experiences, he’s also just miserable. Miserable and angry.

It took me like two hours to clean the floor, and then the voice wanted me to hurt myself, so I did.

That night, Dad brought pizza back from the restaurant, tried to get me to laugh, but I wouldn’t say anything to him. I just ate my pepperoni slice and left the plate for him to clear up, left him sitting at the table alone. Just like a bratty teenager, but in my defense I was being tortured by a voice I couldn’t see. I could have acted worse.

I only managed to hold on for a couple of days after that.

There were still some times even in those two days that were okay. When I was outside, for example. I ended up spending more time in our yard than I ever had before. I could tell Dad found it weird. I would sit in one of the old mildew-covered deck chairs and zone out.

A couple of times, Dad came out and tried to get me interested in bugs that were in the garden too, beetles and things that he brought to me proudly in the palm of his hand. That’s exactly what he was doing in fact when you arrived.

So this is the first scene that you were there for too.



EXT. A FRONT YARD ON A LOWER-MIDDLE-CLASS NEW JERSEY STREET. MORNING. OCEAN MIST IN THE AIR.

A TEENAGE GIRL SITS IN A MOLDY DECK CHAIR. SHE IS PALLID, HER HAIR AND CLOTHES IN DISARRAY, BECAUSE SHE IS BEING HAUNTED BY A GHOST AND DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH IT.

THE SUN IS HIGH IN THE SKY. THE TIDE IS UP.



DAD: (crouched next to me) “Look at this.” (proffering an insect that he has taken out of a FedEx box) “Australian spiny stick. Simple but fascinating.”

THE VOICE: That’s disgusting. Tell him to go away.



On the street, a bus rolls past, but I don’t really register it.

ME: Nothing.

Because …



… I opened my mouth to do as the voice said, to tell Dad to go away, and that was when you and Shane appeared. I guess you had gotten off the bus, but it was as if you materialized, out of nothing, out of sea vapor maybe, carried up our street from the waves. You both stood there on the sidewalk, looking at the house number and then at us, you and Shane, with big duffel bags at your feet.

I think Dad had forgotten that was the day you were arriving. You raised your hand in a half wave.

Dad stood and nodded. “Uh, hi, boys,” he said. “The apartment, right?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, and I could tell Dad liked that.

“We can come back?” Shane said. “If you’re busy?”

Dad looked down at the bug still in his hand. “No, no,” he said. “Just showing Cassie this stick insect. You like bugs?”

“Um,” you said. “Sure?”

“Great,” said Dad. “I’ll show you some stuff later that will blow your mind. But look at this guy. Look at those spines.” He stepped forward and reached out his hand and you made polite noises that only Dad would fail to notice were only for show.

What he did finally notice was that he was introducing a bug before he introduced his one and only daughter, so he turned. “This is my daughter, Cassie,” he said.

“Hi,” said Shane to me. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hey,” you said.

I said nothing, even though I wanted to. But I couldn’t antagonize the voice, not even for you. Not then. I got up to head back to my room.

Dad glared at me, like, make nice. I ignored him. I must have seemed, and looked, terrible. I’m sure I was pale and thin, and I was wearing sweatpants and an old T-shirt. No makeup, hair in a scrunchie. The voice was always telling me I looked bad, but it also didn’t like me dressing up or putting on mascara or anything like that because it said I looked like a slut. It was very contradictory.

Anyway, focus, Cassie, focus on the main thing, which is not me but you, and to you, I must have made an awful first impression.

What were my first impressions of you? I can’t remember. I think I noticed Shane more—his size, his muscles. I don’t mean I was attracted to him; I just mean he was more noticeable. He clearly worked out a lot and he had messed up his hair with wax. His Abercrombie & Fitch hoodie looked new and expensive. He had that square-jawed thing going on.

You … You looked like the kind of guy you never see in a movie. Good looking, but not ostentatiously so. Sorry. Slim, but not one of those skinny quirky kids in films about outsiders who win everyone over in the end. And not the jock either. The clothes you were wearing looked old, but well looked after.

Okay, I lied. I noticed Shane, but I noticed you. I mean, you bothered me, right from the start. I wanted to know more about you. It was your eyes, I think. I mean, they didn’t shine or any of those clichés. What they did was to look at things, all the time. Like you were interested in everything, curious about everything. Which, knowing you a bit better now, I think is probably true.

But you didn’t look directly at me. Thinking about it now, I guess you were probably shy.

Back then I felt like I wasn’t worth your attention. I felt like it made sense that you didn’t look at me.

You hung back and let Shane do the talking. He told Dad how he’d come from New York and you’d come from Stonebridge, twenty miles inland, to work for the summer. You’d met each other at the bus station—you’d both been checking out the ad Dad had posted on the cork bulletin board. Shane was going to be a lifeguard for the summer, and you were going to work the concessions.