We Told Six Lies(44)

She stops in the doorway. “Everything will be okay. I don’t know what you were fighting about, but you’ll work it out.” Another pause. “Call me if you need me.”

I nod.

I nod because this is what she needs from me.

She points to the room. “Clean. Then school.”

“Okay, Mom.”

She’s gone then.

And Holt is gone.

And Molly is gone.

And I am gone, and I have nothing left to lose, so I might as well drown in this darkness that’s right here at my feet, waiting with open arms.





THEN


I took you to my favorite spot.

I figured since you’d done the same for me, it was my turn to return the favor.

I love trains. Did I tell you that? I read a book once about a girl who ran away on one. The cover had purple flowers on the front, and though my brother gave me shit about it, I knew he would read it after I did.

Nerves gnawed at my stomach as we approached the tracks. I searched your face for any sign that you’d laugh at where I’d brought you. But you took my hand when you saw them and said, “This doesn’t surprise me.”

I was torn then. Happy because you knew me when few people did. Frustrated that I couldn’t surprise you.

You seemed to sense this and said, “I wouldn’t have taken you for the kind of guy to have a spot, though. You seem more like a weekend drifter.”

“You don’t know me as well as you think,” I said, to complete the circle.

“Have you ever brought anyone else out here?” you asked, stepping onto the tracks with your arms held out on either side to stay balanced. “Another girl?”

You smiled, but I heard the jealousy in your voice. What’s more, your eyes flicked with anger. You, like me, hated experiencing emotions that made you vulnerable.

“Only my brother.” I zipped up my leather jacket, something I’d stolen from a thrift store because I thought it made me look even bigger. I’d worn it to school expecting a note of envy in the other students’ faces. Instead, a kid everyone called King because he only ever ate Burger King said I looked like a walking garbage bag and threw a paper ball down the back of my shirt.

I found him outside after school that day and beat the shit out of him. He never told anyone it was me that gave him those black eyes. Said he got in a fight and man, you should see the other guy. I let him have his lie and stared at the floor when I passed him in the hallway.

“You love your brother, huh?” you said, hopping off the tracks.

I shrugged and took your place between the rails, stepping from one tie to the next.

“You talk about him a lot,” you said. “Maybe I should meet him.”

“Okay,” I said, but I didn’t want you to meet him, because everyone preferred my brother over me—my dad, my mom, my teachers. What if you did, too?

“Rhana still won’t talk to me,” you said. “All I said was that I needed a little space. I mean, she wanted me to spend the night every night. Made me claustrophobic.”

My heart lurched because I wondered then, Do I make you claustrophobic?

“No, you make me happy,” you said, because you always knew what was in my brain. I liked it. No, actually, maybe I didn’t. No, I did.

“Anyway, now she’s pissed that I keep hanging out with Nixon. Guess she thinks I should sulk like she’s doing, but whatever.” As an afterthought, you said, “Last time I talked to her she wanted to show me her dad’s canoe. Like, what are we going to do? Go canoeing? She’s starting to make up excuses to be with me.”

“Maybe she’s in love with you,” I said.

You made a face, but when you realized I wasn’t joking, you said, “You think?”

You seemed to consider this, and for just a moment, a look of contemplation and a small smile lifted your face. Then you shook your head.

“Nah,” you said. “She’s just trying to avoid her parents.”

“Aren’t we all?”

You reached out and took my hand, and we walked like that for several minutes, me stepping over the ties and you stepping through the frozen grass. You had on yellow rain boots. I’ll never forget those rain boots as long as I live.

I glanced over at you and saw how your face had fallen. “What is it?”

You shrugged.

“You’re thinking about how to get out of here?” I said, because whenever talk of parents arose, you withdrew into yourself. I was reminded of that night beside the restaurant, when I promised you I’d get us out of here. Far, far away from this town and the shackles that bound us.

“I’m still saving money,” I said quickly. But it wasn’t coming fast enough. Because of school, I could only earn about a hundred and fifty bucks a week. I needed enough for a car. For gas. And we’d need motel money. And money for food and clothing and medicine and all the other crap Mom said we took for granted.

After I graduated I could work more, but could you wait six months, and then even more after that? Could I? If I were being honest, I’d admit that I was afraid you’d change your mind. Pick someone else to run away with you.

You would run. There was no doubt about that.

“It’s okay,” you said, but your voice sounded so broken that I wanted to rip the bones from my body and give them to you for strength. “I’ve been applying to places.”