Cameron and the Girls (13 page)

“Morning sickness,” she says.

“What?”

“Sorry. Bad joke. It's the pills. As I said, I'm still a little sick once in a while.” She moves the eggs over to the side of the skillet, but it's too late; they're all crispy on the edges.

“Don't worry,” I say, anticipating her. “I like them that way.”

But she shakes her head and turns the flame off. “I'm no good at this,” she says.

I pick up the spatula and scrape it under one of the eggs. I hold it up over the pan as oil drips through the slats.

“Maybe the cat will eat them,” she says.

“I'm sure they're great,” I say. And to prove it, I reach over and with my teeth, pull the egg to the edge of the spatula and bite into it. It's hard and salty, but I chew it, smiling. I swallow and nod.

“Oh, you're just saying that,” she says. But I can tell she is pleased. “The problem is, we don't have anything else to eat here, and we probably shouldn't be out in public.”

Then I remember and go into the living room. I grab the remote and snap on the TV. I get a whole lot of snow and a barely detectable image of a person.

“They shut off the cable a long time ago,” Nina says. “And the stupid antenna her old boyfriend rigged up blew to pieces on the roof during the last storm. Sorry.”

“It's better if I don't see them looking for me,” I say. “It'll only make it worse.”

“So what do you want to do?” she asks, swinging her arms back and forth.

“I don't know. What do you want to do?”

We stand staring at each other and I wonder what I've done.

Hello, Cam. Are you bored?

There's a shivery smile in my words. “Yes, a little.”

“What?” says Nina.

Tell her you've got to eat.

“I've got to eat,” I say.

I need you healthy and strong.
A giggle from The Girl, and I think I get it.

I laugh and see worry bloom on Nina's face. “Cameron?”

“It's okay. It's just that I think we should eat something.”

“Those were the last of the eggs.”

A human being can last approximately eighteen days without food. Much less without water. A corpse, of course, does not have to worry about food and water. I have a suggestion, Cameron. Go back home. And what's all this giggling about?

“Wrong,” I say.

Just a suggestion.

“I have a few bucks,” I say. “Do you want to go to the store?”

“I have some too,” Nina says. “I'll go, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to go with me. Somebody'll recognize you.”

“Because I'm so popular?” I say.

“No. Because you're the only one with somebody who cares about you.”

While Nina scoops up the money her mother left on the table, I dig into my pocket and pull out ten dollars and some change. I hand it over to her. “Get some protein,” I say.

 

After Nina leaves, I go back into the bedroom and lie down on the bed.

She's gone, Cam.

“I know.”

That means we're alone.

“I thought that's why you were giggling.” I am trembling and sit up further. It's the joy in her voice that sets me off. It feels so honest and real. While I'm lying against the headboard, something twists my hair and I turn quickly to see what's there. Just the ceramic chipmunk. But I hear giggling again and lean back against the bed.

“What's going on?” I say.

The noise stops, and immediately I feel something faintly touching the top of my shoulder. This time I roll over and jump out of bed. “Who is it?” I say. “Who's doing that?”

Silly boy. Who do you think?

Now I'm completely baffled. “How is it possible?” I say.

What's real, Cam?

I can't believe I'm saying this, but she may be right. Reality is perception, Mr. Galloway. How one sees the world is one's own reality.

“I told you I don't need you,” I say.

And there it is again. A slight touch on my arm, like real fingers traveling down to my wrist. It jumps from my arm to my stomach and rubs me there. Then it moves back up across my chest to my neck, where the fingers gently caress the hollow.

“Is that you?” My voice now sounds huskier.

Yes, Cam. It's me.

The touch fades and I reach out, searching for her hand. But I end up grasping only at air. “I want you,” I say.

I'm right here, Cam.

But trying to get hold of her only frustrates me more. Like a blind person, my arms are out in front of me, sweeping back and forth. Her giggle floats around my head. “How do I do this?” I cry.

Hold still.

I stop all the flailing. My arms stick out in front of me, ready to hold her.

Pucker up.

And I do. I squinch my lips together. I am so excited now; I have never felt anything like this. And it is at this moment that Nina comes into the room.

She throws a plastic bag on the bed and says, “What are you doing?”

I open my eyes, my arms still extended. I notice how empty the room is. “Uh . . .”

“You're with her, aren't you?” Nina says.

When I don't answer, she grabs the bag and runs out of the room. I hear her door slam.

I finally bring down my arms and wrap them around myself.

The coast is clear.

But the moment is over and I feel betrayed. Instead of speaking, I just shake my head.

You don't want to anymore?

“No,” I say.

There is a pause. I think I hear Nina in her room. She could be crying.

What now?

“I'm a little confused.”

Maybe I can help you.

“I feel lost sometimes. As if I don't know what to do.”

Don't worry.You're not lost. I still have you up in my brain.

“In your brain?” I laugh.

I'm serious.

“It's just a weird thing for you to say.”

She is quiet and I feel fidgety once more.

“You said that I'm still in your brain.
Your
brain.”

I know what I said. But what's so funny?

“But you're in
my
brain. How could I be in yours?”

Oh that's cute. You think I'm . . .

“What?”

The truth is, Cameron, there's a lot you don't know about me.

And then a pulse of fear shoots through my gut. I instantly feel all turned around. I slide off the edge of the bed. “I need something to do,” I say out loud.

W
orry
has entered my body. What else don't I know? If I'm in her brain . . . I shake my head. The whole idea scares me, and I look harder for something to do. I latch on to the television situation.

I go out in the tiny backyard and look up at the roof. Right at the chimney, there is a loosely attached antenna. It starts out straight at the bottom, but about halfway up, it bends at a forty-five-degree angle as if a monster wind hit it straight on. A brown ribbon of wire flows down the side of the house from it and then in through a hole cut in the window sash.

I'm not allowed on the roof at home, but this is not home, so I go searching in the carport and find what I'm looking for hanging off a pair of spikes on one of the beams. I take the ladder down, run it out to the side of the house, and test it. It's a bit wobbly, but I think it will do.

I carefully climb up, stopping for a second in the middle to let it adjust to my weight, and then quickly reach the slick edge of the roof. From there I can see that moss is sprouting in hairy clumps all the way across the surface. Not a good situation for a guy trying to get up to the chimney.

I test the shingles with my hand: they are slippery. Maybe climbing is a bad idea. I remember something Dr. Simons once told me. If you think too much or too long, it can get you into trouble. So I stop thinking and struggle onto the roof, accidentally kicking the ladder as I do, so that it falls with a crash into the rhododendrons. In seconds, the whole front of me is dark from the wet moss. Ahead I see the antenna.

Either you do or you don't fix it. Any bets?

I weather a sense of doom the way I used to when the voices first came and it felt just like this, being out on a ledge with no one around to help and gravity slowly starting to tug me down. I claw at the slimy shingles and manage to dig my hands into them, stopping my downward creep.

Interesting.

I bring my knees up under me, which helps me feel more secure. Slowly, I crawl up the roof until I make it to the chimney. I grab on to the side and pull myself up to where I'm facing the antenna.

It takes only a few seconds to straighten out the flimsy metal. When I do, I raise up my hands in a victory clasp and make a sound like a crowd cheering. A mistake. I slip on the shingles and fall hard. Again, I'm sliding down, but this time on the other side of the gable. I turn on my stomach and dig into the shingles. Gradually I slow and then stop once more.

I should scream out. I should cry out loud. But instead a different dam breaks inside me, and a torrent of hysterical laughter comes gushing out. The kind you hear on late-night slasher movies. I don't know what makes it happen, but everything seems so funny now. Years of funny. I laugh so hard that I break loose one of the shingles and have to dig again to get a better hold.

Hello, Cam.

Her voice does not shut me up. Every pore seems to bleed laughter.

It's so good to see you this way.

“Crazy fun,” I say.

It's the way it should be. Every single day should be crazy fun.

I can't stop. Dancing goose bumps twirl up and down my arms. My stomach hurts from being slammed against the roof. Waves of a strange relief pulse through my body.

Forget what I said before, Cam. It doesn't matter who's in whose brain. I love you just the way you are right now.

“I love you, too,” I say, gulping for air. Her voice is so delicate that I can't help myself. It hurts as if I were being squeezed from the inside. I want to hold myself tightly, but if I do, I'll go sliding down the roof.

“Cameron?”

At first I think it's The Girl again, but when I peek down to the lawn, I see Nina standing there.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Being stuck,” I say.

“How'd you get up there?”

“The ladder. Only it had a little accident.”

At first she's tentative, then breaks into a big smile. “It did, did it? You know there's a better way to get up and down, don't you?”

“All I'm thinking of now is getting down,” I say.

“Well, there's a place right next to where the carport meets the roof. I'll go climb up there and let you know when you can let go.”

“Let go?” I say, but she's already gone.

In a minute I hear her voice behind me. “Now, if you just let yourself slide down to where I am, I'll catch you.”

“Uh, you're not that big, Nina. What if I don't stop and we both fall off?”

“Then we both fall off, I guess,” she says. I can't see her, but I can tell what kind of look she's giving me.

I can't do it unless I can see my target, so I squirm a little to the side where I can look through the space between my elbow and my body. And there, half of Nina shows above the roofline. She does not look as mad as she did when she first got back from the store. I want to think about this, but it's as if Dr. Simons were there, ripping my fingers from the shingles. One shingle breaks off and I start to slide; another breaks and I'm going faster.

“Straighten out!” Nina yells behind me. “So I can catch your feet!”

But it's a bumpy ride and I can't control myself. Some of the humps of moss are planted deep in the shingles, and when I go over them, they twist and turn me as if I were nothing but a bouncing pinball.

Nina's still yelling, but I can't make out what she says. The hurt on the inside turns into a roller-coaster wave of thrill. The last thing I hear is Nina screaming out, “Cameron!” just as I hit something solid, quiver a moment, and then feel both of us go down in a tumbling, shouting heap.

 

My hands claw at nothing. Somehow, Nina and I disengage, so that when I hit, it is solid earth beneath me.

Whump!

I can't catch my breath even though I try with every muscle I have. It's a bad way to go, and I curse my dumb luck as the world fades around me. But just before it gets completely dark, Nina's face rises over mine.

“Can you believe it?” she shouts. I feel a light spray of spit as she does. “We lived!”

My lips are stuck together, but it's getting lighter.

“What?” she says. She turns and presses her ear against my lips. Then she raises her head. “I might have to do mouth to mouth.”

Now I can't tell if I've really gone crazy or she has. Where is the mad girl from a while ago? Again, I try to say something, but my lips are on strike. I try blinking my eyes and I manage to catch Nina's. They are strangely misty and focused. I see her lean down and I feel her lips on mine. She gently blows against them.

Electricity flashes behind my eyes, and one of my legs jumps uncontrollably.

Nina rises again and smiles. I can smell her and she smells good. Leaning back down, she kisses me again, only this time she presses harder. My lips naturally part, and our front teeth clink. Suddenly I suck in a deep, precious breath. It feels like I've stolen it from Nina's lungs. I push her off and sit up.

“Maybe that wasn't the best way down,” I say.

Nina is on her back, giggling. Her feet are slamming against the grass.

“What's wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” she manages to say, and then starts a laugh riot again. “You should have seen yourself.” Seeing her kicking her feet lights a fire in my stomach, and I laugh too.

“I'm alive,” I say in a Dr. Frankenstein voice. “I'm alive!”

“Barely,” she says as she rolls toward me. I feel the wet grass and realize that I am a shivering mess. Nina's lips are blue, and the bottom one quivers as I pause to study it. It looks like the most beautiful piece of skin I've ever seen.