Ghosting (18 page)

We’ll see,
she says looking up at the night sky.

Polly barks

then,

and lays

her head

on Emma’s

thigh.

See, I win!
Emma laughs.

Still the same old Emma,
I say, grinning at her.

Her smile

fades.

No,
she says.
Not the same old Emma.

EMMA

One thing that’s happened is

I think a lot about death.

I never used to, but now I do.

Faith told me about the white birds

and the quiet, peaceful feeling

she got when she almost died.

I felt jealous when she told me.

And I find myself wondering if it’s

different for each person.

Maybe someone good and true like Faith

is worthy of the quiet and the white birds.

But someone like me, not so much.

Because all of it—Brendan in a wheelchair,

Felix in a coma, Faith almost dying

is my fault.

I’ve always careened through my life,

full speed, doing exactly what I want,

without thinking about the consequences.

And see what happened.

So I think about death

and I keep wondering:

Is it really white birds and quiet?

Or maybe it’s a dark hole

you get sucked into.

Or a place of fire.

Or maybe it’s just

nothing
.

The scary thing is that

these days

nothing
actually sounds good.

Tuesday, October 26

FAITH

One day,

eating

peanut butter

sandwiches

in the kitchen,

I tell Emma

how floored

I am by

my friends,

how amazing

they’ve been,

all those

paper cranes.

You deserve it,
she says.
That girl Francesca, the one with the tattoo on her ankle, she’s the one who organized it all, right?

Yeah,
I say.

Emma hobbles

to the fridge

for more milk.

Em,
I blurt,
what’s going on with you and Brendan?

Her back

gets stiff.

Then she

turns to me.

I . . . I don’t know, Faith,
she says, her face sad.
And that’s the truth. I’ve seen him a couple times and he acts the same, like nothing’s happened, nothing’s wrong. But it’s all on the surface, with lots of jokes about the wheelchair, like he doesn’t care.

She comes

back to

the table.

I don’t even know if I’m his girlfriend anymore,
she says.

Do you want to be?
I ask.

Tears come

into her

eyes.

Oh, Faith . . . The thing is, and this sounds like bullshit now, but I’d been planning to break up with him, once school started. But now . . .

And she

starts crying.

I pull my

chair next

to hers

and put

my arms

around her.

It’ll be all right,
I say.

She shakes

her head.

I don’t see how,
she says.

And the

hopelessness

in her voice

scares me.

Thursday, November 11

BRENDAN

The worst times are when

I realize I can’t do something.

And people around me

try to do it for me.

I even yelled at Bobby once for that,

which made me feel like shit afterward.

Getting the car with hand controls

made a big difference.

I mastered it pretty quick

and right away felt more independent.

And I’m still good at faking most people out,

in order to get what I want.

The main thing I want right now is to numb the pain

and I figured out a good way to do that.

The only other thing

I care about is Bobby.

Don’t want him freaked out by

his crippled big brother.

So he’s my first passenger

in the new nifty handicapped car.

I can feel him watching me closely

as I work the hand controls.

I take him to his favorite fast-food place,

drive-through, which is a godsend for crips.

We sit in the car, munching french fries.

And it feels good.

I wanted to go to the hospital,
Bobby says suddenly.

It’s okay,
I start to say, but he interrupts.

Dad didn’t let me.

I think about that.

And I guess Dad was protecting Bobby.

Which could be the one thing

that he and I agree about.

I think Dad was hoping he could make me better before you saw me,
I say.
But it turned out he couldn’t.

But you’re going to be okay, right?
Bobby asks.

Yeah,
I say, with a reassuring grin.
Not exactly what I was planning. But I’m good.

Are you still going to college?

Dunno,
I say.
You need some more fries?

He shakes his head.
I heard you tell your girlfriend once that you really wanted to go to college in Colorado.

You did?
I ask, surprised.

Yeah,
he says,
and I think you still should, even if you can’t ski anymore.

I reach for his fries.

’Sides,
Bobby says, persistent as ever,
I looked it up on the Internet and there is some way people in wheelchairs can still ski.

I feel some weird lump in my throat,

like I may throw up or cry.

That’s bullshit,
I say, my voice coming out rough and angry.

Bobby shuts his mouth then,

looking at me with a confused expression.

I swallow hard,

trying to dislodge the lump.

I’m sorry, Bobby. It’s just that sometimes I get tired of all the pretending,
I say.

I wasn’t,
he protests.
I did see it on the Internet.

I’m sure you did,
I say, feeling suddenly exhausted.

So,
he says, his words halting,
does this mean you won’t be taking me ice-skating this winter?

Before, when I wasn’t in this chair,

ice-skating was one of our favorite things to do.

We’d go every winter,

just the two of us.

No, I mean, yes, of course, I’ll take you ice-skating,
I say, forcing enthusiasm I don’t feel.
Are you kidding.? I wouldn’t miss it.

His face lights up and we high-five,

me with a big fake smile on my face.

Like I’ve just made a promise

I intend to keep.

Tuesday, November 16

MAXIE

Ever since

that night

I’ve been going to

the hospital,

regularly,

to visit Felix.

Still in a coma,

hooked up to machines.

I sit by his bed

and read to him.

Felix’s mom is there a lot.

She’s very friendly,

likes to chat,

and I learn that

Felix’s dad came home

from Afghanistan

right after the shooting.

But then he went back

when it looked like

Felix wasn’t going to wake up

soon.

She says he had to go

because they need the money.

She’s had to quit her job

to be with Felix.

But she seems okay,

strong even.

Not the depressed mom from before

who couldn’t get her act together

to pay bills

and cook meals.

Now she’s more like the mom

I remember from when we were

kids.

When his mom isn’t there

I read to Felix.

At first I read him

random things,

like homework

assignments, but then

I remember

those Joey Pigza books,

his favorites

from 5th grade.

I get all four books

from the library

and after I finish

the first one,

I decide to read them

all straight through.

And I begin to have this

superstitious belief

that Felix will wake up

when I come to

the last word of

the last book.

I get my hopes up

way too high.

And keep looking at him

after practically every sentence

during that last chapter.

But he doesn’t

wake up.

The machines just keep

whirring.

So I pick up the very first book

and start over,

from the beginning.

Tuesday, November 30

EMMA

One afternoon I go to

visit Brendan and he is

playing a video game.

It’s the kind where you

track people down

and shoot them.

I can’t believe he’d want to play

a game like that, not after

that night.

Seeing the splattered blood,

hearing the muted death cries,

makes me feel sick.

I struggle to tune it out,

cold sweat prickling my skin.

I ask how his Thanksgiving was.

It was okay,
he says.
Though I passed when it came to the whole what-have-we-got-to-be-thankful-for routine. For obvious reasons.
Patting the arm of his wheelchair, he gives me a sweet, dimpled smile.

Then he blasts a guy in a tan raincoat

and blood fountains out onto the sidewalk.

My breathing gets ragged. I want to go.

But I find myself wondering;

is Brendan imagining that each of these

guys he’s blowing away is Walter Smith?

Before that night I would have asked him,

I would have made him tell me

what’s really going on with him.

But I can’t now. And I don’t know why,

except I think it’s because I’m afraid,

afraid of what I’ll hear.

Brendan sets down

the game controller and

wheels himself around to face me.

So, Emma,
he says, looking me straight in the eye,
it’s really nice of you to make the effort to come see me. It’s more than a lot of kids have done. And I do really appreciate it and all. But I’ve been thinking, it’d be better for me, if you didn’t, anymore.

I stare at him.

I’m sorry to be so blunt, but I . . . I mean I guess it’s just not working anymore. Guess I need time.

Okay,
I mumble,
if that’s how you feel.

It is,
he says, picking up the controller again.

Brendan,
I blurt out,
are you okay?

Which, the minute I say it,

sounds so unbelievably

lame.

He looks at me,

and his mouth twists up into

a smile.

And for a minute I see something dark,

a deep black rage,

underneath that smile.

Then he just turns back to his video game

and blasts some guy in a cowboy hat

to hell.

Thursday, December 2

MAXIE

It’s a quiet Thursday afternoon

and it must be somebody’s birthday

because a couple of

Mylar balloons are bobbing

over the nurses’ station.

And a dark-haired nurse

gives me a cheery smile

as I walk by.

Felix looks the same as usual,

the right side of his face

swathed in gauze,

covering his

missing eye.

The machines are whirring away,

the IV bottle doing its continual

dripping thing.

I sit down,

staring at the steady

rise and fall

of his chest,

and suddenly I am

overcome with

sadness.

What if Felix

never

wakes up?

Tears prick at my eyes

and, determined not

to cry,

I pick up Joey Pigza,

and start where I left off

the day before.

Then I come to

one of my favorite bits,

when Joey Pigza’s dad talks

about the bad stuff he

did in the past when

he was

drinking

too much.

Joey’s dad says,
“My past. . . gets sort of scary and ugly and to tell you the truth I’d just rather have, you know, the new times to talk about. The now times. I’d rather just show you Storybook Land and play baseball and work on making new memories.”

And I can’t help thinking about

my dad

and his beers this summer and

also about

Felix’s dad

and what he did to Felix’s mom,

and then about MoonBuzz and

the bad things that happened

that night.

And I begin to start wondering

if there can ever

be any

new now times

to replace the

old bad ones.

Tears come.

Blinking them back,

I take a few deep breaths

and start reading again.

But all of a sudden

I hear

a little

noise.

I automatically look

at the machines

hooked up to Felix

to see if something is

wrong,

but they’re all

humming along,

same as usual.

Then I look at Felix

and his eyelid,

the one that isn’t

covered with bandages,

is

twitching

all over

the place,

which I’ve never seen

it do before.

Then the noise

comes again

and I see his mouth

move

and that the noise

is a little grunt

coming from

HIM.

My heart starts

hammering.

Felix?