Love Rewards The Brave (24 page)

160.

I beat Benji in Ping-Pong

and he beats me in checkers.

The afternoon wasn’t long

enough.

Benji is different somehow.

In a good way.

In a grown up way.

I see him like I never have before.

A person who’s going to be okay

without me.

I’ve been trying so hard to save him

make him

whole.

I can’t offer salvation when I

haven’t set myself free.

I can’t offer salvation to a

boy who I see

is becoming more whole than me.

Whole in his imperfection

because he’s finding

a voice

in his introspection.

In his dissection of his

story.

And God,

that sounds like a salve-made-for-glory.

He’s still hurting, that’s for sure.

A nurse came in once

and gave him his meds

a cupful of pills

pinkbluered.

He swallowed them fast

they must be what

is giving him this last

ing

effect of calm and collected.

It’s working.

I wonder what my mom would have

been like

if she’d gone to a

doctor for help

for her head

instead of lying in bed

self-diagnosing

self-medicating in a sicktwistedway.

Crazy how Benji’s attempt on his life

is the very thing

saving

him.

I put on my coat

Ms. F’s here to pick me up.

“Are you going to be okay here, Benji?”

“Yeah. I’m more worried about you, sis.”

I scrunch up my mouth. “You keep making me cry, Benji. Stop it, will you?”

“Louisa, did they give you the note? The note I wrote the first time…time I tried?”

I nod

thinking of the crumpled piece

of paper

I put in my palm.

“Do you remember the stars?”

“I remember the stars, Benji.”

And I did.

I do.

I remember the nights that came after

the dark.

The dark that broke us.

I see how they stole

so much from us

but here

right now

in the clean white facility

I can see that

they never took what mattered most:

Brother and Sister.

Lou-Lou and her little Benji-Boy.

The dark

is pushed out by

the light.

The sickness they carried

that they tried to pass along to us

didn’t survive.

But we did.

We Are
.

We Are Survivors.

161.

Suddenly I’m on a roll.

Rock n’ Roll inspiration from the 6-Spot’s

not quite what I mean.

More like rolling down a hill

suddenly feeling free.

Finding words for my poetry performance

that makes me believe

in change.

I take a break from the words I write

to go to the hill by the side of the house

the one still covered in snow.

The February chill

still setting in deep down to my bones,

but somehow I just

know

what I need.

I need the rolling down a hill

feeling of free.

Jess is with me

and I know I need to tell her

a piece

so the

rest doesn’t come like a shock.

We ditch our sleds

as we act like kids

rolling in the snow.

We get to the bottom and we laugh

loud

our make-up smeared in the

tiny creases of our eyes.

Surprised

it’s as fun as it is.

We lie on our backs

snow angels under us

the wings flying with us

we look at one another

both knowing there’s so much unspoken

ground
I
we never had the guts to tread.

She speaks first.

“Louisa…?” Her voice cracks.

Maybe it was the exhilaration of the

downhill motion

or maybe it was the part of her that was scared

to utter words that would

ring true.

“Are you okay?” she finishes.

I hear the hitch in her voice.

I feel the catch in my throat.

“Not really, Jess,” I say.

Before I can turn away

she makes me stay

by grabbing my hand.

Wrapping it around

hers.

And the contact that I spend forever running from

hits me full force.

I can do this.

I can be like Benji.

I can find words.

Even if it’s hard.

I can be brave.

“What happened to you, Louisa? To make you like this?”

“It started before I can even remember. My dad. Taking pieces of me until there was nothing left.”

162.

I keep talking,

telling the story of my childhood.

She stays by my side

in the freezing white snow

as I recount the times my dad

took away my innocence

causing me to be ambivalent

about my own life.

There are parts that make her cry and parts

where I do, too.

I realize with the telling

that this is what it means to

be real

to be known

to have a friend

who is willing to hold

you when you fall.

And I wish

I just wish

like I used to wish

on the stars at night

that I had

told her sooner

because the telling is what makes

you heal

be real

be known

and being known is just like I thought

but was too scared to try.

Being known

is so much better than

being alone.

Later that day

while the wet clothes dry

and I’ve had a chance to say

almost

everything

Jess stands in Ms. F’s kitchen

hands me a mug of hot cocoa.

“Louisa, I’m so proud to be your friend. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

She

will never understand

that my strength comes

from people like her ––

the ones who are here

after.

The ones who are there even though they know the

ugly

dark

secrets.

The ones who choose to stay.

163.

There are so many clothes on the racks

at the mall. I should have

found a way to stall

because getting a cool outfit, special to wear

for the show

is ramping it all up too much

it makes me feel like I might

blow

it all.

“I don’t know, Ms. Francine. I can just wear something I already have. I don’t need anything new.”

“I know you don’t
need
anything, Louisa. But I want to do this for you.”

I puff out my cheeks as I think

about the pressure mounting.

The competition is tomorrow

and I’ve rehearsed non-stop

trying to block

out any negative thoughts.

Just trying to think about

what I am.

Ignoring what I’m not.

That’s what Margot told me to do.

“Jess said I could borrow her black leather pants. Maybe I’ll just do that.”

“Is that what you want to do?” Ms. F asks.

“Uh, I don’t know. I’ve only been to one of these things and it was all adults. Adults who like looked like they knew what they were doing.”

“Well, I’ve been to lots of these things over the years for Margot and I know that the most important thing is to be comfortable and be
yourself
.”

“Is this like a pep talk or something?” I roll my eyes.

“No, but I do know that skin tight leather pants in a crowded room might make you pretty sweaty, which might make you feel less then amazing.”

True.

Not to mention Jess is at least

two sizes smaller than me.

Sucking in all night to

pull that off

might be

less than

ideal.

“I guess that makes sense…in that case, what I’d really love to wear is this.”

I hold up a dress from the rack

with a vintage look of lace on the

hem but purposefully sewn in

crooked.

“You never wear white,” she says.

“No. This one. This one is perfect.”

I hold the white dress

up to myself

in a mirror

seeing everything

more clear.

164.

Shit.

I keep smudging my eyeliner.

Not on purpose.

More like in mini-freak-out-mode

what the hell do I know

about standing on stage?

Why did I
agree
choose to do this?

Margot comes to my rescue

as she walks into my bedroom

grabbing a tissue to

help fix

my misuse

of a black gel pen.

“Are you doing okay? I heard a scream from up here.”

“I don’t know. Do you like this dress? I keep messing up my makeup and I don’t think I can even remember the words anymore. Can I write them on my hand?” I ask.

She taps her forefinger

on her lips

listening with intent

to my rant.

“And Margot, I should have listened to you and Jess and just read my poem to practice, out loud, to you guys. I don’t know why I didn’t. Can we go through it now? We have time!”

Margot doesn’t give into my

meltdown so I try

again.

“Also, do you know who all is going to be there tonight? I know Toby and his boyfriend said they were coming. And Ms. F’s friends from book club. And shit, Jess texted saying Markus was coming with her. Do you think you could just call everyone and tell them the show was cancelled. Or pneumonia. I think I have pneumonia!”

I fall on my bed.

Face down.

“Stand up,” she says.

“Huh?” I eek out.

“I said, stand up. You heard me.”

I roll over

to look at her while I clutch

my stomach

feigning my newly-discovered

illness.

“Louisa, in the time I have known you I don’t think I’ve ever, ever seen you act so…so…normal.”

“You don’t think I’m normal?”

“No, not that you aren’t
normally
normal- just like, you are
so
acting like a
teenager
right now. It’s hilarious. Usually you’re so reserved. This is good. You need this emotion for tonight.”

I roll my eyes.

Knowing I’m playing into what she said

about me

but trying to

repress the smile

twitching at the side of my mouth

it’s near impossible.

“Can you please call them and cancel?” I try one last time.

“Absolutely not. You are going to rock this. I don’t even know what you’re going to say and I still know you will.”

“Can’t we go through it once, together, before we go?”

“Nope. You got yourself this far, you can do the rest. I’m excited to hear this just like everyone else. As a fan.”

“Fine.”

I huff and go back to the mirror

to reapply the liner

on my eyes.

“Would you tell Ms. Francine I just need another minute.”

“Of course, and you know, Louisa, I always find the best way to fight my jitters is to have the person who calms me the most talk me down.”

“I don’t know who that is,” I answer.

“I think you do.”

She walks out of my room

leaving me alone.

I turn back to the mirror

blowing out my cheeks.

165.

Margot drove her own car

so it’s just the two of us

in the car together, like so many

days before.

Ms. Francine always taking me to where I need

to go.

“You doing okay? You hardly ate all day, Louisa,” she asks.

“I’m fine. Just nervous. I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“Yes, you do. You know why, Louisa. Because your heart is telling you
this is exactly
what you need to do.”

“But why do you believe in me so much when I’ve never done this before?” I ask.

At a red light she stops

and looks over,

choosing to see

me as I am.

“Because I
was
you, Louisa. I was a girl, with a story to tell, who was never free until I learned to use my words.”

“You went onstage, like Margot?”

“No, I didn’t go on stage. But I did spend years and years keeping the truth a secret from the people who wanted to help help.”

“It was the story Margot told at the poetry night, on New Years Eve, right? When you were crying?”

“That was part of my story. And it isn’t in me to share it on stage, but Margot is made to do that, so I want her to share that part of our past. To help someone else be strong, in ways that I can’t.”

“But maybe I’m like you, Ms. Francine. Maybe it
isn’t in me
either. Maybe someone like Margot is better for this job.”

“I can’t answer that for you. But I do think if you’ve gotten yourself to this place –– to sign up for this on your own, to write the words without any help, to practice every day –– that something inside of you knows ––
really knows
–– this is the right thing, for you.”

She’s right.

I feel it in my bones.

The shaky bones

that

deep down know

this is the

way for me

to find a way

out

of the secret hiding place.

“Ms. F?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Who is your new room mate going to be?”

“Louisa, I’d love to talk to you about that, so much so –– but can we wait until after the show?”

She pulls in a parking space

turns off the car.

She leans over to me

kisses my forehead

and I see

that she’s the one

who calms me most

and that she

was just able to

talk

me

d

o

w

n

.