Sleeping Handsome (4 page)

~7~

My backpack hits the side of the plaid
chair and rolls under the corkboard of pictures on his wall. “All right, I realized
I can’t get upset with you if I’m just as spineless as you. Probably more so.”
I face the bed and step closer to him. He’s motionless of course. Although I
know he can’t hear me, I have to force myself to voice my fears. “I’ll admit
I’m scared shitless too. If Amanda’s this bad as her friend, what will she do
to me if I break out of our so-called friendship? My life will most likely be
hell. I’m not sure dealing with her fury is worth gaining integrity.”

I let out a long
breath. “Like you, it’s just so much easier playing this out until the end of
the year.” I fall into the lazy boy with a thud. “So how can I judge you?”

Beeps and the whoosh of
air are all that answer me.

“Well I can’t. We both
know that.” I’m aware this is getting weird. Me talking to him as if he can
hear me, but ever since I read the first journal entry, he’s become more real
to me. I feel like I know him. Even understand him. I’ve grown to like and
respect him. And he’s even helping me understand myself. “Somewhere along the
way of my illustrious high school career I traded my humanity for a prison of
popularity. And now I’m stuck.”

My fingers dig at my
temples. “You know, the more I think about it, the more I realize the last
three years have been like one long audition, and I’m not sure who I am
anymore.” I let my hands fall. Buck up bitch, I tell myself and my fingers
reach for the heavy spine of the journal. Sick of my thoughts and myself, I
pull the nail file out and begin reading.

March
7,

I
tried to break up with Melanie today. She threw a crying shit fit.

Big
fat tears and loud sobs destroyed my resolve.
 

While
my head pounded with the forming of my lies, I told her I didn’t mean it.
Things at home have just been crazy. My classes hard. My dad in overdrive. The
pressure of it all too much.

Still
crying, she stumbled toward me and I took her into my arms.

She
doesn’t fit there anymore, at all.
 

Worse,
my resolve is slowly becoming calloused over by indifference.

My eyes narrow on his swollen
face in thought. “After pages and pages of whining about Melanie, I think you
do care about her. You’re just smart enough to realize staying with her is
going to hurt her more. But what’s with guys and crying?” I ask with a smirk.
“You can never handle it. Can you? The water works break and you all turn to
pliable Play-Doh. Well you tried. It’s something isn’t it?” I let out a puff of
air. “More than before, more than I’ve ever done.”

My page flip is a bit
harsher than usual.

March
15,

I
finally did it.

(Halleluiah, good-bye
Melanie.)

At
first, he didn’t believe me.

(Oh, wait. I sit up.
This is way bigger stuff than Melanie.)

Then
he tried to argue with me. Called me a fool. Couldn’t believe I would give up a
full ride. But once it was out, I couldn’t stop. I just kept repeating, “I’m
not playing football in college. I’m going to get a MFA. I’m going to be a
writer.” Finally, comprehension entered his eyes and he almost hit me. Pulled
his hand back and stared at me for the longest two minutes of my life before
walking away.

Part
of me felt deflated. The other part, relieved.

I
don’t have to pretend anymore. I don’t have to live his dream.

He
hasn’t talked with me since. Won’t even look at me.

I’d
been so fearful so long of hurting him, but inside…

I’m
guiltless.

My hands are shaking as
tears well in my eyes. I want to compare my tears to crying at an uplifting
movie, but my reaction feels far more real than that. I’m just so happy. And
for once crying doesn’t bother me. “Oh, wow Zach. You did it.”

I jump out of the chair
with the journal hugged to my chest and do a stupid dance over to him. “I can’t
believe it. You really told your dad!” Once my feet settle down, I brush his
knuckles with my fingers. “I’m so proud of you. You’re so the opposite of a
spineless. So the opposite of me.”

My fingers freeze when
I realize I’m rubbing—more like caressing—his wrist. I slowly step away and sit
in the chair. After a calming breath—I’m still floored at what I read—I lay the
journal on my knees and wipe the wet corners of my eyes. “I hope your Dad comes
to accept your decision. Yes, that’s what I’m hoping to read next,” I say and
lift the journal up.

March
24,

I
broke up with Melanie today.

Of
course, she had another crying shit fit.

This
time I didn’t crack. Just said I was sorry. Told her the truth that she
deserves someone better than me. She cried harder and I mumbled something about
how she should find someone who cares about her more.

Not
the best thing to say.

The
tears ended. Her face twisted into something from a horror flick. She then
slapped me across the face and told me off with the F-word.

The
rest of the day she walked around red eyed and it ate at my gut even with her
posse giving me dirty looks.

Yet
between my dad’s animosity and hers, I feel lighter. I feel free.

Weightless.

I
feel like I’m finally doing right.

Without a thought, I’m
back at the side of his bed. “Wow. You. Are. Awesome.”
 
I stare at him. “Back to back even…”

I’ve never really
looked at him this close. His long lashes lay against the almost white skin of
his cheeks. A slight shadow of stubble covers his jaw. I glance at the table
across from me filled with shampoo and toothpaste and shaving gel. I usually
ignore that table. Between that stuff and the growth of hair on his face, I
become very aware that he is alive.

My eyes search the face
of this boy I’ve come to know, respect, and genuinely like. The boy from the
journal that has me wishing more every day he’d wake up. The swollen contours
of his skin make it hard to discern his features, but I suddenly, desperately
want to see the real Zach.

I memorize his features
before backing up to the corkboard on the wall. No matter how long I search,
none of the faces looks familiar. “Where are you, Zach?” I whisper. Defeated, I
step away, but then out of the corner of my eye I catch the shelf of trophies.
At the end of the top shelf, sandwiched between two large golden footballs, are
several yearbooks.

I’m reaching for the
last one in seconds. His senior year. I push pages in a flurry and quickly find
the colored senior section. I race through the R’s then the T’s until I get to
the W’s. My finger traces names.
Wacom
,
Wagger
,
Wahl
…until my nail points to
Wallace,
Zach
. I raise my eyes to the picture and the book teeters in my grasp and
almost falls to the carpet.

Holy shit.

He said girls checked
him out all the time and I thought he
was
being a bit egotistical. But now looking at his picture, I realize he’d just
been stating the facts.

He’s perfection.
 

My fingers brush his
flawless face. Between the dark hair, strong jaw, and white smile he could be a
model
.
But the tilt in the smile and
glint in his dark blue eyes looks familiar, looks like the Zach I’ve come to
know.

In a daze, I wander
back to the corkboard. I easily find him in various pictures. Sitting in the
front with his football team on the stands. One of the tallest standing in the
back of a track team picture. Laughing with a group around a twilight beach
fire. Holding a tall, blonde by the waist in front of a roller coaster with a
group of friends.
 
In each picture he out
shines everyone so much, I’m startled I didn’t notice him before. Not that I’d
know it was him, but how could I have missed tall, dark, and handsome?

He’s that magnetic.

I never imagined he’d
be this good looking. Sure, I expected him to be attractive. Now, I’m just
stunned at how gorgeous he is…was?

Actually, it’s kind of
freaking me out.

My gaze snaps to the
bed. His chest moves up and down to the rhythmic whoosh of the breathing
machine. My own chest pauses as I hold in air and realize…

I don’t want him to
wake up.

Ever.

Lying there, he’s mine.
But that boy in the picture will never be.

Stumbling away from him
as if trying to escape my selfish thoughts, I hit the dresser and the sharp
bite on my spine brings reality.

I
am
a bitch.

Unable to even look at
him, I shelf the yearbook, then the journal, and grab my bag. I rush out
without saying my normal goodbye. In my shocked state, I can’t even speak to
him.

~8~

I take a deep breath, enter his room,
and set my keys on the dresser. “Well, my car’s finally fixed. And I had a
pretty good weekend.”
 
Well sort of. I
spent most of it getting my head together. “Friday, I watched movies in my
PJ’s. I haven’t done that in eons. And of course Saturday, I took my sister
out. We went to the circus, which was actually fun. Freaky clowns aside. My
sister’s pretty great. It’s hard being jealous of all the attention she gets
because she’s just
so
sweet.”

Ignoring the corkboard
of pictures, I go to the shelf and grab his journal. “Sunday I caught up on my
homework.”
 
I don’t tell him about my
pool lounging time on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday when I thought about him and
faced the fact that I have a major crush on a boy in a coma. A boy who will
never know me. “Physics is killing me, but I’m determined to get at least a B-
in that class. If I get all A’s and B’s, my stepfather pays for acting lessons.
Real acting lessons from the pros who work with the stars. Of course, I only
use my acting chops at auditions. Amanda can’t have friends in stupid school
plays. But I have been in three commercials. I even had a line for a gluten
free bakery commercial.” I pause and belt out the line enthusiastically, “It
tastes just like real cake!”
 

With hardened resolve
lodged in my chest, I finally face him. He looks the same as always, calm and
still. And suddenly I truly wish he wasn’t. A shudder of relief flows through
me. I really do want him to wake up.

“I also thought a lot
about us this weekend. Just comparing us,” I mumble, because there really isn’t
a Zach and Paige no matter how much I’m starting to wish for the possibility. I
fall into the lazy boy. “About your honesty with your dad and Melanie. Even
before you broke up with her, you felt guilty and knew you were doing wrong.
But me? I haven’t felt guilty. I’ve been blaming Amanda for the bitch I’ve
been. Just going with the flow. And now that I’m starting to take
responsibility, I get how you felt. The guilt is eating me inside out.”

The worn out upholstery
of the chair tickles my cheek as I look out the window without out seeing. “But
I just don’t know what to do. It’s not like breaking up with a boyfriend. And
how do you right the wrongs you’ve done to tons of people over three years?
Most of it was petty bullshit, but then maybe it was just petty bullshit to
me.”

My lips tighten as I
open the journal. “Guess I have to keep thinking on how to go about that. Or
even if I’m brave enough to weather the thunder or however you say that.”

April
5,

My
letter finally came today.

I’ve
been granted a partial scholarship.

Initially,
I was bummed, but then in this economy sixty percent of tuition paid isn’t too bad.
I’d planned on working fifteen hours or so at the gym during college. Now I’ll
just have to squeeze in thirty hours and find a roommate. Because I can’t live
here.

If
we’re not ignoring each other, my Dad and me are arguing, actually screaming.
He can’t understand why I’d take a partial scholarship to a local university
instead of full ride to a major university. He won’t listen to me when I tell
him their MFA program is nationally ranked. And my Mom just sits there clueless
stuck between our anger. Hurting her, more than anything else, is making me
nuts.

At
least things are better at school. Matt and Melanie are dating. They’re not a
couple yet or anything, but she’s moving on and not calling me every day. Her
posse has even quit giving me dirty looks in the hall—like I ever cared. And
Matt, he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him, which makes me realize I did the
right thing all over again. Just wish I’d done it sooner.

A
few girls asked me out. I declined. I’m going to wait until summer to start
dating. Far away from Melanie’s sight. I’ve already hurt her enough.

For
now, I’m abstinence… at least until June.

“That’s so cool you got
the scholarship…” Realizing that he should be going to college right now, I
almost stop but decide to say, “You need to wake up and start taking advantage
of that scholarship.” My eyes narrow on his still form. “Like now.”

Of course he doesn’t
move.

My thumb fans the edge
of the journal. “Well, I’m happy it worked out for Matt and Melanie. I wonder
if they’re still
dating?
M & M, get it?” I laugh
at the stupid joke until my chuckles fade. “That plan to not date until
summer…you know you’re pretty amazing, right?” He’s more than that, but I don’t
want to gush too much. Even knowing he can’t hear me, expressing my feelings for
him would be excessively embarrassing.
 
  

I stare at him while
wishing so much that he could hear me, talk back to me, and look at me. Knowing
it’s all I’ve got, I go back to the journal
.
 
Most of the following entries are just
short recaps of day-to-day stuff until…

May
10,

Fuck.

Melanie
is all of a sudden calling me, texting me, and dropping by. I had my mom tell
her I was out last night with a friend even though I was up in my room doing
homework. And the tone of her calls and texts is odd. One minute she acting
desperate, the next demanding, and then jealous. It’s like tri-polar or
something. And nothing I say seems to be getting through to her. I really don’t
want to hurt her, but I don’t know how much more of her shit I can take before
I blow up.

Of
course, Matt is acting weird. I’m not sure what she told him, but I made it
very clear I was still single the other day to him in English. At this rate
though, I might warn him away from the psycho bitch.

A
bunch of us are supposed to go hiking up on the cliffs overlooking the ocean
two days from now, a senior celebration after our last day of school. Now I’m
not sure I want to go. I wanted to go. Last big high school hurrah and all.
There are over thirty people going so I could avoid those two, but the even
bigger problem is that everyone is meeting early on the beach for breakfast
while I have my final interview at UCI. And since my piece of shit car is in
the shop, I’ll need a ride. And the only person available? My dad.

I’m
not sure I can deal with all three of those people in one day. But I’ve been
planning on going on that hike all year, and not going because of them seems
spineless.
 

And
I’m through being spineless.

There are no more
entries after that one.

But that’s not the only
reason my throat feels tight. I know he did go hiking, and now I know three
people who were very upset with him were also there.

On the day he fell from
a cliff.

“So what happened,
Zach?” I ask the boy on the bed in a coma who can’t answer me. “Was it an
accident? Did you get pushed? Or,” I swallow the lump in my throat before
finally whispering, “Did you jump?”