Swell (25 page)

“Actually,” he laughed before coughing. “I’ve been hyperventilating.”

“Why?”

“Because I couldn’t wait to call and tell you I’m… sorry. So sorry. I didn’t try to make him mad.”

I realized he was talking about Christian, when he stormed into our class and gave Jesse the evil eye before yanking me away.

“Jesse, you didn’t do anything to make anyone mad.”

“I’ve just been thinking a lot. How it could’ve been you. If that had happened, I don’t think I could’ve stopped myself.”

He was talking rings around his words, each more cryptic than the next. My level of pain and lack of any medication to alleviate it made me decide not to pursue clarification.

“I’m here, Jesse. Just know that.” I yearned to touch his face again, and wished he would visit me. There wasn’t anything to lose anymore.

“Come see me, Jesse. Can you? Tomorrow?”

“You need to rest and--”

“Please? Please don’t tell me no.” I cautiously rose from the couch and went to the window. A light rain painted the glass and turned the outside world into a blurry vision. It felt like the inside of me, wet with sadness and regret. I knew that the time to move on would come soon. Until then, I stayed in my protective cocoon and hoped for Jesse’s company.

He let out a sigh. “I’ll be there tonight.”

/////

I couldn’t gauge what time Jesse would show up. I only knew that he was going to and tried in vain to look better than I felt. However, the best I could do was put on a matching pair of sweats and pull my hair back.

“Does he want to eat dinner with us?” My mom was making spaghetti, an easy favorite that I always managed to get down somehow.

“I’m not sure. I don’t even know when he’s coming.”

“Oh.” She was rolling meatballs into a frying pan. Her movement was slow. I didn’t see it, but I knew both my mom and dad were drinking in private.

A soft knock rattled the door, and my mom, being that she could walk faster than me, went to open it. Jesse stood on the porch, wet from the rain and holding a yellow rose.

“Hello, Mrs. Ionesco. It’s good to see you again.” He gave her a warm smile, but no hug. Instead, his eyes searched for me and when I was found, Jesse took three giant steps and wrapped his warm arms around my body. I felt so frail next to his enthusiastic, gentle touch.

“It feels so good to hold you,” he whispered into my ear.

He handed me the rose.
“This is for you.”

I brought it to my nose and inhaled its sweet fragrance. His was the first flower I’d ever received from a boy.

“Oh, I also made you a copy of this.” He pulled a CD from his pocket.

“This is the one you had in your car. I love that music.” My eyes brimmed with tears because he had given me his beautiful music. That he’d taken the time to notice what I liked brought comfort to my heart.

“It’s soothing.” He gingerly touched my sling, tracing its path around my shoulder with his eyes.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I need to sit down.” I went back to the couch and he followed.

“Jesse, we’re having dinner in half an hour. Would you like to join us?” My mom held up a bottle of spaghetti sauce and shot Jesse a grin.

His eyes lit up like little brown flames. “Sure! That sounds great. Thank you.”

“There’s no jerky in her recipe.” I tried to make a joke of it.

“God, I hope not.”

We ate dinner and even though it was a quiet event, Jesse sprinkled the conversation with positive subjects such as art contests and the way the rain helped wash the dirt from his car. After dinner, he cleared the table and even started loading the dishwasher. My mom was impressed.

“Jesse, you can come over for dinner any time!” She squeezed his arm on her way out of the kitchen. I presumed she was going to have a glass of something.

Alone in the kitchen, I watched Jesse hand wash the fragile dishes. He looked at home in yellow gloves and a dish towel over his shoulder.

“You should take off your jacket. Don’t want it getting wet.” I came around behind him and with my good arm, began pulling it off his shoulders. Jesse turned around and placed his gloved hands on my hips.

“I’ll take care of it. I don’t want you to move something wrong.” He reached up and peeled it off, revealing a white t-shirt and his bracelet with the circle and triangle.

“What’s this mean?” I asked, pointing to his jewelry.

“It’s something my mom gave me last year.” He took it off and held it toward me so I could see it better.

“It looks symbolic.”

“It is.” He didn’t elaborate on what the symbolism meant, although he looked like he was thinking about it. I wished he would share it with me.

He took off the gloves and laid them on the counter, then scanned the empty room.
“Where’d your folks go?”

“I think they’re giving us some privacy.” I didn’t mention that they were also probably having a nightcap. A lopsided smile spread across his face before he gently touched my chin, tipped my head to the left, and dusted my lips with his. I drank in his warm breath and tried to bring my good arm up around him.

“I’m having a bit of trouble.” I gave up and just let my lips do the work. Jesse placed his hands on my waist and brought me close to his body. I allowed myself to feel again, and I did. From the length of his chest, to his hips and thighs, I sank into Jesse’s body and felt like a key that had found the right lock.

My eyes stayed closed as he touched my face. There was a different feeling in his touch than Christian’s, more appreciative and careful. As he kissed me, I thought of how upset Christian had been about Jesse. Perhaps he knew that things weren’t progressing well between us, in spite of wallpapering it all with drinking. He had an alcohol problem and took me along for the ride, and when that ride turned deadly, we were both released from the addiction.

“I feel better, seeing you here, knowing you’re okay.” He held me for a million years before gliding me back to arm’s length, his eyes twinkling under the fluorescent lights. “I never wanted to let you go that day.”

“You never did let me go, Jesse.” While my heart felt energized with wonder, my body started to drag with exhaustion. A pain pill was necessary.

“I need to take my meds,” I said, breaking away from Jesse’s arms to reach for the prescription bottle on the counter. I swished down two caplets with water, and already felt better knowing that relief was on its way.

He leaned against the counter, turning his symbolic bracelet around and around on his wrist. “When was the last time you had a drink?”

I stood next to him, looking out into the living room as I calculated the minutes, hours, days, and weeks since I last drank. “Three weeks, two days, three hours, 22 minutes… wait, make that 23 minutes,”
I said, noting the microwave clock.

“That’s great! Do you feel better?”

“I feel hollow, like I’m missing something. I still want it, but it’s easy to stay away when it’s not around.” I hadn’t gone so far as to find my parents’ wine.

“There’s a lot that goes into why you drank in the first place. Is there anyone in your family who drank?”

“My uncle died from drinking.” Jesse nodded as if he’d discovered a clue.

“If you have family with drinking problems, that makes you more likely to drink. All you need is the right moment to start and you’re hooked.”

“That’s a no-brainer for me.”

“Are you putting it all together?”

I shook my head, and he reached over and squeezed my hand.

“It’s a start. A lot of people need support.”

“How come you know so much about this, Jesse?” The smile on his face fell flat, his mind racing for a quick answer.

“My father… he used to go to A.A.”

“
Used to
?”

“Yeah, but he started drinking again, and when we left him he… went driving and never came back.” His Adam's apple gulped twice before he put his head down. I rolled my body across his and hugged him with my singular arm.

“I’m sorry.” There had been little time to learn much about Jesse’s family. I only knew that he lived with his mom and had a gorgeous sense of humor.

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” He wrapped his arms around me, careful of my shoulder, and kissed the top of my head.

“What time is it?” he asked, suddenly lifting his head from my hair. The microwave clock said 6:45.

“Do you have to be somewhere?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m supposed to meet a friend for coffee. It’s just something I do every week.”

“Does he go to school with us?” Jesse dug his hands into his pockets in search of keys.

“No. He’s older. Kind of my mentor, actually. Really cool guy.” He found his keys and swung them on his index finger.

“I wish you didn’t have to go.” I felt almost devastated that my most welcomed visitor had to leave.

“Me, too. But a promise is a promise, and I don’t like breaking those.”

As I walked him to his car, I saw my mom peek out of her bedroom window. My days of utter privacy had grown few and far between.

“I’m going back to school next week, you know.”

“I’d like to give you a ride then, if that’s okay.”

I thought of how watchful my dad had become, and figured that he might say no. It was worth asking.

“I need to ask my dad. He’s sort of keeping an eye out for me. You know.”

“Sounds like a good dad.” He kissed my forehead and was about to go for my mouth again when he stopped.

“I want to save something for next time,” he grinned. The urge to fight his holding out was soon overtaken by the pain medication. A vibrating tingle embraced my body just as Jesse backed out of the driveway and headed into the night.

Chapter 27

My locker was covered with flowers and cards. A myriad of ribbons trailed to the ground, touching the countless teddy bears sprawled on the concrete. A prayer candle sat in the middle of it all, surrounded by burnt matches. I choked up as I knocked a ribbon off in order to gain access.

Jenna crouched beside me, looking at the cards and making small talk.
“This one’s from Anna Dunbar. Do you know her?”

I shook my head. Anna was like many of the caring kids who’d stopped by my locker to say sorry. In a way, having the mini memorial was like a sad reminder of what I’d been trying to numb myself from.

“What am I gonna do with all this?” I asked, looking at the hundreds of dollars worth of stuff.

“I’ll help you later. We can get a trash bag and sort through it, toss some, and keep the rest.” Jenna’s planning skills were definitely needed at this time.

Even more decorated than my locker was the poster-size image of Christian that hung from Jock Wall. People had scribbled messages around it, taped flowers above his head and, like my locker, left a trail of stuff to the ground. Only the pile was at least a foot deep with yellowing bouquets of flowers. More than 20 prayer candles butted up against the floral display, the wax from each having melted into colored pools on the concrete from multiple uses. As I passed by the wall,
they
all looked, mouths closed. Allison, Devin, Greg. And Audrey. Nobody approached me.

“You don’t want to see those people anyway, Beck.” Jenna took my good arm and held me close to her long frame.

I had to turn my head away from Christian’s picture. It was larger than life, and life was not what he had anymore. Seeing every line of his face, his full lips, and dancing eyes that smiled out from the image brought a parched and choking hold to my throat. I wished I had a drink. Being dry sucked. My headaches were going away, but so was the soul-numbing quiet that drinking gave to me. The subtle comfort of a good buzz, combined with Christian’s arms wrapped around me, was something I longed to have back if only because it was familiar to me.

Hillman’s attempted rape and subsequent violation of my restraining order earned him a few months in jail. Not having to worry about Hillman brought me some peace, but I kept my pepper spray close by just in case. I’d heard that he’d be out on probation before anyone even knew he was gone. For me, he’d never left my mind.

I couldn’t help but blame Hillman for Christian’s death. He wasn’t the one who drank the entire bottle of wine or made the Partymobile swerve at a crazy speed down the winding road. He certainly wasn’t the one who saw me with Jesse at the book store. But he still was, in my mind, the reason for everything. If Hillman hadn’t tried to rape me, Christian wouldn’t have beat the shit out of him. If that hadn’t have happened, we’d probably still be broken up and going about our torturous, daily lives. Then again, if I’d never gone to the toga dance, I’d probably be as dry as the desert and as virginal as a white wedding dress. That thought alone turned my stomach.

I wanted to curl up in eternity with the memory of his warm body against mine, of him counting my vertebra until he reached the clasp of my bra. The smell of his cologne as it weaved through my hair. And how he looked into my eyes after our moments together in his room. Gone.