Taken by Storm (31 page)
Authors: Angela Morrison
Tags: #Social Issues, #Dating & Sex, #Christian, #Friendship, #Juvenile Fiction, #Sports & Recreation, #General, #Religious, #Water Sports, #Death & Dying
Leesie was right all along. Saying goodbye, I found my parents. She made that happen. And here in this bleak valley of desperation and guilt, she found me. And somehow, holding her, kissing her, loving her, the guilt fades. I believe every word she says. I didn’t kill my mother. I couldn’t save her. It’s going to be okay now.
My parents are dead.
But I live.
I want to live.
I can’t hold back how grateful I am to Leesie. And how much I love her. We pass the no-tongue boundary without even noticing. We’re wrapped together in sorrow that surges to passion.
Her slender body yields.
No recess.
No feet on the floor.
Just her under me and swimsuits between us.
I ease back to undress her and glimpse her face, stained with my tears, lost in love—
I barely recognize her.
A vision of her standing in front of her white temple with snowflakes falling around her—pure, untouched, holy—fills my soul.
I can’t take that.
She moans and reaches for me, eyes closed, not seeing where we’re heading.
“Stop. Leese.” I roll off her. “We have to stop.”
LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM #45, ANSWERS
Curled tight in a ball
on the cool tile floor
with my
No
in shreds,
I spiral into choking,
tearful remorse—and then
divine love fills me,
whispers comfort and hope—
on the cool tile floor
with my
No
in shreds,
I spiral into choking,
tearful remorse—and then
divine love fills me,
whispers comfort and hope—
I’m not condemned.
michael caught me, saved
my body, my soul, my life.
He has the answers today.
my body, my soul, my life.
He has the answers today.
This morning, underwater,
like your poem,
like you said—
my parents.
like your poem,
like you said—
my parents.
Not me. Never me.
I couldn’t save him.
I couldn’t save him.
When they left, I had answers
I didn’t want to hear. Stay
in the Keys. Go to dive school.
Start my own gig.
Keep Gram close.
I didn’t want to hear. Stay
in the Keys. Go to dive school.
Start my own gig.
Keep Gram close.
What about me? How do I fit?
He caresses the scars on my
hand for the last time.
hand for the last time.
Go to BYU. Marry
your Mormon guy.
your Mormon guy.
I love you too much
to hijack your life.
You have your dream.
to hijack your life.
You have your dream.
Now I have mine.
chapter 43
LESSONS
LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM #46, DEPARTURE
standing in front of dad’s rental car
michael holds my scrawny, scarred
hand to the light.
Don’t take
any crap at school,
he says,
worried about me without protection.
michael holds my scrawny, scarred
hand to the light.
Don’t take
any crap at school,
he says,
worried about me without protection.
I shift closer to him.
It’s all over
in a few months.
It’s all over
in a few months.
He presses the pink bunny key mistress
into my hand.
Friends?
into my hand.
Friends?
For life.
He kisses my forehead like we’re just
friends already—but then his salt soft
lips coast down my face, searching for
my mouth.
friends already—but then his salt soft
lips coast down my face, searching for
my mouth.
I try to memorize the gentle tug as he
sucks on the corner of my lower lip
until dad’s quiet,
Ahem,
reminds us
I have a plane to catch.
sucks on the corner of my lower lip
until dad’s quiet,
Ahem,
reminds us
I have a plane to catch.
I don’t cry on delta flight 207 as I wait
for boils to erupt on my arms
and a plague of locusts to be
sucked into the jet engines.
I am the Eternal Ice Queen
until my dad pats my hand
and asks about the scars.
for boils to erupt on my arms
and a plague of locusts to be
sucked into the jet engines.
I am the Eternal Ice Queen
until my dad pats my hand
and asks about the scars.
His shoulder is warm and smells of Old spice.
He keeps the flight attendants at bay
until the cascade trickles,
and I’m locked in the economy class cubicle,
trying not to step in the urine on the floor,
patting my face cool with a damp paper towel,
stuffing my pockets with stiff airplane tissues,
staring at the new zit on my nose,
thanking god for handing me
a desolate heart that needed my
icicle chest to thaw,
to ache, to love,
and beat with it for a season.
I thank Him for the glory of the joy
and the revelations in the pain
of this exquisite test.
He keeps the flight attendants at bay
until the cascade trickles,
and I’m locked in the economy class cubicle,
trying not to step in the urine on the floor,
patting my face cool with a damp paper towel,
stuffing my pockets with stiff airplane tissues,
staring at the new zit on my nose,
thanking god for handing me
a desolate heart that needed my
icicle chest to thaw,
to ache, to love,
and beat with it for a season.
I thank Him for the glory of the joy
and the revelations in the pain
of this exquisite test.
Pass or fail?
god only knows.
I cannot fathom why
He set my faith
this examination,
gifted me with a love
I’ll cherish long after
the wheels touch down,
the bags roll out,
and I’m tucked safe under
my grandmother’s hand-patched quilt,
crying my self awake,
night after long,
lonely
night.
god only knows.
I cannot fathom why
He set my faith
this examination,
gifted me with a love
I’ll cherish long after
the wheels touch down,
the bags roll out,
and I’m tucked safe under
my grandmother’s hand-patched quilt,
crying my self awake,
night after long,
lonely
night.
chapter 44
NEW PROJECTS
LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG / 03/12 10:18 P.M.
LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM #47, SPRING CLEANUP
the third saturday I sacrifice
to gram’s backyard jungle—
hacking, pulling, trimming—
the lines of her old garden begin to reappear.
to gram’s backyard jungle—
hacking, pulling, trimming—
the lines of her old garden begin to reappear.
Pleasing progress trickles down
my neck with the sweat I grow
from tackling a colossal
chrysanthemum needing division.
I dig and dig and dig,
deep around the root-ball.
my neck with the sweat I grow
from tackling a colossal
chrysanthemum needing division.
I dig and dig and dig,
deep around the root-ball.
I get my shovel under, strain,
and lift it all by myself.
I chop it up with care, replant,
confident the flowers will bloom
for gram this fall.
I’ll be gone, but maybe michael
will be here, too, enjoying
the love I left behind.
and lift it all by myself.
I chop it up with care, replant,
confident the flowers will bloom
for gram this fall.
I’ll be gone, but maybe michael
will be here, too, enjoying
the love I left behind.
I’m a muddy mess.
my eyes blur again.
I slip into their silent house,
wash the muck off in the basement sink,
search upstairs for a towel—
get stuck—
my eyes blur again.
I slip into their silent house,
wash the muck off in the basement sink,
search upstairs for a towel—
get stuck—
outside his bedroom.
His bed needs making.
the pillow lies on the floor.
I cross the threshold of this forbidden territory,
gather up the pillow, plump it, place it gently—
pick it back up,
smother my face in it.
the pillow lies on the floor.
I cross the threshold of this forbidden territory,
gather up the pillow, plump it, place it gently—
pick it back up,
smother my face in it.
It’s him, trapped in the fibers,
the sweet taste of michael.
the sweet taste of michael.
I totally forget myself,
lie right on his bed, curl
around his pillow. I pull
his quilt up over my head
so he can permeate
my senses. I breathe deep,
like he taught me,
hold it in my head—
then try—
with all my soul—
to let
it
go.
lie right on his bed, curl
around his pillow. I pull
his quilt up over my head
so he can permeate
my senses. I breathe deep,
like he taught me,
hold it in my head—
then try—
with all my soul—
to let
it
go.
chapter 45
BEGINNINGS
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #10
Mid-August. Hurricane season. Gram wants to go home, and I have to get myself out of the Keys. We stop in Phoenix, pack up my parents’ personal stuff, and ship it to Gram’s. My junk’s going, too. No room at the condo. I meet with the real estate agent and the woman who’ll handle the estate sale. Then we get a direct flight to Spokane.
As soon as I unload the Jeep I rented for the weekend, I drive out to Leesie’s farm. When I get there, I park the Jeep, have to nerve myself up to knock on the front door. Probably stupid to stir the embers, but I need to tell Leesie about my new job in Thailand face-to-face. Emails just don’t cut it. And I have something for her that I wouldn’t trust to the mail.
Her mom answers, surprises me with a hug. “Leesie’s driving truck. They’ll knock off for dinner in about an hour. Do you want me to get her on the two-way?”
I beg off, say I’ll be back, return to the Jeep but don’t leave. I recline in the sunshine, catch a whiff of dried pig stink as the breeze blows, and doze.
The sound of a truck engine, idling, sputtering off, wakes me. I get out of the Jeep, pull the gift I brought out from under the seat, and watch Leesie jump down from the driver’s side. Tanned gold face. Hair hidden under my old black Eagle Ray Divers cap. My T-shirt, streaked with dust and sweat, hangs loose on her slight frame.
Her dad gets out of the passenger’s side. They meet at the front. He says something to her. She laughs, shucks off her gloves, and whacks them against her leg. A puff of dust rises up. She pushes my cap back from her forehead and catches sight of me.
Her dad does, too. He meets me at the gate, shakes my hand. “Welcome back, son.” He glances over his shoulder at Leesie, still standing in front of the truck. “We’ll save you some dinner.” His hand rests on my shoulder. “I think there’s pie.” Then he’s gone.
I close my eyes and vent. When I open them, she’s still staring at me from across the barnyard. I don’t know who moves first, but we meet in the middle.
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