The Ocean (18 page)

We looked so happy in those pictures. There were actual y a few pictures in which we looked in love with each other. I had stared at them into the early hours of the morning, wil ing myself to cry, but the tears didn’t come. I had climbed out of bed with the first light and taken a shower, washing away the reminisces of the evening only to sit here in the middle of my bed the entire day staring at the painting his sister had given me only days ago. I was dealing with it the way I usual y dealt with uncomfortable things, loud music and silence.

My phone rang again. This time it was Abby. I answered it.

“Are you trying to worry me to death? You didn’t cal last night; you didn’t cal today. What happened? Did Travis find you? Did he explain what happened? You know he didn’t kiss her; she kissed him.” I instantly regretted answering the phone.

“No, I’m not trying to kil you; I haven’t cal ed anyone. I don’t know what happened. I haven’t talked to Travis. I haven’t taken any of his cal s. I’m not ready to talk about it with him. I hope he didn’t kiss her, but it looked to me like he did. And it stil doesn’t change the fact that I was humiliated when the drink was spil ed on me, and then I had to watch another girl kiss my boyfriend. I might skip school tomorrow,” I sighed and leaned my head against the wal .

“You guys aren’t breaking up, are you?” Her voice was shaky.

“I don’t know. I just am having trouble dealing with this.” We spoke for a while longer and then hung up.

Oliver brought me steak, mashed potatoes, and a soda, and sat them on my dresser. I didn’t even look at him as he shut my door behind him. I stared at the painting, suddenly lost in another memory, one that I had forced myself not to think about since it happened.

We were there in the hospital room, the room with stark white sheets and blankets on the bed which made it feel as if the gray wal s were closing in on us. My mom looked like a shadow of herself, her bald beautiful smooth head, her beautiful brown eyes staring blankly straight ahead past me.

Mitchel sat holding her hand. Alex stood in the corner, staring out the window. I stood at the foot of her bed. I could not say a word. I could not help. I just held her gaze, hoping for the recognition of me. She didn’t. The doctors said it would be soon but gave no exact time frame.

We’d been in this exact position as we stood there for over an hour, but it felt like longer. Her breathing was labored, her eyes glassy and hol ow, staring through me. A few times her breaths slowed and the monitor would blip slower, and we al looked at her, but the monitor would catch up.

Holding our breaths, we would al three slowly let them out. Final y, after what felt like hours, she whispered through a raspy breath, “Gia, Lexie, my angels, I’m with you, always.” Alex moved to my side with a speed I actual y felt a breeze from. Her gaze rested on me as she looked at me, not past me. She smiled as her focus shifted to Alex. And then she was gone. A dul ness entered in her eyes, and she exhaled slowly. The monitor made a final blip and then a long tone. That tone became so loud, deafeningly loud. I couldn’t hear any other noise.

Mitchel buried his head in the bed. I had never seen or heard a grown man weep before. I heard him weep that day. Alex put his arm around me and squeezed me sideways. I buried my head into the crook of his armpit. He began to sniffle. I held him around the waist, and he leaned his head on mine and began to cry. I had tears in my eyes. I wil ed them to go down to my feet and away from my eyes. I couldn’t lose it, too.

The doctor and nurse who had been hovering in the hal way came in. It was only a moment, but it could have been hours. Time stood stil . I held my brother up as our mother slipped away. I had heard a psychic on a morning radio show say once that it took thirty minutes to reach heaven after someone died. It comforted me that maybe she was stil hovering, probably watching me be brave for her family.

After Mitchel made phone cal s and they took my mother away, we went home. It felt empty without her there. I stood in our foyer ful of pictures of my childhood, of our struggle, of our courage, of our loss.

The funeral was surreal. I had family that I had never met come from across the country and even a great uncle from Italy. Everyone wept over the loss of “such a young life” they’d said. I just stood in the corner and watched. It was as if I were watching a movie, even watching myself—accepting hugs and getting Kleenexes for those crying when I had no tears. I stared emptily at al these strangers.

Mitchel had begged me to play a song for my mother on my guitar, but I refused. I couldn’t force myself if she had come back from the dead and asked me herself. It was the only time he had become angry with me. He never apologized for cal ing me selfish. I didn’t care. There were worse things he could have done, but he didn’t. I forgave him. I understood he was mourning.

I woke up in my sweats and tank top on top of my comforter. My lights were off; my music was off; the only noise was a soft breeze against my window screen. I crawled under my covers and waited for morning.

When morning came, I put on a black jersey dress. It had a high neck line that fel off one shoulder. The sleeves came to my elbows, and the hem hit above the middle of my thigh. I paired it with a wide black leather belt around my hips. I put on my black leather knee boots and surveyed myself after I straightened my hair, flipping up the ends. I was fairly pleased with my appearance. I went downstairs, and Alex did a double take.

“Trying to make him suffer?” He threw his bag over his shoulder.

“I don’t dress for anyone but myself, and I felt like I need to look my best today.” I tried to keep my composure. I was afraid that I might lose it at any moment. I went to the cupboard and got two Pop Tarts and fol owed him out the kitchen door.

“Damage control, huh?” he chuckled. We made it to school, and Gloria was hovering near the front door waiting for him. I felt a lot of eyes and heads turn toward me as I walked down the hal way. Abby was waiting by my locker.

“Did you talk to him?” she asked, bypassing pleasantries. I just shook my head as I opened my locker. She looked at me with her head cocked to the side, then the stepped back and surveyed me. “Why do you look like you just stepped out of Cosmo?” Her expression was accusing. Then she looked up and smiled, “Incoming.” She turned and was gone. I began putting my books in my locker as Travis leaned his shoulder on the locker next to me. I didn’t say anything to him. I let him stand there. I was in my locker; this time he wouldn’t make me late by blocking it. Final y, when I couldn’t put it off anymore, I looked up at him. His pained look broke my heart, but I heard Chiz again in my head. Him with you, wishing he was with her.

“Can we talk?” he almost whispered.

“I’m going to be late.” I shut my locker, turned, and walked away. I didn’t look back; it would have hurt too much.

My classes were distractions. I took detailed notes. I didn’t look at anyone except my teachers—not at the boys around me when they made comments about my obvious break up or asked if they could take me out, not at the cheerleaders when they made their snide remarks. I held my head high and ignored everyone. Lunch rol ed around, and I was surprised to see Travis sitting at another table. I sat beside Alex, and he looked at me and shrugged. Travis sat beside Chiz in the center of the lunch room. My eyes found his almost every five minutes on the dot. I wasn’t sure if his ever left me, but I’d look away as long as I could and when I looked at him, he just sat there slouched down, watching me, his tray untouched. He wasn’t taking part in the conversation at his table. He just watched me. I didn’t eat either or participate in my lunch table conversation. Abby kept squeezing my hand under the table encouragingly. Final y, I’d had enough. I stood, dumped my tray, and found my way to my speech class ten minutes before the bel rang. I lay my head down on my desk and waited for the inevitable. I waited, knowing I could no longer escape him, and I would be alertly aware of his presence sitting behind me.

I was not let down. He was the first person in the room after me. He sat in his seat. He didn’t say anything to me though. He let me be in my silence, which almost felt worse. If he was going to dump me, I wanted to get it over with. I wasn’t going to be a victim. I wasn’t going to let him hurt me anymore.

Mr. Franklin, of course, decided this day he would be late, but his prop was a stack of newspapers. He surveyed the room from his podium before addressing the class, his eyes fal ing on me; then with raised eyebrows, he smiled at Travis.

“We’re going to debate today.” He pul ed another podium that I’d not noticed before from the corner of the room. “Today we wil be doing improv speaking, so bring a pen and a piece of paper up for your turn. I wil give you a topic. You’l have two minutes to write down your points and then you can debate. Everyone else, I want you to pick a side and make your own notes. We wil discuss points made and points that should have been made, so take notes. We’l be open for discussion. I’d like Gianna and Travis to go first, so please come to the front of the room.” I stood and Travis fol owed me to the front of the classroom. We took our podiums as Mr. Franklin flipped through one of the newspapers. “Your debate is over ‘the automobile industry’s responsibility to the American public regarding defects and recal s.’ Should they inform us of every defect no matter how smal ? Travis you wil defend the automobile industry; Gianna you wil defend the public.” We looked warily at each other and made our points as he began his stopwatch. Everyone in the class wrote. When he said to stop, we al looked up. “You wil now have two minutes to debate your point and then a rebuttal after your opponent takes their turn. Gianna, please go first.” I looked at my classmates and began.

“The American people have a right to know when they are driving a lemon. As in, they are paying good hard earned money for a vehicle that should take them from point A to point B. The automobile companies have a responsibility to offer a quality product to their customers. Promising one thing and delivering another should not be acceptable on any level.” I paused a moment and looked at Travis. Then I continued, “Where is the honesty that this nation was founded on? Now, it’s about what they can get away with, and it doesn’t matter who gets hurt in the end as long as they make a profit.” I became passionate in my final statements. “It is time that the American people stand up and tel the fat cats that we deserve better.

We deserve the best they can offer and if they don’t want to give us their best, then they don’t deserve ours,” I concluded, and the class erupted in cheers and applause. I smiled triumphantly at Travis. He looked down at his podium, defeated. Mr. Franklin shushed the students and motioned for Travis to take his turn. He looked at me as he began.

“It was never the intention of the automobile industry to take advantage of the American people. We are the American people. Extensive testing is performed to provide for most scenarios. Sometime things happen that we don’t anticipate. Sometimes the only thing that we can do is apologize and try to make it right for the future. We provide many jobs for the American people, and when our company suffers, so do our workers, the middle class of America. Like any tier of power, there can be corruption, but only when it is discovered, can it be weeded out. That is why I’m asking the American people to believe in us. Believe that we are trying to look out for what is best for them. Believe that we would never hurt them maliciously or intentional y.” He final y took his eyes from me and looked down at his paper like he was reading something and then looked over to Mr. Franklin signaling that he was done.

“Miss Moretti, your rebuttal.” He motioned for me to resume speaking, so I took a deep breath.

“Justifying mistakes by simply saying ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t acceptable to the American people. There must be consequences for their actions. Mistakes, intentional or otherwise, should be explained. Also, the automobile industry should be required to give a plan to the American people as to how they intend to remedy the problems.” I folded my hands together on the podium. Mr. Franklin motioned to Travis once more.

“Maybe the AMERICAN PEOPLE should not hold such high expectations of the automobile industry. We are only human. We cannot be held responsible for everyone else’s actions. We are only responsible for ours and how we respond. If we reject the defective products, and they slip in anyway by mistake somewhere, al we can do is make it right. Holding us to higher expectations is not the answer.” He was fuming, his face reddened, and he glared at me now. Someone in the back of the room let out a low whistle, and Mr. Franklin stood straightening himself.

“OK. Travis, Gianna take your seats. Did anyone have a point that was not mentioned during their discussion on either side?” We sat down, and I looked at my hands resting on my desk. I didn’t listen to the rest of the discussion; I felt defeated. Even though they scored me as the winner, I didn’t feel as if I’d won.

When class was over, I bolted for the door as fast as I could. I wasn’t fast enough because he grabbed my hand and led me toward an empty classroom. I tried to pul away from him, but he was stronger than me. He pul ed me into the room, blocking the door and turning the lock. I slammed my books on the floor and lunged for him. He grabbed my hands and pul ed me to him and held me in a tight embrace around my waist, my hands crushed to his chest. I pounded on him, swearing at him, my fury unleashed. He took the abuse, and when I was done, he stil held me.

After I calmed down, he took my face in his hands and lifted my chin so that I couldn’t escape his eyes. They were pleading as he spoke softly, “How are you so mad at me?” He traced the side of my face.

“You kissed her,” I groaned, as I pul ed away from his hands and looked down.

“I didn’t kiss her; she tricked me, and you have to believe me. The whole point was to break us up. Make us feel like we do right now.” He loosened his grip on me, al owing me to leave his arms if I wanted to, but I didn’t; I stayed there. I wasn’t strong enough to pul away from him. Not yet.