Undivided

He wonders if Sonia ever sent his letter, or if it’s still in there, buried among the other raging voices. He wonders what he would say to his parents now, and if it’s any different from what he wrote. His letter began with how much he hated them for what they did, but by the time he reached the end, he was in tears, telling them that he loved them in spite of it. So much confusion. So much ambivalence. Just writing the letter helped him understand that—helped him to understand himself a bit more. Sonia had given him a gift that day, and the gift of the letter was in the writing, not in the sending. But still . . .

“I’d ask you to move the trunk back into place for me—but you’ve gotta be on the other side of the trapdoor before I do.” Sonia raises her cane, pointing down the steep basement steps.

“Right. I’m going—don’t use the cattle prod.”

She doesn’t whack him with her cane, but on his way down, she does tap him gently on the head with it to get his attention.

“Be good to her, Co

“No worries.”

He descends, and she closes the trapdoor above him. The basement smells like teen spirit, as the old prewar song goes. For a brief moment he has a flashback without words or images—just a swell of feeling—back to the first time he was herded down those steps two years ago. The invincibility he was feeling when he woke up is now tempered by the cold concentrate of that memory.

Risa’s at her little first aid station tending to a girl’s swollen, slightly bloody lip. “I bit my lip in my sleep—so?” the girl says, instantly on the defensive. “I have nightmares—so?”

Once the girl is tended to, Co

“And what might that be?” asks Risa cautiously.

“I can’t keep it out of my girlfriend’s ear.”

She gives him the best Oh, please look he’s ever seen, and says, “I’ll call the Juvies to cut it out. I’m sure that’ll take care of the problem.”

“And it’ll give some other poor soul a highly talented sensory organ.”

She allows him the last laugh, studying him for a few moments.

“Tell me about Lev,” she finally says.

He’s a bit deflated to have the playfulness so totally squashed out of their conversation.

“What about him?” Co

“You said you were with him for a while. What’s he like now?”

Co

“Good different, or bad different?

“Well, the last time you saw him, he was pla

Another kid comes to Risa with what looks like a splinter in his finger, sees the two of them talking, and goes away to take care of it himself.

Co

“Nelson?” Risa says caught completely by surprise. “The Juvey-cop you tranq’d?”

“He’s not a cop anymore. He’s a parts pirate, and he’s nuts. He’s got it out for me and Lev. Probably you, too, if he could find you.”

“Great,” says Risa, “I’ll add him to my list of people who want me dead.”

Suddenly, with the specter of Nelson in the conversation, Co

“I worry about him,” Risa says.

“Don’t,” Co

“You don’t sound too happy about that.”

Co

“Well, if he’s found peace, then I’m happy for him—and you should be too.”

“I am,” Co

Risa smiles. “You wouldn’t know what to do with peace if you had it.”

Co

“I miss Lev,” she says. “He’s kind of like a brother. I never had a brother—or at least not that I know of.”

“I have a brother,” Co

“He’s a few years younger than you, isn’t he?” Risa asks.

“Three years younger.”

“Right—now I remember,” she says, which surprises him. But then he shouldn’t be surprised at all. The whole life of the notorious Akron AWOL has been dissected by the media since the day he first got away.

“What’s your brother’s name?” Risa asks.

“Lucas,” Co

“Do you miss him?” Risa asks.

Co

Risa grins. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

Co

“Yeah,” Co

“I really don’t want to talk about this,” Co

4 • Lev

Lev is anything but at peace.

He’s in the treetops again. It’s the dead of night, but the night is alive. The forest canopy rolls like aquamarine clouds beneath a blue floodlight moon.

He’s following the kinkajou again, that large-eyed monkey-like creature. Adorable but deadly. He now knows that it is his spirit he chases. It races before him through the highest branches of the dense rainforest, drawing him toward something resembling destiny, but not quite as fixed and fated. Not something inevitable, but something he could make real.

He dreams of the kinkajou, and this journey through the trees, often. Each visit to this peculiar sanctuary of purpose feeds him and sustains him. It reminds him that there is a worthwhile goal to the things he drives himself to do.

The dreams are remarkably vivid, and he always remembers them. That, in and of itself, is a gift he’s grateful for. It’s not just the vibrancy of the sights that makes it so palpable, but the chirping, screeching, singing sounds of nocturnal life around him. The scent of the trees and the ground far below, so earthy, yet unearthly. The feel of the branches on his hands, feet, and tail. Yes, his tail, for he has caught up with the kinkajou now. He has become the creature, and becoming it makes him whole.