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I’d gotten him a book of your poetry. I made a bookmark from pretty paper with geese on it and put it in to hold the poem “somewhere I have never travelled,gladly beyond.” We read it in English class, and I loved it. When Sky unwrapped the book, I read the poem out loud to him.
The line at the end that says, “Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands” makes perfect sense to me. It means they can go anywhere inside of you, because like the rain, like water, they find places that nothing solid could pass through. It explains the way that Sky gets into me, into places that I never even knew were there. How he touches a part of me no one has ever touched. We both have secret places in us.
“Thank you,” Sky said, like he meant it.
“I got you the book,” I explained, “because the poem reminds me of you. And also because of how you said that you might want to be a writer, that time after homecoming. I know that you’d write something really different from that, but it made me think of how sometimes when you feel so much, you have to find a way to let it out.”
Sky smiled. “I hope we’ll both find the words for it.”
I had taken off my gloves and was ru
Sky looked back at me, quiet. He took my hand and we started walking. All of the Christmas lights glowed softer and softer down the street, a path of light fading in front of us. We were halfway down the block when he said, “I don’t think you would love me if you knew me.”
I stopped. “I do know you.”
“If you knew everything I’ve done.”
“What do you mean?”
He was silent.
“Tell me. See if I still love you.”
Then he said, “Well, to start with, I beat someone up. That’s why I got kicked out of my old school.”
“That’s okay.”
“I really hurt him. Really bad.”
“Why?”
Sky stopped a moment. “I don’t know … There was this girl, this girl I knew. I thought he took advantage of her. And once I hit him, it’s like everything I was angry at just sorta came out.”
I nodded. This is strange, but in a way, thinking of Sky getting in a fight like that made him seem fragile. “I love you more,” I whispered, and then I was trying just to listen, to see if he wanted to say something else.
We kept walking through the night quiet. Through it and through it. But I couldn’t stop the feeling that was suddenly splitting inside me.
I said, “I’ve done bad things, too.”
“Like what? You forgot your homework?” he teased.
“No,” I said. And I think I sounded suddenly angry then. Because he stopped.
“She’s dead,” I said.
“I know she is, Laurel,” he said gently. “What happened?”
My chest got tight and heavy at once, and I started to feel spi
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do. You can tell me.”
But I couldn’t. We were driving back from the movies. And we stopped by the tracks over the river, off the old highway. And there were flowers growing out of the cracks in it. And now that I was thinking about it, I really couldn’t breathe. The river was very loud.
Sky was holding on to my shoulders. He was saying, “Laurel.” I tried to suck in the air, tried hard to get it into my lungs. Sky told me to watch my breath. So I breathed and watched it hanging on to the air for a while and didn’t think about anything.
“Laurel. Stay here with me.”
His face was clear, and all of the houses with their Christmas lights faded behind him. With his smallest hands he had opened a door in me, and I cried and cried. He held me there until I laughed a little. Like the whole thing was a joke. I wanted to forget all of it. We kept walking. Along the path of light, I saw every bulb come into focus only as we got close to it. And finally he said, he said it to me, “I love you, too.”
Yours,
Laurel
Dear John Keats,
I am looking out the window at the clouds cracking from cold, letting the silent sun in. Today it’s a new year. I bet in California on New Year’s Day, the air is velvet with warmth. I bet everything glows, and the palm trees stretch off the earth in a new morning yawn. Mom must be waking up there right now, in her new life. And I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I hope that you’ll get it. I hate her for leaving me.
When we were younger, Mom used to have New Year’s Day tea parties for me and May and May’s friends. I never invited my own friends, because I loved belonging in May’s world. I loved how May would smile at me and drop sugars into my tea. Mom made sandwiches cut into perfect triangles and scones that she served with miniature jellies, which she would take from diners and save up for us. There were always more jellies than we needed. We never ran out of any flavor, not even raspberry. I can’t get those jellies out of my head today. Maybe my mind is holding on to them because I don’t want to think about everything else.
Last night, we all went to Kristen’s house for a New Year’s Eve party. Not a big party. A just-for-us party. And it started off perfect. Kristen lives in the foothills, up by the road where Sky and I drove that first time. You can see the city lights from there, spreading out below you like stars on the ground. Her parents are still in Hawaii, so we had the house to ourselves. We made New Year’s punch, with ci
After a while, Kristen wanted everyone to sit in a circle and give our New Year’s intentions. She knows about Eastern philosophy, and she said that when you set an intention, you can create transformation. Like the universe will listen. So we all got these papers she picked out especially for us. Mine had stars, Tristan’s had music notes, Ha
Kristen went first. She said you can also set intentions for people you love. And hers was for Tristan, that he would recognize and use his true gifts and brilliance. That he would become who he was meant to be, even if it took him away from her. She said that he is a very talented musician. Everyone, including Tristan, was quiet when she read this. She threw her paper into the flame.
And then it was Tristan’s turn. He said, “My intention is to handcuff Kristen to the bed every night until I have to unlock her and put her on a plane to New York.” We all cracked up. Kristen looked a little mad that he wasn’t taking it seriously, and maybe also that he brought up handcuffs in front of everybody. But then he got more serious than he ever is about anything and said, “No, all right. This is what I really wrote.” The first part he read is a quote from his second favorite band after Guns N’ Roses, the Ramones. “‘Experiencing us is like having the fountain of youth.’ My intention is that it will always be that way, as long as we live. We’ll get old, but my intention is that we’ll never sell out. That we’ll never get too old to remember who we are right now, together.”