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“You’re the only person I’ve told,” I said to Steven.
He made a small bow. “I’m honored,” he said.
There was a beautiful quietness to his bedroom, a sleepiness interrupted only by the occasional noise from downstairs. I thought about how grateful I was for that day in art class when Steven had said, In that case, we must introduce ourselves. How awful it would have been to miss out on all this—to miss out on knowing him. It was no small thing to turn to another human and say, I want to know you, with the implied opposite, I want you to know me.
“Can I ask you a question?” I said. “What happened the night you tried to kill yourself? With Dominic?”
There was a long silence. Downstairs, I could hear Darla jingling car keys and opening the garage door. When the car had pulled out and the garage door had rumbled closed again, Steven said, “I know what you’re really asking.”
“You don’t have to tell me. It just seems relevant.”
A bird called outside Steven’s window. He curled his remaining fingers, suddenly agitated.
“The answer is ‘I don’t know.’ It’s too loud inside my head to know. When I think about it, all I hear is alarm bells. Nothing happened with Dominic, but he asked very sweetly if I was maybe-possibly-theoretically open to the idea of something happening, and the alarm bells started ringing so loudly it short-circuited my brain. I still don’t know if the alarm bells mean I wanted something to happen, or if it was just knowing that I would be completely fucked, in terms of my parents, if I even entertained the possibility. And then I fell in love with Noe and it seemed like everything was going to be okay.”
“That’s how I felt about Noe, too,” I said. “Like she saved me from myself.”
“Hear my soul speak,” quoted Steven. “Of the very instant that I saw you, did / my heart fly at your service.”
“I’m glad you’re alive,” I said, and hugged him.
“I’m glad you’re alive, too.”
124
DAFFODILS WERE UNFOLDING THEIR YELLOW trumpets in the flower beds in front of my house. At school, we had a motivational speaker come in to talk about the K.E.Y.S. to success. He was thick-necked and greasy and sweated a lot. I sat near the back and read the poem that Loren sent me.
I read while the speaker jabbered and ranted, and while he had the whole auditorium shout the four keys like a cheer, and while the Senior Leaders presented him with a gift bag and shook his hand.
Afterward there was a draw to win a copy of his new book, The K.E.Y.S. for Students. I had the wi
in castles of wind, went the poem. in halls of rain.
125
THAT NIGHT I WROTE AN EMAIL to Loren. I didn’t know Wilda McClure wrote poetry.
He wrote back, I can send you the book.
I wrote back, How was the hike to Garramond Lake?
By the end of the week, we were emailing two or three times a day.
126
I WENT TO STEVEN’S HOUSE MOST days after school. He gave me his key so I wouldn’t have to talk to Darla when I came in. She had figured out that I was the girl Noe had told her about, the one who had refused to die.
“When are you coming back?” I said. “I miss you in Art. My collage sucks. Win and Dominic miss you, too. Margot Dilforth sends her love.”
“I’m not going back,” Steven said.
“What do you mean?” I said. “You can’t drop out of school. What about graduation?”
“I’m going to move in with my uncle,” he said. “I can finish my classes online.”
“But why?” I sputtered. The thought of finishing the year without Steven was preposterous. School would be so empty without him. I couldn’t imagine graduation without Steven there to make a Royal Society of Pee Sisters salute. “Everyone loves you,” I said. “We can figure things out so that you don’t ever have to cross paths with Noe and Alex.”
“Do you know why I’m lying here?” said Steven.
“Why?”
“It is taking every ounce of effort I have not to kill myself.”
“Steven.”
“It’s okay. I’m not going to do it. I just need to focus.”
“Focus on what?”
“Not doing it. And I think that will be a lot easier once I’m living in a place where being myself isn’t going to make anyone hate me.”
“How will you do it?” I said. “I mean, how is your mom letting you?”
“I’m eighteen,” said Steven. “That means nobody has to let you anymore.”
“When are you going?”
“Tomorrow. My uncle was all set to come up and get me tonight, but I wanted to say good-bye to you.”
“Today’s your last day here?”
He nodded. “Hopefully forever.”
“In that case,” I said. “Let’s go. There’s something we need to do.”
127
WE DROVE TO MY HOUSE TO get the finger out of my freezer. At my house, I put on Nan’s old wedding dress, an armful of beaded necklaces from the Halloween box, and the straw hat Mom wore to mow the lawn. We made a shrine out of tinfoil and birthday candles and laid the finger inside it. It was wrinkly at the knuckle and flat and dull at the nail: a stubby gray saint on its way to a resurrection.
As we drove away from my house, Steven lit the birthday candles. They cast a warm glow on the finger. Presently the tinfoil was spotted with dots of pink and blue wax.
We went to the Botanical Gardens first to get some flowers for the shrine. It had rained in the morning and now warm air heaved up from the ground in damp waves. Children in frilly socks were chasing geese across the lawn while their parents strolled along the stone pathways. I led Steven through the labyrinth and past the sundial to the rare plants section to pick some blood lilies and African moonflowers for his finger, but Steven thought they were too pretty to kill so we ended up scooping out handfuls of soil and fertilizer instead, as if Steven’s finger were a bulb that could grow a whole new Steven underground.
At the SkyTram I bought him a hot dog. We rode over the river in the shuddering red car. A pair of tourists from Milwaukee asked what happened to Steven’s finger. We told them he lost it in the war.
“You look too young to have been in a war,” the tourists said, shaking their heads like the world had truly hit the pits. The man of the couple gave Steven a hug and thanked him for his service, and we stood by the gift shop for a long time while they told us about life in Milwaukee.
After the SkyTram we followed the river upstream, parking the car when we got close to the waterfall and going the last half mile on foot. This part of town was always noisy with tour buses and school groups. People were always looking for the bathroom. Still, if you could imagine it without the knickknack shops and overpriced restaurants, it was an awesome sight.
The waterfall was churning out rainbows. Tourists in gauzy yellow rain ponchos floated along in the mist.
We stood by the railing and said a prayer and threw the finger over. It tumbled down, down, down in its tinfoil coffin like a tiny daredevil in a canoe.
On the way up the walkway, a pair of Australian tourists asked to take our picture. We posed with our arms around each other’s shoulders, the waterfall behind us. I think someone said “Cheese” but I couldn’t hear it for the roar.