A Soul's Kiss (20 page)

Jessica

Monday night and Tuesday morning

Hannah has the cutest little sisters. I would love to have a younger sister that I could mentor. Someone who would look up to me and think I was cool, just like I look up to my sister, Janelle. Janelle has been living with a family in Spain and studying at the University of Málaga for the last four months. Her most recent email brimmed over with advice about high school and dating and classes and applying for colleges. I miss her; she was never bossy or bratty with me like Hannah is with her sisters.

For sure mom and dad have told her I’m in a coma, but the cost of coming back and missing classes and all would be costly. I’d be glad if she showed up, but scared that it meant something bad for me, like I’m dying. I wonder how freaked out she’d be if I emailed her one of the times that Hannah lets me get control. Probably not a good idea.

I keep hearing voices in my head, even in the dark places of Hannah’s mind. My mom’s voice, my dad’s, probably that nice nurse, too. Mostly I hear the same plea repeated: wake up.

And Tyler’s voice.

It gives me goose bumps, as if my soul can get chills. Good chills. I’m not sure exactly what his words are, but they’re nice. Warm, like that imaginary kiss. Friendly like when he walked me home. Appealing like being wrapped in a cozy blanket by a winter fire.

I start looking around for Hannah’s thoughts about Tyler. She definitely has some ulterior motive where he’s concerned. She was quite happy with his reaction to us, to her, in that sexy prom dress. But that’s all I find. Most doors stay closed.

She works on her homework and I suppose I distract her, make her angry. I don’t know why. The sleepier she gets the more I snoop around and that’s not a good idea. We have an argument that I would never repeat to Rashanda or I’d get a lecture. I win the fight though and Hannah promises me that she’ll let me surface when Michael is about to kiss her. Kiss us.

Kiss me.

That’s worth waiting for and worth calming down in Hannah’s head.

*  *  *

I spend all night testing those closed doors, seeing some dreams, bits and pieces anyway, as she cycles through deep and light sleep. I consider interacting with her in the dreams but they’re so random and fast that I merely observe. The only dream that makes sense is one in which she’s wearing that blue gown. The dress is torn at the hem and it has a pocket, a long patched-on pocket. A dark-haired doll is stuffed in it along with a flower. Hannah pulls the doll out and twists its head—it looks like me—and then stuffs it back into the pocket. Over and over.

I’m not as smart as Rashanda, but I’ve learned a few things from her about how to analyze characters in books and figure out symbolism and themes. Something bothers me about the pocket dream and I think it’s that Hannah repeats the action. Rashanda would say this meant that Hannah and I had formed a bond that was like a tug-of-war between good and evil. The pocket thing has me remembering something. Breath mints? Insecurity? Discharge papers? Uncertainty?

Indecision?

When she isn’t dreaming I review my silly plot to be Homecoming queen. That was stupid of me. And a long shot. What if she doesn’t get enough votes after all? And when I really think about it, I don’t want to be Michael’s girlfriend Hannah. I want to be Michael’s girlfriend Jessica. I want him to like the real me, which is not going to happen while I’m in a coma. My new goal is twofold: first, to get to know him quietly and invisibly while I can and second, to fly or float back into my own body. I have no success with that now, and I am honestly trying my hardest to leave her. I concentrate on places I’d rather be and try to teleport myself there like when I zipped from the classroom to the side of the road. But I keep failing to leave her even when I manage to add some fear or anger to the desire.

I don’t like when Hannah keeps me in the dark. We’re like two kids on a teeter-totter and I’m scared that she’ll jump off and leave me to bang down hard and forever.

We rub each other the wrong way. If we aren’t careful we’re going to infect each other with our worst traits. I want to leave behind a little hope, patience, and caring when I leave her, but I doubt that she has anything good to share with me other than access to Michael.

The black pressure lifts and I can see Hannah in the mirror, pleased with her reflection.

Good morning, Jessica.

Hannah, why do you keep shutting me out?

She calls me a freak and says she knows I want to take her place as Homecoming queen. So I apologize. She wants me to get out of her head, but I tell her I need to talk to Keith about how to do that.

Fine. We’ll go to the hospital after school, but if I have to slit my wrists to get you out, I swear I’ll do it.

Hannah’s voice breaks off without an echo or a final breath. Blackness ricochets around me again and my own voice is lost in a silent request to be heard. Who’s the freak now? But I probably had it coming. I’m ashamed that I thought I was justified in taking over her life. Stupid, stupid me. I thought I was doing some good.

Rashanda

Tuesday morning

I stared at the back of Tyler’s head all throughout first hour. I finally got my scattered emotions back in check. Jessica’s mental visits last Friday still had me all muddled. Tyler was Tyler. Not really my type. But I’d give anything to find a guy like him.

“Can you meet me before swim practice?” I asked after class. There was no romantic hope in the question. I used my conspiratorial whisper and Tyler gave me one of those guy nods that included a shy smile. “You won’t believe what I found out,” I added.

I had loads of information on astral projections and near death experiences, multi-dimensional states of consciousness, spirit-walking, and soul travels. Most of it was, as my grandmother would say, a load of horse manure. But I did find one thing that was too coincidental to ignore and I couldn’t wait to tell Tyler and see what he thought.

The whole school day dragged and the two times that I saw Hannah she turned up her nose at me. Obviously Jessica had lost control. I could only hope that she had somehow spirited herself back to her own body. I smiled at my pun. It was the sort of silly thing that we’d laugh at together. I really missed her.

*  *  *

Tyler was waiting at my locker to walk me to the pool.

“Have you seen Hannica today?” He stressed the first syllable of the secret name.

“Nope. Just Hannah. Either Jessica got free of her or else Hannah is holding her hostage and not letting her shine through.”

Tyler nodded and handed me three pages of printed information on coma victims.

I took one look at the small font and asked, “Can you summarize this?”

“Yeah, sure, um, pretty much it’s in God’s hands and not the doctors’. There are ways to predict recovery to a certain extent, but there are tons of exceptions. Uh, I couldn’t find anything medical on, you know, leaving the body.”

I handed the papers back to him as we turned the corner toward the sports wing and dug in my pocket for the single half sheet I’d written a web address on. “Here,” I said, “if you get a chance look at this site. It’s a local chapter of scientists and doctors who do research on out-of-body experiences. The lead guy is an anesthesiologist at Jessica’s hospital.”

“So we need to talk to him?”

“Right. And the sooner the better.”

We went through the double glass doors and the warm chlorine fumes brought tears to my eyes. Not because they were strong, but because Jessica always commented on the smell being one of her favorite things. I blinked twice and was about to say something else to Tyler when I spotted Hannah by the girls’ locker room door.

She shouted across the lobby at me, “Do you think the coach will accept a late tryout?” She stood with her hand on her hip, her other arm cradling a suit and towel.

“Can you really swim? Are you a porpoise or a barracuda?” That was a challenge question to see if it was Hannah or Jessica talking. Our synchronized swim team calls its members dolphins.

“Definitely a barracuda. Porpoises are fat.” Hannah said the last word with a glare at my hips. I bit my tongue.

Tyler must have already come to his own conclusion that it was all Hannah. He said
see ya later
and went back toward the double doors.

“I’ll tell coach you’re taking Jessica’s place to help me out.” I moved real close to her, threatening-like I hoped, and added, “You
are
going to let her swim, right?”

The change was immediate and I almost threw my arms around her. Jessica appeared in her eyes, her facial expression, and even her arms and legs as she went from haughty stance to excited wiggle.

“Jessica?”

“Yeah, hi, Rashanda. Better call me Hannah though or the guys in white coats will come and lock you up.”

I glanced back to see if Tyler was gone. He was, but two other girls were coming through the doors.

“Hey, Becca, Meg. You know Hannah? She’s going to practice with me for my duet. She’s been, uh, working dry land on Jessica’s routine with me.”

They gave us that soft, sad look that spoke volumes about their grief over Jessica’s current situation, but they greeted Hannah nicely.

It was awesome to practice with her again even if it didn’t look like her. Ms. Harris was cool with it. In fact, at the end of practice she invited Hannah to swim with us again. Jessica had never been smoother in her strokes nor had she ever lifted herself higher on the more difficult tricks. Hannah’s arm strength was greater than Jessica’s and Jessica was using that body with all the zeal and enthusiasm she could muster. Hannah’s mermaid figure paired with Jessica’s swimming ability made for a breathtaking show. I could see her getting the solo next year if she stayed in Hannah’s body.

That thought sobered me up pretty quick. I hoped Jessica didn’t come to that conclusion, too, or Homecoming queen wouldn’t be her only goal. She always wanted what she didn’t have. She always wanted to be somebody else. I can’t count how many times I’ve told her to just be herself.

Jessica

Tuesday

Hannah promised me I’d get to kiss Michael, but we only see him for a second before lunch. Not even a peck on the cheek. Sheesh. Then Hannah spends the whole lunch hour talking to her inane friends and scanning the room for Tyler. Every time she spots him, I zap her with ugly thoughts like puke and rotten fish and eating bugs. It works. She stays away from him. Funny that I care, but I do. The dreamy connection I felt with Tyler has faded, but there’s some other tie or link, or maybe it’s a new friendship bond that I have with him.

She lets me surface just enough in each class to make me pay attention, take notes, and answer questions. I am her slave, her brain slave. I don’t mind because it’s better than the dark. Each time I get a little stronger, too. I kick a few memory doors open when she gets bored in English class and find one recollection I’ve seen before. I’m sure Hannah wants to keep it hidden. It’s all about Amy Harper. I thought Amy’s metamorphosis made sense when I saw this memory before, the abduction, but this particular pocket in Hannah’s mind is also filled with doubt and suspicion. About Michael. Something more happened that Hannah only suspects and it makes me curious that she has even a trace of doubt about Michael. I climb out of that hole as quickly as possible. I’m not going to think those thoughts about him, either. No wonder she buries her disbelief. Still, she needs to deal with her part in Amy’s trauma. Maybe I can make her understand, feel some regret and remorse. Who better to empathize than me? After all, Amy’s spirit is just as detached from her body as mine is.

*  *  *

In between classes Hannah pushes me away. I can hear her socializing, but she does not want to take a chance on me interfering. She won’t let me see or speak.

About the middle of last period my hearing goes deaf. Strangely I still have the sense of touch. I can’t hear it, but the bell must have rung because suddenly I feel our body rise and our feet rush down the stairs. At the landing, Hannah takes the turn a little off balance. The next step has the rubber strip missing and I kick her foot out and up. I shouldn’t have done that. Hannah goes down on her butt and slides roughly over four steps. The hard corners thump her thighs and butt, but she turns to the left enough to save her tailbone. No one helps her as far as I can tell. I don’t feel a hand pull on her arms. Nothing. Our own palms push us up and we clap away the dust and grime from her clothes and hands. I feel her temperature rise. How embarrassing. She keeps me squashed low, probably not willing to multiply the humiliation further by including me. But I know. I can’t hear the snickers and comments that she must be hearing though there’s a wave of conscious impressions that wash over us. Poor Hannah is mortified. If she would let me up, I could help her see that there’s no disgrace or shame in tripping.

Another of my high school fears conquered. I am feeling a bit indebted to Hannah.

A few more steps downward, quicker steps to her locker.

I feel her padlock in our hands, the cool metal of the door, something soft tucked under our arm—the suit and towel she had grabbed from home this morning.

We’re going swimming!

I count her steps as we go the long way and will her to move faster. I feel the smooth clear glass on the palm of her hand as she pushes the door open to the sports wing. I sniff hard for that chlorine scent, my favorite thing, but Hannah is keeping that sense to herself. I smell nothing.

Twenty-two steps to the locker room door. Our feet stop and our body turns. What is she waiting for?
Come on, Hannah, let’s go swim!
Our mouth moves. I can’t read our lips, but the last syllable ends with our tongue on the roof of our mouth. If only I could hear. A moment passes.
Let me up!

Hannah speaks again. I wonder who she’s talking to. I tense every fiber of my being and spring up.

Finally! My eagerness floods all her sensations. It’s the opposite of a dog shaking all the water off its fur. I shake myself into every inch of Hannah.

“Jessica?”

All five of Hannah’s senses work for me now. The chlorine hits my nose with a fierce joy and there in front of me my eyes focus on my best friend, her voice sweet in my ears. I shiver with satisfaction.

“Yeah, hi, Rashanda. Better call me Hannah though or the guys in white coats will come and lock you up.”

Rashanda glances away to where two other swimmers are coming through the doors. I start to call out to Megan, but Rashanda speaks first.

“Hey, Becca, Meg. You know Hannah? She’s going to practice with me for my duet. She’s been, uh, working dry land on Jessica’s routine with me.”

Good save, Rashanda. I try to look conceited then in case they know Hannah.
Do you know these girls, Hannah?
I feel an inner head shake. We have seniors on the team, too, so I warn her that she has to let me know who to talk to.

*  *  *

I do a perfect entry dive and glide below the surface for quite a ways, letting the velvety water ripple through my fingers. I assure Hannah that we can make it underwater to the other end of the pool on one breath. At least I think we can. My lungs are used to it. But not Hannah’s. We surface short of the other end.

I roll in three successive somersaults, grab a breath, and dive to the bottom of the pool. I come up near Rashanda and smile. We stroke in tandem to the far end of the pool and begin our warm-ups with four girls swimming per lane: two lengths each of breast stroke, side stroke, back stroke and crawl. Then we scull head first down and back, then feet first. Everyone spreads out in the pool and treads water until Coach Harris calls out the names of various stunts and we perform to her approval or criticism.

“Nice job, Hannah,” someone calls and I look around to see Megan smiling at me.
Thanks,
I mouth. Hannah pinches our lips together, not willing to be so friendly. Gee, I was just being myself. Attitude is the biggest difference between her and me. Suddenly I want to lecture Hannah on how to be nice. I scold her conscience as I breast stroke to the deep end.

Choose to be happy,
I say to Hannah, speaking to her heart and mind and soul.
Smile, be kind.
And before I can think the next classic line of advice, the one about doing unto others, my soul sighs in exasperation and I look down on Hannah from the top of the diving board.

I’m out!

I lie perched on my stomach with my head dangling over the rough edge of the board. All my senses are my own and I am free of Hannah.

Free of Hannah!

She flounders below in water several feet over her head. She can’t swim, can’t float, can’t grab the sides of the pool, and no one is looking at her except me.