Never Said (12 page)
A few flakes of snow fall. Slowing down. Maybe it's too cold for them too.
“You decide,” I say. And we're off to the car, my heart pounding, and Annie's telling me about Jared and Ben. The apology. The hate.
“Oh,” I say, again and again.
We drive around town until Annie stops shaking. Till she can tell how she felt that day in an empty hallway. How she felt when Jared apologized. How she's known that Ben is still bent out of shape because her actions messed with his college possibilities.
“But the notes.” I'm picking at my nails. Have pulled one off too low. “It shows he doesn't care.”
“Right,” she says.
We drive on. Pass Dad's office.
“I hate that place,” my sister says.
Pass the high school twice, like a dare.
“I hate that place too.”
Pass the community center where Annie participated in a few pageants when she was younger. This is the venue that asked her to be a guest judge. “That place,” she says, her voice as slow motion as those few snowflakes. “That place I don't mind.”
After a bit Annie says, “Sarah. Maybe I'm starting a diet. You know. A diet of healthy eating.”
“What?” I sit up straight in my seat. Nurse my finger.
“Sure. I think I've decided to. Don't tell Mom. I don't want her crawling all over me.”
The car is warm and I think this Tommy Jones thing is over. It's over. I laugh. Happy to be in on the secret. “Are you serious? Why? I thought you wanted . . .” I pause.
“I know. To be this way.” Annie's quiet. “It's time to do the hard things and face what's happened. And why not?” Annie says. She doesn't look me in the eye.
“Of course. Why not?”
And then, “I am so glad, Annie. Glad this is what you want.”
She changes lanes without signaling. “Let's get doughnuts as a sendoff. My treat.”
The road is full of traffic. The whole town looks dirty because of the old snow, the lifeless looking trees, the sky like an upside-down pot of scrubbed steel.
So this is what Springfield looks like when we're in school. I never really thought about how life goes on when I'm not there. How Dad goes into the office. How Mom stays at home.
We park the car and go into the Krispy Kreme store that smells so yeasty and sweet my mouth waters. Order tea and three doughnuts (each!) and eat one standing at the counter.
“Now where?” Annie says. “We're killing time. We don't have to do anything unless we want to.”
“I know.” I lick glaze from my fingers. Peek in the bag at the remaining doughnuts. Hesitate before I speak. “It's like Before. Or before Before. You know, when we were friends.”
Annie hugs me. Not a one-armed hug, but a tight, close-to-
her embrace. “I don't know how it happened,” she says, “but I've missed this, this being with you.”
“Me too.”
My sister kisses my face, pushes my hair back. “Let's get out of here.”
I grab her hand and we slip and slide outside, all the way to the car.
Here's what I think. What I know.
Popular people feel
lonely heartbroken sad stressed used tired
angry bullied frustrated annoyed isolated broken-
hearted abused anxious overworked
the same as anyone else.
We aren't allowed to show pain.
If you complain
you're made fun of.
If you say you're too tired
too bored
too far behind
someone will say “Suck it up.”
Making a change now
could be
dangerous.
Could be bad
for my health.
Losing weight.
fewer doughnuts
less candy
no nighttime snacks
empty drawers
I think of that thin girl
in the reflection
at school,
the thin me.
Then I think of Tommy
and
others
the
Other
and I'm scared. Scared.
Today
I don't want to be with anyone
except Sarah.
“Tell me how this all
started with Tommy,” she says.
Tell me.
W
e're sipping tea. Eating the last of our doughnuts. Annie speaks. The kind of monologue where I can tell she's not saying everything.
First it's, “We're not going to Dad's dumb party.”
She sounds eight years old and I laugh, relief flooding through me. No violin! No duet! No people to push through, be introduced to, to try to talk to.
“If you don't,” I say, “I won't either.” I sit back in the seat. Close my eyes. Taste sugar on my lips.
Wait.
“Guys,” Annie says. “They're so dumb. Even Garret.”
Even Alex? I almost want to ask Annie what she thinks but this is her time. Her story. And for once I don't mind hiding my own from view.
“Yes, Sarah,” Annie says. Her eyes are so green in this gray world. She's finished that second doughnut. She swirls her tea around in the cup. There's a dark red lipstick print on the lid. “Garret was a fool. Is a fool. He doesn't deserve you. To dump you because his mom said so. You two had a great thing.”
My heart has moved into my throat.
“I'm sorry it happened.”
An older lady pulls up next to us in the parking lot. She has
on a cream-colored coat (is cream even a color?) and she seems like the only bright bit out there today. She walks into Dillard's.
I'm so grateful to hear Annie say this about Garret. How I didn't do anything wrong, I don't know whether to bawl or laugh.
“Jared had a crush on me.” Annie looks out the window like she's driving. Hands on the steering wheel and everything. “The guy from your sign language class?”
“Okay.”
“And Ben was always there. Whenever Jared talked to me, there was Ben. It was strange.”
It's snowing now. Icy sleet, really. A truck sails out of the parking lot and to the red light, almost rolling into traffic.
“Guys,” Annie says. “They can be real jerks. Young and old. All of them.”
And our talk is done.
They were Dumb and
Dumber
Bumbling around
And I shouted no
shouted at Jared to leave me alone
And he did.
G
irls,” Dad says late that night. He slaps his hands together, rubs them like he can create a fire. “We're expecting a crowd.”
“No children this time,” Mom says. She looks beautiful today. Relieved. Like the Tommy knowledge has freed her. “Thank goodness. No one ever watches their kids.”
I look up from my laptop at Annie. Mom is exhilarated. At her best. She's had the cleaning ladies over, ordered all the food and wine.
Dad folds the
New York Times
, picks up his phone that's beeped at him. It runs his life, that phone.
“And you too, Sarah,” Dad says. “No more of this shy stuff. I need you to push through and be your best self. This is important to me. Executives are coming in from Florida. We all need to shine. Okay?”
“Dad,” I say. There's a fist where my heart used to be.
“Didn't I tell you?” Annie says, “We're not going to be here.” She's in her jammies. Showered already. No one knows, but she was in the basement on the treadmill.
“I'm out of shape, Sarah,” she'd said earlier when I let myself in to chat with her. She grinned when she spoke, sweat dripping off her face.
Now our father looks at both of us. For a moment I envision him before success, before shy and overweight daughters. In my memory he looks like he used to. Like he did when we were more important than money. Gosh, he used to laugh with us. I'd forgotten that.
He says, “You'll be here.” He glances at me. Eyes Annie. “Both of you.” He's pointing. Emphasizing the words. “This is a family affair.”
Dad doesn't wait for an answer. Just leaves. Where's he going this late? I hear the door to the garage open then close.
Annie and I look at Mom. That fist is pounding in my chest. Pounding at my ribs. This is all too much for me.
“Sometimes . . . ,” Mom says and then she stops herself. The tired mom I'm used to shows up again.
Then Dad is back. Standing in the doorway of the front room.
“Daddy,” I say. I don't mean to sound scared.
“Annie. Sarah,” Dad says.
We all stare at him. “Look. I'm sorry. I've lost myself.”
He steps closer then backs up.
“This crap you've been dealing with at school, Annie. Your mother told me about it last night and I should have been there for it. For you.” He stops talking. “I should have known. Stopped it.”
I glance at Annie, who stands there with her mouth hanging open.
“But I've let work get in the way. I'm so sorry.”
He opens his hands to us, palms out. I'm too surprised to answer.
“You don't have to do it. You don't have to do anything. But if you'll forgive me, both of you, for not being here for the last little while . . .”
Mom makes this sad sound in her throat.
It's our old father standing there. The one who used to spend time with us. Took off work and insisted we stay home from school so we could do things with him.
A hush goes over the room. Annie looks at me. I nod at her.
“Daddy,” Annie says, “you're forgiven. And of course we'll play for you and Mom. It's our tradition.”
She runs to him. Throws her arms around his neck. He rests his head on hers.
“I'll try,” I say. “I'll try.” I'm welcomed into the hug.
He expected more,
Wanted more,
Asked for more,
And I gave it.
Hands
grab
pull
want
ask
demand.
“If you loved me. If you loved me.”
I wake, a scream tearing out of me.
In the dark I can see a slice of my face in the mirror.
I don't want to be alone.
Not anymore.
The club.
My parents?
For sure, my sister.
Can I make these choices?
T
hat night, after the doughnuts and time with Annie, the hugs from Dad and then Mom, all of us together, I dream of snow. Too much. Fast-falling. Blinding. It fills my mouth. I'm freezing to death.
Annie pokes me awake. At first I'm not sure if this is part of my dreaming. I squint at her.
“What?” I'm trembling from cold.
“Let me in bed with you,” Annie says.
Her voice is low and I wonder if steam comes from her lips or if that's my imagination still in this room.
“Okay.” I slide over, and Annie gets into bed.
She's a heater. She warms my cold feet, cold hands, snuggles against my back.
I'm almost asleep, positioned the way we used to scrooch up to each other. In fact, I'm dreaming of snow again. And a black tree that grows tiny buds of leaves.
Annie whispers, “Sarah, I'm afraid.”
I jerk awake.
“What?” I ask.
But there's no answer.
W
hen we get into the car (warmed already!), I'm surprised at a handwritten note.
“Look at this,” I say. “It's a thank you. From Dad.”
Annie stares at me, the car idling. She tilts her head a little, like she can't believe what I've just said. “What?” She grabs the paper from my hand. Reads the words I've seen, “Thank you, girls. I love you both,” then stares at me again.
“What is going on with them?” Annie says. She's whispering. Reverent. “Did you notice Mom was civil? More than civil?”
I nod.
There is something strange about what's happening in our family. This change in Dad just as Annie decides to lose weight and I decide to no longer think of Garret. All of us shifting at once. Is it in the air?
“Sometimes,” Annie says, still looking at me, the card in her fingers. I can barely hear her over the heater. “Sometimes I think everything will be okay if . . .” She pauses, “. . . If they would just be okay with who we are.”
I nod. Yes. I know that feeling. That please-let-me-be-who-I-am-and-love-me-still feeling.
We're backing out of the garage. She's handed me the card
and I hold it against my chest. It's like warm weather has filled the car.
“He was human last night.”
Last night.
Annie coming into my room. That dream. This card from Dad. All strange.
We head off down the road. The sun is bright, the sky clear. The snow reflects the light and is blinding.
“I'm glad,” I say. “We've all been so . . .” I can't think of the word.
“Off?” Annie says.
“Broken.”
“Yes,” Annie says. “That's it.”
I tuck the message from Dad into my backpack.
Mr. Freeman stands in the driveway, looking in the direction of the sun.
“Why doesn't he go inside?” Annie says.
“He's so old.”
I glance at Annie as we drive past Mr. Freeman, who doesn't look in our direction. Something about him makes me feel sad. His loneliness maybe? My loneliness?
“Does he have dementia?” I ask.
“Who cares?” Annie says. Then we're racing to school again.
Today, after classes, we'll meet.
There are nine people so far.
Kids I've spoken to about this
who might need it.
Nine without any real advertising.
How's that?
I know for a fact everyone at school could come here.
But they won't.
They're too good to admit
we're all the same.
They are like I used to be.
I peek in at Sarah
during Sign class,
watch my sister.