The Secret Side of Empty (20 page)

I put in my headphones and listen. It’s about a girl who is finding ways to say good-bye to all the people in her life before she takes an overdose. Seventeen ways. “
I’m sorry I left you. I had no choice
.” I close my eyes and let the eerie violin play over me. It says something to me I’ve never heard before but which sounds weirdly like coming home. Like finding answers. The refrain is the girl singing, then a little chorus of kids echoing what she says. Creepy and sad. It’s like it turns a light bulb on in my head.

I have racked my brain for a way out, for solutions.

Treading water. Trying to keep from going under. Exhausted. I just want some rest.

This song finally makes it feel so simple. I can’t believe it’s never occurred to me until now. I can make it all stop. Take action. I can finally have peace. No more smacks. No more empty future. No more friends leaving. No more everyone leaving—Chelsea, Nate, Ms. North, my parents in the immigration van. No more Jose crying. No more fatherless Julissa with the dirty linoleum in her mouth. No more anyone leaving. All I have to do is be the one to leave.

Nothing anymore. No more being afraid or tired or ashamed.

People always talk about fighting being the brave thing. But maybe the bravest thing is knowing when to stop. Knowing when you are beat. It is such a simple answer. It almost makes me happy.

Here are all the things you gave me. Here are all the blows and lies. Here are the tales you told me. This is why I say good-bye.

I play the song in a loop over and over again. It is the first time in a long time I have felt someone has been pointing to the answer. The nun’s devil is sitting on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. I get up and go to the drugstore. I need a razor blade. It’s what I’ve always needed.

I
GET
HOME
AFTER
DARK
. N
O
ONE
IS
AWAKE
.

Jose is in bed. I unfold the futon and get into it.

“You’re home so late,” he says.

“I’m sorry I woke you, little dude.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

With the little snores I heard, I beg to differ, but you never call Jose on having been asleep. As far as he’s concerned, he never sleeps.

“All right, well, you should go to sleep then. You have school tomorrow.”

“You too.”

Well, questionable. Haven’t decided.

“Monse? What do people do after they finish high school?”

“They usually go to college. Or they can get a job.”

“Which one are you going to do?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Are you going to leave?”

“Sometimes colleges are like sleepaways.”

He starts to cry. “You can’t leave me.”

It does suck to think of leaving him with these two.

“Don’t worry, there’s a long time until that happens. Like months.”

“Are you going to move away?”

There is one person I’ve never told a lie to, and that’s this kid. I should just say no and he’ll fall asleep. But then one day I won’t be here anymore, and he’ll know I lied.

“Yes. One day I won’t live here anymore.”

He starts to cry harder.

“Who will watch
SpongeBob
with me?”

“One day you won’t want to watch
SpongeBob
anymore and it won’t matter. Please don’t worry about it now.”

“I’ll give you all my clothes so you can remember me by.”

Now I want to cry. Plus if there’s one thing I don’t want to remember him by, it’s his ugly hand-me-downs. “Come over here,” I say.

He climbs out of his bed and onto my futon. I feel his warm, bony back nestle against me. I run the back of my fingers on his tears. “You know, if one day I’m not here, it’s not because I don’t want to be with you.”

“Can I come with you?”

“No, silly.”

“But why?”

I don’t know what answer to give him. So I say, “Let’s fall asleep.”

“Okay.”

It takes him a long time to finally fall asleep. He’s like me that way. But he’s little, so I can outlast him. When he’s out, I pick him up and put him back in his bed,
SpongeBob
pillow under his arm the way he likes it. He is so beautiful.

I reach into my backpack for the drugstore bag. I fish around in the dark for my package. I go in the kitchen and fumble around for the candles and matches my mom keeps in there for when our electricity gets disconnected.

I go into the bathroom, close the door, fire up the laptop, and listen to the song with my headphones on. I hide the razor blade. Just knowing it’s there makes me feel brave.

O
N
S
ATURDAY
, I
DRAG
MY
FEET
TO
THE
KITCHEN
AND
MY
MOTHER
is there, dressed and looking like she’s going to go out.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” She smiles at me.

“Mmmm.”

“I’m glad, because I need you to sit with Jose for a few hours,” she says. She is way too chipper.

What about your husband?
I want to ask.

“And where are you going?” my father says, coming out of his room.

“My class starts on Tuesday, so I need to go buy some notebooks and pencils and things.” Is
that
what she’s so happy about? What an idiot.
Yeah, go learn some English so you’ll understand what they’re saying to you when they deport you
. “Also, Mrs. Nussbaum wants new curtains, so I’m going to go measure.”

“New curtains, huh? And who’s going to be teaching this class?”

“I’m not sure. It’s at the library.”

“You know the library is a public thing, right? That it’s run by the government? What kinds of papers did they ask you for to sign up?” he asks.

“No, nothing, they said it was . . .” She trails off, looking worried.

“They said it was what?”

“They said it was open to anyone. No requirements or anything.”

“Oh, yeah? Is that what they told you?”

“The Nun suggested it. I mean, she must know because—”

“You think The Nun cares about you? You go to your class and you see what’s going to happen to you.”

“Jorge, what do you think is going to happen?” She looks really scared.

“I’m just saying you go on Tuesday and you’ll see. This is not going to end well.”

“I just want to learn English.”

“Okay, you go learn English. Just say good-bye to your children before you go.”

My mother still leaves, but with a lot less bounce in her step.

Score 1 for the Grim Sleeper.

Well, more like score 1,300,000.

N
ATE
CALLS
AGAIN
IN
THE
AFTERNOON
. I
DON
’
T
KNOW
IF
WE
’
RE
broken up or what. It feels like we are.

“Can I please see you?” he says. And because I’m tired of everything, including being mad and scared, I say yes.

I don’t bother to do the whole dolling up thing. I wait ten minutes, then go wait for him outside in my sweatpants and hair in a ponytail. I probably don’t smell great. But there is no point washing up for the end.

He kisses my cheek. “Are you still mad at me?”

“Why didn’t you call me for all those days?” I had told myself I would play it cool, but it falls out of my mouth before I can stop myself. The online advice gurus would not approve.

“When I was at my grandma’s, you mean?”

“Yeah, Christmas. After Christmas.”

“I called you as soon as I got home.”

“But while you were there?”

“She lives in Podunk somewhere. No wireless, terrible reception. And I forgot my charger like a dumb-ass. Plus my cousins were all there . . . I mean, I don’t know, M. I thought you understood I was going away.”

I say nothing. I am not going to make him understand. And now, the anger fading, I’m not sure I know how to explain.

“Hey, can I ask you? What was that Naomi thing?” he asks.

“I saw that she Liked your picture with your cousins, so that made me go on her profile. It felt bad. It felt terrible, actually.”

“What did?”

“To see pictures of the two of you together. To know that—”

“That was, like, last summer.”

“Why are you still posting on her Wall?”

“Because we go to school together. Because we’re friends. It’s no big deal. Because Facebook pops up those little reminders on the right side of the page and you don’t even have to click through to write something.”

“I know what Facebook does.”

“I just wanted to be a nice guy and wish her a happy birthday. Is that really that bad?”

“Did she break your heart?”

“The cheating thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s so crazy how much people talk. Honestly, we were kind of already not seeing each other. She wasn’t that into having a boyfriend. And I . . . I don’t know. It was kind of boring.”

“Like with me?”

“This is a totally different thing.”

“Is there an N and N ankle bracelet floating around somewhere?”

He puts his arm around me.

“Nope.”

“It sort of bothers me that you guys share a first initial.”

He laughs. “Should I change my name? Maybe I can be one of those guys who spells his name backward.”

“Etan.”

“Not bad. Too close to Ethan, though. We’d need it to be really freaky. Maybe use my full name. Leinahtan.”

“Sounds vaguely Hawaiian.”

“We could move to Molokai and I could wear a sarong all day,” he jokes, kissing my cheek, near my lips.

I stare at the floor of his car. I don’t understand how he so easily survives for days like that without me, when I feel like the color has drained out of the world when I’m without him.

He says, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

I move my face and kiss him. At least he’s here now.

“
M
.
T., did you hear me?” I look up from my doodle to see a very creased-looking Ms. Kracowitz, staring at me.

“I’m sorry, what was that, Ms. Kracowitz?”

“I said I don’t see your homework here.”

“Oh. I guess I don’t have it.” Since after Christmas break, I’ve sort of stopped doing most of it.

“I’d like to speak to you after class.”

I shuffle my feet up to the front of the class.

“Yes, Ms. Kracowitz?”

“This is the first year I’ve had you in class, and, to be honest, I haven’t been impressed. But I’m assured by other teachers that you are a very dedicated student and your past grades and test scores would seem to indicate that. So I’m confused. Are you not understanding the material?”

I consider telling her I have not read any of the textbook or paid attention for weeks, but I’m not sure that’s going to help this conversation along.