The Way We Bared Our Souls (14 page)

ON MONDAY, I COULDN’T BELIEVE
IT
.

Not only was Ellen eating lunch in the courtyard—and actually
eating
, no less—instead of hiding out in the bathroom doing god knows what or skipping school in favor of Meth-Head Mike’s company, she actually seemed to be having fun.

She was sitting on the concrete circumference of Agua de Water with Alex and Juanita. Smiling. Laughing. She looked like a different person. I’d completely forgotten how her eyes shone when she was happy because it had been so long since I’d seen her looking anything other than remote or angry. Her skin was clearer, and her designer clothes didn’t seem to swallow her as much. She definitely exuded health.

I trotted up to my friends and put down my backpack. All September I had hardly been able to wait to throw it down because the straps bit into my shoulders with the weight of textbooks, but today, of course, I felt zero discomfort.

“So,
chicas
,” Ellen said, “where’s Weekends on Wednes-days this week?” Alex and Juanita exchanged an anxious glance and then looked to me for support.

“About that . . . ,” Juanita said. Oh, crap. I’d forgotten about the intervention we’d planned last week.

“You guys,” I said, “maybe it’s not such a good time.” But Ellen had already lost her sunny expression. I had no idea what to say next, and Alex took over for me.

“Listen, Ellen,” she said, adopting a maternal tone. “You know we love you. Always have and always will. And it’s
because
we love you that . . .”

“We don’t think you should go to the party this week,” Juanita blurted. “In fact, we think it’s a really bad idea.”

“What?” Ellen said, genuinely dumbfounded. Even after the swap, she still didn’t seem to know how unruly her bad habits had gotten.

“You’ve been acting like a beast,” Juanita said. “You’ve been out of control, Ellen.
Especially
at parties. I’m glad you’re acting civilized today—believe me, it’s a breath of fresh air—but whatever you’ve been up to in your free time has kind of turned you into a nightmare. Of, like, Carrie proportions. Post–pig’s blood Carrie.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Ellen said. Her face crumpled from all this so-called tough love, and Juanita hesitated.

“Lo,” she said, “can you back me up on this?”

I wanted Alex and Juanita to know that I wasn’t betraying our decision to confront Ellen about her problem, but at the same time Ellen’s problem was sort of obsolete now. She was on to new things. Now she possessed
my
demon.

Before I could say anything, Ellen opened her mouth to speak. I was expecting the worst—normally she’d go totally ballistic whenever she felt threatened or insecure—but amazingly, her voice was calm and even.

“I get why you guys are worried,” she said. She serenely intertwined her fingers in her lap and made sustained eye contact first with Alex, then Juanita. “I know that it comes from a good place. Really. And I appreciate it more than you know. But I’m a lot better now, and I promise that going to the party won’t be a problem. Plus”—and here she looked to me for complicity—“I talked to Lo about it over the weekend. She promised that she’d be my date to the party and make sure that I behave myself. She swore on her heart. Didn’t you, Lo?”

I nodded sheepishly. But I didn’t really understand why Ellen wanted to go to Weekends anyway, where we all huddled around a keg as if it were a campfire.

“See?” Ellen said. “I’ll be fine. All good.”

Alex and Juanita didn’t look convinced, but they also didn’t seem to have the wherewithal to argue with Ellen’s earnest promises.

“Okay,” Alex said. “Just be careful. Like we said, we don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Suddenly, Ellen winced as if she’d been stabbed, then quickly recovered before Alex and Juanita noticed anything. I could tell that it wasn’t a reaction to Alex’s words; she was having a muscle spasm. School was one thing, but I wondered how Ellen would cope with her symptoms in a more concentrated social situation. Like a party.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Ellen said, “I have to finish my homework before English class.” She headed toward the library with a limp so subtle I was surely the only one who noticed it.

“You’re really going to look after her on Wednesday night?” Alex said. I looked away from Ellen’s melancholy, retreating figure.
Focus, Lo.

“Yeah,” I said. “Really. I think she’s turned a corner. And more than anything she needs her friends right now. I won’t let her leave my sight. Promise.”

“You’re sure?” Alex said. “You know the party’s at Jason’s house, right? You might be distracted by your ex’s cute little butt.”

“Gross, Alex. You know I don’t share your flagrant butt fetish.” I smiled. “Anyway, Jason and I are
long
over. Definitely just friends. Plus I’m . . . sort of interested in someone else.”

“No way!” Juanita said. “Who? I can’t believe you’ve been holding out. Please don’t say it’s Luis. He’d probably drop me in a heartbeat if he thought you were interested.”

“No, he wouldn’t, you coconut,” I said. Juanita’s insecurity streak never ceased to baffle me. “And it’s
not
Luis. It’s still too early to know if it’s anything. I don’t want to jinx it.” I resisted the urge to gush, afraid that if I started talking about Thomas, I might reveal everything.

“You bad girl,” said Alex. “So you think this is for real?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I hope so.” I stood up and tossed a quarter in the fountain, wishing for another trip in the hot-air balloon with Thomas. But if we went up again, I’m not sure I’d ever want to come down.

BY THE TIME SCHOOL WAS
out, I was beyond tired. Still way better than going blind or breaking down from a migraine, but I hadn’t anticipated how mentally exhausting it would be to avoid getting injured constantly.

I couldn’t sprint down the hallway when I was late for class, because what if I stumbled and broke my ankle without realizing it? I couldn’t risk slamming my locker door shut, because what if my hand inadvertently got caught, the way it had in my bedroom window? And I had to get in and out of my desk chairs very gingerly as I went from class to class. What if someone had left a pencil on the seat and I impaled myself? I had waking nightmares of sitting on knives and razor blades. But even though I was beat from all the vigilance, I’d promised Thomas that I’d be careful, so I moved delicately through my day.

When I finally dragged myself up my driveway that afternoon, eager to crash on the couch where nothing could hurt me, I heard a skateboard around the back of the house. I approached on the side garden path, past my bedroom window and the chattering chicken coop.

“Kit?” I called. “Is that you?” My previously bereaved neighbor was now doing kickflips on the cement patio that surrounded our aboveground swimming pool, and I was unexpectedly thrilled to see him. His smile was like a shot in the arm.

“Hey, Lo,” he said. “I came looking for you, and your mom let me in. She said I could skate or take a swim while I waited. Cool?”

“Of course,” I said. “But you know, if that pool were four feet lower I’d point out that what you’re doing was dangerous.”

“Oh, it might
still
be dangerous. Have you seen how much air I’m getting? I might rocket into your pool. I’m like a New Mexican jumping bean.”

“Hi, Consuelo.”

I started and turned around at the sound of the new voice. Kaya stepped gracefully through the patio doorway and pushed the glass shut behind her.

“Kaya!” I said. The last time Kaya was at my house was in eighth grade, and that was only because my parents had convinced me to invite her to my birthday party. Of course barely anyone but me had talked to her, and I’m sure she’d had a terrible time, but Mom’s conscience was clean because she’d tried. And at least Kaya had returned home in one piece.

“Kit wanted to teach me how to skateboard while we waited,” Kaya said, “but it’s still so hot out—your mom said we should take a swim instead.”

“That’s cool. Do you need to borrow a suit?”

“Kit, um, ran next door to get me one. He still has one of Lucita’s old suits. And it fits.”

Was my pang of jealousy directed toward Kaya or Kit’s dead ex-girlfriend? My friends used to tell me that Lucita and I looked sort of alike. Because the pigments of our eyes and hair were totally different, not to mention the color of our skin, I dismissed the comparison. It wasn’t until I saw Lucita’s photo above her obituary in the
New Mexican
that I first noticed the similarities in our features. I couldn’t stop staring at her face. In that photo, we could have been sisters—or at least cousins. Our noses and lips were almost the same. The way we always cocked our heads slightly when we knew that someone was looking at us. I wondered if I reminded Kit of Lucita. Or if gorgeous Native American Kaya struck a familiar nerve as well.

Standing next to the chicken pen, Kaya took off her shirt, revealing an unconscionably beautiful body. In Lucita’s red bikini, she was stunning. The scars and bruises that blighted her torso weren’t enough to play down her curvy, perfect form. Who knew she was hiding that figure under her loose-fitting jeans and sweatshirts?

Apparently not Kit. I tried to signal him to stop staring before he made Kaya uncomfortable.

Then, as she took off her shorts, my awe at her centerfold measurements turned to shock. At first it looked as if the fronts of her legs were dyed or tattooed black, or that the flesh on her shins was infected with gangrene or dark scabs. Then I realized that every centimeter of Kaya’s legs was covered with ink drawings.

“Whoa,” Kit said, trying, like me, to contend with her body.

“Your legs,” I said, feeling timid. “Can I . . . ? Is it all right if I look more closely?”

Kaya shrugged and took a seat on a lounge chair. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and wiggled her naked toes in the sun. The drawings looped all the way down to her feet.

I could barely take in the range of images depicted in ink: Scenes of Indian warriors battling uniformed soldiers on horseback, tableaus of men shooting arrows into herds of buffalo, Navajo hogans burning. Pictures of dead chieftains, slaughtered families, razed orchards and cornfields—all interwoven with the scars that crisscrossed Kaya’s legs. She stood up and walked to the edge of the pool.

“Kaya, stop,” I said, still somewhat dazed by the surreal landscapes on her body. She looked so beautiful. “You can’t go in. All the pictures will wash off.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I can always draw them again. The scenes are in my head. They’re like photographs. Or movies.” Then she climbed the ladder and slipped into the water.

Kit and I looked at each other warily as a small gray cloud formed in Kaya’s wake. “I’m worried,” he said.

“So am I.”

We stood there in silence for a few minutes, watching Kaya swim the meager circumference of the pool over and over again, the storm of ink still trailing her.

“So you and Thomas, huh?” Kit said abruptly, clearly unable to keep his frenetic mind from wandering, even from this incredible sight. I looked away from the pool, startled, and felt my cheeks redden.

“What do you mean? Did he . . . say something to you?”

Kit gave me a knowing look. “Not exactly.”

“Oh. Well. Nothing’s going on. I don’t think.” But if I’d been a little braver, and a little more sure of what I wanted, maybe something could have happened at Zozobra the night before. At times it had taken all I had not to kiss him. “Is that why you came over?” I said. “To ask me about Thomas?”

“I quit taking my antidepressants,” Kit said. Again, no segue. His mind moved too fast for me to try to keep up with his stream of consciousness.

“How long have you been on them?” I said.

“My parents put me on them last year. After Lucita. But I don’t need them anymore.”

“That’s good,” I said. “I’m glad that you’re happier.” Kit nodded proudly. (“Happier” might have been the wrong word to use. He was like a human disco ball. Definitely a hard boy to figure out.) I wanted to delve deeper. “I guess, though, that I don’t entirely understand how Ellen’s addiction translated to you. You seem to be doing better than any of us. Don’t get me wrong—I . . .
we
all think it’s great. But . . . can you explain it?”

“I think I’m just seeing life for the first time. And really living it moment to moment. It feels like a drug because it’s fresh and illicit somehow. You know, like it feels so good it must be wrong.”

I smiled. “You’re not going to get in trouble for enjoying the world again.”

“That’s a relief. Because I’m ecstatic.” There was still something eerie about all this. Like Kit didn’t seem willing to acknowledge darkness along with the light.

“But don’t you worry that you might lose this new state of mind?” I said. “I mean, I feel better too, but I’m still scared that it will all come crashing down in less than a week. That being healed is an illusion.”

“You mean if we swap back on Saturday?”
Yes
, I thought, but I still hoped we’d never have to switch back.

“Or if we just lose our new . . . gifts,” I said. “Somehow.”

“I don’t think Ellen would define what she gave me as a ‘gift,’” Kit said. “And neither would Kaya for you.”

“That’s the weird thing about it. These burdens seem to be transformed, depending on who has them. Depending on our pasts or maybe . . . our attitudes.”

“Yeah, well, you certainly seem to be thriving with Kaya’s condition.”

“You think? I mean, yeah. I can’t really argue with you there. I’m tired from all the tiptoeing around, for sure, but physically I feel amazing. And you. . . . Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re like a dying houseplant that’s finally been given sunlight and water.”

“And, like, a million-dollar ceramic pot.”

“Exactly,” I said. “But Kaya, meanwhile. . . .”

We looked to the pool. Kaya had stopped swimming in circuits and was now treading water, watching us intently.

“What are you guys talking about?” she said.

For some reason I wanted to shield her from the concern I felt. Though I was no longer intimidated by Ellen, Kaya somehow made me feel very small. There was something . . . I don’t know . . .
formidable
about her since the ritual. Something deep that I couldn’t access.

“We were just saying that it’s time for your first skateboarding lesson,” Kit said.

Kaya climbed out of the pool, toweled off, and put on her shorts. “I’m ready,” she said. “My mom would
never
let me try this.”

Kit handed her a helmet.

“No thanks,” she said. I looked at her warily. “Don’t baby me, Lo. I get enough of that at home. I’ll be careful.”

I didn’t like this at all, but she was right. She wasn’t a child anymore. I didn’t feel that it was my place to stop her.

On Kaya’s first attempt, the skateboard flew out from under her, and she crashed to the concrete patio, landing hard on her side. I rushed to help her up, but she just smiled up at me widely and rubbed her elbow.

“I guess I have a high pain threshold,” she said. “Who knew? Hey, do either of you guys have a bike I can borrow?”

“Absolutely,” Kit said.
Here we go again
, I thought.

Kit and I retrieved three bikes from our respective garages and went to the street. Kaya immediately took off ahead of us, toward the center of town. As I struggled to catch up, Kaya lifted her arms from the handlebars and stretched them to her sides. I hadn’t even known that she could ride a bike. Her posture was strong, like she believed she’d never fall. She flew by adobe houses, galleries with art spilling practically to the sidewalk, and butterfly bushes planted along the empty road.

“Wait up!” I shouted.

She finally stopped at an intersection, and Kit and I pulled up beside her. I noticed that my calf was greasy and bleeding from getting scraped by the gears.

“With the wind in my hair,” Kaya said, grinning ear to ear, “it feels almost like riding a horse.”

“I didn’t know you rode horses,” I said.

“I’ve been breaking in stallions since I was a little girl,” she said. “Just not in this lifetime.”