The Way We Bared Our Souls (17 page)

“Wrongs
can
be corrected,” I said. “People can start all over again on any given breath.”

Thomas pulled his hoodie over his head and blinked. His eyelashes were long. He smelled of lilac and metal.

“In Liberia they already locked up everyone they’re going to lock up,” he said. “I wish they’d locked up people like me. At least then I would know for certain whether I was good or bad.”

“You’re good,” I said. “I know that you’re good.” I wanted to touch him, to run my finger down the scar on his neck, to try to feel his pain by proxy. “You were a victim, Thomas. You did what you had to do to survive.” Just as I had done what I had to do, by enlisting four others in my dubious experiment.

“I know,” he said. “Intellectually I know that. But since the ritual, now that I can see my actions at one remove, I hate myself for them. I don’t experience the trauma firsthand, like I used to, but the memories are still vivid. I see myself with knives, guns, playing with people’s
lives
, Consuelo. And now that I can experience emotion again, I can imagine what my victims felt. It’s like now I’m able to empathize with their fear as they faced me, a killer. It’s . . . agony.”

“You need to forgive yourself,” I said. “Maybe your burden isn’t the trauma so much as the weight of your conscience.”

“No offense to Jay and his coyote, but I don’t think this world contains enough magic to ease my conscience. To make me . . . better.”

“Then maybe it’s not magic that you need,” I said. “Maybe you just need time.”

Thomas softly touched my cheek. “Maybe,” he said, ignoring the stars and looking into my eyes. “Maybe I can still feel a little magic.”

Then, I couldn’t help it. I kissed him.

I was done holding back, done restraining myself, done being nervous and shy. My body was invincible, ecstatic, and it knew exactly what it wanted. It wanted to feel warm against Thomas’s skin.

“How did you know?” he whispered after a moment, pulling back and cupping my cheek.

“Know what?” I said.

“That this was my wish.”

Then our lips were melted insolubly together, like glaciers turned to liquid, swirling through the oceans that had once separated us, and the spirit of his body was fused into mine, and we were connected, gathered in the same currents of wind and water, lightly bouncing on a trampoline under the vast universe of sky that bound us all. I tasted blood, but I didn’t know if it was mine or Thomas’s. Who had bit whom? It didn’t matter. Our souls, for a few blessed moments, were one.

• • •

In bed that night I touched my body. I wondered if I could still feel true pleasure. Or true happiness. Because without knowing the opposite sensation, I was no longer sure. The positive and negative felt like two sides of a coin, and lacking one or the other, I was broke, penniless, with nothing left to wish on.

I rose from my bed and opened my window wide. I wanted to feel the wind between my fingers, to turn my hand into a weather vane. I wanted to feel a song coursing through my veins. But I only felt numbness. I returned to my bed so I could dream about Thomas, so together we could inhabit a world where it was safe to feel everything.

THE WEEKENDS ON WEDNESDAYS PARTY
was at Jason Sibley’s palatial desert mansion for the second week in a row. Jason hosted a lot of these parties because he essentially lived alone with the housekeeper ever since his dad had started his post-divorce dating life. The Sibley estate included a pool and a casita behind the main house, with boulders placed artfully all over the backyard. Mr. Sibley, a prestigious art dealer who always said I was the spitting image of the painter George Romney’s
Lady Hamilton as Circe
—a painting I kept meaning to look up—had probably ordered them special from a catalogue.

The five of us drove there together that night. As soon as I came to a stop in the Sibley driveway, Kit tore off alone, heading straight for the scene in the backyard. Thomas and I entered the house first, with Kaya and Ellen lagging behind. We warily scanned the crowd, which was already drunk and rambunctious at nine
P
.
M
., due to excessively celebrating that evening’s SFHS basketball victory over Santa Fe Prep. The boys who stumbled drunk across the room were doing a far better imitation of my former symptoms than I could approximate.

“Lo!” Juanita screamed as she barreled tipsily out of the kitchen with Alex hot on her heels. “You made it!
Gracias a Dios
.”

“Hey,
hermanas
,” I said.

To my right, Ellen and Kaya had been staring at an abstract painting on the wall, but they turned now to face the two chatty Aguas.

“Hi, Ellen,” Alex said cautiously, as if she were saying hello to a loose jungle cat. She tugged me by the elbow toward the couch. I shot Thomas a helpless, apologetic look over my shoulder as I was led away.

“Are you sure she’s okay?” Alex said in a loud, conspiratorial whisper.

“Ellen?” I said. For a second I thought she might be referring to Kaya, who’d never been to one of these parties before, as far as I knew.

“No, Mrs. Butterworth. Of course Ellen!” Juanita said. Just then our school mascot charged by in his buffalo costume with the ginormous head removed, shouting something about vodka shots. “I know you said it was okay, but . . . see? Temptation everywhere.”

“I know you’re worried,” I said, thinking I could use a shot myself, “but Ellen is fine. Does she seem high to you?”

“Actually,” Alex said, glancing around the room, “I don’t see her anywhere.”
Crud.
No Thomas either. Or Kaya. I hadn’t even been at the party five minutes and I had already misplaced my sacred charges.

“Be right back,” I said to the girls. “And see if you can flag down that drunken buffalo for me.” I walked through the main room, out the broad patio doors, and into the backyard. No matter how rich people are in Santa Fe, their yards still look freshly bulldozed. People here don’t landscape with oak trees and carp ponds; they landscape with rocks and cacti.

Jason had set up a bar next to the pool and was personally manning the blender. And there was Ellen, standing patiently behind a couple of sophomore girls who were waiting for drinks. When Jason saw Ellen he told the sophomores to hold on a minute. “VIP,” he said. “Step aside.” Ellen approached the table edge.

“You’re just the lady I’ve been waiting for,” said my ex, whose lips had felt rubbery when we’d kissed and who didn’t know how to make conversation beyond the subjects of movies, sports, and the best Mexican food in town. Not that those aren’t important subjects.

“I’ve got something special for you,” he said to Ellen. “Your favorite. In case you want to do your karaoke version of ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ again later.” He poured a generous dose of tequila into a red plastic cup. I started to intervene, but before I could stop Jason from fulfilling his host duties, Ellen spoke up.

“No thanks. Do you have any ginger ale?”

Jason looked disappointed that his trusty wild child was turning down party favors. But he poured her some soda anyway and then summoned back the younger girls, who eagerly accepted tequila shots and sliced limes—though I didn’t know how they could drink anything through their constant giggling.

I put my arm around Ellen, who now stood looking rather forlorn at the edge of the pool.

“You had me worried for a second, when I saw you at the bar.”

“Wow,” she said. “That felt weird. I wasn’t sure that I could do it.”

“Is that why you wanted to come tonight?” I said. “To test yourself?”

“Maybe. I still can’t believe I turned down
tequila
. If there was any doubt left at all, it’s gone now. I’m definitely sick.”

“Or getting better?” I countered.

We walked around the pool to find the others. Kit wasn’t drinking either; he was too busy practicing handstands in the irrigated part of the grass with Lacy Campbell, a petite junior, and a couple of her friends. When I walked up, Lacy was happily holding Kit’s ankles as he balanced upside down.

“Hey, Lo!” he said, his face slowly turning pink as the blood rushed to his head. “What’s up, Ellen?” Ellen shot Lacy a dirty look and then sauntered back toward the house.

“Don’t be jelly!” Kit called at her back. She flipped him the bird.

“Hey, Kit,” I said. “Good form. Have you seen the others?”

“Let’s see,” he said, dropping to earth when Lacy let go of his legs. “Thomas was lurking around here somewhere. That’s probably who you’re looking for, huh?” He gave me a significant wink.

“Sure,” I said, almost definitely blushing. “But Kaya too.”

“Yeah, right,” Kit said. “I’m onto you, Lo. You have a one-track mind these days. Kamara round-the-clock. But if you must keep up appearances, I think Kaya’s around here somewhere too.”

I pulled Kit aside so his spotter wouldn’t overhear. “How’s she doing?”

“Oh, you know. Parties are stressful. You don’t know whether to do Jell-O shots or eat pot brownies.”

“I’m serious, Kit.”

“I know you are. I’m just . . . I’m not sure how Kaya’s doing. She seemed a little anxious when she came by a minute ago. I guess we should probably try to smoke her out. Find her, I mean. Not, you know, haha.”

“Let me know if you see her before I do.”

“Will do,” he said. “I’m on the case. Just let me do a couple more handstands first. These girls need a show.”

A show. I wondered how much of Kit’s happy-go-lucky attitude was an act and how much of it was real. I watched him do a handspring in the grass. Athletes materialized out of nowhere to high-five him. Luis arrived holding Jason’s adorable Chihuahua, Knick-Knack—the two starting
K
’s were pronounced, of course—and Kit was suddenly on the ground, rubbing the dog’s belly and getting bathed in licks. It seemed like half the party was gathered around Kit, egging him on. This was the first time that most of them had interacted after-hours with my usually sullen neighbor, and they were clearly surprised and pleased by how cool he turned out to be. But I guess I’d always known.

Then I saw Thomas and momentarily forgot all about Kit. More precisely, before I saw his face, I saw the long scar on his neck. He was wearing a button-down tonight. No hoodie.

He sat alone on a bench at the edge of the pool patio, drinking a bottle of expensive iced tea, watching the Agua crowd as they set up an unsanctioned fireworks display in the Sibleys’ barren backyard.

“Hi,” I said, walking up to him. I grinned despite myself. So did he, and I wondered if he was also remembering last night’s kiss on the trampoline. Maybe he was also tingling a little bit at the memory.

“Are those meatheads following safety protocol?” I said, gesturing toward Luis, Brett, and the basketball players surrounded by shrieking freshman girls eager to worship them and their pyrotechnics. Alex and Juanita stood at a safe distance from the installation, barking orders, with hefty drinks in their hands.

“Just barely,” Thomas said. “You know how kids are these days with their fireworks.”

“I’ll be sure not to let my dad get wind of it. He might unleash the full muscle of the Forest Service on Juanita.”

“Your dad actually hired me as his proxy. I’m satellite fire marshal tonight. Officially.”

“Oh, really?” I said. “I thought that was my job. Isn’t it inherited through bloodlines?”

“It was, but I fired you because you were so slow getting here. Meanwhile I’ve already seen three or four safety violations.”

“You’re pretty strict,” I said. “I’ll be careful not to violate any of your rules.”

“You can violate me all you want.” Thomas laughed. “Right now, in that dress, you’re what’s known as ‘above the law.’” He winked at me, and I felt my cheeks grow hot with pleasure. Finally he was noticing my outfit. I’d probably put more thought into it tonight than I had into my Zozobra prom attire. Short white sundress with barely there straps, and boots with little kitten heels. I smiled shyly. It felt good to flirt with Thomas as regular teenagers, and not as members of the Damaged Persons Club. Then I heard an electric guitar riff coming from the casita. A band was setting up on a small stage inside. I squinted my eyes toward the music. With mild shock it hit me that I recognized the guys on stage.

“Oh my gosh,” I said. “I actually know this band. Hijos de Juan! I heard them play once downtown. With my aunt.”

“The one who passed away?” Thomas said tenderly. “You know, you’ve never really told me about her.”

“I will,” I said. “Just not right now. You guys would have liked each other.” Then I spaced out just as I used to space out from my symptoms. But this time I credited wholly different reasons for my distraction.
Circle home, Lo.

-

• • •

It was two years ago in the spring when we’d had a freak snowstorm in Santa Fe. I’d just gotten home from school when Karine rushed into the house with snowflakes still sparkling in her hair. She was visiting from California.

“Darling!” she said. “Consuelo, my dear little blizzard of a niece, we are going dancing tonight.”

After promising my parents at least a dozen times that she’d have me home by ten, Karine took me to a little underground bar off the Plaza. “Follow my lead,” she whispered, quickly glancing at the band listings outside as we approached the stairwell. The snow was still falling, though it now refused to stick to anything but our eyelashes.

“No way,” said the bouncer after looking me up and down. “How old is she?” Even though I wore a bit of makeup (applied in the car) and wore my most dignified accessories (gold hoop earrings and a beaded headband), and even though I was wrapping up my first day of high school, in retrospect I probably didn’t look a day over twelve. That’s the curse of having reddish blonde hair.

“Young,” said Karine. “Clearly. But she’s with me, Sam. And if she doesn’t get in to see Hijos de Juan tonight, her life will be
over
. Like, end-of-the-world over. Apocalypse. You know how kids are. Everything is so dramatic. She’s got the lead singer’s poster on the wall and everything.”

“That’s right,” I said, taking the cue. “I
love
this band. They’re, like, the ultimate. They’re so freaking awesome. Hijos de . . .”

“Juan,” whispered Karine.

“Right,” I said. “De Juan.” I raised my voice to a high-pitched, teenage squeal and began jumping up and down like a deranged rabbit. “If I could just get one autograph tonight, I will die happy. Pretty please, sir?”

“Fine,” said the bouncer, waving us downstairs. “But no drinking.”

Although I didn’t become a superfan that night, I did end up dancing to the band for their entire two-hour set. Hijos de Juan—whose name, Karine found out, derived from the fact that the three brothers in the band all shared a
padre
named Juan—played loud, raucous, western swing that was impossible to sit still to. Karine, true to her word, did not let me anywhere near the bar, or near any men, for that matter. Instead she never left my side on the dance floor. Laughing and spinning me around and teasing me about all the love letters I’d supposedly written to the youngest Hijo, the “
bebe de
Juan,” she had never been so perfect. She embodied the unexpected, like weather that strikes in its undesignated season, so you just open your eyes in wonder, reluctant to blink away the snowflakes.

• • •

In Jason’s backyard, the band was starting to play for real.

“Hey,” I said to Thomas, shaking myself out of the past. “You don’t want to dance, do you?”

“I suppose I could,” he said. “Though it’s been a long time.”

“Show me what you got.”

Soon Thomas and I were barefoot in the casita, unembarrassed to spin each other around and display our goofiest moves as Hijos played. More people joined us on the dance floor, and two songs later we had the whole party out there. I guess being unburdened was contagious. Thomas dipped me, and I felt pure bliss. I stretched out my arms and felt life flood my limbs. Thomas wrapped both his arms around my waist and pulled me closer.

But our routine was suddenly cut short. “Everybody back!” I heard Jason shout from the gravel behind the pool. Thomas and I ran out the wide casita doors to see what was going on. The Agua crowd darted for cover as their fireworks exploded, sounding like repeated volleys of gunshot. The kids responsible
squealed in delight and mock fear. For a moment their faces took on the glow of the fireworks’ bright rainbow colors, then they were enveloped in smoke.

“Holy hell,” I said as the pyrotechnics concluded. “Was that really necessary?” Then I turned around. “Thomas, are you okay?” His breathing was panicked, and he clutched his chest. I looked down at my body, half expecting to have been impaled by a rocket. But I was intact.

“Thomas,” I said. “You’re hyperventilating.” I’d never seen his eyes so wide. He nodded as if registering my voice, but he didn’t calm down. I gripped his hand, still sweaty from the dancing. “It’s okay, it was only fireworks. If you don’t calm down and breathe, you’re going to faint.”

I knew this because at sleepovers Kaya and I used to induce fainting fits by breathing as rapidly as possible until our brains, starved for oxygen, shut down briefly. Maybe not the most responsible game, but it was such a rush. And I always made sure Kaya landed on something soft, like on a bed or in my arms. God, Kaya. Where was she anyway? No, it’s okay, this was just a party. She could take care of herself.
Focus, Lo.