This Is What I Want to Tell You (15 page)

My brother said something I think is true. I wasn’t scared of being left by him, I was scared of being left behind. Of Keeley living a life I couldn’t see. Of not getting to do the things other people got to do. Of not getting a chance.

I don’t know. I don’t know if that was true. But when he told me Ben wanted him to go to Virginia and help some church family whose house had burnt down, I didn’t feel like I was being left behind. When he told me he wanted to go, that he felt like he could help there, like he thought it was important, but he didn’t want to desert me, I really and truly wanted him to go.

I just feel like I need to do something, I don’t know, physical, he said. Where I can see the help I’m giving.

I got it.

When he told me he thought it would be good for me to spend some time with Keeley, then I wasn’t so sure. But I knew he needed to do this. I wanted him to go help somebody else. I wanted him to step outside of helping me.

And I was so tired. I was so tired. I couldn’t tell him any more.

I hadn’t seen Keeley. I’d been home from the hospital for a few days and I was on medical leave from school. I had all of these assignments and Lace stayed around and watched me eat and read and stare at the TV.

I’m not leaving you, he said. I just need—

I know, I told him. You need to step back. I know.

As scared as I was of everything, I never felt like my brother was bailing on me. I just didn’t. He felt like everything was pushing in around him and he needed to step out of all of our space. It was hard, I knew, to be the only man in all of this. I think he felt some responsibility to be a caretaker or a protector—our protector—ancient as it may sound, I think that is what he felt he needed to be. But he didn’t know how.

It’s fine, I told him.

I really meant it. And I begged Lace to go back to work. I wanted all of them to just give me the space. The emptiness of the house. All of it.

* * *

The first day I was home alone I felt like I’d just been introduced to myself, like everything was brand new. I didn’t want to live the life I’d been living before but I couldn’t get rid of it. It was hard to keep my eyes open. It was hard to get my body to move. I lay on the couch and thought about my clothes. I wanted to wear different things. I didn’t want any more worn thin T-shirts. I didn’t want to look in the mirror and see my hair stringy and tangled. I didn’t want—

I didn’t want to think about him, but there he was, pushing on all the edges of every memory.

Keeley came over early in the afternoon. She knocked on the back door and I heard her push it open.

Nole?

But before I could say anything she was standing in the doorway. She looked at me lying on the couch.

Hey.

Hi, she said. She smiled. You look—

It’s okay, I said. I look like shit. I know. I can’t remember my last shower.

Okay. Can I sit? She wrinkled her nose, smiling. But I’m not gonna sit too close to you.

Sit, I said.

She sat down. Then she stood up. Wait—she said. She opened the shopping bag she was carrying and pulled out two Styrofoam containers.

Grilled cheese and French fries. From the Coyote. Are you hungry?

She held out the container. Suddenly, for the first time in days, I was hungry.

I sat up. It was quiet while we ate our grilled cheese.

Did you skip out on school? I said.

Yeah.

She crossed her legs under her, eating a French fry one tiny bite at a time. We were quiet.

Oh hey, she said. I brought you something. She reached into her bag beside her; digging between notebooks, she pulled out a thick piece of cardstock and extended it out to me. I just wanted, she said, I just—you know, some good memories.

I stared. I could feel my eyes filling and the heat in my cheeks. For the first time in days I felt something. I ran my hand over the smooth photographs, the thick, raised, painted border. I wiped my eyes and I looked up.

Thank you, I said. It’s beautiful.

We looked at each other, resting in between smile and discomfort, in between silence and telling. I didn’t know what I was ready for, but I was glad she was there.

What do you wanna do? Keeley asked.

In spite of everything, or because of everything, it felt so good to have her sitting there. It felt like a relief.

I wanna clean out my closet, I said.

Let’s do it. Keeley’s eyes widened. She grinned and jumped up, scooping up both of our empty containers.

But first, you have to take a shower.

Okay. I stood up. I felt shaky. My T-shirt smelled.

Come on. Keeley was two steps ahead of me up the stairs. She went into my room and came out with gray sweatpants and a pink T-shirt I hadn’t seen in years.

She pulled a clean towel down from the hall closet.

Go on, she said. I’ll find some boxes.

As she headed back down the stairs I fingered the pink T-shirt. I couldn’t remember the person who ever wore it. But I kind of couldn’t wait to be clean and put it on.

When I came out of the shower, Keeley was in my room, surrounded by empty boxes and a pile of plastic bags.

What’s this? I asked her. I scooped my wet hair off my neck, tying it into a bun. My skin felt clean and cold.

Don’t you wanna get rid of stuff?

Yeah, I said, suddenly exhausted. I sat down on the bed. All of it.

Keeley moved around the boxes. She sat down on the floor in front of me, crossing her legs.

Let’s get rid of it, then, she said.

A drop of water was sliding down my spine, a cool slow-motion crawl.

I don’t know when it started, I said. I really don’t. All of a sudden you were, like, whipping past me. We’d been on the same road, the same pace, then suddenly you got beautiful. You were going to other countries. I don’t know, K … you had like everything and I had nothing. You didn’t even want to go to England and I wanted to go anywhere.

It wasn’t so great, she whispered. But she didn’t sound mad. She was watching me.

I know I haven’t been fair, but I felt so left out. Even before I knew about you and Nadio, I think I knew. I just felt like suddenly you had everything. Everyone looked at you when you walked down the hall, and—

Noelle, that’s not fair. That’s just the way you saw it. And I saw you sneaking around stoned with Jessica Marino not even missing me and I felt totally replaced.

You didn’t even need me—

I did. All I did was talk to Nadio about you. And I was so confused about what was happening with him. I just wanted my best friend—

But you guys didn’t even tell me, I said. Our voices were low and pulling. We were desperate, maybe not mad, but desperate.

You weren’t even here. And I knew you had something going on with this guy. Nole, I don’t even know who he is—you never told me about him.

I tried.

Silence. I stared at the seam of my pants. I reached behind me, rubbing at the water on my neck.

We’re gonna change, Keeley said. We’re gonna get older and stuff is gonna happen to us—she paused. Something happened to me this summer, she said. And it was like everything I knew was suddenly wrong. Everything safe was suddenly scary. I still don’t know—I still feel like I don’t know who I am sometimes. But then you remind me. Your brother reminds me. Everything is gonna change but we always have each other. The history of each other. That’s who we are.

I slid down off the bed. I sat down next to Keeley and put my arms around her. She leaned her head on my shoulder.

You know, it’s funny, I whispered. Parker doesn’t know anything about me—he doesn’t know you or Nadio or the history of anything.

I could feel Keeley nodding against my shoulder.

But I still—it’s like one look from him and I feel like I’m floating.

Yeah, Keeley said.

And then the next second I’m destroyed.

I know.

God, I wish I didn’t think about him all the time, K.

It won’t always be like that, she said. In a little while you’ll only think about him part of the time.

And then a little while after that I won’t think about him at all?

Keeley sat up. She squeezed my hand. She wiped away the tears I hadn’t even noticed sliding down my cheeks and she smiled.

No, she said. You’ll always think about him a little bit.

I needed to make a difference in a concrete way. I needed to change something with my hands. I needed to do something for somebody else that I could see. I needed to feel like I could help somebody.

I don’t think I ever told Ben any of this directly. But he asked me to drive down to Virginia with him and help repair a house for a family he knew—a house that had been damaged by a fire. Tangible. I had to go. Lace called Mr. Taylor and told him I was invited on this project for church and I could get community service hours for it. Taylor excused me from school—it was just two days. I was getting a lot of breaks at school these days. And he knew I had a 4.0, even now.

I had spent so much time worrying that my sister would feel abandoned that I hadn’t stopped to think about Keeley. The night before I was leaving, she called me.

Will you come meet me outside?

Now? I looked out the kitchen window from where I was holding my phone. I could see the lights from her living room cutting holes in the dark slope of hill between us.

Yeah, she said. Please.

Lace and my sister were watching TV, lying with their legs crossing on the couch. I stood in the doorway, zipping my coat.

I’ll be right back, I said.

Lace nodded, her eyes on the TV. Noelle looked at me. She nodded. She almost smiled.

Okay, she said. But for a second I thought she said, it’s okay.

I turned and my eye caught on something lying on the table by the door. I picked it up. A piece of cardstock, Keeley’s hand.

There it was. The photograph of us, in the way I always remembered: a darkened entryway in the Shipleys’ living room, the white border of the doorway framing Keeley and my sister—my sister in an orange dress and Keeley in a green dress, laughing and reaching out to each other. Me in the background, the same color as the carpet, watching them. Next to it, a picture I only just then remembered: Noelle, Keeley, me, close to the camera. They were laughing but their eyes were red, I looked serious; a piece of Keeley’s hair blew across Noelle’s forehead, we were all looking up to where Keeley’s arm was outstretched, holding the camera above us. It was the day she left for Oxford. In light green and dark green paints, Keeley had drawn a border of tangled vines linking the pictures together, and at the bottom of the page, in small square print, she wrote:
And here we are
.

I looked back into the living room. Noelle was turned to the TV. I ran my hand along the slick photograph and jagged paint. Something there felt like relief.

Keeley was leaning on the arm of one of the Adirondack chairs where we sat that night that seemed so long ago now. The heavy sky promised snow and it was sharply cold.

Hey, I said. I leaned down to kiss her. She put her gloved hand on my chest.