What We Leave Behind (7 page)

“No, it’s okay. I’ve grown to appreciate your inability to filter your thoughts.” The laughter that followed suppressed the idea of him dying and the fact that the man was practically a star.

“You should be very proud of yourself,” I said, not knowing what more to say. There was a stirring within me as if Adam Levy was charting my destiny.  “I can be doing my thing, going about my business, and then I hear a song, and it’s like everything can change in an instant, everything I was thinking, feeling.”

“I understand,” he said, “more than you know. Music has taken me back to times in my life I thought I’d forgotten, places I never wanted to forget.”

“Do regular people understand or is that just the gift of the music lover? Sometimes it feels like a curse.”

“Why do you say that?”

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “Because just as a song can transport me back in time to a happy place, it can also take me back to a sad place.”

“I’d say that most of the time it’s been a gift. Have you ever just closed your eyes and breathed in a smell and you’re back to that place, wherever it was?”

“Isn’t that just nostalgia?” I interrupted, taken in by his sincerity, the depth at which he obviously experienced things. “You know, how you long for someone, something, or even someplace that made you feel good? But it’s gone?”

He looked at me, saw my secret sadness. “Music does that to me,” he said, kindly guiding us back to the present.

“Me too,” I said. “And movies, they do that to me also, but now I’m not so sure if it’s the movie or its music. Sometimes I fall in love with a movie more because of the soundtrack.

“That’s because the movie has a good music supervisor.”

My mind was racing with possibilities.

“You should pursue music or film if you love them so much. Trust me, if you do what you love to do, you’ll never feel like it’s work.”

I looked at him, thankful that I had the chance to know such a nice person. Then came the imminence of his death, stealing the gratefulness away, replacing it with fear. I had hardly considered the actual death. To me, he was too real to succumb to the darkness that waited.

I was adamant about keeping my cool, but a thought flashed through my brain, a short-lived idea, rather. I had spent the better part of ten years avoiding such intense feelings, and here I sought out a man who made me feel the very same feelings I was avoiding. The realization overshadowed everything else.

“Jessica?” he asked.

I would have welcomed an intrusion by Jonas. This conversation was worse than ones I had with Dr. Norton, primarily because I’d never wanted to open up to her the way I wanted to share with Adam Levy and his unavoidable son.

Let’s not forget just how astute I was, how years and years of practice had taught me to master the game of denial. The storms I’d weathered before this one, this slow drizzle, were far worse. Deep breath. Deep breath. Count to ten, clear the runway, and I was off.

“It’s okay,” I said, wiping the couple of tears that got away. “I’m okay. I’m just sorry that you’re so sick. You’ve been so nice to me, you, your family, it’s just sad to think…”

“You shouldn’t be worrying…”

“Hmmm,” I grimaced.

“This can’t be easy for you, having lost your own dad.”

I stiffened at this. “How did you know that?”

“Your mother.”

“My
mother
?” enunciating just so, as if she were the devil incarnate.

“It will make it that much harder to say good-bye.”

“I’m not thinking about my father or saying good-bye to you,” I lied.

The coughing began again. He watched me watching him. Tubes were covering his body like overgrown weeds. I handed him some water to bring them to life.

“It must have been difficult for you.”

I nodded, because I knew that was the expected response. I couldn’t say this to him, but as long as he was alive and breathing, I knew that I was safe from the ghosts of my past. As long as I could keep the dialogue going, listen, smile, and dote, then he would remain on this earth. I foolishly believed, as most almost-sixteen-year-olds did, that I had control over whether somebody would leave.

“Don’t be upset with your mother. She loves you very much. She worries about you.”

I shook off the words of affection as if they were a contagious disease. I would deal with my mother and her flitting later.

“Please don’t tell Jonas,” I begged. “He’ll just feel sorry for me and I don’t want his pity.”

“You don’t know my son very well. He adores you.”

“He has a funny way of showing it.”

The door swung open and Dr. Missed Opp kindly asked me to leave. “Mr. Levy needs his rest,” he said.

Adam Levy finished by saying, “You’re like his little sister Amy; wait until you meet her.”

I know he was trying to be kind, but the worst thing he could have compared me to was Jonas’s sister. “I can’t wait,” I said, getting up to leave.

“Remember what I told you, Jessica, do something you love…”

But the door closed behind me, and his words were cut off, leaving me to wonder how this conversation took such a downward spiral.

I knew my mother was angry with me before I even entered the house. Maybe it was the fact that I was an hour late for my own birthday dinner, the evening she spent hours meticulously planning to include all my favorite things—Beth, a handful of new video releases, and the radio on full blast. How could I explain to her that I would rather be at the hospital with Jonas and his family and that I had no desire to return to the world of the Parkers? Beth seemed insignificant to me; in fact, my life seemed hardly consequential enough to contain the thoughts and perplexities that burdened me. I had already celebrated with the people that mattered: Jonas, Adam, Rachel, and even Amy, Jonas’s prized little sister. She was twelve years old and adorable. I liked her instantly.

Perhaps Mom was just angry because it was the day he left, the day our lives changed forever. My birthday was not a celebration, just a testament to my mother’s loneliness.

The day started out unsettling. Adam’s blood pressure dropped, and his breathing became rapid and shallow. It was my day off, being my sixteenth birthday and all, but in my new
profession
, there was no such thing as a day off. This new occupation did just that, occupied my living and my breathing. Beth wanted to spend the day together at Venice Beach going over our recent crushes, but I had an agenda that only included the hospital.

I was about to enter Adam’s room when everyone was leaving it, the looks on their faces grim and foreboding. “What’s going on?” I asked, first to Jonas, then to Mrs. Levy.

“Maybe it’s not a good idea for her to be here,” she said to Jonas, eyeing me at first, then lowering her head to Amy. I searched Jonas’s eyes. Mrs. Levy was clearly worried. Amy resembled a Raggedy Ann doll, and not because of her red hair, but because of the way she reached for her mother’s hand.

This can’t be happening again
, I was thinking, over and over in my head.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Jonas spoke. “I’ll take a walk outside with the girls. You stay with Dad.” He kissed her softly on the cheek and in a knee-jerk reaction, I brushed my own cheek with my palm.

Jonas, the den leader, led us out of the hospital and to a garden I’d never noticed before. There I was formally introduced to Amy Levy. Her fiery hair was a surprise, as was the unblemished complexion, not a freckle in sight. The green in her eyes was a shade close to her brother’s. “Are you Jonas’s new girlfriend?” she asked.

“No,” I laughed.

“You’re very pretty,” she told me, rather matter-of-factly.

“Thank you. So are you!”

Amy was sweet and inquisitive, with a giggle that sounded more like hiccups. She loved her big brother and was protective of him just the same. If she weren’t only twelve years old, I might have found my new best friend. An aspiring ballerina, Amy dared to go where I never could. I was a great athlete, I’d been told, but I was lacking the discipline, poise, and elegance that accompanied a career in ballet. Besides, a tutu was not my best look.

“You would make a great ballerina, Jessie,” Jonas chimed in, just as I was teasing Amy about plies and those dreadful shoes.

“Never going to happen.”

Amy followed as I walked out into the courtyard in search of the thickest elm I could find.  Fingering its ample trunk, I steadied myself for a climb. Amy looked up, noting how tall this particular tree was.  The gradual worry tugged at her face.

“Are you really going up there?” she asked.

“I’ve climbed a lot bigger ones than this.”

My tennis shoes hugged the trunk as my sturdy arms embraced it in a tight-fisted grip. When I reached the first branch, I hoisted myself up, seeing Amy’s face below me. She was toying with the idea of following, but I could see she was just plain scared.

The tree branched into a spray of lengthy fingers. When I found the right limb to climb, I continued to stretch my body in its direction. I was traveling higher than I’d ordinarily venture, but there was something about the two faces watching me that urged me on, lifting me up even higher. I’ve always had this unusual attraction to trees. Being up there, high above the world, it was like this energy would fill me up. I’d hear the leaves on each branch whistling in the wind, the sound as soothing as anything I’d ever heard. Up there I was free from the troubles below. I could literally sit for hours, and sometimes did. My dream was to one day have an enormous tree house, where I could sleep, watch movies, listen to music, and dream. No one could reach me, no one would bother me, except my mother, or maybe Beth, who would serve me meals via a pulley created from a basket and a strand of rope. I had it all planned out, with the exception of where I’d plug my TV in, and where I’d go to the bathroom, and, I guess, well, a lot had to be figured out.

I decided early on that trees were the only living things in the world that could give to the world without expecting anything in return.

“Watch it!” I heard from below, a voice of panic.

Before I knew what was happening, I felt the branch give way, my foot buckling, having nothing to hold onto. I didn’t want to look down. I knew how high I had climbed. I felt my body slide against the rough bark, a searing pain gripping my left underside. At least my hands were safely around its torso.

I had fallen approximately four feet before my foot landed on another solid branch. My heart was racing. I saw that I was bleeding through my blouse, the red turning my white T-shirt crimson.

Amy was perched on the ground, hunched over with both hands over her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to see me splatter. Jonas was there, and although I couldn’t see him, I could feel his presence somewhere below, urging me to jump. “I’ll catch you!” he cried out.

I had nowhere to go but down. The branch I was resting on was already beginning to waver. The second branch broke. I gasped, while my body dragged me down another two feet until I landed magnificently, and effortlessly, in Jonas’s arms.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered.

“That’s not funny, Jessie. You could have really hurt yourself,” he said. “What if I wasn’t there to catch you?”

I hadn’t considered that. There was something about Jonas that led me to believe he’d always be there to catch me.

“Look at you,” he continued. “You’re a mess.” More blood had seeped onto his shirt.

“It doesn’t hurt,” I said bravely, pulling my hair back into a rubber band.

All this time, little Amy was still hovered over, afraid to look up.

“She’s okay, Ames,” he called out to her. “You can get up now.”

I turned to find her beautiful green eyes peeking through the delicate fingers.

“You scared me, Jessie! Don’t do that again,” she said, running toward us, offering us a hug.

Sandwiched between the two of them lightened the load of my fears. My heart had been momentarily racing; it still was—beating stronger and faster than usual—when I realized it wasn’t my heart at all. It was Jonas’s.

He carried me into the hospital, where my mother begrudgingly cleaned my wounds and held back from giving me the third degree on my birthday.

Amy and Jonas were waiting when I walked out of the ER. They looked glum and annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” I said, giving in to their shared displeasure.

“I don’t know why I deal with you, Jessie Parker,” came a frustrated voice from Jonas. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since I met you.”

I surveyed this good-looking boy before me, remembering the way his heart was beating frantically against my shirt. “You were worried about me.”

“Who wouldn’t be worried about someone falling twenty feet out of a tree?”

“I’m not just someone, Jonas.”

Amy Levy was gliding back and forth across the pine-scented linoleum floor practicing graceful ballet moves. I followed her with my eyes.

“You’re right, Jessie, you’re not just someone,” Jonas said. “You’re a little pain in the ass who thinks it’s funny to shock people. It’s not funny. Especially when something could happen to you. Isn’t it enough I have to worry about my dad? Do I have to worry about losing you too?”

Amy was on her toes. Her arms were lifted high above her head. The sound of Jonas’s voice brought her arms down by her sides.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, an attempt to shake the insensitivity out of me.

Amy had found her place beside us again, the measured stride replacing the fluid motions. Jonas’s scolding had restrained both of us. Nobody dared speak as our sullen trio reached the nearest elevator.

The tree house debacle eluded me, as did the idea of owning my own personally furnished fun house. These plans were put on hiatus for now. When we reached his father’s room, we were told that Adam was stabilized. I didn’t know which made me happier—Adam’s improvement or Jonas not wanting to lose me.

“Thank you for coming,” Adam said to me, his words slow and hushed. Rachel Levy was writing the names of those who had sent flowers and gifts, Jonas and Amy were listening to a new album released by the label, and I was busy lining up the hundreds of cards from well wishers, taking my time to read the names of the famous rock stars. In my hands was a rare assortment of priceless autographs. I wondered what would become of them and how inappropriate it would be for me to ask to have a few of the signed inscriptions.