“I want you to be my girlfriend.”
“What does that mean?” …
He looks confused. “I’m not sure. But I think it’s the same as being my friend, but I get to make you come.”
“You don't get to pick who you fall in love with.”
“I've been locked in my own world for a really long time," he says. I have an excuse to keep people away, because of my disability. And then I saw your tattoo..." I turn his wrist over and trace my finger across it. He shudders at my touch, closing his eyes tightly. "And I felt like maybe, just maybe, we were locked in our own little worlds and could let each other out.”
“Suck every moment from life. We should all do more of that.”
“This girl will shred me. I already know she will. And I’m jumping in with everything I am anyway.”
“If I ever get to fucking be inside you, I want to know what to call you. I want to at least know your name. Because when that happens, you’re going to fucking own me.” I tip her face up so she’s looking at me. “Do you understand?”
She looks unsure.
“You’re going to own me … And there’s nothing I want more.”
“I want you more than I want air.”
“He laughs with no sound. God, he's so handsome when he smiles. And when he's not smiling. And when he's sleeping. And when he's awake. And when he's breathing.”
“I’ve never done this with someone who matters. With someone I’m in love with. Jesus, girl, you make me crazy.”
“There are very few things in my life that I can control,and someone touching my body is one of them.”
“I lay back with a groan and close my eyes. I am just getting comfortable when two sharp elbows land in my midsection. Hayley crawls on top of me on the couch. I think she must be part monkey. She holds a kid-sized board book in her hand. “Wead,” she says, shoving it in my face. I sit up, tucking her into my lap. I take the book from her and open it, but the words jumble. I turn it upside down. “Once upon a time,” I begin. “Dat’s not how it goes,” she complains. She’s a smart girl. “I know,” I explain. “But books are magical, and if you turn them upside down, there’s a whole new story in the pages.” “Weally?” she asks, her eyes big with wonder. No, not really. But it’s the best I can do, kid. “Really,” I affirm. She wiggles, settling more comfortably in my arms. I start to make up a story based on the upside-down pictures. She listens intently. “Once upon a time, there was a little frog. And his name was Randolf.” “Randolf,” she repeats with a giggle. “And Randolf had one big problem.” “Uh oh,” she breathes. “What kind a problem?” “Randolf wanted to be a prince. But his mommy told him that he couldn’t be a prince since he was just a frog.” I keep reading until I say, “The end.” She lays the book to the side and snuggles into me. I kiss the top of her head because it feels like the right thing to do. And she smells good. “Your story was better than the book’s story,” she says. My heart swells with pride. “Thank you.” If only it was this easy to please the adults of the world.”
“Why do I matter so much? What makes me different?” Now I’m dying to know. He shakes his head. “Tell me,” I prompt. “I’ve been locked in my own world for a really long time,” he says. “I have an excuse to keep people away, because of my disability. And then I saw your tattoo…” I turn his wrist over and trace my finger across it. He shudders at my touch, closing his eyes tightly. “And I felt like maybe, just maybe, we were each locked in our own little worlds and could let each other out.”
“I wake the next morning to a gentle tap, tap, tap on the side of my nose. I blink my eyes open and startle when I see a face looking into mine. Hayley grins at me. “You sweepy?” she says quietly. I was until she tapped against my face like a hungry bird. I scrub the sleep from my eyes and look over at Logan. He’s lying beside me with one arm flung over his head, his mouth hanging open. I snuggle deeper into my pillow. “Where’s your daddy?” I ask. “Sweeping,” she says. She’s dragging a bunny by the ears. “I’m hungwy,” she says. I cover a yawn with my open palm. I probably have awful morning breath. “Can you go and wake your daddy?” She shakes her head. “He said to go back to sweep.” I look toward the window. The sun is just barely over the horizon. “I want a pancake,” she says. A pancake? “How about some cereal?” I ask as I throw the covers off myself and get up. I take a pair of Logan’s boxers from his drawer and put them on. “Dos are Logan’s,” she says, scowling at me. “Do you think he’ll mind if I borrow them?” I whisper at her. She shakes her head and smiles, taking my hand in her free one so she can lead me from the room. “You don’t got to whisper. Logan can’t hear,” she says. I laugh. She’s right. And what’s funny is that it took a three-year-old to remind me. I hold a finger to my lips, though, as we step out into the hallway. “But your daddy can. Shh.” She giggles and repeats my shush.”
“You met Hayley, I see,” Paul says to Kit. She nods as Paul takes her from me. “See, Hayley,” he says to his daughter, “now you won’t be the only girl in the house.” He dances around in a circle with her. I’m reading his lips because it’s really hard to sign when your hands are full of baby. I can’t see what he says when he dances around in a circle, but whatever it is makes Kit smile. Kit points a finger at Paul and smiles. “She’s yours?” she asks. Paul looks from me to her. “You’re not trying to use my daughter to score with chicks again, are you?” Paul asks, punching me in the shoulder. “I can’t let him take her to the grocery store. He gets too much attention from the ladies.”
“I look down at it, and the words blur for me. I try to unscramble them, but it’s too hard. I shove the board back toward him. He narrows his eyes at me and scrubs the board clean. He writes one word and turns it around. You, it says. He points to me. I point to myself. “Me?” He nods and swipes the board clean. He writes another word and shows it to me. “Can’t,” I say. He nods and writes another word. He’s spacing the letters far enough apart that they’re not jumbled together in my head, but it’s still hard. My lips falter over the last word, but I say, “Read.” Then I realize that I just told him I can’t read. “Wait! I can read!” I protest. He writes another word: Well. He knows I can read. Air escapes me in a big, gratified rush. “I can read,” I repeat. “I can’t read well, but…” I let my words trail off. He nods quickly, as though he’s telling me he understands. He points to me and then at the board, moving two fingers over it like a pair of eyes, and then he gives me a thumbs-up. My heart is beating so fast it’s hard to breathe. I read the damn words, didn’t I? “At least I can talk!” I say. I want to take the words back as soon as they leave my lips, but it’s too late. I slap a hand over my lips when his face falls. He shakes his head, bites his lip, and gets up. “I’m sorry,” I say. I am. I really am. He walks away, but he doesn’t take his backpack with him.”
“He writes on the board, and I groan, visibly folding. I hate to do it, but I can’t take it. “I should go,” I say. I reach for my bag. He takes the board and puts it in his backpack. He gets it, I think. I’d rather play twenty questions than I would try to read words. He opens his mouth and I hear a noise. He stops, grits his teeth, and then a sound like a murmur in a cavern comes out of his mouth. “You can talk?” I ask. He put me through reading when he can talk? He shakes his head and bites his lips together. I shush and wait. “Maybe,” he says. It comes out quiet and soft and his consonants are as smooth as his vowels. “Just don’t tell anyone.” I draw a cross over my heart, which is swelling with something I don’t understand. “What’s your name?” he asks. He signs while he says it. It’s halting, and he has to stop between words, like when I’m reading. “People call me Kit,” I tell him. He shakes his head. “But what’s your name?” he asks again. I shake my head. “No.” He nods again. The waitress brings the burgers, and he smiles at her. She squeezes his shoulder again. When she’s gone, I ask him, “Why are you talking to me?” “I want to.” He heaves a sigh and starts to eat his burger. “You don’t talk to anyone else?” He shakes his head. “Ever?” He shakes his head again. “Why me?” He shrugs.”
“I shake out a new cigarette and light it, and I watch her walk away. She doesn’t look back. Her black bag is bouncing against her leg, and her guitar case is in her other hand. She hunches down against the wind. Does she own a coat? I wish I’d given her mine. I follow her. I can’t help it. I need to see where she’s going, or I won’t be able to find her again. Not to mention that her being alone in the night in the city scares the shit out of me. She’s not hard enough for this place or for these people. Yeah, she punched me in the face when she met me, but I have this overwhelming need to protect her. If I let her get away from me, I might not ever find out what that tattoo means to her, either.”
“He lives with his brothers. Shoot. I’m not going to an apartment filled with men I don’t know. “I can’t,” I say, but he rolls his eyes at me. Then he bends at the waist and drives his shoulder very gently into my midsection. He hefts me over his back like I’m a sack of potatoes. I’m still holding on to my guitar, and I knock him against the backs of his legs with it. I could be screaming at him right now, and he would have no idea. I can’t talk to him. I can’t tell him to put me down. He carries me like that up four flights of stairs, and he’s huffing a little when we get to the fourth floor. I expect him to keep climbing, but he doesn’t. He stops and opens a door, and we’re suddenly in a hallway. My struggling has ceased because it’s no good. He can’t hear me. He can’t respond. So, I brush my hair out of my face with one hand and try not to drop my guitar with the other. He opens a door and steps inside, closing it behind him. Four men turn to look at me, flopped there over his shoulder. I’m turned to face them as he closes the door, so I wave. What else can I do? The one I met at the tattoo parlor gets to his feet. “Who’s that?” the biggest one asks. The tattoo guy bends over to look in my face. “Shit, Logan, that’s the girl who clocked you.” The other men get up and walk over, too. One of them says, “Dude, she’s got Betty Boop on her panties.” I can’t even reach back to cover my ass. Logan lowers me to my feet. I stumble as he sets me upright, when all the blood rushes back from my head. He reaches out to steady me, and he smiles.”
“Don’t underestimate your own value, dummy,” he says. I stiffen. I hate that word. Absolutely hate it. He stiffens when I do. “What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?” “Don’t ever call me a dummy, Logan,” I say, my teeth grinding together so hard they hurt. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” he rushes to say. He takes my face in his hands, holding it tightly as he looks into my eyes. “I didn’t mean it.” He chuckles, but there’s no mirth in the sound. “It’s a term of endearment in our family. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Really, I didn’t. I don’t think you’re stupid. You have a learning disability, but you’re not stupid. I know that.” I wish I knew it. He sounds so sure about it. “It’s all right,” I say, but I’m already pushing back from him. “Don’t pull away from me,” he warns. That makes me laugh. “I’m not the one who’s always pulling away, Logan,” I remind him. I push him back again, but he’s not having any of it. Suddenly, his hands clutch my bottom, and he hoists me up onto the bathroom countertop. “Forgive me,” he says. I nod, and he kisses the corners of my eyes where tears have formed. That word hurts me. It always has. And it was the final straw that made me leave my parents’ house. That word and others like it—I’ve heard them for too long.”
“Logan points to each of his brothers in turn e smiles. stumble a little as he sets me upright, when all the blood rushes back to and motions for them to talk. “Paul,” the biggest one says as he extends his hand. “I remember you,” I say. “I’ll never forget you,” he says, with a laugh as he smacks Logan on the shoulder. “And neither will his nose.” He feints as Logan makes like he’s going to punch him. But he doesn’t. He stops right before he gets to his face. The second to largest guy—and they’re all big boys—sticks out his hand and says, “Matthew.” Matthew looks tired and a little green. I look at Logan, and he nods subtly. This is the one who has cancer and is going through chemo. Paul slaps Matthew’s hand away and says, “You’re not supposed to be sharing any germs right now.” “Fuck you,” Matthew says, and then he walks toward the hallway and goes into what I guess is his bedroom and closes the door. He doesn’t look back at me, but I don’t mind. The last two brothers have to be twins. They’re younger than Logan, but not by much, and they look identical. “Sam and Pete,” Paul says. They huddle around me, and I end up sandwiched between them, which they think is hilarious. They jiggle me around for a minute until Paul barks at them. “Let her go,” he says. He pops them both on the backs of their heads and says, “They don’t know how to act when company comes over.” Company? That’s what I am? “Nice to meet you,” I say. I’m a bit overwhelmed. This is a lot of testosterone in one room.”
“I don’t have any kids,” he says. “In case you were wondering.” The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind until I saw Hayley. “All right.” “I want kids someday,” he says. His voice is soft, and he’s looking into my eyes. “Do you?” “I don’t know.” The idea of trying to help a kid of my own with homework and spelling and school is sometimes overwhelming to me. “I don’t think I’d make a great mother.”
“Did you need to use the bathroom?” he asks. He doesn’t look like he has enough strength to stand. “I was going to take a shower,” I say. “But I can wait.” He gets up, groaning. “I think I’m good for now.” He smiles a watery smile. “But I might have to barge in on you.” He removes a towel from the cabinet and lays it by the sink for me. “You’ll be here to puke and not to look at me naked,” I say. “I don’t mess with Logan’s women,” he says. Then he goes on to say, “Ever. It’s a brother thing.” He burps, and I worry that he’s about to toss up his cookies again, but he doesn’t. He smiles at me and walks out, closing the door behind him. “I’m not Logan’s,” I say more to myself than to him. He opens the door back up, startling me. “Yes, you are.”
“He follows us into the hallway, and I catch him looking at Kit’s ass. Knock it off, I sign to him. He grins and shrugs. I can’t help it. I can, I warn. I mock punching my fist into my open palm. He looks away somewhat sheepishly.”
“Can I borrow a shirt?” she asks. She looks down at her bag. “All my clothes are dirty, and I hate to put on dirty clothes when I just got out of the shower.” I must have looked at her funny because she rushes on to say, “I’ll return it to you tomorrow, before I leave. I just want to sleep in it. Do you have a washing machine?” I nod. “Which question are you answering? The shirt? Or the washer?” “Both,” I say. She smiles at me. I’d talk to this girl all day long if it means she’ll smile at me like that.”
“She laughs. I wish I could hear it because it’s probably the most beautiful sound in the world. It’s not often I wish I could hear again because I can do almost anything I want. But right now, I wish I could hear the sound of her laughter.”
“I look out over the crowd and see Logan leaning against a post in the middle of the room. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his mouth is open slightly. I blow him a kiss, and he shakes his head, smiling. Goodness, that boy is pretty. He gives me a thumbs-up and walks away. I wish I could share this with him because this is the best feeling ever. The fans, the sound, the way I feel complete when I do this… There’s nothing that compares. I’m not scared. Not in the least bit. I love this. I love music. I love the guitar. And I’m afraid I’m a little bit in love with Logan.”
“I watch as the lead singer walks toward Kit and says something in her ear. He’s shirtless and sweaty, and she brushes him away like he’s a pesky fly. He goes, but he’s laughing when he does it, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I stand up taller. “He’s not worth it,” Pete says. I know. But I still don’t like it. “You got it bad for this one, don’t you?” he asks. He’s smiling, but his question is serious. I nod. I don’t need to say more than that. I do have it bad for this girl.”
“She hops back up on the stage, and I follow her. The lead singer turns to her, scowling. “You and Logan, huh?” he asks. I can read his lips from where I’m standing. She grins and nods her head. He says something that looks like, “Figures,” before he scowls and turns toward me. I point to her then point to my chest and mouth the word mine at him. He gets it. He totally gets it. He might not want it to be true, but he knows she’s not in his future. She’s my future.”
“She covers her mouth with her hand. “So, they think we’re having sex back here. Are you serious?” Her eyes are wide. I can’t keep from grinning. “Probably.” “Do you do that back here often?” she asks. I freeze. I don’t want to answer her. Because I have done it. She doesn’t push for an answer. But she heaves a sigh and shoves herself away from me. I feel the loss of her immediately. “Don’t do that,” I say, taking her face in my hands. “I can’t change my past.” She looks deep into my eyes and says, “I know. I didn’t ask you to. I just have to go back on stage.” She kisses me softly. “Can we come back to this later?” she asks, grinning. She’s nearly vibrating with excitement. She’s not mad at me. Thank God. “We can come back to this as often as you want.” Anytime. Anyplace. She darts away from me, and I tug on her fingers to hold her back. She leaves me slowly, and I ache with wanting to jerk her back into my arms. But she turns and runs away.”
“You stole the covers,” she says. She has morning breath, and I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so bad in my life. “Why are you in my arms?” I ask. She looks around like she’s not quite sure, and she bites her lower lip between her teeth again. I pull it out very gently with my thumb, and she licks her lips, just like she did last night. “I was cold. And you were warm.”
“You should rather suppose that those are involved in worthwhile duties who wish to have daily as their closest friends Zeno, Pythagoras, Democritus and all the other high priests of liberal studies, and Aristotle and Theophrastus. None of these will be too busy to see you, none of these will not send his visitor away happier and more devoted to himself, none of these will allow anyone to depart empty-handed. They are at home to all mortals by night and by day.”
“No,''he said.''I was a Strigoi. I was one of them. I did...terrible things.'' The words were mild, but the tone of his voice spoke legions. The radiant faces of his family turned sober.''I was lost. Beyond hope. Except...Rose believed in me. Rose never gave up.”
“You've probably all had those kinds of dreams that are like usual life, except that a lot of things are not the same, and you seem to know the future in them. Well, this is because these other worlds where two things can happen spread out from our world like rainbows, and sort of flow into one another-”
“He regarded the world—objects right in front of his face—as if from a great distance. For when he moved on the earth he also moved in other realms. In certain seasons, in certain shades, memories alighted on him like sharp-taloned birds: a head turning in the foliage, lantern light flaring in a room.”
“You can't always wait for fate, you have to step in.”
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