A Portal to Leya (4 page)

Susanne
omg.
She must be lying. What do you think? She has to go to the police. And now you
know. So, you have to tell! She confessed to you. This may be important or nothing.
But don’t sit on it, Lance!

@susanne
I’m taking a break. I need to think.

LOST

I
hate loss. I’m drowning in a pool of it. I need a boost, a positive charge.
Every day I see Leya’s house. Every day I see the rotting pumpkins and Leya’s
melancholy. I’m loaded with melancholy. And why the hell are the blinds always
shut? Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Blackwater moved out. There’s no movement at all. It’s
as if all the life was drained from the house. Then, inside my house, Dorrie
and Ben are pawing and gushing over each other. I can tell they are trying hard
not to for my sake. That’s almost as bad. So I tried to switch channels, tune
off Trudy’s odd love triangle and perjury and Manny and I logged onto Facebook.
First I tried to access Leya’s account and realized it had been shut down. So I
logged onto my own for the first time in weeks. I deleted all the sentiments
from fake friends who are more nosy than loyal and went right to my album
labeled White Sands. I found the pic that Leya posted, the one of us standing
in front of the beach store. I was wearing my favorite shirt. It was a plain
blue t- shirt that said White Sands Beach across the front in darker blue
letters. Leya was with me the day I bought it. I was nine. I never wanted to
wear anything else. She always said
not that dang shirt again!
She said
dang
because she hated swearing. I remember the day as if it were yesterday. She was
visiting for the weekend. She was eleven, and I was jealous because she and
Francis kept laughing and hitting each other. “What’s so funny? What’s so
funny?” I kept asking. Francis bought punks, sparklers, black snakes and glow
sticks. Leya bought a mood ring. I had $10.00—birthday money. I had a crush on
her. It was my first crush. I didn’t really know it at the time. The shirt was
on sale for $9.99. I needed tax. Leya paid the rest.
It’s too big,
she
laughed.  Francis agreed. Her nose scrunched up like it does. She swished past
me. Her back was sunburned over tan. She smelled like Coppertone. The shirt was
way too big for me. I wore it anyway. In fact, I wore it all the time. I
wouldn’t go to school if it wasn’t clean. Then one day I lost it. Each day I
was convinced I’d find it. Leya asked
Where’s your beach shirt?
I’ll
find it, I told her. But I never did. My favorite shirt was gone. That's how I
feel about Leya—she is like my lost blue shirt I can't wear anymore.

Lance

COMMENTS

Susanne
I remember that shirt too. You were such a cutie. You had the biggest curls all
over your head. You wore that shirt all the time. Where do you think it went?
Can you buy another one? Maybe you might want to do that. Post the pic too
(love to see it)

@susanne
it wouldn’t be the same. I posted a link to the pic. Don’t call me cutie.

Anonymous
I had a favorite green Celtics shirt. I wore all the time too. Then one day, at
recess, during a soccer game some jerk grabbed me from behind and yanked. The
shirt ripped. I know what you mean. I missed that shirt bad. I have a new one
now though. Buy another one. Get over it.

@
anonymous
what do you mean by “get over it?” You don’t get it. And I loathe that stupid expression.
I think you need to say what you mean which I think is to buy a new blue shirt
and it will make me forget all about Leya Blackwater? Not happening.

SHRINKING.

I meet with Jake the detective today. I’m not in the
mood. I’m Gregor the salesman transforming into an insect. I can feel myself
changing in ways I can’t control. My voice is stifled. My limbs are stiff. In
order to move them, it takes concerted effort. I am so freakin’ drained. I
wonder if sadness can dissolve your spine. Even with the good news about Trudy
being a possible alibi, it just makes me feel more alone, more confused. Should
I tell the police? Jake will grill me. What will he ask? Now I know it might
not be Neal. That is unless Trudy is lying. My confusion will look like guilt.
Jake will misconstrue it and think I did it. Motive is easy. Best friend,
social outcast, rejected. Leya did reject me, I mean, Neal was her real
boyfriend. And she never did ask me to the dance. And how many times did she
tell me she’d call or be over and then never show up or call? But I know that
she trusted me more than Neal. I was a real friend. Leya would tell me to go to
the police. She would tell me to do the right thing. And I should do the right
thing. But maybe Trudy will go to the police before I go talk to the detective
today at 3:00. Then I won’t have to get involved. I don’t want to think about
it I wish I never talked to her. Manny may kill me. Maybe I don’t care. Maybe I
deserve to die. If I murdered Leya, I deserve it. If I can be with her, maybe I
don’t care. Honestly, I’m a coward. If Manny tries to kick my ass, he’ll do it.
I only want to find the murderer. I’m willing to die for the cause. If Neal is
convicted, he could spend his life in prison.

And then if all this stress wasn’t enough, there’s
Emmet Bryce and Thanksgiving, looming. He always haunts me on the holidays. I
wonder what he’s doing. I wonder if he misses me. I don’t know why these times
I crave him. It’s like some sick addiction. I don’t even know my father. I
never did. I know he’s an artist. That’s all. Artists are strange and suicidal.
Maybe that’s why I’m that way too. I guess you would say I was depressed. But,
really I’m not. Leya made me happy. She was always smiling and happy. Nothing
makes me happy now. Dorrie tries but it doesn’t work anymore. She stares at me
too much. She is not uplifting. Her voice grates on my nerves. She is happy, in
love with Benny boy, the opposite of me. I am empty, small, shrinking, a
spineless freak, a bug.

Lance

COMMENTS

Heather
so
sad. I want to help. Please email me, or call.

@heather
who the heck are you? I don’t even know you.

Anonymous
hey don’t be so down on bugs. LOL Don’t you remember that Gregor, the salesman
in Kafka’s story, transformed into a BIG bug. So if you’re shrinking chances
are you’re not like Gregor.

THE
INQUISITION

The only Jake I ever knew was a dog we
had for a month. It was a cocker spaniel retriever mix. We had to get rid of
him because he was hyperactive. I never forgave Dorrie for it. I came home from
school and saw his dish gone. She said it was best. I didn’t talk to her for a
month or so or until I needed a ride or some money.

I met another Jake today—the detective. He
shook my hand, told me to call him Jake.  He was short and spunky with heavy
brows and a Danny DeVito mannerism. But he didn’t smile and smacked his lips
too much. He smelled like garlic. He asked questions. I answered, weirdly. Now,
I think he suspects. He paused too much, gave sideway glances. Dorrie asked to
come in the room with me. I said no because I felt stupid. Then when he asked
about my relationship with Leya, I felt strange, wanted to plead the 5
^th
,
ask for a lawyer. “You mean with Leya Blackwater?” I asked, stupidly. I said we
were friends and then I added “best friends.” I said too much, overstated. I
know because then Jake asked if I had ever had a sexual relationship with her.
I was mortified. “Sexual? No. I said no.” But I almost screamed it, and I squirmed.
Not good. Jake didn’t seem the least bit affected. He kept at it, asked me if I
was attracted to her. I wanted to confess. I wanted to say, yes, because I really
was attracted to her. Not in the beginning, no, but later. But I never said
anything. I just sat there on pause. I know he was waiting. So, I was honest. I
figured if I was partly honest, the words would come out better. I told him
“Yes, we were best friends” and “She was pretty so of course, so maybe, maybe
now that I think of it I was partly attracted. Who wouldn’t be?” My voice
cracked and the words trailed off in an odd way. And then Jake smacked his
lips, I hate the way he did that, and asked me to give him an example. I
explained how she would sit next to me and touch my hand or my leg and I would
feel “sort of excited” that’s how I said it. AH! I cringe when I think of it.
Sort of excited? What’s wrong with me? That’s all I told him. He stared at me,
waiting for more, one arm outstretched, tapping his fingers. Then he agreed,
said Leya was a pretty girl for sure. No doubt about that. It was disgusting
when he said this, the way his fingers circled the rim of his coffee cup and
his eyebrows lifted. Next, he asked about the last time I saw her. I told him
how I was getting ready for the dance in my bedroom, and I heard Leya and her
friend, Susanne, outside, laughing. Susanne was smoking. And then an hour
later, I looked across the street and noticed that Susanne’s car was gone and
she was on her bike riding away. I watched her until she was a spec. I didn’t
say that. I was mad at her because when I walked by her after school she was
standing next to Neal’s truck and she ignored me even though the day before she
told me she wanted to get rid of Neal. I didn’t say that either. And then there
she was with him, clearly enjoying herself, standing so close to him, touching
him. And I assumed that they were probably going to the dance together and so I
decided I wouldn’t tell her I was going to the dance. I didn’t tell Jake any of
that or about my plans to go to the dance and ignore her, how I imagined she’d
see me dancing, having fun, flirting, and realize, finally, that I was the one
she wanted. And I didn’t say anything about Trudy Markus.

Jake smiled for the
first time, a wide Cheshire cat grin, handed me his card and asked that I call
him right away with any new information. That was that. I walked outside and
Dorrie was sitting slumped in the chair, like a loyal dog, waiting. She looked
pathetic. I can’t say why. I don’t want her sympathy. I know that much. She
thinks she understands, but she doesn’t. I needed to be alone. I asked her if I
could have some bus fare. She glanced back and forth between Jake and me.
Finally, she blew out some air and dug into her pocketbook. It was the first
time I’d ever taken a city bus to my house from the center, and so it took me
two hours to get home. First, I got on the wrong bus. And then I missed the
right bus. I didn’t mind. I just sat there and thought about Leya. I remembered
the last time I was on a city bus. It was a week of hot, 100 degree heat. I was
eleven or so. She was thirteen. She wanted candy. It was too hot to ride our
bikes to the store.
Let’s go to the mall
, she said. It was our project
for the day. We scraped up enough change and took the bus. It was a heat wave.
It was an adventure. I thought about the ride home, Leya sitting across from me,
clutching her bag of candy, how her leg kept swinging back and forth, blue flip
flops, grimy toes, the way her hair stuck to the side of her face, her puffy flushed
cheeks sticky from candy.

I saw the world in the windows behind her, watched
it speed past her head and it was perfect. And now I’m small, shrinking, please
here me. I love you, Leya.

Lance

COMMENTS

Susanne
I
found an email from Leya related to breaking up with Neal

Suz!

Help!!!
Told Neal it was over. He flipped. Said he was going to kill himself and made
me get out of the truck at a traffic light in the center!! Then he drove off
like a maniac. I walked home; I have no idea where he is. For all I know he's
dead. Call me immediately!!!
Leya

Susanne
he
wasn’t dead btw. He did this all the time.

@susanne
please stop posting this crap. For all I know, you wrote these emails to get
attention.

Susanne
I’m
sorry you are hurting so much, Lance. But I would never do that.

CHANNELING
ENERGY

I’m
addicted. Blogging is bringing me closer to Leya. I know that now. I guess you
could say then it’s my purpose, and I was meant to do this. Some people are born
to build houses or bridges. I was born to build sentences. Bur really, I have
this crazy energy and if I don’t do something my waves will build up, explode
outward in one tremendous negative blast. And isn’t that what we are here for,
to create? All energy is waves that are internalized and channeled. I’m
convinced that if we fail to use the energies properly, we become stagnant or
displaced, and these currents build up and create a dysfunctional static in the
environment—hence, my desire to channel my waves and write for Leya—okay and
for myself. Maybe that’s the beauty.

Lance

COMMENTS

anonymous
beauty is created out of pain. Sounds like you’re on your way to healing

@
anonymous
what beauty can come from Leya Blackwater’s murder? I don’t think this is always
true. Heal yourself.

Heather
I love love love that pic of you. What a sweet heart. Thanks for sharing. I
think I saw you walking home the other day. Do you walk? I can give you a ride
if you want. Let me know. You have an amazing way with words. Leya did too. I
remember when she shared her journal entry “How I Spent My Summer” and it was
incredible.