A Portal to Leya (9 page)

Lance

COMMENTS

2cents
hallucinating,
dude

Heather
please
call me I really need to talk to you!

NORMAL

It’s
Christmas Eve, and I haven’t seen Trudy, and I’m probably a stalker and I’m
failing most of my classes. Don Banks is no help. He keeps telling me stories
about Viet Nam and the time he lived in London. I just pretend to listen. No Leya
today either. I’m failing all my classes so I’m waiting for the talk from
Dorrie. Ben may chime in too. It hasn’t happened yet. But it will. I’m smart. I
know that. I can easily be a straight A student, if I tried. It’s not like I’m
an outcast rebelling. It’s not like that. In fact, I was semi-normal before Leya
died. I never needed a therapist. But after you were gone Leya and Francis
left, I crashed. I couldn’t focus—all that stuff you need to do in school. I’m
not depressed, really. Well, maybe I am in a normal way. But I’m not in the
clinical way. I mean who wouldn’t be depressed after losing a best friend? So, of
course the school psychologist, Mr. Rodriguez, was all on me like white on
rice, trying to talk, give me coping strategies. I told him about my blog. He
warned me to be careful. Not sure what he meant by that. He asked if I was
prescribed any medication. I said no. He asked about drug use, and I said no to
that too (aside from a few drinks and experimental marijuana once or twice, I’m
clean). He’s a nice guy, actually. And he’s funny too, which is unusual. I told
him I don’t think I’m defective or suffering from any disorder. And everything
has been going okay. I didn’t tell him the times I see Leya. That would negate
everything I told him prior. I figure if I’m rationale enough to know I
shouldn’t tell him, I must be sane.

Lance

COMMENTS

Jabberwocky9
It
can’t hurt, Lance. I love my therapist--she rocks. She's a vegan and really Leya
minded, even though she wears leather shoes. We go to the movies.

Heather
I
think your therapist means you are blogging to a dead person and this can
become dangerous. Are you really seeing Leya? You do realize you can’t be
actually seeing her if she’s dead, right?

@heather
yes, I do see her. She is not gone. She visits me. You need to Leya your mind.

THE
ARREST

Merry Christmas @ all. Neal Lourdes was arrested.
Ben told me this morning. It was after I saw Leya sitting on the edge of my
bed. She smiled at me. It was just as I was waking. I sat up quick. I grabbed
her hand. It was warm. She kept smiling but your eyes seemed sad like before.
She rubbed my hand. Then she was gone. Why was she so sad?  We are getting
closer to the truth. Neal’s alibi fell through. Is that why Leya is sad? Maybe
he’s not guilty so she’s sad to see him arrested? I don’t know. Neal insisted
he was at home. But, his alibi aka his parents were at a Broadway show in New
York City. The neighbors testified that Neal’s Harley Davidson and Ford pick-up
truck were not in their usual spots in the driveway. He claims the truck was at
the shop and the bike was parked in back. He may be able to post bail (depending
on the judge). Ben told me that if he is considered a risk to the community, he
will have to remain in jail until his trial. Here’s what we discussed, after
the facts:

“Will he be in jail for
Christmas?”

“Yes, most likely.”

“They don’t wait until
after the holidays?”

“It doesn’t work that
way, Lance.”

“How long will they
keep in jail?”

“It depends on the
judge.”

“What type of judge
denies bail?”

“One that decides Neal
Lourdes is a high risk for not returning to court, and a danger to the
community.”

“But what type?”

“A conservative type, I
suppose.”

“What if the judge is
liberal?”

“Then maybe Neal will
be allowed to post bail but will probably be on house arrest with electronic
monitoring.”

Some part of me hopes the judge is a liberal type. I
don’t know why. What do I care? I should want the murderer, if it is Neal, to
suffer. The thing is, I don’t know for sure it’s him. Leya was sad. Why was she
sad? She wouldn’t want him to suffer. So I don’t either.

I can’t find Trudy. Now, I really need her. I really
really really need to talk to her. Just one hit of her will charge me up.

Lance

COMMENTS

2cents
Hey,
they got him, dude. What else do you want? If he murdered someone, he shouldn’t
be released back into the community. That’s total BS. I knew Neal. Believe me.
He most likely did it. And Trudy is lying for attention. I know her type.

Heather
I
understand why you’re conflicted, Lance It’s hard to imagine. Try to enjoy your
Christmas. Life is inexplicable. The reasons for good and evil are not always
so clear.

@heather
you don’t know a thing about me. NO one does. Only Leya really knows me.

@2cents
no, I’m not.

MEETING
MANNY

I
woke up gasping for air. I don’t remember any nightmare. Neal was arrested. I
can’t get it out of my head. I may go to Trudy’s. It’s 8:00 at night. I know
that sounds insane. But my skin is burning. I took some Tylenol P.M. so maybe
it’s the meds. Maybe it’s my anxiety. I need air. I knew it. I knew his alibi
would fall through. I want to talk to Trudy. I can’t stop thinking about it.
What if he goes to prison? She knows he’s not guilty. How could she do that?
How could I? I’m not sure what to do now. I have so many squiggly lines. I see
them everywhere. The air is fuzzy, filled with chaos. And I want to know why my
skin feels so hot?  I think I could die from the confusion. The news doesn’t
help: shootings, murders, kidnappings, terrorist threats and home invasions.
I’m off today. My mind is prickly if that’s even possible.

pm

So, I met Manny. He’s tall and skinny. He has dark
hair pulled back in a ponytail and tattoos on any exposed flesh, one crawling
up his neck. I heard them, laughing, coughing, smelled the smoke. He was with
Trudy, in front of my house. I bolted out the door. I was manic. Even if I
wanted to change my mind, it would have been too late. Initially, I thought
Trudy heard the news and was afraid I’d go to the police tell, so she invited
Manny over to intimidate me. He looked ominous. Even so, I had to confront him.
 

“
Hey!” I shouted.

“Hey dude,” Trudy said.

“Who are you?” I looked right at him.

“Manny. Who are you?”

“This is Lance Bryce. He’s a friend of mine. He’s
cool.”

“Oh, I see. Well now…does Lancey poo like to party?”
Manny asked.

I wanted to punch him. I hated him. I hated Trudy,
how she betrayed me, standing there, smugly, staring down at me like I was an
idiot.

“Why don’t you shut up, Manny because if you don’t,
you can get the hell outta here, and buy your own shit.”

“Ok, ok. Chill, sweetie pie.” He grabbed Trudy’s
shoulders, looked over at me: “She’s a live wire, huh?”

Trudy shook him off of her. “Let go of me you dolt.”

“Hey, I’m just playing with you. I appreciate my
Christmas present, I do. I do. You know me, right?”

I wanted to ask about his Christmas present, but I
didn’t. I figured it was drugs. I told Trudy I needed talk to her, but that it
could wait. I got out of there. I didn’t want to witness a doped-up ex-con get
violent. When I walked away, I heard them laughing. I heard Trudy say shut up.
I heard Manny say what the hell is wrong with him? I don’t know if they were
laughing at me or something else. I don’t care anymore. Manny is insignificant.
Manny is irrelevant. I confronted him and I was fearless, numb. If Manny wants
to kill me, I guess he’ll just have to do it. I think Trudy hates me. I don’t
know for sure. But I never got to tell her about Neal getting arrested. I
wonder if she even knows.

Lance

COMMENTS

Susanne
.
Stay home. Be with your family. That’s all I’ll say. You are better than those
people. I think you should stay clear of Trudy and her cousin. If you need to
go to the police, then do it by yourself. You don’t need Trudy or that jerk to
tell you what you know you need to do.

Heather
Ditto.
: )

Jabberwocky9
You
are a wise soul, Lance. I love this blog. Just go with your heart. You have
real friends. Take a look. They are here for you. Happy Holidays!

CHRISTMAS
MEMORY

My
head has cleared somewhat. But I’m still heavy with something inexplicable.
Neal Lourdes was released on bail. I guess it was a liberal judge. I read that
he’s released on these conditions. First, the Lourdes had to post their home as
surety on bail (in case he doesn’t show up for court or flees the country) and
here are the other parts:

1.
Neal will be on home electronic monitoring

2.
Neal must stay home at all times and cannot attend school

3.
Neal must have a parent or adult over the age of twenty-five must be with him
at all times

4.
Neal must not leave the state

It doesn’t sound so bad for a person like me. But I
think for Neal, it will be hell. I don’t know why I should care. He probably did
murder Leya. I’m feeling off. Emmet is somewhere out there. Or, maybe he’s
dead. You would think either way he’d let me know. Francis could be dodging
bombs. Or, maybe he’s dead too. There is a void like some deep chasm in the
spaces where energy flows. I am heavy with it. I had a vivid dream and I woke
up thinking it was real. Then I realized it really did happen, and it was a
memory from last Christmas:

It's warm and misty. Francis is home. We are helping
Dorrie and Ben bring the boxes up from storage. The basement is musty. I hate
the basement. I am thinking about spiders crawling on me but don’t say
anything. When I was younger, I would never go near the basement. Next, we
decorate the tree. Leya keeps elbowing Francis. They talk in soft tones. I
can’t hear. She holds up a Baby’s First Christmas ornament—
I love this one!
It’s
a photo of me framed inside a snowflake—
This is you?
She hits my arm
.
I knew it! I can tell because of those big round eyes!
Francis looks like
Dorrie. I was told I look more like Emmet, my dad. In the few photos I have, I
can't see it. Although, I guess maybe we do have the same color hair and pointy
chin.
Sweet,
she says, hanging my photo next to a green and silver
striped glass ball.
Where's yours, Francis?
I am glad the attention is
off me.

I begin to imagine Emmet in Paris and wonder if he
has a tree, if he’s alone or with friends or a new family. “What's the
temperature in Paris?” I’m invisible. No one responds. I feel empty. I ask
again. I keep asking. Dorrie finds Francis's Baby’s First Christmas, shows it
to Leya who takes it from her and holds it up:  
Here he is!
And then the
lights and Leya shouts—
-Close your eyes Lance!
She puts her hands over
my eyes; they are hot and smell like lavender. The tree lights up like a
kaleidoscope of colors. The colors blend. The voices fade. I can see the waves
emitting specks of positive charge like Ed Leedskalnin’s beads of light
shooting out, creating a larger current encircling us. Next, I see the positive
charges flowing outwards and beyond the walls, our street, our town, carried by
the heavy mist, creating a stream of goodness like a tributary cutting through
the air, only to empty into the bigger river of waves. I feel safe. When I
wake, I feel heavy and lost.

I looked up the temperature in Paris—44.6 degrees
Fahrenheit. Why do I bother? Emmet Bryce is merely a figment of my imagination.

Lance

COMMENTS

2cents
sounds like some trip, dude.

Heather
please
call me. I’m worried about you.

EMMET’S
LETTER

I
passed on Christmas this year. I didn’t go to Trudy’s. I have presents sitting
under the tree that I refuse to Leya. I stay in my room. I stare out my window.
I wait for Leya, someone. I try to sleep so I can find her I even take medication
and it knocks me out. Then every so often, I wake to Dorrie BEGGING me to come
down. If she persists, I stomp my feet or slam my door. That usually works. She
stays away. At one point, I thought of writing a letter to Emmet Bryce. I
almost didn’t. But then I decided why not. I could just write it and not mail
it.

Dear
Emmet:

Seeing that I am your son, Lance Bryce.
I thought I should write to you, ask how you're doing. I know you are an artist
but I haven't been able to find your paintings. I wonder if you use a different
name. I would love to see your paintings. I remember a little about you but not
much. I have a couple photographs; in one of my favorites you are holding me
next to the jetty at White Sands Beach. Our hair is the same color--light brown
with blonde streaks-- and we are both tan. Dorrie has dark hair and fair skin
like Francis. Dorrie says I look like you. I don’t know you well, but sometimes
I feel you in the air (I know that sounds weird). But, I have some theories
about electrically charged waves and how we are able to send signals, just like
computers and radio waves; we can transmit our charges to each other. Do you
know anything about Electromagnetic Waves? If you do, we could talk about it.