Gena/Finn (25 page)

I knew it was you, of course. I mean, practically speaking it could have been the stoners who live across the hall, or someone looking for a quasi-romantic view of the quasi-city to make out against, but I knew.

I found you sitting on the edge of the roof and dangling your feet over, and I called out to you.

You didn't look at me. “Have you seen the stars?”

“What?”

“Come look.”

I crossed the roof and sat next to you, and you didn't lean into me the way you ordinarily would. Instead, your weight shifted out, over the edge. “Do you know how far it is to the moon?”

I didn't.

“Two hundred thousand miles of empty space.” You swayed in little circles, away from me, out over the empty air, back.

“Come inside, baby.”

“Did I do it?”

I eased an arm around your back and pulled you close. You
let me.

“See that star?”

“Yeah.”

“It's mine.”

“It's yours?”

“For wishing. It's my lucky star.”

“Do your wishes come true?”

You were quiet so long I didn't think you were going to answer, or maybe the voices in your head were after you again, but then you leaned into my shoulder. “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes is good.”

“Sometimes sometimes is bad.”

“I know.”

You went inside then, and I'm still here because I can't come down, because I can't face going back in to my scrambled-up life and the people I'm failing. So I'm up here trying to pick a lucky star of my own.

I have no idea what I'm going to wish, though.

written down Gena's legs in
bright green Magic Marker

When I first met Alanah I thought she was fake

She had that blonde hair and the sexy shark teeth

Alanah's the kind of person who can wear backless shirts

Alanah makes you wonder where the tape is and where she is tucked in

She reminded me of Nala, who was a wild-haired lizard woman with pink eyes

she'd crawl out of anything she could decide was a tunnel

She liked to put her tongue in my ear and lick in circles,

mine

mine mine

she was the one who started fires

Alanah, Nalanah, loved me

poured herself into me like water down a drain

we never burned bright and hard and full of love

we never laughed together fought together cried and
cuddled on a dorm room bed

we never lit the world on fire

left on the kitchen table

Hey, Honey,

The school said they'd take care of getting this to you. We've tried so many times to call your phone. We've sent you several emails. Can you give us the number of where you're staying?

We'd love to come get you and bring you home with us. We know what happened must have been so incredibly horrifying. Come back and talk to us about it? And if you're not ready to come home, please let us know as soon as possible how to get in touch with whoever you're with and make sure they have everything they need to take care of you.

Spike and Thomas miss you...

xoxo
Aunt Jane

outgoing mail, torn open and taped shut

Ms. Goldman,

Oakmoor University forwarded your letter to me. My name is Stephanie Bartlett, and I'm a friend of Gena's. She's staying with me at the moment, but I passed your letter on to her so she'd know she had options.

Gena's not feeling up to talking much these days, but she's doing all right. At the moment she's in my kitchen baking a loaf of bread, which we're planning to eat tonight while we watch cartoons. Cartoons are all she wants to watch on TV right now, which I think is probably understandable.

Her recovery's going pretty well here in California – she's been attending a trauma support group and it seems to be helping – so I'm not sure uprooting her is the best idea. Please feel free to give me a call anytime at 618-555-0500. I know you must be concerned.

Sincerely,
Stephanie Bartlett

on the back of a flier for the Montgomery Village Trauma Support Group

bright lights, small room

there's a girl here about eight years old

finn put my hair in a ponytail this morning

the boy next to me smiles

I bet he could save the world

once a week

For You:

Charlie's working extra hours again, so we got stuck relying on my dubious cooking skills for dinner. I hope you like canned soup.

I got your Zyprexa today. I had to call your shrink in Connecticut and explain the situation. Or rather, give the barest outline of it. “There was an accident and Gena's staying with me for a while” seems like all the pertinent information and at the same time none of it.

I'm not sure what I expected – maybe that she'd be sympathetic, or at least not give us a hard time – but I guess that's not shrink protocol. I'm sure this is old news to you. You're probably used to debating whether you should actually have the pills she's prescribed. You're probably used to these tiny bottles that cost $300, which I transferred from our already miniscule savings account. I'm not sure how we're going to afford next month's refill, or, you know, food. I need to get a job, but I can't leave you here alone all day. Even though you'd probably be fine. Probably. It's your birthday in two days and I can't even afford presents. Maybe a cake.

Jesus, not a cake, goddamn candles, fuck.

I made the soup in the microwave because I am useless at cooking, and I didn't heat yours up quite as much as I ordinarily would. You sat at the table and stirred it around and watched it spin in the bowl like it was mesmerizing, but you weren't crying into it and talking to the voices in your head so I'm calling it a win.

Trying to get you to talk about group therapy got me nowhere. You were so lively in Chicago. You talked nonstop. Now it's like pulling teeth. Apparently they didn't make you talk today, which I guess is nice of them, but I sort of wish they'd made you, to be honest. I sort of wish they'd sit you down and fucking figure out what's wrong and call me and tell me the steps to fix it and make you smile again. I know that's not how it works. I know. I do.

There's this one guy. Steven.

He was in an accident, you say. He gets it, you say. It's nice. You like him. He gets it.

I don't know why I'm being like this.

It's good that you made a friend. It's good that someone gets it. It's a good thing. Someone understands what you're feeling. You have someone to talk to, someone who you like.

It's just I thought that was me.

But you're okay today (you know, relatively), you're not crying, you're talking more, and I love you, and what else can I be but happy?

crumpled up in the trash can

Dear Genevieve Goldman,

It is with our deepest sympathies that we acknowledge both your recent trauma and your leave of absence from Oakmoor. Your personal belongings have been gathered and shipped to you and should arrive shortly. Please accept our dearest condolences. We hope to see you back on our campus the moment you are ready to resume your Oakmoor experience. You remain a crucial part of the Oakmoor community even in your absence.

In addition, we've begun forwarding your mail to this address, and it should begin arriving shortly.

Sincerely,

Caitlin Fordham

Caitlin Fordham, Dean of Students