Gena/Finn (29 page)

in Charlie's notebook, now Gena's notebook

What Steven Said

our group leader says

trying to break out of it is no way to live

he says

stretch inside of it

there is so much room

there is so much for you to grab in here

stop hurting yourself trying to escape

just

stretch

steven thinks he means mental illness

I think he means our past

I think he means our family

we're lying on the grass again, me and him

while he tickles the bottom of my foot with a blade of grass

because I don't have shoes on

I tell him that I feel like i'm lying to him

and he looks up

"Why?"”

"Because I haven't told you everything,"” says me.

He crawls up me, elbows on either side of my ribs, all breathing and skin and friend

"I haven't told you everything either,"” he says.

and I realize

I don't want to tell him.

not because I don't want him to know

not because I want to be able to run away

not because I think he couldn't take it

because i'm tired

because it would take such a long time

because maybe I am beginning to forget parts

and maybe that's okay

because I am lying in the grass with a nice boy

who doesn't need to be everything

I stretch out

Text with John C.

hi. It's genevieve from a weird
number.

Nov 5, 5:16 PM

honey.

in Gena's notebook

What Finn Said

the premiere's in three days

we're eating popcorn

to practice

"do you ever want kids?"” I say

she tosses a piece in the air

catches it in between her teeth

like an expert

this girl could do anything.

"nah,"” she says.

"i have a kid,"” she says.

She puts her hand on top of my head, tugs me in.

"you're the best kid in the world

and we made you that way ourselves.”"

What Gena Says

i thought that the fire would always divide

this is now, that was then

i thought it was a line break

like a new stanza

you can't go back.

i thought grief would insert itself in the middle and never leave.

i know better now.

stanzas are for quitters

punctuation is for the brave.

If love is a semicolon then grief is a comma:

it won't ever stand alone,

but it will give you one breath,

in.

For You:

You're probably wondering why I'm telling you all this.

You were there for almost all of it. There's not much I can say that you don't already know.

The Season 4 premiere aired on a Monday. I wish it didn't. I wish they'd moved it to Wednesday, or Friday, or nine a.m. on Sunday morning. Monday night was when we watched Jake. This is a different show, and any loyalty I feel (and there is some, I can't deny it) is residual and unearned. Tyler's fine, but who is he now?

On the night of the premiere, you and Charlie were giddy and ridiculous, and it surprised me to see either of you so worked up about the show. “What's going on?”

“Surprise present!” you said, and Charlie shot you a look like you wrecked Christmas.

“The hell? It's not my birthday.”

“It's not really a present, either.” Charlie handed me a
newspaper-wrapped bundle. “It's already yours.”

“It's my sketchbook!” I could tell immediately by the size and weight. “Where did you get it?”

“I had it, remember?” You were nearly bouncing up and down. “You left it in my dorm. You told me to keep it. Like I was going to.”

“Don't worry,” Charlie grinned. “I didn't look at it.”

“I looked at it,” you informed him.

“Fangirl stuff,” he said knowledgeably, and not like it was a bad thing either. Like it was ours, mine and yours.

So I've got that back now, and it's such a relief, and you're probably wondering why I'm still writing everything down in this stupid expensive uninspiring gift-shop journal.

We had dinner (lasagna, Charlie cooked) at the table like it was an occasion and filed into the living room ceremoniously when we'd finished. Charlie settled in his La-Z-Boy with his computer on his lap, which is the way he's always watched Up Below. He doesn't have to pay attention, really. It isn't his show. He watches for the chase scenes and the fights, and occasionally the plot. He likes Evanson.

You wore his hoodie and my yoga pants because your clothes still haven't arrived from Oakmoor. (I don't know who was in charge of boxing up your things and shipping them to us, but they should be fired.) You had a chocolate bar, which you weren't eating. I don't really blame you. I was too nervous to touch my dinner.

I want to say I feel like the premiere shouldn't have been such a big deal, but the truth is that I can't imagine why it wouldn't be.

I saw it coming before it happened. We all did. Tyler walked out of a crumbling cave without checking to see if Jake was behind him, which was so out of character that I actually giggled. I clapped a hand over my mouth and looked at you, at Charlie, but he was rolling his eyes and your mouth was quirked a little in a way that let me know you weren't upset.

There was a recycled shot of Jake looking up – any fan would have spotted it, even Charlie knew – a rumble of falling rock, a moment of silence, and that's it.

The worst part was when Tyler screamed.

That was recycled too. I recognized it from Season 1. They didn't ask Toby to do that, and I'm glad.

The rest of the episode was mostly Evanson, which means it was pretty boring unless you actually care about things like plot and politics. By the half hour mark, I had my sketchbook out, working on something that's probably going to be Jake when I get it done. I can't help it. I miss him. Charlie was actively ignoring the TV, and you were making short work of the chocolate.

“Do you guys want to turn it off?” I looked around for the remote.

“Nah,” you said through a mouthful. “Might as well see how
it ends.”

How it ends, predictably, is with Tyler (who I keep thinking
of as Toby now) vowing to avenge Jake's death. It was nice
of him, I guess. We all know it can never make anything
right. Evanson revealed himself to be one of the good guys, probably (tune in next week!) and the end credits included
a title screen in memoriam of Janet Learmen, Marian Little, and Zack Martocchio.

I don't feel anything about any of that.

You're probably wondering why I'm telling you this, because you saw that episode, and I don't think you felt anything either. When it ended you looked at me and shrugged and said “There that is, then,” and went to take a shower. Just now I went to check on you and you were already asleep in bed, curled around Charlie's laptop with your journal pulled up. You've been writing something. I left it there, in case you want to finish when you wake up.

I'm telling you this, Evie, because stories change in memory and in the retelling, and because you write and rewrite them until they're what you want them to be, but this is one story I want you to remember the way it happened. I want you to remember the people we are now, the times I was there for you and the times I let you down. I want you to love me weak like I loved you crazy, and when we're both on top again we'll remember that we did it.