Ghost Time (15 page)

We took a drive and then we went to Silver Top, Saturday afternoon, and at first, it was just like any other day. What I mean is that I didn’t see it coming, and I guess I chose to block it out, but still. Once we sat down and Sharon brought our drinks and a plate of fries, just as I was reaching for the red plastic bottle of ketchup, Cam leaned over and grabbed his backpack. I was wondering why he brought it in, then I had the strangest sensation, hearing him unzip it, and I didn’t know what was wrong, until he pulled out a big white envelope and set it flat on the table, between us.

I froze. Because I knew right away. I knew by the size and the font and the pink postage in the corner—one look, and I knew he’d been accepted to MIT, and honestly, I felt a little upchuck in my mouth. Like I actually touched my fingertips to my throat for a second. I know that’s awful of me, but it just hit me so hard,
and before I knew it, my tongue was twisting in my mouth, and I had to bite to hold it down.

Of course I knew what it was. I mean, okay, I can barely pass half my classes, but come on, I know what a big envelope means. It means he’s got a ticket out of Fort Marshall, means Cam was leaving. Seeing it there, inches from my hands, I didn’t feel the wind knocked out of me, I felt punched in the gut, and I couldn’t speak. I just waited, punishing myself, staring at the envelope like it was the enemy, cursing a piece of paper in my head. But it was his job to tell me, so I sat there, waiting, thinking,
Say it. Go on. You brought me here to tell me, so tell me.

Finally, he reached over, pulling my chin up, so I’d look him in the eye, and I still looked at him—and even then, even when I’m angry, he’s so beautiful, I think,
What
are
you doing with me?
But I still threw a fit, pushing him away, because sometimes that’s the only thing I know how to do. I did; I looked away, acting all, whatever. Cam goes, I wanted you to be the first to know, pressing his hands across the table, reaching for my fingertips, and I pulled away.

He pulled back, and I go, Tell me what, Cam? And he knew I knew, but he said it anyway. He goes, I wanted you to be the first person I told that I got into MIT. I looked away again, at our fries, and I said, Does your mom know? Not yet, he said, spreading his fingers, pressing his hands against the table like he was going to reach for me. Told you I wanted to tell you first, he said, licking his bottom lip, and I go, Gee, thanks, but I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t help feeling so angry, so… alone.

Then and there, I could feel it: I knew what was coming. He’d leave for school, and I’d stay, and we’d be one of those memories you grip on to for dear life, knowing you’re the only one gripping. I was becoming the one left behind. My throat started swelling into a fist, and he goes, Thee, it’s a long way away, a whole year, and I said,
Don’t
, biting my lip: don’t say it. He goes, Don’t say what, Thea? I go, Don’t give me the, Oh, I’ll come back and visit. Or, Oh, we’ll see each other on vacation, any of that bullshit people say, I said, looking out the window, clenching my jaw. He goes, I wasn’t going to say that, and I go, Good, because it wouldn’t be true, I said, but only after I swallowed to get the words out.

Thea, he said, reaching for my hand, I don’t know what’s going to happen, and neither do you. I go, Well, you’re headed to MIT. That’s what’s going to happen, I said, sighing, crossing my arms, and he goes, Yes, I am. Well, congratulations, I said, raising my eyebrows, like, lucky you! Because that’s about as much of a bigger person as I was capable of being at that moment. Thank you, he said. You’re welcome, I said, twisting my tongue again. At that moment, I knew I was being such a bitch, but so what. He was leaving me: I had every right.

We just sat there for I don’t know how long, but finally, he leaned forward again, and he goes, Look at me, and I tried, but I couldn’t hold his eyes. Just out of curiosity, when did you find out? I asked, taking a sip of my Diet Coke. Last night, he said. Mom was at the store, so I got to the mailbox before she did. I go, Last night. And you didn’t tell me? He goes, I didn’t want to
tell you on the phone, Thee. Was there a better time to tell you? Nope, I said.

Then he goes, You want to fight, don’t you? And he was right, but so what? I go, Honestly, I don’t want anything, Cam. Except to be alone, I said, reaching for my coin purse, pulling out a couple dollars and getting up to leave. And I did. Just like that, I got up and walked out, making up my mind to walk the entire way home. I had to: it wasn’t a choice. I mean, for the first time in my life, I felt like someone had reached into my chest, taken hold of my heart, and ripped it clean, like it was nothing more than a chain around my neck. I wanted to be happy for him, because he’s my best friend, and I was happy for him, but I was sad for me, I was so sad, all I could do was… feel angry. Cheap, I know, but easier than bawling, realizing I didn’t know how to do this anymore: this, this town, these people, school, my mom… none of it made any sense if he wasn’t there, and I didn’t know how I’d ever get through.

I made it a couple hundred yards, and then I felt Cam pull up behind me. In his car, yes. Just before sunset, and he was driving about five miles an hour, on the side of the road, following right behind me. He didn’t honk, he didn’t roll down his window or anything, but still. At first, for like the first mile, I wanted to turn and yell, scream at him to leave me alone, let me be, I needed to walk. Alone! I didn’t, I just made fists with both my hands, and he knew what I meant, and I knew he knew, and he knew I knew he knew, but he followed behind me anyhow.

I could see him like I had eyes in the back of my head, calmly driving, and one by one, the highway started lighting up with
people turning on their headlights. And then it crossed my mind, how I must look, but I wasn’t getting in. And if he wanted to follow the whole way, let him follow. And he did. Three miles, all these different cars slowing down on the highway, drivers honking to make sure I was all right, was this guy bothering me? Then, seeing it was obviously some sort of lovers’ quarrel, whatever, they drove on.

I walked the whole way, too. Sometimes Cam could talk me down—just about all the time, but not now, not this time. I remember the sound of the gravel crunching behind me, as he slowly turned, pulling into our parking lot, but I didn’t turn around even then. But he still waited out front—Cam waited until I got inside, and then, after I closed the door, he flashed his lights three times, shining through our curtains. Standing there, in our living room, alone, there were so many words, banging around in my chest, working their way up to my throat, choking me, and all I could think was,
Why am I such a spaz?
It was so embarrassing, because I knew what I was doing, and I knew it was wrong to behave like that, but I just couldn’t do any better. And my eyes welled up, because it was his big day, that envelope was his ticket, and he earned it. Cam worked so hard, and I felt awful, so awful, seeing myself like that: small.

So I went back outside, fast as I could, and just as he was about to pull a U-turn, I leaned over the ledge, over the rail. I didn’t even know what to say for myself, behaving like that, but he stopped and looked up at me. I could see him perfectly, too, because of the big overhead light that shines down on the parking lot; it’d just turned on. Still, all I could do was hold up my hand,
press it flat against the air. That was all I had to say for myself, really. Cam looked at me, through the windshield for a moment, and then, he did the same, waiting as I moved my hand, aligning it, so it fit, pressing against his.

I didn’t see him again until Monday morning, because he went with Karen to do some work on the properties she owns, somewhere in the Catskills. I worried for a second whether or not he’d pick me up Monday morning, but he did. I was so happy, too, when I saw him pull into the parking lot. I had an apology all prepared, when I got in the car that morning, then he leaned over and kissed me, soon as I closed the door. He goes, Before you say anything, I want to ask you something. He looked so serious, too, like he’d been thinking about it all night. All right, I said, bracing myself, taking a deep breath. Then he goes: Have you ever seen a thunderstorm in the desert? No, I said, waiting, thinking,
I’m the storm or the desert or where are you going with this? Natural disaster, what?
And he goes, No? I said, No. I’ve never seen the desert. Pictures, I said, shrugging. You’ve seen pictures, he said, smiling. I was just like, Yes. Looks cool. Very, um, mystic, I said.

He looked out his window, thinking it over, and then he goes, Thea, Thea, Thea…, squeezing the steering wheel with both hands. What are we going to do with you, Theadora Denny? I go, Is that a rhetorical question? Then he turns and looks at me: You’ve got to see the desert, Thee. You just gotta see it to believe it. And it is mystical, it’s… it gets in your blood. It’s like, I don’t know. Corny, but it’s just one of those places that make you feel so damn small, so completely insignificant, but in the best possible way, he said. Which is what? I said, and he said, Humbled.
And then, when it rains—I mean, it almost never rains, but if you’re there when it does, it’s like watching the earth and sky going ten rounds.
Awesome
, he said.

Someday, I said, still waiting for the gist. By that point I was just like,
Okay, let me have it already, you’re making me tense here with these weather reports.
No, listen, we need to go, he said, and I said, I know: first bell is in ten minutes. Cam goes, I meant the desert, friendo, and I was just like, Oh. Right, I said. Why not? he said. We could road trip, end of the year, we could just hit the road, he said, and I was like, Oh, right, like my mom would ever agree. And he goes, She likes me, babe, and I go, Yes, she does, but but not that much. Cam goes, Leave the talking up to me, pulling out. You’ll love it, he said. Joshua Tree, Death Valley. And I go, I’ll love Death Valley? Thea, you wouldn’t believe the flowers there, after it rains, he said. Fields of purple flowers like you’ve never seen. I want to take you to the desert, he said.

I thought about it, and then I said, Cam, don’t tease, no longer amused. Thea, he said, reaching the stop sign, right before the highway. Do I look like I’m teasing? he said, turning to look at me, all serious. I looked at him, but I didn’t answer. Well? he asked. No, I said, and then, pulling out, he goes, That’s because I’m not teasing. I’ve decided you need to see the desert and we need to take a road trip. You’ve decided, I said, and he goes, I think what you meant to say was, Oh, thank you. Or maybe, Cam, you are the greatest boyfriend in the whole world, he said, and I started laughing.

Thing is, he’s so forgiving. It’s one of the qualities I admire most about him, how he could watch me screw up in some
completely stupid, hideous, shameful way, and he’d forgive me, too. And I just kept spazzing out, since the day we met, and I kept waiting for him to see how ugly I was, inside, and if he saw it, well, all I know is, he never looked away. We just sat, quiet, all the way to town, until we pulled into the school parking lot, and he turned off the ignition.

Then he turned to me and he goes, You still getting your head around that, or you need some help, there, Sparky? I started laughing, trying my hardest not to laugh, but once in a while he’d throw out some nickname. And I am so not Sparky, trust me. Yeah, I need something, all right, I said. You’re telling me, he said, because I need something, too. So maybe we could work something out, you and me, he said, winking at me.
Now
, he sighed, sitting back, so he could get a good look at me, his head freshly shaved, grinning as wide as the day is long, as my grandpa used to say. About that apology? he said.

I felt the blood heading straight for my cheeks, and then, almost as though it was ringing from the heavens, the bell! I raised my arm in V for victory, practically punching the top of the car. And that, friendo, that is what we like to call saved by the first bell, I said, taunting him, still holding my arms up high, and his face. Oh, what I’d give to have a picture of Cam’s face at that moment, but, then again, who knows. I guess Nanna was right: there are times when you just have to look at what’s right in front of you, take it in, and hold on as tight as you can, every last detail.

(TWENTY-FIVE DAYS LATER)

2:57 PM

I have no idea how I made it through the week, but Friday, after school, standing on the front steps, I couldn’t stand the thought of getting on the bus again, and I didn’t want to go home. After everything that’s happened, I didn’t want to be alone any longer than I absolutely have to be. Which is not me at all, I know, but it was getting lighter out, every night, and I just wanted to sit somewhere I’d be left alone for a couple hours. Not school, not home, so I went to Silver Top.

It felt so strange, because it was the first time in six months that I’d been there without Cam. It was past three, but the Elders were still there. I’ve always called them that, because they’re like a tribal council, the Elders. The first time Cam saw them, he said it looked like they must have called shotgun on the big booth in the back sometime in the sixties, and it’s true—no one dares sit in the back booth if they’re around. You know Silver Top has
been open since 1963, and it hasn’t changed one bit since then. Like it’s still got the long row of round chrome and red leather stools at the counter, padded booths, and a rotating glass pie case. It’s a time capsule, and it’s definitely not Starbuck’s. Which is another reason I love it.

And the Elders, they all wear a matching uniform, more or less. It’s like this old-timer’s dress code, and there’s a little bit of variation, but their favorite look is something like a red and white checkered shirt, black Justin boots, and, of course, baggy-assed Levis, which they still call
dungarees
. I’d never been close to any of the four of them, but I just knew they smelled like the old man cocktail of whiskey, Old Spice, and Marlboro Reds, with the faintest whiff of engine oil, even though they scrubbed their nails spotless with Lava soap.