Ghost Time (20 page)

I didn’t want to go inside, so I sat there, watching cars drive by on the highway. You know, I remember our old house, our old life, all the time. I try not to, because it hurts, but without even closing my eyes, I can still see every room in our house, and I remember exactly how my room looked when I woke up in the morning, how the living room looked at sunset. I remember falling in love with light, there, sitting on the couch in the living room, trying to draw the window or a chair.

I know my mom feels the same, even if she never says anything. I mean, I don’t understand when I see women talk about starting over on TV, like it’s this big adventure, this new chapter of life, right? Because they make it sound so easy to start over, but when it’s just me and mom at night, eating dinner on the couch, watching TV in that dinky little apartment, it’s like we haven’t started over, we’ve false-started. Like we started running, but we got called back, and now we’re just waiting for something to fire the gun again.

(SEVEN WEEKS EARLIER)

1:47 PM

I can’t even believe I’m saying this, but for once in my life, I loved Valentine’s Day. Honestly, long as I live, I’ll never forget it, because we had this snowstorm, and it dumped like three feet in two days, so we got the day off from school. Cam called me at six thirty—it might’ve even been six, he was so excited to go out and play. I’m in bed, cocooned in my covers, half-asleep, so my voice cracks. Hello? And he goes, Snow day! Thee, isn’t that the best Valentine’s you can imagine? Let’s go play in the snow! And I go, I’ve got a better idea. Let’s play in bed—let’s play the sleeping game, huh? And he goes, I’m on my way, and I was just like,
Ohmygod, what am I going to do with you?
Cali boy had never had a snow day before he moved to Fort Marshall, so it was like Christmas to him.

So he came right over, after we hung up, and we made French toast and screwed around for a while, watching
Battlestar
Galactica
. After I got dressed and bundled up, we drove to this abandoned parking lot halfway between my house and town. There was no one there, and the parking lot and the field beyond, it looked like it was a mile long, mile wide, covered in three feet of snow. Just a powder-white sky, powder-white ground, and this curtain of snowflakes. I reached for my camera, and I looked at Cam, like,
Isn’t that the most beautiful thing?
He grinned, nodding, then he goes, Virgin, the smart-ass, and I slapped him with the back of my hand,
Be quiet.

Cam brought Karen’s car, her new Audi, because it has four-wheel drive and obviously he can’t drive his car in these conditions. When we got in the car, I took a deep breath, inhaling that new-car smell, and I was like,
I remember that smell, I remember having new cars
, and the snow was still coming down, hard, but it was amazing. It was like our town was in one of those snow globes, with these huge, fluffy flakes, and dry, not slushy and gross. It was so quiet out, just the two of us, and it felt like we had the whole world all to ourselves, and the world was such a beautiful place, I didn’t even recognize it.

So we parked and got out and we had a snowball fight and made snow angels, and then, after we drank the hot chocolate I brought. We were sitting in the car, warming up, and then Cam looked at me and goes, You ready to go skating? I was like, Now you want to go skating? I said, I haven’t been on skates since I was, like, ten. I don’t even know if I can stand up on skates anymore, and he goes, Not a problem. We’ll stay seated, he said, then he rolled down all four windows, and I was like, Cam, what are
you doing? Just lean back, and enjoy, he said, so I pushed my chair back, and I got all comfy. Then he goes, Ready? I was laughing, still no idea what he was about to do, and I was. Am I ready? I barely got the word out when he floored it—he hit the gas, gunning for the middle of the parking lot, and I started screaming, and he turned the wheel, hard as he could, whipping a kitty or doughnut, whatever they’re called, and then he took his foot off the gas, and the car just started gliding across the parking lot.

It was so great, because we couldn’t hit anything, and there was just enough ice on the ground that he was able to keep spinning around, and we kept running into these waves of powder, just crashing into the car. It was the best amusement park ride I’d ever been on, like playing bumper cars with the clouds, so I grabbed my phone and took some video, because it reminded me so much of those old sleds, carriage sleds or whatever they were called. We car-skated for maybe an hour, then he stopped. My face and my neck and hat were sopping, and I was like, Oh, man, Karen’s going to be so pissed her new car’s soaking, but then Cam stopped, and he turned off the car. He held his finger to his lips and he goes, Listen, and I held my breath, listening, and all you could hear were the flakes, falling, so sweet and warm, just the faintest tinkle.

He reached over and took my hand, and I looked out my window, and the world looked so white, so pure, and I turned back, grinning, because he was watching me. I go, What are you thinking? And then he mouthed it: I love you. He mouthed the words, and I said,
Don’t tease
, and I threatened to point my camera at
him, if he didn’t stop. But then he didn’t stop, just the opposite: Cam leaned closer and said, I’m not—I’m not teasing. So I hit video and I said, Then tell me again, for the record, Cam, and he said it again. Well, he mouthed it again, and I got up real close, like I was going to kiss him with my phone. Then he said it out loud: I. Love. You.

(THIRTY-TWO DAYS LATER)

7:42 AM

When someone disappears, when someone you love vanishes into thin air, you imagine the worst, while trying to hope for the best. And it’s exhausting—it’s so fucking exhausting. It’s not like grief—when my grandpa died, I remember how I cried and cried. But at least you can cry, because you know they’re dead. But when someone disappears, you’re just stuck in limbo, getting jerked all around all day, all night, awake, asleep, same difference. Every sound, every single time a phone rings or a car drives by or a door opens, I think:
It’s Cam! He’s back!
But it’s not him; he’s still gone; he’s still missing. Then you have to start all over again, so every morning, I take it from the top, asking myself:
Who am I? Where am I? What day is it? How do I do this?

So I cover my eyes for a moment, letting my mind fill up like a tub, and piece by piece, things fall into place: bed; bedroom; morning; sunlight; awake in bed, and, finally,
Thea: my name is
Thea.
The thing is, of course you don’t know who you are anymore, when you wake up, when you get out of bed, and every time you blink your eyes, all day long, because that person who’s gone, he took part of you with him. Maybe even the best part, and who knows if you’ll ever see either of you again, you know? I know it must sound silly or inane, whatever, but how do you live in the present when the best place you’ve ever been is in the past? I’m serious, why would you want to be here, now?

Mom started knocking on my door, making sure I was up, and I said, I’m awake, but she didn’t hear me, so she banged, Are you up? And I go, I’m
awake
! And she goes, That’s more like it, and I heard her walk to the kitchen. Thank god she leaves me alone, pretty much, but I can see it in her eyes, that she remembers how much of this is beyond my control. A rite of passage that’s just not right; there’s nothing right about this passage: she knows it; she understands. And she cuts me and my lip a lot of slack, too. Sometimes. I mean, it was a long time ago, but she was me once. Fifteen, at least.

But what I see, that look I see in her eyes isn’t disappointment, or anger, or even sadness, it’s resignation. That’s what it is: my mom’s resigned herself. Because, stupid as it may be, she couldn’t help hoping that we’d be different, the two of us, that we’d be the exception to the rules of nature. She always hoped we’d be like those shiny mothers and daughters, living out those glossy lives that slip through your fingers like the pages of the magazine in which they appear. And the trick is, you can touch, but you’re never touched back. And I would say it, too. I mean,
there are times I would tell her how sorry I am, but that’s not what Mom wants, that’s not what she’s looking for.

No, she’s just looking through the telescope of time, seeing us, here and now, as we really are, sad, but true, and at the same time, she’s wondering how it’s possible that only yesterday she was me, wearing a punk shirt, itching for a fight with her mother. And now, in a flash, here she is, on the receiving end of the glare and rolled eyes, just another lonely woman, known to run for her phone, hearing a text message, only to discover it’s the public library, calling to say the Suze Orman book she reserved has been returned, she can pick it up anytime. Cruel.

After I got dressed, I heard her humming to whatever she was listening to, singing along, and I knew the song. It took me a minute, but I knew it:
Angel came down from heaven yesterday, she stayed with me just long enough to rescue me
… Hendrix. Mom’s big on Hendrix before work—she calls it soul power—as if that’ll help her get through the day, and I guess it does. But me, I couldn’t seem to move, and listening to her sing, I thought,
You have such a pretty voice, Mom.
I almost said it, too, called out, until I realized I was standing there, with my mouth open. No: I shook my head no, heading to the living room. I put on my jacket and opened the door to leave, but Mom called me, stepping into the living room, holding a tea towel in her hands, with this look like I’d forgotten to do something.

What?
I said, waving the door once for good measure; meaning, say what you have to say. Good-bye, she said. Bye, I said, realizing that was all she meant. She was just saying good-bye;
she just wanted me to say good-bye. I felt so bad, closing the door behind me, heading for the bus stop, then I swallowed it back. Just like that, it was gone again.

When I got to the stop, the designated spot about two hundred yards down the road, at the turn off, between the country road and the highway, a group of kids were waiting, having formed a line. I walked around them, standing back, and then I balked, seeing the freaky little twins—Cam always calls them the IV Twins or InVitro Babies—they were there, too. Something must have been wrong with their eighty-year-old mother’s car or hip, because the twins never ride the bus. Whatever the problem was, there they were, in their matching red wool winter coats, with their matching red winter caps, pulled down over their freaky little twin eyes, that look like black marbles swimming in saucers of skim-milk-blue skin. Looking at them, I remembered how Cam always said if you can create life in a petri dish, why couldn’t you travel back in time? It’s all just code, he said. Code, Thee: reality, everything—
everything
has a code.

The very thought made me sad—our mean nicknames almost brought tears to my eyes—and I could feel my face fall, giving me away, before I pulled it together, shaking it off. But they were all eyes, the twins, gawking at me. I stared back at them, waiting, until finally, I cocked my chin, threatening: Was I talking to you? I said, irritated, and they looked down in tandem. Fortunately or unfortunately, the bus came a minute later, and I was last on, saying hey to Mason, the driver, before bracing myself, knowing I was about to be hit again by the heinous sound of the bus door vacuum-sealing our fates for another day, as Mason gripped the
handle, pulling the door closed behind me. Everyone was waiting for me, and I sighed and took a seat halfway, making this little second grader move over, so I could have the window.

My bones felt so heavy, I thought,
God, do I have mono? What’s wrong with me?
And then, once again, I remembered, No, I don’t have mono: I have boyfriend. Or worse, had: I
had
a boyfriend. All of a sudden, I felt sick to my stomach. For a second, I thought I was going to puke, and I squeezed my bag, trying to breathe. Thankfully, I swallowed, and it passed. But the light:
Where is all this light coming from?
I thought, looking up. I unzipped a pocket and pulled out my sunglasses, resting my head against the window, but there was no escape. Finally, I looked up at the morning sky, at the sun, thinking,
Is that really necessary?

The day was just—thick. I don’t know how else to describe it. Not just slow, you know, but more like, like you were trudging through water up to your knees, and you had to be careful with every step, pushing yourself forward, tugging to get through it. I was in English when the knock finally came, and then, hearing Linda knock, the scariest sound you can ever hear in a high school classroom: quiet.

I knew it was Foley, too. I just knew he was waiting for me with something dirty, something I’d never want to see, and I got as far as the office door, and then I stood there. I mean, I had my hand on the office door, and then I was just like,
No. I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to go in there. I don’t have to talk to him. I don’t have to watch any more sex videos of me and my boyfriend that can’t possibly be real, nothing—none of it.
Then I let go of the door handle, and I walked to the front doors, and I
walked out. First time in my life, I walked straight out the doors, didn’t even turn around to get the rest of my books.

I walked into Silver Top and Sharon’s head snapped—even the Elders stopped talking. Everyone looked at the clock on the wall. I just shook my head no, you don’t want to know, and I went to my booth. Not our booth, my booth, and I sat down. I took my phone out, and Sharon brought me some coffee, and she did the sweetest thing. She didn’t ask if I was okay, because clearly I wasn’t. But for the very first time, she leaned over and kissed my head. I don’t know why it made me all teary, but I looked up, smiling, and I looked away, before I started crying.

I just sat there for an hour or two, watching this video of us that I took on our last snow day. I had to hide my head, because I didn’t want the Elders to see me wiping the tears away, and then I noticed something weird. My video looked kinda strange. I played it again, and it started to, I don’t know, like it started to fade, like someone poured bleach into my phone. I started the video again, and it got worse every time, so finally I called and I got Knox’s voice mail, so I left a message. I said, It’s Thea. I’m at Silver Top, and you’ve got to get over here, and he called me back two minutes later, and I said, Knox, something weird is happening, and I heard him sigh, but then he said he was on his way.