Beastly (20 page)

“Can you go with me?” I’d asked.

“Kyle, it’s no big deal. Those other boys are doing it.”

“They’re big boys.” I wondered why he’d brought me if he didn’t want to sled.

“And you’re better, stronger. You can do anything they can do.” He started to put me on the sled, and I began to cry. The other kids were staring. Dad said it was because I was being such a baby, but I knew even then that it was out of pity, and I refused to go alone. Finally, Dad offered one of the older boys five dollars to go with me. After the first time, I was fine. But I hadn’t been on a sled in years.

Now I patted it. “Get dressed. We’ll go right now.”

“Will you show me how?”

“Of course. Nothing could make me happier.” Nothing could make me happier. Since I’d been with her, I noticed I’d started to talk differently, pretentious and prettified, like the characters in the books she loved, or like Will. Yet it was true! Nothing could make me happier than the idea of standing with Lindy at the top of a snow-covered hill, helping her onto the sled and maybe – if she let me – going with her.

She was wearing her pink chenille robe, and she leaned to polish the sled’s runner with the belt.

“Come on,” I said.

An hour later, we were at the top of that same hill where I’d gone with my dad. I showed her how to lie, face first on the sled. “This is the most fun way.”

“But scary.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

I held my breath for her response. If she said yes, if I went with her, she would have to let me put my arms around her. There was no other way.

“Yes.” Her breath hit the air in a puff of smoke. “Please.” I breathed. “Okay.” I pushed the sled to the last flat place before the hill began to slope downward, then sat on it. I motioned for her to sit in front of me. I wrapped my arms around her stomach and waited to see if she would scream. But she didn’t. Instead, she snuggled more tightly against me, and in that moment, I felt like I could almost kiss her, like she would almost let me.

Instead, I said, “You’re in front, so you navigate.” With my nose, I felt the softness of her hair, smelled the shampoo she used, and her perfume. Through her jacket, I could feel her heartbeat. It made me happy to know she was alive, was real, was there.

“Ready?” I said.

Her heart beat faster. “Yes.”

I gave the ground a kick and held her tight as we coasted down the hill, giggling like crazy.

That night, I built a fire, one of the many things I’d learned to do since becoming a beast. I had chosen soft pinewood for kindling and cut it into small strips. These I placed on some sheets of newspaper, and I put a hard log on top of those. I lit a match to the paper and watched as it all caught fire.

I stood a moment, then took a seat beside Lindy on the sofa. A day before, I might have taken a separate chair. But now I’d had my arms around her. Still, I sat about a foot away from her and waited to see if she’d complain.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “A winter snow and a blazing fire. I never had a real fire in a fireplace before I met you.”

“Especially for you, milady.”

She smiled. “Where are Will and Magda?”

“They were tired, so they went to bed.”

In truth, I had suggested that they stay in their rooms. I wanted to be alone with Lindy. I thought maybe, just maybe, this could be the night.

“Hmm,” she said. “It’s so quiet. I’ve never been anyplace so quiet before.” She turned around and knelt on the sofa to look out the window. “And it’s dark. I bet you can see every star in the world here.

Look!”

I turned too and got closer than before. “It’s beautiful. I think I could live here forever and never miss the city. Lindy?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t still hate me, do you?”

“What do you think?” She looked at the stars.

“I think no. But would you be happy to stay with me forever?” I held my breath.

“In some ways, I’m happier now than I’ve ever been. My life before this was a struggle. My father never took care of me. We scrounged for money from the time I was a child, and when I got older, one of my teachers told me that I was smart and that education was a way out of my life. So I worked and struggled at that too.”

“You’re really smart, Lindy.” It was hard to speak and hold my breath too.

“But here, with you, it’s the first time I’ve really been able to play.” I smiled. The hardwood in the fireplace began to catch fire. I’d succeeded.

“So you’re happy, then?” I said.

“So happy. Except…”

“Except what? If there’s anything you want, Lindy, all you have to do is ask, and I’ll give it to you.” She looked at some point in the distance. “My father. I worry about him, what might happen if I’m not around to run interference. He’s sick, Adrian, and I was the one who took care of him. And I miss him. I know you must think it’s stupid to miss someone who’s been so mean, who left me without a look back.”

“No. I understand. Your parents are your parents, no matter what. Even if they don’t love you back, they’re all you have.”

“Right.” She turned away from the window and sat down, looking at the fire. I did the same.

“Adrian, I am happy here. It’s just… if I could only know he’s okay.” Had the whole thing been a setup? Was she nice to me only because she wanted something from me? I remembered her, on the sled, snuggling into my chest. That couldn’t all have been fake. Still, my head felt tight, like it might explode.

“If I could just see him for a moment…”

“Then you’d stay here with me?”

“Yes. I want to. If only –”

“You can. Wait here.”

I left her there, watching me. The front door was unlocked. She had to have noticed. She could disappear into the night, and I would let her. But she wouldn’t. She had said she was happy. She’d be happy to stay with me if only she could check on her father. Once she saw that he was happily partying with his druggie friends, it would all be good. I knew how she felt. I’d watched my dad on TV more times than I would admit. She could see hers too.

She was still there when I returned. I gave her the mirror.

“What’s this?” She peered at the silver back, then turned it over to see her face.

“It’s magic,” I said. “Enchanted. By looking at it, you can see anyone you want, anywhere in the world.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s true.” I took it from her and held it up. “I want to see Will.” In an instant, the image shifted from my beast face to that of Will, up reading in his room, illuminated only by moonlight. I handed it to Lindy. She stared at it and giggled. “It really works? I can ask it to show me anyone?”

When I nodded, she said, “I want to see… Sloane Hagen.” At my questioning look, she said, “She was this snobby girl at my school.”

The mirror changed immediately, to an image of Sloane, looking in the mirror also, picking a zit. It was a big one, and white gunk oozed out.

“Ew!” I laughed at the image.

Lindy laughed too. “This is fun. Can I look at someone else?” I started to say yes, then remembered her saying she’d had a crush on me. What would happen if she asked the mirror to show me to her? Would she see this very room?

“You said you wanted to see your father. We can do other stuff later. You can even see the president. I saw him in the Oval Office bathroom once.”

“Wow, you’re like a threat to national security.” She giggled. “Okay. We’ll do that next. But first” –

she gazed into the mirror – “I want to see my father.”

Once again, the image changed, this time to a street corner, dark and dirty. A junkie lay there, virtually indistinguishable from every other homeless person in New York. The mirror panned close. The guy was coughing, shaking. He looked sick.

“Oh, God.” Lindy was already crying. “What’s happened to him? This is what he comes to without me there!”

She was sobbing. I put my arms around her, but she pushed me away. I knew why. She blamed me.

It was my fault, all my fault for making her stay.

“You should go to him,” I said.

As soon as I said it, I wanted to push the words back into my mouth. But I couldn’t. I would have said anything to make her stop crying, to make her not mad at me. Even that. I still meant it.

“Go to him?” She looked up at me.

“Yes. Tomorrow morning. I’ll give you money, and you can take the first bus.”

“Go? But…” She’d stopped crying.

“You’re not my prisoner. I don’t want you to stay here because you’re my prisoner. I want you to stay because…” I stared at the fire. It was burning fast and brightly, but I knew if I left it, it would burn out. “I want you to leave.”

“Leave?”

“Go to him. He’s your father. Come back when you want, if you want – as my friend, not my prisoner.” I was crying too, but speaking very slowly, to keep my voice steady. She couldn’t see the tears on my face. “I don’t want you as a prisoner. You only had to ask to leave. Now you have.”

“But what about you?”

It was a good question, one I couldn’t answer. But I had to. “I’ll be fine. I’ll stay here for the winter.

I like being able to go outside and not have people stare. And in the spring, I’ll go back to the city and be with my flowers. In April. Will you come to see me then?”

She still looked unsure, but after a moment, she said, “Yes. You’re right. I can see you then. But I’ll miss you, Adrian. I’ll miss our time together. These months… You are the truest friend I’ve ever had.” Friend. The word struck me like the ax I’d used to cut up the kindling. Friend. That was all we could be. But then, I was right to let her go. A friendship wasn’t good enough to break the spell. Still, I longed for that friendship, at least.

“You have to leave. Tomorrow, I’ll call a taxi to take you to the bus station. You’ll be home by nighttime. But please…” I looked away from her.

“What is it, Adrian?”

“You can’t expect me to say good-bye to you tomorrow. If I come down to say good-bye, I might not let you go.”

“I shouldn’t go.” She looked at the comfortable fire, then at me. “If it would make you so sad, I shouldn’t.”

“No. It was selfish of me to keep you here. You go to your father.”

“It wasn’t selfish. You’ve been nicer to me than anyone I’ve ever known.” She grabbed my hand, my disgusting clawed hand. I could see her eyes were tearing up.

“Then be nice to me by leaving quickly. It’s what I want.” I pulled my hand – gently – from her grasp.

She met my eyes, started to say something, then nodded and ran from the room.

When she did, I walked outside into the snow. I had on only jeans and a T-shirt, and the weather was bitter, so bitter that the cold soaked to my bones in seconds, even with my extra insulation. I didn’t care. I wanted to be cold because it would be something to feel, something other than this sudden emptiness and loss. I looked up, waiting for the light to go on in Lindy’s room above. I watched her shadow silhouetted against the curtains, moving around the room. Her window was the only light spot in the black, bone-cold night. I looked up higher, searching for the moon. It was hidden by trees, but I found stars – stars with more stars behind them, then more behind those, millions of stars, more than I’d ever seen in my life in New York City, more than all the lights there. I didn’t want to see stars. I couldn’t bear their beauty and their numbers. I wanted only the lonely, airless moon. Finally, Lindy’s light went out. I waited until I knew she slept. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to sleep beside her. I couldn’t bear to imagine that anymore. I tore my eyes from the window and found the moon behind a tree. I crouched, threw back my head, and howled at it, howled like the beast I was, the beast I always would be.

6

The next day was a Saturday, the day we usually studied together. But instead, it was the day Lindy left. After I called her a taxi and checked the bus schedule, I retreated to my room to watch her in the mirror. I had thought I’d leave her the mirror to take with her, to see and remember me. But I decided I couldn’t part with it. If I couldn’t have her, I wanted to be able to watch her. If I gave her the mirror, she might not look at me at all. She might prefer to forget me. I couldn’t handle that.

So I watched her pack her things. She took the books we’d read together and a picture of our first snowman. She had no pictures of me. Finally, I stopped wallowing and went to breakfast. When I got back to my room, Will was there.

He was holding the book we were reading, but he said, “I’ve just been to Lindy’s room, and she said the strangest thing.”

“That she was leaving?”

“Yes.” Will gave me a questioning look.

“I told her to go. Now can we change the subject to something more cheerful? That Les Miserables sure was a funny book.”

“But, Adrian, it was going so well. I thought –”

“She wanted to leave. I loved her too much to make her stay. She says she’ll come back in the spring.”

Will looked like he wanted to say something else, but finally, he held up the book. “So, what did you think of Inspector Javert?”

“I think he’d be great as a character in a Broadway musical,” I said, laughing even though I didn’t feel like laughing. I checked the clock. Lindy’s taxi would be there any minute. Her bus left in about an hour. If this had been a movie, one of those chick-flick romantic comedies, there’d be some dramatic scene where I ran to the bus station and begged her to stay, and Lindy, finally realizing how she felt about me, would kiss me. I’d be transformed. We’d live happily ever after.

In real life, Will asked me what I thought of Victor Hugo’s political views in Les Miserables, and I answered him, though I don’t remember what I said. But I knew the minute (9:42) the cab pulled into the driveway to pick her up. I sensed her arrival at the bus station (10:27) and knew the time (11:05) when her bus left the station. I didn’t watch these things in the mirror. I just knew. There was no movie ending.

There was only an ending.

I didn’t go back to the city that winter. Instead, I stayed in the country, taking long walks every day, where only the other beasts, the wild ones, could see me. I began to memorize the flight pattern of each winter bird, the hiding place of each squirrel and rabbit, and I thought I might do this every winter. It was great to be outside. I wondered if this was how the Abominable Snowman got his start. I’d never believed in stuff like that before. Now I was sure it was for real.