Cameron and the Girls (12 page)

And I'm going to get you through that door, big guy.

“You and I,” I say.

The walking is uneven. It's just wide enough so that I have to stretch my step a little. I can't get too comfortable, or I might find myself shooting down through the timbers, bouncing off them like a pinball, and then splashing into the water, unconscious, drifting down to the Columbia and out to sea, never to be heard from again. How would my mom feel then?

I stop in the middle. I think I hear a distant whistle, but maybe it's just my nerves. I wait another few seconds, hear nothing, and then take off again. When the clouds take back the sky and the moon fades, it grows darker, harder to see. I wave my flashlight into the blackness, but then pull it back sharply. What if someone can see me, even from way over on the hills? What if they call the cops and they come to get me? Who knows, they're probably already out looking for me. Thwarted before I even get started. I snap out the light and wait a moment until my eyes have adjusted.

I trip once and cast out wildly for a hold but realize there isn't one. I fall and hit the hard timbers. My foot hangs between two of them. I can feel my heart zinging in my chest. So this is what it's like. This is what those mountain climbers feel. This is what runners feel before a race. It must be. All bad and good and exciting at the same time. I let my legs dangle awhile.

“I love this!” I shout.

I'm getting a little worried, Cameron.

“I don't need you,” I say. “I can do this on my own.” And to prove it, I stand up again and start walking.

Kind of like the life you want, isn't it?

In order to make it in the world, you must proceed with caution. There is happiness in caution.

I wonder if The Professor has ever given me the right advice. It seems that in order to make it in The Professor's world, you have to deny yourself. What if there's a world where all you have to do is trust yourself? You just have to know that when you stick your foot out, it's going to hit the next timber. You shouldn't even have to look down.

Well, theoretically speaking. Which means the bridge wasn't built with exact measurements between the ties. I'm sure the plans started out that way, but they didn't take into account human error. About three-quarters of the way across I am looking up through the hazy clouds and take the wrong step. The front of my shoe slips against the tie and I almost fall through. Almost. But I am lucky and catch myself before I do.

Ah, Cameron. Now it's more than 50 percent. More than a 50 percent chance of failure the longer you're caught between the ties.

I like the way you challenge yourself, Cam. It means you aren't just going to sit back and watch life pass you by.

“Thank you,” I say. But I can see I've got myself into quite a challenge. Although I can barely feel a narrow support somewhere beneath me, I don't know if it will hold my entire weight. I feel like a prairie dog, with only my head and shoulders poking out above the level of the rails. And although there's no danger of my really falling because of the grip I have, I'm going to have a tough time boosting myself up enough to climb back onto the bridge. And this time, before I can think of any other problem I've gotten myself into, I do hear a faint whistle.

Hey now. Here we go. Time to prove yourself.

I suddenly have to pee. Jamming the flashlight back in my mouth, I brace both hands on the creosoted ties and try to lift my lower body up like a gymnast on the rings. In a few seconds, my arms are shaking badly and the strength is leaking out of my muscles. I gently ease myself back on my elbows.

Uh, oh-oh.

“I can figure this out.”

Cam. Isn't that the train?

“I think so.”

You'll get us out, of course.

“We're together now, aren't we? Of course I'll get us out.” But I'm not so sure. After a few seconds of rest, I try to leverage myself up again. I get a little higher than before, but my muscles are even shakier this time. Meanwhile, the sound of the train whistle comes definitely closer.

I couldn't have planned this better if I'd tried.

“A little less sarcasm,” I say. “And a little more help.”

I look around me. There is nothing to grab on to, to help hoist myself up. I crush against the timber and try to boost my body, using the the wood as a lever. But I'm not going anywhere.

Cam?

“I'm trying,” I say. “I'll think of something.”

It's coming. I can sense it.

And she's right. I can feel a rumbling in the timbers. A thundering herd is about to round the corner up ahead. I desperately try to recall how much space is below log cars. Will there be enough room?

If we die, I will always remember this happy life I've had with you.

“We're not going to die,” I say, just as the heavy beam of the engine light shines against the timbers. It is loud now, its warning precise. I no longer have to pee. In fact, everything is blocked in my body.

Cam? Cameron? I'm getting a little worried.

I wonder now what it is I can do. It looks like death is barreling along toward me. And I definitely don't want this.

I'm so sorry, Cameron.

There's too much to think about, too much to say. I want to tell Beth I'm sorry if I've embarrassed her by being her crazy little brother. I want to tell Dad that I wish I could have been more of what he wanted me to be. And I want to tell Mom that it's not her fault.

The end is the end is the end is the end.

These words do not comfort me as the engine comes around the curve and straightens its light so I am full on washed in it. I close my eyes, but I can still see the bright light behind my lids. I feel a strong wind blow into my face. I wince and prepare for the worst.

I
t
is natural to hunker down before a big blow comes, and this is what I do. I squeeze myself between the timbers, balancing on some unseen narrow wooden support. But the broad sweep of the engine's power nearly knocks me over and down through the space. I can hear everything, feel almost nothing. At times I think the grabbing wind will suck the air out of my lungs, and I gasp as if it has.

It takes maybe five minutes for it to go over, but it is the longest five minutes of my life. Once I know my head isn't going to be chopped off, I get used to being beneath the train. I try to look up to the undercarriage of the cars, but they are going too fast and all I see is a dusty blur. My arms start to shake and I fight to keep them steady.

It is so noisy and windy that it takes me a moment to realize the train has finally passed over me. I peek up over the timber and see the red light of the last car disappear around the bend.

I love the roller coaster.

“You do, huh?”

Yes. It's thrilling. When you feel the thrill in your stomach and you just have to scream it out.

I don't really want to chat. Instead, I try to figure out a way to get up and off the bridge. I know there are other trains that will be coming along, and I don't want to end up like that panicked prairie dog, just popping up and down out of my hole whenever danger is close.

I try the flashlight again and in a moment see the way. It has been there all along. Where my legs dangle, I see a ladder connected timber to timber all the way across the rest of the bridge. If I swing my legs, I can catch it and crawl to safety.

And there is even better news. After about five timbers' worth of crawling, the ladder connects to another one, which I take up onto the surface of the bridge. I lie there to catch my breath. No voices, but a certain amount of real satisfaction. It doesn't last, though. The electric shock is back in my legs. In a moment, I get up and trot to the other side.

 

At the end, I jump off the bridge and slide along the rocky ballast until I hit solid ground. I know my way from here, and after a half hour of picking through old train tracks and gravel roads, I stand in front of Nina's house. The porch light throws a weak semicircle onto the lawn, but I can make out another light in the kitchen. I go to the front door and knock.

I see the curtain rustle, hear a slight scream, and, in seconds, Nina pulls the door open.

“I didn't think you would come so soon,” she says, yanking me in. The first thing I notice is how warm and clean everything is. I can see into the kitchen; every dish is drying on the plastic rack. It smells of pine cleaner. I take in a big breath.

“I've been at it all afternoon,” she says. She comes toward me with her lips puckered, and I quickly turn my cheek before she plants a big one right below my eye. “So this is your game,” she says.

In spite of her chipper attitude, I can see dark half-moons below her eyes. I want to tell her about the bridge, but it suddenly feels like a very private thing. So I just tell her about the family meeting and how hard it was to find a way out of the house.

“They're going to keep a closer watch on you?” she says.

“Not anymore,” I say.

“Ooh, there's my new Cameron guy.”

“You'd better get used to him because I think he's here to stay.”

She walks over to a wobbly sofa with an afghan covering the back. Plopping down, she asks, “So how many days is it for you?”

“I've lost count,” I say. “And I don't care anymore. What about you?”

She shrugs. “I don't really know. A long time. Long enough to be almost done throwing up and feeling like my head's about to explode.”

“What's that about?”

“Side effects. They don't always tell you that part. You can get hooked, and when you go off, all kinds of weird things happen.”

I don't want to hear about any side effects. “So are we just going to hang out here?” I say.

“I don't know where else we can go. Even if Mom does come back eventually, she won't stay and she won't care if you're here.”

I finally walk over and sit down next to her. I play with loose yarn on the afghan. “My parents are going to know I'm gone tonight. They probably know already. And they're the kind who will come looking.”

“Do they know about me?”

“Not really,” I say. “I told my mom I had a girlfriend, but I didn't tell her the name.”

“
The
name or my name?”

When I turn to see what she means, I see a hurt look on her face. “I didn't tell them any name,” I say.

 

We won't, of course, go to school, especially since Nina said the school officials had gotten tired of checking in on her when she was absent because her mother would never cooperate with them. But for me, I know school will be the first place my mother will look when she can't find me at home.

We decide that I will sleep in Nina's mom's room. While my parents' room is kind of old-fashioned and modern at the same time, this room is like a bad dream. A double bed just about fills the whole thing, and on top of it rests a shiny deep purple bedspread with little rips along the seams. It is one of those beds with shelves in the headboard, and I find old
National Geographic
s
,
a red Bible, and a photo of what looks like Nina's mom driving a bumper car at a fair.

On another shelf, a ceramic chipmunk sits on a ceramic throne dotted with fake jewels. Next to it is a plaster hand cast that Nina must have made at school when she was young. One of the fingers is missing. The room smells like a combination of cigarettes, pine cleaner, and mildew. The cat pads in and jumps on the end of the bed, twitching its tail.

Nina comes up behind me. “I changed the sheets,” she says. “They were starting to crawl on their own.”

“It'll do,” I say, then rethink it. “I appreciate it.”

I get into bed and turn out the light about midnight. But there is a strange glow creeping in from the kitchen, and I get up to check it out. It's on the stove and is flickering ever so slightly. I search for a few seconds to find a switch I can turn it off with but have no luck. I check back to Nina's room, but her door is closed and I can't see anything. I go back to mine and shut the door behind me.

I try to sleep, but my head is buzzing too much. I can't get my parents out of my head. My dad is probably calming down my mom, but she will be crying and trying to think of a place they haven't looked. I don't want to put them through this, but it can't be helped.

I have done something, I think. I have done what everybody said I couldn't do. I have made a decision and followed through with it. I have done something that is for my own good. And it hasn't hurt me, has it?

I check myself out. The buzz is still there in the back of my brain, but as long as it stays the way it is, I'll be all right. My body is a little shaky, and I feel like I'm sort of in another world, but I actually am at Nina's house. The voices are quiet right now. It looks like I have control over them too.

I take a deep breath and think, Dr. Simons, I hope you're right. Maybe all the bad will disappear on its own. I lie quietly on the pillow. Maybe I can be normal after all.

 

I wake up to a familiar smell and at first I think I'm at home in my own bed, but all the angles are wrong. It's as if I'm upside down or sideways. I was too excited to sleep much, finally getting a few hours before morning. I raise myself up and the smell gets stronger. Eggs. I close my eyes and can hear them frying.

I roll out of bed and pull on my pants. When I open the door, I can see into the kitchen. Nina is standing at the stove, wearing an apron over a pink terry-cloth robe with loose strings sprouting out all over it. She holds a spatula in one hand and pokes at the eggs. I come up behind her just in time for her to whirl around, hand me the spatula, and run into the bathroom.

“Watch those,” she says over her shoulder.

When she comes back out, she's as pale as a ghost. It makes the dark circles under her eyes even darker. She takes the spatula from me.