Letters to Nowhere (23 page)

“It’s possible that your dad didn’t see you as someone who was eventually going to become a woman,” Jackie said. “To him, you were a person that he had to help to become independent. And as far as your mom goes, he wanted to take care of her, so he didn’t mind seeing her weakness. Maybe it made him feel secure, in a way. I’m not saying that it was right for him to think like that, but people don’t always do what’s most logical, even our parents.”

“Maybe.” I tried to make the anger fade, but it still clung to me, giving me the urge to grab the ceramic cup from Jackie’s desk and throw it through the window.

“I talk to a lot of patients who have lost someone,” Jackie said. “And most of them, probably all of them, tend to glorify their loved ones. They put them up on a pedestal, and you don’t seem to do that. You haven’t done that with me at all, and it would have been easier to just smile and tell me your dad was amazing.”

“I guess I don’t really do that, not now or ever.” I felt my breathing become a little irregular, my lungs constricting just enough to make me sense a panic attack in the near future as the reality clawed at my throat, fighting its way out. “And I can’t see them as perfect. All I can see is…”

“Is what?” Jackie prompted.

I pressed my face into my hands, drawing as much air into my lungs as I could manage. My arms and legs had already started to shake. “I just see them in pieces…
literally
…body parts scattered all over the highway. I can hear them screaming, and my dad…he’s always decapitated. What does that even mean? Do I subconsciously hate him and I just cut off his head in this fictional version of their accident?”

I didn’t remember feeling any tears fall, but they must have, because my hands and face were wet when I finally lifted my head. Jackie’s eyes were wide, and I knew she had to be thinking I was nuts or some kind of psychotic serial killing teenager. But at least I’d finally managed to put it all out there for her to see so she’d know what she was dealing with.

Quickly, I wiped my face with the back of my hands and sat up straighter. “I just…I need to know more about what happened so I can shake this imagined version from my head. If you could just tell me…?”

Jackie’s face filled with sympathy. “Karen, I don’t have that information. I’m sorry.”

I closed my eyes again, drew in a deep breath, and opened them. “Okay, fine. Are we done for today?”

“We don’t have to be. I don’t have another appointment until one. We can talk more if you’d like to. We can go over some techniques to use when you’re feeling panicked.”

I shook my head. I’d already tried every basic method the Internet had to offer. None of it was specifically geared for my situation. “I’m ready to go.”

As we approached the office door, Jackie rested a hand on my arm and said, “You can’t conquer everything in a day. Or even a week. Maybe not even a year. There’s no way to work hard at grieving. You just have to let it happen. And you are, so don’t fight it.”

“I have no idea what that means,” I said, looking her right in the eyes.

She started laughing and opened the door for me. “Exactly my point. Just keep being honest—with yourself and everyone trying to help you.”

I sighed to myself as I headed back out into the cold air. Maybe I should have stuck to talking about sexting.

***

I threw myself out of the moving car, tossing my body onto hard, frozen grass. I watched, breathless, as the car tumbled on the interstate, the missing letter on the gas station sign flickering from the side of the highway. Pieces of glass and metal rained down on me and a round hairy object bounced into the grass several feet away. I focused my eyes on it as it rolled toward me.

My dad’s face came into view, eyes wide open, staring at me.

***

I jolted upright in my bed, biting my tongue to keep from screaming. Sweat trickled down my neck and back and my chest heaved in and out so quickly I thought I’d pass out. I tossed back the covers and scrambled toward the door, forcing the light switch up.

I glanced from corner to corner around the room, scanning the area for any round hairy objects. I leaned against the door, catching my breath before opening it and heading to the bathroom. After setting my retainer by the sink, I splashed cold water on my very pale face and tried to shake the nightmare.

“Hey…” Jordan appeared in the bathroom doorway. He looked wide awake, like maybe he hadn’t even gone to sleep yet. His dark blond hair lay flat, not sticking up like in the morning, and he had gym shorts and a T–shirt on, not his usual boxers–only sleepwear.

His eyes moved over me as I dropped the towel back onto the rack. “What’s wrong?” He stepped closer and placed both hands on my face. “God, you look pale.”

I closed my eyes and drew in a breath. “Bad dream…very bad…”

“Okay.” His voice melted over the top of me, already soothing some of the anxiety. “What should I search your room for? Monsters? Zombies?”

I leaned forward and pressed my forehead into his T–shirt. “Round hairy objects.”

“Got it.” He turned me around, guiding me by the shoulders back into my room. “The light’s already on, that’s good.” He stood behind me, rubbing my shoulders as he looked around the room. “Want me to check the closet first?”

“I’m okay, seriously.” I turned around to face him. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

“Talk to me. Tell me whatever you saw,” he said.

We both sat down on the bed and I grabbed a pillow, hugging it to my chest. “It’s Jackie’s fault…”

“The shrink?”

“She made me talk about my dad and then I realized all this stuff I never thought about before.” I relayed the conversation from the most recent therapy session to Jordan, and he sat there and listened without interrupting. “Why do I keep decapitating him in my dreams and anytime I think about their accident? What’s wrong with me—”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Jordan said firmly.

“But what’s the deal with my dad? Is he a total sexist pig or what? Why am I just now realizing this?”

“I can’t answer that,” he said. “Not without knowing him. But maybe the real question is, why does it matter to you now? And I’m not even sure answering that question is going to help stop the nightmares.”

“What will help?”

He rested his hand on top of mine, thinking for a minute. “Maybe you need to remember something else. Like something good with your dad?”

I closed my eyes searching my memory, sifting through moments and scenes from a very distant past. Finally, I looked at Jordan again. “Last summer at Nationals…”

“Yeah?”

“My parents met me in the media room after awards and my dad was wearing his ‘gym dad’ shirt and he had this giant button with my picture on it…” I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “I thought he was going to say how he was so proud of me for winning bars, but he grabbed me by the arms and shook me a little and said, ‘What was that bar dismount? I thought you were going to break your neck.’ And then he gave me the biggest hug and I was totally embarrassed because all the other girls were watching and my dad was picking me up like a little kid. Mom just stood there shaking her head and finally said, ‘You nearly gave him a heart attack, Karen. He didn’t know you’d changed your bar dismount.’”

“You used to do a double layout,” Jordan said.

My eyebrows shot up. “Been looking me up?”

He grinned but didn’t confirm or deny it. I exhaled and continued my story. “Anyway, I’d switched to the double front, and he thought I’d just peeled off and was heading neck first for the landing mats.” I wiped a tear from my cheek and smiled at Jordan. “I guess that’s not exactly a great memory, but I’d never seen my dad so worried about me before, and later, when we went out for dinner, we laughed about it a lot. Apparently he jumped out of his seat and someone had to yell at him to sit down. It’s not like he could have leapt through the stands and caught me or anything.”

“I like it,” Jordan said. “If it made you laugh, that’s a good start. Much better than screaming.”

“Yes, I learned that from
Monsters, Inc
. What about you? Don’t you have any good father–son memories with Coach Bentley?”

Jordan laughed. “He’s still alive, you know? Not sure it’s legal to shift subjects on me like that.”

I gave his shoulder a shove. “Come on, tell me something.”

He let out a breath, letting me know he was only humoring me because of my current distress. “I remember riding on his shoulders everywhere. I was kind of a hellion child that didn’t seem to have any fear of taking off and getting lost from my parents. My mom would be yelling at me to stay close or hold her hand and Dad would pick me up and put me on his shoulders. It’s like he knew I just wanted to be able to see everything.”

His gaze had been on mine the entire time he told his story, and the second he finished talking, I felt myself leaning forward, staring at his mouth. Jordan’s eyes started to close as he drifted forward and then they flew open, startling me. His hand shot out and touched my shoulder, preventing me from leaning closer.

“The second I start this I won’t want to stop,” he said. “I think we have a very good plan, we just have to follow it, okay?”

I scooted back away from him. “Right. Okay.”

He stood up and touched my hair. “Friday…”

“Friday.” I slid under the covers again, dropping my head onto the pillow. “Thanks, Jordan.”

“No problem.” He stood by the door, now, flashing me his best half smile. “Want the light on or off?”

“Off. But leave the door open.”

As I snuggled under the covers, preparing to drift off, I thought of Jordan’s advice but decided to turn my focus from my dad to kissing Jordan—possibly on Friday night—and maybe I could have a dream about that instead.

“A
re you sure you don’t mind me driving your very expensive car?” Jordan asked me as he adjusted the seat.

“I don’t mind.” I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. I was beyond exhausted from keeping up with Bentley’s perfection–demanding coaching. And the battles with Stevie hadn’t stopped all week since Tuesday’s vault practice with Patrick. Tonight, she did her tucked full on high beam again for the first time in well over a year. And I did five on high beam. My chest was low on the last two and Stacey sent me back to the white tape line, probably on Bentley’s orders. That seemed to be his style. If you made the same mistake a few times in a row after being corrected, instead of yelling at you to get your ass in gear, he sent you back a step to do drills or more lead–up. But if you were screwing up and making
different
mistakes, he usually would let you keep trying. That was what had happened with the Jaeger on bars last Friday. I kept making changes but just not getting it yet. Until I did get it. Which he hadn’t so much as cheered about once since then. It was all about the handstands, and I’d done dozens of extra bar routines this week all because of those damn handstands.

“You look tired,” Jordan said. “Are you sure you want to go out tonight?”

I smiled at him. “Positive. Where are we going?”

“I just figured we’d park somewhere and make out in the backseat,” he said as he put my car in reverse. My eyes must have gotten huge because he laughed really hard. “Jesus, I’m kidding. We’re going bowling.”

“I don’t think I’ve been bowling since I was old enough to stop using the bumper things.”

“I know. Blair told me.”

Butterflies flapped inside my stomach. I didn’t know why I was so nervous. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been alone with Jordan. It just seemed like forever since I’d kissed him, and he was acting so formal and official.

Once we got to the bowling alley, Jordan left me with old smelly bowling shoes while he went to order us some food, returning a few minutes later.

After eating at the end of the bowling lane, we were finally ready to play. I picked out a heavy pink ball.

“Do
not
drop that on your toe,” Jordan instructed, standing behind me.

I rolled my eyes at him. “Thanks, Coach.”

The ball was tossed down the lane after it landed with a ground–shaking thud. It rolled into the gutter before reaching the halfway point.

“Nice try…” Jordan said.

I gave him a shove toward the lane. “Okay, go ahead if you’re so good.”

“You get two turns, Karen.”

I managed to knock a few pins down on my second turn and got better with each one that followed. After two games, we were back in the car.

“There’s a play at my school at eight,” Jordan said, adjusting the mirror. “It’s kind of lame, but we could probably make it in time if you want?”

A school play? That could be an item for a Normal Teenage Activity Checklist
. “What’s the play?”

“Some twisted version of
The Wizard of Oz,
I think.” He grinned at me and I didn’t have any answer except yes.

***

“I got that the wicked witch is the old man, but what’s the deal with the kids dressed as birds?”

Jordan laughed and guided me outside of the school building. “No idea. That was the weirdest play I’ve ever seen and it’s only intermission. No wonder I haven’t been to a school theater performance in nearly four years.”

“The head old man has a great voice,” I pointed out.

“He’s the choir director,” Jordan said, laughing even harder. “He’s not even a student. I think they ran out of students to fill all the roles. They kept announcing all these additional auditions after the initial one, so I kind of figured they were hunting for more people.”

“Well,” I said. “I bet the choir is very good.”

“They are, actually.” He nodded toward a different building across the grounds. “Want to skip the rest of the show and I’ll give you a tour?”

“Sure.” I stuffed my hands inside my pockets, enjoying the nearly forty–degree weather—a nice shift from the freezing temperatures in February. Jordan walked me around, pointing out buildings and telling me funny stories. I think I could have walked that campus all night, but eventually he stopped in front of a building that had windows lit up all over the place.