Life Is but a Dream (7 page)

I can almost see his dad when Alec talks about him. I picture his eyes drowning in static. Because I know now that the static has been trying to trap Alec the same as it has tried with me, by changing the world into a place where we can’t survive.

We have to find a place that is ours. The doctors keep trying to make us fit into this world, but they’re wrong. We need a world that fits us.

—
Don’t worry
— I say to him. —
We’ll find someplace where we can be ourselves. Then nobody will be able to tell us what we’re supposed to think.
—

—
I like that idea
— Alec says, putting his arm around my shoulders and forgetting all about the doctors and his parents and everything else as long as we’re together. —
All we have to do now is find it.
—

CHAPTER

FIVE

—
Can’t we go ask your mom to drop us off at the mall or something?
—Kayliegh asks. She’s lying on my floor with her arms stretched over her head so she can reach her iPod and switch songs every twenty seconds or so. She’s in one of her restless states. She always pouts and whines when she’s in one of these moods. She reminds me of Lyla, the five-year-old down the street I sometimes babysit. Lyla kicks her feet when she throws a tantrum. Kayliegh moves hers slower over the carpet, but she can’t quite keep them still either.

—
She already said no. Remember, I asked her earlier and she said she didn’t feel like driving
.— Really it was because of the story that’s been on the news the last three nights about the little girl from the next town over. She was only MISSING for a day before they found her body thrown on the side of the road. Even though she was only nine and I’m thirteen and can take care of myself better, it freaks my mom out. She doesn’t want me going anywhere without her—not until the guy who did it is caught.

I don’t want to tell Kayliegh because I know what she will say. She will think it is unfair. She already thinks my parents are too strict to begin with. In her current mood, this will put her over the top.

—
What are we supposed to do all night then?
— Kayliegh complains. She pushes a button and the song switches. We’ve only heard snippets of the last five that have come on. It’s just one of those times when she is so bored that she hates everything.

—
I don’t know
— I say. There’s a rare rainstorm outside, so we can’t go for a walk or wander my neighborhood. My parents haven’t gone to bed yet either, so we’re not going downstairs. But I’m actually fine right where we are, doing what I’m doing—drawing an image of a girl leaping through a field at the edge of a road.

—
Can’t we go watch a movie or something?
—

—
My parents are down there
— I say.

—
God! Why don’t you have a television in your room like everyone else
?— Kayliegh moans as she sits up. —
No computer, no cell phone, no TV. What? Are your parents trying to make you Amish or something?
—

—
Ha-ha. You’re soooo funny
— I tease, and Kayliegh cracks a smile for the first time in over an hour.

—
Seriously, though, what’s the deal? I mean your parents seem like normal enough people on the outside. Why don’t they let you be normal too?
—

I shrug as the colored pencil glides easily over the paper. —
You know why. They think people spend too much time with stuff like that.
— I turn around and roll my eyes up in my head like a zombie and hold my hands up pretending to grab for Kayliegh. —
It controls your mind and rots your brains.
— I growl and we both crack up laughing.

Kayliegh stands up and comes over to my desk. She absentmindedly sifts through some of the drawings I’ve made recently. —
You know, you should tell them that being cut off from all of those things isn’t healthy either. That’s how people end up in cults.
— Her voice trails off as she loses her train of thought. I glance up at her and see she’s holding two pieces of paper in her hands. They are nearly identical to the drawing I’m doing now and she notices. —
What are these about?
— she asks. —
They’re pretty.
—

—
They’re of that girl … the one whose body they found
— I say, because the truth is I’ve been thinking about it a lot too. —
I’m trying to draw her a way into her own private heaven.
—

Kayliegh is used to hearing me talk about heaven. We used to pretend about it for hours when we were younger. We played heaven in my room, or her room, or even outside. I would tell her how I thought heaven was just another place like Oz or Wonderland—someplace more magical than here and that every person has their own. Dorothy had Oz, Alice had Wonderland, Peter had Neverland, and so on. I told her we could invent our own and play there for as long as we wanted. But we don’t talk about it much anymore. It makes Kayliegh uncomfortable.

Her forehead wrinkles and she puts the drawings down. —
Honestly, I don’t get this obsession of yours with heaven
— she says. —
You’re not even religious. You’ve never even been to church in your life.
—

—
You know it’s not about that
— I tell her. —
Not for me anyway.
—

—
Then what is it? Ever since we’ve been friends, even way back in third grade, you were always talking about this. Sometimes, I think you think about this more than you think about real life
— Kayliegh says. She’s not upset or anything. She’s just curious.

I open my mouth to tell her when I realize I don’t really have an answer. —
I don’t know
— I say. —
I guess, it’s just … like I feel there’s someplace else I belong. It’s stupid, I know.
—

—
It’s not stupid
— Kayliegh says. —
I mean, it’s weird … but not stupid. At least you’re creative with it, right? Not like Eric, whose other world is just staring at nude girls on the web.
—

We both smile and I wonder if there is any way to draw my own way into heaven.

*   *   *

The nurse on duty in the common room doesn’t like us sitting so close together on the sofa. She keeps looking at the place where my jeans touch up against Alec’s with disapproving glances. It makes me shy, but he doesn’t seem to care. That’s one of the things I love about him—when he’s with me, nothing else exists.

When he holds the piece of paper directly into the light, the watercolors shimmer, giving them a weight much heavier than the paper they’re painted on. —
I think this might be the best one you’ve done yet
— he says.

I’ve painted a picture to give him for four days in a row. He has them taped up on the wall of his room—each new one arranged in a circle that’s growing around the first. Each one is a door that leads from my dreams into his. At night, I like to imagine him staring up at them, looking for a way to visit me.

The pictures are of things we’ve done together. The first one I gave him is of him sitting on the tire swing, shirtless in the shadows like he was the first time I met him in my dream. Whenever I paint him, I always leave the paper white where his hair should be.

There’s one I did of how the sky looks when we lie in the grass and stare up at it. Another one is just shades of orange with a runny watery stripe of brown curving from the top and halfway down. He knew straightaway it was the wall in the cafeteria that I face every time he sits beside me.

This new one is special though. It’s not of something we’ve done but of something that is yet to come. Something perfect.

—
It’s me and you
— I say, blushing as I tell him.

—
I can tell
— he says, leaning his shoulder against mine and smiling. That makes the nurse even more uncomfortable—makes her stare a split second longer until I’m certain she will tell Dr. Richards and I will have to listen to her questions about it in our next session. But that’s all right. I like hearing Alec and me mentioned in the same sentences.

—
These are our shadows and this is the sun
— I say, pointing to the purple figures surrounded by a yellow so bright it shows through the other side of the paper.

—
Yeah, I see it. It’s awesome
— he says, looking at it closely. Then he leans back and lets his eyes drift far away. With his finger, he makes a large sweeping circle around the painted sun. —
This reminds me of the Ferris wheel on the pier in Santa Monica. You know it?
—

—
Sure
.
I’ve driven by it a million times with my parents
— I say. —
My dad likes to drive along the ocean whenever we go on a trip.
—

—
Ever stop there?
— he asks, and I shake my head. —
I go there a lot just to hang out by myself. It’s kind of cool there. At night and on the weekends it’s real touristy or whatever, but during the day it’s not like that. There’s always these totally spaced out people wandering around. Old beach bums and kids getting high, you know? Rejects, kind of like me. I feel like I fit in there.
—

—
Maybe that’s where we’re supposed to meet then
— I say.

—
What do you mean? When?
—

—
I mean, maybe that’s where our perfect world begins
— I say, sliding my hand around his waist. Then I lean in closer to kiss him on the side of his face, passing all of the images of heaven from my lips onto his skin so he’ll never forget.

The nurse is over in a flash, pulling at my sleeve to separate us. —
One more time, you two, and that’s it. I mean it. Your schedules will be changed. I’m not about to start dealing with this every day.
—

She stands over us until we each give her a guilty nod. When she retreats, Alec whispers in my ear —
I’ll wait there forever if I have to.
—

CHAPTER

SIX

Some memories are presents that I’m able to unwrap over and over again. In one of my most special memories, I’m sitting in the backseat of our car and my dad is driving. My mom is next to him. Her left hand is resting on his knee while her right hand fumbles with the volume on the radio. One of our favorite songs is on—one we all sing together whenever it comes on, and already I’m humming along from behind them.

It’s the middle of summer and still hot even though the sun has nearly set. The windows are rolled down because I like it that way. I hate being trapped inside of the air-conditioning when we could have wind whipping all around us instead. And since I’m only eight years old, I still get my way most of the time.

When the first verse starts, I have my hand held out the window. I make it dance up and down with the words. We are on the freeway and traffic is traveling fast, so my hand jumps pretty drastically. During the chorus, I angle my fingers to direct the breeze toward my face. My voice is choppy in its wake and my mom turns around and smiles at me.

—
How close are we to home?
— I ask after the song is over.

My dad looks at me through the rearview mirror. —
What’s the matter, Breen Bean? Are you getting ants in your pants back there?
—

—
No. I’m not even wearing pants
— I say, giggling. It was too hot in the car to put my clothes on after we left the beach. I only have a towel wrapped around my waist that was meant to keep the seat from getting wet. I’ve been dry for hours though—now it’s just a skirt. I don’t have a top on even though I’m probably a little too old not to. I can’t help feeling like I’m getting away with something. It’s exciting—makes my breath as fast as the wind rushing into the car.

—
We should be pulling into the driveway in about an hour
— my mom says. —
Why? What do you need?
—

—
Nothing
— I say honestly. —
Actually, I was just hoping it would take longer, that’s all.
—

I see my dad squint at me the way he does whenever he thinks I’m being silly. After checking the mirrors, he turns on the signal and switches lanes. We pass a row of slow-moving trucks and then he asks —
Why’s that?
—

—
I don’t know. Just because
— I say, fingering the postcard in my lap. It’s glossy and bright and my fingerprints leave an oily streak on the photo of the dolphin leaping through the air.

—
You enjoyed this trip, didn’t you?
— my mom says, reaching back to pet my cheek until I smile at her and nod.

—
It was the best yet
— I say, happy that there is still an hour left for me to savor before it ends in our driveway with the turning of a key in the ignition and the quieting of the car’s overheated engine.

*   *   *

I sit on my bed with the Sea World postcard in my lap. The dolphin has faded quite a bit over seven years and the smudges have grown darker. My mom must have taken it off my wall and put it with the things she packed haphazardly the morning they drove me to the hospital. It was stuck inside a book that I hadn’t picked up until this morning. With nothing to do, and an hour before the daily schedule began, I randomly grabbed for that book and watched the postcard fall to the floor like a dead leaf.

I had no idea at the time that our vacation to San Diego would be the last really perfect one we would take. There were others after it that were okay, but none quite like that trip. A few years later, I got to choose the destinations. Even those never lived up. I mean, I liked San Francisco. And I’d always wanted to go to the Grand Canyon. Those were fine. Better than fine even, they were great—but never magical. We just all got along like a perfect family on that trip.

In my memory, I’ve often returned to that trip down the coast. The postcard stayed tacked to my wall, right next to my bed where I’d stuck it the second we got home. Walking home from the bus freshman year, I would recall all the details. I’d think about the seashells I collected and the way they fit in my palm. I’d picture my parents’ smiles as I raced out of the waves on the beach. Then I’d rush up to my room, take off my clothes, and stay perfectly still on top of my covers with the window open and the breeze on my bare skin, focusing all of my attention on the leaping dolphin until the rest of the world dissolved and that one perfect car ride would last forever and the song we loved to sing would never end. Sometimes I think it’s one of the memories I will return to in heaven.