Something Right Behind Her (10 page)

“I know, Dad.
It’s not like I’m walking around saying, ‘Oh, fuck the world.’ I am trying to
be normal.” I felt like this was a pretty honest thing to say to him, but he
shook his head, as if this could not be the case, which made me pretty pissed.

“One thing that
experience taught me,” Dad said, “was that, ultimately, you have only yourself
to rely on. Of course, you have other people who you love, but you are the one
who will make things happen in your life. Your best friend, your mother, your
father, they can support you, but you are in charge of becoming who you want to
be.”

I thought, Dad,
I want to be high right now. I want to be really high and to kiss someone.
George or Douglas. Someone who doesn’t matter too much, but is nice, really
nice. That would be George. I want to kiss George and to think about how
irrelevant happiness is, how good things can happen for no reason whatsoever.

I guess Dad
could tell I wasn’t engaging with the personal responsibility speech. “Andy, do
you hear what I’m saying? I know you’re hurting. We know you miss Eve a lot and
that things are hard for you. But you have to think. You have to think about
what you’re doing and not just act! You have to pay attention when we tell you
things. You have to
think!
”

As he spoke, I
noticed for the first time how deep a blue the water was in the pool we were
seated beside. It seemed odd to have a pool take up so much space in a
Manhattan restaurant. It didn’t seem really sanitary either. They probably had
to clean that thing twice a day. After all, who would want to sit near a
mildewy pool? Suddenly, the whole room seemed less glamorous to me. I looked
down at my boots. They were all creased and worn looking. I should have worn
nicer shoes. My head felt incredibly heavy. I needed a cup of coffee or a diet
Coke. I looked around for the waiter.

“I’m sorry,
Andy, please tell me what you’re thinking. You look so sad.”

“I need a
drink,” I said, and Dad beckoned to the practically ever-present waiter. At the
word “sad” my mood had started to sink, as if that syllable entered my psyche
and wrapped itself around it. I was the opposite of what Dad said I should be
like. I had no control over my life. I had no control over my feelings.

My Coke came and
I drank it down and I started to feel a little better. I apologized to Dad.
“I’m sorry I’m not a good driver,” I said. What else could I say? Dad got
exasperated then.

“It’s not some
innate talent, Andy, it’s about practice, and being aware of your surroundings.
You follow certain rules, and you’re good. What’s not safe is going around
thinking you’re a bad driver. It’s thinking you can’t do it that makes you so
unreliable!”

By now he had
gotten kind of red in the face, and I could see he was disappointed in himself
for losing it on me. I deserved his anger though, more than he knew. Of course,
I was unreliable. I couldn’t rely on myself. Hadn’t I proved that the night
with Douglas? Only now it was more true than ever. Now, I was just watching
myself, waiting to see what I would do next.

Dad had fallen
silent. He was looking over the bill and calculating the tip. “I think I need to
go back to the basics, “ I said. “I think I have to review the rules for
parking and stuff. And practice that way. I think I just forget what I’m doing
and I try to act like it’s second nature.” I believed in what I was saying.

“I think you
need to
think
about what
you’re doing,” Dad said. He was calm now, and he looked relieved, like he had
gotten something off his chest. I wondered then if all he had been talking
about was the driving. I wondered what he thought he knew about me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

After that lunch
with Dad, I felt like I had to try to make a change. Right off, I knew I had to
go visit Eve. Even if she knew about Doug.

Even if she told
me not to come.

As soon as I got
a chance after school, I went to the bookstore and I bought a nice fat trashy
hardcover by an author Eve and I like. It was one of those 400 page jobs where
first one woman is the main character, then her daughter is and on and on like
that. Then I called the O’Meara’s to ask Mrs. O’Meara when a good time would be
to come by.

“Oh, Andy,
sweetheart, come by any time you like, except Friday or Sunday. Oh, and on
Monday she has physical therapy, so how’s a week from Tuesday?” Mrs. O’Meara
was always really upbeat, and didn’t let on that things might not be so
terrific. She didn’t act like it was strange that I hadn’t been over in a while
either, which made me think maybe my entire existence had slipped all their
minds.

“Ok,” I said. I
wanted to ask how Eve was doing, but I doubted Mrs. O’Meara would really say.
She was kind of acting like Eve just had a bad cold.

I woke up on
Tuesday at dawn in a cold sweat. It had been weeks since I’d had the dream
where Eve could walk, but now that I was about to see her, my guilty brain
really turned it on.

We were back at
the beach, but instead of wearing a bathing suit, Eve was all dressed in white.
She had this long Victorian-type dress on, with a high lace neck, and white
stockings, like she was an old-fashioned bride, or maybe a blond Emily
Dickinson. Me and Doug were both wearing jeans and sweaters. It was cold,
wintry, and we’d realized we’d make a mistake bringing her there, but somehow
we couldn’t get back to the house
 
-
the sand had turned into enormous drifts of snow. We both knew what Eve wanted
- that she wanted to be left there, with the tide rising ever higher.

With each giant,
rolling wave, the tide line inched toward us. Doug and I were huddled together,
not sure what to do, the wind whipping us in the face. Only Eve wasn’t
terrified, waiting for the water to over-take her. I had this image of her
sitting there, in her metal chair, the snow accumulating on her arms and legs,
and the water lapping at her bare feet. Her feet, I noticed, were very blue,
and her toe-nails were covered in shimmering layers of ice. I remembered reaching
out to touch her, unsure whether she was turning blue from the cold, or because
she’d stopped breathing. My heart beat like crazy. I knew I had to get to her
chair, to press my hands against her chest. I knew how to do CPR. We’d
practiced it together on the rubber dummy in the gym sophomore year. I kept
calling out to Doug to help me, but it was too windy for anyone to hear. I was
cold and kept shivering. I had to rub my hands to keep them from getting stiff.
Finally, I reached out to touch Eve, to get her breathing again, and she turned
her head toward me. At first I was so relieved, because she was ok, her neck
was still strong enough to hold her head upright, to turn, but then I realized
there was no good side of her face; both eyes were wide open and blue, staring
blankly back at me.

I bolted
upright, my blankets in a heap at the end of my bed, and a chill running
through my spine. In the back of my mind lingered a memory, a sense of
certainty. In the dream, I had made up my mind to run for it, to go back to the
house, to leave her there; I had run out of fear, but also out of knowing there
was something heroic in it.

In the dream it
took all my courage to turn my back on her.

It took all day
for me to shake the jitters of the morning. Twice in Algebra, my lids got
heavy, and when I’d started to doze, I saw again the long white garment the
dream - Eve had worn. Finally, at lunch, once I’d gotten a large coffee - the
cafeteria lady scolding me that it was really only there for the staff. I felt
fully awake, the nightmare feeling falling away like dust. I had to keep
reminding myself there was nothing real about it.

By the end of
the school day, I felt almost calm. I drove myself over to Eve’s and I kept
pretty cool – no unfortunately placed trees, and no scratched-up bumpers.
I thought maybe I was finally getting the hang of the whole driving thing. The
trick with driving was to just not think about anything but the driving, which
was actually good for me.

Eve was upstairs
almost full-time now. With her neck weakened, it wasn’t safe for her to be out
of bed. Mrs. O’Meara wasn’t anywhere to be seen, just a nurse they had hired to
look after Eve during the day. Her name was Ms. Kenney, and she had white hair
that I thought must have once been red. She had that red-head complexion, but
with old-looking, faded freckles. She seemed to be expecting me. “You know the
way up, I’m sure,” she said, and then she went back to doing some sort of
baking. It was odd to see someone cooking real food in the O’Meara’s kitchen,
since Mrs. O’Meara had always relied on things that came frozen in boxes.

The house seemed
peculiarly quiet, and I became conscious of my own breath as I climbed the
stairs to Eve’s room. It was startling how familiar everything looked down to
the plush carpet under my feet.

When I walked
into Eve’s room, I felt flooded with relief. Eve looked ok. If anything was
shocking, it was how pretty she looked. My nightmares had prepared me for the
worst, but this wasn’t it.

Her nurse had
propped her head up high on her pillow and she had a braid in the front of her
hair the way the models all had in the magazines that month. She was wearing
little gold hoop earrings and some kind of loose -fitting white jersey.

“Hey Andy,
missed you,” she said. Her voice was a little softer than normal, but still
husky.

“Missed you
too.” I gave her a peck on the cheek. She was the same as before, with the left
side of her face seeming to fold in on itself, and the right side almost
normal-looking.
 
But then she sort
of half-scowled at me. “I thought you were staying away because of Doug. That
was really stupid, you know. I was mad at you.” She stared at me, her one-eye
mad and glinting.
          
My
heart sank. I wanted to remind her that she’d canceled on me that time, that
I’d been trying to see her, but then I figured it was better to let it go. “It
was that obvious?” I asked.

“Please.” She
looked lopsidedly fierce. “You’re my best friend, Andy, and you know how he is.
Now, you’re going to be all awkward around him.” She gave a little grunt, and I
wondered if she was trying not to cry. Shit, I thought. Shit, shit, shit. “I really
don’t want you coming here...” she started.

“What?” I said.
My stomach lurched. “What? Because of what happened with Douglas? Jesus, Eve. I
don’t know why that happened. It just did. It just did.” I couldn’t think of
anything more to say and just kept repeating myself like an idiot.

“Andy,” she
finally interrupted me. “I wasn’t finished.” She pursed her lips then and
seemed to be trying to blow something off her covers. I knew she couldn’t raise
either of her hands.

“What is it?” I
said. She pursed her lips again.

“I need the
mask.” She gestured with her good eye to a little plastic mask that was hanging
on a pole by her bedside. I fumbled a bit trying to get it off the hook, then
placed the mask over her face, and she took a deep breath, and rolled her eye,
as if to say how pathetic it was that I had to help her breathe, so she could
finish yelling at me.

“I was trying to
say that I don’t want you coming here and being all uncomfortable about Doug.
Not that I didn’t want you to come at all.”

“Oh,” I said. “I
thought you were throwing me out.” I sat down on the side of her bed. “I won’t
say anything more about the whole thing, if you won’t.”

“Just promise me
you won’t do it again.” She looked at me a little sideways, as if doubting me
already.

“I promise.” I
said. It was a pretty easy promise to make. I was disgusted with myself for
getting all caught up in thinking about Doug, especially after I knew he’d been
with Sharon. At any rate, I figured the risk of running into Doug was
relatively low, and it was unlikely I’d end up alone with him. It was one of
those promises that was at least partially based on probability. I knew Eve was
looking for a promise based more on will. Why, I wondered, didn’t I seem to
have it in me to make the right sort of promise? I felt confused about Doug,
how he kept popping up in my dreams, the one person who seemed to always know
exactly what I was feeling.

After that Eve
dropped the whole Doug thing, and I was glad of it. It wasn’t really her
problem to deal with anyway, it was mine. I pulled out the book I’d brought,
and she said “Awesome, Andy - I was just bugging my mom to get that book on
iTunes for me,” and she let out a deep, satisfied-sounding breath. I looked
back at the mask up on its little hook, but she shook her head no, she was ok
now. It was funny how she went from aggrieved to relaxed so quickly. Maybe it
was the pills they gave her.

I read to Eve
for about an hour and then Ms. Kenney came in and told me it was time for Eve’s
“treatments.” I didn’t know what kind of treatments she needed and I guess I
looked kind of surprised. “It‘s so I don’t get blood clots,” she said. “If they
don’t move me, I get bed sores and blood clots. Also, when they cure me, I want
to have some muscle tone left!” She let out a laugh that was big on air, and
low on volume, more like a high-pitched gasp. I wasn’t sure she was joking
about the cure. How could she possibly joke about a thing like that?