You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.
Come with me, then,
And we'll leave it far and far away-
(Only you and I, understand!)
You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and-
Just tired.
So am I.
But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart-
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.
Ah, come with me!
I'll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I'll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.
-e.e. cummings
We talked about it for hours over the next night. I compromised with her to try and sway her in my favor.
"If you want to pay your way so badly, you can get a job and pay half of the bills."
"It's such a nice dream." She said, softly.
"Dream? Honey, this is reality. I'll fly you there first class."
"There are other reasons, Taylor, why this would never work. Beyond money and want. I don't have to tell you again."
"Why are you so convinced...?"
"Just leave it alone."
He put his foot down after that night. She had disappeared for two days without rhyme or reason. The next time she ran away, he would call the police, he threatened. But she knew it was a lie. Any calls to the police against her would only put him in a bad position. He knew that, so he never called. Nonetheless, she stopped sleeping over, working around her situation by calling in sick to work and driving to my house for the days. She sold our coke to bring in the weekly wages. Our time was precious. She was willing to give up work for just that long. With the coke gone, we smoked ourselves stupid and talked all day in a sleepy haze.
"How would you kill yourself?" She asked, we were laying side by side staring at my blank ceiling.
I don't think about it, I just say it, "A gun in my mouth."
"That's kind of hot."
"Yeah, till I pull the trigger."
"Who would find you?"
"Probably... probably Isaac, or my parents."
"With your brains all splattered everywhere? ...Where would you do it?"
"My bedroom, or in the basement. At the piano."
She paused, playing the scenario behind her eyes as she sucked on her cigarette. "A gun. That requires so much clean up. Wouldn't you rather be less messy?"
"I'll be dead."
"But they won't be."
"Dramatic ending... who doesn't like those?"
"I suppose."
Another drag on my cigarette, and I asked, "How would you do it?"
"With pills, I think. Or I'd cut my throat."
"Oh, that's not messy at all."
"It's not as messy as brains exploding everywhere..."
"So I suppose there is no noose in your future?"
"No."
"Where would you do it?"
"In bed with my lover. Then I could die happy."
"If you're going to do that, why don't you drive off a cliff like Thelma and Louise?" She hit me on the arm playfully. Clearly, I had missed the point. But really, I didn't. She knew that. I just thought it was cute to be snarky.
"Would you die with me?" She asked, after a pause.
"If I thought we had no other way."
"Like Romeo and Juliet?"
"Except it wouldn't be an accidental fate. We would do it together."
"With what?"
"We could stab each other."
"Shut up." She was laughing.
"Swallow poison..."
"Count each other's pills..."
"Hold hands until the end."
"What happens if I die first and you can tell by my grip on your hands? I don't want you to worry..." I smiled at that and brought my hand up to her face.
"It's okay, I'd be too fucked up to care."
"Would you jump with me if I said so right now?"
"I wouldn't let you jump."
"What would you do to stop me?"
"Hold you tight and kiss you and protect you."
Another silence.
"So have you decided?" She said.
"What?"
"How you'd do it?"
"I told you..."
"I mean, with me. How we'd do it..."
"Put our heads together and shoot."
"Now promise."
"Promise what?"
"That if the time comes, we'll do it together."
"I promise."
We moved beneath the sheets. It was almost time for her to go. "I love you so much that it hurts. It burns like fire. I want to feel you always right here. Safe. Comfortable. I hate leaving. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I can't live without you."
"Have me again before I go, so I can taste you and feel you for a little bit longer."
"I love you. I fucking love you." I remember tears began to spill from her eyes, and then mine, too. "Don't you start crying." I said, "Don't... don't. We still have time. It's not over..." Then, "If you don't stop, I'll start..."
I had never been so devastated to leave someone. Through the years I had learned to never attach myself to a person. I found out very quickly that keeping friends and relationships at close hand was nearly impossible for someone like me, and even harder was trusting someone. Isaac, Zac and I grew closer as the rest of the world grew distant. Inside, I wondered if Zac's death would've been so hard if he had been just my brother, and not everything else. I let myself go with her. I let her in. And there I was, physically ill at the thought of letting her go, even for only a month. I imagined a life without her, and I saw nothing. All of my senses and emotions were heightened, and our tears were mingling on her cheeks. I pulled her closer and buried my face in the pillow behind her while I felt her start to climax, making small sobs with each jump of the hip. My heart felt as if it was going to explode with my love for her. I thought I would just die right there in her arms. We both could. Our double suicide because our organs exploded with sadness, dread, and love.
"I'm close..." I said. "I'm so close..."
There was a knock on the door, and we both swung our heads around. "One second!"
"Taylor. Come out now or I'm coming in." It was my father.
"Jesus, hold on a second!" My impending orgasm had faded, and he was knocking again. "Fuck." I said, softly and pulled away from her. "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay." She smiled to reassure me.
I dressed hastily. Pants (no underwear), a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt. I wiped my face and combed down my hair with my fingers, but I couldn't disguise the blush. It would be clear what I had been doing.
"What?" I said, opening the door, and quickly shutting it behind me.
"Were you, by any chance, at the old house last weekend?"
I nodded slowly, the color began draining from my face.
"Would you care to explain why, when people went to work this morning, they were confronted with an unbelievable mess."
"Um..." I shrugged and looked down. "We made a mess...?" My father always made me feel like a child. I didn't know how to answer him straight, even though I knew that the mess at the old house was the least of my worries. This was just his way of prompting a lecture. He wouldn't have demanded I speak to him for something as trivial as being a slob.
"Yes." He said, "It's like somehow you, by yourself, managed to tear apart every room of the house as if the shelves vomited onto the floor! I don't care what you were doing there, but this is unacceptable. You're not a teenager, anymore."
I nodded. I sniffed.
"What's wrong with you? Are you on something?"
"No..." I sniffed again, "Just a runny nose."
"Your eyes are all glassy." He peered at me.
"I was crying." I admitted. I was telling the truth, for once.
He wanted to shout at me about something, but he couldn't find an immediate target. "Well, why were you crying?!" He asked.
"None of your business."
Annissa emerged behind me. "I have to go home." She said.
"I'll walk you out."
"No, you're going to stay right here. I think we need to have a talk." My father commanded. I gave him a dirty look and turned away from him. He grabbed my arm. "Don't you walk away from me, Jordan Taylor."
I was trained like a dog. By the tone of his voice and the name he had called me, I knew I had to stay put. I waved to her impersonally before she turned down the stairs. My father and I had barely spoken since Zac's funeral. He had it in for me.
"Taylor, I want you to go stand on a scale for me."
"Why?" I said, pretending it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard.
"Why? Look at yourself." I looked. My pants were hanging off of my hips, but other than that, I thought I looked alright. "I don't think you've eaten for days."
"I've eaten." I said, defensively. "I just lost a little weight, it's not a big deal." I hiked up my pants and put my hands in my sweatshirt pocket.
"Oh yeah? Why don't we prove it." He said, and he walked into the hall bathroom. "How much do you weigh normally? One seventy five?"
"Yeah." I muttered. He emerged with a scale and dropped it on the floor in front of me.
"Step on it."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because this is fucking retarded."
"Don't talk to me like that."
"I'm not a child, Dad."
"Then stop acting like one."
"So, what? You knocked on my door because you think I have an eating problem? That's it? Who do you think I am?" I snorted condescendingly.
He was patient with me. Our arguments were always like this. The clock was ticking. "If you don't have an eating problem, then why won't you step on the scale and prove to me how healthy you are?"
"Because no matter what I fucking do there will always be something else wrong! If I'm not too thin, I'm smoking too much. If I'm not on drugs, I'm drinking too much. If I'm not a promiscuous, adulterous fuck that is going to hell, I'm an asshole for falling in love. I never win with you. I can't even cry in front of you without you questioning me! You're my father, not my fucking manager!"
"How much do you weigh, Taylor?"
"Why don't you just lift me up and find out yourself?"
"Don't pull this 'pity me' bullshit. Be a man for once in your damn life, and I don't mean stick your penis in the next warm place. Your mother and I aren't stupid. We know what you've been doing. It's not like you're pulling anything new. Step on the scale."
"Why? So you can run me to another doctor who can psychoanalyze me and prescribe me drugs that make me just as fucked up and stupid as the drugs I take recreationally? But yet, somehow that's okay. Like, as long as Taylor doesn't have any say in the matter it's perfectly fine. As long as he's in our cage..."
"I never put you in a cage." He growled. "Don't you dare accuse the people who love you of anything. Your mother and I live our lives for you. Your little siblings have given up their's, as well. We only stood by you through everything you have done. We made sacrifices, too, Taylor. Don't you forget that. Whatever the world did to hurt you so much is not our fault."
"Don't hold that over my head. We bought this house. We, as in Isaac, Zac and I. I have been working for my entire fucking life. There is nothing outside of this bubble. Nothing. I wasn't even allowed to have friends when I was younger, and when I did, I couldn't trust them or spend any time with them. Who read all of my emails and AOL conversations, huh? You! You can't claim innocence here. I was never allowed to have a normal life outside of my weird one. If you didn't put me in a cage, who did?"
"We did it for your protection, Taylor. I don't even need to tell you that wasn't our fault. This is the life you chose. Just because you believe you've been short changed does not mean you are above the law. It's about time you moved past this notion that the whole world is stifling you. That's life, Taylor! You fuck up, it's your own damn fault. Nobody's going to feel sorry for you. I'm not going to feel sorry for you. Mom isn't going to run to rescue you, either. You're an adult now. Act like one."
"How does an adult act? I forget."
"Why don't you step on the scale, Taylor?"
"Why should I?"
"Why wouldn't you?"
"Because I want to be a stick in your side. That's what stubborn children do."
"Let me make something clear to you, Jordan." He said, severely. "While you are living under my roof, you follow my rules, regardless of whether you think they're right. We let things slide for a little while, but enough is enough. I'm not going to tolerate this bullshit. This is for your health, not because I want to ruin your life. It's either this or I drag you to a doctor who will lift you up and throw you on the scale. Your choice."
"Yes master." I said, stepping a toe on the scale. "Any other rules I should know about?"
"No more disappearing for days on end. No more skipping meals. No more having sex in the house. It shouldn't be too hard since you're leaving in a week and a half, but you surprise me every day." He examined the number at my feet. I stared ahead. "Do you even know how much you weigh?"
"One-sixty-five."
"Try thirty-five."
"The scale's wrong."
"Don't be an idiot, Taylor." He said, his tone was more gentle now. The concern was evident. "What's going on with you?"
"Nothing. What do you care?"
He sighed. "Go do whatever you want to go do, but I expect you to be down for dinner."
I slammed the door to my room and opened my empty suitcases. Through my tears, I started packing.
I didn't see her again until two days later. She was a mess. Falling apart, splitting apart. A mess.
"I think we should say goodbye now." She said, "Call me in a week when you get to California. Things are too fucked up right now."
"No. I can't go until I know you're okay. I won't go."
"I'll be okay if you go. Just go. Please leave me alone."
I creased my eyebrows as she tried to walk away, but only made it two steps. Her sobs broke my heart in two, three, and four. I was helpless all over again.
She could barely look at me as she got into the car to go home from my house. She had stopped by after work, purposefully so our visit wouldn't be too long. I waited until her car was past the gate to get into my own. I yelled to my mother that I'd be back and I followed her home.