Circle the Soul Softly (8 page)

“The second one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He kisses me. I can almost not stand it.

“I love you.”
He says it again.

“I love you, too.” I blush at the words. My thoughts zip about like guppies, but one stands out—I need to
be here
now, completely. I need this experience to be mine, no fog, no mush. David puts a hand on each side of my face.

“You are so pretty.”

This is absolutely the most perfect thing that could happen. We manage not to trip over my shoes as we somehow get to the bed, lips locked the whole way. He runs his hand up my arm and over my breast so lightly I barely—and yet
completely
—feel it. He doesn't linger there but puts one hand behind me and gently lifts me toward him so that when he lies down, he can pull me on top.

He kisses me again. I can feel the hardness of him pressing into my hip. He breathes faster. His hand clamps down behind my head and even though he's not hurting me, all of a sudden—

I don't like it. I want him to stop.

I squirm but he doesn't notice; he holds me tighter. I don't understand what's happening to me—the panic simmering inside is way out of proportion. This is David. We're in love. This is what I want.

I manage to get us to roll side by side so I can catch my breath. He smiles, and his voice is like sweet chocolate.

“Sorry, I guess I better slow down, huh?”

When I nod, he moves back a few inches and takes a long, deep sigh.

“Do you
know
how hard this week has been? No pun intended.”

I don't trust my voice; I shake my head and smile.

“I'm lucky I got to sleep at all.” I think of him snoring and relax a little. He pushes my hair back out of my eyes and kisses my forehead and then my nose. Then he cups my head again and gently guides me toward him. As we kiss, he holds me close. This time we're lying on the bed, facing each other. I feel my body responding to him, wanting him, but panic bubbles up again. I start to breathe really fast.

“I know,” he says, with a twinkle in his eye. “Look what you do to me.”

He takes my hand and moves it onto the front of him. Holds it there. I freeze. Literally. When he kisses me, I can't move. I'm terrified, and I can't tell him. I want to run away, but I'm not connected to myself anymore. I realize I have no control of my body.

I see David—

I know where I am—

I am aware of the noises in the street and music playing from downstairs—

But I am no longer here.

“Katie?” His voice is soft. “Hey—” He shifts his body and peers into my eyes. “Are you okay?”

The most I can do is turn my eyes to his.

“Oh, baby, you're scared. Don't be scared.”

I get to take a breath. It comes out hard.

“Honey, we can stop. It's okay. You want to stop?”

I don't know if I nod. I want to; maybe I do. He smiles. “Hey. I love you.” He touches my face. “I can't even tell you how much. It's too strange.”

Now I'm starting to cry, little sneaky tears, the ones that leak out whether you want them to or not.

“Katie, don't cry. Nothing to cry about. We don't need to do this now.”

“I'm sorry,” I manage to say.

“It's okay, it's okay. It's my fault for going too fast. I love you.” He takes my chin in his hand and lifts my eyes up to his. “Got that? I—love—you.” He glances down and makes a face. “Yeah. Okay. Be right back.”

He goes into the bathroom. I sit up and stare out the window.

I don't know what I'm thinking.

I don't know what I feel.

Everything is whirling about way too fast, and I don't seem able to order it in any way that makes sense.

I concentrate on breathing.

I focus on the night outside the window.

I feel I should do something, but don't know what it is.

TWENTY-ONE

“Cat got your tongue?” Michael asks. We're in the jeep, on the 580 toward Sacramento. David and Casey are on their way to Lake Tahoe to meet up with their parents. They have a house there, too.

“Tired.”

“You and David didn't sleep too much, huh?” He's wearing his Dumb Jock face, and it makes my stomach twinge.

“It's not like that.”

A pause—he loses the smile. “Sorry, Skates.” Does he actually
hear
the tone of my voice? “You want to talk about it?”

Magic words. Because yes, I want to talk about it—if only I knew just what the hell
it
was. I sigh. I shrug. He waits a few more minutes before speaking.

“Did David do something? Because, if he did . . .”

“No, not at all. David is amazing.” I shrug again and grin at my brother's protectiveness. “I'm fine. Just …shit, I don't know. Sometimes I just can't figure me out.”

“Ah, yes. Welcome to
my
world.”

We make the turn from the 580 to the 5. Nothing but farmland on either side now, broken up by rest area truck stops, Denny's-type restaurants, and gas stations. Oh, and the slaughterhouse. What looks like a million black and white cows stand placidly packed together on at least five miles of rolling hills. The smell is horrific. The realization that all those living beings are waiting to be food makes me ill.

“I'd be fine if I never saw this,” Michael comments. “I like to think my steaks come from stores.”

“Yeah, me too.”

It'll still be hours before we hit the mountains, and then another two hours or more to LA. Michael and I both settle back. We don't talk for a long time, but the silence between us is easy and nice.

“Hey, Skates, I have a question for you.”

“Okay.”

“When did you change?”

I chuckle at him. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Hey, I'm the same as I ever was. You're the one went from shy to radical.”

“Maybe I always was radical, and you just didn't know it.”

“No, you weren't.”

“Well, at least I wasn't a butthead all my life.”

“Oh, oh …I was?”

“You could teach a class.”

“Thanks very much.”

“It's okay, you're better now.”

“Oh, good to know.” He glares at me, then smiles, and we lapse back into stillness. I'm glad he notices how different I am. I'm glad that he likes me.

My mind wanders through the changes this year, unexpected and otherwise. Nothing's in chronological order; David floats in and out, then Stacey, my old best friend, Ginny, Tess and the plays, my mom and Robert, Michael and Casey, San Francisco, then David again, and last night, briefly, the starkness of Alcatraz, my dad in his hospital bed, the beach—one scenario cross fades with the next in that strangely arbitrary way minds have.

I smile to myself and drift, lulled by the landscape and the rhythm of the reggae jazz CD Michael's playing. Last night's embarrassment tries for center stage, but I banish it to the wings—it doesn't
seem important in the greater scheme of things. My brother is becoming my friend, my boyfriend loves me,
and
I'm finally starting to see who I really am.

End of story.

I don't really need to think about anything else.

TWENTY-TWO

It sucks how hard I work at geometry, because it never seems to matter. I do not get it. I will never get it. And though I personally do not see the connection between, oh,world peace and my grasp of the isosceles triangle, mine is not a commonly held opinion.

To promote the triangle, the Royal We has returned. “We” are on my case, “for your own good,” because “We are looking out for your best interests.” Unfortunately, this time I
do
have a life, and a boyfriend, thank you very much. Which they know adds leverage to their side of the Geometry Dilemma. The threat of “no prom” is added to “no phone calls” and “don't even think about seeing Davy until you bring that grade up.”

David and I see each other in the car when he picks me up for school and drops me home after. We IM in between homework, and when I don't have to meet with a tutor, we hang out at lunch. It's never long enough and I miss him so much it hurts. Teachers assign five times the amount of homework a normal human can handle, and finals loom, less than eight weeks away. I have to work to maintain a semblance of balance. I know if I flunk geometry, I'll have to take it this summer. But all I can think about is David.

Until I scrape my arm on a leftover nail in the set we're striking in tech class. “Whoa,” I say, when Tess points out the blood on my upper arm. “When did that happen?”

“Omigod. Do not tell me you didn't feel that,” Random Annoying Girl pipes up.

“Actually, I didn't. Or you know what, I would've said.”

Tess takes my other arm.“Come in the greenroom; we'll get you cleaned up.”

The wound ends up looking a lot worse than it actually is, but I definitely should have felt it. Tess fills out an accident report, tells me to have my mom check my tetanus shots, and says nothing more on the subject. She does, however, watch me pretty closely the rest of the hour. I watch myself, too, remembering the blackouts I had in ninth grade. It's time for more “research”—but this has to be live.

“Michael, what do you remember about me, last year?” Our nightly hang is pretty regular these days—especially with both of us on Academic Lockdown—and it's not at all hard to ask this.

“Um, you got pregnant? I don't know. I was a butthead, remember? We weren't talking. Why? Did I miss something?”

“Just that I thought I was schizophrenic.”
Okay, said it.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“How'd you come up with that?”

“Online. I had most of the symptoms.”

“Shit. You tell Mom?”

“Of course not. What do you think?”
Second thoughts, but the
words keep coming.

“Damn, did you like hear voices or something?”

“No. I just got sorta disconnected; it was weird. I didn't react to things when they happened; I had really bad dreams; and sometimes I'd be at home or in class or walking and I wouldn't remember how I got there.”

“Shit, Skates.”

“Yeah.”
Way too much information just came out, but I can't seem
to stop.
“Basically, I managed okay until it happened in class; I ‘came to' and everybody was staring at me. Ms. Zimmerman freaked. She called Mom, and I had to go see the school counselor.”

“Why didn't I know this?”

“I don't know. You had your own problems, I suppose. And you weren't around much.”

“What'd the counselor say?”

“She thought it was a delayed reaction to Daddy dying.” Once these words are out, the air seems to change. We've never really talked about our dad, not alone, and I am no longer comfortable. I feel suddenly sleepy and I notice Michael's mouth starts that little twist.
Shut up, Katie, fix this.
“But it stopped, and then Mom met Robert and we moved here, and so, uh, yeah.”
Too late
. He's gone quiet; I've gone quiet. We're not looking at each other.

Awkward, Party of Two.
No way can I tell him about wounds I don't feel and freak-outs with the boyfriend.

“Do you know what's really amazing?” Michael says, finally. “I never believed he was going to die.”

“I didn't either.”

“Yeah?” He tries to smile, but his mouth is too tight. His brows pull together and for a second I'm scared he might start to cry.

“Uh, you want to talk about it?” I know how lame I sound, but it's the best I can come up with.

“I'm okay.”

“Michael . . .”

He kinda shakes himself, like a dog with water. “You know I'm moving back, don't you? I'm gonna live with Steve.”

The change is too abrupt; it's hard to put my words together. “Why?”

“I hate it here, Skates. I hate the school. I hate the people. I want to get a job and eventually go away someplace to college.”

“But Robert said he'd pay—”

“Robert is not my father. I'm going to pay for myself.”

“What about Mom's wedding?”

“I'll go after. Maybe July or August. I'm already enrolled in the JC. Mom doesn't know yet, so . . .”

“No problem.”

“Sorry, Skates. I really am.”

TWENTY-THREE

School is out of control. For the 10-billionth time, I wonder how I'd get through this last semester if I didn't have acting class in the afternoon. I wait all day for these two hours.

“Five minutes . . .” someone calls through the greenroom door.

“Okay,” I call back.

I take a huge breath, close my eyes, and visualize a small point of color in my mind. I banish triangles and other academic trivia and concentrate on what's important—getting ready to do this final monologue. This pushes the rest of the world away, and lets me focus, commit to my action, and . . .

Someone's in the room. My eyes fly open—there's a man in the corner! My brain tells me this isn't possible—the door is shut—but there's his reflection in the makeup mirror. I wheel around and I suck in air so I can scream. I wonder why his face is so dark. Then—he's gone.

I'm by myself. But I
saw a man
.

But you can't see things that aren't there.

But I saw a man.

I can't do lines now; I'm shaking too hard. I lean back against the makeup table; what if I see him again? And what the hell do I tell Tess?

“Um, sorry, can't do my monologue now because, well, I memorized
it, but there was this guy in the greenroom—except he really wasn't, but
I saw him and I'm totally freaked out now, so, uh, yeah.”

So when she calls me up, I go. I say all the words and then call,“Scene.”