Gravestone (21 page)

49. Emails

They look like emails, copied and pasted into a document.

As Mr. Nivel drones on about something that I’m assuming has to do with Algebra II, I carefully slip out the first page and read it. It’s not addressed to anybody, nor is there a name at the bottom. But it doesn’t take me long to figure out that this must be an email
to
my uncle rather than one he sent.

T
HIS
IS
AN
ACCOUNT
THAT
NOBODY
KNOWS
AND
THE
ONLY
WAY
I’
LL
BE
ABLE
TO
COMMUNICATE
. T
HEY
CAN
SEE
WHO
CALLS
WHOM
,
WHO
EMAILS
WHOM
,
WHO
TALKS
TO
WHOM
. I
DON
’
T
KNOW
HOW
,
BUT
THEY
KNOW
. A
ND
THEY
SILENCE
THOSE
WHO
TALK
.

H
E
SAYS
HE
CAN
’
T
DO
ANYTHING
ABOUT
YOU
BECAUSE
YOU
’
RE
SPECIAL
. O
THERWISE
THEY
WOULD
. B
UT
IT
’
S
A
CHOICE
—
IT
’
S
YOUR
CHOICE
. I
DON
’
T
KNOW
WHAT
THIS
MEANS
. D
O
YOU
?

A
LL
I
KNOW
IS
THAT
THE
MAN
I
THOUGHT
I
FELL
IN
LOVE
WITH
AND
MARRIED
IS
NOT
THE
SAME
MAN
. S
OMETHING
HAPPENED
. S
OMETHING
OUT
THERE
IN
THE
DARKNESS
. I
T
’
S
AS
IF
HE
WENT
OUT
INTO
THE
WOODS
AND
CAME
BACK
A
DIFFERENT
PERSON
.

I
HAVEN
’
T
SEEN
HIM
DO
SOME
OF
THE
THINGS
I’
M
IMAGINING
,
BUT
I
FEEL
IT
. I
JUST
—I
JUST
HAVE
THIS
IDEA
. T
HAT
’
S
WHY
I
CAME
TO
YOU
. I
THOUGHT
YOU
NEEDED
TO
KNOW
. I
CAN
GET
IN
TROUBLE
FOR
SAYING
THESE
THINGS
. B
OTH
OF
US
CAN
. B
UT
YOU
NEED
TO
KNOW
THE
TRUTH
.

I’
LL
TELL
YOU
ANYTHING
I
FIND
OUT
. I
MIGHT
NOT
BE
ABLE
TO
EMAIL
YOU
FROM
THIS
ACCOUNT
. I
F
NOT
,
THERE
HAS
TO
BE
ANOTHER
WAY
TO
COMMUNICATE
. I’
LL
LET
YOU
KNOW
. S
OON
.

I slip the page back into the folder and then realize I can’t keep reading these here. If I’m caught and this ends up in the hands of the wrong person, something bad might happen.

You don’t know who it’s from or who it’s for.

But I would guess that it’s from Heidi Marsh, the wife of the pastor.

Jared was right. He keeps being right.

I decide to read the rest of the emails later tonight. And then try and contact Jared to share them with him.

The rest of the day I just get stares.

Including from my former art friend.

I’m so distracted and disjointed from the lunch incident and the emails that I forget to do the obvious. It takes me about fifteen minutes to finally tell a silent Kelsey thanks for the card.

She nods.

“It was really nice.”

“Yeah, sure.” She doesn’t say anything else.

And you know, I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t say anything to me either. I’d stay far away. And I want her to stay far away. I belong on a salad bar with various ingredients that people pick from and pick at every day. Nothing that will amount to a hearty meal.

A few times I’m about to say something. A wisecrack. A comment on my shirt and messy hair. A statement that shows I have a pulse and a soul.

But I say nothing.

Nothing at all.

And the bell rings and Kelsey goes, and I figure it’s probably better this way.

I see Gus by his locker at the end of the day.

“Love the shirt, Chris. It really fits you.”

I want to say more. Do more.

But I remember Mr. Meiners’ reaction, his jerking of my hand and his yelling at me.

Mind your own business.

I want him to see me like this, a portrait of me minding my business.

I just walk away from Gus, doing what Mr. Meiners says even though he’s not around to see me doing it.

I feel a little more alone tonight. I used to be fine with this. I used to not even think about whether I felt alone or not. I could lose myself in hours of video games or watching television. If I really had nothing to do I could go online and see what people were posting on Facebook. But tonight I have things to do. Homework, of course—the given in every high schooler’s life. But I’m talking about things to read.

Maybe that’s why I feel so alone. Because I’d like someone to be here when I’m reading them.

Mom is working (of course) and Midnight is sleeping (of course). I’ve been putting it off even though it’s all I can think about.

I can hear the wind picking up and know that snow is coming. Just a sprinkling, nothing major, just enough to remind a person to stay inside.

I open the folder and pick up where I stopped, with the next printed-off email that only has the text and no addresses.

I
T
WASN
’
T
ALWAYS
LIKE
THIS
. I’
VE
STRUGGLED
TO
BE
THE
GOOD
WIFE
,
TO
KEEP
MY
VOWS
. W
E
MET
IN
C
AMBRIDGE
WHERE
HE
WAS
STUDYING
AT
H
ARVARD
D
IVINITY
S
CHOOL
. A
LL
I
CAN
SAY
ABOUT
THAT
TIME
—
ABOUT
THAT
YEAR
AND
A
HALF
WE
DATED
—
WAS
THAT
IT
WAS
MAGICAL
. H
E
WAS
MAGICAL
. H
E
WANTED
TO
CHANGE
THE
WORLD
,
AND
I
WANTED
TO
BE
AT
HIS
SIDE
. I
REALLY
FELT
LIKE
HE
LOVED
ME
. M
AYBE
HE
DID
. I
DON
’
T
KNOW
. I
DON
’
T
KNOW
MUCH
NOW
.