If You Come Softly (8 page)

He placed the picture back on the shelf gently and closed his eyes. Ellie was there-behind his eyelids, smiling at him. What would become of them? Today in class, he had caught her staring at him, a tiny smile on her lips. Jeremiah stared back without smiling. He couldn’t smile. There was something scary about the way he felt-light-headed and out of control. The whole classroom seemed to drop away, and for a minute, it seemed like it was only the two of them in the world. Then Mr. Hazelton said something and the class faded back around them. Jeremiah turned back to his textbook. When Mr. Hazelton called on him, he stuttered some answer that seemed to satisfy the teacher. But he wasn’t in that room anymore. He was somewhere far away. With Ellie.

And later, as he changed into his gym clothes, he had found himself thinking about her, imagining the two of them together somewhere. Somewhere.

He needed someone to talk to. Someone who knew him well enough to rub his head and say, “Everything’s going to be all right.” There was something like a fire in his chest, something hot and tight and unfamiliar.

Jeremiah felt the emptiness of the house settle down around him. Where was his mother? Where had all the people who used to fill these rooms gone to?

“Daddy ... ” he whispered. “Mama ...”

The house echoed. Jeremiah sat down on the edge of his mama’s bed, pulled his knees up to his chin, and wrapped his arms around them.

And with the late afternoon light casting heavy shadows across everything, Jeremiah rested his head against his legs. And cried.

“JEREMIAH.”

I had been walking the halls when I found him standing alone, his head pressed against a window.

“Hey, Ellie,” he said, turning away from the window. “That’s funny. I was just thinking ... about ... about you.”

I looked down at my shoes, embarrassed suddenly. “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know. You were passing through my mind—just kind of floating through it.”

He had been thinking about me. I had been floating through his mind. All morning I’d been imagining this moment, meeting Jeremiah in the hall. But I hadn’t thought it would happen, that I’d turn a corner and find him standing here, his head pressed against the window, his locks falling softly around his shoulders, thinking about
me.
No one had ever just been thinking about me. It felt odd-good odd, the idea that I was on someone’s mind. On Jeremiah’s mind.

“People call me Miah,” he said softly. He had the most beautiful smile.

The hall was empty, quiet and dim. In the distance, I could hear a teacher talking. His voice was muffled, like it was coming from behind a closed door. The late bell had rung a long time ago.

“Miah. I like that. What’s your last name?”

We were whispering now, but in the empty hallway, our words seemed loud.

Miah turned back to the window. After a moment he said, “Roselind,” so softly, I could barely hear him.

“Jeremiah Roselind. That’s pretty. Really pretty.”

Miah shrugged. “It’s just a name. What’s yours-your last name?”

“Eisen. Elisha Sidney Eisen. My parents went to Australia and liked it—I think they thought it was clever to name me after a city.”

Miah smiled. “Elisha. Ellie. I like both names.”

“I like Ellie better.”

“Then I like Ellie better too. You don’t have class this period, Ellie?”

I shook my head. “Trig. I’m not going. How about you?”

“English. I know it already. They’re reading
Catcher in the Rye.
I read that book three times already. Figure I’ll go back when the rest of the class catches up.”

We stood staring at each other, my heart beating hard beneath my Percy shirt. I folded my arms across my chest wanting to quiet it. Afraid he’d be able to hear it and laugh. Jeremiah turned back to the window.

“You ever get scared, Ellie?”

I swallowed, embarrassed. “Yeah.” It was not supposed to be like this-this real, this close to who I was. Like he could look right through me.

“Like right now?”

“Yeah.”

He turned back to me. “I could see it. In your eyes. How scared you are. You’ve got the kind of eyes that don’t hide anything.”

I felt my face getting red.

“People used to say I had eyes like that,” he said softly. “But I learned how to work them. To hide stuff.”

“You think that’s better?”

A tall skinny boy turned the corner, giving us a look as he passed. Miah stared back and the guy kind of waved and kept walking.

“I don’t know what’s better,” Miah said. “What’s gonna happen is gonna happen. I mean, the feeling’s still there even if you’re covering it up. You feel like walking? Getting out of here for a bit?”

“What’s the penalty for cutting?” I asked, even though I knew I’d follow him—anywhere. When Anne used to talk about being in love, she said it felt like someone wrapping you inside of them. And that’s what I felt like now, like slowly I was being wrapped inside of Miah—inside his eyes, inside his voice, inside the way he talked about things.

Miah smiled. “I don’t know. Never did it before.”

“Me either,” I said, relieved. I had been afraid he was a cutter, and if he was, I’d probably like him less. I didn’t want to like him less.

He lifted his knapsack onto his shoulder. “You live in Manhattan?”

I nodded and bent to pull up one of the stupid knee socks Percy made girls wear.

“Then I’m following you.”

It had rained all morning. Now the sun was out again, warm and bright. Miah pulled off his jacket and stuffed it across his knapsack straps so that it hung down behind him. We crossed Fifth Avenue and headed into Central Park.

Two old women, walking arm in arm, eyed us. Jeremiah frowned, glaring at them.

“Are you all right?” one of the women asked me.

I nodded.

“Biddies,” Jeremiah said under his breath. He started walking faster.

“They asked that ‘cause you’re with me, you know,” he said, eyeing me. He looked hurt and angry all at once. “If you were with a white boy, they probably would have just smiled and kept on going.”

I moved closer to him. “They’re just sheltered Upper East Siders,” I said. “And old.”

“Yeah,” Miah said. I could tell he didn’t believe me.

“It’s not anything. Just two old stupid women.”

Jeremiah looked at me for a moment then looked away. I could see his jawbone moving beneath his skin. He knew what I knew. That it was something more than stupid old women. And that I’d try to make it into nothing, to make it less embarrassing for them. For us.

We walked a while without saying anything. I felt hot suddenly, clammy. Clammy and white. White and clammy. Why hadn’t I said anything to those stupid women.
Yes, I’m okay,
I should have said. And maybe, maybe if I was brave I would’ve taken Miah’s hand.

“If my dad knew I was cutting, he’d hit the roof,” Jeremiah said. “He’d say that school is too expensive to even be missing even a
half
of a class.”

“Do your parents complain about it?” I asked, my voice coming slow and shaky. We were walking along a cobblestone path, and I tried to let the old women slip from my mind. But they were there, their pinched faces scowling at us.

Miah glanced at me, then looked away and shook his head. “My dad pays. He doesn’t say much as long as he knows I’m going every day. Just asks how it’s going and blase blase. They separated—my parents did. Whatever.”

“That’s too bad. I mean—I guess it’s too bad, right?”

He shrugged. “It’s whatever. Your parents together?”

I nodded, embarrassed. At Jefferson, there were only a few of us whose parents hadn’t divorced yet. “They’ll be together forever. No one else could take either of them.”

“Oh—it’s that kind of gig?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess that’s cool.”

“I guess. I mean—my father is—my father’s great. You like your dad?”

“Sometimes,” he said, frowning.

“Here is good,” I said, stopping at a wide patch of grass underneath a maple tree.

The air around us seemed thick suddenly, hot and stifling. When I looked over at Miah, he was still frowning.

“Yeah,” Miah said. “This is cool. You want to sit on my jacket?”

I shook my head and spread my own jacket beneath me.

Miah sat down next to me, so close I could see the tiny hairs growing above his top lip. They were very black—like his hair—and fine. It felt strange having him so close to me. Strange in a good way.

He unzipped his knapsack and started rummaging through it. After a moment, he came up with a Snickers bar. He searched through it some more and came up with a Swiss Army knife and cut the Snickers bar down the middle, handed half to me and put the knife back in his knapsack.

“Thanks, Miah,” I said, really meaning it. I pulled the wrapping away and took a small bite. The chocolate was starting to melt already. It tasted sweet and warm.

“My father gave me that knife. He said we’d go camping soon. That was about four years ago and we haven’t gone camping yet. But I carry that knife everywhere.” He smiled and looked at me. “Never know when he’s gonna pop up and say, ‘Hey, Miah—let’s take that camping trip we been talking about.’ ”

“You think he ever will?”

Miah shook his head. “No. I’m too old now. And everything’s changed since he gave it to me. I guess I just hold on to it.”

“Hoping.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Hoping.”

“When I was little ...” I said slowly. My voice felt shaky. “Marion used to leave us. We’d wake up and she’d be gone.” It felt strange hearing myself say this to Miah—hearing that she left us.

“Who’s Marion?”

“My mother.” I pulled my hair out of my face and smiled. “I call her that. She hates it, but she won’t call me Ellie so I call her Marion.”

Miah nodded without taking his eyes away from mine. He looked older when he was listening, grown-up and serious.

“I didn’t think she was ever coming back.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah. Both times. But after the second time, it was different. I was the only kid still living at home and I was scared around her—careful. After a couple of months, things kind of went back to normal. But I don’t think it was ever the same again. It was like ... like she had
introduced
this idea of leaving to me and I’d never even thought about it before.”

I ate my half of the Snickers bar slowly, thinking about the day Marion returned. It had snowed that morning—a heavy wet snow. My father helped me into my coat and hat and our neighbor came to take me to the park. We built a snowman. It was the first time I’d ever built one. When I got home, wet and cold and ready for my father to make me some hot chocolate, Marion was sitting there, at the kitchen table, her hands folded like a schoolgirl. I stared at her a long time waiting for her to hug me, to start bawling and talking about how much she missed me. But when she reached out her arms, it was me who started bawling.

“We never thought she’d leave,” I said again. “And after she came back, I never believed she’d stay.”

“You believe it now?” Miah asked.

“I don’t think I care so much anymore.” I folded the empty Snickers wrapper over and over itself. “I survived the first time. It makes me know I can always survive. But there’s this other part of me that doesn’t believe anyone’s ever going to stay. Anywhere.”

“Wonder why she came back.” Miah said.

I looked up into the leaves and squinted, liking the way the green twisted and blurred in the sunlight. I felt lighter somehow. Free. “I asked her. She said it was because our family was all she knew—all she had. Squint like this, Miah. And see what it does to the leaves.”

Miah looked up and squinted, then smiled. “Feels like I’m spinning,” he said softly. “Or like the whole world is spinning and I’m the only thing on it that’s not moving.”

I felt his hand closing over mine and swallowed. It felt warm and soft and good.

I closed my eyes, wanting to stay this way always, with the sun warm against my face and Miah’s hand on mine.

“There’s this poem,” he said, “that my moms used to read to me. ‘If you come as softly/as the wind within the trees./You may hear what I hear./See what sorrow sees./If you come as lightly/as threading dew,/I will take you gladly,/nor ask more of you.’/When you told me that thing about Marion, it made me think of it. The way stuff and people come and go.”

“It’s pretty, that poem.” I closed my eyes. Maybe people were always coming toward each other—from the beginning of their lives. Maybe Miah had always been coming toward me, to this moment, sitting in Central Park holding hands. Coming softly.

“You ever wish you were small again, Ellie? That there was somebody still tucking you in and reading you stories and poetry?”

I turned my hand over and laced my fingers in his. His hand was so soft and warm. Above us, the leaves fluttered, strips of sun streaming gold down through them. I swallowed.

“All the time,” I whispered.

“Me too. You gonna let me kiss you, Ellie?”

I nodded, feeling my stomach rise and dip, rise and dip, until Miah’s lips were on mine, soft and warm as his hand.

Then everything grew quiet and still and perfect.

His FATHER’S LIGHT WAS ON. MIAH CLIMBED THE stairs slowly and unlocked the outside door. He looked over his shoulder at his mother’s window. Dark. He wondered if she was out or sitting alone in the darkness.

“That you, Miah-man?” his father called.

“Yeah.”

“Come on into the living room and meet some people.”

Miah frowned. He didn’t want to meet some people. He wanted to go up to his room, lie on his bed, and think about Ellie. About today in the park. About the way her lips felt against his. Different. The same. Right And his hand over hers—the brown and the white, her tiny fingers, the silver band on her thumb, her eyes, the way they just kept on looking and looking deeper and deeper inside of him. No one had ever looked at him like that, like they wanted to know every single thing about him. Like everything he had to say mattered. Really mattered.