Swimming Through Clouds (A YA Contemporary Novel) (26 page)

Near the end of his story, tears glisten on his cheeks. He’s
never told anyone before. About seeing things he shouldn’t have. Staying silent
when he should have spoken up. Failing to defend Rani when she didn’t even know
she was being hurt.

“Rani was seven. Only seven.” Lagan punches the bark. Then
puts his hand flat on the willow’s trunk, as if to apologize. “What kind of guy
does that to a little girl?”

His voice trails off. He doesn’t want to talk about it
anymore. It’s a debt he can never pay back. His downcast eyes tell me he’s not
sure he should have told me. Or maybe his silence says, “Now your turn.”

Not yet. I’m not ready to undress. My heart still has a few
layers to get through before we talk about Dad and all the skid marks he’s left
across my mind. The kind that even the strongest of street cleaners can’t get
out.

“Anything else?” I ask, keeping the focus on Rani. On Lagan.
On anyone but me.

“Yes.” Lagan looks up into my eyes for the first time this
afternoon and says two words: “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” I sigh. Nothing like a good
ol
’
confession to derail the steadiest of trains. Lagan, the locomotive that lost
his lungs. For a guy who rarely lacked words, when his
sleezy
uncle slipped his hands between Rani’s little girl legs, Lagan hid in her
closet, staring silently. They were in the middle of a game of hide and seek.
Lagan hid in shame when his cousin stopped seeking. He only came out when the
room was empty. The game was over. Reminds me that we all fall down. Some more
often than others. But in the end, we all fall sometimes.

“Rani doesn’t know. I haven’t told her. It happened when we
were kids. It’s been so long. I don’t know that I have to tell her.”

I put my hand on his arm. “She knows you’re there for her.
That you care. That’s all that matters.”

And that’s what I seem to know as true these days. Nothing
gets our attention like the curveballs of life. I’ve been hit so many times, a
soft lob is what throws me for a loop. But it’s weird how when others get a
surprise pitch, I ache inside as if the wind struck me out too.

“You’re right.” Lagan speaks with a dose of renewed
confidence.

“And you know what else?” I’m just chock full of good ideas
today. Talk about a switcheroo of roles. “You can tell her. Someday. You have
to tell her. Someday.”

Lagan lets out another huge sigh and sits down next to me.
“You’re right. I know you’re right. Someday.”

We don’t talk much after that. I don’t know where Lagan’s
mind drifts off to when he lays his head on my lap. I run my fingers through
his hair and think of Rani, a girl he loves that I have never met. A girl who
was touched where you’re not supposed to know touch so soon. By a man who isn’t
supposed to touch you like that. A girl whose heartaches bring pain to this boy
I love. Maybe someday our paths will cross.

A squirrel scurries into our willow cave, and another
follows right on the tail of the first. Daydream over, the chase is on. I watch
for a moment and even Lagan looks over, and we both laugh at the simplicity of
life. Of how simple life can be.

“If all I had to do was chase you up a tree and nuzzle into
the back of your neck to tell you how crazy I am about you...” His voice trails
off. I wonder if he feels guilty about changing the topic.

I glance at my watch. “OMG!” I stand up in a frenzy. Lagan
roles off my lap to the ground to his hands and knees. “Oops. Sorry.” I have
got to remember to turn down that panic button when Lagan’s around. “I need to
work on that.” I offer Lagan my hand, and he takes it and then pulls me to the
ground.

“We can’t be having you looking all spiffy and clean. You
need to look like you’ve been doing some work around here.” And with that, he
smears some dirt on my cheeks and nose as I try to loosen his grip and break
free. He has my good arm by the wrist, and I scoot back on my bottom to try to
broaden the space between us.

“Truce! Mercy! Time-out!” Whatever it takes to say I don’t
want to play. “I’m
gonna
get fired! My break was over
five minutes ago!”

“You should have thought of that before you dropped me like
a hot potato.” Lagan lets go, giving me a chance to get to my feet, but the
chase is on. Those darn squirrels. Talk about bad timing for inspiration!

“I can’t climb trees!” I yell ahead of me, although this
lanky-legged athlete is on my heels like there’s no tomorrow. I squeeze through
a break in the wispy branches, but I feel Lagan’s arms around my waist just as
I exit out onto the green landscape outside the willow. “Okay! You got me! You
win! Game over! Let me get back to work now.”

“Not until I get my prize.”

“What is it with guys and their trophies?”

“A small prize will do.” Lagan locked his fingers cement
themselves against my back, and I have no choice but to comply.

I bend down and quickly grasp an acorn, and then I turn
toward my man as his strong arms embrace me. Face-to-face with no space between
us, I see myself in his eyes.

“Close your eyes and I’ll give it to you.” His eyebrows
raise, his dimple dances playfully on his cheek, and the twinkle of
anticipation lights up his eyes.

“All right. Closing.” Lagan has his eyes shut, and I wiggle
one arm from out of his grip, stand up on my tippy toes, and move my face close
enough to inhale that sweet peppermint gum he carries almost as reliably as
those Post-its.

I inhale deeply and then exhale slowly as I run the tip of
my nose across his cheek, back toward his left ear. Down to his jawline. His
lips spread into an unmistakable smile, and he licks his bottom lip. Perfect. I
shove the acorn into his slightly parted lips, break loose, and run for my
life!

“So wrong!” I hear behind me. And he strolls toward me,
laughing and shaking his head. The game is over. For now.

“You said, ‘small.’” I remind him as I pick up my gardening
gloves. “I’ll see you next month! I’ll W4U, okay.
Gotsta
get back to work.”

“I’m keeping it, you know.” I look up after I retrieve a
rake that fell to the ground during our antics, and Lagan holds up the acorn
between two fingers. “It was a gift after all. And a hint.” Lagan tucks the
acorn into his inside jacket pocket.

 
“Whatever,”
I say. Hint or no hint, I will see
ya
later. Before I
get fired and there is no
later
to look forward to.

“Mine.” Lagan says, patting his chest where a bump outlines
the acorn before bending down to pick up his bike.

And so am I
, I think to myself as Lagan mounts his
bike and rides off, leaving me under the willow, heart racing, mind swirling,
lips longing. Can’t wait till next month.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT

In
early April, Lagan transfers from DePaul to
Northwestern’s
downtown campus to keep pursuing his pre-law degree. He also picks up a job as
a paid intern at his uncle’s law office in the heart of the city. The funds
help pay tuition, but leave little time to do much more than work or study.

We share our dreams under our springtime willow in the
garden while new blossoms sail through the air to create a pink and yellow
sprinkled blanket around us. He dreams about creating positive change in
society through the government—if the people vote him in someday. I dream
a writer’s dream. God knows I have enough material for a trilogy on pain. But
I’d rather write make-believe tales, the kind with happy endings.

The scents of budding flowers and the earth after a rainfall
remind me of second chances. Jesse needs a second chance more than anyone I
know. Lagan and I brainstorm how to help Jesse move his mountains, both seen
and unseen. I can’t lie. When I think for Jesse, I see a mountain fearfully
higher than his secret mobility. His anger drives his every action.

“I’ll happily do the forgiveness thing—once I get my
justice. Have to live up to my name after all.” Jess tells me this time and
time again.

Jesse can practically run now. He doesn’t use his wheelchair
at all, except when Dad’s around. Hiding his healed body from Dad frustrates
Jess more than ever. But we both know his secret better creates the possibility
of a stealth escape. Luckily, Dad works more hours than ever, giving us
siblings plenty of time to breathe. Jesse even found a free online site that
helps him prepare for his GED. He’ll get a high school diploma and then think
about the next step: how to escape Dad or how to convince Dad to let him attend
college. After telling Dad he’s been miraculously healed.
Yeah
. The details remain hazy at best.

Sitting under the willow on April 17, I tell Lagan my latest
and greatest. “Jesse will be eighteen in a month. We’ll both legally be adults,
and regardless of our financial stability, we could run away and start over.
Just not sure how far we have to run in order to find safety beyond my dad’s
claws. Across the ocean makes sense to me. Perhaps India in order to trace our
roots and hopefully find our grandparents. Learn about what it was like for Mom
to grow up in Kolkata. We can both work to that end, making due with our
earnings, keeping life simple. Simply perfect describes any life absent of my
dad.”

Lagan listens silently each time I mention leaving.
Disappearing from his family, Rani, and life in Chicago is not a realistic
option for him. I would never ask him to leave.
How can I have
both?
I ask myself each time
we meet. When Lagan tells me that his new college roommate is a medical student
named Reggie, I come up with a perfect solution. Perfect if life were as black
and white as a Shakespearian play.

“Maybe your roomie can drug us both, Romeo and Juliet-style,
and we can wake up in a cemetery. Jesse could dig us up and then we could all
run off to India together. Sound appealing?”
Except the
part about waking up in a coffin, I’m guessing.

“What makes you think just
cuz
he’s in med school he has access to illegal drugs? Or any drugs for that matter?
You’ve been watching too many episodes of
ER
,
haven’t you?”

“
Haha
. Very funny.” The last time
Jess and I spent any significant time staring at the tube was the infamous snow
day when he asked if he could wait for me. W4U.

Besides, Shakespeare just wrote about the classic catch-22.
He never came up with any workable solution. Sigh. How could I think to take
Lagan away from his loved ones? He actually has people other than me who love
him. The price is too high. I cannot ask. I will not ask.

May 17 is three weeks away, and when it comes, I’ll leave
campus, take the “L,” then transfer to the bus that takes me a few blocks from
the garden. Midterms are underway, and I cannot focus. I am so anxious to see
Lagan. This past month proved the longest time period without Dad’s wrath, and
my lips look almost normal. Almost pretty.

Jesse asks me when I return from class on April 24 when my
next work day is.

I tell him tomorrow night. “Why?”

“I just want to know when you won’t be around. I need some
space.”

“I won’t bug you about your anger anymore.” I feel a need to
apologize. “I told you I dropped it.”

“That’s not the problem,” Jesse reassures me with a smile.
“I just need a few uninterrupted hours.” The fire in his eyes seems ignited
with a new idea.

“Dad’s not working late tomorrow night.” I point to the
calendar to remind him.

“I know.”

Wait.
“Jess? Are you
gonna
tell him that you’re walking? Talking?”

“If you must know...” Jess pauses for a split second. “Yes.
I plan to tell him. And I don’t want you around to feel his back hand when it
starts flying.”

“Jesse.” My lips are quivering. “What if? What if he doesn’t
know how to handle the news? What if he hurts you? Badly? I’m scared, Jesse.
Just wait a few weeks. You’ll be eighteen. We’ll run away as legal adults. Dad won’t
have any rights on us then.”

I beg Jesse to reconsider, but he’s made his mind up. He
wants to take his chances. Just not with me around. If I couldn’t study before,
now my mind spins a whirlwind of horrific outcomes all leading to Jesse being
hurt by Dad so badly that his progress returns to square one. Learning to walk
again. And talk again. Dad could do that. He’s that evil.

I’m trembling inside my sheets at night. Maybe I should call
in sick. Stay close by when Jesse tells Dad. I toss and turn late into the
night, aware of the hurt and pain that wall us in and threaten to lock Jesse in
for years to come. I have no plan to stop him.

I talk to the gardener, hoping sleep will eventually find
me. I talk to the gardener without words. Like truckloads of coal, I carry my
load back and forth, a miner familiar with the darkest of caves, and lay them
at his feet. First, doubt. Then fear. Then anxiety. Then repeat. I’m searching
for that place of
still
. Where my heart no longer threatens to leap off a cliff. So
here I am. Again and again.