Untethered (29 page)

“Let’s do it,” I say.

“Wait.” I hold both Cassie and Sam back as we exit the cafeteria doors. “Wait until the bell rings. Nelson has
B
lunch and I want him to come with us.”

“Who?” says Sam.

“Nelson Strange?” Cassie asks in a hard whisper. “He knows?”

I shake my head. “He doesn’t know. But ... I think I want him to know.”

“He won’t believe you, you realize that?” Sam says. “I’m your brother and I’m not even a hundred percent convinced. Ninety-nine. Not a hundred.”

“You like Nelson now, don’t you?” Cassie touches my arm and squeezes it gently.

At her touch, my body hums. Then I see Nelson coming towards us and I feel like I’m soaring. “Yeah,” I mutter. “My body likes you and my soul likes him.”

“What?” she asks, but I don’t answer. Nelson’s near us. He tries to skirt around us and to the other set of doors, but I reach out and grab him by the jacket.

“
Now
what?” He jerks his jacket out of my grasp. He looks pretty damn scary with an annoyed expression on his gory face.

“We’re going to visit Sylvie in the hospital, if you wanna come with.”

Nelson looks from me to Cassie to Sam.

“That’s my ... Sylvie’s brother, Sam,” I say, like I’m doing introductions at some gala. Nelson just blinks at me. “We’re going now,” I tell him.

“Now? But it’s ...” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He looks down at his combat boots then back up at us. “I’ll come.”

When we tell him the situation, Nelson doesn’t believe us. “What kind of sick joke is this? Why’re you doing this to me?”

We explain everything, two, three times. At first he looks for a hidden camera, someone recording the whole thing on their phone. But then he just flares his nostrils and crosses his arms.

“It means a lot to me that you came, Nelson. Whether you believe this whole thing or not.”

“I don’t believe it.”

I nod, but suddenly feel like crying. “Yeah,” I say, my voice breaking. “I understand.”

We’re a motley crew at the hospital. Sam signs us in. The nurse hesitates, pointing out Nelson and Cassie’s costumes. But the place is decorated with jack-o-lanterns and ghosts on string, so they’re not adverse to the holiday. “Fine,” she says eyeing Nelson. “But only because she’s not able to see what you look like.” We follow her down the hall.

“Visitors!” she announces cheerily as she leads us into the room. She walks past the hospital bed to the windows and opens the curtains wide, revealing a world shimmering in sunlight. “It’s chilly, but sunny out there, Sylvie. Gorgeous blue sky.” She calls this out loudly, as if speaking to someone who’s half-deaf. After rounding the bed again and stopping in front of us, she leans in and whispers, “Don’t be afraid to talk to her. I believe she can hear everything.” She leaves the room, the door slowly gliding shut behind her.

I haven’t looked in the bed. Cassie and Sam are still as statues next to me and Nelson’s hanging back near the door, but all of them are staring at the mound under the blankets. I avert my eyes and drag shaking fingers over the snaps of my coat. I take it off and hang it over the back of the only chair in the room. I scan the machines, the curtains, the bedside table. On it there’s a huge homemade card, covered with children’s drawings. It’s from the after school program and it says, “We miss you!”

Then finally, slowly, I raise my eyes and look at her. At Sylvie. At me.

It’s only been a few days since I’ve seen that face, but it feels like an eternity. I take a deep breath and try to stop myself from trembling. I move as close to the body as the machines will let me, studying the face that is supposed to be mine.

There’s a tube stuck in the mouth connected to a machine that’s making a sound like a steaming iron. Other tubes and wires cover the body, like a bionic millipede. But I can still make out the girl beneath.

My breath is stuck halfway through my windpipe.
That’s me? That’s really me
? I blink and blink but the picture before me doesn’t change. Yeah, she’s pale. But her nose and chin aren’t nearly as pointed as I remember. And her eyelashes they’re ... so long, so thick. My eyes travel downward. She’s skinny, no doubt, and worse since being here. Her arms are covered in bright red patches, probably an allergic reaction to something or other used to clean her up. I swallow a baseball sized lump that has lodged in my throat and fight back nausea. Why did I always feel so ugly in that body? It’s not perfect, but it’s just fine.

“That’s really me?” I ask. Cassie and Sam both nod without taking their eyes off my body. Nelson squeezes his eyes shut.

All this time I’ve looked okay?
I feel dizzy and grab the machine next to the bed so as not to fall.

The machine beeps out a heart rate slow enough to make me realize that she ... I ... am skirting death. I put my fingers to my neck, Kevin’s neck, and feel the heart rate. It pounds out a quick but steady beat. So who is dying? Kevin or me or both of us?

Cassie squeezes my arm. “You okay?”

I nod, but I don’t know if I’m telling the truth.
That’s me. That’s me lying there
.

“What should we do?” This from Sam. I glance over at him. He looks like he’s going to be sick.

Nelson takes a step closer. His eyes are glistening.

I turn back to the bed and suddenly feel lightheaded with fear. “How many of these machines do you suppose are keeping me ... her ... alive?”

No one answers. We all know it’s just a matter of time until my body gives out without its soul or gives in to the pneumonia. But how long? Two days? Two months? How long do I have before I won’t have my body to go back to?

I reach out to touch my ... her ... cheek, but I can’t do it. My hand starts trembling again and I snatch it back at the last second.

We all stand there staring for a long time. Then I shuffle backwards to the chair. “I’m gonna try getting out of Kevin now. Just give me some time,” I say. The three of them leave the room. I try to relax. Try to project. I imagine myself back in my body and will my soul to do the same. I can feel a struggle going on inside me, like a thick rubber band ready to snap.

Yet I’m still Kevin.

Half an hour goes by, and Cassie, Sam and Nelson open the door to the room. “We’d better go,” says Sam. “Mom and Dad won’t be gone forever.”

I put on my coat and start to leave, but stop at the door.
I’m coming back
. I think it as loud and forcefully as I can, hoping Kevin can hear it. “I refuse to keep being you!” I say aloud. I look all around me to the walls and ceiling. There’s no sign of Kevin. Cassie, Sam, and Nelson exchange glances and usher me out of the room.

On the walk to the parking lot, my steps are heavy but sure. I look at Sam, Cassie, and Nelson, think about those kids in the after-school program.  I think about Mom and Dad and know I was always loved. Know that I was better than normal. Know I was wrong. About everything.

Determination takes over. For once in my life, I’m absolutely positive about something. It may have taken turning into someone else, but I’ve finally realized who I want to be.

Me.

Thirty-Five

Freaky Feelings

None of us say a word in the car on the way back to school. Sam eats his hands, Cassie swipes at her eyes a lot, and Nelson ... Nelson stares at me. Like by doing so he can see which soul is housed in this body. I glance at him in the rearview mirror. He’s got a strong jaw and full, but masculine lips. Underneath that horrific makeup he
is
hot. Latisha was so right. I have an urge to tell him I’m sorry and kiss him. Hard.

“I’m not going back to class today,” I say as I pull up to St. Anthony’s. “I’m sick of pretending to be Kevin. I need a day off.”

Cassie hugs me and Sam says, “Call me later. I’ll tell you what happened with Mom and Dad.”

Nelson unfolds himself from the back seat of the car. He looks me in the eye. “That was really painful,” he says. Then he walks into school without looking back.

I get back in the Camaro and put the car in gear. I need to get out of Kevin. But I’m so tired of trying to project, trying to get out with no results. I sigh.
What do you want, Sylvie?
What I really, really want is to be me for just a little while. What I really want is to paint. So I take off to the store and buy several tubes of acrylics and a thinning medium along with a palette, brushes, a canvas, and an easel. With a twang of satisfaction at the huge total, I use Mr. Phillips’s credit card from Kevin’s wallet to pay for it all.

No one is at the Phillips’ when I get back. It’s still too early. I go up to Kevin’s room and push back his curtains. I find the vacuum and suck all the dirt off the floor. Dust motes float in the sunlight. I open the window for a bit of fresh air and when I do, I notice the room no longer smells like him.

I set up the easel and am just putting the canvas onto it when the house phone rings. I let it ring until the machine picks up, the automatic message reverberating off the walls in the hallway. I go to the doorway to listen, to make sure it’s not the secretary from St. Anthony’s calling to rat me out. But it’s not.

“Hi Kevin, it’s your mother here.”

Instinct takes over. Like my body — his body – has a mind of its own. I run down the stairs at an impossible pace to pick up the phone.

She continues talking on the machine. “I hope you’re doing well—”

I whip the receiver off the base. “Hi. It’s me.”

“Oh! Kevin,” Her voice is surprised, embarrassed, and way too high-pitched for someone over the age of six. “I wasn’t expecting you at home right now ...”

“Then why call now? Why not later?  Why not try my cell?”

“Well, I , I ... I’ll be busy later. Now was the only time I had to call. And I didn’t want to disturb you.”

I listen to her breathing. Little puffs in and out. Then I say, “Okay. So I’m listening.”

She makes a noise in the back of her throat. “I’m calling because I’m going to have to cancel our plans this weekend. Things are busy here at work.” She sighs, but continues quickly, as if she’s worried about not getting a chance to explain. “I know I’ve missed the last two months. I know. But some things can’t be helped, Kevin.”

My gut tightens and the anger comes like a torrent, despite the fact that she isn’t my mom. “Yeah,” I say, not holding back. “Like we can’t help who our parents are.” Then I hang up the phone. My whole body’s pumped and my breath is coming fast. Why do I care what Kevin’s mom says? Why am I so ticked?

I take the plush stairs back up to Kevin’s room and stand in front of the easel. The place where my ribs meet in the middle feels hollow yet tingly.
Kevin’s a jerk
, I tell myself.
Don’t feel sorry for him
. But I do. I imagine Kevin’s face from my dream. Not the angry face. The sad one, the one I saw right before waking up. Then I think of my own body at the hospital and how I would now give anything to get back into it. The hollow feeling between my ribs gets deeper.

I pick up a brush.

Hours later, Kevin’s step-mom pushes open the bedroom door. She has David in that baby carrier and some sort of reprimand on her lips. But all of a sudden she stops when she sees the clean room, sees the easel. “What’s going on? What’s ... what’s that?”

“I’m painting,” I say, putting the brush down and pushing nonexistent hair from my face out of habit. I pull the desk chair over and plop down into it. “What do you think?”

She steps further into the room and stands behind me, her breath even and slow. “My goodness, Kevin. I didn’t know you could paint. I thought you were failing Art. But this ... it’s amazing. Kind of tortured, but amazing.” Her voice goes a bit flat and she says, “Here I would have thought you’d paint a baseball.” She stares into the painting and I study it, too. It’s not finished, but recognizable. It’s me — the Sylvie me — and Kevin. Flanked by violets and blues and golds. It’s us, tangled in a silver cord.

Kevin’s step-mom tilts her head toward the painting. “She’s pretty, isn’t she? Different looking, but pretty.”

My chest aches. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“But this glowing rope ...?” She leans over me.

“It’s the silver cord,” I say quietly.

Right away Kevin’s step-mom stiffens. She feels blindly behind her until she touches the bed, and then she sits down. “I see it now ... the picture. It’s that same
feeling
. You really have left your body.”

We look at each other and it’s like the animosity between us – between her and Kevin – evaporates. Her eyes go soft and so does her voice. “Your conversation with your mom, it was on the answering machine. I didn’t mean to listen to it, but ... I heard.” She glances out the window, petting David’s fuzzy head, then back to me. “I’m sorry,” she says.

Tears prick the back of my eyes. “Me, too. For how I’ve been with you.”

She puts her hands over her face and pulls in a long, shaky breath. She lets it out again and wipes her eyes. Then a wide smile takes over her face, showing off a smudge of red lipstick on her front teeth. “So, did you want to talk?” She gestures toward the painting. “About all that?”

I could hug her for being so open, so easy to forgive. “Do you think you can answer some pretty wild questions?”

“I’ve been studying this like my life depended on it, Kevin. And after that weekend retreat ... well, I’m no expert, but I can try to help.”

I nod like I know what she’s talking about. “Can ... do you think it’s possible that someone can be punished for using astral projection the wrong way? That maybe I can’t project anymore because I was selfish?”

She purses her lips and moves them back and forth. “Like a moral police force? Of course there are higher beings and all that, but they’re pretty busy with other things.” David makes a sighing sound in his sleep. She smiles down at him, then looks at me. “But some people have a purpose. Maybe you’ve served yours, or learned what you needed to learn. Maybe there’s no reason for you to project anymore.”

“I definitely have a reason to project.”