Page 3 of This I Know
I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, in case you can’t tell.And I once bothered to talk to someone about it – my aunt – in an attempt to play Glass Half Full Girl to a tee. You know, get everything out in the open. Feel it out, digest it together. Re-ingest it, all fixed. Voila. So I opened myself up to her on a vulnerable day, on a day I felt weakest in my heart. Her response?
“Let’s drop it, Avery. It doesn’t matter anymore, does it? It’s over. It happened. So just let it go.”
Then she hopped a plane back to Missouri.
Let it go.As if it’s the easiest thing in the world, as easy as releasing the tight grasp of your fist and allowing what you’re holding to be swept into the air. And after letting it go, you’re left with empty hand, empty heart, shit-eating grin plastered across your face.
I can’t let it go.
I reach over to the sterile nightstand beside my hospital bed, slide open the drawer, and grab my journal. I turn to a blank page and write a number in the upper right hand corner:24.
It’s the twenty-fourth day I’ve been in the hospital, and it somehow feels like forever and no time at all. Every day that I’ve felt well enough, I’ve recorded my thoughts inside this journal in the hopes of remembering some of the Blank Time. It might not be the healthiest thing, since it’s kind of verging on an obsession by this point. But it’s something I have to do right now. I pick the pen back up and reposition the journal with my one good hand. Today, I’m going to write about the boy.
There’s a boy I keep imagining while I’m asleep. He’s half my hero, half reality. Or maybe he’s all dream, and zero reality … I don’t know. It’s the weirdest thing. I’ll shift my weight in the middle of one of my many naps, and I’ll feel the presence of someone watching me. I’ll open my eyes and I’ll see him there. Not every time, for sometimes I peek without the sensation, and out of the simple wish that I’d catch a glimpse of him once more, but it happens often enough. I see him in a blinking, frosted haze. The second I see him, my body drifts back off into a frustrating, drug-induced sleep.
I wonder if he’ll appear tonight.
The very first time it happened, I was sure it was Cole. This boy had darker hair than Cole, and where Cole is bulky, short and muscular, this boy was tall and well-proportioned. He had a fit body, a sportsman’s body, opposite of Cole’s bulky wrestler frame. No, it wasn’t Cole. And that hurts. Because how could Cole not visit me?
Still no sign of Cole. My mom did me a big favor. She called everyone that was listed in my phone book and told them what happened, and that I wouldn’t have my phone for a while. The police confiscated it to search for evidence. She said everyone replied with well wishes, and since then, some of those people have visited me in the hospital with flowers and desserts and cheesy cards that blare music when you least expect it. But not him.
I’m still writing when my mother taps on the door with her knuckles. I close my journal and push it under my pillow just as she steps in.
She moves carefully, as though she’s afraid making sudden movements is bad for my health. “Hi, dear,” she says. She hands me an oversized muffin. My mom is a small woman,
I push myself up against my pillow. “Thanks.” I take the muffin – banana nut. My favorite. I take a huge bite.
My mom sits on the edge of my bed, waiting for me to finish chewing. I know what she’s doing. She’s hesitating before finally speaking, almost as if she has something rough to talk to me about. We’ve had lots of these conversations since the attack.
“Look,” she says before I have a chance to object. “I don’t want this to make you upset, so if you’d rather this happened at another time…”
I take another bite. I was hungrier than I thought. “Mm-hmm,” I dismiss.
“It’s just that … well, you know the police are going to need to keep talking to you.”
I sigh. “They’re here again, aren’t they?”
She nods. Silently, the way she knows I hate.
“Mom, I already told them everything.”
“I know you have, Avery. But they need to make sure. They need to make sure you didn’t leave anything out, that’s all. You know: turning over all the stones? They’ve caught the guy, and now they need as much information as you can give them for their case. You know all this.” She grows impatient with me, grabbing for an empty Styrofoam cup.
“Yes,” I say, “I do. And I didn’t leave anything out.” I stare at a spot on the blanket, all my interest in food now gone. “I thought that was the lawyer’s job, anyway.”
She glares at me. “Please?”
Ethan
It’s midnight, and I’m asleep when my phone rings. The light wakes me before the ring – it’s set to the brightest setting, and the glow reverberates off the four close walls of my bedroom.
I groan as I reach and my eyes squint at the brightness.
It’s my cousin, Ashley, who should have no reason to call at a time like this. I flip off my covers and swing my legs over the edge of my bed.
“Hello?” My tired voice cracks.
“Hello? Ethan?”
