Life and Other Complications Page 10

  It had all the characteristics of a kiss: lips pressed up against lips, mouths open, our eyes were even closed. Mine because I didn’t want to watch, Troy’s because he probably didn’t want to look at the infectious girl he was kissing.

  But Luke was right. Troy hadn’t given me a choice. And Luke knew that.

  “Is that why you always pause before you kiss me? To give me time to choose?”

  He nodded. “Or run screaming from the room.”

  “I’m not going to run screaming from the room.”

  Luke looked right into my eyes. “And nothing is ever going to happen between us that you don’t want.”

  He said that as if he was reminding me of a fact I should already know—that it was a universal truth that I should get to decide what my body gets involved in.

  When I was little, I used to think of my body as mine, the same way I thought of my name as mine. But every time Rick used it or hurt it, my body felt less and less like it belonged to me. I had no power to control what happened to it. So it couldn’t be mine in any way that really mattered. My body was just a place where I lived, a place where terrible things happened.

  And over time I came to hate it. It was my body Rick wanted. My body that had to be punished. And my body that won’t stop remembering.

  Before Mr. Raleigh showed up at the Millers’ door, I was doing a pretty good job of chasing every Rick-related thought out of my head. But my body still remembered. And out of nowhere I would suddenly feel it happening again.

  I’m supposed to love my body. That’s what the books all say. But I don’t. And Luke wouldn’t either if he knew what it had done.

  Monday, June 13

  “Remember that next week’s deposition will be Thursday, not Monday,” Mr. Raleigh said as we sat down today.

  “Why?” I asked him.

  “Thursday worked better for the defense team’s schedule.”

  I was trying not to think about testifying in front of Rick’s lawyers. But today, Mr. Raleigh’s questions weren’t much better.

  He opened his notes before he looked at me across the table. “Did you ever tell anyone about the abuse?”

  “I tried to tell my mother once.”

  “When was that?”

  “The morning after Rick’s birthday.”

  Mr. Raleigh nodded. “Tell me about it.”

  When I woke up that morning, everything hurt. And I couldn’t stop remembering what had happened.

  After it was finally over, Rick had just held me while I cried. His voice was gentle when he said. “It won’t hurt so much next time.”

  Panic turned my voice into a whisper. “Next time?”

  Rick nodded. “God, I wish you had been a good girl and kept your clothes on.” He was breathing hard. “Because now that I’ve had a taste, I can’t stop.” His voice was low and rough.

  I was so scared of that happening again, that I was willing to try almost anything, even telling Mama.

  So that morning, I made myself get out of bed and go downstairs. I found her in the kitchen scrambling eggs. I went over and wrapped my arms around her legs, holding on as tight as I could.

  Mama patted my head. “Morning, baby.” But when minutes went by and I still hadn’t let go, she pulled me off her. “What’s wrong?”

  I couldn’t tell her that I had taken off my clothes and laid down on the bed for Rick. I was too ashamed. I was praying that Mama didn’t have to know about that part. That she would protect me. But first I had to find a way to explain what Rick had done. I did my best, and then I waited.

  I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until Mama’s face turned angry. Then I could breathe. Because if she was mad about what Rick had done, I knew she wouldn’t let him do it again. I was sure that everything was going to be all right—until she grabbed my arm so hard it hurt.

  “What is the matter with you?” Mama hissed, her face twisted with disgust. “Are you trying to ruin everything?”

  “No.”

  “Then stop lying.”

  “I’m not lying. He took off his pants—”

  “Stop it!” Mama snapped. “That never happened.”

  I was crying. “It did, last night in my bed.”

  Mama dragged me out of the kitchen and down the hall. In the bathroom, she trapped me against the sink. With one hand she pried my lips apart. With the other, she filled my open mouth with the liquid soap we used to wash our hands. I sputtered and gagged, but Mama clasped a hand over my mouth to keep it all inside.

  “Rick is the best thing that ever happened to us,” Mama said in a tight voice. “And I won’t let you ruin it by telling lies.”

  In the mirror, I saw her livid face and my pale one. And then a tall shape was filling up the doorway. I gasped, and soap filled my nose.

  “What’s going on?” Rick said.

  Mama straightened up and let go of my mouth. It took her a few seconds to clear her face. “I caught Alyson telling a lie.”

  Rick raised an eyebrow. “That’s very serious.”

  “I know.” Mama looked back at me with a tight expression. “I washed her mouth out with soap.”

  “It takes more than soap to keep a child from turning into a liar,” Rick said.

  Mama looked at him as if he was the fount of all wisdom. “What do you think I should do?”

  He looked thoughtful for a few seconds before he said, “I could punish her for you.”

  My chest was caving in. I couldn’t breathe.

  “You would do that?” Mama said.

  “It’s a father’s responsibility to discipline his child.”

  Mama’s face was overwhelmed with love. “You want to be Alyson’s father?”

  “I do,” he said. “If you want me.”

  “Of course,” Mama said. “Of course, we want you.”

  She reached up to kiss him.

  “Why don’t you go work on breakfast,” Rick said. “I’ll take care of this.”

  Mama nodded. She was going to leave me.

  “Please, Mama.” I was begging her. “He’s going to hurt me.”

  “Because you deserve it,” Mama snapped. And then she walked out of the room.

  Rick shut the bathroom door and locked it. Mama’s footsteps disappeared down the hall.

  She left me.

  Sitting in Mr. Raleigh’s conference room, I could smell burned eggs, and taste soap, and hear her walking away.

  “Have you ever told anyone else?” Mr. Raleigh said.

  I shook my head. “Not on purpose. The police found out because of an accident. They made me tell you. But I’ve never told my friends. Not even my boyfriend.”

  I couldn’t. I would remember Mama leaving me. And I just couldn’t say the words.

  My first day of Kids’ Group, when I had to tell them my diagnosis, most of the kids didn’t know what HIV was. But a boy named Marcus did.

  “That’s the sex disease,” he said.

  I saw the looks on the kids’ faces, and I knew I couldn’t tell them I got HIV from having sex with a grown man. I panicked and words came rushing out of my mouth. “That’s not how I got it. I got it from my birth mother, and then she died and I went into foster care.”

  It was what Mrs. Miller had told the school. It was her lie first, but I repeated it. I made it my lie.

  The kids looked at me like I had the world’s worst luck. And maybe I did. Because I had just lied to Luke and Caroline, who would become my best friends. And as each of our friends joined Group, Luke and Caroline passed on the story. Now they all believe it. And they have for years.

  There have been so many moments when I’ve wanted to tell them the truth. But I could never seem to find the right words. And the more time that went by, the harder it got.

  Now I’ve been lying to them for almost a decade. And how can a relationship possibly survive that?

  Dear Olivia,

  For most of my life I’ve been dealing with the same nightmares, the same secrets, the same shame.<
br />
  And I’m so tired, Olivia.

  I wish I could trade my problems in for something else. Something we’re actually allowed to talk about.

  You can talk about HIV. But when you do, everyone is secretly wondering how you got it. If it was your fault.

  Abuse is harder.

  The door wasn’t completely shut the day my social worker presented my case to the Millers. The Millers had all kinds of questions about HIV and if I would be safe to have in the house. But when my social worker started to tell them how I contracted it, the Millers didn’t want to hear that part.

  It isn’t just the Millers. Society as a whole has unspoken rules.

  The topic of sexual abuse is uncomfortable and should be avoided wherever possible.

  If you have to mention it, speak in generalities.

  Specifics are too disturbing. You will need to keep those to yourself.

  They don’t think about what it does to us, to keep it all inside, to be trapped in our own heads with the same details they can’t bear to think about.

  So, I think I would rather have cystic fibrosis.

  Either way, I’m slowly suffocating.

  At least with cystic fibrosis it wouldn’t be a secret.

  -Aly

  Tuesday, June 14

  Tonight was graduation.

  We survived the “Pomp and Circumstance”, the welcome, and the valedictorian’s speech. But when the principal announced there had been a tie for salutatorian, so both graduates would be giving speeches, Caroline slumped over onto my shoulder and groaned.

  We have a long-standing belief that valedictorian and salutatorian speeches should be banned. In part because having the highest GPA in your graduating class doesn’t mean you’re a decent public speaker. And mostly because they all say the same things. We call it The Formula.

  You start with “My fellow graduates.” Then you move into the Mad Libs section. “During our four years at Regional High School, [teacher name] taught us [something about their subject], and [teacher name] taught us [something about their subject], but what we really learned was: [choose one of the following: perseverance, how to work together, or the importance of community].”

  Paragraph two is an attempt at a joke or funny story.

  If anyone has died, they’re mentioned here.

  The “we can change the world” section is optional.

  But the speech has to close with an inspiring quote, or in the case of Liam Winfield, five inspirational quotes. His mother had given him a book of quotes, and he couldn’t narrow it down to just one.

  When we got through Salutatorian #2, it was time for the diplomas. We tracked Luke’s progress as he left his row of chairs and joined the line. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones who were paying attention. Because when Luke stepped up onto the stage, the entire crowd got to its feet. The cheers were deafening.

  Luke’s parents had their arms around each other, and tears running down their cheeks. They hadn’t thought they would ever see this day.

  Honestly, I hadn’t either.

  Two years ago, the situation with Luke’s head had gotten bad. It was the month he almost ran up the mountain. Instead, he convinced his parents to let him get a shunt placed. If it works, a shunt relieves some of the pressure in the patient’s head. In a case like Luke’s, it can buy him time. But the procedure is risky. It can lead to permanent brain damage or death.

  Caroline and I were waiting outside of the Pediatric ICU when they brought Luke out of the OR. I saw all the tubes and wires, and I was petrified. It was a feeling that didn’t get any better a few hours later when his parents came out, and Mrs. Harrison was crying.

  “He’s dead,” I whispered.

  Caroline was gripping my hand so tightly she had cut off my circulation.

  “No,” Reverend Harrison said. “But he may be a little more childlike than he was before. We won’t know how extensive the damage is for a few days.”

  The Harrisons had made arrangements for us to visit. So Caroline and I washed our hands and walked toward Luke’s bed, bracing ourselves for what we were going to find. Luke’s head was still wrapped up like a Q-tip and his skin was pale. Too many wires connected him to the machines beside his bed. But he saw us, and he smiled.

  “Hi.” His voice was croaky.

  Caroline looked at the TV. “Curious George?”

  She didn’t look at me, and I was grateful. I was having a hard enough time keeping it together.

  “Yeah,” Luke said. “The remote is stuck. I couldn’t change the channel.”

  Caroline stared at Luke for a second before she said, “What’s seven times eight?”

  “Fifty-six,” he said and then gave me a look that asked what was going on.

  But Caroline and I were so relieved we had started laughing uncontrollably. It took us minutes to regain the power of speech.

  “Your parents think you have brain damage because you were watching Curious George,” I told him.

  We still laugh about it. But the shunt did its job. It bought him time—enough time to walk across that stage and receive his diploma.

  When the ceremony was over, Luke didn’t stop to talk to any of the people who tried to catch his attention. He worked his way through the crowd to us. Luke threw one arm around me and the other around Caroline and pulled us in close. It was the happiest hug I can remember, even before Luke kissed me.

  I saw the flashes and looked over. Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Reese, and Natalie were all taking pictures of the three of us with our arms around each other. Mrs. Harrison showed me some of the pictures later. In my favorite, Caroline is laughing, my whole face is lit up with a smile, and Luke is kissing my cheek.

  I’m working not to think about what’s coming. Instead, I’m holding onto that image. Because this is how I want to remember us, together and happy.

  Wednesday, June 15

  Yesterday, Luke graduated from high school.

  Today, Ben started up his mountain.

  The six of us met in the parking lot at the foot of Mount Washington all dressed alike: t-shirts and shorts, thick socks and hiking boots. My hiking clothes were all borrowed from Caroline. So my socks had pink and blue stripes, and my jacket had the Ballentine crest stitched into the fabric.

  “Everyone has pants and jackets?” Luke said.

  We all nodded.

  When you grow up in these mountains, there are certain things you know. You know that if you get lost in these woods, it’s your responsibility to find your way out again. And you know that Mount Washington’s weather is notorious. Some of the strongest winds in history were recorded here. And it isn’t unheard of to have blizzards hit the top in the middle of the summer. Smart people respect this mountain.

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” Natalie asked Ben.

  “Yes.”

  “They have a railroad that goes up to the top,” Caroline said.

  Ben’s face was patient, but his voice was firm. “I want to climb it.”

  So we all picked up our packs.

  Ben set our pace, which was painfully slow. But we had expected that. It’s why we didn’t take the Tuckerman Ravine Trail, that is always crowded with hikers. Instead, we picked the Boott Spur Trail. It’s a little longer, has fewer travelers and better vistas. We knew this was going to take a few days, so we figured we might as well enjoy the view.

  “Last night at graduation, I kept thinking, that’s going to be us next year,” Caroline said.

  Caroline is one of those irritating people who gets A+’s without trying. The only flaw on her otherwise perfect scholastic record is a zero on a chemistry lab, because she didn’t listen to all of the directions and ended up accidentally making hydrogen sulfide. The smell was so horrible people started getting sick, and they had to evacuate an entire wing of the school.

  “Your speech will be better than the ones last night,” I said.

  “If I have to give one, it will definitely be shorter,” Caroline said. “Max
imum three sentences.”

  “’I came. I saw. I conquered,’ isn’t very inspirational.”

  “How about, ‘Take chances. Eat dessert first. Always add sprinkles’?”

  “Better.”

  Natalie fell back to walk with us. “What are we doing?”

  “Helping Caroline write an abbreviated graduation speech.”

  “Oh, I love this.” Natalie was thoughtful before she spoke. “Love is worth the risk.”

  “We have a new graduation speech to beat,” Caroline said loudly enough that everyone else turned to look at her. “Nat is leading with five words. Who can do better?”

  “What are Nat’s five words?” Ben said.

  “Love is worth the risk.”

  Ben thought for a few seconds before he said, “Life is worth living.”

  “Oh,” Caroline and I said together.

  Caroline lifted up her arms to get everyone’s attention. “Draft 2. Love is worth the risk. Living is worth the cost. Ice cream is worth the calories.”

  I shook my head. “You had to get dessert in there.”

  “The speech is supposed to be personal,” Caroline said.

  And I smiled at her.

  When we stopped to let Ben and Natalie rest, or so he could do the vest treatments that shake loose the crud in his lungs, we tried to pick spots with a pretty view. And while we waited, I broke out my pencils. I sketched mountains and valleys, the peeling white bark of the birch trees, and the tender shoots of wildflowers.

  These woods have a peacefulness that seeps into you. It must have been getting to Kyle too. Because he waited with the rest of us. And when Ben was ready, Kyle helped to haul him up to his feet.

  After lunch, Ben’s color was good. But Natalie was too pale.

  “Why don’t we stay here for a while?” Luke said.

  “I’m sorry,” Natalie said. “I didn’t want to slow you down.”

  Caroline took the pack out of Natalie’s hand. “No, this is good. The longer we stretch out this trip, the less time I have to spend condemned to the laundry room.”

  Caroline’s mom wants her to work every job the Ballentine offers. Last summer, she was a dishwasher. This summer, it’s the laundry. By next year, she should have worked her way up to housekeeping.