But Alex is emphatic, so I let him open the door and I pass inside in front of him.
As soon as we walk into the room I gasp and stop so suddenly he bumps into me. The room is incredible; its transformed.
Well? Theres a note of anxiety in Alexs voice. What do you think?
I cant answer him immediately. Alex has shoved the old bed out of the way, into one of the corners, and swept the floor perfectly clean. The windowsor what windows remainare flung open, so the air smells like gardenias and night- blooming jasmine, their scents drifting in on the wind from outside. He has arranged our blanket and books in the center of the room and unraveled a sleeping bag there too, surrounding the whole area with dozens and dozens of candles stuck in funny makeshift canisters, like old cups and mugs or discarded Coca-Cola cans, just like they were at his house in the Wilds.
But the best part is the ceiling: or rather, the lack of ceiling. He must have broken through the rotted wood to the roof, and now an enormous patch of sky is once again stretched above our heads. There are fewer stars visible in Portland than on the other side of the border, but its still beautiful. Even better, the bats disturbed from their roosthave gone. Far above us, outside, I see several dark shapes looping back and forth across the moon, but as long as they stay in the open air, they dont bother me.
All of a sudden it hits me: He did this for me. Even after what happened today, he came and did this for me.
Gratitude overwhelms me, and another feeling too, bringing with it a twinge of pain. I dont deserve it. I dont deserve him. I turn back to him and cant even speak; his face is lit up with flame and he seems to be glowing, transforming into fire. He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Alex I start to say, but cant finish. Suddenly Im almost frightened of him, terrified of his absolute and utter perfection.
He leans forward and kisses me. And when hes pressed so close to me, with the softness of his T-shirt brushing my face and the smell of suntan lotion and grass coming off his skin, he feels less frightening.
Its too dangerous to go back to the Wilds. His voice is hoarse, as though hes been yelling for a very long time, and a muscle is working furiously in his jaw. So I brought the Wilds here. I thought you would like it.
I do. II love it. I press my hands against my chest, wishing I could somehow be even closer to him. I hate skin; I hate bones and bodies. I want to curl up inside of him and be carried there forever.
Lena. Different expressions are passing over his face so quickly I can barely catch them all, and his jaw keeps twitching back and forth. I know we dont have much time, like you said. We hardly have any time at all. . . .
No. I bury my face in his chest, wrap my arms around him and squeeze. Unimaginable, incomprehensible: a life lived without him. The idea breaks me the fact that hes almost crying breaks methe fact that he did this for me, the fact that he believes Im worth itkills me.
He is my world and my world is him and without him there is no world. I wont do it. I wont go through with it. I cant. I want to be with you. I need to be with you.
Alex grasps my face, bends down to look in my eyes. His face is blazing now, full of hope.
You dont have to go through with it, he says. His words come tumbling out. Hes obviously been thinking about this for a long time and only trying not to say it.
Lena, you dont have to do anything. We could run away together. To the Wilds. Just go and never come back. OnlyLena, we couldnt ever come back. You know that, right? Theyd kill us both, or lock us up forever. . . . But Lena, we could do it.
Kill us both. Of course, hes right. A lifetime of running:
thats what Ive just said I wanted. I take a quick step backward, feeling suddenly dizzy. Wait, I say. Just hold on a second.
He releases me. The hope dies in his face all at once, and for a moment we just stand there, looking at each other.
You werent serious, he says finally. You didnt mean it.
No, I did mean it, its just
Its just that youre scared, he says. He walks to the window and stares out at the night, refusing to look at me. His back is terrifying again: so solid and impenetrable, a wall.
Im not scared. Im just . . . I fight a murky feeling. I dont know what I am. I want Alex and I want my old life and I want peace and happiness and I know that I cant live without him, all at the same time.
Its okay. His voice is dull. You dont have to explain.
My mother, I burst out. Alex turns then, looking startled. Im as surprised as he is. I didnt even know I was going to say the words until I said them. I dont want to be like her. Dont you understand? I saw what it did to her, I saw how she was. . . . It killed her, Alex. She left me, left my sister, left it all. All for this thing, this thing inside of her. I wont be like her. Ive never really spoken about this, and Im surprised by how difficult it is. Now I have to turn away, feeling sick and ashamed that the tears have started again.
Because she wasnt cured? Alex asks softly.
For a moment I cant speak, and I just let myself cry, silently now, hoping he cant tell. When I have control of my voice, I say, Its not just that.
Then all of it comes rushing out, the details, things Ive never shared with anyone before: She was so different from everybody else. I knew thatthat she was different, that we were differentbut it wasnt scary at first. It just felt like our little, delicious secret. Mine, and hers, and Rachels, too, like we were in a cocoon. It was .
. . It was amazing. We kept all the curtains drawn so no one could see in. We used to play this game where she would hide in the hallway and we would try to run past her and she would leap out and grab usplaying goblin, she called it. It always ended in a tickle war. She was always laughing. We were all always laughing. Then every so often when we got too loud, she would clap her hands over our mouths and get all tense for a second, listening. I guess she was listening for the neighbors, to make sure none of them were alarmed. But no one ever came.
Sometimes she would make us blueberry pancakes for dinner, as a treat. She picked the blueberries herself.
And she was always singing. She had a beautiful voice, just gorgeous, like honey
My voice cracks, but I cant stop now. The words are pouring, tumbling out. She used to dance, too. I told you that. When I was little I would stand with my feet on top of hers. She would wrap her arms around me and we would move slowly around the room while she counted out the beat, tried to teach me about rhythm. I was terrible at it, clumsy, but she always told me I was beautiful. Tears make the floorboards blur beneath my feet.
It wasnt all good, not all the time. Sometimes I would get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and Id hear her crying. She always tried to muffle it by turning into her pillow, but I knew. It was terrifying when she cried. Id never seen a grown-up cry before, you know? And the way she did it, the wailing . . . like some kind of animal. And there were days she didnt get out of bed at all. She called those her black days.
Alex moves closer to me. Im shaking so badly I can hardly stand. My whole body feels like its trying to expel something, cough something up from deep in my chest. I used to pray that God would cure her of the black days. That he would keep herkeep her safe for me. I wanted us to stay together. Sometimes it seemed like the praying worked. It was good most of the time. It was more than good. I can barely bring myself to say these words. I have to force them out in a low whisper.
Dont you get it? She left all that. She gave it upfor, for that thing. Love. Amor deliria nervosawhatever you want to call it. She gave me up.
Im sorry, Lena, Alex whispers, behind me. This time he does reach out. He starts drawing long, slow circles on my back. I lean into him.
But Im not done yet. I swipe at the tears furiously, take a big breath. Everyone thinks she killed herself because she couldnt stand to have the procedure again.
They were still trying to cure her, you know. It would have been her fourth time. After her second procedure they refused to put her underthey thought the anesthesia was interfering with the way the cure was taking. They cut into her brain, Alex, and she was awake.
I feel his hand stiffen temporarily, and I know hes just as angry as I am. Then the circles start up again.
But I know thats not really why. I shake my head.
My mom was brave. She wasnt afraid of pain. That was the whole problem, really. She wasnt afraid. She didnt want to be cured; she didnt want to stop loving my dad.
I remember she told me that once, just before she died.
Theyre trying to take him from me, she said. She was smiling so sadly. Theyre trying to take him, but they cant. She used to wear one of his pins around her neck, on a chain. She kept it hidden most of the time, but that night she had it out and was staring at it. It was this strange, long, silver dagger-thing, with two bright jewels in the hilt, like eyes. My dad used to wear it on his sleeve. After he died she wore it every day, never took it off even to bathe. . . .
I suddenly realize that Alex has removed his hand and taken two steps away from me. I turn around and hes staring at me, white faced and shocked, as though hes just seen a ghost.
What? I wonder if its possible Ive offended him in some way. Something about the way hes staring makes fear start beating at my chest, a frantic flutter. Did I say something wrong?
He shakes his head, an almost imperceptible motion.
The rest of his body stays as straight and tense as a wire stretched between two posts. How big was it? The pin, I mean. His voice sounds strangely high-pitched.
The point isnt the pin, Alex, the point is
How big was it? Louder now, and forceful.
I dont know. Like the size of a thumb, maybe. Im completely baffled by Alexs behavior. He has the most pained look on his face, as though hes trying to swallow a whole porcupine. It was originally my grandfathers made just for him, a reward for performing a special service for the government. Unique. Thats what my dad always said, anyway.
Alex doesnt say anything for a minute. He turns away, and with the moon shining down on him, and his profile so hard and straight, he could be built out of stone. Im glad hes not staring at me anymore, though. He was starting to freak me out.
What are you doing tomorrow? he asks finally, slowly, as though every word is an effort.