The Lonely Ones (5 page)

My parents' tension

has turned to shouts

that echo through the night.

I stand on our lawn

throwing rocks at the stars,

hoping my aim is good

so that I can make a wish.

A wish that things

would change.

But if there's one thing I've learned

in this terrifying world

where everything is big

and I am so small

it's that stars don't fall on their own.

We must knock them

d

o

w

n.

It seems

my wish has come true . . .

in part.

Something
has
changed.

But I should have been more careful

with the hopes I pinned

on that falling star,

because that something

is not anything I like.

In math class today,

Matthew laughs

at one of Mary Mosley's jokes.

She is not funny,

she is not a queen

with a gleaming crown

or a glittering scepter.

But still Matthew laughs.

I am so distracted

by the happy crinkles around his eyes

that I forget the story

I was excited to write

only a few seconds ago.

Then our teacher

passes out a test

and I realize—

I've been so distracted by

fighting parents

writing stories

helping Matthew

making wishes

—I forgot to study.

I sit still

worried

helpless

as stone,

grip the edge of the desk so hard,

my knuckles turn white.

The test lands in front of me,

but my eyes stay on

Matthew and Mary.

We are victims

of our own desires.

Test over,

my answers only guesses,

I hurry out of class.

In the hallway

I see a shock of red hair

like the scarf in the middle of the road

and stop.

She stands next to the lockers

surrounded by friends,

but somehow

my neighbor still looks alone.

Our eyes meet

and she lifts her hand

in a tentative wave.

None of the others

seem to notice.

I hesitate,

a pause longer

than days or months or years.

Wonder what would happen

if I waved back, said hello.

Will she one day

move away

find someone

or something

better?

I think about

falling stars and wishes

while my neighbor waits

with hopeful eyes.

Then I take a breath

close my eyes

make a choice

take a risk

and wave back.

After school,

the silence of the quarry

is shattered

by the rumblings of a plane.

I look up from my pages,

track the movement

with my eyes.

It leaves

a white stain

across the sky;

I wonder who is sitting

in those seats.

I think about those people

where they're going

what they want.

For a few moments,

I picture myself

within that metal bird

flying away

soaring high.

But then

I come back down.

I always come back

d

o

w

n.

Later,

a scratching sound

interrupts my dreams.

I open my eyes

and smile into the red ones

of my favorite monster.

“Where are we going?” I ask him.

The rest crowd behind

with mischievous smirks

glowing eyes

twitching talons and wings and claws.

My sister snores,

unaware of them poking and licking

her sleeping skin.

I ask them

if we are going

into the woods again.

“Better!”

“Up!”

“Climb, climb, climb!”

Bed abandoned

blankets tossed aside

warmth forgotten

I follow them

out the window

through the trees

toward the mountain

that once was the hill

in my backyard.

Wind nibbles and whispers;

I crane my neck,

try to see the top of the rock

even as the night sky

keeps it hidden.

I hesitate;

snow swirls all around.

My friends are already climbing,

calling down to me.

I summon courage,

begin the ascent,

haul and strain

up the side of the mountain.

They shout encouragement on either side,

howl like a pack of wolves.

The higher I get,

the sharper

the cold's teeth.

Finally,

gasping and burning,

I stand tall on the peak.

My head brushes

against the moon.

The monsters shriek and dance,

their voices echo in delight.

I don't move

for a few moments,

enjoy the stillness,

listen to the stars

murmur my name.

Then I spread my arms,

close my eyes,

and fly.

Once

I asked them why.

Out of all the children

in all the world,

why they chose to

tap

scrape

claw

on
my
window.

“Because you're lonely,” they answered.

“We look for the lonely ones.”

Sunlight shines down

on my blank pages.

In the brief space of time

before Matthew arrives,

I wait beneath my tree.

My neighbor walks past.

Today she stops

clears her throat

looks at me.

“Hi,” she says. “I'm Anna.”

Before I can give her

a piece of myself

in return,

someone calls her name

and she hurries away.

It's as if she is a puppet

and someone has jerked her strings.

Anna sits with Mary Mosley,

wears a smile so big

it looks painful.

My mouth has forgotten how

to do such a thing

until Matthew appears

and it remembers.

My father sits at the kitchen table,

head in his hands,

jobless

sleepless

hopeless.

He doesn't have to tell us

that he didn't get the job.

With bleary eyes

he goes to the fridge,

pulls out a beer.

Mom comes in;

the fighting starts.

I go upstairs

sit by my bedroom window

and wait for the sky to darken.

Tonight my friends tell me

we are going to the moon.

“How do we get there?” I ask.

“Jump!”

“As high as you can.”

“Leap into the air!”

We link hands

like cutout paper figures

bend our knees

count to three.

I keep my eyes open

the entire time

to watch the world

shoot past—

or am I

shooting past the world?

We land,

feet bouncing off the ground

stars glittering

everything glowing.

The Earth seems so far away

so gently blue

that I struggle to remember

why living there is so hard.

Then,

for hours or days,

we float through the weightless air.

I only remember

who I am and where we are

when my favorite monster

tugs at my nightgown.

“You dropped this,” he hisses,

holding one sock in his claws.

I smile

and close his fist

around it.

“Who needs socks,” I say,

“when your feet don't touch the ground?”

In the morning,

I hit the ground

with a jarring
thud
.

The F at the top of my test

is so red,

it looks like the paper is bleeding.

I know

that thoughts of Matthew

sleepless nights

are to blame.

Our teacher keeps talking

and everyone else keeps listening;

some of them

hold shiny grades.

I slump,

prop my chin on my hand,

turn my head.

Through the window

I see flowers begin to shrivel

and the world turn to brown.

There are so few things

that make sense

and countless things

that don't.

I sit beneath my tree,

stare so hard at that F,

the paper should have holes.

The apple in my hand feels rotten

goes uneaten.

“Tell your parents,” the teacher said.

“We need a signature.”

The fear in my eyes

must have been obvious,

like a bleeding wound

or a broken heart.

She might think this will

disappoint my parents,

but the truth is

I'm worried it won't.

Suddenly

movement above me,

a familiar scent

of shampoo

of kindness

of possibility

taunts my senses.

“Hi,” Matthew says.

“Hi,” I say in return.

I resist the urge

to pat my hair,

fix my shirt,

and hope I look pretty

in this slant

of sunlight.

The red-marked test

catches the wind

and Matthew's eye.

“Math? I can help you with that.”

For a few seconds

my heart stops beating;

I don't tell Matthew

I'm good at math,

that failing tests

isn't something

I normally do.

Instead,

another person with my voice

whispers, “Okay.”

He grins

takes a bite

of my apple.

I can feel Mary Mosley's glare.

The most beautiful girl

jealous

that the most beautiful boy

is sitting with me.

Matthew hands back the apple,

and when he's not looking,

I bite out of the same spot he did.

For the first time,

I understand

the purpose of a kiss.

I arrive at Matthew's

with a heart full of hope.

It feels

strange and wonderful

to go somewhere new—

not the sky

up a mountain

through the desert

but here on Earth.

I won't be missed at home.

The place where he lives

is as perfect as he is with

paved streets

prim trees

elegant mailboxes.

A green door

beckons.

I raise a trembling fist,

knock three times,

feel vibrations

in every bone.

Before I can prepare

or even take a breath

Matthew is there,

smiling at me with those sky-blue eyes.

“Come in,” he says.

I step over the threshold,

inhale his intoxicating smell

as it rolls off his skin.

We walk through the empty house;

he leads me to his room.

I wonder for the thousandth time

if he can hear my pulse,

wild and erratic.

A goldfish

swims round and round

on Matthew's desk.

“That's Good Listener,” he tells me

with a sheepish grin.

“What do you tell him?” I ask,

settling down beside Matthew,

so tense that my spine

has become a plank of wood.

The boy from New Orleans

frowns

wrinkles his brow

then says, “I tell him the things no one else wants to hear.”

All I can think

as Matthew opens a textbook

teaches me about numbers

is that I am jealous

of a goldfish.

No more delaying,

no more avoiding.

I walk home from Matthew's house,

find my father

in the kitchen.

Without an excuse or explanation,

I lay the bleeding test

on the table in front of him.

He barely glances my way,

just mutters, “Do better next time.”

My response

is so faint,

it's barely a breath

of air.

“I will.”

We sit in silence,

the air as cold in here

as it is

out there.

The tree

beyond the kitchen window

rustles in the wind.

Leaves curl and wither

till the branches are almost bare.

Trees

always know when to let go

and when to start again.

If only people

were so smart.

There are days

I imagine

everything opposite.

People walk on ceilings

pour upward

cry inward.

My mother asks to read my stories,

my father tells me that he's proud.

There is nothing outside my window

but leaves and stars and air.

I have

never felt lonely.

That night

I open my window

to a world of

lapping waves

and endless depths.

My friends

drift by on a boat,

waving urgently,

calling for me

to jump.

I land on deck

with a squeal.

The moon and stars

loom close enough

to touch.

All around me

everything familiar

has vanished.

No roads

or houses

or trees.

We run

to the bow

grab hold of ropes

lean over so far

we could easily fall.

“Look down, look down!” the monsters shriek.

I gaze

into the darkness below,

see the hulking shape

of something that lives

in the water.

The shape moans—

a whale!

—its mournful greeting

touches my soul.

Suddenly

the sky flashes.

I jerk back,

my friends

begin to clamber

for the ropes.

“A storm!”

“A storm is coming!”

“Hurry, hurry!”

We work together,

turn the boat around,

leave the whale behind.

Once we reach the house,

I climb violently inside.

Dana snores away

in the corner.

The monsters shout their good-byes,

sail away

between one lightning bolt

and the next.

I slam the window down;

rain pounds against the glass.