Secret Lucidity

  Me: Hey, it’s Cam. I got back into the water tonight. I had to tell someone, and since I doubt anyone else would understand, I figured I’d tell you.

  I hit send and hold my breath, wondering if I should even be texting him. Suddenly, all that doubt I shoved away comes crashing down on me. I’m nearly blue in the face when my phone vibrates in my hands and I finally take in a breath.

  David: I’m glad it was me you told. Tell me how it felt.

  Me: Amazing. But also sad. It was a strange feeling, wanting to smile and cry at the same time.

  David: You say you wanted to, but did you? Did you smile and cry?

  Me: No.

  David: Why?

  I roll onto my side, the glow on the phone is the only light in my darkened bedroom, and I finally open myself up to seek comfort.

  Me: Because I’m scared to cry. I’m not strong enough to feel that type of pain.

  David: You’re stronger than what you think, you know?

  Me: We’ll see.

  David: What does that mean?

  Me: Tomorrow.

  David: First days are always stressful, no matter who you are. Are you worried?

  I pause before responding, wanting to lie and tell him no, but then I’d be misleading him the way I do with everyone else. I don’t want him to be like everyone else though, so I go against my instinct and give him more truths.

  Me: Yes.

  David: What is it that you’re afraid of?

  Me: Everything.

  I slink farther down into the bed and curl into a ball.

  David: Everything except fourth period.

  Me: What’s fourth period?

  David: You have me.

  My lips pull into a smile, reassured that I won’t be so alone tomorrow. That in the midst of friends that I feel so disconnected from, there is a connection to be had with him.

  David: Good night, Cam. I’m proud of you for facing one of your fears tonight.

  With my heart in tingles, I tuck my phone against my chest and fall deeply into dreams that are really memories of the past reminding me just how lucky I was to have my dad. But when I wake, I’m dumped back into melancholy and reminded just how sad I am not to have him around anymore.

  The weight that was suspended last night is bearing down on me again.

  With apprehension in the air, I roll out of bed, weary to face those I wish to avoid. After a long shower, I meet my reflection in the mirror. I know they’re all going to stare in disgust at the scar that reminds us all of the horror of that day. The evidence that it wasn’t just a nightmare, but that it really happened is etched across my face. It’s the gory truth no one can hide from—not even me.

  I do what I can to paint an image of attractiveness by curling my long chestnut hair in loose waves and carefully applying my makeup, but without success of covering my scar. It screams its presence no matter what I do. After throwing on a pair of white shorts and a flowy blue top, I slip on a pair of strappy sandals and grab my backpack.

  I walk down to my mother’s room and knock on her door, waiting for a response, and when none comes, I open it to find her room is empty.

  “Mom?” I call out as I make my way into the bathroom, which is empty as well.

  I turn back to her bedroom, worried that something’s happened to her. Aside from the mussed up sheets on the bed and a menagerie of bottles decorating the two nightstands, there’s no evidence that she came home last night.

  I drop my bag onto the bed, retrieve my cell phone, and call her. Panic mounts when it goes directly to voice mail. Since we are both on the same account, I open the Find My Phone app, but she’s nowhere to be found. I don’t know if she turned her cell off or the battery has died or something really bad has happened.

  With jittery hands, I make another call.

  “You ready for the first day of school?” Kroy says with excitement.

  “Something’s wrong,” I clip out in restlessness.

  His tone shifts in an instant. “What’s going on?”

  “My mom didn’t come home last night, and I can’t get ahold of her. I’m scared something happened.” The words tumble out of my mouth at a million miles per hour as I pace back and forth. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Home.”

  “Stay there. I’m heading over.”

  He hangs up, and because he lives in the same neighborhood, it only takes him a couple minutes to drive to my house. When I open the door, he pulls me into his arms and gives me the warmth I haven’t felt since we broke up two weeks ago.

  “S-she went out last night. Said she was having dinner with a-a friend.” I stammer my words when I pull back from his hold.

  “Do you know who she went with?”

  “No. She wasn’t telling me much for some reason, and I’m terrified something’s happened to her.”

  “I’m sure you’re just overreacting, Cam. Your mother is a pretty sensible woman.”

  “No,” I say as anxiety blurs lines with mortification. “Since my dad . . . She’s . . .”

  “What?”

  “She’s been drinking.”

  He dips his head down to my eye level. “Can you really blame her?” he says as if it’s nothing.

  “You don’t understand. She drinks a lot. Like, a lot. This . . . this is the first time she’s left the house all summer.”

  His eyes widen. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You know my mother’s reputation. I didn’t want to embarrass her . . . or me.”

  “Baby, don’t ever feel embarrassed with me.”

  “Everything is falling apart, Kroy.” The fractures in my façade are starting to deepen, and the tears that have remained absent since May threaten their arrival, but I push against them.

  “Look at me,” he says, and I do. “Whether we’re together or not, I love you. I will always be here for you no matter what, okay?”

  I nod.

  “I don’t like that I’m clueless to what’s going on in this house when I used to know everything,” he adds.

  “I’m sorry, I just . . .”

  “It’s okay to ask for help.”

  “I am asking,” I tell him. “That’s why I called you.”

  “If something happened—something bad—someone would’ve called you. You’re number is in her phone.”

  “But her phone isn’t turned on. What if the battery is dead and they have no way of calling me?”

  Smoothing his voice in an attempt to coax me, he says, “I’m sure everything is fine. Your mother loves you; I don’t see her being reckless, not after everything the two of you have lost.”

  But he’s wrong. He has no clue how bad of shape she is in.

  “Do you want me to have my mom make some calls?”

  “No,” I blurt out. “As if this isn’t humiliating enough. Please don’t tell your mom about this or about the drinking. Promise me, Kroy.”

  “Okay. Take a breath, Cam. I won’t say anything to anyone.”

  The longer we stand here, the more my worry starts to transition into frustration that I’m the one freaking out about my mother’s whereabouts. It should be the other way around. Here I am, concerned about her reputation and that of our family, while she’s falling apart worse than I am.

  “Tell me what you want to do.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Either you wait around for her to return or I can take you to school where you’ll hopefully be distracted. I’m sure when you get home this afternoon she’ll be here.”

  “You make it sound like going to school is the easy choice.”

  “Come here,” he says, taking my hand and leading me into the living room. We sit together on the couch, our fingers still intertwined. “Nothing about today is going to be easy, but it’s something you’re going to have to eventually face, whether it’s today, tomorrow, or next week.” He’s gentle in his delivery. “You’ve been able to hide out this summer, but this isn’t s
omething you can avoid. And yeah, it’s going to suck, and it’s going to be hard on you. Just know you’re not alone. You have me in whatever capacity you need.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “I know you are.”

  “What if they—”

  “What if they what?”

  I drop my head before admitting that my scar bothers me. “My face . . .”

  He takes my chin and raises it up. “You mean this face? I lie in bed every night and dream about this face. You’re perfect.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are to me.”

  I look into eyes so sincere they fool me into believing that everything will be okay. They fool me into believing I’m strong enough to make it through today with my head held high. And when we arrive at school, hand in hand, his strength fools me into believing I’ll survive this unharmed.

  FAMILIAR FACES.

  Familiar voices.

  Familiar spaces.

  Familiar everything.

  So why do I feel like a stranger? As if this is the first time I’ve stepped foot on these grounds with these people.

  They’re scattered about, faces happy, hugging and high-fiving friends they haven’t seen since the previous year.

  I already resent them, because I should be them. I should be thrilled to start my senior year. I should be excited to run to my friends and compare schedules to see what classes we will share. To see if we have the same lunch hour so we can make plans to drive off campus to eat now that we’re seniors and finally privileged to have an open campus lunch period.

  As we near the entrance to the school, I duck my head down, angling it against Kroy’s chest to conceal my scar. People shout Kroy’s name, happy to see him, but when we pass by and they see me tucked against his side, their voices fade to whispers.

  Walking down the halls, I feel like I’m the freak on display as people watch and stare, murmuring amongst each other.

  “There’s Linze,” Kroy tells me, and when I look up, I see her down the hall with Kyle.

  Kroy calls out to get her attention, and when she sees me, her lips lift in an endearing smile.

  “I was wondering where the two of you were,” she says before looking down at our connected hands.

  “Bro.” Kyle’s voice booms loudly as he raises his hand in the air, and when Kroy releases his hold on me to clap hands with his buddy, Linze pulls me into a hug.

  “Are you two back together?” she quietly asks in my ear.

  I step back and shake my head.

  “Give me your schedule so we can see what classes we have together.”

  I reach into my backpack then hand over the piece of paper. She looks over it and her face lights up. “We have English together right before lunch.”

  I force a smile and wish I could go back to the days when figuring out who I would be eating lunch with was my main concern. This year, I’d rather eat by myself.

  “You have our lunch hour?” Kyle asks when he overhears Linze.

  Kroy looks over my shoulder at my schedule, smiling. “That makes four of us.”

  Great. My wish for solitude has been forsaken.

  The first bell rings, signaling its five-minute warning before classes start. Kroy is still wearing his smile when he takes my hand in his again. “Come on. I’ll walk you to class. What do you have?”

  “Anatomy with Mrs. Beasly.”

  When he drops me off and leaves to make it to his class, I stand in the doorway and take a deep breath, sending up a silent prayer that I go unnoticed when I walk in.

  Another wish forsaken.

  The only empty desk remaining is in the front row, and all eyes turn to me as I walk to it and take my seat. Pulling out my notebook and a pen, I keep my eyes downcast and wonder if my scar is lit up like a neon sign with the number of eyes I feel are on me.

  “Hey, Cam,” Ming, a girl who’s also on the swim team, says meekly from the desk behind me.

  “Hi, Ming.”

  “Is everything okay? You missed the two-a-days.”

  “Yeah . . . some things came up, so . . .” I shrug off.

  “You coming this afternoon?”

  “Yep.”

  I turn back to face the front of the room after I tell her my lie, but she’s not given a chance to say anything else to me when the morning announcements come on. The principal’s voice welcomes us back to school and then drones on about hallway procedures and something about a shortage of staff in the cafeteria. But it’s not until his closing remarks that I want to crawl into oblivion and disappear.

  “In closing, I’d like for all of us to take a moment of silence in remembrance of one of our school’s greatest assets, Coach Hale.”

  I close my eyes the way a child would to feign invisibility, but I know better. I know they’re all staring at me with pity. Feeling sorry for the once outgoing, popular student with a pretty face who is now the town’s sliced-up tale of woe.

  The tips of my ears burn while the silence stretches far beyond what’s necessary. Mrs. Beasly, who’s standing at the front of the room, looks at me as if I’m some lost puppy shivering in the freezing rain.

  And we’re off to a great start.

  After fifty minutes of discussing the class syllabus and going over the required dissections, the bell finally rings, freeing me. But freedom is short-lived when the next bell sentences me to another fifty minutes of hellish torture. It’s a small comfort that Kroy’s in my second period class, but by the time third period starts, I regret not bringing my own car so I could ditch the rest of the day.

  It’s only when fourth period arrives that I feel the weight of the day lift a little. I walk into senior English, and Coach Andrews gives me a friendly smile. As I slip into an empty seat, our text exchange from last night replays in my head like a calming hand, smoothing away my anxiety.

  Linze drops her books loudly on the desk next to mine, vanishing my revere. “Oh my God! Thank the heavens above that you don’t have Government with me. What a nightmare.”

  “That bad?”

  “Taylor and her little sidekick, Roxy, are in my class.”

  “Gross,” I mutter under my breath. My dislike for Taylor stems back to our middle school years.

  “She spent the better part of the hour grilling me with questions about your split with Kroy. She is so annoying.” She opens her notebook, adding, “And she’s completely oblivious that she’s a slut.”

  “I’m sure she’s aware.”

  “Well, if she is, that’s sad, because she certainly doesn’t seem to care.”

  When the bell rings, Coach Andrews stands from his desk and picks up a stack of papers. “Welcome to senior lit. I’m Mr. Andrews, Coach Andrews to a few of you,” he says, glancing my way before continuing.

  “If I had known how hot your coach was, I would’ve joined the swim team freshman year,” Linze whispers when she leans across the aisle.

  I roll my eyes. “He’s new.”

  Minutes pass as he goes over the reading list for the year, his eyes landing on mine time and again.

  “Do you know how many of these books have been made into movies?”

  “Seriously, Linz?”

  “I am not spending my senior year with my nose stuck in a book.” She lets out a soft huff. “Plus, I pride myself on the fact that I’ve almost made it through most of high school without having to read a single book. I’ve been able to survive on internet cheat notes and movies.”

  My C-average friend smiles at her accomplishment. I have dreams of getting out of this pastoral town though. Not that I yearn to sin—I just yearn to be where nobody knows me. A place where I can freely spread my wings and allow them to guide me in whatever direction they choose. A place where I can start new. A place where the past can’t haunt me.

  “Come on,” Linze announces, and when I look around, everyone is already bustling out of the classroom.

  I didn’t even hear the bell ring.

  “Cam,” Coach Andrews ca
lls from the front of the room, “can you stay behind for a few minutes?”

  “Um, yeah.” I shove my notebook into my backpack and turn to Linze. “I’ll catch up with you.”

  She nods and heads to the door as Coach walks around to the front of his desk and leans against it. When I sit back in my seat, he moves, taking a seat in the desk next to me.

  As student voices cascade in from the hallway, he asks, “Are you okay?”

  No.

  “Yes.”

  He eyes me, seeing through my lie.

  “I could’ve done without the morning announcements,” I add.

  An awkward pause comes between us before he speaks.

  “How’s your shoulder feeling?”

  “Better. It’s still sore, and I still wear my brace at night.”

  “I know it’s against school policy, but if you’d be more comfortable, I can meet you after hours so you don’t have to be around the other kids. It’s not good that you’ve taken so much time away from the water.”

  I nod, knowing he’s right. It’s going to take a lot of work on my part to just get back to where I was before the accident, and I can’t keep pushing it off.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything,” he says.

  “Why do you care so much?”

  He leans forward, folding his hands between his knees, and when he lifts his head to look at me, he says, “Because I owe it to you not to let you give up on yourself.”

  I fidget, mindlessly picking at the polish on my nails to avoid the sadness he just evoked. I wonder if my father would be disappointed in me right now. No. There’s no wondering about it. He would be. He was a man who forced me to honor every commitment I made. I wasn’t allowed to quit, which is exactly what I feel like I’m doing.

  “You have a talent very few have. I don’t want to see you throw it away.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “Look at me,” he says, covering my restless hands with his. “I know nothing about this is easy for you. It’s never easy to lose someone. Trust me, I know. But you . . . I worry about you.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

  “No?”

  I open my mouth to lie some more, but I can’t do it. I know he can tell that I want him to worry, and I do, because it feels good to know someone cares. That someone on this planet understands. As wonderful as Kroy is, he doesn’t truly understand what it is I’m going through or the pain I feel on a second by second basis. But this man . . . I see it in his eyes—he’s hurting too. A shared pain that somehow links us, and he’s not giving up on me. Though this revelation should soothe, the fear of allowing too much transparency with him whispers at me to disengage.