The Sky is Everywhere(49)
Author: Jandy Nelson

“Let me explain,” I say, intent on remembering my lines this time, intent on getting him to understand.

He makes a noise that’s part groan, part roar, like ahhharrrrgh, then says, “Nothing to explain. I saw you two. You lied to me over and over again.”

“Toby and I were—”

He interrupts. “No way, I don’t want to hear it. I told you what happened to me in France and you did this anyway. I can’t forgive you. It’s just the way I am. You have to leave me alone. I’m sorry.”

My legs go weak as it sinks in that his hurt and anger, the sickness of having been deceived and betrayed, has already trumped his love.

He motions down the hill to where Toby and I were that night, and says, “What. Did. You. Expect?” What did I expect? One minute he’s trying to tell me he loves me and the next he’s watching me kiss another guy. Of course he feels this way.

I have to say something, so I say the only thing that makes sense in my mixed heart. “I’m so in love with you.”

My words knock the wind out of him.

It’s as if everything around us stops to see what’s going to happen next – the trees lean in, birds hover, flowers hold their petals still. How could he not surrender to this crazy big love we both feel? He couldn’t not, right?

I reach my hand out to touch him, but he moves his arm out of my reach.

He shakes his head, looks at the ground. “I can’t be with someone who could do that to me.” Then he looks right in my eyes, and says, “I can’t be with someone who could do that to her sister.”

The words have guillotine force. I stagger backward, splintering into pieces. His hand flies to his mouth. Maybe he’s wishing his words back inside. Maybe he even thinks he went too far, but it doesn’t matter. He wanted me to get it and I do.

I do the only thing I can. I turn around and run from him, hoping my trembling legs will keep me up until I can get away. Like Heathcliff and Cathy, I had the Big Bang, once-in-a-lifetime kind of love, and I destroyed it all.

All I want is to get up to The Sanctum so I can throw the covers over my head and disappear for several hundred years. Out of breath from racing down the hill, I push through the front door of the house. I blow past the kitchen, but backtrack when I glimpse Gram. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, her arms folded in front of her chest, her face hard and stern. In front of her on the table are her garden shears and my copy of Wuthering Heights.

Uh-oh.

She jumps right in. “You have no idea how close I came to chopping your precious book to bits, but I have some self-control and respect for other people’s things.” She stands up. When Gram’s mad, she practically doubles in size and all twelve feet of her is bulldozing across the kitchen right at me.

“What were you thinking, Lennie? You come like the Grim Reaper and decimate my garden, my roses. How could you? You know how I feel about anyone but me touching my flowers. It’s the one and only thing I ask. The one and only thing.”

She’s looming over me. “Well?”

“They’ll grow back.” I know this is the wrong thing to say, but holler-at-Lennie-day is taking its toll.

She throws her arms up, completely exasperated with me, and it strikes me how similar her expression and arm flailing resembles Joe’s. “That is not the point and you know it.” She points at me. “You’ve become very selfish, Lennie Walker.”

This I was not expecting. No one’s ever called me selfish in my life, least of all Gram – the never-ending fountain of praise and coddling. Are she and Joe testifying at the same trial?

Could this day get any worse?

Isn’t the answer to that question always yes?

Gram’s hands are on her hips now, face flushed, eyes blazing, double uh-oh – I lean back against the wall, brace myself for the impending assault. She leans in. “Yes, Lennie. You act like you’re the only one in this house who has lost somebody. She was like my daughter, do you know what that’s like? Do you? My daughter. No, you don’t because you haven’t once asked. Not once have you asked how I’m doing. Did it ever occur to you that I might need to talk?” She is yelling now. “I know you’re devastated, but Lennie, you’re not the only one.”

All the air races out of the room, and I race out with it.

Bailey grabs my hand
and pulls me out of the window
into the sky,
pulls music out of my pockets.
"It’s time you learned to fly."

she says,
and vanishes.

(Found on a lollipop wrapper on the trail to the Rain River)

I bolt down the hallway and out the door and jump all four porch steps. I want to run into the woods, veer off the path, find a spot where no one can find me, sit down under an old craggy oak and cry. I want to cry and cry and cry and cry until all the dirt in the whole forest floor has turned to mud. And this is exactly what I’m about to do except that when I hit the path, I realize I can’t. I can’t run away from Gram, especially not after everything she just said. Because I know she’s right. She and Big have been like background noise to me since Bailey died.

I’ve hardly given any thought to what they’re going through. I made Toby my ally in grief, like he and I had an exclusionary right to it, an exclusionary right to Bailey herself. I think of all the times Gram hovered at the door to The Sanctum trying to get me to talk about Bailey, asking me to come down and have a cup of tea, and how I just assumed she wanted to comfort me. It never once occurred to me that she needed to talk herself, that she needed me.

How could I have been so careless with her feelings? With Joe’s? With everyone’s?

I take a deep breath, turn around, and make my way back to the kitchen. I can’t make things right with Joe, but at least I can try to make them right with Gram. She’s in the same chair at the table. I stand across from her, rest my fingers on the table, wait for her to look up at me. Not one window is open, and the hot stuffy kitchen smells almost rotten.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Really.” She nods, looks down at her hands. It occurs to me that I’ve disappointed or hurt or betrayed everyone I love in the last couple months: Gram, Bailey, Joe, Toby, Sarah, even Big. How did I manage that? Before Bailey died, I don’t think I ever really disappointed anyone. Did Bailey just take care of everyone and everything for me? Or did no one expect anything of me before? Or did I just not do anything or want anything before, so I never had to deal with the consequences of my messed-up actions? Or have I become really selfish and self-absorbed? Or all of the above?