ELIZA IS SCREAMING MY NAME. I CAN’T SEE HER. I can only hear her.
She’s scared. She’s in pain. Truly in pain, and not just pretending. I’ve learned the difference.
I can’t tell if someone’s hurting her. I can’t tell where she is, exactly. I’m on the playground at school and first, I hear her in front of me. Then, behind me. Then from somewhere above.
Just to make things interesting and maybe a little cliché, a huge snake loops itself around one of my ankles. It begins to squeeze tight.
I wake up covered in sweat. The radiator by the window hissing. Late afternoon sun pours through the window, filtered by the glass into a million visible dust particles. And I am, in fact, hearing my name being called. Not by Eliza, but my grandfather.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep. When I came back to the apartment after coffee with Kendall, Big E was out cold. I lay down in my dad’s bedroom to read. Must have crashed when the coffee wore off.
“Max!”
I sit up and shake the remaining fragments of the dream out of my head. Even though I couldn’t see her in the dream, Eliza’s face lingers. Her long black hair, so straight it always reminded me of a curtain. There were always streaks of blue where the light hit it the right way. Her dark eyes that always seemed to be pleading for something. When she was acting like she didn’t need anything, those eyes gave her away. I noticed it. Every time.
In my mind, I see Eliza’s pale skin. Then I feel it. Soft and always a little cold. Her fingertips on my arm. Her mouth on my neck. All the blood in my body rushing toward her.
And now I have a boner. Fantastic.
No, I tell the Eliza-in-my-head. You don’t have this kind of power over me anymore.
I’m just horny and lonely and lost. Anything would do it. Anyone.
I get out of bed and pull on an extra sweatshirt. The last thing I need is Big E noticing my pants-tent. Although he would probably enjoy it. Tell me some stories I would be fascinated and horrified to hear.
“Maxie!”
“Just a sec!”
I find Big E standing in the kitchen. As in on his feet and upright.
“Big E!” I exclaim, and rush to his side. There’s really no reason for that. He’s bracing himself against the counter.
“I was going to pour myself some coffee, but there’s none made.”
“I fell asleep. Sorry. Had kind of a rough night.”
I pull out one of the stools and he lowers himself onto it. For a moment, I wonder if the thing might break. It’s been around. Big E has always been tall. Like my dad, and like me. But now he’s wide, too. Which he has totally earned. I can’t wait to be allowed to get fat.
“You and your friend up late?” he asks.
“Yeah. Something happened on the street that shook us pretty hard.”
As soon as I say them, I wish I could inhale the words back in. Big E is not the guy you pour your soul out to. He won’t have any words of wisdom. Not even something that sounds cryptic at first, but makes sense later. Only TV and movie grandpas do that.
I start making his coffee. Despite everything I know about the universe, I find myself hoping he’ll ask me to elaborate. Tell me what happened, Maxie. This guy has lived in Manhattan most of his life. He’s seen some stuff, for sure. He might have some perspective stored away.
Instead, he says, “I should have given you boys money to go to Shea O’Malley’s, so you could have a few for me.”
I start to say the obvious. We’re underage. I don’t like bars. But that’s against the policy of Yes that I’ve been asked to stick to.
“Yes, that would have been fun,” I say.
“I once met Mickey Mantle at that place,” says Big E.
I’m sure this is bullshit. “That must have been amazing.”
“It was.” Big E proceeds to tell me the details of the night he met Mickey Mantle at Shea O’Malley’s, and I act as interested as I can. My eyes throw darts of Yes Yes Yes back at him. This is the respectful thing to do. I repeat that in my head like a mantra.
When the coffee’s done, I do up his cup the way he likes it: black, with a cane field’s worth of sugar. I push the cup toward him and he wraps his huge palms around it. This makes me think of Kendall. Of sitting across from her earlier, watching her obliterate that poor coffee with creamer. And I get this sensation of better. I feel better about what happened between her and me that night last summer. The regret, the mortification, the need to make things okay with Eliza even though at the time I knew in my heart we were over.
So, what about this Random Acts of Kindness dare?
I know why it’s so tempting. I feel the need to pay someone, or something, back for being a bystander. Maybe that was why I had the Eliza dream.
I will never, ever not be worried about her.
My damn fingers. There they go again, straight for her damn number on my damn phone. I go into the bathroom and shut the door.
“Hey,” says Eliza when she picks up. It’s her baseline voice. She could be doing anything and her voice wouldn’t tip me off. Riding a horse, or reading the paper, or in the middle of sex.
“Just calling to see . . . how was your Christmas?” I can’t tell her I had a dream that she was in trouble.
“Boring. The way I like it.”
She doesn’t have to explain to me. Boring means her parents aren’t fighting. It means that her mom is still in AA.
“Did you see Eileen this week?” Eileen is her therapist. I feel like I need to ask. Like she still needs me to.
“Yes, sir,” says Eliza. “I hear you’re grandpa-sitting.”
“You talked to Jamie?”
“Yeah, yesterday. He said he was headed into the city to hang out with you.”
So he didn’t tell her about Kendall. Thank God for some common sense.
I hear her draw in a breath. “I’d love to do that, too. Come in and see you. I miss your stupid face.”
I miss her stupid face, too. Her enraging, bitchy, luminous face.
“Let’s talk in a few days,” I say. “If they can’t find a new aide right away, I’ll still be here.”
Because where else will I go? I have nine months until Brown. A giant empty basin to fill with something besides wasted time and possibilities.
“What about New Year’s?” she asks. “If you’re there, I should be there, too.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Too much baggage?”
“Uh, just a bit.”
“Max, you don’t own New York. You can’t ban me from the city.”
No, I can’t ban her. I don’t want to. What I want to do is spend New Year’s Eve with her and not eating pickled herring and crackers in front of the TV, saying yes over and over again.
“I gotta go,” I whisper, because it takes all my strength to resist her like this. “Talk to you soon.”
We say good-bye. I take a deep breath. Then it comes, an understanding that glimmers in the growing light.
You idiot, says a voice inside me. The dream was about Luna.
Big E is ready to move back to his chair. I watch him walk, slowly and steadily. He doesn’t want people putting their hands on him if not mortally necessary. I’m supposed to just watch him and be ready to . . . I don’t know, call 911 if he falls? I have never felt so completely useless.
Once he’s settled in, I hand him the remote. Fill up his water bottle.
“I’m going out for a walk,” I say. “Call me if you need anything.”
He doesn’t answer because he’s already focused on the TV. I stuff my feet into my boots, grab my coat. Fly out of there faster than ever.
I’m halfway through the lobby when my phone rings. Kendall’s name glows on the screen.
“Max?” she says when I answer.
“Hey!” I sound way, way too excited to hear from her. “Did you really score a kindness?”
She laughs. “I did.” She proceeds to tell me about it. I wish I’d been there. I would have done the same. I think. I hope.
“Nice,” I say. “One down, for sure.”
“Listen, I have some news about Luna. She’s alive.”
“How do you know?”
“My brother’s boyfriend is a journalist. He called the publicity people for all the nearby hospitals and cashed in a favor. But that’s all they could tell him. Critical, but stable.”
“That’s great,” I say.
“She could be in really bad shape.”
“Let’s focus on the positive.”
“We may never know more than that.”
“Not ideal, sure,” I say. “But better than nothing.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Kendall sighs.
“Did you tell Jamie this news, too?” I ask. “He’ll want to know.”
“I left him a message.”
Another silence. Ugh.
The next thing comes out of my mouth on its own, without my permission. I swear. “What are you doing right now?”
“Getting ready for dinner and a show with my mom. Why?”
“Do you have plans tomorrow?”
Kendall pauses. “No.”
“Let’s meet up.”
Another pause. “Will you do this dare thing with me?”
“Sure.” If it gets me out of the apartment, absolutely.
Kendall’s quiet for a moment. I really want her to say yes. I don’t want another day of hanging out by myself, because I suck at it.
“Okay,” she finally says. “I know exactly where to go. Want to meet me on the corner of Park and Fiftieth Street?”
We figure out a time to meet, then hang up. This is good. I feel better.
Then I see a flash of Kendall’s face from this morning. Freckles on her nose, auburn hair twirled around a finger, green eyes blinking slowly closed, then open.
I feel the blood flowing again.
God, I’m disturbed.