Cornered (28 page)

Blasting conga-drums punch my eardrums from all corners.
¡Gun-bák-tak-prák!
“The funeral services will be held this weekend over at Gables by the Sea.” She sighs. “Poor child. We live in a crazy world, my boy. Let's stand here for a moment of silence.”

The
tumbadoras
keep blasting. A crowd is chanting in whisper-soft tones words I don't understand over and over again. A woman's crying voice raises above them. “Ochún, I invoke you
to seep into me. Through your powers within me, I'll help my little granddaughter Alyssa's sweet, pure soul, the one I saw grow from a boy into a lovely girl, lift up into the sky.”

My heart bangs in my chest.

The crowd chants, “Alyssa, Alyssa, Alyssa . . .”

Strong incense fills my nostrils. I let go of the lady's grip and wring my hands. I can't believe I'm here. What if someone in there recognizes me?
I never wanted to hurt you, Gus. You hear me? I was such a horrible person to have wounded you so much. . . .

I visualize myself cemented to the floor in order to ground myself and keep this terrible urge to sprint under control. The chanting grows louder and louder. “Ochún, our goddess Orisha, send Alyssa into your arms. . . .”

The woman whispers, “The child's mother is a judge and his father, a brain surgeon; they're not
Santeros
. It's lovely they've allowed this type of ceremony and the whole community has been invited. But we should move on and get you home.” She pulls me with her by my elbow.

I drag my weary feet on the pavement and groan. I'm so overwhelmed. I feel so damned conflicted and alone. The agony of it all is wearing me down.
Why did you have to die, Gus? Did you commit suicide or were you murdered?
The rancid air is filled with the pungent aroma of flowers mixed with the pain of death. It follows me and stings me with despair.

A realization hits me like a two-by-four: I helped murder Gus.

I shunned him the whole year and watched Blyss torture
him. And yesterday, for the first time, I took part in it. I threw him away like a piece of garbage. And now he's dead because of it, because of me. I shake my head to get rid of these devastating thoughts, but they won't leave. A tear drips into my mouth from inside my vacant eye socket.
Sorry Gus. I'm so deeply, severely sorry. I wish I could take it all back but I can't. It's too late. I helped kill you, Gus.

I wipe my face with my forearm and ask the woman, “How much longer, ma'am?”

“We're at the park across the street from Arte Gallery. That's about two blocks west from your house.”

Hell, where the hell was I before I found her? I'm back to where I started?

“I need to sit for a bit. Would you please take me to the bench next to the pond? I know how to get home from here.” She walks me over, says good-bye and hurries off.

I plunk on the bench with slumped shoulders to think. A vision of Alyssa walks across my mind with her flowing dress.
I never even called you Alyssa. I kept calling you Gus and “he” even when you asked me so kindly not to do so. I didn't really hate you Gu . . . er, Alyssa. I swear. I should have called you Alyssa from the get-go and maybe none of this would have happened.

My hands fall to the bench on either side of me. I feel something like two, sticky round balls. My eyes? I pluck them and plop them into my eye sockets. They fit perfectly. I can see again! My eyes swing quickly up and down, left and right. Everything looks outrageously beautiful. I do this over and
over again. I'm under a Gumbo Limbo tree. There's a field of colorful flowers across the way. I want to run with arms spread out, yelling, “This is the most gorgeous park on Earth!” but I just sit here, taking in the beauty.

I'm ecstatic to have my eyes back but then I remember Gus. Nothing else matters right now. Gus is dead. I'm so utterly exhausted. I can barely lift a finger. I never want to move again, but I know I have somewhere to go. Something to do.
Get back to Blyss. Time is flying. The only solution is to bring her home.
I'll convince her to follow me here and face the truth: we killed Alyssa. I drag my aching feet back to Arte Gallery and walk past dozens of paintings searching for
Desert iLand
, but the piece is gone. I ask an attendant for help.

“That specific work of art you're looking for has been sold.” He leaves to help a customer. I shake my head, wipe my sweaty hands on my pants and jam them into my pockets. I pass through dozens of similar paintings by the same artist, scrutinizing them slowly.

Movements don't catch my eye. I smooth my fingertips on each canvas as I go along but they're all solid and flat. The only thing I'm feeling is the thick texture of dried paint.

When no one is looking, I push my foot forward to try to enter a painting. My sneaker hits the canvas hard and almost tears it. Quickly, I go on to another painting but not a single one allows me to climb inside.

In the back of the gallery, I notice two sliding glass doors that lead to another room. I walk inside. The strong smell of
salty seaweed attacks my nostrils. I turn my head here and there. It's empty except for two colossal, thickly textured watercolors that hang side by side on the wall.

I drag a stranded chair to the front of the room and sit directly across the works of art. I dissect the one on the left, where it's nighttime at a beach pier. As if a camera was panning out into the dock, the painting takes on a life of its own. Separate colors swirl around, come together and expand. They reposition themselves by shifting, shoving, and rearranging to form movable figures in what seems like a 3-D movie.

The lights suddenly dim and the “film” starts.

Blyss is there, wearing the exact same clothes she did last night after we threw Alyssa in the Dumpster.
You're so supremely gorgeous. And look at you, Alyssa. Woah.You're all cleaned up.

“Why did you want to meet?” Alyssa asks.

Blyss leans into her. “Why do you think, idiot?” Alyssa shrugs. “I just beat the hell out of you two hours ago and you've come back for more? Can't you see how pathetic you are? I asked you to meet me here, and instead of sending me to the underworld ruled by Hades, you came? You're so weak. That's one of the many reasons everyone hates you, Gus.”

“I don't want any trouble.” Alyssa's voice trembles. “I thought maybe you wished to apologize. I would have accepted. That's why I came.”

Poor kid. You were too good for this world. I hope Blyss didn't beat you again or push you off the pier.

“Tell
you
, a whiny bitchy fag, I'm sorry?” Blyss's laughter
fills my ears. She sounds vicious. I wonder why I never realized that before.

“I'm not gay,” Alyssa's drooping eyes make her look devastated. “I'm a girl who likes guys.”

Blyss rolls her eyes and calls Alyssa dozens of awful names. “You're better off dead. You're an anomaly. No one wants you, and I'm sure your family is ashamed of you. Do humanity a favor. Kill yourself. Nobody will miss you or shed a tear.” She spits on her face, and Alyssa doesn't even wipe it off.

I want to cover my ears and close my eyes, but I force myself to watch. I remember all the times Blyss abused her in the halls and I joined everyone in laughter. How could I have been so cruel? Why didn't I have the guts to stand up to Blyss and stop her?
I'm such a coward.

Alyssa's face distorts in pain. She screams at the top of her lungs and lunges into the pier. Blyss leans over the railing and just watches Alyssa plunge into the sea, without any emotion whatsoever. Then, she takes off running.

I cover my face with my hands. I'm so sorry.
Will you ever forgive me, Alyssa? I don't think I can ever forgive myself.

My eyes veer over toward the massive painting on the right that's beginning to have movement. I see Blyss in the middle of the ocean. Her hair is like an octopus on fire, flames spreading out all over the place. Dozens of sharks circle Blyss's tiny raft. She looks to me from inside the canvas with smiling eyes.

I whisper harshly to her, “Freeze, Blyss! Don't move a muscle. Sharks sense fear.”

She sniggers. “Sharks won't harm me. They're my friends. I told you not to leave, but you wouldn't listen.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah. Too bad you chickened out. So listen”—the edges of her mouth curl up—“you found out I didn't kill Gus, right?”

“Yes.” I tell her about the “film” I've just seen.

“So, you see, it's not my fault. Gus killed himself.”

Strength builds up inside me, and the blur of incoherence has vanished. “It's not ‘Gus.'”

“Oh please, Mik. Not you too with this ‘Alyssa' bullshit. . . .”

“Show some respect and call her Alyssa. We're responsible. We did her wrong and should pay for it.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I'm going to the cops, and I have to tell them.”

Her eyes narrow. “If you do, I'll never, ever forgive you.”

“Forgive me? You should be here with me. We should be asking Alyssa's parents for forgiveness.”

“He did it himself.” Her hair falls across one eye, obscuring it. “We're not guilty of anything. I'll be damned if I ask for anyone's forgiveness.”

“We're definitely guilty. We took her to her grave.” My voice fills with anger and agony. “We've got to tell them our side of the story.”

“I'm not coming back, and no one will ever find me. It'll be just you. You'll be arrested, put on trial, jailed, and despised by everyone. Is that what you want?”

“That's what we deserve.”

“
I
don't deserve that.” She exhales and collapses on the raft. “I hate you! We still have a chance to live together in peace. Don't you dare involve the police. Get your ass back over here, now!”

“Never.”

“Okay, then. Go to the cops and have a happy time in jail. But me? I've been given the opportunity of a lifetime. The waters are calling to me, and I've accepted.” Her face takes on a strange appearance, wrinkled like hands and feet after too much time in water. The foam spray covering her hair turns it gray and then white. She looks one hundred years old now, and I shudder. “I'll never see you again, Mik.”

Blyss's face and nose elongate and transform into a large grayish blue snout. Her body stretches twenty feet in length and turns into what looks like a sleek, gray torpedo. Eight fins pop out and gills appear on the side of her body.

I keep my eyes glued on hers.

Her underbelly turns white. A crescent shaped tail emerges where her feet used to be and a dorsal fin pops out on her back. She slides off the raft with an open mouth. I see hundreds of multiple rows of pointy, triangular, razor-sharp teeth embedded in her gums.

She starts to slow cruise around other sharks, propelled by her powerful tail. Her movement is like a flexible jet in flight. I follow Blyss with my eyes. She twists and turns in the water easily, as if she'd been doing it all her life. The shark that was once Blyss comes close to the canvas and throws darts at me
with her stare. I feel the intense hatred in her eyes before she looks away and takes off on a sudden burst of speed. In an instant, she's gone.

I walk outside without looking back, tears dripping down my face. I stand under a massive downpour, shaking, rain kicking my body, wind punching my face. The night is pitch black and deserted. The lit moon swings eerily up and down. The world has an abandoned feel to it, as if it were a child left in a Dumpster searching for love.

And then Alyssa's silhouette appears, unexpectedly. I grab her hand, and it feels so soft and real. She smells like crushed strawberries.

“Will you walk with me?” I ask. “I need to do something important.” We stroll hand in hand toward the police station.

“Look up.” Alyssa blinks her long lashes. I'm taken by the serenity in her voice and melody of its tone. I search the sky to find a bright shooting star, its white light illuminating the dark sky for a brief moment. “That's me.” Her smile gleams.

“I know.” I gaze at the star as it evaporates and vanishes forever.

BY
J
ENNIFER
B
ROWN

I
T TOOK EXACTLY
one week and three days of school for things to get right back to where they were freshman year. The girls weren't even original about it. It was, literally, the same so-called comedy routine they'd been performing every day since eighth grade.

“Anyone else smell a farm animal?” Sydney Weaver asked, loudly, as I tried to scoot past their lunch table unnoticed. She wrinkled her nose and sniffed the air. Holly joined her.

“Ew, gross. What
is
that smell? A pig?”

“Uh-uh,” Sydney said, half-chewed carrot peeking from inside her mouth. “That's definitely a cow.”

And then the mooing started, the whole table joining in. So clever. So original.

I could imagine Jenna, never able to just ignore them, turning and snapping, “Real mature!” just as she'd done a dozen times before while I stood by silently, hate filling me from top to bottom.