Elevated (14 page)

The way I knew I would.

He’s still staring,

But his laser gaze has settled on my abdomen.

“I have a right to know,” he repeats,

Reaches a hand toward me.

My chin quivers;

My hands shake;

My eyes water.

I open my mouth to speak.

“THERE IS NO BABY.”

THE FLOOD SETTLES ON ME,

Both in memory

And in tears.

I’d awakened on the cold floor of the bathroom at the church.

My mouth felt sticky and cracked,

My head ached,

My stomach cramped and

Cramped and

Cramped.

Mom burst in as I washed my face,

Trav right behind her,

Her own makeup running and ruined.

She thought my tears belonged to my father.

I never told her the truth:

That they belonged to relief,

To grief,

To Travis,

To Honesty,

And to me.

I BLED A LOT THAT WEEK,

But not enough to alert my mother of anything unusual.

I stayed home from school;

It was easy to claim my dad’s accident as a reason.

I cried plenty for him too.

Trav called and

Called and

Called.

I avoided him,

Refused to take his calls,

Hid in my bedroom when he came over to check on me.

Sharp pain in my stomach woke me at night,

Forcing my body to seize,

Forcing me to get up and hobble to the bathroom.

I longed to call Trav,

Beg him to meet me on the roof,

Give him some of my burdens,

All of my hurt,

Pain,

Guilt.

He’d take it gladly,

The same way I’d borne his.

I’d have his number dialed before realizing what would have to happen,

What I’d have to tell him,

Why I needed him so badly.

I always hung up before it rang,

Always made it back to bed,

Always swore to myself I’d get out of Chicago,

The way Jesse had shown me.

Start a new life away from the reminders of betrayed best friends,

Injured fathers,

Junkie mothers,

Lost babies,

And the boy who created the perfect shelter from all the ugliness in my life.

But when I survived losing the baby by myself,

I knew I needed to brave my way through the mess,

Create my own shelter,

Learn to rely on myself.

Without Travis Carpenter.

Eventually he quit calling,

Just like I’d hoped.

But it hurt.

Oh, how it hurt that he gave up so easily.

How it hurt to live my life alone,

Without visits to the roof,

Without stolen elevator kisses,

Without him.

JESSE TEXTED THINGS

Like “Trav needs you,”

Like “What happened with you guys?”

Like “I told you he wasn’t good enough for you.”

Like “Trav needs you,”

Like “You need to get out of Chicago.”

Like “I made the minors.”

Like “Trav needs you,”

Like “I miss you, El.”

Like “Whatever happened, I forgive you. He will too.”

Like “Trav needs you.”

Like “Go somewhere warm,

Somewhere new,

Somewhere only you know about.”

Jesse’s the reason I chose California.

He found somewhere to exist outside the damage radius of his mother,

Beyond Travis.

I could too.

I had to.

I texted Jesse things like,

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

“I miss you too.”

“I’m going to California.”

“Trav needs you too.”

“TELL ME EVERYTHING.”

Trav’s moving much too close,

His fists closed much too tight,

His eyes blazing much too bright.

My shoulders shake with sobs,

My throat burns with fire,

My voice is going to betray me,

Drive him away,

Hurt him.

“There is no baby,” I repeat

Just as his arms encircle me,

Just as I’d needed them to when I miscarried.

Some of the anger melts away,

And I know it’s my fault he wasn’t there when I needed him.

But Trav was an easy place

To dump the anger,

And sadness,

And hurt,

The easiest person to blame.

“I—I lost it. That day at the church.”

I take a breath, because I’m not finished yet.

“And I’m not upset about it.

I was relieved when I realized what was happening.

Not because it was your baby,

But I just couldn’t—

Didn’t want—

Too much of a reminder—”

The debilitating memories stop my words.

I remember being so scared,

So scared

The bleeding would never stop.

I remember feeling so alone,

So alone

Because no one knew.

At night, I cried for the loss,

Thinking I would’ve loved that baby

The way it needed to be loved.

During the day, I felt nothing but relief

That I wouldn’t be a mother at eighteen,

Wouldn’t have my whole future altered because of one night.

The memories stop,

Choked off with tears,

And horror,

At what I’ve just admitted out loud.

HE RUBS SLOW CIRCLES ACROSS MY BACK,

His voice is a pleasant buzz in my ear,

His scent a welcome companion.

I thought for sure he’d hate me,

Look at me with eyes filled with shock,

Like he didn’t know, couldn’t figure out,

Who I was anymore.

I thought he’d sigh,

Cry,

Rage,

Something.

Never did I imagine him holding me,

Comforting me,

Whispering to me that he wished he could’ve been there,

Should’ve helped me,

Would’ve shouldered some of the burden.

Never once did I fantasize that after I told him about the baby,

About the miscarriage,

About the way I felt about both,

That he’d kiss me.

HIS MOUTH IS JUST AS I REMEMBER.

It speaks of mercy,

And I feel myself forgiving him

For not being there,

For not knowing,

For giving up so easily.

His mouth is warm and

Soft and

Kind and

Making the earth sway beneath my feet.

Trav holds me tighter,

Refusing to let the movement separate us.

I kiss him back eagerly,

Urgently,

Afraid I’ll miss something this time that I didn’t notice last time,

Because I took our relationship for granted,

Because I didn’t really believe we’d ever break up.

Trav jerks away from me;

I lurch after him

As the car swings.

The earth isn’t moving because I’m kissing Travis.

The elevator is moving because we’re falling.

I’VE BEEN LIVING A WAX PAPER LIFE,

With colors muted by the film,

With motion blurred by the layer over my eyes,

With emotions barricaded behind a flimsy piece of paper

That’s too easily shredded.

Now, with the elevator groaning,

The lights flickering,

My pulse hammering,

The film that’s protected me

Vanishes.

I see everything with perfect clarity.

I see

the pain

I inflicted

on Honesty.

I see the knowing glint in my mother’s eyes,

How I imagine she looks at her patients,

And sees there’s something not quite right

Even if she doesn’t know exactly what it is.

I see the anguish in my father’s face when he guessed I was

pregnant.

I hear Trav’s messages over

And over

And over again.

I know
I’m
the one responsible for my

Loneliness, my

Agony, my

Isolation.

I see the hope in my father’s eyes as he completes his therapy.

I can’t believe I’ve missed it before,

Can’t believe I didn’t paint on my smiling face,

Can’t believe I didn’t kiss him hello,

Can’t believe I’ve never challenged him to a race to the apartment,

Him on the elevator,

Me on the stairs.

A WAIL PULLS THROUGH MY THROAT,

Trav pulls me against his ribs,

Gravity pulls against the elevator.

G

R

A

V

I

T

Y

wins.

I’VE LIVED WITH TWO FEET SOLIDLY ON THE GROUND,

And this free-falling isn’t exhilarating,

Isn’t safe and calm and vanilla,

The way I’ve tried to make everything in my life since Travis.

He’s anything but vanilla.

He’s the only thing that brings color to my life,

The only one I’ve envisioned sharing everything with,

The only one I want to be with if these are my last moments on earth.

WE’D ONLY GONE UP THREE FLOORS,

But it feels like we’ve been falling for thirty.

This elephant elevator is usually so slow,

Groaning and creaking as it lumbers up and down,

From lobby to roof.

It’s shrieking now,

Clanging,

Fighting.

“Travis,” I say,

Hug him tight,

Press my face into his chest like I have so many times before.

This time it’s different,

It’s forever,

It might be the last time.

“I love you,”

We say together,

And I know I could die in his arms

Here in this elevator,

Happy.

WE FALL

Fall

f

a

l

l

MY STOMACH GETS RIPPED FROM MY TOES

To my throat

As the elevator comes out victorious in its battle with gravity.

It stops,

We crumble to the floor,

It lurches,

Stalls,

Starts up.

We kneel on the damp metal,

Still wet from our rain-drenched shoes.

Our arms circle each other,

Our breathing pairs into a frantic rhythm,

Our feelings for each other

Exposed.

“It’s going up.”

Travis’s voice doesn’t sound quite human,

But mostly air and fear.

The lights blaze on in response,

The elevator moans,

A ding sounds as we pass the first floor.

Only three minutes, twelve seconds until we reach his floor,

Until he’ll get off,

Until his arms won’t be anchoring me anymore.

Maybe he won’t get off,

I think.

The tether between us is strengthened,

Tattered,

Sure,

But still there.

“ELLY, LISTEN.”

Trav starts talking, his words worming their way into my ears

Where I hear them in a different way.

He says things like:

“Please don’t shut me out again,”

“I know you love me,”
“I love you too,”

“I’m going to call you tonight, okay?”

“Please answer the phone, Elly.

Please.”

Our bodies are still meshed together,

His words enter straight into my brain,

His breath rustles the fine hair on my neck.