VIII. Here's to The Night
Here's to the nights we felt alive
Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry
Here's to goodbye
Tomorrow's gonna come too soon
Put your name on the line along with place and time
Wanna stay not to go I wanna ditch the logical
Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well
Here's to the nights we felt alive
Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry
Here's to goodbye
Tomorrow's gonna come too soon
All my time is froze in motion
Can't I stay an hour or two or more
Don't let me let you go
Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well
If I Could Write is the property of Sam Phillips.
Author's Note: Sorry for the wait. This chapter was emotionally hard to write, and as you can, it's pretty long. There's one more, the epilogue, also difficult for me, but I do hope you enjoy them. Thanks for the reviews. :)
The roughness of the bench near the bus stop doesn't even begin to bother him. Several buses have gone past, doors cluttering open, drivers viewing a kid with the most crestfallen expression imaginable, clutching a DVD in his hands. The tears had dried, but Zack's eyes still stung. The warmth of the sunshine is no longer warm, just hot, unflinchingly hot.
He politely declined Emma's offer to stay until Paul's uncle showed up. The Camerons sped away, like a foreign car he's never seen. It's funny. Once they aired the tribute, that's when he realized how alien this all was, how there were so many things he didn't know. His father's face mirrored his own, yet having never met him, it's almost as if he's staring into his reflection in lake water, clear at first, then eventually being shaken away by movement, the ripples of water, tiny waves. Waves of emotion, he'd call this, if he felt any motivation to write. All these other kids got to meet him, and he never got the chance. Zack loved his parents, whole-heartedly, but what if? What if he stayed behind, spending a little time with J.T. before he left? He would have some memory at least.
Mr. Rubenstein's car pulls up to the curb, Zack reluctantly raising his head. He wipes his cheeks, hoping no one will see the imprint of his tears. Paul twists his short-sleeved blue shirt nervously, approaches him.
"Did it...did it go well?" he asks.
"As well as it could," replies Zack, shrugging. "Get tired of your sightseeing?"
"There's only so much green grass and houses one can take," says Paul, then giving Zack a concerned look. "Dude, are you okay?"
"What do you care?" snaps Zack.
Paul has some nerve, what with his happily married parents, a dad who gives him everything, a dad he's able to see everyday. You have a dad, reminds a voice in his head. And there's no doubt Chris Crewe was a good father, despite his strict nature. Ugh, he feels so torn, ready to bounce on anyone. Was he being disloyal to them by coming to Toronto? The Crewes love him. No, no, thinks Zack. The only disloyal person right now is Paul. Or maybe not.
Zack stands, walking aimlessly down Degrassi Street. Paul catches up to him.
"What is with you, man?" exclaims Paul, grabbing Zack's arm.
Zack slinks out of his grasp. "You're spoiled and a selfish friend."
"I'm...I'm sorry for not staying!" says Paul. "But you're...being a real jerk, Zack."
He stalls, turns around. A tear rolls to his nose as he smirks.
"Well, I'm sorry too," says Zack. "I'm sorry that I just watched this tape of my dead dad playing with a million other different kids, after giving me up. Especially since he looks like me. Yeah, Paul, it doesn't hurt at all."
Paul shakes his head, puts a hand on Zack's shoulder. Zack knows this anger isn't aimed at Paul, but he felt the need to throw it at someone, especially since the situation can't be helped.
"I wish I never watched this," whispers Zack to himself.
"No...no, I feel like you should've," confesses Paul. "I'm not sure, but like...you should know where you come from, right?"
"Yeah," agrees Zack, sniffling. "Paul, I'm..."
"Sick of hearing the word sorry," waves off Paul. "And yeah, very aware of my spoiled existence. A pro knows how to take advantage of it, though."
They both laugh, exchange a high-five. He's glad Paul's so forgiving, hopes his parents are the same way when he returns. Boy, he'd be leaving tomorrow night. All his interviews ensured that he'd do well on his two projects, so why isn't he happy? His uncle Danny failed to contact him, signaling that Liberty probably wasn't interested. He guesses she's still trying to get past all of this, can't confront the past. Still, isn't he the present? Even if she didn't like it, he was around, and yes, part of her. Well, since she won't answer his questions, he'll find some other way.
"I want to know why my dad died," says Zack.
Paul raises his eyebrows. "Uh, okay?"
"The school's further down this street," whispers Zack, glancing at Mr. Rubenstein's car.
Inside the car, Mr. Rubenstein is singing to some top forty tune on the radio, checking his combover in the side mirror. Zack's certain he can entertain himself for an hour or so.
"Look, it's after school," says Zack. "Security's probably not as tight."
"I don't know, man...," begins Paul.
"You can't bail on me twice in one day," encourages Zack.
Paul sighs, nods. "We wind up in school, during our school holidays. Great."
He goes over, talks to his uncle for a bit, then returns. Paul's smooth talking earned them a window of thirty minutes, and then he'd call on Paul's cell. The two boys pass a couple houses, then round a corner, entering a throng of students on their way home. Good, we have cover, praises Zack inwardly. Paul smiles at a couple of girls, Zack dragging him along.
In a few minutes, they reach where his parents may've met– Degrassi Community School. Truth be told, it's not very impressive on the outside, your typical brick building with grey, stone steps and glass doors. The place was much smaller than Harring Junior High School. Actually, the kids were more intimidating, several tall, teenage boys passing him. Taller girls in cheerleading uniforms and jeans were parked on the steps, yelling some cheer about panthers. Panthers. Wait, he knew their mascot from the paper. The paper my mom edited, he remembers, which urges him to go forward.
"Alright," says Zack, unzipping his bag. "To complete the look..."
Instead of finishing that thought, he slides the Degrassi sweatshirt that was in the treasure chest over his slim shoulders. Still way too big, but it would serve its purpose.
"Breaking and entering," says Paul, gulping. "We're so getting busted."
"I've broken into Tanglewood's office at Harring a couple times," says Zack. "No, chill, alright? I may be a minor, but I'm a mastermind minor."
"Says the guy who Tanglewood has caught how many times?" reminds Paul.
"Only when someone tattled," defends Zack. "No one knows me here. Let's go."
They amble easily past the crowd, Paul a little slower on the way.
"How 'bout them Panthers!" yells Zack to the cheerleaders, raising his fist.
"The championships are done, squirt," replies one of them, the girls busting out into laughter.
"Woo," mutters Zack, weakly, grabbing the handle to Degrassi's entrance.
Red-faced, Zack glances around cautiously for any sign of an adult. Luckily, the halls were essentially empty, except for two boys clearing out their locker near the far end. Signs of the recent championship were visible– slashed posters cheering Degrassi's softball team, a pom-pom sticking out of a trashcan, confetti swept into a corner. Well, at least his parents' school has a history of winning, unlike Harring.
Eyeing the pom-pom, he spies blue and gold. Those must be the school colors. Better than black and white, Harring's less cool colors. But what could you expect when your mascot is the flying fish? Veronica told him there is a restaurant called Flying Fish in Seattle with really good food. Perhaps it was a hint of a possible date, or maybe he would've liked it to be a hint. She sort of blushed when she made the recommendation.
"Veronica would like these school colors better," brings up Zack. "She says things are never black and white, only varying shades of grey."
"She does, does she?" teases Paul. "Does Zackie miss his Veronica?"
Nah, no, he wasn't going to fall into that state of mind, and definitely not in front of Paul.
"Of course..of course not," protests Zack. "Anyway, we have to come up with some plan."
"This was your idea," says Paul.
Hmmm, time to use those journalism tips Veronica gave him. Before writing an article, it's best to research the subject. The subjects are his parents. He'd need records, records of their years walking these very halls. The principal's office was probably off-limits. A yearbook! A yearbook or a newspaper would enlighten him.
"Excuse me!" he yells to one of the boys cleaning his locker. "Um, publications office?"
"Room 213, go down this hall, to the left," answers the boy.
"Thanks!" calls Zack.
Paul and Zack hurriedly walk to Room 213, peer inside. A petite, flushed redhead paces across the linoleum floor, phone attached to her ear. Behind her are framed copies of The Grapevine, a plaque that read Best New Faculty Award, and a picture of her in a graduation gown. She drums her fingers, black nail polish on them, against the table, appears to be distracted. Paul pounds on the door to get her attention. She sets the phone on her desk.
"Subtle much?" whispers Zack.
"I love redheads," gushes Paul. "Plus she's hot."
The woman, who becomes prettier to Zack as she approaches, opens the office door, offers them a nervous smile.
"Here to submit pieces for the Grapevine?" she asks. "Although, you guys are fairly young. No worries, though. This is an equal opportunity establishment."
"Um, we...," begins Zack.
They all hear some rock music playing loudly out of the phone receiver, the woman's mouth growing tense. Paul nods his head approvingly to the beat.
"Hold on a sec," requests the woman.
"Yeah," says Zack.
The woman presses the phone to her ear.
"Craig...Craig!" she says. "Such a bright idea to call me during sound check...I've got company! I said...I've got company! What? Call you later? Like I won't be busy...you can be so selfish sometimes!"
Zack tugs at the collar of his sweatshirt. They must've caught her at a bad time.
"Don't bother calling back 'til after your tour!" exclaims the woman, slamming the phone down.
"Marital problems?" questions Paul.
The woman laughs nervously. "More like...on again- off again angst? Uh, enough about me. You're here because?"
"Zack," he says, introducing himself. "Oh, and this is Paul. We're considering transferring."
"Pleased to met your acquaintance," says Paul, beaming.
"I'm Mrs. Nash," she replies. "I help students with the yearbook, and the paper, namely the paper. Where are your parents?"
"Seat...," he begins to say. "Um, Seatillia. Yeah, um, in Canada."
"Never heard of Seatillia," says Ellie, her forehead crinkling.
"It's in the north," lies Zack.
"Way up north," adds Paul. "With moose...and yaks...and Canadians."
"'Cause we're Canadian," says Zack.
Ellie crosses her arms, staring hard at the two boys. Zack feels sweat trailing down his back, not at all due to the sweatshirt. He thought the transfer story would work. Although, if they were transferring, yeah, having adults to be their parents made more sense.
"Why are you two really here?" asks Ellie.
Zack looks to Paul for help. Paul throws up his hands.
"You can't fool journalists, I guess," sighs Paul.
"Fine," says Zack. "I wanted some information on my folks. J.T. Yorke and Liberty Van Zandt."
Ellie's face grows pale, a noticeable contrast to her deep red hair. Her black-nailed fingers find the desk again, getting a firm grip on the edge of the table.
"You're their son?" she gasps. "Call me Kerouac."
"Krueger?" says Paul, obviously confused.
"Kerouac," informs Zack. "Uh, experimental writer. Beat generation. Died young."
"You're Liberty's son, alright," notes Ellie. "Wow, this is...this is strange."
"What's strange is me remembering Kerouac," shares Zack.
"Not if Veronica says it," mumbles Paul, grinning.
Zack ignores him. "Do you...think I could see some of her stuff?"
"We have...some old stuff on file," stammers Ellie. "Wait a sec."
II.
Liberty drops two ice cubes into her lemonade, rests her back against the cool refrigerator. No more boxes littered the apartment. She was inspired to keep going after unpacking one box. Books rested on shelves, new bulbs were situated into lamps, and the clothes were hung. Going into her bedroom, with its nice color scheme of cream and grey, she spies that she's left the closet door open. She's dismayed to see that a tan flap is peeping through the darkness. Ugh, she was certain she finished off all the boxes. Her father could've left this one by mistake when he was transferring the items from her bedroom to the main room.
Kneeling, she sets her lemonade on a desk, retrieves the box, medium-sized, yet far from heavy. Linens, she tells herself. Managing to get it open, the first time she hasn't had to use a box cutter or scissors, her hands find a bunch of blankets, a fresh scent filling her nose. Pulling out one white blanket, a smaller blanket emerges from the middle, flies to the floor. This periwinkle blue blanket is small enough for a child, a baby.
"Zack," she whispers.
Danny gave her Zack's number. He offered to arrange everything, to act as her support. She refuses to ask that of him anymore. Moving, the job search, and this, she'd do all this alone. Having her parents and Danny look over her has grown frustrating. The freedom to go where she wants makes her tired as she's been running for months. When she went over to Toby's and saw how stationary his life has become, she wondered if she could do that. All her friends were settling in one spot. Emma was married, Manny traded Hollywood for a nine-to-five instructor job, and most surprising of all, Danny is comfortable too.
J.T. always offered her that gift– comfort. She felt how she wanted with him, showed him the best and worst of her feelings. He took it all in stride, let her get excited, let her vent, probably the most patient sounding board one could hope for. Every now and again, both of them were relaxed. Those instance, she wouldn't change for anything. Her neatly hung clothes make her recall one of these nights, the auditions for Dracula.
"If I wear this, I'm going to look like a total loser!" complained Danny, rifling through the period garb.
"Be thankful you have a part at all, Daniel," said Liberty, shaking her head at her brother. "All the female roles have yet to be cast, and we're under a deadline."
The whole auditorium was swirling with students, most of them watching their competition try out. Liberty knew the musical Raditch pitched wouldn't have gotten this response. So far, only Manny and Alex impressed them, but unfortunately, the two of them weren't giving that aura of innocence needed for Mina. She and J.T. agreed that they still hadn't found her.
She secretly hoped that wasn't the sole thing that met with his agreement. Two weeks ago, before Dracula was greenlit, they kissed. Where she found the nerve to kiss him in detention, she couldn't say. She was thankful for that nerve, however. Maybe standing up to Raditch brought it out. All she knew was that spending those hours in the hot tub, getting stressed over the future of the play, and those first few boring minutes of detention was worth it, because J.T. kissed her back. Her heart vibrated intensely while his lips meshed with hers, her head growing foggy. Ask her any trivia question, and she'd be blank after a kiss like that. Liberty broke out of her reverie, looked on as Darcy took the stage.
"She is pretty innocent," whispered Liberty to J.T., writing Darcy's name on a sheet.
"But can she act?" pointed out J.T.
"Resume's not too shabby," said Liberty, rifling through her folder.
"Fine," muttered J.T. "Edwards, start when you're ready."
Darcy rubbed her throat, glanced at her script.
"Ummm, Manny said you were thinking of doing a musical, so what's this?" asked Darcy.
"Darcy, the musical...," started Liberty.
"I prepared a song," interrupted Darcy. "Okay, so like...five hundred seventeen thousand six hundred and five minutes...no wait, five hundred nineteen eighty-seven six hundred minutes...no, uh...seven-eleven...ugh, that's some store...anyway...how about love? Measures in love?"
Danny, Nate, and a few other students covered their ears, as Darcy belted out the Broadway tune, or rather the semblance of the tune. J.T. let his head fall to the desk. Liberty smiled politely, looked at her watch.
"Um, it's getting late," spoke up Liberty, halting Darcy's song. "Darcy, we'll start with you tomorrow."
"More practice time!" gushed Darcy, clapping her hands excitedly.
"Which isn't going to help," mumbled J.T., as students started to exit the auditorium.
Liberty propped her shoulder bag on a desk, went through a few pouches to retrieve the key. She promised Hatzilakos she'd lock up. Raditch never would've trusted a student to do it. But their new principal had a lot of faith in her and J.T., faith she desired to have herself.
"Heading home?" asked Liberty.
"I'll stick around," replied J.T., bumping his knee against hers.
She wasn't sure that bump meant anything. He'd been doing things similar to that a lot lately- waiting for her to come out after class, and she was usually the last to leave; asking to borrow notes, sometimes not saying which subject; standing beside her at every opportunity. Manny told her they were a shy guy's way of showing continued interest. Liberty argued that after the kiss, she would've thought he'd be more affectionate. Manny rightly said, well, it's J.T. One thing he hasn't done is mention the kiss, and she was too nervous to bring it up as well. What if he was being extra nice to her to soften the blow, prep her for a rejection? After Towerz cheated on her, he acted extra nice to her, out of guilt. Then, the truth was revealed via a braggy e-mail from the other girl, and she dumped him. J.T., cuter and kinder than Towerz, could easily find someone else, more interesting, more sexy. He did date Manny, albeit after a couple failed attempts.
"Darcy destroying Rent paralyzed me," joked J.T. "Except for the lack of Mina, we're really making headway."
"True," said Liberty, massaging her neck. "How's Spirit Squad shaping up this year?"
J.T. dug his hand into his left pocket, pulled out something Liberty failed to see. Turning around, he positioned whatever it is into his mouth. He faced Liberty.
"Good," says J.T., fake fangs attached to his teeth. "Fangs for asking."
Liberty chuckled. Her neck started to ache less, the last drama club member leaving them behind.
"Mmmm," groaned J.T., removing the fangs. "Vampires must not kiss very often. These choppers are brutal."
Kissing? Liberty felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Dropping a hint might steer this conversation the way she'd like it to go.
"They must...must kiss more than once or twice," stammered Liberty. "I mean...the feeling of it must prompt them to keep going?"
"Uh...maybe," replies J.T., nervously.
"Maybe some kisses aren't like that, though," sighed Liberty. "Mistakes in the form of lips meeting.'
Liberty hung her head, while J.T. put the fangs back into a small container. He cleared this throat.
"Usually...when you kiss someone... it's because you like them," said J.T., shifting his eyes. "Come on, Liberty. I thought you were smart. Your deductive reasoning didn't figure that out?"
Liberty and J.T. shared a smile, Liberty's gaze falling to her lap.
"So we're in this majority?" asked Liberty.
"Yes," replied J.T. "Very conventional. But we're still rebels."
"Who sing," adds Liberty, touching J.T.'s shoulder.
"Better than Darcy," said J.T.
J.T. gently brushed a few strands of her curly hair off her face, his lips touching hers for the third time, the sweetest time. In the muted light of the auditorium, with the stage lights emitting warmth in their direction, her doubts disappeared. He did like her. The teasing he'd done, colder before, had become more gentle and appreciative, the touching more frequent. The kissing ended, and she couldn't help but stare, stare at the guy she's known for so long, yet is so new to her here.
"That was...convincing," whispered Liberty, righting her glasses.
"A prelude to more convincing, hopefully," said J.T. "Um, there's a dance coming up. The Sweetheart Dance? Wanna go?"
"Manny's in the planning stages from what I heard," reminded Liberty. "The funding is still being bandied about, the schedule's shaky..."
"Ugh, Liberty," complained J.T.
"And...I'd love to go," finished Liberty.
"Longest answer in creation!" laughed J.T., standing, pulling out her chair.
"The lexicon of a wordsmith," said Liberty, shouldering her bag.
They head to the front door of the auditorium, Liberty shutting off the lights. Going out the door, she and J.T. stood in the hall, as she locked up. A janitor grins crookedly, happy to see that he can go home now that the drama kids are leaving. They make their way to the entrance of Degrassi, Liberty pausing in front of room 213. The dark golden light of dusk streams through the front window.
"J.T., I have to go to my locker, fetch a book," admitted Liberty.
"Um...want me to wait?" asked J.T.
"No, go ahead," says Liberty.
J.T. came forward, squeezed her hand. The golden light fills his face, brightens his features. He looked almost angelic, though with that same mischievous grin. The expression remained in her mind, all these years.
"Bye, bookworm," he teased, leaving her alone in the hall, disappearing into the light.
The ice maker cluttering snaps Liberty out of her musings. She strokes the blanket she holds, lowers it into the box. Examining another blanket, she realizes it's an extra one for her twin bed. The material is midnight blue, the color of the deepening spring sky outside her bedroom window, the opposite of the golden light that enveloped J.T.
Still, opposites have always been attractive to her. The Sweetheart Dance went well. J.T., to her surprise, arrived punctually, found a decent pair of dress shoes to compliment a casual, dressy shirt and slacks. Danny was more taken aback by the wardrobe change, clowning on his shoes when the three of them walked to the dance together. By the time the semi-formal arrived, Danny and her parents got more used to the idea of J.T. picking her up, though her father always sat reading the paper upon his arrival, mutely hating J.T. from afar. That was when he really had no reason to hate J.T., pre-baby. Liberty didn't care at that point. For once, her studies weren't the only thing on her mind when she went to Degrassi. J.T. asking her out and her accepting became more natural, as did being alone with him.
Shaking the blue blanket,the cloth lightly covers her legs. The midnight blue shades her from the hurt of being alone, no one to share this with, since she's shared a blanket with him years ago.
"Nah, put your finger in," instructed J.T., moving under the comforter, his elbow gently hitting the steering wheel of his car.
Liberty gave him a tentative glance, stared at the papery product with J.T.'s finger already stuck inside. The cool spring air filtering in from the driver's side relaxed her, blanket staying stoic because the breeze was soft. She was glad for this, as the sheer material of her grey prom dress couldn't take too much cold. They are under a blanket J.T. retrieved from the backseat, huddled together in the front of his car, overlooking a serene cliff, where they can safely view Toronto, a ton of stars above their city. The whole thing seemed straight out of an eighteenth-century novel where a future city is revealed. That was Liberty's favorite literary genre, since there was a mix of macabre, but also a great deal of romance and intrigue. The intriguing romances were always the best in her opinion. She knows a lot of people were intrigued once she and J.T. started dating. Plus love invited intrigue, yet would it get her to do this?
"The word finger trap does not bring forth the best connotations," said Liberty, inching her finger back.
"Got it from Gags R' Us," defended J.T. "They're legit. You trust me?"
She sighed, slowly putting her finger in, waiting to see what happened next.
"Now, we've bonded for life," said J.T., smiling.
"Awww," said Liberty, kissing him on the cheek. "It's good to be bound together, other than through a mutual love of cheese."
"And a distaste for watching Danny get buck on the dance floor," groaned J.T.
"Pretending I understand what get buck means," said Liberty, wrinkling her forehead. "Okay, I want my appendage back."
"Who said that was possible?" teased J.T.
"J.T.!" cried Liberty, pulling her finger furiously. "I can't believe you...oh great...it's really not working!"
"No, no, relax," cautioned J.T. "We have to move at the same time."
Liberty releases a deep breath, moving her finger inward the same time as J.T. To her relief, the trap crinkled, and her finger was released. J.T. chuckled.
"The wonders of not stressing, eh?" said J.T., winking at her.
"Your life lesson is well-received," said Liberty, pushing him playfully. "Why'd you bring me out here anyway?"
J.T. played with his tie shyly, focusing his eyes on the black buildings and white stars shining, highlighted in his windshield. Liberty awkwardly strokes her newly free finger, then pulls the blanket over her chest. She did feel this heat, increased by some invisible spark, wondered if J.T. felt this too. Lately, making out with him brought it on, an intense need to keep going, sometimes hotter than sitting in the hot tub water in her backyard. So strange to feel so hot, especially on such a cool night.
"So this has been an eventful night," spoke up J.T., blushing. "Manny's dress catastrophe, the successful cheese buffet, dancing with you for most of the night..."
Liberty laughed nervously, shut on J.T.'s car radio. J.T. looked around, draped one arm over Liberty's shoulder. She notices he's sweating a bit.
"We...we didn't tango like you wanted," brought up Liberty.
"The dramatic dance of lovers!" said J.T., using his best Spanish accent. "Well, we can do that some other night."
Liberty nodded, leaned her head on J.T.'s shoulder.
"There are other...other things we can do tonight," stammered J.T. "Like...like in this car."
Her heart beat maddeningly. Liberty gulped, tried to keep her composure.
"Whoa," she breathed.
"Yeah, uh...uh, pretty whoa," said J.T.
This year had already been big. Their first kiss, her father catching them, Danny gradually accepting them. Now J.T. wanted to move past making out and hand holding? It's not like she hadn't thought about it, too. Her attraction to him had grown, and the more moments they spent with each other, the more precious he became to her. But she always felt like he thought she was cute, not sexy. What if they did it, and he was disappointed? For all her knowledge, this is one area where she's completely lacking.
"J.T., I'm not sure if I'm confident to...to, you know?" whispered Liberty.
"Like I am?" whispered J.T. "Liberty, I..the pump...I swear..."
"No, I mean, like I want you to want me for me," admitted Liberty, blushing. "I don't exactly look like Petra Nemcova, that girl in your locker."
J.T. cocked his head to the side, a puzzled expression on his face, then clarity beginning to show.
"Not terribly skinny...the glasses...not ideally your top choice to be your first," said Liberty, her eyes growing wet. "I'm..."
"You're my girlfriend," interjected J.T. "My very strong, smart, sexy girlfriend."
"Yeah, but..."
"When I stare at you, it feels different," continued J.T. "I get proud when you tell me the stuff you do well in Student Council. I get excited when you laugh at my jokes. I read your articles in the Grapevine first. Doesn't that count for anything?"
Liberty removed her glasses, wiped away a tear.
"That counts for everything," she said softly.
J.T. reached for her, Liberty melting into his strong hold. She wasn't sure before, but yes, he was, so she was. He felt secure, and soft in the same moment. Staring into her eyes, his untrapped fingers caressed her shoulders, delicately slid down one of her dress straps. Each move seemed so organic, especially when J.T. moved his mouth against hers. The music from the radio helped her mind drift.
If I could write
I'd set all the words free to follow you
Tell you wonder, tell you secrets and solitude
I've had to let go of so much
It's hard to hold on now
Something far off is pulling me and
When I go this time, I don't think I'm coming back.
"I love you, Liberty," he said, catching his breath, gazing into her greenish-brown eyes.
"I love you, too, J.T.," she returned, unbuttoning his dress jacket.
J.T. grinned, watching her take off his jacket. He patted a bulge in his pants pocket, indicating that yes, he brought something. Liberty nodded, pulling him closer to her, the blanket moving with them.
The whole experience was sweet and perfect to her. He asked all the perfect questions, like are you alright, are you warm, are you happy? All his answers met with a contented yes. For the guy that used to shirk back whenever she touched him, J.T. couldn't stop touching her then. He drove her home, and she failed to stop smiling that entire night, and then at breakfast the next morning. Her father asked what was wrong, and Danny commented she must've been high on sugar cereal. More like high on love. The next few times were like that too, J.T. always soft and considerate, until the extra large condom.
Liberty's still not able to articulate the goings-on of that night, because they were careful every other single moment together. Some regret accompanied the whole thing. However, viewing their baby pushed all the regret to the side. She can't lie; she freaked when her water broke in Toby's car. How ironic. Conceive in a car, break your water in a car. Luckily, Zack was born in the hospital, had a healthy delivery. Her son snuggled against her chest, light-colored eyes blinking in confusion. She would've told him she felt confused too, about what she should do. Truth is, they weren't ready to be with him. Maybe someday, someday it would all change. Not today, though. Not that day.
Making the chest soothed her a bit, however, and smiling at J.T. over the chest, she could tell he felt the same. They did eventually tango, during the variety show party, but they struggled to talk afterwards. The next year proved just as difficult, Liberty hanging with Toby mostly, kind of as a courtesy, secretly wishing that would ensure more interaction with J.T. Her wish came true.
The first day of school, sure enough, J.T. was with Toby, and they all agreed to walk to their last year of school as a trio. The awkwardness wasn't as bad as she thought, and Toby disappeared to try and get a locker change seconds later. Liberty pulled at her pretty summery top, light green, watched J.T. open his locker. Unzipping his bookbag, he threw in the old stand-bys. Textbooks with messy papers stuck in between the pages, his rubber chicken, his squeaky red clown's nose. He pulled out a poster, unfurled it. Petra Nemcova. Liberty should've figured, eyes falling to the floor. After all their fighting, and her giving up their son, he wouldn't want her anymore.
She turned to leave, hearing a rip, paper being shred. J.T. tossed the remnants of Petra in a trashcan. Sighing, he opened a pencil case, twirled a finger trap between his thumb and forefinger, set it on the top shelf. Liberty smiled, started down the hall in the opposite direction.
Then, things got tricky. Mia came, so bubbly and sweet and in need of a shining knight in a mascot uniform. Liberty avoided all avenues they took in the halls. She put on her stone face as J.T. fought passionately for the daycare for Mia's daughter, cried in her room after that Council meeting. How could he have forgotten so soon? She was in his life first, or didn't Mia know that? She encouraged him to try out for his TV show, told him to stop dealing oxy, held his hand in the hospital after he took all those pills. History doesn't disappear in an instant.
And neither should J.T.'s life, she thinks, standing, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders.
Liberty's head found the pillow easily, her forehead throbbing, an unexplainable pain. This is no migraine, no headache. It was some new pain, the pain of why? The question "why" had been bugging her for days, nearly a week. Is anyone feeling this but her? Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she could feel the blood on her fingers, see blood streaming on the front of her green birthday party dress. Her top the first day of school was green; that's when she thought they'd reconcile. Reconcile, sure, but now that wasn't even important. He was gone.
The ride to the hospital tore her heart out. She thought holding him in the quiet street would be the worst, but no, them working on J.T. tirelessly was torturous. They must've strapped a billion wires on him, especially his chest. No breaths were breathed in the ambulance. She said nothing, waiting, waiting for a breath. A mask covered his face, eyes closed. Paramedics yelled terms she would've known if she wasn't in complete shock. She wanted him to look at her so bad, see that she believed he could be saved. He gave her so much comfort during their relationship, during the pregnancy, just by looking. Why couldn't she return this favor?
Every sound in her bedroom was so loud as she cried softly. The creaks of her bookcase, the shuffling of her feet, the mumbled voices coming from downstairs. Her parents were discussing her, as usual. How to help her grieve, what therapist would be best, the adoption paperwork that still needed to be done. They were more comforting than the lack of discussion when she came around the hospital corner, and Toby simply hugged her. Emma, Sean, and Manny joined them, and she felt the emptiness, knew the truth. Liberty felt her heart snap, like that finger trap could've. This was no joke.
"Liberty...Liberty," said her mother's voice, softly. "I'm leaving...leaving you some food."
"And also, we wanted to talk. Um, there's some sessions at the hospital where...," started her father's voice.
"No hospitals!" cried Liberty, in a harsh tone.
"It's too soon, dear," she heard her mother whisper to father.
"Yes...yes, of course," said her father. "Sorry. Could we come in?"
Liberty sits up, throws back her hair, which she lazily threw in a ponytail earlier. She stands, opens the door for her parents.
"Porkchops, your favorite," said her mother, offering her a plate.
"Thanks," said Liberty.
The Van Zandts sit next to their daughter, Liberty's mother stroking her hair. The most sympathetic expression her father has ever given her lines his face.
"We need you to tell us how to help you," he admitted. "We want to...so bad."
What a question to ask. She twirled her fork, stared at her plate.
"This isn't going to go away," replied Liberty.
"We know...just...," said her mother, her voice dropping.
Liberty put her plate on the other side of her bed, takes both her parents' hands. She knew she'd been uncommunicative with them, yet they had to know she still loved them. J.T., shortly before he passed, admitted to Toby that he loved her. He still loved her. That's when her insides begin working like clockwork again, tears coming on full-force as she watched J.T.'s face fill the screen at the memorial service. You have to say how you feel, she thought. You have to say it before it's too late.
"Trust me to be okay on my own," she said to them. "I definitely want you guys and Danny and everyone to be here. But...but no doctor can tell me I'll be fine. I'll feel fine...you know, I'll just feel it."
Mr. Van Zandt sighed, reluctantly nodded.
"Then, that's what we'll do," he promised.
True to his word, no doctors were called, and her family and friends huddled around her all the closer, throughout Degrassi, throughout her years at the University of Toronto. They saved her from falling, saved J.T.'s presence from fading. It meant more than all the honorary diplomas, daycares, and scholarship dedications.
And so did Zack, thinks Liberty, resting on her bed, flicking on the radio, which housed the CD she played the most.It took her years to track down this song, a rare song she located in an independent music store in Montreal. The lovely, deep voice sings:
I took your ring that never comes off and put it on
Sorry to lose you, sorry to keep you
after you were gone
Nothing is small, nothing is unexpected
I want more
When I go this time I don't think I'm coming back
The beautiful sadness, the melancholic beat, the tone of regret and silenced happiness comes across more real than ever. So does the image of the boy she nearly ran over. His countenance resonates clearer and clearer, face emblazoned in her mind. She's seen it before, staring at her with a confused look, nestled against a different blanket. He said his name was Zack. Her son. J.T.'s son.
Desire's the element that I can't fight
Dream is the arm of God
Girl's looking for themselves in your eyes
I'm looking for you
What's this supposed to be some kind of perfect
I want more
When I go this time I don't think I'm coming back
Liberty covers her mouth, immediately finds her phone. She plugs it in, hands moving on automatic.
III.
"Her best work," announces Ellie. "Complete with byline."
Ellie hands Zack a folder with a ton of news articles. He wondered why she'd taken so long. They were all arranged by date, a fat paper clip holding them together. He grinned at Ellie.
"Thanks," he says.
"Zack writes too," informs Paul.
"I'm...probably nowhere near as good as she is," says Zack, blushing. "Um, don't suppose my dad wrote anything?"
"J.T. was more...of the verbal variety," replies Ellie. "We weren't friends, but he was very outgoing, shared some jokes with me occasionally."
"Did you go to his funeral?" asks Zack.
Ellie frowns, looks away. "I went to the school memorial service. Funeral was more private."
As he and Ellie talk further, he views Paul hovering around a computer in the working area of the newspaper office. Paul points at the monitor, nodding for Zack to continue talking.
"So this guy Craig...who's he touring with?" says Zack, quickly. "Not some ancient rockers, hopefully."
"Uh, no, let's see...," says Ellie.
With Ellie distracted, Paul sits at the computer, types in a few things, Zack peering over at him on occasion. After the band names, Zack asked for the tour locations, and luckily, Paul is already printing out a page, shoving the paper in his pocket.
"Hey!" exclaims Ellie, hearing the printer in action.
"I touched it and it went haywire," lies Paul. "Crazy Canadian computers."
"Yeah, right," says Ellie, narrowing her eyes. "Look, maybe you guys should go. I hope you enjoy those articles, Zack. Tell Liberty I said hi. She got me this job, you know. Not directly, but yeah."
I'll tell her if I ever see her, thinks Zack. Paul awkwardly waves good-bye, pulls Zack outside the office, closing the door behind him.
"Give me it," whispers Zack.
"Not sure, man," says Paul. "Tough stuff to handle."
"Been handling tough stuff all weekend," argues Zack. "Cough it up."
Paul releases a deep breath, hands the paper to Zack. Zack takes it, reads.
School rivalry...stabbing...irreparable aorta...death. A murder. The murder the lady on the bus mentioned in this article, written by Ellie herself for Degrassi, and then some other paper called the Core. Zack closes his eyes, Paul putting an arm around him.
"Everyone was afraid to tell me," he says.
"To protect you, Zack," insists Paul.
This whole act of violence seems so preventable. Degrassi and Lakehurst. Isn't most violence preventable, though? He's not sure what he expected. A sixteen-year old dying is so tragic, never mind the way he died. Yet, the way he died, so awful. He was only four years older than him right now.
"Um," says Zack, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"You don't need to say anything," reassures Paul. "Let's call my uncle."
Paul locates his phone, both of them surprised when Zack's phone goes off first. Paul must've given him both numbers.
"Mr. Rubenstein?" says Zack into the phone.
"Hi, is this...is this Zack?" replies a sweet, female voice he fails to recognize.
"Yes," answers Zack.
"I'm...I'm Liberty," says the voice, softly.
"Liberty?" breathes Zack.
"You said you'd like to meet maybe?"
Zack swallows a lump in his throat, eyes going to either side of the Degrassi halls.
"I...I'd like to meet you," he manages to get out.