Chapter two: Here I Am

I know what you're thinking.

Okay? Really, you don't have to elaborate. I got it, alright? I am a total hypocrite.

I don't even know what I was thinking, prattling on about palm trees and scenery and all that, because as soon as I came into contact with the hard gravel of the driveway, I knew that I wasn't going to have fun.

Oh, no. I knew exactly what this trip would be like, what kind of impact it would have on me, far worse than all those times I had accidentally stumbled upon his miniature, or blew my nose on that handkerchief by mistake. I knew, just as soon as I slung my Kate Spade messenger bag over my shoulders, that I was in for trouble.

Which was why, of course, I had tried to run.

Yeah, let me tell you. Usually, when you come close to hyperventilating, and your body has lost complete control of all your motor functions, it is not especially wise to make an attempt at a quick get-away. I'm not too certain, about the concept, having only experienced this once in my life, but I know for sure that it doesn't work, in designer shoes.

Though I guess I realized this a second too late, as I extended my right foot onto the edge of our newly mowed lawn, and immediately landed on the crisp, green grass.

"Ow."

From the backseat of the car, I could hear Chris' voice, in a worried tone, going, "Suze! You okay, there?"

I nodded, numb. I could feel the moisture of the grass beneath me, seeping into my new Club Monaco khakis. Oh great, I thought. I'm back in Carmel, sitting in front of my old house, with grass stains on my butt.

The situation didn't improve, of course, when Gina, who was busy rummaging through her bag for the house keys, burst out laughing.

I threw my bag at her. "What?" I asked, thoroughly annoyed.

Which only prompted her to laugh harder. "You!" she gasped, holding her sides, in a quite unattractive manner, "oh my—you should've seen the look on your face as you fell—it was—"

I scowled, placing my hands on my hips—which, I've noticed, doesn't look all too dignified, when you're sprawled across the ground. "I know. Stupid, right? Now help me up, or I'll tell Jake about that time in New York, when you got drunk and peed all over my mother's carpet."

Gina was up and at it like a mongoose—I had finally seen one, on the Discovery channel last week. They're right. They are fast—she had pulled me up and retrieved my messenger bag faster than you could say, Wild Life Preserve.

"Come on, Simon. Let's get going."

Let's get going. She didn't realize of course, that my brain was already running at abouta hundred miles per hour, desperately trying to think up some clever way to get going, or at least, to escape my impending doom.

Instead of moving, I just sort of stood there, weighing my options. I couldn't run, sincethat didn't work, apparently, and I couldn'tjump in the car, and drive away; it'd been two years, since I had last sat at the wheel of a car--I'm sure you've all heard Doc's explanation of the New York subway system, so I needn't explain it to you--so the only thing I really could do was--

Gina grabbed my wrist,giving it a violent tug. "Jesus, what're you standing there, looking so dense for? We're home, get moving, I said I'd have you here by six."

She turned around, and said to Chris, rather disdainfully--her dislike for my boyfriend was obvious in her tone of voice--"Dude, get the bags."

Then she slipped the Kate Spade bag over my shoulder, and said, in an almost motherly voice, "Good. All presentable for your family."

Chris followed behind us, tugging at the suitcases as we climbed the steps of the front porch.

"Hey," he whispered, taking hold of my hand in what I suppose he thought was a reassuring manner, "you okay? You look a little pale."

I swallowed, and grave him a rueful smile. "Yeah," I croaked, and then cleared my throat, "I'm fine."

Which, of course, was a lie. I wasn't fine. Actually, I was far from it. In addition to losing control over my body functions, I had also apparently forgotten how to breathe.

Gina knocked. Once. Twice.

I don't know what I was expecting to see, when that mahogany door opened, things had changed, after all. Three years was a long time. Really, I got that.

But I certainly wasn't expecting to see my mother, who opened the door, smiling brightly in flip-flops and sweatpants, with a stomach as large as a birthday balloon.

---

Jesse was talking to me, I knew it.

I could tell from the way his voice tickled my cheek, the way his arms, which were holding my so very close to his chest, tingled, the muscles in them tightening, as I giggled, and squirmed in his embrace.

What he was whispering so tenderly into my ear, I didn't know. I wasn't listening, not really. All I could focus on was the way his forearms circled my waist, how I fit so perfectly, pressed against him. Like two pieces of a puzzle.

Jesse was talking to me, but all I could think about was how much we belonged together.

And now he was turning me around to face him, his eyes, boring into my, shone brightly as he tilted my face towards his…lowering his lips towards mine for one, gentle kiss….

"Suze."

I blinked. Jesse never called me Suze.

"Suze." It was a male's voice, I soon realized, but not Jesse's. Jesse's was deeper, warmer, silkier.

"Suze." I turned over.

This was followed by a groan, a woman, this time, who said, "Ugh, let me do this..." I felt someone turn me back over, slapping softly the side of my face.

"SIMON!"

I sat up, abruptly. "What?"

"Suze," it was Gina, "what is wrong with you? I mean, are youdrunk, or something? Because Helen and Andy will be mega pissed at me if they find out that I showed up at their doorstop with theirnineteen-year-old daughter,who just happened to be heavily intoxicated."

"No." I snapped, brushing away the hand that she waved in front of my eyes, no doubt in an effort to counter my vision. As if making me dizzy helps me, when I'm 'heavily intoxicated.'

"God." I brought a hand to my forehead, feeling hot, though I had no recollection why. I wasn't stoned, now was I? I mean, I had had a couple more drinks than was necessary, on that plane ride, but not enough to be completely drunk, not to mention get myself wasted withoutmy knowledge.

But then again, you never knew when you got wasted, at least, not until the next morning's hangover.

Ah, the joys of college life.

"Hey." Chris' voice was gentle in my ear. I tried remembering more moments like this. Ones that I was sure had occurred, at least five or six times in my life, when this guy had come through for me, but I couldn't. All I could do was to compare that voice, the one I hadn't heard for so long, to his, and marvel at the obvious differences in tone. Chris didn't have a voice that was silky, smooth, soft. His was not a voice that was so capable of rendering me speechless, breathless, utterly lost.

And I was thankful. Who needed someone like that, anyway? They took away all your power. Your control.

I fell back to earth, feeling the soft pull of Chris' fingers on my sleeve. "Hey," he was still saying, "are you feeling okay?"

I looked up at him, feeling a sudden rush of gratefulness for the gentle voice he was using. A rush of love for those soft, blue eyes. I didn't need, I realized, a love that was dreamy, passionate, love that left me utterly astounded, breathless and still.

I needed this. I needed security. To feel safe.

I needed Chris. That was all.

"Hey." I whispered, "Yeah. I'm fine." I smiled at him. A true smile, something that I was positive I was incapable of conjuring for the past few months.

"More than fine," I said, "I have you."

Chris smiled, a gorgeous smile, one that sent my heart singing. Or maybe that was the headache I felt. Not that it matters. "You," he muttered, shaking his head, "really are high." He offered me his hand, and I took it, letting him pull me up.

"Come on, your mom's waiting for you."

----

"So," I managed to mutter, taking a tiny bit out of the biscuit she offered me. We were having tea, apparently, in honor of my arrival. Honestly, tea. Those gynecologists and health specialists were obviously getting to her. At least, if all those aromatherapy candles—not to mention the mounds of pregnancy books that were stacked messily under the glass-topped coffee table—were of any indication. "How far along have you been?"

She smiled, and it goes all the way up to her ears. "Four months," she said, "the baby's due in April."

"Oh," I said. And then, "Why didn't you tell me?"

I must've looked betrayed, or sad, or whatever, since she placed a hand over mine, saying softly, "I'm sorry, honey, but, well—" She stopped for a moment, obviously trying to envision my reaction, to whatever it was she had to tell me next. "Well—we didn't know how you'd take it, being gone for so long, and then, I guess, not too well, since you just fainted, right on the—"

"Mom." I said, in a steady voice. "You should've told me. I was surprised, is all. I mean, I know I've been away at college, and it's been awhile since we've all seen each other. But you could've at least told me, over the phone."

She smiled, this time ruefully, and I noticed how sad it looks, that smile. I wanted her to smile happily, always. "I know." She said, "and I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

An awkward silence overtook us, and I glanced around the living room, picking up all the little changes along the way. They were the tiny details, little things; that had been moved, discarded or replaced since I left. The knick-knacks that once stood on the mantle were now pictures, Dopey's and mine, taken at graduation. The many plants my mother had once owned now replaced with bookshelves, containing paperbacks on infant-care, and Indonesian cooking.

My mother had moved on, alright. I wondered if I really knew her anymore.

"So, what's new with you?"

The question was such an opener. My mind instantly flashed to the number of courses I had taken that summer, all the A.P. classes, all the hard work. I wanted to tell her, to explain all the stuff I did, how I met Chris, but suddenly it seemed unimportant, lesser in value, compared to her own experiences. I felt like she would disparage me in some way, if I were to tell her.

"Oh, not much," I said, "same old everything. Same old me."

"Well," I felt her hand come over mine again, "I'm glad you're back."

I nodded. There was a lump in my throat, all of a sudden, and I took a sip of tea, hoping to clear it. "Yeah. Me too."

After awhile, she suggested that I go up stairs, and Doc followed behind, helping with some of my bags. Fortunately, Andy had put dinner on hold, stubbornly waiting until he could have everyone back at the dinner table again.

We reached the top of the steps, pushing all my suitcases against the wall, and stopped. Gasping for air. I guess I had over packed, or something, since it all felt like a ton. This time, Doc had remarked, I really did smuggle fire hydrants.

"Suze," he said, peering up at me, though this time I wasn't that far up. Doc had undergone a growth spurt, since I was gone. I was only two inches taller now, him being a tall, gangly sixteen-year-old. "Suze, you're different."

I laughed, ruffling his hair playfully. He looked a bit annoyed, smoothing it over with his palm, and going, "Jesus, man, I just styled it."

Again, I chuckled, the thought of Doc going all Backstreet Boy (A/N: Just for clarification, I LOVE BSB, so I'm not dissing them or anything. I LOVE Never Gone, and I love Climbing the Walls, and I love Safest Place to Hide and all that stuff) just a little too strange for my peace of mind. But when I mentioned this, he only scowled at me sourly, crossing his arms over his chest, just like he did when he was younger.

"Alright," I said, deciding to cut him a little bit of slack, "so how am I different?"

"Well," he said, looking a little thoughtful. Doc, I realized was going to be a heartbreaker one day. As soon as he stopped gelling his hair like Lance, from Nsync. "Your hair is longer. And much shinier, and I guess you're skinnier, than when you were sixteen."

"Hey!" I punched him playfully on his shoulder. "I was not fat."

"Of course not."

"Whatever." I said. "And what else? Have my eyes changed color, too?"

"Well, no." He said, putting on an adorable pout. "But you know? They are a bit stranger."

"Stranger?"

He looked at me. "You look sad, Suze."

Sad. How, I wondered, was I sad-looking? But when I asked him this, Doc did not reply. Instead he asked me if I needed help unpacking.

"No, thank you." I murmured, feeling suddenly lost.

"All right." He said, "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

He stomped down the steps, stopping a few moments later to look at me, as I stood, blankfaced in the hallway.

I could feel his gaze boring into me from where I stood, a couple feet away from my bedroom door, burning the side of my face as he traveled slowly down the staircase, the footsteps gradually getting softer and softer, until they faded altogether, the only sound belonging to the shrill ringing in my ears, as I wondered, for a long time, what he meant.

----

It was the door, of course, that did it.

Which, looking back, was utterly ridiculous. I mean, this wasn't like some kind of thing, back in junior year, when I was young, innocent, and oh-so-impressionable. I was a grown woman, now, and yet—I still couldn't face my past.

I don't even know how it happened. How it could be, that I had so easily lost my ground. I mean, I was ready—more than ready—to move on. With Chris.

Yet somehow, staring at the door that led to all those memories, all the pain, I just—couldn't do it. It was like, if I opened that door, I didn't know what I would unlock. All my old demons from the past could come out and haunt me. Sister Ernestine, Paul, Jesse…

I couldn't take the chance—I didn't have enough trust, enough faith, to know, to be sure that everything was going to be all right. I mean, I had taken Epic and Myth in high school. We all know what happened with Pandora's box. There's no way to reverse the effect.

When it happens, it happens. It ends the same way.

So I just stood there, staring at the maple wood that my stepfather had so lovingly painted cream. Stood there for about ten minutes, until I heard Chris say, "Suze?"

I blinked. How long had he been there? I looked at him with what I hoped was a completely bewildered expression.

"Honey," he said—why does he call me that?—"what's the hold-up? Go ahead inside."

My gaze flickered again to the door. It looked so innocent there in the hallway; no one would ever suspect that this cream-colored threshold would be the thing that brought me back down. I couldn't. Could I?

I fiddled with my necklace. It was the one that Andy had given me, the day of our high school graduation. Engraved with my name, the date, and the occasion. It was the first time, I realized, that he'd special ordered me a gift. It made me flush with joy.

I wore it the day I got on that plane, the one that flew me back to Brooklyn, and I wore it here now, for the exact same reason. It gave me courage, like a strength amulet. It made me feel braver, which helped, even if it didn't match my clothes.

"Umm…" I said, running my finger up and down the silver chain, "I don't know. I guess I'm just kind of overwhelmed."

Chris looked at me questioningly.

I went, casually, "So many memories, you know?" and chuckled, uneasily.

"Oh." He said. But I could tell he didn't exactly believe me. The thing about Chris is, he doesn't pick. He leaves things the way they are, no need to ruin it, you know? "Uh, you want me to wait downstairs?"

I flashed him my best, forced, smile. "Yeah, thanks." He just looked at me with a worried expression on his face before turning at the railing and going down the steps.

I waited until I couldn't hear any footsteps and placed my hand on the knob of the door.

You can do this, I thought. I took a deep breath.

The door opened with a creak.

----

Don't know what I was looking for

when I went home, I found me alone

And sometimes I need someone to say,

"You'll be all right. What's on your mind?"

But the water's shallow here and I am full of fear,

and empty handed after two long years

"Jesse," he said, not moving.

"What?"

"You called me amigo. I thought you might like to know I have a name. It's Jesse."

I stepped into the room cautiously, as if I were too loud I'd break the silent ambience, everything that had been stored here for the past two years.

It was like looking at a part of the world that time had missed. Passed over, even. Let go. Standing in that room, I was sixteen again.

I trailed my fingers over the glass-topped dressing table, smiling as I came across the stain that my emerald-green nail polish had made on the edge of the right corner. Nothing had been moved, not the princess phone on my bedside table, or the lamp by the wall—which was decorated with cream-colored wallpaper; dotted with blue forget-me-nots. Nothing had faded, the colors still bold, and sweet. For a moment I suspected that my mother had gone out of her way to fix it up, for reminiscent purposes.

But she wouldn't do that. My mom loved me, but not to the point of self-nuisance. She was, of course, still four months pregnant, not to mention in her late 40s.

Everything was going great, going fine, until I saw the window seat.

"Yeah." I cleared my throat. He turned a little and put a boot up onto the pale blue cushion that covered the window seat, and I saw definite proof that yes, ghosts could indeed have six-packs. His abdominal muscles were deeply ridged, and covered with a light dusting of silky black hair.

I don't know what it was; maybe seeing the place where I saw Jesse almost every night, or just getting a good look at that view, but within a matter of seconds, I was tearing.

I sat down on my bed, hard. Gravity was increasing on me. I couldn't have gotten up if I tried.

"Simon."

I looked up. Gina was standing in the doorway, a worried look on her face.

I tried to collect myself. She came over quietly, as if she understood that everything needed to be done this way, and put her arms around me. I didn't pull away. For the past few years, I had been retreating every time someone tried to comfort me. Taking everything and tucking it out of sight, hidden, to everyone else but me.

But this time, I think I just needed it. Needed her, to comfort me this one time. Needed to let everything out, before I lost it.

Iput my head against her shoulder, and she pulled me closer. I could feel her heart beating, slow and steady. "He's gone," I whispered, in a voice hoarse from the silent sobs. It was strange, how long it took for that to finally sink in.

"I know," she said.

"I miss him."

"…I know."

Another sunny day in Californ-i-a

I'm sure back home they'd love to see it

But they don't know that what you love is ripped away

Before you get a chance to feel it