All We Could Have Been Read online

  I don’t have any pictures of him anymore. The only times he’s anything beyond what I remember is when other people remind me of what happened. When they’ve tagged me in Facebook posts. Tweeted me their opinions. Reminded me what he was. What I am.

  I can’t stop the memories and the thoughts, and I curl up on the concrete floor, trying to make it all go away.

  “L? You all right?” It’s Ryan, but I can’t look at him. I can’t look up and see the red staining his clothes.

  “I don’t feel well,” I say, which is about as honest as I can be.

  He sits on the floor with me. “Do you want me to see if someone can bring you home?”

  Home. I don’t have a home. We don’t have the same house I grew up in, because we couldn’t stand walking by everyone’s stares every day. Couldn’t stand how when my mom needed an egg and sent me to ask a neighbor, no one on our street would answer the door for me anymore.

  The entire auditorium is darkness and swimming and sounds and cold concrete, but I’m here and there and now and then all at once.

  “I don’t know,” I tell Ryan. “I don’t think I can stand up.”

  He maneuvers to help me up. I try not to look at him, although the red stains are at the edge of my periphery. “I … Can you change?”

  He looks down at the blood on his shirt and nods. “Sorry. I’m so used to it, but yeah, it’s kind of awful, right?”

  Awful.

  I play with the word. I think of the letters. Make patterns with them. Turn them around and try to list synonyms. Anything to distract myself.

  “Hey, Lexi. You okay?” Lauren comes running over. Ryan’s headed to the costume closet to grab a different shirt. He passed her on the stairs, where she was running lines, and I wonder what he told her.

  “I’m fine. Just sick.”

  “My mom just had the weirdest thing. I hope you didn’t catch it. She was, like, supernauseous all of a sudden, and she even thought she was pregnant. Which, ew.” She pauses. “Oh my God. Are you pregnant? You and Ryan? I didn’t realize it was that serious.”

  “What? No. I mean, we’re not even … No. Definitely not pregnant.”

  “That would be so cute. A drama baby. Right?” she asks, imagining the hypothetical child of a hypothetical relationship. I should be annoyed at her absolute and utter ridiculousness, but it’s so far from the truth that I’m somewhat grateful. I feel the room expand a bit while she rambles about a fictional child.

  By the time Ryan returns wearing a new shirt and holding a set of car keys, Lauren has named our nonexistent child Lexann (she says it’s a perfect mix of Ryan and Lexi) and aged her through fourth grade. She’s apparently quite the dancer.

  “I could totally see us all coming back from college and jobs and stuff to go to Lexann’s recitals, right?”

  “Who’s Lexann?” Ryan asks. He’s wearing a pink T-shirt with a sparkly pony on it. I can’t help but smile a little.

  “Your daughter,” Lauren says, and then she pats my knee as she goes to leave, letting me know my secret—which isn’t a thing—is safe with her.

  “What the hell was that about?” Ryan asks.

  “I can’t even begin to explain.” I gesture to the keys. “Are you taking me home?”

  “Yeah. Eric’s working on the set, and he said I can take his car.”

  I follow Ryan out into the parking lot, where the early evening is already settling. The sky has that weird purple-gray, not really night coloring, and the streetlights are on. Leaves blow across the pavement, although there are no trees near the lot. I don’t know where all the leaves come from.

  Inside Eric’s car it’s cold, and we wait for the heat to kick in.

  “Do you want to talk about it? I completely forget that the stage blood can look real, and you’re definitely not the first to get upset by it.”

  “I don’t…” I can’t continue, so I shake my head and press my cheek against the passenger-side window, feeling the contrast between the chilly autumn air and the car heater on my face.

  “Okay,” he says.

  We ride in silence, and I feel guilty for it. I should tell him something. At least thank him for being here. But the swirling timelines and all my thoughts are a hazy kaleidoscope. We’re almost back to my aunt’s place by the time I think of something to say.

  “How go the lawn ornaments?” I ask.

  Ryan laughs, a shattering of the quiet tension. “Good, actually. I have a table at the regional craft fair this weekend.”

  “Do you now? Tell me more. I have several lawn ornament needs, and that sounds ideal.”

  “You don’t have to come. I know it’s random.”

  “No, I want to. I don’t have a car, but hey, there’s always rappelling.”

  “Or your bike,” he says.

  I swallow the memories and shame again. “Where is it?”

  He gives me directions and I promise to go. When we pull up to Castle Estates, to my aunt’s apartment, he doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t comment on where I live, which I appreciate, but he also doesn’t make a move to walk me to the door.

  I don’t know if we’re a thing. Everyone else seems to think so, and I don’t know if I’m supposed to kiss him good-bye or something. I don’t really want us to be a thing, because I love having him in my life without there being a thing, but the unspoken maybe it’s a thing just makes it so complicated.

  “So … I’ll see you,” I say, the door open only a crack. I wait to see if he moves to kiss me or looks surprised, but he only nods.

  “See ya,” he says.

  I get out of the car and watch him drive away.

  I don’t want to go inside yet. I’m afraid of my aunt questioning me, of having to admit what happened. I don’t want anyone to know it’s not getting better. So I walk. The fountain is off now that it’s grown colder, but I walk alongside the water and listen to the geese overhead.

  I hate the fall. I love it because it’s beautiful, but I also hate how beautiful it is. I hate that, underneath the beauty, all it brings is death. It’s an entire season that outright lies to us.

  “October sucks.”

  I turn to see Marcus sitting on the same bench where we sat on the first day of school. I haven’t seen him at all since our ice-cream date. I looked for him, but I didn’t feel like I should go to his apartment, and he didn’t come to mine, and time just does that thing it does and now it’s been almost two full months.

  “It does,” I agree, joining him on the bench.

  “My dad left in October. Which, I guess, is why I hate it, but it’s like it’s proud of what it does to people. The entire month is just a countdown to winter.”

  “I didn’t know he’d left. Your dad. I mean, I figured, since you only mentioned him in the past tense, but I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” he says. “But yeah, he left. Just packed his shit and was out. Like you do.”

  “People, right?”

  “People,” he agrees. “So what are you up to? What brings you to this bench on a night like this?”

  “Well, I joined drama. You knew that?”

  He shakes his head. There’s no reason he would know. I don’t see him on the bus. His classes are in a different part of the school. And we haven’t talked.

  It’s kind of comforting that he doesn’t know.

  “Yeah,” I continue, “so I joined drama. And we’re doing Romeo and Juliet, which is fine. But I don’t know. It’s weird. I’m a part of it all, but not. I’m not really one of them. I feel like this outsider, and they’re all nice, but it’s … something. And today was bad.”

  “Because of the something?” he asks.

  “No, it’s more than that. Today was … Okay, there’s so much story here. But basically before I came here, things were kind of crappy. And today just reminded me of that.”

  “It’s fucking October, I tell you,” Marcus says. “It’s a month of this. The slow unraveling of everything.”
/>   “That’s kinda poetic.”

  He turns to look at me. Those eyes. It’s too dark to see his features, but his eyes shine through somehow. I don’t get it. “Yeah, I’m a regular poet.”

  I gaze out at the water. The security lights from the sides of the brick buildings reflect in the darkness and fill the slowly descending evening. A car goes by with the bass too loud. Somewhere, someone is yelling in a one-sided argument.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t seen you,” I say.

  “That’s okay. I didn’t make much effort, either.”

  Still looking at the water, I tell him, “I wanted to.”

  “I know. Me too. I really wanted to. I just…”

  “I don’t get it, you know? The world. The way it all plays out.” I turn toward him, lifting my leg up under myself. “Why us? Why are we the ones who are here?”

  “Here as in existing, or here as in literally on this bench?” Marcus asks.

  “I don’t know. Both, I guess. But mostly here as in on this bench. Like, this place. Like … Do you know Rory Winters?”

  He nods, but then pauses and shakes his head. “Kind of. I know who she is. But I don’t know her.”

  “I don’t know if anyone does. But, like, she’s perfect, right?”

  “That’s not a thing,” he argues.

  “No, you’re right, but hear me out. That’s just it. She’s perfect, but no one’s perfect. Still, everyone thinks she is. She seems nice enough, and she’s not the kind of person who has to remind you that she’s perfect. She just is, and we all sort of get it. But why? What cards did she draw? And where was I that day?”

  Marcus turns on the bench, too, so our knees are pressed together. “You sound jealous.”

  “Maybe I am. But it’s so much bigger than that. I guess I just don’t get any of it. It all seems really fucking unfair.”

  The streetlights come on finally as the last of the orange sinks below the horizon, and Marcus is bathed in them. I feel his knee pressing against mine. Everyone thinks I have a thing with Ryan, but he’s a friend. He’s comfortable. He makes sense. With Marcus, I feel like who I am, though. The real me. The one I haven’t spent any time getting to know over the past five years while I hid in alternate versions of myself.

  I don’t want a relationship, but if I did, this is what the one I’d want would be. Someone to sit with in the late autumn evening, knees pressed close, and you just know they get you.

  “Do you want to come over?” he asks. “We can watch a movie.”

  “My aunt will probably freak out. She won’t notice for a bit longer, because I’m supposed to be at rehearsal, but a few hours … I don’t want to upset her.”

  “Because you’re out late or because it’s me?”

  I don’t want to tell Marcus that some women at the restaurant told my aunt things about him, so I pause, trying to decide what to say instead. He knows, though.

  “It’s me,” he confirms. “It’s because of what they say, right?”

  “Who?”

  “Everyone. I know. My mom has to listen to them. Every time she goes anywhere. She doesn’t go many places anymore, but it started when my dad left, and now she’s too sick, I guess. Or she’s just tired of hearing it and pretending not to.”

  I remember this one time, right after everything fell apart. I was at the grocery store with my parents. My dad had gone to the bakery to grab a loaf of bread, and my mom and I were looking for dish soap. I had the bottle in my hands when the woman came by. She had a kid in her carriage—maybe three years old. The woman looked at my mom, then at me. “You’ll never find enough soap to wash yourselves clean,” she said, and then she continued on. She’d said her piece, and we were left holding the soap and the memories of Scott and the knowledge that we were changed now.

  I stand up. “Let’s go. I have time. It’s a good night for a movie.”

  “I don’t want to start shit for you.”

  I shove my hands in my pockets. I keep them there, because if I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll reach out to him. I want to touch him. Not because of anything romantic, but because I remember how alone I felt in the grocery store that day. How I longed to be held and to be told I wasn’t somehow less than. I want to do the same for Marcus, but I can’t, because I don’t want to taint him with what I am, either.

  “Let’s go,” I say. “Really. It’s October, and I don’t want to sit at home thinking about what comes next tonight.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Marcus’s mom is already asleep when we get back to his place. He doesn’t say anything, instead talking around it, and I ignore the darkness and sadness of the apartment.

  Once we’re in his room, we settle on his bed with a box of snacks. Literally a box. He opened an Amazon delivery and dumped out the books he’d ordered (all good choices, if I do say, because of course I checked). Then we filled it with snacks.

  We decide on On the Waterfront because it’s at the top of his DVD stack and I don’t have a preference.

  “So, no talking during the movie,” he says. “Total attention, okay?”

  “Of course.” I lean back against his pillows, letting the box fill the space between us. It’s good the box is there, because the tension needs something to take its place. As the film starts, I glance over at Marcus leaning back against another set of pillows.

  I’ve had one sort-of boyfriend. And it wasn’t serious. I’ve kissed two guys ever. One was Ben last year, and one was during the summer when I was twelve. It’s not that I don’t want to date or don’t find myself interested in anyone, but it’s a lot of baggage to carry at seventeen, and I haven’t wanted to share that. Or to drag someone down with me.

  I don’t want to drag Marcus down, either, but I like the way he looks at me. I like how he makes me feel like maybe it wouldn’t matter. It’s the first time I feel like something could be possible with another person someday. I know it can’t be with him, though, because I’m lying to him. That’s not a good way to start any kind of relationship.

  Still, he’s really cute. And I try to focus on the movie, but I find myself imagining that I didn’t have all these secrets and that I could ask Marcus to kiss me.

  “Discussion time?” I ask after the movie ends. “Is that the next part?”

  He shakes his head, tossing the DVD case onto his desk, where it slides off and lands in his trash can. “No, it’s not about that. It’s not about what I think you should think. It’s about what you do think. And that’s for you. I just wanted you to see it.”

  “Do you want to get into movies? Like, later or something?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not really getting out of Westbrook. There aren’t a lot of colleges that want kids from the behavioral classes. We don’t exactly get the same quality education.”

  “Why’d they put you in there exactly?” I ask, before I realize it’s probably not okay to ask. “Never mind. You don’t have to tell me.”

  “Nah, it’s okay. I got in a lot of fights when I was younger. And I couldn’t sit still in class, so they decided I couldn’t do anything. And when I got older and could hold it together more, no one really thought to reconsider.”

  “You could probably have a meeting or something,” I suggest.

  “My mom would have to go, and she’s … It’s really hard with just the two of us. It doesn’t matter. I could be the smartest guy in school and I can’t go anywhere anyway. She needs me here.”

  I stand up and look through the rest of his DVDs. I don’t want to go home yet, although I don’t necessarily want to watch another movie. I kind of just want to be near him, even if we’re both still stuck behind our pasts.

  “My parents are…” I try to think of the word I want. I try to find the words to give Marcus something of myself without giving him the parts I can’t. “They mean well.”

  “That’s always followed by something bad, isn’t it?” he asks.

  He takes the box of snacks that neither of us touched and puts it on the flo
or beside him. The bed’s now an empty welcome. The dark sheets are messed up from our sitting on them during the movie, and they peer out from under the comforter.

  I don’t know why Marcus interests me. I don’t know if it’s merely that he’s supposed to be a bad idea and that appeals to me somehow. Or if it’s how oddly vulnerable he is, even though he covers it with disappointment. Or if maybe it’s just a lifetime of hormones exploding because he has nice eyes and I can’t help looking at the way his shirt is caught in the top of his jeans and we’re only a few feet apart in his quiet bedroom. Whatever it is, though, is exactly what I don’t need, and yet I make no effort to leave.

  “Lexi?” he says, reminding me I’m supposed to be talking. “Your parents mean well, but there’s something else, isn’t there?”

  “I don’t know. I mean it, really. They try. They want things to be different. And they do it the only way they know how. It’s just sometimes … I wish they pushed me more. I wish they didn’t let me give up so easily.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed but leave space between us. I won’t look at him. I feel the words as they start to come out, and I wonder if I’ll look back on tonight and remember this is when I screwed up.

  “I couldn’t handle it,” I tell him. “I needed to be somewhere else. Everything was a mess at home, but my parents still wanted me there. It was hard for them, too, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was how hard it was for me.”

  “So you run away?” he asks.

  I turn to look at Marcus. I think about this place. How it’s shitty and the fountain barely works and how the ice-cream truck is just some guy in an old van. And I realize it’s all a lie and I don’t have the right to it. This is all Marcus has, and I just come in here and try to pretend it’s my life, when I’m the girl who runs away and hides in other people’s pain.

  I nod. “I run away, and everyone just resets the world for me every time things get hard. Sometimes I wish they asked me to stay, that they made me fight for something.”