Chapter 18. Haley #2
I wanted to cry, too. Everyone had cried.
Mom cried at dinnertime when we ate the meals people had prepared for us, somehow knowing we couldn’t bear to be in the kitchen.
Matt cried in his bedroom at night when he thought we couldn’t hear him.
But the tears didn’t come for me. Something inside me was broken and the black box had swallowed up my feelings.
I tried hurting myself—paper cuts, falling off my bike, once I even took a kitchen knife and sliced my thumb.
I watched sad movies and listened to sad songs, and one night I broke into Dad’s old restaurant, took down the “For Sale” sign, sat on his worn leather stool and imagined he was still alive.
But nothing worked. I was frozen inside.
I awkwardly put my arm around Ace, and he leaned against me and sobbed until the light began to fade and the cool air chased the last of the late-summer warmth away.
When he finally looked up, his eyes swollen, face red, he seemed lighter somehow, like the tears had taken away his pain. I wanted that too, but even Ace’s tears weren’t enough to open up the core of me.
“We’d better get you home.” He held out his hand to help me up, and for some reason he didn’t let go.
“Mrs. Whitby told Mom you weren’t going to class,” I said as I kicked the autumn leaves.
“What’s the point?”
“I thought you loved learning. Dad said you were super smart, but you’d never been given a chance to shine. He told Matt he would need to work as hard as you if he wanted to become a dentist.”
“He was the only person who cared,” Ace said. “Now, it doesn’t matter.”
“I care.” And then because I didn’t want him to misunderstand, I added, “Mom and Matt care. Your grandmother cares…”
“You’re only twelve,” he said. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about, and I heard you’ve been hanging around with some bad people.”
“I wanted to feel something,” I admitted. “I don’t feel anything anymore. I thought they could help me.”
“That’s not the way to do it, bug.” He shook his head. “That’s a bad path. Drugs and alcohol will make you feel better for a short time, but then you need more and more, and it gets out of control. You need to let it out. You need to feel the pain.”
“I can’t.” I kicked another pile of leaves and stubbed my toe on a hidden root. “There’s nothing inside me but a black box that swallowed up all my feelings.” I’d never told anyone about the black box, but Ace had cried in front of me, and I knew he wouldn’t judge.
“That’s the kind of thing people write in songs,” he said. “You should write a song about how you feel. Maybe that will help.”
“I stopped writing songs when Dad died.”
I didn’t know how Ace knew about my songs.
I’d been writing lyrics as long as I could remember.
Mostly they were attempts to capture feelings that I didn’t have the vocabulary to express, or to say things that I was otherwise afraid to share.
I didn’t have the kind of deeply emotive experiences many singers wrote about.
My life until my father’s death had been a happy one.
But the moment he said it out loud, I wondered if I should try again.
Now, I knew death and sorrow. I couldn’t cry, but I knew pain.
As we walked the worn trail home, I told Ace about school and all the drama. I talked about shows I’d watched and a story I’d written for English class. I talked the way I used to talk when Dad was around. Ace listened. Really listened. He heard what I was trying to say.
When we finally reached the house, it was almost dark.
Mom was still at work and the only light was coming from Matt’s bedroom window.
Mom was leaving in the morning for another trip to Washington.
She said she was trying to raise awareness about the problems with the medical system so people like Dad didn’t die when they weren’t supposed to.
“Ace?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you need a hug?”
“Yeah, bug. I do.” He got down on one knee and I gave him a hug and he hugged me back.
I hadn’t had many hugs since Dad died. Mom always hugged me good night when she was home, but it wasn’t the same.
Some nights she held me too tightly and other nights she barely held me at all. Ace hugged me just right.
“Matt cries, too,” I said after he pulled away. “But only at night in his room. Don’t tell him I told you because he’ll be angry. He thinks he has to be the man of the family now, but he doesn’t know what to do. He misses you. We all do.”
“I can’t be in your house,” Ace said. “I can’t be in the kitchen and not hear your dad’s voice.”
“I don’t like it there either. It’s lonely. That’s why I wasn’t coming home from school.” I looked up at him. “You should come in today. Mom isn’t getting home until late, and we’ve run out of community dinners. Matt said he would try to make chicken Parm.”
Ace snorted a laugh. “Matt can’t cook.”
“I know. I need you to be there to call the ambulance when I get food poisoning.”
Ace laughed, a reluctant bark that came from his throat like he wasn’t expecting it. The sound made me giggle and I felt lighter than I had in months.
“I’d better come and help him,” Ace said. “Chicken can be dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. I’ll bet he hasn’t even defrosted it.”
“Maybe we should just have spaghetti.”
“I can do spaghetti.” He squeezed my hand. “I learned from the best.”