Chapter 11
“It’s the best thing anyone’s ever given me,” she said, holding it up and looking at me through the hole. She kissed me again, lightly on the mouth and once on my neck. She whispered in my ear. “Thanks, Cameron.” I loved her lips, especially when the sun hit them and she smiled at me. I’d never seen her smile like that when she was with Rube, and hoped it was a smile she’d never been able to give to anyone else alive. I couldn’t help it.
The people were gone now and we collected up the money from Octavia’s jacket. It was just over fifty-six dollars. In my left jacket pocket, I still held all my words, including what I’d just written when she’d returned to playing. My fingers held them tightly, guarding them.
“Let’s go,” she said, and we started walking along the water toward the bridge. Shadows of cloud lurked in the water, like holes the sun forgot about. The girl next to me still looked at the shell, and my heartbeat felt like fingers climbing over my ribs. Even when it slowed, there was still a force to it. I liked it.
Under the bridge, we sat down against the wall, Octavia with her legs outstretc
hed, me with my knees held up to my throat. I glanced over at her and noticed the way the light touched her skin and handled the hair that fell into her face. It was the color of honey. She had salty green eyes — the color of the harbor on an overcast day — and she had tanned skin and a straight-teeth smile that got crowded on the right side when she opened her mouth further. (I’d never noticed that previously.) She had a smooth neck and the shins of her legs wore a few bruises. Nice knees and hips. I liked girls’ hips, but I liked Octavia’s especially. I …
It was there again.
Between us.
The silence.
There was only the sound of water throwing itself against the walls of the harbor, until finally, I looked over at Octavia and said quietly, “I just wanted to …”
Pause.
A long pause.
She wanted to speak, I could sense it. I noticed it in the pleading of her eyes, and the slight movement of her lips. She was dying to say something but held back. I finished the sentence.
“I just wanted to say …” I cleared my throat, but it remained cracked. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
I hesitated slightly. “… For wanting me.”
She looked over and placed her eyes in mine for just the briefest of seconds. Her fingers touched my wrist and made their way down to hold my own fingers in hers. She then said something very deliberately.
She smiled a moment and calmly said, “I like your hair, Cameron. I like how it sticks up no matter how hard you try to keep it down. It’s the one thing you can’t hide.” She swallowed. “But the rest of you is hidden. It’s hidden behind your measured walk, the crushed collar of your jacket, and your awkward, nervous smile. You can kill me with that smile if you want.” I looked over.
“Do you know that?” she asked again, almost accusingly. “No.”
“Well it’s true, but …” “What?”
“Can’t you see?” She squeezed my hand. “I want more than that.” A tough kind of smile fought its way to her face. “I just want to know you a bit, Cameron, that’s all.”
Again, I noticed the sound of the water. Rising.
Bashing against the wall before diving back down. Finally, I nodded. I decided.
There was only one way to do this and now I had it. I stood up and walked to the water.
The bridge towered over me and I started talking as I crouched down maybe ten yards away and looked into her.
Words flew from my mouth.
“My name’s Cameron. I’ve always said that I wanted to drown inside a girl, inside her spirit, but I’ve never even come close — I’ve barely even touched a girl. I don’t have friends. I live in the shadow of both my brothers — one for his single-minded focus on success, the other for his brilliance, rough smile, and ability to make people like him. I hope my sister won’t just be another slab of flesh that some guy just picks up and throws a few dollars at to buy cheap lipstick but don’t forget the beer. I work with my father on weekends and my hands get dirty and blistered. I get thoughts in my head of movies with sex scenes and about girls from school, model girls, a female teacher or two, girls in ads, girls on calendars, girls on TV shows who turn letters, girls in uniforms or corporate suits who sit on the train reading thick books with perfume smothered on their throats and perfect makeup. I walk around the city a lot and when I do, it feels like the soul of home. I love my brother Rube but I hate what he does to girls, especially when they’re real girls like you who should have known better than to go out with him in the first place. I idolize Mrs. Wolfe because she keeps us together and works like hell. She works harder than she should ever have to, and one day I want to do something brilliant for her like put her in first class on a plane to wherever she wants….” I remembered to breathe but forgot what I was going to say next.
I stopped talking and stood up, because my legs were getting sore from the crouching down. Slowly, I walked toward Octavia Ash, whose bruised shins were now held up by her folded arms.
“I —”
Again, I stopped, as I walked to her and crouched down in front of her. I could feel the blood collect again in my legs.
“What?” she asked. “What is it?”
For a few seconds I wondered if I should do it or not, but before I allowed myself not to, I reached into the pocket of my jacket and pulled out clumps of paper and held them out to her, as if I were offering her everything I owned. On the paper were the words.
“These are mine,” I said, placing them in her outstretched hand. “Open them and read them. They’ll tell you who I am.”
She did as I asked, opening the small piece of writing that was my first. The only thing is, she read only the start of them. She handed the paper back to me and asked, “Would you read them to me, Cameron?”
My thoughts kneeled down.
The breeze wandered between us and I sat next to her again and began reading the words I wrote back in Chapter One of this story.
“The city streets are lined with truth, and I walk through them. Sometimes, they walk through me. …” I read the page slow and true, exactly how it felt to me, as if it were oozing from me, and I said the last part just a touch louder. “Yes, when that’s done, I also want the everything that’s her to fill up so much in front of me that it spills and shivers and gives, just like I’m prepared to do myself. But for now, happiness throws stones. It guards itself. I wait.”
When I was finished, a final silence gripped us both and the sound of the paper folding up again sounded like something crashing. A look of feeling clutched at her face, holding it.
She waited a while, before gently speaking. “You’ve never touched a girl before?”
“No.”
“Not till me?”
“No.”
“Could you do me a favor?” she asked. I nodded, looking at her. “Could you hold my hand?”
Feeling every part of it, I took Octavia’s hand, and she came closer and rested her head on my shoulder. She put her leg over mine and hooked her foot under my ankle, linking us.
“I never thought I’d show anyone my words,” I said quietly.
“They’re beautiful.” She spoke softly in my ear. “They make me okay….”
Soon after, she moved in front of me, crossed her legs, and faced me, making me read everything I’d written so far. When it was over, she moved my hands across her stomach to hold her on her hips.
She said, “You can drown inside me anytime, Cameron,” and she put her lips on mine again and let herself flow through the inside of my mouth. The pages were still in my hands, pressed against her as I held her hips, and I could feel her on top of me, breathing me in.
After a while, we got up and Octavia turned to me. She asked a serious question.
She leaned toward me and said, “You feel like getting high?”
“High?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She smiled in a dangerous, self-mocking way, and I only began to understand why when we headed back toward the middle of the city, to the tower.
We entered the lift and it took us right to the top, with some English golf pro–looking types, and a family on a Sunday outing. One of the kids kept stepping on my foot.
“Little bastard,” I felt like saying. If I had been with Rube I probably would have, but with Octavia, I only looked at her and implied it. She nodded back as if to say, “Exactly.”
Once up there, we walked around the whole floor and I couldn’t help but look for my own house, imagining what was happening there, and hoping, even praying, that everything was going okay. That extended to include everyone down there, as far as I could see, and as I always do when I pray to a God I wouldn’t have a clue about, I stood there, lightly beating at my heart, without even thinking.
Especially this girl, though, I prayed. Let her be okay, God. All right? All right God?
That was when Octavia noticed my fist lightly touching my heart. There was no answer from God. There was a question from the girl.
She asked, “What are you doing?” I could feel the curiosity of her eyes on my face. “Cameron?”
I stayed focused on the city sprawled out beneath us. “Just sort of prayin’, y’ know?”
“For what?”
“Just that things will be okay.” I stopped, continued. Almost laughed. “And I haven’t been in a church for nearly seven years….”
We stayed up there for over an hour, walking around to see the whole city from this high up.
“I come up here a fair bit,” she told me. “I like the height.” She even climbed to the carpeted step at the window and stood there, leaning forward onto the glass. “You comin’ up?” she asked, and I’ll be honest — I tried, but no matter how much I wanted to lean forward onto that glass, I couldn’t. I kept feeling like I was going to fall through.
So I sat there.
Only for a few seconds.
When she came back down she could see I wasn’t doing too well.
“I wanted to,” I said. “Don’t worry, Cam.”
The thing was, I knew there was something I had to ask, and I did it. I even promised myself that this would be the last time I asked a question like this.
I said, “Octavia?” I kept hearing her telling me that she came up here all the time. I heard it when I spoke the words, “Did you bring Rube up here too?”
Slowly, she nodded.
“But he leaned on the glass,” I answered my own question. “Didn’t he?”
Again, she nodded. “Yeah.”
I don’t know why, but it seemed important. It was important. I felt like a failure because my older brother leaned on the glass and I couldn’t. It made me feel hopeless in some way. Like I wasn’t even half the guy he was.
All because he leaned on glass and I couldn’t.
All because he had the neck and I didn’t.
All because …
“That doesn’t mean anything.” She shot down my thoughts. “Not to me.” She thought for a moment and faced me. “He leaned on the window, but he never made me feel like you do. He never stood outside my house. He never gave me any truth, the way you have with your pages there. He never gave me something he couldn’t give to anyone else.” She struggled not to explain it, but to actually say it. “The few times I’ve been with you, I feel like I’m kind of outside myself, you know?” She finished me. “I don’t want Rube. I don’t want anyone else.” Her eyes ate me, quietly. “I want you.”
I looked.
Down.
At my shoes, then back up, at Octavia Ash. I went to say, “Thanks,” but she stopped me by pushing her fingers up to my mouth.
“Always remember that,” she spoke. “All right?”
I nodded. “Say it.”
“All right,” I said, and her cool hands touched me on my neck, my shoulder, my face.
SOMETIMES YOU GET THE GIRL —
SOMETIMES THE GIRL GETS YOU
Inside me, I’m high up, leaning forward onto glass. It cracks.
It comes apart and falls open. Momentum pushes me out and I’m being dragged to earth at a speed beyond my imagination. I see the width of the world.
The farther I fall, the faster it turns, and around me, I see visions of everyone and everything I know. There’s Rube and Steve, Sarah, Dad and Mrs. Wolfe, Keith and Miffy, and Julia the Scrubber, looking seductive. Even the barber’s there, chopping hair that litters down around me.
I think only one thing.
Where’s Octavia?
As I get closer to the bottom, I notice that it’s water I’m falling into. It’s salty-green and smooth, until…
I’m driven through the surface and go deeper. I’m surrounded.
I’m drowning, I think. I’m drowning.
But I’m smiling too.