I smile. I’ve never thought of myself as a funny girl, but I’m happy that he thinks so.
We are awkward together for a few moments, unsure what to say. The silence would be much less noticeable over IM. We could chalk it up to any number of distractions. But right now, in real life, it feels like we both have blank thought balloons over our heads. Actually, mine’s not blank at all, but I really can’t tell him how beautiful his eyes are. They’re Atlantic Ocean blue, just like he’d said. It’s strange because of course I’d known that. But the difference between knowing it and seeing them in person is the difference between dreaming of flying and flight.
“This is some crazy room,” he says, looking around.
“Yeah. My mom built it so I could feel like I was outside.”
“Does it work?”
“Most days. I have a really excellent imagination.”
“You really are a fairy tale. Princess Madeline and the Glass Castle.” He’s quiet again, like he’s trying to build up to something.
“It’s OK to ask me,” I say.
He’s wearing a single black rubber band around his wrist and he pulls at it a few times before continuing. “How long have you been sick?”
“My whole life.”
“What would happen if you went outside?”
“My head would explode. Or my lungs. Or my heart.”
“How can you joke…?”
I shrug. “How can I not? Besides, I try not to want things I can’t have.”
“You’re like a Zen master. You should teach a class.”
“It takes a long time to learn.” I smile back at him.
He crouches and then sits, back against the wall, forearms on his knees. Even though he’s still, I can feel the need to move coming off of him. The boy is kinetic energy.
“Where do you want to go the most?” he asks.
“Besides outer space?”
“Yes, Maddy, besides outer space.” I like the way he says Maddy, as if he’s been calling me that my whole life.
“The beach. The ocean.”
“Want me to describe it for you?”
I nod more vigorously than I expected to. My heart speeds up like I’m doing something illicit.
“I’ve seen pictures and videos, but what’s it like to actually be in the water? Is it like taking a bath in a giant tub?”
“Sort of,” he says slowly, considering. “No, I take it back. Taking a bath is relaxing. Being in the ocean is scary. It’s wet and cold and salty and deadly.”
That’s not what I was expecting. “You hate the ocean?”
He’s grinning now, warming to his topic. “I don’t hate it. I respect it.” He holds up a single finger. “Respect. It’s Mother Nature at her finest—awesome, beautiful, impersonal, murderous. Think about it: All that water and you could still die of thirst. And the whole point of waves is to suck your feet from under you so that you drown faster. The ocean will swallow you whole and burp you out and not notice you were even there.”
“Oh my God, you’re scared of it!”
“We haven’t even gotten to great white sharks or saltwater crocodiles or Indonesian needlefish or—”
“OK, OK,” I say, laughing and holding up my hands for him to stop.
“It’s no joke,” he says with mock seriousness. “The ocean will kill you.” He winks at me. “It turns out that Mother Nature is a lousy mom.”
I’m too busy laughing to say anything.
“So, what else do you want to know?”
“After that? Nothing!”
“Come on. I’m a fount of knowledge.”
“OK, do one of your crazy tricks for me.”
He’s on his feet in a blink and begins assessing the room critically. “There’s not enough room. Let’s go out—” He stops himself midsentence. “Crap, Maddy, I’m sorry.”
“Stop,” I say. I stand up and hold a hand out. “Do not feel sorry for me.” I say this harshly, but it’s too important a point. I couldn’t stand pity coming from him.