I watched them fall, slowly, spiraling. Blue and yellow and red and pink. I remembered lying in bed, half-asleep, thinking of the place where birds live, above the town, as a kind of heaven, and that was the idea of course, to drop her from here, to put her in a kind of heaven.
It was like her soul had been divided into two hundred and sixty-one pieces, and now it was scattering over the glow of the town, over the brightness, spreading Paris all over, brightly colored pieces of her. Pan tore Echo into scraps, but the gods did the same to her voice, to her soul, made it everywhere and in fragments, so that she would never die, and now we had done the same for Paris, thrown her into the wind and the darkness and the glow of the town, the brightness, like Echo’s voice flung into the rocks and the trees and the mountains, Procne in the song of the nightingale, ringing out her accusation but also her voice and her soul, singing that there was a part of her that would never be killed, as long as she was remembered, and in the same way Paris would always be around, because of the cranes, if we came up here, to the top of the wheel and the place where the town was laid out below us like a city of light, shining in the darkness, glowing, the hope of the resurrection.
“****,” said Julie. “Some of them are stuck in the bag.”
She reached in to pull them out, to dislodge them, and the wheel jolted into motion and we stumbled into each other, stupidly put our arms out to clutch each other, toppled over.
Julie screamed as we fell, but then the car was just moving slowly around and we weren’t dropping down to the ground below, plummeting; we just fell on our asses on the cold, hard floor of the car.
“Ow,” said Julie.
“Double ow,” I said.
Quickly we scrabbled in the bag, yanked out the remaining cranes, threw them over the side—saw them whipped away by a sudden wind that had struck up.
Julie got up first and pulled me to my feet. Her hand went to her backside, and she made a disgusted face. “I have gum on my butt,” she said.
And then I was laughing, and she was laughing, and we laughed so hard, we laughed until we cried.
And that’s it.
But listen.
This is the important thing. When I fell into the water, the ocean got behind my eyes, and you … I feel like you have done the same.
You’re behind my eyes; you’re under my skin. The smell of your hair is in the cavities of my body, coursing in my veins. I can’t get rid of it. And you were 100 percent there for me, I see that now, you were on my side—hell, even when I kissed Dwight you were still worried that my dad was forcing me into breaking up with you, that he was abusing me in some way … I mean, he wasn’t, not really, but you still cared. You still wanted to help me.
You’re on my team. You were, I mean. I never really had that before, not at school, not anywhere, my mom and dad just, but that’s their job, right? I’m rambling. What I mean is: you are kind of amazing. I don’t really deserve you, but I’d like to try to repay you if I can.
I’d like to be on your team.
100 percent.
So … meet me? When you have read this? At Pirate Golf, on Pier One, on Friday at five p.m.?
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, Why would I forgive this girl when she hurt me like that? You’re thinking, Why would I want to see her again, after her dad kicked me out, said he didn’t want me seeing her? Not to mention that she hears a voice. And I understand that, I do. But I have some things to tell you, some things that might make you feel better.
I don’t know. I don’t want to pressure you.
But.
First: I like you. I like you a lot. And believe it or not, everything I did to hurt you, I really did, in a ******-up way, because I was trying to keep you safe. Truly. Okay, that’s a lie. It’s also because I was embarrassed, by the voice, all that stuff. But … at least I’m honest, right? I mean, I am now. You don’t need me to protect you, but I swear I will always try to.
Second …
It’s about my dad. And about me.
After I got out of the hospital, Dad drove me home. We went silently into the house. We both knew things were going to be hard. There was going to be a lot of media intrusion. I was going to have to talk to Dr. Rezwari and Dr. Lewis. Work out where to go with my treatment.
I told Dad that in the hospital. I explained to him about the voice support group; I said how much it had helped me, how Dr. Rezwari was willing to try a collaborative approach. I told him how the voice helped me, when I was in the ocean, helped me to have the strength to climb. He didn’t say anything, but he did nod, which I took as a positive sign.
Anyway.
We went into the den. I had been told to get lots of rest. Dad led me to the couch and sat me down and then sat down beside me.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” he said. He looked gray; he had lost so much weight. The stress had taken such a toll on him, I could see that now.
“Yes,” I said.
“What? Food? Coffee?”
“You can forgive me,” I said.
Dad frowned. It accentuated his new wrinkles, and I felt another stab of guilt. His muscled, tattooed arms were less muscled now.
But I was sick of feeling guilty.