The loss I feel after the memory of this boy only intensifies. “What’s his name?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not going to let you get caught up in this bullshit again. Trust me… you know you can trust me.”
I don’t know why he looks afraid for a few seconds, but any misgivings I have about his intentions soften when I realize he must think he’s protecting me.
Or is he manipulating me?
Chapter Three
“E-bet?”
My dad stands at the bottom of the stairs where I left my luggage. Today is the day. I’ll fly to New York, meet up with Siler’s cousin, Mya, who will drive me to my dorm at Cornell University.
He’s staring anxiously at his phone. “We don’t want to be late to the airport.”
I’m unsteady on my feet after the ‘spell’ I had in my bathroom this morning. I told no one. Smacked my hip so hard that walking without favoring my right side is taking effort. In the last two days, I’ve had an increase in episodes.
If I expected to feel sad about leaving home, I’m numb as we drive to the airport. The only feeling that has taken hold is determination.
For the last month, I can only be sure people are keeping things from me. Important things.
When Siler wouldn’t give me the name of the guy from my memories, I asked my mom. Her response,“You’ve never shownany interest in dating. I’m not sure who you could mean,”made me put distance between Siler and me.
Scouring the yearbooks I found on my bookshelf, I didn’t find him. But I tell myself that doesn’t mean much. He could be from somewhere else.
I only know one thing. He’s real.
He has to be.
He feels more real than everything else in my life.
For months I’ve felt off balance. At times, a sense of disbelief has taken over my life. I wonder if part of my sudden illness has affected my brain so severely that my life feels unrecognizable.
The sudden surge of familiarity, emotion… of longing tells me he’s real. I’ve desperately wanted to find myself near him again.
Why doesn’t that memory of the swing and the mystery man fade away?
It only sharpens.
Each time I revisit it in my mind, I not only hear the sprinkler, but I also feel the teasing spray of droplets from it on my calf. I hear the radio playingWith or Without Youby U2, and I smell the fresh-cut grass.
No one can convince me this didn’t happen.
Or that my mind made it up.
Goodbyes are swift once we arrive at the airport. Dad slips cash, along with an emergency credit card, in my sweatshirt pocket. Mom double-checks that my medical alert bracelet is on. Like I won’t make my flight to New York without catastrophe striking.
I mean… fair enough.
My large suitcase and carry-on are cumbersome, especially since I’m feeling wobbly. I refuse to show it. Straightening and pasting a smile on my face, I tell my parents I’ll call when the flight lands.
Then I tug the luggage behind me, scanning the lines inside the sliding doors. A gasp escapes me when I see Siler leaning against the information desk, a gift bag in his hand.
My bravado drains as he lopes my way. I’ll miss him. I have missed him this past month. But I can’t let go of my misgivings.
He doesn’t hesitate, enveloping me in a big hug. “Ah, Biz,” he says, his voice hoarse with tears, “are you sure about this?”
How can I be sure about anything? Even his intentions.
