Crush Me

Part Nine

Red. I bleed red. And my shirt is stained red now too. From Jello, of all things. I can’t help but laugh at the madness of it all. If Jay knew what lay under my shirt, would he still think I was worth spending time with me? That he wanted me to know him?

“Why do you spend time with me?” I ask to my lap softly, so no one but Jason can hear me.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jay squints, like he’s searching for us to connect. And see eye to eye.

Nope. That’s why I’m asking, silly. “Sure,” I lie. “It’s obvious that I had a pencil you needed. But other than that, anyone can help you carry your books. Grab lunch for you. Build a—”

“Bridge?” Jay smiles. “Really? Cuz I’m not looking for the kind of bridge that crumbles under pressure. I want more than a season of you, Meena. I want this to be the first of many things we build together.”

The room swirls as my head spins with his words. What kind of high school boy talks to girls like that? You are so right. I really do not know you. And the little you reveal while your friends engage in loud, nonsensical jabs, isolates us in a bubble, and I’m lost. In your eyes.

“You still haven’t answered my question. Why?” I need to know.

“That’s the point.” He’s answering my question like a back door entrance. “I don’t know the answer to that yet. But I want to know. The answer. You. Make sense?”

Not really. And totally. At the same time. Breathe. Breathe Meena. Breathe.

“Plus, what happened with your dad...”

Oh no, he didn’t. Just go there. “My dad is off limits.” I want to shelve this conversation before Jay thinks I am an open book. I am not. Open to him. Yet.

“I’m sorry.” Jay averts his glance. An announcement overheard calls for a quick football team briefing. Jay’s injury excuses him. His peeps give Jay high fives, and leave us. We’re alone but the mention of my dad makes me wish I was truly alone. Right now, I feel exposed and I didn’t choose to pull back this curtain. “Let’s just talk about you. You did say I don’t know you. So tell me, Jason ___. Who are you?”

The bell will sound in five minutes, and neither of us have unwrapped our sandwiches. “I’m. Changing. Your story. What happened last summer. With...you changed me.”

All this time I assumed my dad’s suicide labeled me as freak child of freak parent. Shoving me overnight in a pen with the school’s other untouchables. The kids who have stories that everyone thinks they know, but details students only talk about when the “freak” isn’t around. I know because there was a time when I was on the other side. Participating. Laughing. Jabbing at the isolated girls and guys. When I became one of them, I refused to believe it. Still refuse to, for the most part. Which makes life all the lonelier. Since I can’t even turn to them in my lowest moments. Alone takes on a whole new meaning when even the lonely reject you.

“You, choosing me,” To be here, next to you, “Changes me.” I say before I rethink the words too much. Like seasons changing the colors of leaves, I find myself invited to open up. Just a little. “My dad. He left me. But he didn’t leave me. With nothing.” I feel like I need to defend him.

Jason nods, his lips parting slightly, then closing, like he reconsidered saying something. He unwraps both our sandwiches. Lays mine down on the wrap and takes a bite out of his. I follow his lead and bite off a bit of crust, before saying more. A bit more. “Daddy left me with his writing. And I don’t have all the answers, but his stories tell me some things. Like the start of his downturn. His regrets. His failures.” I stop. Because I have no pencil within reach. And the plastic spoon will not suffice. Everything inside me wants to cut right now. Cut out of here and cut me to cut away the memories. Because even though he left me answers, he still left me. Alone. To figure out this whole boy thing, alone.

I counted on you, Dad. I needed you to help me navigate through my search for love. I wanted to hear your thoughts on how boys think. What they like. What they fear. How not to scare them off. Now all I have are you stories. And they’re not enough. But they’ll have to do. What choice do I have.

Jay and I eat in silence. There’s nothing more to say. Maybe too much has been spoken. And more than half my sandwich remains when the bell sounds the end of lunch.

“Go on without me.” Jay says, surprising me one more time today. “I’m skipping Gym. Think I’ll camp out here and get some homework done.”

“All right.” I rise and gather my books, slowly, wondering if he’ll say anything more. If I should say something?

“Meena,” Jay glances around to the kids rushing past us to classes. “You don’t have to.”

I know he’s referring to me telling him. Showing him. Me.

“I know.” I chuckle to myself softly. “Neither do you.” I smile, looking up to be greeted by his mouth—smiling.

“Changed, again,” Jay whistles the age old tune of relief. “And ready for more. Ready. When you are.”

I’m laughing to myself, because I want to believe he means what he says, but I feel safer believing this is a recital, and real life awaits, somewhere down the line. “Want me to get you later?” Cuz I sure as heck don’t get it. Or you?

Why you would risk knowing me when everyone else, well, besides Gage that is, fears getting involved. Like suicide is contagious. Or depression. Or...well, Dad was depressed. Who wouldn’t be if you received non-stop hate mail from a fan? A fan that started out acting like she was in love with him. And his writing. Mom didn’t know. Until it was too late. Isn’t that how tragedy works. The answers. The solutions. The one thing that could have prevented the sad ending seems so obvious afterward. The spotlight of if only haunts all of us in some way. Mom most of all. Because she was Dad’s if only. But she closed the door. Of her life and her heart when he most needed her. She blamed him when she had no idea he was desperately clinging to his dreams like one hanging off a cliff by his fingertips. Losing grip when she refused to fight for him. For their marriage. I hate her for giving in. And giving up.

“I said, ‘Sure. Maybe we can walk home together. Ben will help me the rest of the afternoon.’” Jay’s hand on my waist catches me off guard. “Did you even hear a word I said, Meena?” His fingers slip under the hem of my shirt. Accidentally at first, when he moves his fingers to avoid the dampness of Jello stains.

“Don’t.” I brush his hand away, so aware that it’s too late. His fingertips brushed across my cuts. He’s seen me, with his touch.

Jay’s eyes look to the right. We both seem so aware that he crossed an invisible line. And this has nothing to do with attraction. And everything to do with pain.

I turn to leave before more is said. More is seen. More is felt.

Feeling betrayed. Because I wanted to choose when to show him me. Meena. Me.

Racing off to girl’s gym, my backpack snags on the cafeteria door, forcing me to turn and untangle. Catching his stare, I see a tangled mess in Jay’s eyes. He’s confused. As am I.

Didn’t mean to show you my cuts. Yet. Didn’t mean to show you me. Yet. Didn’t plan for you to touch me. Like that. Yet. Me. Meana. Ripped open me. Bleeding me. Invisible me in visible eyes. Jay’s sight. He sees me. He’s starting to know me. He keeps looking for me. Me. Meana. Just another day in the life of me. Where do I hide me, now? Where do I hide?