He stares at me and I stare right back. Neither of us move; I’m too caught up in the moment. I think we equally assess one another. What I find isn’t displeasing to the eye in any way. He is tall, much taller than me. Much like his hair, his eyes are dark, a dark gray color. In shade, his hair is almost similar to mind. In a strange way, I almost find that comforting. If we can’t match personalities, at least our profiles can align well. Dad looks between us; he arches an eyebrow expectantly.
“Hi, I’m Charlie,” I say. My voice breaks the ice and Dad’s face lights up with a smile.
“Jasper, this is my daughter. She’s your age, I’m sure you two will find lots to talk about.” It is typical Dad of him to do that, as if we’re old friends in the process of a forced reunion. Dad smiles widely, proud of himself for introducing us. Across the room, Jasper sort of smiles. The corners of his lips curl up so faintly, if I hadn’t looked closely, I’d have missed it.
Dad’s phone call seems ages away already, though it had only been two nights ago. My promise to him shines in the forefront of my mind, not to be forgotten.
“I can show you around, if you’d like,” I say to Jasper. He nods his head, crossing the room to join me. He stands a safe distance away, arms hanging loosely at his sides. I lead him upstairs. “This is my room—”
“Where you sleep?” Jasper’s face contorts and the space between his eyebrows crinkles.
“Yeah. It’s where I sleep.” I chug right along, determined not to lose myself in Jasper’s confusion. I have to tread carefully; I cannot treat him like a child. He is seventeen after all. “This is the bathroom, and that door there leads into your room. Would you like to see it?”
My question is lost as Jasper steps into the bathroom. He stands before the mirror, looking at his reflection. I watch from the doorway. His fingertips gently brush over the side of his face.
“Charlie,” he says, not looking at me. “What is this?”
“It’s…it’s a mirror. It reflects an image of you.”
I step into the bathroom and stand beside him so that we’re shoulder-to-shoulder. The top of my head just reaches his shoulder. He smiles.
“My room, can I see it?”
Before sitting down on the edge of his bed, he wanders the room’s perimeters. I think back, back to Dad’s phone call. The woman, a nurse at St. William’s, kidnapped him a few hours after he was born. She kept him in her basement, one room to be exact. His room. He’d never left that room in all those seventeen years she had him for. Would he identify this room as a prison cell, too?
“Do you like it?” I ask, trying not to seem too hopeful. From his spot on the bed, he gives a slight shrug of his shoulders.
“It’s just like my room back home,” he answers. He says nothing more, eyes transfixed on the mirror positioned above the dresser. Words sit on my tongue. How do I go about letting him know that that woman’s house was not his home? As I contemplate, the anger swells. She did this.
“Jasper,” I start, moving to sit next to him. I think better of it and stand instead. “That wasn’t your home. That woman wasn’t your mother.”
“What was she then?” He almost seems annoyed in his tone of voice. As if I’m making all of this up. I take a deep breath and count to ten, silently.
“When you were born, seventeen years ago, she took you from the hospital and kept you for herself.”
Jasper’s face shadows. I can see that he is thinking this over. My words are making sense, even if not entirely.
“She never let me leave that room,” he says so softly I almost didn’t hear him. I kneel down next to the bed, resting my arm on the duvet. “She kept me in there. I hardly saw her. She only came in to give me food and new clothes as the years…as the years went on. White walls…my bed was white…everything…”
“You’re okay now.” His facial expression displays that he believes otherwise. I expect him to keep going, to go on and on about everything that happened but he doesn’t. He falls silent and closes up. He doesn’t even look my way.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“To…yeah. Yes, please.”
I take him downstairs and hold open the fridge door, allowing him to look inside.
“Take your pick. Anything you want.”
He leans down slightly, fingers threaded together. I watch him look over his choices. He points to a tumbler full of iced coffee that my mom religiously keeps filled to the brim at all times. Grinning, I reach inside and grab it. I pour us each a glass, handing his over. Fingers wrapped around the frosted cup, he brings it to his lips. I laugh at his expression. Brow furrowed, lips rolled in.
“What is that?”
“Coffee. Would you like something to put in it?”
Slowly, he nods. I grab some cream and sugar, instructing him to watch as I prepare mine the way I normally would. A spoonful of cream and three of sugar. I let him have at it. He puts in the same amount that I did, takes a sip, and adds a little more. Now it is the way he likes it and the smile on his face is big, real and bright.
“That’s good,” he says and downs half of it in one gulp.
“I think you like it better than I do,” I admit with a smile. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
It’s nearing nine o’clock and the sun is setting. Outside, Jasper and I make ourselves comfortable in the deck chairs on the back porch. He leans back, resting his arms on the arm rests. I flip over on my side, studying him as he gazes at the horizon. Strangely, he appears to be well built. I make a mental note to ask Dad later about Nora’s motives and what she did with him, but for now, I direct my questions at Jasper.
“What did you do for fun?”
“For fun?” Jasper turns only his head, fixing his dark eyes on my face. “Define fun.” When I smile hesitantly, he moves right along, “I watched a lot of historical movies. Exercised. She exercised me a lot.” His smile fades away and I almost wish I’d kept the question to myself.
“Why?”
“Why?” he repeats. “I don’t know, Charlie.” My name sounds odd coming from him. “I don’t know why she kidnapped me, why she kept me in that room. Why? Why would she do such a thing?” He scoots toward the edge of his chair, resting his head in his hands.
“Jasper…” The guilt gnaws at my stomach.
He doesn’t say anything more to me for the rest of the night. We sit in silence as the sun makes its descent. We stay until the night’s creatures begin to emerge, drowning the silence with their chatter. When it is pitch black, the porch light comes to life and our sliding glass door opens.
“Charlie?” Dad’s voice floats out from the house.
“Sorry, sorry. I lost track of time.”
I glance over to see that Jasper is curled up on his side, fast asleep. I collect our empty glasses and carefully step around his chair. Leaving Dad to wake him, I slip into the house and head upstairs. A jumble of incoherent thoughts consume my mind. Brushing my teeth seems to be a heavy task and even after I’m done, I don’t move. My lips taste like fresh mint. It isn’t fair. I shouldn’t be going to bed like this; angry at myself, angry at Nora, angry at the world.
It will be a tough journey. It will. But I can do it, Jasper deserves every chance in the world. Turning the faucet on, I splash cold water into my mouth, washing away the minty taste. Jasper’s door is pulled shut and I imagine him sprawled across his bed, sleeping soundly. Just like he had been outside only minutes earlier. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t expecting him to start half-sobbing, half-screaming. I jump about a foot in the air and my parents’ bedroom door flies open.
Mom rushes out, Dad following behind her. She is hastily tying her robe around her waist.
“Charlie,” she gasps at the same time Dad says, “Jasper!” and bursts into his room. I sink against the wall, feet nailed to the ground. The light from his room forms a golden rectangle just inches from my feet. I can hear my parents attempting to comfort him. My mother’s soothing voice saying it’s okay; you’re okay. Only when they seem to be making no progress do I will myself to move.
Jasper sits up in the bed, the blankets in a heap at the foot of it. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and dark gray sweatpants. Tears streak his face; sparkle in his eyes. He must’ve only just fallen asleep…a night terror? I stare at him and he stares back. Nobody moves and we all just breathe in sync; taking a moment to catch our breath. When we’re all convinced he’s okay, my parents murmur goodnight and return to their room.
“I’m down the hall if you need me,” I say to Jasper, though he is already sleeping. It hits me when I’m closing his door, on my way back to my room; only when I entered his room did he stop wailing long enough to see that, yes, it’s okay and he’s okay.
I fall asleep soon after and dream of crazy nurses dressed all in white, singing crazy songs and chasing me down hospital hallways that have no endings.