“Touché.” I would’ve been lying if I said I didn’t like getting under his skin like that. He hated all conversations that included talk of his sister being kissed by me—so banging was really crossing the line. That’s why I always made them.
Every time Brooks delivered a book back to me, I raced through it to see his added tabs with his notes and thoughts included. We started doing this regularly, and each time a book returned to my bookshelf with more Post-its than before, I felt as if Brooks was becoming more and more a part of my world. He must’ve felt the same every time I played a chord right. I had recently played “Mary Had a Little Lamb” using one finger at a time to strum, and he’d just about cried with excitement.
After being with him, my idea of what love was changed.
I’d fallen in love with hundreds of different men from hundreds of different books. I had thought I knew what love looked like based on the words within those pages. Love was togetherness, strength, and something worth living for.
What I didn’t expect were the fears true love brought with it. The fear that I’d never be enough for him. The fear that he’d find another. The fear that sometimes love was worth dying for. The fear that love wasn’t always enough. Loving someone meant being vulnerable to the chance that someday they might leave, and all I ever wanted was for Brooks to stay.
I tapped him gently on the shoulder, and he stirred from his sleep. Sleeping? I wrote once he seemed awake enough to read.
“Sleeping,” he replied with a tiny smirk. “Overthinking?”
He knew me so well. My lips brushed against his ear before I moved to kiss his neck.
Do you promise me the same type of love I’ve read about in my books?
He shook his head, yawning. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer as I became engulfed by his warmth. “No, Maggie May. I promise you so much more.”
“You’re actually drinking your tea,” Mrs. Boone said, flabbergasted on a Monday afternoon at lunchtime. “You never drink your tea.”
What could I say? Love makes us do ridiculous things.
“It’s that boy, isn’t it?” she asked with an arched eyebrow. “Is he the reason you’ve been acting like a giddy schoolgirl each time I come to visit?”
I kept sipping my tea.
She smirked knowingly and continued eating her sandwich.
“Oh my gosh! I know what I want to do with my life!” Cheryl hollered, running into the dining room and jumping up and down with her hands waving wildly while holding a book. “I know what I want to be after I graduate school next year!”
“Well, out with it,” Mrs. Boone ordered.
Cheryl paused her erratic movements and stood up straight, holding her novel to her chest. “I want to be an activist.”
Mrs. Boone and I raised our eyebrows in wonderment, waiting for Cheryl to finish her sentence. “An activist of…?” Mrs. Boone asked.
Cheryl blinked once. “What do you mean?”
“You have to be an activist of something. Environmental issues, or politics, human rights, or perhaps animal cruelty. Anything. You can’t just be an activist.”
Cheryl poked out her bottom lip. “Seriously? I can’t just be an activist?”
We shook our heads. “Well, fuck—err—I mean frick. Sorry Mrs. Boone. I guess I’ll go try to find out what kind of activist I want to be. Ugh. It just sounds like more work than I wanted to do, though.” She glided from the room significantly less enthusiastic than when she’d entered, making both Mrs. Boone and me laugh.
“I swear, your parents must’ve fed you kids stupidity for breakfast each day. It blows my mind how idiotic you all are.” She picked up her sandwich and was a second away from biting into it when she said, “Wait, was Cheryl holding a book?”
I nodded.
She dropped her sandwich, shaking her head back and forth. “I knew the end of the world was coming. I just didn’t know it would be so soon.”
I giggled to myself and kept drinking my tea.
It didn’t taste so bad that afternoon.
“You’re not listening to me, Eric, I just want to make sure we’re doing the right thing,” Mama said to Daddy later that night as he paced the living room. She held a glass of wine in her hand and sipped at it while speaking to him. I sat at the top of the stairs with Cheryl beside me. “Maggie dating Brooks might not be the best thing for anyone. Loren said—”
Daddy snickered sarcastically. “‘Loren said’. Jesus, of course. You know, for a second I believed they didn’t get to you when they came to visit, but it seems I was wrong. I should’ve known this had something to do with those women.”
“Those women are my friends.”
“Those women couldn’t care less about you, Katie. You think they come here to hang out with you because they care? They come here to mock you, to tell you to think about moving, knowing you can’t. To see how your life is so fucking depressing compared to their perfect lives, which is fine, but when they sit all night talking about our daughter—”
“They meant no harm. They were giving me information on how to help her.”
“They were belittling her!” he shouted. Cheryl and I both jumped out of fright. Daddy never shouted. I’d never seen his face so red in my life. “They were belittling her, insulting her as if she were deaf and couldn’t hear them. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that you let those women into our house to gossip about your own daughter, or the fact you that you stood up for Maggie just to take it back a few days later. You’re sitting here worrying about her having a boyfriend when she’s the happiest I’ve seen her in years. You’d see it too if you actually looked at her.”
“I look at her.”
“You look, but you don’t see, Katie, and then you invite those trolls to our house, and they talk about Maggie as if she’s nothing.”
“She is something. Don’t you see? This is why I want to try the therapist Wendy—”
“She’s happy, Katie!”
“She’s sick!”
“She’s getting better right in front of us, and it’s like you secretly don’t want her to. Don’t you want her to leave? To live?”
Mama hesitated before saying, “But Loren—”
“Enough!” he hollered, swinging his hands in annoyance and accidentally knocking the wine from Mama’s hand, sending her glass to the carpet where it shattered.
The room went quiet.
Daddy took off his glasses and rubbed the palms of his hands against his eyes before placing his hands on his waist. The two stared at the red stain on the carpet, the same type of accidental spill that used to happen before, when they were happier together, before I began to break their love apart.
Without any more words, they went their separate ways.
“What just happened?” Cheryl whispered, her body shaking slightly.
I took her shaky hand into mine to try to calm her nerves.
In that moment, I was happy I didn’t speak, because otherwise I would’ve had to tell Cheryl the truth. I knew what was happening to our parents: they were falling out of love right in front of my sister and me.
Falling out of love meant you couldn’t laugh at mistakes.
Falling out of love meant you screamed your irritations.
Falling out of love meant going your separate ways.
“A box of goodies for Maggie May,” Brooks said later that night, standing in my doorway.
I smiled his way, uncertain of what he had in mind. He walked into my room and sat on the floor, placing the box in front of him. He patted the floor, inviting me to join him.
What did he have planned?
“It’s a taste test,” he explained as I sat down. “Since you can’t speak, I want to at least know everything else about you—the way you react to certain things, your expressions—so we are doing a blind food taste test. In this box are random foods—some sweet, some mushy, some sour as hell—and you are going to taste them. Then, we are going to switch.”
I sm
iled, not sure how I could love this boy any more than I already did. He held up a blindfold and leaned forward, tying it around my eyes. “Okay. Can you see me?” he asked. I shook my head. “Okay, good. Now part your lips.”
I opened wide, and he dropped a piece of food into my mouth. My lips relaxed around it. Mmm…chocolate.
I loved chocolate as much as any wise person.
“A look of pleasure, perfect. Up next…”
My face wrinkled up with the next food—Sour Patch Kids.
He couldn’t stop laughing. “Oh my God, I wish you could see your scrunched up nose right now.”
The next items included grapes, spaghetti sauce, lemon slices, and cheese—which I was certain was old.
When I took my blindfold off, I couldn’t have been more excited, because it was my turn to torture him. I tied it around his eyes, and he smirked, biting his bottom lip. “Kinky.”
I rolled my eyes. First, I placed cold mashed potatoes into his mouth, and he liked it more than he should’ve. Next came spaghetti sauce with hot sauce—he didn’t love that one—bananas, and more. Lastly I took a piece of chocolate, rolled it in ketchup, and squeezed some lemon juice on top of it. He instantly tried to spit it out, but I covered his mouth with my hand, snickering as he wiggled his body around, trying to swallow it.
“That’s just evil, Maggie. Evil.” He laughed, wiping his hands against his mouth. I leaned in and kissed him, and he took my bottom lip between his teeth and gently bit it.
Mmm…I like that.
Before we could kiss again, Calvin, Rudolph, and Oliver came bursting through the bedroom door.
“Holy shit!” Calvin screamed.
I cocked an eyebrow, and Brooks appeared as confused as me.
“Oh my God, oh my God!” Rudolph said, walking in circles, his hands shaking nonstop. He was hyperventilating, but that wasn’t uncommon for Rudolph. It didn’t take much for him to get worked up in a frenzy.
What freaked me out the most was watching Oliver jump up and down. Oliver wasn’t one to jump up and down: he was much more into sitting down than anything else. I’d never seen him so excited.
“What? What is it?” Brooks exclaimed, bewildered.
Calvin paused. “Are you…wearing a blindfold?”
The twins whistled in unison. “Kinky.”
Brooks tossed off the blindfold. “Never mind that. What’s going on?”
The three boys stayed quiet for a moment before returning to their previous levels of excitement.
Calvin ran over to Brooks, placed his hands on his shoulders, and started shaking his body. “Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy…!” Calvin shoved his cell phone into Brooks’ hand.
Brooks’ eyes narrowed as he read the words. I raced behind him so I could read along. Each word hit me harder in my gut. “SHIT!” Brooks hollered, his hands shaking.
I took the phone from him to reread it.
“How is that even possible?”
“They saw our cover of their song on YouTube, then checked out our originals, then tweeted about us!”
“It was retweeted over forty thousand times in the past two hours,” Rudolph shouted, his nose redder than normal from his excitement.
“More than fifty thousand times, you noob,” Oliver corrected.
I tapped Brooks on the shoulder and handed the phone back to him, pointing. Oh. My. God.
“One hundred and sixty thousand retweets!” Brooks said.
All at once the boys screamed, their throats probably burning. “AH!”
“I didn’t even know you put us on YouTube, Cal!” Brooks shouted; shouting was the only thing any of them could do. The guys were so anti-mainstream because they always said they were indie and cool, until mainstream knocked on their door and they lost their minds.
“I didn’t!”
“Was it you, Rudolph? Oli?” Brooks asked.
“No,” the twins said in unison.
“Then who…” He slowly turned my way, and I gave him a small smile. The guys all turned at the same time and stared at me with knowing eyes. “You did it? The videos you recorded of us?”
I nodded slowly and within seconds, everyone’s arms were wrapped tightly around me, jumping up and down.
“You’re so fucking amazing, Maggie!” Oliver said, giving me a noogie.
“Holy crap, Mags, you have no clue how much you’ve just changed our lives,” Calvin said.
“Dude!” Oliver started waving his arms at Calvin. “Read them the direct message.”
“There’s a direct message?” Brooks asked.
“Oh.” Calvin nodded ecstatically, scrolling through his phone. “There’s a direct message.” He cleared his throat and the twins cleared theirs, too, having it fully memorized.
“Dear Calvin, I’m Mark, the manager of The Present Yesterdays. We came across your videos a few days ago and haven’t stopped watching. Your sound is clean, crisp, and something the industry is missing. If you’re interested, I’d love to set up a meeting with you guys to chat about your future plans in music. Peace!” The three quoted it in perfect unison, and my heart pretty much jumped from my chest.
The Present Yesterdays was the greatest pop-rock band of our time. The guys had introduced me to their music, and I’d been in love with them before the world even knew they existed. How was any of this possible?
Brooks turned to his bandmates with the widest eyes, and I saw it take over them, too—the realization that dreams really did come true, even for boys who rehearsed in garages in small-town Wisconsin. The wave of emotion took over us all as we began to jump around the room and celebrate.
I’d never been so happy to see others’ dreams start to come to life. “This is all because of you, Magnet,” Brooks said, pulling me into his chest. “It’s because you used your voice for us to be heard.”
He reminded me that night that I had a voice, even though no words ever left my mouth.
I still had a voice.
The next evening my hour-long bath lasted longer than normal. I had the same type of routine as before: I’d read, I’d wash up, and then I’d slide under the water and remember what had happened in those woods, reminding myself that it wasn’t my fault. My mind was still so good at holding onto those images, but recently the visions were being blurred by more current memories.
Whenever I tried to envision the devil’s face, I’d see Cheryl laughing with a book in her hand. Whenever I was running in the woods, I’d see myself running into Brooks’ arms. Whenever I’d trip, I’d see Mrs. Boone scolding me.
They weren’t gone, the bad memories. I knew my mind still held the image of the devil, but I was becoming better at keeping him locked inside the closet. I wasn’t certain if that was thanks to Brooks, Cheryl, or time, but either way, I was thankful.
After I’d remember, I’d come up for air, take a deep breath, and go back under to dream.
I’d dream of a future. I’d dream of me exploring the world, climbing mountains, seeing Italy, trying snails in France. Watching Brooks and my brother perform live in a huge arena. Having a family. Discovering what it means to be alive. The water cleansed me of the darkness that was trying so hard to hold on to me. I was slowly becoming renewed. I was beginning my life for the first time…
“Maggie—I got you some fresh… Oh my gosh!” Mama screeched, running into the bathroom and pulling me up from beneath the water. Her rapid movement forced me to open my mouth, making me inhale water. I started coughing, my throat burning as I spit up. What was happening? Mama’s hands were shaking and she started screaming, holding me in her arms. My ears were filled with water and I tried to shake it out as she hollered for Daddy.
“Eric! Eric!” she cried, her voice more panicked than it needed to be. What was she doing? Why was she freaking out? Did she think…
Oh my God, no.
No, Mama. I wasn’t trying to drown. I wasn’t trying to drown myself. Tears flooded my eyes as I saw the panic she was experiencing. She pulled me from the tub, wrapp
ing me in towels. As she cried, still screaming Daddy’s name, he came running into the bathroom.
The water in my ears made it hard to listen. I tried to stand, but Mama was holding me so tight.
So tight.
“She tried to drown herself, Eric!” Mama said. Daddy’s eyes grew heavy and he asked her to repeat herself. “I told you. I told you this was all too much for her.”
I shook my head. No, Daddy. My hands were ghostly pale. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t kill myself. I’m happy. Remember? I’m happy.
I needed paper. I needed to write to them. I needed to let them know.
I wasn’t trying to kill myself. They were both crying now, and Daddy could hardly breathe as his stare met mine. He looked away from me. He needed to know Mama was wrong. She’d made a mistake. She didn’t know all the facts. She had pulled me up for air, not knowing I could breathe best beneath the water.
They were fighting again.
Cheryl and I sat at the top of the steps, once again watching. My hair was still soaked from my bath, and Cheryl brushed it as we listened.
“You still don’t believe me?” Mama cried, stunned.
“You’re overreacting,” Daddy said to Mama. “She said she wasn’t trying to—”
“She didn’t say anything, Eric. She doesn’t talk, but her actions were loud and clear tonight.”
“She was taking a dip under the water when you crashed in! She was holding her breath! Jesus, Katie! This is Loren talking, not you.”
“Don’t put this on her. Don’t put this on my friend. I know what I saw. Your daughter was drowning herself.”
“My daughter?” Daddy huffed, blowing out a low whistle. “Wow.”
I felt it too, Daddy—the punch to the gut.
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t think I do. Lately I have a hard time understanding anything you say.”
Mama rolled her eyes and walked off, coming back with a glass of wine. “She’s sick.”