Where the Staircase Ends (23 page)

My ponytail started to whip around me, slapping the sides of my cheeks. At first I thought it was because of my speed, but then a gust of wind nearly knocked me over, and I realized it had nothing to do with me at all. The air was suddenly cooler against my cheeks, and my hair swirled and tangled as another gust of wind pushed me sideways. I stumbled, fighting to keep my balance. It was like someone shoved me from side to side, knocking me around the steps so I had to stop moving.

What the hell?

I searched the sky like I expected to find the source of the wind. It pissed me off because I was making such good time. I was sure that if I could just keep climbing I’d get to the top. I
needed
to get to the top. I had to believe there was something waiting for me up there.

I caught sight of something off in the distance—a gray speck? A bird? Another ghost? No, it was a cloud. It looked like a small fleck against the cerulean sky, but then it began to grow in size and shape, swirling into a large gray mass until suddenly the once-blue sky was a sea of swelling, angry storm clouds. I watched as the gray masses turned an even deeper shade of green-gray, darkening so quickly it was like someone had drawn a curtain across the world. Then all at once everything was black and bright at the same time, reminding me of summertime storms that warned of tornadoes.

The clouds rolled and tumbled lower and lower until it seemed they might swallow me up. They were circling so close to my head it felt like I could reach right up and grab a handful of the angry sky. And that’s exactly how it looked—angry. I was running right into the scowling mouth of hell.

A bolt of lightning streaked across the now-black sky followed immediately by a crack of thunder so loud it shook the stairs. There was no time to sing
one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand
to see how far away I was from the storm; it sat right over the top of me. The scent of ozone filled the air, and I wondered if I was a fuse the angry sky was trying to light.

The rain came shortly after. Large, fat drops fell like fists from the ferocious sky, soaking me straight through to my swimsuit. Earlier, when it snowed, the air never felt cold. But the rain and wind were so cold that my teeth started chattering. I had to stop moving so I could wrap my arms around myself and keep my balance against the wind, which seemed hell-bent on knocking me to the ground.

Thunder boomed and the sky lit up again. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being scolded, that there was something I was supposed to do that I hadn’t done and the storm was my punishment. Or maybe this was what I had been climbing into all along? Maybe this was all there ever was.

I closed my eyes and crouched into a ball, rocking back and forth against the pummeling rain because I couldn’t stand any more. The drops came at me from all sides and stung as they hit my body, like fire ants crawling up and down my arms. It hurt so much that I hugged myself tighter.

“Is this what you want, God? Is this how it’s all supposed to end?” I yelled into the folds of my arms, but my voice got carried away by another forceful blast of wind that knocked me sideways onto one of the steps. It seemed pointless to say anything at all.

Somewhere far below me, my parents were probably telling themselves I’d gone on to a better place. Isn’t that what people always say to comfort themselves after someone dies? They probably thought I was with Mamaw and Gramps, or playing Yahtzee with Marilyn Monroe and Elvis on a fluffy white cloud somewhere in heaven. What would they think if they knew the truth? How would they feel if they knew their teenage daughter was getting pummeled by a freak rainstorm in the middle of bumblebutt nowhere? Maybe they’d think it served me right. We hadn’t exactly been on the best terms the last few years. All I wanted was for them to leave me alone, which was ironic because in that moment I would’ve given anything to be back home with them.

I closed my eyes, and suddenly images were hitting me fast and strong like the wind and the rain against my back. A series of pictures flashed against the backs of my eyelids, blinking off and on again and again as though someone was flipping a switch inside my brain. I couldn’t blink the pictures away. They stared me down with such clarity that it was like I was there—I was watching pieces of my life flash before my own eyes.

I saw my mom in the hospital the day I was born. She held me in her arms and looked down at me with so much love that my heart swelled. My father was at her side, his arm around her shoulders as he gazed down at me, smiling bigger than I’d ever seen him smile. They both looked up as the nurse snapped a picture, the same picture that sat on the mantel in our living room.

Blink.

I was in bed, leaning against my mother as she read to me, the words soft and soothing as they echoed inside her chest. I pressed my ear more firmly against her, wanting to hear the words again and again. I fought against sleep so she would read the book to me one more time, so I could listen to the sound of her voice once more before I fell asleep. I wanted to bottle the sound up and listen to it forever.

Blink.

I was in a softball game, so far out in right field there was no chance of a ball ever making it to me. The coach put me out there because I was the worst player on the team. My mom knew this, but she didn’t care. She was in the stands on her feet, cheering for me. She went to every single game for two years until I finally realized how horribly un-athletic I was. She never cared that I struck out almost every time I went up to bat. She loved me. That was the only reason she needed.

Blink.

I sat at the dinner table, silently shoveling mashed potatoes into my mouth. My mother and I had just finished arguing, and even though she was mad at me and we weren’t speaking, love still radiated off of her. I saw myself through her eyes, felt what she felt and saw what she saw when she looked at me—a beautiful young girl bursting with potential. Her want for me to be happy was overwhelming, and the pressure to do better, early curfews, rules, and boundaries—they were her way of protecting me and trying to help me to grow into the person she knew I could become. She wanted me to understand. If only I would listen. If only I would hear her, just this once. Why was I always so stubborn?

Blink.

My mother dropped me off at Sunny’s for a slumber party. My mom woke me up on a Saturday morning with waffles and eggs. My mom hummed to me when I was sick in bed with a fever. My mom dropped me off three houses down from Jenny’s so people wouldn’t see her and I wouldn’t be embarrassed. She cooked dinner, waved goodbye as I left for school, smiled with pride when I found out I’d been bumped into the honors classes. Clapped at ballet recitals. Cheered when I learned to ride a bike.

I saw my mother over and over again, in flashes as clear as the pictures on a television screen, and in all of them I could see how much she loved me. I could
feel
it. Her love was thick and warm and ever present, quilted together into a blanket that hovered around me in every image. How had I not seen it before?

Then I saw my father, wrapping me in a gigantic hug and lifting me off of my feet. Smiling proudly after he caulked the sole of my tennis shoe. Pecking my head with a kiss before he left for work. Looking at Logan suspiciously the first time he came by to take me on a date. Twirling me in tiny circles at the father-daughter Girl Scout dance. Just like my mom, I could see his pride when he looked at me. I could feel the wonder and joy he felt every time he looked at his daughter. At me.

What would they remember? Would they remember the little girl who sometimes was afraid of the dark? The girl who said please and thank you and couldn’t fall asleep until they kissed her goodnight? Or would they remember the me from the last few years. The one who wanted to be left alone. The one who yelled and stomped down hallways. The one who was too blind to see how lucky she was to have someone in her life that cared enough to set boundaries.

All along I thought my mother was so hard on me because she didn’t think I was good enough, but it was the opposite—it was because she wanted the best for me. It was because she loved me.

I would’ve given anything to see my parents one more time. To tell them I was sorry and I loved them. The longing was so intense it burned, the regret ripping at my insides with claws. I should have seen it all along. Why was it only now that I could see it so clearly?

Blink.

Alana James walked up the steps of the house Sunny sent her to on the day of her birthday party. She saw the “for sale” sign and the empty living room through the curtain-less windows, but she still went up to the porch and rang the bell anyway. Just in case. Just to be certain.

She slumped against the wall of the empty house, hot tears streaming down her round cheeks. I could feel the self-loathing Alana felt. It coursed through her veins like acid, anger so thick and raw it was practically opaque. But it wasn’t Sunny she was mad at.

Alana blamed herself.

Stupid,
she thought.
I’m so stupid. Of course she didn’t want me at her party. Why would someone want something as fat and ugly as me at their party?

I wanted to tell her I was sorry. I wanted to fold her hands in mine, look into her eyes, and tell her she was the best of all of us. I wanted her to know that she was smart and kind, that life would get better for her, if she could just be patient.
Please, Alana. I am so sorry.
The words were out of my mouth and I yelled them at her, but she couldn’t hear me. It was too late. I would never get to tell her.

Blink.

I saw Justin, his skin warm and silvery against the moonlight as he watched me on the roof of Sunny’s house. His eyes were pools of blue and green, swimming with affection, and suddenly I understood. Justin didn’t see me as the flawless girl from Logan’s picture—he didn’t need to. He liked me the way I was, flaws and all. It had taken him so long to ask me out because he wasn’t sure which was the real me—the giggly girl who kept flipping her hair and trying to get his attention, or the quiet, studious girl whose cheeks flushed when he looked at her.

If there was one picture I wanted to hold on to forever, it was the look in his eyes the moment after we kissed. My first true dance with love happened on the roof of Sunny’s house, and only now could I really see what a wonderful gift it was. Maybe I should have been sad to leave it behind, but I was grateful to have known it, if only for a moment.

I wanted to shout to Justin, to thank him for the brief interlude that promised something bigger. It was the last gift I was given before I left.

Blink.

It was the first day of second grade. Across the room there was a little girl with fiery hair and a grin so warm it lit up the whole room. It seemed fitting that her name turned out to be Sunny. She bounced over to me and took my hand in hers, proclaiming us best friends. I was overwhelmed with a sense of pride. She could’ve chosen anyone to be her best friend, but she chose me.

“Okay,” I told her, “You’re my new best friend.” What I didn’t tell her was how badly I wanted her to pick me. How much I
needed
her to pick me.

Blink.

It was dark outside. The clock on Sunny’s nightstand read 2:07 a.m., the red numbers glowing like the embers of a cigarette as the minutes passed slowly by. Outside, a car door slammed. Sunny jumped out of bed and peered out the window, where she watched her mother lean into the driver’s side window of a car she did not recognize. Her mother kissed the man behind the steering wheel, her lips lingering over the top of his in a way that made Sunny feel sick. She didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the man who was not her father. Her small fingers dug into the white windowsill as she watched her mother brush the back of her hand across the man’s cheek before he drove away.

He was not the first man to pull into their driveway in the wee hours of the morning. He was not the first man to feel the weight of her mother’s boozy kisses before she snuck back inside the house and into the bed of the husband she didn’t really love. But this man was different from the dozens of others because Sunny recognized him. He was at the parent-teacher open house the week before, holding onto his daughter Alana’s hand.

Two nights later Sunny’s mother left, saying she didn’t love Sunny’s father anymore. She looked Sunny in the eye and promised to come back for her once she’d had time to figure out where she was going and who she was meant to be.

“Can you take care of Miss Violet Beauregard while I’m gone, Sunny? She’s a special dog who needs a special person to care for her.”

“Okay,” Sunny said as her mother placed the small dog into her arms. She pressed her face into patchy fur, tears of relief streaming down her cheeks. Her mother had to come back now. She would never abandon Miss Violet Beauregard. “I’ll take good care of her for you,” Sunny promised.

She watched as the taxi carrying her mother disappeared down the street.

It was the last time Sunny ever saw her.

Blink.

We were at the father-daughter Girl Scout dance, but Sunny’s father was nowhere to be seen. Sunny sat by the window of the church all night long, her face pressed up against the glass watching for him.

“Any minute,” she told me. “He’ll be here any minute.”

My dad held out his hand to her, asking her to dance. She looked at me once to make sure it was okay, and even though I felt a pang of jealousy, I nodded and took her seat by the window so I could keep an eye out for Frank while they danced. My dad twirled Sunny around and around on the dance floor. She grinned and laughed as the pink tulle of her dress billowed around her like a bell. Her father never came.

Blink.

Sunny was seated next to me at my ninth birthday party, cheering me on as I blew out the candles. Sunny grinned and slung her arms around me and the snowwoman we created as my mom snapped a picture. Sunny taught me how to french braid my hair, holding the mirror up patiently for me so I could see what I was doing. Sunny shoved Tracey Allen into a pile of mud after she stole my boyfriend. Sunny sat next to me at my family’s dinner table, cracking my dad up with a joke. Sunny leaned against my mom the night her mother left, tears streaming down her face. Blink, blink, blink.