The World Outside, 1

Momentous

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THEN

One of Joanna’s earliest memories wasn’t actually a memory, but a family story repeated so often that it worked its way into her system: memory by diktat.

It’s the middle of the night. Joanna, four years old, has woken up in her new bed and is crying out for her mother and father, but they don’t come. Instead, Josh, six, climbs into bed with her and says—loudly enough for her grandfather, Poppa, who had come as soon as he’d heard her and was now standing outside the door, to hear him—“Don’t worry, Joey. Joshy’s here.”

Poppa, proud and sentimental, trotted that story out at every birthday, every holiday, every lazy, story-telling afternoon thereafter, until their nicknames—Joey and Joshy—became bywords for comforting and reassuring (or, alternatively, especially by Josh as he got older, for teasing and goading).

Josh’s presence in her life, and his self-appointed role as her protector, her biggest adversary, and her first best friend became so ingrained that she didn’t even notice it. He took after Poppa, who raised them after their parents’ accident: a cheerful, carefree lover of the ocean and of the town in which they lived, who only wanted to protect and take care of the people in his orbit; before long, Erik had become folded into the family, following Josh’s lead, and so Joanna grew up safe in this manly cocoon, the little pet—happily enough—of everyone who knew her.

NOW

Joanna staggered into the empty house, gasping. Her fingers shook slightly as she typed the code into the security alarm and waited, her breath held, for the –ALL CLEAR– on the screen. Ever since she’d inadvertently set off the alarm at her first job, causing the police and fire departments to come to the scene, she’d been terrified of making the same mistake in a different system. Safe another day, she headed upstairs to stretch and shower before work. Today had been her longest run yet—six miles—and she was feeling every bit of it in her calves, her left big toe, and her hamstrings. Her head, though, was clear. For the moment.

She grabbed her shower stuff and made her way through Shoshana’s bedroom to the bathroom at the end of the hall. She wouldn’t have said this to Shoshana or her parents—she wouldn’t have wanted to seem ungrateful for their hospitality this summer—but this was her favorite part of every day. Fresh from a run, her mind emptied out of Erik, of Josh, of next year, of last year. A quiet, empty house. A huge house, the likes of which she figured she’d never get to enjoy again in her life. The prospect of a full day’s work to keep her occupied and just distracted enough to, hopefully, keep everything else at bay until she could fall asleep again.

This is a far cry from Grace, Joanna thought to herself when she left the house an hour later. She had the same thought almost every morning when she closed the front door behind her and began her walk downtown. Grace, Maine was a river town. A beautiful one, but still: a river town with an industrial vibe that had begun to shift towards tourism only in the last few decades or so. Cracked sidewalks, parking spaces that were creative at best, funky facades, gruff personalities that hid bone-deep warmth: these were all part and parcel of the place she’d grown up. Chappaqua was something different. Joanna had never seen such a pristine place in her life. Even the haphazardly tilted tricycle in the yard next door seemed staged, as if to say, Look—a normal family lives here!

How did Shoshana come from a place like this? she wondered, also as she did almost every morning. Shoshana, one of the grittiest, realest, performers and writers she’d ever known. It didn’t look like anything gritty—or, for that matter, all that real—happened here. Maybe that’s why she’d accepted Shoshana’s invitation to spend the summer with her family. After Erik, she’d needed a break from real.

Joanna spent the next six hours at the gallery, helping Mrs. Arthur hang new pieces and shift the display walls around. In lieu of a lunch break, she took a walk around downtown, as she did most days, feeling the interplay of sun and wind on her cheeks and shoulders. In her mind, she poked at herself, testing: yes, I’m still here. I’m all right.

Later that night, after she’d told Mrs. Arthur goodbye, after she’d finished her baby-sitting job, after she’d come home to Shoshana’s house, after she’d said goodnight to Mr. and Mrs. Kaplan, she and Shoshana sat up in the breakfast nook, snacking on chips and salsa and talking about their days.

“How was the audition?” Joanna asked.

Shoshana, mid-chip, shrugged and tilted her head to one side, her thick dark hair falling over her shoulder. When they’d met three years ago, Joanna had been thrilled every time someone asked if they were sisters—she loved the idea that anyone would look at someone like her and think she could be related to someone like Shoshana. She could still acknowledge their similarities—long, thick, dark hair; short, curvy frame; big, dark eyes—and simultaneously marvel at the distance between the two of them. Shoshana had a sophistication that Joanna could never hope to emulate. There was just something about her—her sarcasm, her ease, she wasn’t sure—that kept her eternally other. Joanna figured she’d never stop trying to measure up to her beautiful friend.

“They said thanks. They’re looking for someone taller, but they said they’d let me know. But the guy did say he liked how I moved. He said I look like I could ‘command the space,’” she repeated in a slightly ironic tone.

“Nice! All those classes are paying off!”

“Well, something sure the hell had better start paying off. Mom said they’re only going to fund me until Christmas, and then…” She passed a finger across her neck in a throat-slitting gesture.

“What’s that mean?”

She shrugged again. “It’s either all on me at that point, or I have to figure out something else to do. Maybe teach, or get a Master’s. Ugh either way.” She wiped the crumbs off her shirt and shrugged again. “I think I would move to the city. I think I would rather be broke and doing this than almost anything else I can think of.” She leaned forward, grabbing Joanna’s wrist. “Just to be there, surrounded by people who want this as much as I do, is…intoxicating! Even if I never make it…I just love being there.”

Joanna studied her, wondering if she would be saying the same in a year’s time, when she finished her senior year.

Shoshana sat back against the banquette and gave Joanna a serious look. “What’s going on with you, my friend? Are you glad you’re here?”

“Of course I am. This is much better than being home this summer, trust me. Just Poppa and me, in that old house?”

“And…?”

“And what?”

“What are you thinking about these days?”

Joanna picked at a loose thread on her pajama shorts and shrugged, looking away.

“Have you talked to Erik at all?” Shoshana asked her gently. Joanna shook her head. “Wow. I mean, I get it. I do. But…you two were together forever.”

“I know.” Joanna widened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling, willing the tears to stay still. “It’s like losing a limb.”

“Oh honey…”

Joanna leaned forward until her face was against Shoshana’s knee; she felt Shoshana’s perfect, half-moon nails traveling up and down her spine. She wished she could stay like this until whatever was going to happen in the next couple of years had happened already and she didn’t have to wonder anymore.

The next day began bright and early, with a run and a full day of work.

As did the next day, and the next, and the next.

Two months later, Joanna—$4,000 richer, 15 pounds lighter, gaunt, sad, and still confused—said goodbye to the Kaplans and climbed into her Poppa’s car to drive back to school and to her senior year. She was already wondering when it would be over.

THEN

Joanna was 13 when Erik kissed her for the first time. Someone—Josh, probably—had gotten a group of kids together to play soccer one Saturday, and she and Mary had tagged along. Joanna hadn’t wanted to—she and Mary were at the tail end of a sleepover, always her favorite part, with the half-hearted snacking and lounging around in pajamas—but then she found out that Max Bennet would be there, and that changed things. She’d recently begun to notice Max, a boy in Josh’s class, but she was hardly ever able to get close to him. This felt like her chance.

They split up into teams, boys vs. girls, with Mary and Joanna alongside a couple of high school girls they didn’t know well and Josh, Erik, and Max alongside Hank Mann and Will Bilodeau.

It was a bloodbath, in a manner of speaking. Joanna and Mary were really only there to look cute, and the other three girls weren’t much better, but the boys had two actual soccer players on their side. Pretty soon, Joanna had given up all pretense of winning. She still wanted to get Max’s attention, though, and when the ball, miraculously unguarded, ended up on her left side as she ran down the field, she thought she’d found a way.

If I can cross my right foot over my left, I bet I can kick it to the goal, she thought excitedly. Unfortunately, in doing so, she got her feet tangled and the strap to her Jelly sandal—the only shoes she’d been able to find that morning in her rush—snapped, causing her to fall and land, hard, on her ankle, knee, hand, and forehead.

Beyond the pain was the embarrassment, as the boys easily scored off her mistake and she hobbled to the sideline. Mary looked over at her, concerned, but Joanna waved her off. She slumped down in the grass and sucked in a breath at the sharp burst of pain. “Jeezum crow,” she muttered, wiping the dirt off her clothes and inspecting the damage: a skinned palm, a cut on her ankle, and what felt like a bump on her forehead. All that, and Max hadn’t even looked her way. She laid back on the soft grass; soon enough, she was distracted by the clouds shifting and moving, and her friends’ voices were sounding very far away.

She was thinking about the play, Little Mermaid, Jr., that she had just auditioned for at school. She didn’t know the results yet, but she was curious. She’d never been in a play before, and she couldn’t quite say what had made her want to do this one. She just knew that standing on a stage seemed like a good thing to do when one felt as much like an odd duck as she had since the start of eighth grade. On a stage, they would tell her what to say and where to move and how to speak, and on a stage, it would be good that she looked different from everyone else. Without quite meaning to, she’d begun daydreaming about her debut, her talent taking everyone by surprise. It was a pleasant daydream, and a part of her was disappointed when Erik settled down on the grass next to her and interrupted it.

“Game’s over,” he said. He handed her a water bottle and then lay back, his hands folded behind his head, and looked up at the sky, like Joanna had been doing a moment earlier.

“Let me guess.”

“Sorry.” He gave her a cocky grin. She looked past him and saw the other boys high-fiving and doing that back slap thing that passes for a hug when you’re a guy.

“Well…oh well!”

“You okay? It looked like a bad fall.”

“I’m okay—embarrassed.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it—nobody cares.”

“Easy for you to say! You didn’t just spend all morning, trying to get Max Bennet to notice you!”

Erik glanced over at her; after a moment, he brought his gaze back to the sky above. “He’s a jerk,” he said finally. A moment later, he asked, “What’d you do, anyway?”

Joanna sat up and held her hand out so he could see. He sat up too and took her hand in both of his, examining it more closely than a skinned palm really warranted. Joanna watched him in return. The ends of his blond hair were curling out from underneath his Red Sox hat. There were wisps of blonder hair beginning to cover his chin and upper lip. Josh had begun shaving a couple of months earlier, bragging about it to everyone and making a big deal about the merits of different razors and creams. Idly, Joanna wondered if Erik was shaving yet or not.

Outside of Poppa, Josh, and Mary, Erik was the most familiar person in the world to Joanna. She didn’t remember not knowing him or not having him around—teasing her, helping her reach things, looking out for her. But he suddenly seemed unfamiliar, like he was taking up more space than usual. Joanna was suddenly so aware of her pores and of her glands and of the biological processes that went into something as intricate as breathing in and out. Keeping blood in her veins and air in her lungs was suddenly something she had to concentrate on.

Erik had been looking at Joanna’s hand for a slow ten seconds or so, and the fixation, from both of them, was beginning to make her lightheaded. Hoping to distract him, she said, “This too. And this,” indicating her ankle and her forehead.

“Mmmm,” he murmured, glancing quickly at both of those and then returning his gaze to her hand. Very, very slowly, he brought his lips down to her palm and pressed them there in a light, sweet kiss.

Joanna’s breath caught in her throat—what was he doing?

A moment later, Erik raised his head back up, gave her a little smile, and gently tucked her hair behind her ear, running his finger softly over the cut on her forehead as he did so. Then, as if nothing had happened, he pushed himself off the ground and jogged out to the middle of the field.

Joanna stayed where she was, staring at her outstretched hand.

What, on earth, was that?

The World Outside, 2: Passion —>