The Knight Page 14

  I shrugged, visibly disappointed, and he pulled me over next to him. “The pain will go away someday, Emma. I promise.”

  I highly doubted that. I needed love, help, family, and belonging. Where did I belong if not in his arms and with him? I felt like I would fall into nothingness with a gaping hole in my chest where my heart was supposed to be. I felt empty and so very alone. Even so, I pulled him to me and hugged him for what seemed like hours. I felt myself unravel, and all of my pains, all of my worries boiled to the surface and overflowed through my eyes, and I cried and I cried. I didn’t feel the same warmth that I longed for and had felt every so often when I was with him, hugging him. Usually, he felt just right in my arms; he always made me feel safe and cherished. But that moment, once again, I felt nothing. I felt as though he were nothing to me, which was odd and strange because Ryker was everything I had left in my life—everything. I hugged him longer, trying to figure out why I felt so unsatisfied in his arms. This is Ryker. Why don’t I feel whole?

  When I finally gave up, realizing I was too broken to feel anything warm or familiar again, I kissed his cheek in the way I would kiss my mother and father goodnight. I felt his body grow rigid as I pulled away from him. I was exhausted and a little embarrassed. I just wanted to sleep the rest of my life away. I felt too awkward about both the long hug and my puffy red face as I pulled away. I stood up suddenly, trying to regain myself, and the whole awkward thing began all over again. I felt my blood boil and my knees go weak again. In my head, I yelled at both my knees and my blood. Ryker stared at me with confusion. I realized that I had stained his shirt again with my tears.

  “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your shirt. I’m just so off right now. Will you forgive me?”

  He shook his head. At first, I thought it was a sign that I was not forgiven. I soon realized that it was merely a nod. I really needed to stop crying. I was so sorry. “Yes, yes, it’s fine,” he said as he gave me a smile, rubbing his cheek where my kiss had been; still, he seemed to be a universe away. Did he feel different, too? Did he also feel the loss of the familiar feelings of home and belonging that we usually shared? I wondered if my lack of heart had killed that for us, and I could not stand the thought of that. He pulled me close to him, hugged me tight as he picked me up, making my toes barely touch the floor. “You must be pretty messed up, Emma, which is really understandable. You need to mourn them.” He sat me back down on the ground and softly wiped my face of its salty tears. He touched my head lightly near my ear and pulled my hair back, away from my red face, and he smiled at me. Mary walked in unannounced, and Ryker slowly pulled away. My hair fell, touching my back, He whispered with a wink, “I’ll meet you outside.” He turned away and left. Mary and I were alone.

  I cleared my throat as Mary’s eyebrows rose.

  “What was that?” she smiled.

  I sat back down on the couch, and she sat beside me. I just shrugged.

  “He has stopped by every day to see you for months. What an incredible friend. I did always like him.” She smiled, then breathed in deeply before looking over at me again. She placed her small, delicate hand on my knee. She had dark circles under her eyes. Her eyes themselves were red and swollen, just like mine. My parents had been gone for four months. How could I be so selfish? It was her sister who died; of course, she was sad. How could I not have noticed?

  “Well, Emma, I have something important to tell you.”

  I pulled the blanket, which lay beside me onto my lap. I outlined the blanket’s quilted patterns of squares with my index finger as I tried to distract myself from the news that I knew would be painful, because everything was painful at that moment. It was quiet for a while. I chose to break that silence. “Are we moving?”

  “No, did you want to move? I would think that would be the last thing you wanted, especially because of Ryker. He is your best friend after all.”

  I laughed and replied, “I just don’t understand our relationship right now. I am different.” More like I cannot remember most of my life before my parents died—only small pieces of an old me. Tears started to fall; I was surprised that I still had tears left. There wasn’t much water left in me, and there was a vague pain as tears ran down my cheeks.

  “He did not seem upset or anything. He obviously cares a lot about you, Emma. He has been over here every day,” she reminded me again.

  “Yeah—and I just decided to slobber all over him.” Mary had come to see me in the hospital along with Ryker, that night, shortly after the police told me my parents died in the car crash. I had let myself go, and I cried like I never had cried before. For some reason, being that vulnerable again, even with Ryker, made me feel worse. I was a complete mess, and I barely remembered being anything but that. “There is no way I can ever be normal again,” I sobbed, grasping my face with my hands. “He has been my friend since I was like six! And now—"

  “I doubt he cares about his shirt, honey. He knows you are having a hard time; you cannot hide it. He knows—and give him some credit. He has known you all your life, after all.”

  “Yeah, I guess, but I thought I knew him since I was six?”

  “Oh, six was it? Well, might as well be your entire life,” she smiled. “Are you starting to remember more, Emma?” she asked.

  “Sometimes—some things more than others; it’s easy to remember Ryker.”

  “I am sure it is. You were always with him. Don’t worry about it though; the doctor said that was normal after such an experience, remember?” I reflected again on that first month I had seen the therapist. He did answer some questions, but mostly I just wanted to get those appointments over with so that I could lay in bed and sleep my life away.

  “I am sick of not remembering more than a few puzzle pieces of my life. And even the things I remember, it doesn’t help because I can’t remember the feelings behind most of the memories. I know I loved my parents, you, and even Ryker, but was I just some lifeless zombie before?”

  “Of course not,” she said, then paused before continuing, “You will be alright, Emma.”

  “It doesn’t feel like that most of the time. Am I going to be like this my whole life? There is no way I even have anything to offer anyone now, Mary. I am terribly broken. I don’t even know who I am.”

  She sat up and moved closer to me, brushing my hair with her fingers and twirling it just as my mother used to. She looked down at the floor between her knees before speaking. “I miss them, too, so much, Emma. You and I, we can figure it all out—maybe even have a great life.” She rose.

  “You know, I think I would actually rather just move across the country, please,” I begged.

  “Stop it, Emma. You cannot run away and hide from life. It’s time you start trying to live again.”

  “I am not so sure I know how to do that, Mary.” Especially seeing as I don’t even know how I lived before.

  She moved closer to me and smiled. Her teeth were pearly white; her blue eyes were warm and soft.

  “I know, sweetheart, I know.” She turned away from me, biting her thumb nail, and then she took one brief step before she turned back around. “I feel like it would help you to go out, to do something with your friends,” she suggested as she smiled and touched my arm.

  “I don’t have any friends, other than Ryker,” I replied softly.

  She smiled once again. “Things will be better. You will see. Make new friends. Summer is here. You have one more week of school, and then you will have a whole new year to make a new start. You will be a junior, won’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Junior Prom! Oh, see, Emma—so much fun to be had!”

  “Yeah—that sounds so fun.” I rolled my eyes.

  “We will be in this together, Emma. But right now, you have a good friend waiting for you on the porch. I would go to him.” Yeah, my only friend can’t afford to lose him, I thought.

  “Oh, sorry Mary, didn’t you have something to tell me?” I asked as she stood up.

&nb
sp; “Another time, dear.” She walked back down the long hall that led to the kitchen.

  I walked out the front door. The air was hot and painful on my skin. It was the end of the school year, which meant it was summer, and in Roseville, California that meant extremely hot days and hot nights. Even though the air was suffocating in a way, my conversation with Mary left me feeling relieved, like some huge weight was just lifted off of my empty chest. Whenever I spoke to Mary, I always felt lighter as if she was taking some of my burdens away. I did not feel much for anyone really, only loss and pain of what once was and what could have been. I felt the pain seep inside of me once again as I saw Ryker on the porch, back against the wall, both hands rubbing at his face. His blond hair looked as if it was combed messily through by his fingers just moments before. He was so imperfectly wonderful; truly, I was incredibly blessed to have such a person in my life. His friendship was truly priceless.

  “Are you okay? I am really sorry about all that in there, and about your shirt. If you want, I can wash it for you,” I said quietly.

  “No, it’s not that, I—" He stood up and took my hand.

  “Why do we always do that?” I asked, looking at our hands intertwined.

  “I only do it because you asked me once. Don’t you remember?” he smiled. I tried to smile, too, but I couldn’t. I didn’t remember ever asking him to hold my hand. Had I really?

  “No, I don’t remember that,” I said, twisting my hand out of his and looking away weakly.

  He chuckled. “Well you did, in Seventh grade, when Henry Tolm asked you to be his Valentine.”

  “His Valentine?” I asked.

  Ryker nodded. I didn’t remember that, and I tried to tell myself that it was okay—it was normal. I watched as Ryker walked around me in a steady cycle, similar to that of earth’s rotation around the ever steady bright sun. “And you told me when he tried to hold your hand that I was the only one you would let hold your hand—ever.” He paused and looked at me with a smile. “Then I grabbed it, and it’s been our thing ever since,” he shrugged. I walked down the steps and into the front yard, knowing he would follow.

  “Emma, are you really okay?”

  “Well, not for much longer.” I walked across the lawn and down the street, having no idea where I was going. I just needed to walk. I looked back to find him trailing behind after me—my protector.

  “What do you mean, ‘not for much longer.’ You don’t seem okay. You’re not yourself anymore, and I don’t know how to help you.”

  “My Aunt is making me go to Junior Prom next year,” I said, moaning, trying to focus on something I could talk about without crying again.

  “No, how could she! I didn’t think she would do that to you,” he joked with a laugh.

  “Ha-ha, Ryker.” I pushed his shoulder as he came up beside me. I couldn’t hold on to my old self for long, but I was doing pretty well. “If any boy at school was actually interested in this—” I pointed to my face and then to my body, “—then maybe I could find a date, but in my current state, there is a sign telling everybody to stay clear of this crazy mess.”

  “Is that what you want, a date to prom? Do you think that will help?” He looked concerned and unhappy with my statement which is not what I expected. He was very much the brother type in a lot of ways. He did not have any siblings himself. I did recall in my small supply of memories, my mother explaining to me once that it wasn’t a bad thing to have a big brother-like figure and that I should be grateful I had Ryker. I was grateful, too, that I didn’t have to share the same bathroom with him, like I would have had to, if we were siblings for real. “Perks,” she had called them. I laughed, just thinking about that conversation. And there he was, proving that memory was true, acting like my big brother because I mentioned dating.

  “I was kidding, Ryker. I am trying to not be so doom and gloom, but no, what I really need is, I just, I need time I think.”

  “Time helps heal most pains.” He walked beside me, as we turned around and walked back to my house. His hand grasped mine. His hand and mine fit perfectly together. I used to feel instantly better when he held my hand, so why did I feel nothing? “So–”

  “There is only one more week of school,” I said, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

  “Yes, I know, and I am so glad,” he said smiling. His smile usually brought mine out, too, but like everything else in life, it let me down.

  “I am sorry,” I finally responded as we reached my front door. I had been trying, trying to pull out my happy voice and talk as if my parents were inside making dinner. I could not live that lie. I could not fake it. As soon as I turned, Ryker reached back for my hand and spun me into him. My hands were against his chest. He smiled at me and placed his hands on my face. He traced the outline of my nose and cheeks and eyes. He swept the hair from my cheek. My emotions were shot—entirely gone like an empty twenty-five cent, aluminum soda can, a soda can placed up on a rickety fence only to be blown away with target practice, a hole rendering it even more useless than it was before when it was simply drained of its addictive sugary contents. After target practice, there was a small crater in it, and any hope of a refill of any liquid, sweet or otherwise, was shot—literally.

  Where is the warmth? Why can I not feel it with him? Not even my feelings of love for Ryker could reignite the flame that had been scorched out of me. His fingers on my skin felt like whispers of an old life that I could never get back, an old me that had a journal filled with Emma + Ryker forever and other unpenned hopes of what I had thought someday could be between us. It felt foreign, then, that I could have those kinds of thoughts. I looked up into his eyes, watching him as he studied my face. He smirked at me, and playfulness danced in his eyes, and for a few blissful moments, his touch traced warmth on my face. Finally. I wanted to bottle up that feeling, a feeling I knew couldn’t last because I was broken, with a hole inside. I closed my eyes and breathed him in. He smelled like summer, a strong scent of warmth and trees that made me think of an almost forgotten tune. His fingers left my face, and I felt the loss of his touch in my soul as everything that had been melting froze back over, leaving summer behind. I opened my eyes.

  “I should go,” I offered, thinking that in the saying of it, perhaps against all hope, I might have had some of the feelings spring back to life and unthaw the endless frozen winter inside of me. He was everything to me, especially now, right? I thought. Then why did I feel this way? When did I start feeling this numb? He was right there in front of me, and I was in another world.

  “Don’t ever apologize to me. I am here for you, Em. Don’t forget it.” He tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear. I waited for the warmth, for his touch to bring me that peace, but it didn’t. “Your locker, 7:15 tomorrow morning,” he demanded.

  “Yes,” I whispered, still too stunned that in one moment he had brought to me that peace, but in the next—nothing.

  He let go of my hand, and I thought I would tumble off the face of the earth—because even though I didn’t understand my feelings, I did feel the loss of him when he let go. Loss—would it be the only emotion I would ever be allowed to feel?

  He walked down the steps and turned slowly, looking back at me.

  “See you later.”

  “Bye, Ryker.”

  He walked down my porch steps and raised his hand in a wave. “See you tomorrow,” and he was gone, swallowed up in the blackness of the night. I—I—felt nothing but misery and the deathly sting of pain in my gut that even Ryker couldn’t make feel better. I watched the stars for a little while, wondering when my wish for all of my pain to end would come true, like my father had always promised.

  I fell asleep that night, thinking about my father, and whenever I did that, I often dreamed of the last memory I had of him. I woke up around five in the morning, screaming into my pillow, almost suffocating myself with the sobs and screams as I tried to push away. Mary was beside me and stroked my hair.

  “It is okay, Emm
a. You are safe; you are home,” she whispered softly. Had I woken up like this before in front of her? I remembered waking most nights to darkness and loneliness. I could not remember every night since that horrific one. That night had been ingrained in my brain, a memory of my father, the last image I had of him, could never be seared from my soul. Why couldn’t I have forgotten those horrible memories, and have kept all the good ones from when my parents were alive? It wasn’t fair.

  I didn’t realize what had happened until it happened. It was as if I was watching it happen to me, like a dream. One moment I was asleep in the back seat of my father’s black work car; then the next, I was awake, and death and destruction were all around me. Even though months had passed, it still felt like I was living in a sick, never-ending nightmare.

  Our car had flipped a few times across the center divider of the freeway. I had blacked-out for most of it. I didn’t recall much, but I had some memories, like the one that haunted me. The memory was that of my father hanging in front of me by his seat belt, pinned against his airbag which was useless in such a horrific crash, but it had kept him in his place. He was limp and lifeless. I knew he was dead as soon as I saw him, and I tried to call out to him, but I could not find my voice. All I could hear and see was his watch. His arm dangled, and blood dripped from him. He had dozens of cuts and gashes that I could see from my position. Some blood splatters fell directly on the face of the watch he had worn every day. I watched in shock and horror as my father bled out upside down to the haunting ticking of his watch. It was as if that watch taunted me: Watch as I mark each second of life as it flows from your father, little girl.

  I was pinned; there was nothing I could do, because even with my eyes closed, I could still hear those sickening ticks and see those splatters of blood in my mind.

  I knew that watch so well. My mother and I bought it for him for his birthday years before, and our names were engraved on the back. It had been a sweet gift, but that sweet memory could not eliminate the new one, because forever, I would hear those ticks, keeping time with the blood dripping life from my father onto the face of that watch. It made me sick. I could never get that image out of my head, no matter how hard I tried. My dream of that horrific night ended the same way it always did: black boots on the outside of my side of the car window and a deep echoing voice that said: “Yes, they are dead; it is confirmed.”