Date: Sat, 06 Sep 2003 15:36:56 -0500 From: Karla Schulz Subject: Carrots and Celery Part Three Chapter Six And listen, about those bitter songs you sing? They're not helping anything. They won't make you strong. - The Weakerthans --- The next day in school (first one back from exams), like five people walk up to me and remark in some way about my improved demeanour. It's a bit weird, but kind of nice too. Colin and I have a serious of laughs during French, the only new class we have together, and Jonas is there with us, but he seems distant and withdrawn the whole time. I try to catch him heading out of class to talk about it, but he slips away too quickly. "What's with him?" Colin asks coming up behind me. I shrug. "Dunno," worry creeping up on me fast. I was already a little bugging about the fact that he didn't come to breakfast this morning, and this isn't helping matters Colin slaps me on the back stalwartly, waking me back up. "Wanna come over this afternoon, watch MUCH for a little while? You'll die if you see the `I'm With You' video," I grin, feeling better already. "Sure, meet you after English?" It's the last class of the day for each of us, though we don't have the same class. He's in Trans like Celery used to be. "Yeah, perfect. Rock on Rock on," I smile. It's how we always say good bye now. Following or during that, we always do some kind of free style hand shake, but one that looks really complicated and like it's our perfected by years of practice secret one. It's always a good time. "Peace out. Avril," chuckling. Getting home from Colin's later that evening, I see Jonas sitting alone at the kitchen table. It's past dinnertime, but Mom and Dad must still be at work. Otherwise they'd be in the kitchen doing the dishes and like listening to the radio. I think my parents are the only people who still do that in their own house. "Hey Jonas." He looks up, with a grey, lost face. "Hey." "What's wrong?" I take the seat beside him. "Wrong? Nothing. I'm fine." Right. Of course you are. "You sure?" He fakes a smile. I should know, I've produced my share of them. "I'm great, really. Everything's great." Now it's time for me to snort. "Oh yes. Because your good mood is both obvious and contagious," props to Giles. Love that old guy. "Nothing's wrong, really." I'm less than convinced. I mean, even if he wasn't sitting here looking like someone just shot his dog, I'd still find the lack of Kyle vaguely suspicious and mildly worrying. Add to that the fact that he's been acting off all day, not to mention all the general weirdness that's been going on lately with him and Kyle about his parents and everything, and what you end up with is a very concerned and anxious me. "Come on, Jonas, talk to me. Bottling stuff up never did anything good for anybody," and I'd know. "I'm not," he protests. I sigh. "Where's Kyle?" Jonas shrugs. "I don't know. In his apartment I guess," "You haven't been up to see him yet?" He shakes his head. "No," that's weird. But it probably means whatever's got him so wrecked doesn't have anything to do with Kyle directly. At least it lets me know it's probably not a fight between them that's causing Jonas's misery. And Kyle seemed fine yesterday evening. "Is it your parents?" That's the only ongoing thing I could think of. I'm sure they've talked about it more since that one night of extreme emotional overboard and the re-emergence of me, but I'm pretty sure not everything's been totally and satisfactorily worked out yet. "No," Jonas answers eventually. I think it's the truth. "What then," he lets out a contender for the saddest sigh ever award. "Erica," oh right. Yeah. That would do it. "You called her?" He nods. "Last night," must have been why he wasn't there when I visited Kyle. A bit unusual too, since he often spends the night now. Even if it was a school night, being Sunday. I assumed it was because of his parents. I wonder if he told Kyle anything different. "Didn't go well?" "You could say that," I slide my chair closer and slip an arm around Jonas's shoulders. Our kitchen table is round by the way, for the information of anyone who cares, keeping in mind I'm aware that's probably no one. "You told her? About you? Kyle?" He nods slowly. "It took me most of the conversation to convince her the whole time we dated wasn't a cover. You know, to get her to believe that I really did care about her. Love her even." "So then you sorted stuff out?" "Not really. She was really angry and hurt - but a lot of that was because of before. The way I left and then not giving anyone my real address - stuff that has nothing to do with me and Kyle. And I guess I deserved all that. One thing she did say was that she wasn't going to tell anyone," he sighs. "Probably doesn't want anyone to know she had a fag for a boyfriend," "Oh Jonas," I say, wincing at his words and reaching down to squeeze his hand. I can feel him starting to shake, about to break down. "It's okay," I whisper and that's it for Jonas. He cries into me, letting go of what probably amounts to a whole childhood of trauma when you get right down to it. Everything about how he was raised doomed Jonas's relationship with Erica and I hope we can keep helping him get past all that so the same thing never happens to him and Kyle. Though, I feel pretty confident Kyle would never let it. I'll say one thing for all his pushing, it doesn't make it easy for a person to shut out the guy or keep him at an arm's length. He's got a very low tolerance for the walls people build around themselves and everything he is has been designed to knock them down. "Jonas?" Kyle's voice from behind surprises both of us and I let go of him. "Kyle?" Jonas looks up at him with his red shiny eyes, and I don' t know how to deal with hearing so much confusion and need in his voice. I get up though, clearing Kyle's path to his love. "Stay with me, Jo," Kyle whispers, cradling him in his arms. I wait long enough to see Jonas's hands move slowly around Kyle' s back, and then I back silently out of the kitchen. When I venture down the stairs a couple hours later, I find Kyle standing in the front hallway, looking frozen. "Kyle?" My voice is faint, but still seems jarring in the silence. "He finally told me why his parents are so protective of him." His voice is toneless, like he's talking in his sleep or under some kind of truth serum, speaking and giving information while remaining safely detached from it. I can recognise it easily enough, having grown so familiar hearing my own voice sound that way. "What do you mean?" "I always knew there had to be something else going on. Not just that they were a close knit family and didn't really mix with their other relatives. His loyalty to them, the fear and reluctance to disappoint them... no way that would have been as strong as it is just for the reasons he told me. I've just been waiting for him to tell me. And tonight he finally did," I go down the final three steps and walk over to Kyle. "Do you want to sit down?" I'm pretty worried about him if you want the truth. He looks down at me from his four-inch advantage, blank face and empty eyes. "He had a sister, Carrots," this revelation surprises and confuses me too much to allow for comment. "A twin sister, they were two perfectly healthy babies. Her name was Emma, and she was beautiful. He has a picture of them, they're sleeping together in their crib, both of them with this curly golden baby hair, I swear you'd think they were angels." I want this to be the end of the story. I'm not sure I can handle hearing the rest. But Kyle's monotone voice carries on, "When they were a couple months old, they started sleeping in their own cribs. He thinks he has dreams about that sometimes. He wakes up feeling lonely, like he's missing something." Tears start to sting my eyes. "As soon as they could walk they were sneaking into each other's cribs. After a couple times of finding them like that, I guess his parents just gave up and let them share again. Even when they got to be older, three or and four, they shared a double bed. They were super little, but he knows they were best friends. He can't remember anything specific, but it's like, he gets feelings sometimes. Like he can almost remember for a second what it was like with her. He said it's a happiness like he's never felt since. Not better, just special and different." I squeeze his shoulder as he struggles to continue. I'm not sure I want him to, except I know he needs to. "I guess he had a really happy childhood, they both did. He's heard lots of stories, and there are more pictures, some movies. He wants to show them to me, the movies and everything. He told me he wants to share her with me, because even though he doesn't remember her, he knows he loved her." He sighs, and I almost think he isn't going to go on, until he starts up again, "A couple months before their fifth birthday, they were biking together down some country road - you know, 'cause he grew up just outside of this really small town. I don't know, and neither does he because he can't remember, but I guess they were trying to cross from one side of the road to the other, or something, and this truck was turning off the highway." He swallows hard and bites down on his lip. "It hit her. And she died, instantly. The guy driving the truck just kept going. The police found her in the ditch, and Jonas was lying with her. Apparently he was talking to her, trying to get her to wake up, wiping the blood away. He doesn't remember any of it of course - even if he hadn't been so young, I'm sure he would have blocked it out - but I can't even begin to imagine how many times he's heard that story. He doesn't even remember her, except maybe in those dreams. Can you imagine what that's like? I can't. I didn't know what to do," the emotion is slowly coming back to his voice, and the pain it brings is heartbreaking. "He's had to grow up with that his whole life. That loss has been hanging over him since he can remember. He told me it's like his parents love him twice as much as normal, like they didn't know how else to let her go but to focus all the love they had for his sister on him as well. That's why they're so bad at giving him any space, that' s why they can't seem to let him go and be his own person. That's also why they have so much power over him. He told me all that, Care, and I didn't know one thing I could say to him. I tried to hold him, tell him I love him, but I don't know if it helped. I can't believe he's been carrying that around with him all this time, that he never told us. He said he doesn't like to think about it. I said I understood, but I don't understand any of it. How can I?" His eyes plead desperately for an answer. "I don't know," I say, shaking my head. Kyle closes his eyes. "I want to help so bad but there's nothing I can do," I put my arm around him, guiding him along with me into the living room. I think he's likely to collapse soon. Not that I know what I'll do when I get him there. This is way too far beyond me. I really wish my parents were home. But they've been really busy lately, not home much. As we sit down together on the couch, I wish Celery were here with us also, that I could be leaning on him for support, that he could be on the other side of Kyle, holding him with me. Getting through this together. "He didn't even seem that bad, you know? Better than me, but it hurt so much, knowing he has to feel stuff like that. If I'd lost any of you guys, even if I'd never gotten the chance to know you, I know I'd miss you." Mostly I'm realizing I don't have to talk. That what Kyle needs from me is just to listen, and be there. "It's too big for me Carrots," he's overwhelmed, he's scared and now he's pleading with me. He's made things right for me so many times, now it's my turn to try and return the favour. I begin straightening up, facing him, hands on his shoulders just to make sure he can't get away, but also to offer some attempt at comfort. "It's not, Kyle. You can do this, you can be what he needs. Want to know why?" He nods glumly. "Because Jonas believes in you. That's the only possible explanation. Why else would he have told you? He's trusting you with this big scary part of himself because he believes you can handle it. He loves you that much, enough to let you in to all the dark places inside him. This is an honour, Kyle. This is the biggest thing you've ever done. Just love him, man. I don't think it as anything to do with him expecting you to have the answers, he just needs you to know it. Because he wants you to love all of him. I know how you guys feel about each other, it's so clear. I've watched you, just like everyone used to watch me and Celery, and I can see it in your eyes. In your movements, in what you say to each other. The bad stuff, the pain, whether it be past, present, or worries about the future, that's all part of it. It's what comes with the territory. You love someone enough, their pain is worse to bear than your own. You can't stand watching it, and you want more than anything to make it go away, but sometimes you can't. You can't bring his sister back, Kyle, and all the love you have for him is probably never going to be enough to take away that kind of pain, but you have to keep loving him anyway. More than ever, he's letting you know how much he needs you. Above all, I think he probably needs you to be okay with this. "Do you understand what I mean? Don't treat him like some delicate flower, okay, Kyle? He's been handling this thing for a long time now, he's obviously learned how to live and be happy, at the same time never forgetting about her. You've got to try to do the same. Be there for him about it when he needs you to, but mostly just be there for him. About whatever. Be there laughing and joking around with him when that's what he needs. I think I understand Jonas pretty well about some things, and one thing I KNOW I have his number about is change. It freaks him out just as much as me, and I can see why. So, don't act like nothing happened, don't just pretend he never told you, but don't let this turn into the be all end all. He's still Jonas, the goofball, the cynic, the zen master, the NADSAT speaking godfather freak and the guy you love. You just know some more stuff about him now. You know stuff that can help you understand him better, so don't waste it." I let my hands drop from his shoulders, but Kyle's eyes don't fall from mine, and he makes no sign that he's going to bolt. We stare at each other in silence for a very long time. "Tell Mom and Dad I'll be home late, okay?" Because now suddenly he's getting up, standing, preparing to walk out of the room. "Kyle, where are you going?" I'm nervous, not sure if he really heard me or not. He smiles faintly. "I'm going to go see about a guy," I laugh, at the cheesiness of his reverse pronoun rip off of the Good Will Hunting line, but also from relief. "Okay, man," I say, getting up and walking him to the door. We hug. Still not a thing we do a lot of, but it was that kind of moment. "Say hey from me. And give him my love," he nods. "I will. See ya, bro." "Bye." I watch him until he's out of sight down the street. When Mom and Dad get home from work around 7, I give them a brief and highly censored recap, basically saying "Kyle and Jonas are going through something, Kyle's over there right now. It's serious, but I think they're going to be okay." Always the type to care and be concerned but rarely the type to pry, that was good enough for them. I imagine Dad will have a heart to heart with Kyle either when he gets home or sometime tomorrow, but for now they're okay to be patient and let Kyle and Jonas handle themselves. Later that evening I'm feeling weak, worn out, and missing Celery desperately. I take comfort by crawling into bed early, snuggling down with the phone and a box of photos. I spend an hour flipping through pictures of us at various ages, while a tape he made me one lonely afternoon plays softly. Just as I'm turning the tape over the second time, I come across a picture that steals the breath right out of my lungs. It's such a simple thing, so simple I could easily have passed it by with little more than a glance. But for whatever reason I didn't, and now I'm staring at it, feeling so many different things I'm fairly certain my heart's preparing to explode. It's just him and me, together, like so many of the other pictures, and yet I feel like no picture's ever showcased his love for me better. The picture is old, must have been grade three or four. We're lying on our stomachs in the living room, watching TV. Or, at least, one of us is watching TV. There's me,and I've got my chin propped up on both elbows, staring at the screen, some cartoon or whatever, the image is too blurry to make out. But what's going on with the screen isn't the story of this photo. Like everything else in my life, it's all about Celery. Unlike me, he's facing away from the screen, one hand only, turned towards me, eyes shining with rapture even across an eight year old photograph. He's 8 or 9 but he's looking at me. And there's the slightest smile softly gracing his lips, and you'd think I was the most perfect beautiful thing in the entire universe. I'm completely helpless against the torrent of emotion, and the sobs come easily. I'm glad for the tears in my eyes, because it hurts too much to go on looking at that picture. For more reasons than I can possibly sort out or hope to understand, my heart is screaming and I feel like pain this exquisite shouldn't even be possible. The beauty of him is enough to utterly destroy me, and the absolute love expressed in his eyes is certainly doing its part, but most of all, it's that he's not here with me. This kind of desperation for his presence and his touch rips at my heart and shadows everything else. It's lucky I don't need sight to dial his number, because as I do, the tears continue to fall relentlessly. I sob into the phone, harder even than before once his confused voice comes through the other end, and somehow eventually hear myself saying, "I love you so much," before another flood of tears takes over me. "Carrots?" He's frightened and panicky but I can't stop crying. "Baby, I love you, what's wrong?" His voice threatens to throw me head first off the edge I've been clinging to so desperately. "Nothing," more quiet sobbing, as I struggle to get a hold of myself, "Well, everything, but it's not... nothing happened. I just love you and I miss you so much and I want so badly for you to be here right now and you're not and," again I lose my voice to a wave of tears. "Baby Carrots," I can't remember the last time he used the full nickname like that, or if I've ever heard it so forcefully and lovingly used. "I love you too, and I miss you too. But you have to breathe, baby, listen to my voice, hear me, okay? I love you, I'm with you, all the time, wherever you are. Do you understand? No matter what, you always have my love, just breathe," and because it's him and his voice as much as his words, my heart slows down and my breathing starts coming back in more than frantic gasps, and the tears stay wet on my cheeks, but no new ones fall. "All better?" "Thanks to you." "Want to tell me what that was all about?" He's calm now, hearing that I am. Gratified to have been able to do his job well. "It wasn't really for any reason. I was just looking at some pictures, and I guess you could say I got a little overloaded." "Just a little," in his teasing, gentle tone. "Yeah," there's happiness and peace in my voice, and I like hearing it, knowing he will too. "Any particular reason for the photographic trip down memory lane?" "Oh, not really. It's just something I do sometimes, when I'm missing you the most." "That's when you should call me baby," there's no reproach in his voice, just a reminder. "I know, and I always do. I just do the picture thing first. Most of the time," I sigh a little ruefully, "Well, most of the time it really calms me down." "Not this time though." "Well, quite obviously, no. Not this time. But this, now, the calling. It's done it." "I'm glad, baby." And he's clearly a considerable lot more than glad, but what his words don't say, his voice makes up for. I wonder briefly if I should bring up Jonas, but figure that, in some shape or form at least, he already knows, and don't really feel like burdening him with that all over again. "What were you doing before I called you?" Wishing to bring us to more calm, regular things. Also wanting to ask anything so long as it keeps him talking. "Oh, nothing much." "How exciting." "I supposed I COULD bore you with the details," I sigh, settling down on my bed. "Please do." --- Edited by Ed.