Carrie Jones - After Obsession

Contents

To Emily Ciciotte, Rena Morse, and Shaun Farrar for always showing me how to face the scary

C. J.

To my wife, Kim, and the kids. Thanks for your patience

S. E. W.

You are mine.

You all will be mine.

These are the words I hear every single freaking morning since my friend Courtneys dad died. They slither around inside my brain all day until I think Im going crazy, and today is no exception. Even hanging out half-naked on the grass in the backyard with my boyfriend, Blake, I hear them. Were supposed to be looking up at the sky, enjoying the lazy post-make-out feeling, but no

You, Aimee, are the best, Blake says. You are the best girlfriend in the universe and you are mine forever. Got it?

The words remind me of that dream voice, and even though my head rests on Blakes chest, I dont feel calm like I normally do when were together. Queasiness settles into my stomach. Blakes heart thumps away like a drum line to a blood song I cant hear. Blakes a singer. He always has a song going on in his head, and I imagine that song fills him all the way, pumping into his blood, spreading throughout his capillaries, going into every inch of him, the way the words go into me. I sigh over his heartbeat.

Gramps and Benji will be home pretty soon, I say.

Hint, hint? he asks, reaching for his shirt and smiling his rock-star smile that makes everyone swoon.

Sort of, I apologize.

All around us is just woods and river and the house; it feels like theyre watching, telling us its okay to be young and happy. But its not okay to be young and happy, not today. Not now. Not when Courtneys dad is dead. It isnt right for me to be happy when everything inside of her is a big, big ache. I know that ache personally. The ocean took Courtneys dad; the river took my mom. It was a long time ago, but my ache is still there.

Blake leans me against the biggest pine, but Im not really feeling it anymore. In the last few weeks, Ive been feeling it less and less with Blake, and that worries me so much because we are perfect for each other; everyone says that.

Blake groans. We have to write a paper in psych about our deepest fears.

Yeah? His eyes are so gray. They are ocean eyes; thats what I like to think. Although, the ocean isnt so great an image anymore. Still, I take the bait and ask, So whats yours?

He moves his hands down from my shoulders to my arms, all the way to my wrists, and grabs me there while he shrugs. I dont know. Im not really scared of much. Fire, maybe. Not getting into Stanford.

Something inside me sloshes around like old coffee, stale and nauseating. A crow takes off from the tree, black wings beating against the air, with the air, of the air.

What are you afraid of ? he asks.

I think about it, then just tell the truth. Im afraid of myself.

His eyebrows wrinkle, confused.

I push out a big breath and say, Me. The thing Im afraid of the most is me.

There are some things about myself that I cant explain. Sometimes, I see things in my dreams before they happenjust like my mom used to, which makes me think theres some sort of genetic component to the whole psychic thing. Yes, I know this is weird, and yes, I saw things about Courtney, and yes, I am seeing things about some rugged boy Ive never met, a boy who has the kind of skin that looks perpetually tanned. And yes, weeks ago I had a dream about men drowning, but the fog was so intense and the lighting was so bad that I couldnt make out who they were, didnt know how to stop it. I didnt realize one of them was Courtneys dad.

The dreams suck like that.

Its not just dreams. Sometimes when people are sick or hurt, I can touch them and somehow they are better or they start healing. Sometimes you can see their wounds start to close. I dont know if my mom could do that, too; she didnt live long enough for me to ask her.

I am not crazy.

Right before Blake leaves, we kiss good-bye, long, slow, him pressing me into the edge of his old Volvo station wagon.

I wish you didnt have to go, I say.

He pulls his head away, moves some hair out of my face. His words touch my cheek, soft. Me, too.

I step backward. The wind blows my hair back into my face. Blake stares up at my house, a big, wood-shingled cape with a front porch, attached garage, all that. Your house is so cozy looking, he says.

Cozy looking?

It just looks nice. I like to imagine you in there sleeping at night.

I turn around to look at the house and lean back against his car with him. It is cozy looking. Its so different from Courtneys house now. Sometimes it feels awful there, you know?

I think its a common feeling. He tugs my wrist, pulling me closer to him. Call Courtney, have her come over. Then maybe youll both feel better.

So, right after Blake leaves, I text Courtney to come kayak with me, and Gramps texts me that itll be another hour before he and Benji get home.

As soon as Courtney gets to my house, we grab life jackets and paddles and head to the long, wooden dock that juts out into the river. Its about a half a mile to the bay and the ocean where Courtneys dad died. Its the same distance back to town, farther by car. The river is the quick way in and out. For a second, Courtney looks out to sea, and I know shes got to be thinking about her dad because her eyes dull and her mouth droops down. She shakes it off, though, and its like I can actually witness her rearrange her features into something happy.

You would not believe what happened to me today, she says. Her dark hair lifts up off of her face with the wind. She shakes her head like the memory is too much.

What? I hold our tandem kayak steady as she slides into the front compartment.

It is so super horrible, she says, leaning forward to hang on to the dock while I get in the back of the kayak. Seriously. Like its horrible on the level of womens magazine true life horror stories.

We grab our paddles and push sideways, scooting across the top of the water. I try not to think about Courtneys dad being dead or my mom being dead, either. At least we knew where she diedright here. Those are bad thoughts. I push them out of my head.

Tell me what happened, I beg and smile. Its so good to see Courtney acting like her old self, not too sad, talking again.

Okay. So, Justin Willis needed a pen in Honors Bio, and I pulled out a pen from my purse, right? Our kayak slices through the water as she talks, a steady up and down rhythm.

Right, I say, because she has paused for acknowledgment.

So, I take the pen out and hold it up and hes still like, I need a pen. Anyone got a pen? And Im like, Dude, here! And Im waving my pen in front of his face now, because Im super annoyed that hes ignoring me, and Im thinking, What? Is my pen not good enough for you, Justin Willis?

Of course it is! Im getting all offended on Courtneys behalf.

No. No. Wait for it She stops paddling and starts laughing, twisting around so I can see her face as she tells the rest of the story. She squeezes her eyes shut like its just too much. So then I actually look at the pen in my hand, and its not a pen.

Its not a pen? I ask into the silence. Courtney is really good at telling stories. She should be a comedian, I swear.

Its not a pen! Its a tampon! Im waving a tampon in Justin Williss face! Her head tilts back and she laughs so hard the kayak wiggles. Or maybe thats because Im laughing, too.

Thats soooo terrible! I say.

I know! I know!

We both give up on paddling and just float there for a minute, because life is way too funny sometimes.

I love you, Court, I tell her. You are the biggest goofball in the world and I love you.