Remember Me (On Hold)

iii

iii

The next morning, my dad knocks on my car window to wake me up. I snuck back out in the middle of the night and slept here.

“I have a surprise for you,” he says, beaming, voice muffled by the glass. “It’s around the side.”

“What is it?” I’m so tired I can hardly talk.

“Come see,” he says real sing-song-y.

I unlock my door and step out into the daylight. I need to brush my teeth.

Dad covers my eyes with his hand and leads me around to other side of my car. Beneath my thin slipper soles, I can feel the pebbles of the driveway, the stepping-stones that run through the grass alongside the house, and, finally, the grass itself. We’re in the backyard. Our actual house isn’t anything special. Like most of the houses in Los Cerros, it’s big and new and plain, but I love our yard. There’s a path that weaves around all the vegetables and flowers and on the weekends my parents spend hours out here in the dirt, gardening. The best part is that if you stand on the path and look away from the house, you can’t even see where the yard ends. It stretches on and on for acres. It’s hilly and there are a bunch of ancient oak trees.

He uncovers my eyes, and sweeps his arm out toward a huge pile of wood lying on the brick patio that separates the house from the garden. It’s cut in thick planks that are at least ten feet long. Dad’s standing there in front of the gigantic messy pile, smiling all proud like he just bought me a beach house in Fiji and a private jet to get me there.

“Wood,” I say, confused.

“It’s all sanded already. I got you a top-of-the-line saw, too. That should be coming on Monday.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

He shrugs. “I have no idea,” he says. “You’re the expert.”

My parents have this crazy idea that I’m good at building things just because once I went to this art-and-crafts summer camp and made a little wooden stepladder that actually turned okay.

“That was like million years ago,” I remind my dad. “I was twelve.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it again soon.”

“This is a lot of wood.”

“There’s a plenty more when you need it. I don’t want you to feel limited.”

All I can do is nod my head up and down, up and down. I mean, I know what’s going on. I hear my parents talking about me, sounding all worried. I know that this is supposed to be some alternative to therapy. Dad thinks it’s really great gift that will take my mind off my screwed-up life.

He stands there, looking hopeful, waiting for me to react. Finally, I walk over to the pile and run my fingers across a piece on the top. I knock on it with my knuckles. I can feel him watching me. I look up and force a smile.

“Great,” he says, all final, like something has been decided.

“Yeah,” I say back, like I understand.

•••

The first Harry and I ditched was gray and cold. We left at lunch and I was sure someone would catch us, but no one did.

Once we were safely out of view, we started walking up this hill to where the condos are all jammed up against one another; windows look into neighbors’ living rooms. It was so quiet.

The diner or the mall? Harry asked.

Too many people at the mall. I kicked at some rocks on the path and watched the dust rise.