Status: still a work in progress, first five chapters submitted to a contest, still waiting to hear back. wish luck!
Heart Beat
Chapter Five
I’m Timothy Boyce. And I’m going to change it as soon as I turn eighteen. But for now, I’m just Timmy. People make fun of me because my best friend is a girl. But Yana isn’t an ordinary girl. We grew up together, and the neighborhood kids consider her to be one of us guys. She’s awesome. She’s earned her place in our group; learning to fight and play ball and stand up for herself. You don’t make it in this neighborhood if you can’t be strong. And Yana was strong. I haven’t seen her in a while though. She used to live in the house next door, although she spent more time at my place. Then she moved out of the city. It’s been about a year. I’m getting way ahead of myself. How about a little time travel?
I’m Timmy, age fourteen. It’s pretty late. I’m too lazy to lift my head and look at the clock. I can’t sleep. I haven’t slept in a while. Since my best friend moved away. Yana would call it insomnia. She has it. Never sleeps. Ever. At night, she runs. For miles. I wish she was here. We used to be able to know what the other person was thinking. That’s how well we knew each other. I can try, I guess. Yana! Get your ass over here! I feel stupid, but then the doorbell rings its retarded wail and I flinch. Me and Yana broke it by throwing water balloons at it. And she walked into it once and it fell off. Could she really have heard me?
I roll out of bed and jump down the stairs. The silhouette of a girl falls on the back door. The low, falling-out ponytail and the baseball camp? Yana. Most definitely Yana. I can hear her sniffling faintly on the other side of the door. Yana crying? Something is wrong. Something is VERY wrong.
***************
Yana and I are sitting side by side on the back porch, just the way we used to. The only difference is that now, we’re so big that we hardly fit on the tiny platform. Yana is still crying, and can’t say a word. I understand. I always did understand her. I know she’s not ready to talk yet. So I just wrap my arms around her and pull her into a hug. I’m comfortable like this. Her sobs turn to hiccups as she lays her head on my chest. I just need to sit here like this. I don’t really ever need to face anything ever again. This is all I need.
She’s stopped crying enough to speak. “I lied to Alex. I told him I was fifteen. Then I told him the truth. And now I think he hates me.” She’s crying again. I look out into the back yard, with the gravel driveway and the big black truck. I take her in my arms again, and she feels small pressed up against my body. I don’t say a word. I’ve never been much of a talker. I do most of my communicating through facial expressions and body language. The tears are coming faster now from her eyes. They drip onto my shirt. I feel as if I need to protect her.
Without letting her go, I say, “You really like him.” It’s not a question. It’s like I can read her mind. She nods, even though she doesn’t have to. I swallow. “You…love him?” It’s a real question. I don’t know. Neither does she. I can sense her panic, and I hold her tighter. She clings to me like a baby, fear and pain icy in her eyes. She opens her mouth, maybe to ask me what to do, but she doesn’t make a sound. “There’s nothing to do except wait. It’ll be okay. I promise. Everything will turn out the way it’s supposed to be, in the end. And if it’s not alright, it’s not the end.” I’ve said this before. It’s become that phrase we need to hear from each other to make everything seem better. She closes her eyes.
“You can’t sleep outside, Yana. Come on.” I stand, but she doesn’t have the energy. I understand, and lift her effortlessly. Opening the door, I carry her up the stairs and lay her down on my bed. The quilt is the seam one that’s been here for three years. It’s poorly made, because Yana was only ten when she made it. The room is a mess. It’s the way I like it. I leave Yana there on the bed and walk across the hall to my mother’s room, tell her what happened, and call Yana’s mom to tell her where she is. Then I come back into my room with a sleeping bag and pillow. Clearing a space in the junk on the ground, I unroll the bag.
“Timmy.” Yana’s voice is little more than a whisper, but I hear her. I look up. Yana’s eyes are red and puffy and her hair is plastered to her forehead. She needs me, and I can tell. I stand and she moves over on the bed. We sleep like that, face to face, in our cloths on top of the quilt that Yana made. Just like we did when we were kids. Even though we’re older now, it feels exactly the same. Nothing’s different.
Yana wakes up late. Her cloths are rumpled, her hair is tangled, and I’m downstairs in the kitchen with Mum. She stumbles into the room, and sees me sitting on the counter. She sees my mother standing by the stove flipping flapjacks. As she comes in, Mum turns around and smiles. She’s still wearing her apron as she hugs Yana.
“Hi sweetie. It’s been a while. Did you sleep in your cloths? That’s alright; you know where we keep the cloths you left here. Just go on up and get something. Oh no I forgot you took most of it with you when you left. Oh well. You can borrow a shirt of Timmy’s and there’s still your soccer uniform. You can wear the shorts from that.” Yana laughs and runs up the stairs. Mum talks enough for the three of us, plus my dog Hunter. I close my eyes and sniff the pancakes, golden brown and crispy at the edges but fluffy in the center.
Yana jumps down the last few steps and I open my eyes again. She’s wearing my favorite green shirt and a pair of white shorts. They fit just right, which means they were mine. Hers wouldn’t fit her now; they’d be too small now.
I raise my eyes at the shirt she picked out. Yana smiles and says, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring it back.” I nod. Maybe I’ll let her keep it. As a memory. She needs a little something good to hold onto. I look at my best friend, and the way her hazel eyes turn green when she laughs. I love Yana’s laugh. It sounds like a cross between a tinkling bell and a baby’s giggle. She runs her hair through her knotted hair before throwing it into a lopsided bun on top of her head. Looking at me, she crosses her eyes, pulls on the corners of her mouth, and sticks out her tongue. I laugh and so does she. My face gets red for a stupid reason that I’m refusing to think about. This girl is my best friend. It’s just that I haven’t seen her in a year. That’s all. Yeah, Timmy. Sure.
I’m Timmy, age fourteen. It’s pretty late. I’m too lazy to lift my head and look at the clock. I can’t sleep. I haven’t slept in a while. Since my best friend moved away. Yana would call it insomnia. She has it. Never sleeps. Ever. At night, she runs. For miles. I wish she was here. We used to be able to know what the other person was thinking. That’s how well we knew each other. I can try, I guess. Yana! Get your ass over here! I feel stupid, but then the doorbell rings its retarded wail and I flinch. Me and Yana broke it by throwing water balloons at it. And she walked into it once and it fell off. Could she really have heard me?
I roll out of bed and jump down the stairs. The silhouette of a girl falls on the back door. The low, falling-out ponytail and the baseball camp? Yana. Most definitely Yana. I can hear her sniffling faintly on the other side of the door. Yana crying? Something is wrong. Something is VERY wrong.
***************
Yana and I are sitting side by side on the back porch, just the way we used to. The only difference is that now, we’re so big that we hardly fit on the tiny platform. Yana is still crying, and can’t say a word. I understand. I always did understand her. I know she’s not ready to talk yet. So I just wrap my arms around her and pull her into a hug. I’m comfortable like this. Her sobs turn to hiccups as she lays her head on my chest. I just need to sit here like this. I don’t really ever need to face anything ever again. This is all I need.
She’s stopped crying enough to speak. “I lied to Alex. I told him I was fifteen. Then I told him the truth. And now I think he hates me.” She’s crying again. I look out into the back yard, with the gravel driveway and the big black truck. I take her in my arms again, and she feels small pressed up against my body. I don’t say a word. I’ve never been much of a talker. I do most of my communicating through facial expressions and body language. The tears are coming faster now from her eyes. They drip onto my shirt. I feel as if I need to protect her.
Without letting her go, I say, “You really like him.” It’s not a question. It’s like I can read her mind. She nods, even though she doesn’t have to. I swallow. “You…love him?” It’s a real question. I don’t know. Neither does she. I can sense her panic, and I hold her tighter. She clings to me like a baby, fear and pain icy in her eyes. She opens her mouth, maybe to ask me what to do, but she doesn’t make a sound. “There’s nothing to do except wait. It’ll be okay. I promise. Everything will turn out the way it’s supposed to be, in the end. And if it’s not alright, it’s not the end.” I’ve said this before. It’s become that phrase we need to hear from each other to make everything seem better. She closes her eyes.
“You can’t sleep outside, Yana. Come on.” I stand, but she doesn’t have the energy. I understand, and lift her effortlessly. Opening the door, I carry her up the stairs and lay her down on my bed. The quilt is the seam one that’s been here for three years. It’s poorly made, because Yana was only ten when she made it. The room is a mess. It’s the way I like it. I leave Yana there on the bed and walk across the hall to my mother’s room, tell her what happened, and call Yana’s mom to tell her where she is. Then I come back into my room with a sleeping bag and pillow. Clearing a space in the junk on the ground, I unroll the bag.
“Timmy.” Yana’s voice is little more than a whisper, but I hear her. I look up. Yana’s eyes are red and puffy and her hair is plastered to her forehead. She needs me, and I can tell. I stand and she moves over on the bed. We sleep like that, face to face, in our cloths on top of the quilt that Yana made. Just like we did when we were kids. Even though we’re older now, it feels exactly the same. Nothing’s different.
Yana wakes up late. Her cloths are rumpled, her hair is tangled, and I’m downstairs in the kitchen with Mum. She stumbles into the room, and sees me sitting on the counter. She sees my mother standing by the stove flipping flapjacks. As she comes in, Mum turns around and smiles. She’s still wearing her apron as she hugs Yana.
“Hi sweetie. It’s been a while. Did you sleep in your cloths? That’s alright; you know where we keep the cloths you left here. Just go on up and get something. Oh no I forgot you took most of it with you when you left. Oh well. You can borrow a shirt of Timmy’s and there’s still your soccer uniform. You can wear the shorts from that.” Yana laughs and runs up the stairs. Mum talks enough for the three of us, plus my dog Hunter. I close my eyes and sniff the pancakes, golden brown and crispy at the edges but fluffy in the center.
Yana jumps down the last few steps and I open my eyes again. She’s wearing my favorite green shirt and a pair of white shorts. They fit just right, which means they were mine. Hers wouldn’t fit her now; they’d be too small now.
I raise my eyes at the shirt she picked out. Yana smiles and says, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring it back.” I nod. Maybe I’ll let her keep it. As a memory. She needs a little something good to hold onto. I look at my best friend, and the way her hazel eyes turn green when she laughs. I love Yana’s laugh. It sounds like a cross between a tinkling bell and a baby’s giggle. She runs her hair through her knotted hair before throwing it into a lopsided bun on top of her head. Looking at me, she crosses her eyes, pulls on the corners of her mouth, and sticks out her tongue. I laugh and so does she. My face gets red for a stupid reason that I’m refusing to think about. This girl is my best friend. It’s just that I haven’t seen her in a year. That’s all. Yeah, Timmy. Sure.
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lawl i loves yew