Land of a Million Stars

A week after my funeral and people were starting to go back to their lives.

My brothers both moved back in with my mother, Frankie taking a little while off of school, and Zeke left his tattoo parlor to his co-owner, who would run it until he came back.

None of them touched my room, or my car, or sat in my place on the couch or at the table. It was like I was still there, just on vacation. I spent a lot of time in my room, sitting on my bed and taking in my lavender walls and the soft colors of my sheets, the memories I’d tacked to the wall. Everything was still in its place, even the dirty clothes I’d thrown on my chair.

A door shut loudly from downstairs and I got up. Mom was home. She put some grocery bags in the table and one fell over, spilling a carton of milk onto the floor. It exploded on contact. And it wasn’t the only thing. Mom burst into tears after that, too.

Zeke came hurrying down the stairs, closely followed by Frankie. They looked at each other once and nodded, Frankie traipsing into the kitchen to get some towels and Zeke glided over to Mom. He helped her up and led her to the couch, where he sat beside her.

Frankie cleaned it up and then came and sat down on the other side of her. My eyes welled with tears at the sight of my mother crying and my brothers looking close to doing the same.

“Please,” I whispered. “Don’t cry. I’m here. I’m here, Mom. I’m here, Frankie. I’m here, Zeke. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

But they didn’t hear me. I couldn’t stand to see them like this, so I left. Wade was the neighbor behind me so I went into the backyard and climbed the fence. Wade was sitting back there, on the swing under the tree he’d claimed as ours.

“Pst, Ella!”

“Wade?” I asked, peering through one of the small holes in the fence. I could clearly see Wade’s brown eye, staring back at me.

“Yeah!” he said. I couldn’t see much of his face, but by the crinkles by his eye, I could tell he was smiling.

“What?” I asked. I’d had a huge crush on Wade, ever since he moved in six years ago when I was eight.

“Come over here,” he said.

“How?”

“Climb the fence, of course!”

“You’re crazy!”

“Oh come on, El. Please? It’ll make me very, very happy!”

I hesitated. More than anything, I wanted to make the beautiful boy happy but I didn’t like climbing fences; I always got all scratched up. I sighed. “Fine.”

“Hooray!” Wade backed up and I could see him now. He was wearing dark jeans and a white Nike shirt. I looked down at my shorts, too short for school, they were my tanning shorts. The ones I didn’t want anyone to see me in because they revealed more than I wanted. But I couldn’t go change.

I took off the hair-tie around my wrist and tied my unruly dark hair back into a ponytail. I reached up and grabbed the top of the fence and placed my foot on the board that went across the fencing. Hoisting myself up, I could feel the wood dig into my skin. Ouch. I flung my leg over but I overthrew my weight and with a small shriek, crashed to the ground.

“Ow!” I yelped. Pain sent stars flickering in my vision and my wrist hurt really bad where I’d tried to catch myself. When the tunnel vision subsided, I saw Wade’s face hanging above me.

“Ella? Are you okay?” he asked.

“Peachy,” I replied sarcastically. Wade reached for my hand, and grabbed the hurt one. I screeched in pain, glaring daggers at his startled face. “Don’t touch that wrist!” I hissed. Wade blinked and then grabbed the other hand, helping me to my feet. I cradled my wrist against my stomach.

“Did you break it?”

“Probably,” I said.

“Should I call someone?” he asked. I shook my head.

“I can go to the hospital later. It only hurts when I touch it.”

Wade nodded and walked over to a swing that was tied to a branch high up. He sat down.

“Is that safe?” I asked.

Wade shrugged. “Hasn’t broken yet.” He thought a moment. “You wanna swing? I’ll push you.”

“My wrist…” I held it up. Wade shrugged again.

“You don’t need to hold on. I won’t push you that hard,” he said. I nodded and he got up, holding the rope on either side to steady the swing. I sat down and it sank a little. Wade moved behind me and pressed his hands against my back gently, moving me forward. His hands were warm.

We were silent for a long time and finally Wade spoke. “You know,” he said, “I think that this should be our tree.”

“Why? Because I broke my wrist and you’re trying to make me feel better?” I joked.

“No, because it’s where we had our first kiss,” he said, stopping the swing.

“But we haven’t – ”

Wade moved so his face was next to mine and when I turned, he pressed his lips against mine.

Wade swung a little, dragging his feet in the grass. His eyes were glued to the ground. He kicked at a rock. I moved closer to him, standing behind him. I put my hands against his back and pushed. A gust of wind swept up when I pushed and it ruffled his hair, smelling strangely like lilies. He inhaled deeply.

“I can still smell you, El,” he said. I moved away. The wind died down but the smell of lilies lingered. Did I do that? But when I tried it again, nothing happened. I sighed and moved so I was standing next to him.

“I miss you, Wade,” I said. “I wish you could see me. Or hear me. Or feel me.”

The sliding glass door opened and Wade’s mother stuck her head out. “We’re outta beer. And there’s no food in our cupboards. I’m hungry, boy.” Then she retreated back inside. Wade sighed and got up. He went through the fence on his side and I heard his car start up.

I stayed in his backyard for a little longer. The sun was beginning to set and I had one more stop to make.