Spoiler! :
I am not afraid of tears. Nor am I afraid of losing myself. But I am afraid of losing her.
Maia and I have known each other since the first grade. Or should I say, no one knew her, but she knew everyone? Maia was a loner. She never talked unless the teacher made her. She got the best grades in the class anyway.
During recess every day, she sat in the corner and watched everything. Everything. Nevertheless, I felt her eyes on me more than I thought they were on anyone else. I do not know if Maia felt it, but I thought we had a connection.
All through middle school and junior high, Maia sat in the corner during recess. She never played. Never seemed to move. But she got thinner. By eighth grade, she was dangerously thin and pale, and looked as if she never slept. I wanted to go to her so badly.
I was one of the popular boys. I played no sports, and I really would always prefer my computer to the outside world, but the jocks accepted me. Their acceptance was what held me back. I did not want to lose my few friends by consorting with the outcast. My only way of holding true to her was never “dating” another girl. If you could call it that.
Many girls thought I was mysterious. They got their little friends to ask me out for them. I always declined. I liked to think that every time Maia saw me say no to another girl, she smiled, just a bit.
Finally, on the Valentine’s Day of our eighth grade year, I gave her a valentine in my own shy way. She would never know. I snuck out of fourth period, claiming a bathroom break. I slipped down to the playground, and set a single red rose in her corner. A slip of paper on the stem read,
I love you
I never knew if she knew it was me. When I got a chance to glance over though, she had the rose in her hair, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Her lips curved in a smile I had never seen. I was never going to let her go.
In computer sciences freshman year, we were lab partners. She still talked as rarely as possible, but when she was with me, she seemed to smile more. Just the proximity to her made me smile like a fool, that I knew. I still hope she did not see how silly I felt.
Sophomore year, our history teacher paired us up for a research project. She still took the bus home, but I could drive, and we had to stay after school in the library to put the project together. I told her I would give her a ride home, and she did accept, but not before a flash of fear lit her eyes.
When we made it to her house, I saw why. Her father sat in an old rocking chair in the middle of a wild yard. His fat squidged out the sides, and he had a bucket of extra-cheap ice cream in one hand and a bottle of booze in the other.
His rage was unimaginable when I drove up in my little blue jeep.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY DAUGHTER?” he slurred loudly. “IMMA KEEL YOU IF YOU GET SO CLOSE TO HER AGIN!”
Maia quickly thanked me for the ride, and I tried to lay a hand on her arm, but she was already out of the car. I gaped at her. I was not sure whether to get out too or drive for my life. This fat man seemed to be the type to abuse people, if he was that angry over a courteous ride home.
Maia ran for the front door of their ramshackle house. She had almost made it when her father threw his now-empty bottle at her. It caught her across the cheek, hard. That was it.
I leaped out of the car, but Maia screamed at me.
“RUN John, RUN!” She had tears in her eyes and a bruise already forming on her face. “Don’t make it any worse for me!”
I was torn. This man could not do this! Especially not to MAIA!
“Maia! No! Come back!” I knew I sounded whiny, but I wanted to get her out of there so badly.
“John, there’s nothing you can do. Go home.”
“Yeh! You heard er! Go on! Git!” screeched her father. “An stay away from me girl, you little punk.”
Maia looked at me, tears in her eyes, and shut the door. I felt sad and deflated as I climbed back into my jeep and drove away. There was nothing I could do. At the time, I did not even think of going to the police. I just went home.
Maia was not even absent one day. She told all her teachers she had fallen on the stairs. And she told me I had to keep it secret.
“I only have two more years. I promised my mother I would stay with him” Maia whispered to me in history. “I’ll be ok. Thank you.”
I did not know what to say. So I hugged her. It was the first time I had ever touched her. She felt so fragile, so easy to hurt. I felt like crying.
Junior and senior years, we had no classes together. I hardly ever saw her. Nevertheless, I knew she was alive at least. I grew away from my sporty friends. Nowhere in sight was the John they all knew. I was quiet, and seemed depressed to the happy-go-lucky jocks. I was a loner in my own right now.
So now, it is a week to graduation. I am sitting on my bed, staring at my calendar. The day after graduation, I am leaving to spend the summer in the town where I will be going to college. And I will never see Maia again.
As I stare at my calendar, I realize that if I wanted to make a move with Maia I had to do it now.
It is 8:00. As I hop into that selfsame old blue jeep, it brings with it waves of memories from that day in sophomore year. I wish I had done this sooner.
I am probably not being very safe. Its dark, and I am well over the speed limit, but I do not care. I have to get to Maia’s house. Now.
Finally, I pull into her driveway in shock. Her horrible house is in flames. Her idiot father probably lit some booze up for a thrill. I do not even think. I just leap out of the car. I am not a big guy, but I bash down the charred door easily. Maia is wailing at the end of what seems to be a very, very long hallway. Bruises and burn marks cover her face.
I run, faster than feels possible, but the hallway feels endless. Finally, I reach Maia. She sits curled into a tiny ball, trying to protect herself somehow. She is light as a feather when I lift her and begin the trek back to the door.
Just as I make it out, the building collapses. No way is her father alive now.
I set Maia in the passenger side of my jeep. I cannot hold myself back anymore. I almost lost her tonight. Her lips are the only soft thing on her pained face as I kiss them and whisper,
“I knew you didn’t want to be alone.”
Thing is, you have to figure out exactly the right amount of details and emotions. Not too much, not too little. Let yourself go on this story, make yourself be that guy, John.
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