I APPEAR IN THE DOORWAY TO SHOP CLASS AND SET my sights on Reeve. He’s off to the side of the room by himself, sitting on a stool in front of the table saw, his shoulders hunched, staring at a pile of sawdust on the floor near his feet. His project, a birdhouse, is only half completed. It’s missing a roof and a perch.
“Reeve!”
Reeve slowly lifts his head and looks over at the shop teacher, Mr. Werther. Everyone else in class has finished with their birdhouses. The projects are in a line on Mr. Werther’s desk, and he’s going through and assigning them each a grade.
“What?” Reeve says snottily, without looking up.
“You’ve got twenty more minutes before you get a zero.”
Reeve shakes his head and sneers, “Like I care about a fucking birdhouse,” barely under his breath. Then he turns on the saw blade by stepping on the floor pedal with his foot.
The students look at each other and murmur. Mr. Werther looks momentarily stunned that one of his students would be so rude. He shouts over the sudden burst of noise, “That’s ten points off for operating the saw without your safety goggles.”
“Awesome,” Reeve deadpans.
He presses his foot down more on the saw pedal, and the blade whirls so fast, it turns into a silver blur and lifts up the hair away from his forehead.
I stroll over and lean in to Reeve’s ear.
In a singsong voice I say, “You deserve everything that’s happening to you, Reeve. Every single terrible thing.” I know he can hear me. “You are not a good person. And now nothing good will ever come to you. I will make sure of that.”
Reeve closes his eyes. He hears me. I know he does.
“You’re a murderer.” I walk around the table so that I’m directly in front of the saw, lick my lips, and say, “You killed me. You’ve got blood on your hands.”
Reeve’s eyes pop open. I can see the hair on his neck stand up. I smile and say it a little louder. “That’s why Lillia left you, Reeve. She saw the real you. She knows you’re a monster. And she couldn’t ever love someone like you.”
Reeve takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to push my voice out of his head.
I skip around the room, all around the room. “Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.”
Reeve presses harder on the pedal, and the saw whirs louder. But not as loud as me. I keep skipping, keep taunting him. I can do it forever.
Reeve reaches over the top of the whirling saw blade to grab his piece of wood. His hands are shaking. He tries to line up a cut, but he can’t concentrate. Not with me screaming. He squeezes his eyes shut.
And suddenly Mr. Werther comes running over. I try to stop him, but he pushes right through me, grabs Reeve by the back of the shirt, and pulls him away from the saw.
“What the hell are you doing?” Mr. Werther screams.
“I’m building my damn birdhouse!” Reeve shouts back, but he’s clearly shaken. Reeve shrugs Mr. Werther off him. As he does, his arm flails and he hits one of the saws behind him. “Shit!” he shouts, and pulls the hand in close to himself. He’s cut his finger, not too deep, but it lets out a slit of the darkest, deepest red. I swear I feel it. The warmth of his blood.
Mr. Werther has had enough. “Forget the birdhouse. You’ve got yourself a failing grade for not following safety protocol. You’re practically falling asleep! Now get out of here and down to the nurse.”
Reeve picks up his birdhouse and bleeds all over the wood. On his way out of the shop class, he throws it into the trash can.
I can hear the other kids whispering as he stalks down the hall. I know Reeve can hear them too. He pushes through one of the metal doors and heads toward the parking lot.
“Are you going to cry?” I ask him. “Go ahead and cry, then. Cry your freaking eyes out. But it’s not going to change anything.”
Reeve straightens up, and it’s almost like he hears me. He goes over to his truck and gets in. But he doesn’t turn the key in the ignition. He just sits there. Then he drops his head onto the steering wheel and cries, just like I told him to.
Later that night I’m there when Reeve falls asleep. As soon as he does, I’m in his dream.
It’s always a surprise where I find myself when I land there. Sometimes it’s a memory of Lillia, sometimes it’s him and Alex in happier times. Tonight he’s apologizing to Alex. The two guys are in Alex’s pool house, playing video games. Reeve reaches for a soda and says, “I regret it, man. I really do. And I know you’ve loved her forever. But I have too.”
Then he looks up and sees me there. He’s scared.
“Please.”
I grab his hand, and we’re at the top of the lighthouse. I’m not Mary. I’m Big Easy. And Reeve’s a seventh grader. I’m perched on the cap, just a few feet above where Reeve is, on the catwalk surrounding the part of the tower that holds the bulb.
I bring him here, every night, and tell him there’s nothing left to live for. That everything he loves is gone. I repeat it like a script, like a play I’m acting in.
Eventually he’ll hear me. And then he’ll do what’s right, what he should have done the first time he came here. He’ll jump.
