At this point in time, I don't know much.
I know that Jeb called me two and a half hours ago, and we're still on the phone, though very few words have been said. He said that he needed to be quiet, but it was also necessary that someone else was here with them. Necessary and us being the two hard-hitting words that came through the phone, hoarse and strained.
Then again, that could have been due to a poor connection.
I didn't think so.
Somehow, I don't find it discomforting that we're not really talking. I'd like to think he feels the same unnameable strangeness that I do. Laying on my side with my hair strewn beneath me, the phone is sitting neatly beside my face, and I trace along the edge with my index finger as another minute of silence tics by.
"Alyssa..."
I tilt my head a little, so to hear him better; something has changed. Only, I can't tell if the change is good or bad.
"My mom just left with Jenara..."
I don't think he can, either.
Despite how he acts and what he says, Jeb is still young. And the fact that he's now home alone with his father must be terrifying. At the same time, he must be glad. Glad that they're away from it all.
It breaks my heart that he was left alone, though.
"Can you come over?" I say the words without thinking, and hearing them over again as his old phone echos-- it startles me.
"Yes," his reply comes out immediately, riding on a sigh; I barely catch it.
I want to say something like "hurry up", or make a comment on how cold it is outside--he'll have to trudge through the snow to get to my house. But it's not far, and I don't think he'd hear me. I don't think he's registered much of what I've said.
I've never been much good with small talk, and he's certainly not one that wants the facade of normalcy. His life isn't normal, and I'm not about to offend him by pretending anything about this situation is "right".
He saves me from my awkward inner-struggles by striking me with a few plain words that rattle me, and bring me right back down to earth.
"Will you stay on the phone with me?"
I want to say "of course", but I only make a soft sound in reply.
He gets it.
I tuck my phone against my ear and slip out of bed; tip-toeing down the hallway, I hear the faint snores of my father as I flick on the living room lights. At the same time, I hear the indistinguishable, confusing sounds of random shuffling as Jeb makes his way down stairs--or out a window.
Or maybe his father has gotten to him and--
I shiver and feel clammy and icy at the same time. And sick.
"Almost there," I murmur, again without thinking. I don't know if he hears, because he doesn't say anything back. Feeling uneasy and wondering if I should go outside to meet him, I end up curling up on the couch and sticking my toes between the old cushions.
I'm so busy trying to pull apart the mess of whispering sounds on the phone that I jump when I hear a soft knock at the door. Practically tumbling off the couch, I unlock the door as quietly as possible and open it to reveal a shivering, snow-dusted boy.
Jeb looks incapable. Not incapably something; it must be understood that he just looks incapable.
"I'm not sure if I'm allowed to let snowmen inside," I whisper softly, barely able to meet his eyes. He rewards my futile efforts with a minuscule smile, and a gentle kick of his damp sneakers against the door.
And then he's inside, and I'm feeling short and unhelpful, but I cling to his arm and clumsily lead him to the couch because he hadn't bothered to put a coat on and now his arms are frigid.
"Al, I'm fine," he sighs, though his eyes have lit up and it's more than I would have dared ask for. He's already warming up, though it's not his body that I'm referring to.
"Cute pijamas," he remarks, and I self-consciously shove his leg as he sits so that he stumbles and ends up ungracefully falling onto the couch.
"There's nothing wrong with zombie cupcakes, got it?"
"Whatever you say, skater girl."
Finally, Jeb is smiling. But it's exhausted; he just looks utterly exhausted.
I reach over him so to tug a blanket over us; the action is apparently too much for me to handle, though, and I end up dropping the neatly-folded square of potential warmth right onto his face. I grimace; but then I feel his quiet laughter, and Jeb sits up a little and throws the fabric over us both, making sure to tuck in the edges around my feet.
"Thanks, Al," he says, stretching a little and leaning his head back against the couch, eyes narrowed and heavy as he fights to keep them open.
I press a little closer to him; "you can sleep, you know. I'll protect you from the monsters of the night."
My voice is soft and surprisingly brave; I scrunch up a patch of his t-shirt over his stomach and he flinches as I tease him; tough-guy act completely vanquished, he's all youth and insecurities and softness.
And, apparently, doesn't appreciate my pointing out he's still ticklish. Jeb finds my hand and knots his fingers with mine, under the blanket, hidden from view. Because, after all, if neither of us can see it, then we won't have to acknowledge anything.
I don't have time to say goodnight, because he's sleeping within moments.
It's amazing what simply feeling safe will grant you.
