Laura Miller - For All You Have Left

I’m alone now. It’s just me and the warm summer sun and a little, black spider crawling down a far rung in the railing. I’d freak out if I saw it inside, but I don’t mind it so much out here. I watch it scurry across the painted wood, avoiding tiny roadblocks that I can’t see. The spider reminds me of my grandpa’s farm. There were always spiders there — spiders and mice and hay and tall grass and endless games of hide and seek. I think about those days when we were all just kids sometimes. And sometimes, I think about them so hard that I feel as if I’m there — in an open field with grass up to my waist and nothing but hours and hours before the summer sun goes down…

“James, you’re on Hannah’s team,” Andrew says.

“But I was on Hannah’s team last time,” James protests. “You said I could be on Logan’s team this time.”

Hannah sends James her most serious look — the look of death.

“Like I want to be on your team, little squirt,” Hannah says, piercing James with her narrowed eyes. “Andrew, why do you always get to pick the teams anyway?”

She turns her attention to Andrew.

“I’m the oldest,” she continues. “I should pick, and I pick not to be on that little squirt’s team. He’s awful at this game.”

“I’ll be on his team,” I say. “I’ll be on James’s team.”

James is little. He can barely see over the grass. And he’s slow, and he talks a lot. Hannah’s right; he’s not really very good at this game. But I feel bad for him.

“No,” Andrew shouts. “I’ve picked the teams. It’s already done. Hannah’s with James. You’re with me, Logan.”

Everyone’s quiet.

“Fine,” Hannah puffs. “But this is the last time, Andrew, or I’m not playing anymore.”

Andrew smiles proudly. James looks dejected but satisfied enough.

“Okay,” Andrew says. “You guys count to sixty. Me and Logan are gonna go hide.”

Andrew grabs my hand and takes off. I’m jolted forward, but I don’t fall because Andrew has my hand and he’s pulling me along. We run for a few seconds, but then suddenly, he stops and catches me as I almost fly face-first toward the ground.

“And no peeking,” he yells back at Hannah and James. “And don’t let James count.”

“Nine, ten, eleven,” Hannah shouts.

Andrew looks at me and smiles before we take off again. I wonder why he smiles. He must have a really good hiding place in mind.

We run and we run. We run across the field, cutting a jagged line through the tall grass. And every once in a while we backtrack and take a different way. I know Andrew does this to throw Hannah off. I feel pieces of the green stalks slide across my bare arms and legs as we flatten paths in the grass. It tickles my skin.

“Andrew, where are we going?” I ask, finally.

“The barn,” he says.

My grandpa’s farm is full of hiding places. We’ve hid in that old barn a million times.

“They’ll find us there,” I say.

“No, they won’t.”

I keep running, since I’m still attached to his hand, until we get to the barn and squeeze through a little space in a cracked, wooden door that reads Black Angus Farms in old, faded letters across its front. I always imagine the letters being bright and pretty — the way they must have been a long, long time ago.

It’s musty inside the barn — dusty and full of big, sticky cobwebs. It looks like what I think an old dungeon would look like. I’d never be caught dead in here alone.

“Come on,” Andrew says, pulling me along.

He runs to the other end of the barn and ducks his head when he gets to an old cattle chute.

“Watch your head,” he calls back at me.

I duck my head under the wood and metal and let him pull me through.

We stop at the little, wooden slats that climb the wall to the hayloft.

“Up here.” He reaches for a slat high above his head.

“Andrew, they’ll find us up there. It’s the first place they’ll look.”

“No, they won’t,” he says.

My shoulders slump, but after a second, I follow him up the ladder. And no sooner do I get a couple rungs off the barn floor, it starts raining dust and hay.

“Andrew, you’re getting dirt in my hair!”

“What?” He angles his face down to look at me. “Oh. I can’t help it. It’s from the ladder.”

I give him my best unhappy face. Then, I squeeze my eyes shut and lower my head as I climb the rest of the way through the dirt rain.

Andrew’s already standing on the wooden floorboards of the hayloft when my head pops up through the hole in the floor.

“Jeez, Little Logan, you’re a mess. What happened to you?” he asks, laughing.

I stop and narrow my eyes at him.

“You happened, Andrew.”

He holds out his hand.

I crawl up another rung in the ladder. I think twice before giving him my hand, but I eventually do, and he yanks me toward him. The force of his pull sends me flying forward, and before I know it, I land with all fours onto the hard, wood boards.

“You okay?” he asks, bending down to me.

I look up at him. He looks weird all of a sudden — like he actually cares.

“Yeah,” I say, standing up and brushing the dust and the hay out of my clothes and hair.

“Okay,” he says. “Over here.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me forward again. He pulls me to the corner of the barn and then slides behind a big, round hay bale.

“I’m not going back there,” I protest.

“Come on. Don’t be a scaredy-cat.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head and crossing my arms across my chest. “There are probably mice back there and spiders.”

I really am scared. I really don’t want to go back in that dark hole with all those creepy-crawly things.

Andrew puts out his hand, and his whole face changes.

“There are no mice,” he says, gently. “And I’ll protect you from the spiders.”

I don’t know why he’s being so nice all of a sudden.

“Come on,” he says, in the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard come out of Andrew Amsel.

I think about it for a couple more seconds. Then, I loosen one arm from around my chest and slowly hold my hand out to his.

His face lights up as he takes my hand.

I let Andrew lead me back behind the big bale, and together we crawl into a tiny corner and lower ourselves to the wood floor until our knees bend and press against our chests. It’s dark except for a little ray of light that’s pouring in through a hole in the wood on the side of the barn. And I’m still afraid of the mice and the spiders. I watch the dust dance in that little ray of light, hoping that Hannah and James hurry up and find us soon, until I feel Andrew squeeze my hand.

“Don’t be scared,” he whispers.

I take my gaze off the dust and the light and find Andrew’s eyes. I can barely see them. They match the darkness around us.

He smiles, and it seems like a real smile this time. I look down because it kind of scares me too. What if he’s been bitten by one of these spiders and he’s going crazy or something?

“Logan,” I hear him whisper.

I look up again, and this time, I notice his eyes on my lips.

“Wha…?” I start to ask.

Suddenly, his lips touch mine, stay there for a second and then pull away.

“We know you guys are in here,” I hear Hannah yell.

I stiffen. She’s in the hayloft now.

“What was that for?” I whisper to Andrew.

He just smiles at me.

I can hear Hannah’s footsteps getting closer.

“Found you,” Hannah yells.

Suddenly, Hannah is towering above us at the entrance to the little, dark space.

“I told her you guys would be in here,” James shouts, coming up fast behind Hannah.

“Shut up, James,” Hannah says. “I knew they’d be here too.”

I look at Hannah and then at James and then I feel Andrew squeeze my hand. He shows off the little gap between his two front teeth and then steadies himself on one knee.

“All right,” he says. “You found us. Your turn.”

I watch Andrew crawl around me and then out of the little, dark hole. Then, he turns around and holds his hand out to me. I’m still confused, but I take his hand anyway and let him help me out of the mouse pit.

“Wait,” James says. “You’re not mad? We found you in like two seconds.”

We all look at Andrew. Andrew just shrugs his shoulders, then sets his eyes on me.

“Nope,” he says. “Couldn’t be happier.”

I slowly lift my gaze to Hannah and James, expecting their eyes to be on me. But they’re not. They’re both looking at Andrew like he needs a doctor. They’re just standing there, motionless and silent, staring at him. And I’m just staring at them, wondering how much they had seen, until eventually, my gaze slowly falls back onto Andrew. He’s smiling at me, and immediately, I think he might be crazy too. But then maybe I’m crazy because for the first time in my whole, entire life, I’m smiling back at Andrew Amsel — and there’s no evil plot behind it.

“Hi.”

I hear a smooth, deep voice come from behind me. I turn the key in the lock and swivel around.

“Oh, hi,” I say.

I pull my bag’s strap higher up my shoulder, and then a sound forces my attention to the stairs. It’s the delivery guy, and I notice that he’s also got Jorgen’s attention now too. I watch as the boy-man in the George’s pizza shirt and hat meticulously positions himself onto the metal stair railing and then slides all the way down it. I watch him until his feet hit the concrete and he scurries back to an older sedan with a little, lit-up George’s sign stuck to the roof before I turn my attention back to Jorgen.

He’s already looking at me with a curious grin when I meet his eyes.

“He always does that,” I say, waving it off.

Jorgen laughs and glances down at the pizza box in his hand.

“Dinner?” I ask.

“Yeah. Dishes are still packed.”

I nod my head.

“You want some?” He extends the flat box a little toward me.

“Oh, no,” I say. “Thanks though. I’ve got to meet someone for an interview in a few minutes.”

I watch him nod his head now too. He really is intimidating somehow, and I think that’s maybe why I feel so flustered around him. I’m not sure if it’s his muscles and the fact that he could probably crush me with one hand if he really wanted to or if it’s his piercing blue eyes and the way they seem to laser straight through me. Whatever it is, I’ve really got to get over it if I’m going to be living two yards away from him from now on.

“Another people story?” he asks, stopping my train of thought.

“Yep,” I say.

I start my walk down the stairwell.

“A collector, strange addiction?”

I hear his voice trail behind me.

“I’m about to find out,” I call back up to him.

* * *

I pull back into a parking space after the interview. It went an hour longer than I had anticipated, but I guess you’ve got a lot of years — and a lot of stories — between parachuting out of your first plane in World War II and downloading your first Johnny Cash song onto your iPod. I grab my bag off the passenger’s seat and squeeze out of my door, being careful not to bang it against the car parked next to mine. These spaces are made for toys and Smart cars. I shimmy sideways and eventually make it out without a scratch — on me or the car — and head for the mailboxes in the breezeway.

“Hey,” I hear a voice say as soon as I make it under the stairwell.

I look up.

“Jorgen. Hey, again.”

He taps an envelope to his palm. “How’d the interview go?”

I think I seem unfazed on the outside, but on the inside, I’m secretly wondering if he somehow was able to stick a tracking device to me.