“No,” I answer. “Why?”
“I don't know either. I was just asking.”
There's no humor in his voice. I'm feeling unbalanced, like the ground I'm standing on is gradually tilting, and I need to find something to hold onto.
“You already know why I'm here, don't you?” I ask.
“You want to know about Lakyn. Everybody does.”
“Actually, I want to know about you. You caught her interest, and I want to know why.”
“Are you looking for her?” he asked.
“Yes,” I tell him. “I am.”
“People think she's dead,” he says.
I nod again. “Yes.”
“Do you?” he asks.
“I don't know.”
“I don't know either,” he shrugs. “Do you believe me?”
“I believe you,” I say.
“So did she,” he says. “That's why she came to see me, why she talked to me.”
“What did she believe you about?”
He suddenly turns, so he's lying on his back, his head rested on the arm of the sofa.
"The log flume." My tongue wants to question him. I can feel the words pricking at the end. But I bite them down and let him talk. "That's what would choose Andrew. Steady. Not intimidating. Predictable, but the word ‘dependable’ is preferred. Like a roller coaster but smoothed out. No anxiety. Well, until the end. People don't know. People never know. Steel will never drown you. Water can batter you to the ground."
He's talking about his best friend, the man he was convicted of murdering.
“Xavier,” I start.
One hand sticks straight up in the air, a finger extended.
“Don't ask me if I did it,” he says. “You can't ask me that. You know I can't tell you. The court wants me again. They're gonna drag me back in and make me tell my story. It's not enough. It'll never be enough. It's a story without an ending. Forced to finish before anyone was ready. But I can't tell you. They want me again, so I have to tell you no. It's the only thing I can say. But you know that. You know I have to tell you I didn't. Which means you will never trust me. So just listen.”
“I am,” I tell him.
He looks back up at the ceiling. Flattening one hand, he moves it slowly across the space, as if he's smoothing something onto the surface about him.
“Sometimes people talk about how what's above is below, what's below is above. The floor is a ceiling, ceiling a floor. But it's not. There's space in between. Separation. Air. It is what it is and nothing more. Until there's more. Until there's something else. And there's always something else. If you know. Andrew knew."
He suddenly swings his legs around and sits straight up in one, sharp movement. "Don't you see? He knew. He always knew. He knew there was more. He knew there was nothing. He knew what was above was below, and what was below was above, but that neither was true. That there was space. Separation. Air.”
He stands up now, as if he's getting riled up and unable to stay still. He starts to pace.
"Hey," the officer warns, but I hold up a hand to stop him.
"Don't you see? He knew. I knew. He knew because I knew. But he didn't know. He could never know. He tried. He tried so much. Every day. He tried. But he could never know. But I did. And so he did. And if they knew, then they would understand it couldn't have been me."
"Who?"
Xavier stops. He takes a step closer to me and crouches down to make our faces even.
"What jellybean would choose you?"
He leans a little closer, and the officer steps forward.
"Get back," he demands, but again, I hold my hand up.
"Stop. He's fine." I think. A cascade of jellybeans on the backs of my eyelids makes my throat tight. "Lemon. Bright. Sharp. Often watered down by people who can't handle me."
"Yellow," Xavier nods, easing forward on his knees and looking into my eyes as if his focus alone can reach behind them and draw out my thoughts strand by strand so he can recreate them in front of me and force me to look. "Are you afraid?"
I don't blink.
"No."
He bursts to his feet and starts pacing again.
"Lakyn wasn't either. She looked like cinnamon and talked like cherry. Imagine being black licorice. Outcast. There by expectation, hated on sight. When someone does love you, it's a spectacle. An accomplishment. They don't understand. You're not that strange. Pushed aside, put in a box. But it's right there. With apples. In salads. With main dishes. Even in dessert. Right there. Completely accepted. Even coveted. Fennel. So which? To be what you are and hated for it. Or to be admired, but only because you're hiding in plain sight?"
"Who's hiding? Lakyn?"
He shakes his head. "No. But I tried to tell her about them." He looks up. "They're always watching."
"The cameras?" I ask. "You're bothered by the cameras?"
"No. Cameras blink, too. Have you ever thought about blinking? That tiny sliver of a second with your eyes closed. You don't even notice it, but how much are you missing? What are you losing because of it? What could you do if there were so many watching, there was always someone who wasn't blinking? Nothing was ever missing; you never lost anything. What could you become? They're always watching. They wait for everybody else to blink. But I saw them. Just one time. One blink. That's all it took."
"Lakyn believed you. She wanted everybody else to see you were innocent," I say.
"Ah," he says, holding up a finger as if he's making a point. "Not innocent. She wanted everybody else to see I am not guilty. I will never pretend to be an innocent man. No such thing. I've seen what happens in this world. I watched the game be played. I tried to explain the rules to her. She said she wanted to save my life. But that's not it. That was never it. It wasn't the reason for this. I'm at peace with what's next. But it's not my turn.
