In My Head

Themes and Motifs ~ Logan

The doorbell rings. I turn my music down and listen hard. A girl's voice, probably Lissa. That figures. Kaden didn't do ten minutes of homework today. He wastes half his night watching some stupid game on TV, and then he gets to have his girlfriend over on a school night. I know Mom always lets Kaden do whatever he wants, but even Dad is soft on him. As long as Kaden does a full round of shooting practice, he's like a king around here.

From my desk, I can see Lissa reach the top of the stairs and go into Kaden's room. He doesn't follow her up. I keep an eye on the doorway while I finish my math homework, listening to the rain hit my window.

After almost ten minutes, Kaden still hasn't come upstairs. The TV blares loud with the game downstairs.

That is not cool.

I go across the hall to Kaden's doorway. The bed is piled high with study materials. Lissa is sitting in Kaden's computer chair, spinning around and around with her arms up like a ballerina. She catches me watching her and jumps up mid-spin. "Hey, Logan . . ."

I smile. "What do you call that move?"

"Bored stiff?" Lissa checks her apple watch.

I hesitate, stare at the wall. "I was about to study for that English test." That's a lie. I've been studying all night long. "You wanna . . . ?"

Lissa smiles. "Sure." She follows me back into my room. I gesture for her to get comfortable, and she slips onto my bed like it's no big deal. My bed, which just so happens to be made because Mom washed the sheets today.

Saved by the laundry, I think with a smirk. Then I get mad at myself. Lissa is my twin brother's girlfriend, and besides, she didn't sit on my bed because she likes me. It's the only place to sit.

"So . . . Faulkner, huh?" I sit in my chair all the way on the other side of my room.

"Yeah . . . AP English Ten sure is fun." Lissa laughs.

I almost frown. I like Faulkner. Does that make me a nerd? "At least Mr. Thompson gives us the essay questions to study for the test."

"Yeah, thank god." Lissa bounces on my bed and rolls over to her stomach, and I have to turn around and face my desk so she doesn't see my face. "Do you know what you're going to write?" she asks.

"Not really," I lie again. I pick up the study guide from my desk and read the first essay question out loud. "In As I Lay Dying, Faulkner uses a unique narration style composed of stream of consciousness monologues which forces the reader to work hard to fully understand the story. Explain the purpose behind this narration style and how it relates to the themes, motifs, and symbolism of the work."

"You remember that one lecture Mr. Thompson gave where he talked about the theme?" Lissa says.

"Yeah, that everything is . . . impermanent?"

"Yep. I was going to write about how stream of consciousness is like our thoughts, which come and go and change so much that they are impermanent, just like Addie when her body starts to decompose."

"That's pretty good," I say. I bite my lip, unsure if I should tell her what I was going to write. "I like that. Impermanent. Everything always changes."

"So what are you going to write?" Lissa cups her chin with her hands and stares at me.

". . . I was gonna write . . . You know how you find out so much more about the characters from what they think, and that they never say what they should?"

"Sure." Lissa nods. "They talk about weird stuff instead of what they're thinking."

"Yeah. So, I was gonna write that I think the theme is loneliness, because nobody ever talks to each other. They're all, like, isolated because they don't know what everyone else is thinking about how Addie died and how that makes them feel, and why they're doing what they do. They're all caught up on death and dying, but they're all already just as alone as dead Addie in her coffin."

Lissa sits up and cocks her head. "Hmm."

I look away. That was lame, and I sound like an idiot. She's probably thinking I totally suck at analyzing stuff.

"Can I use that?" Lissa asks.

"You want to use that?" My ears burn.

"Isolation and loneliness is totally a theme, and you know Mr. Thompson loves it when we come up with our own stuff instead of just writing what he told us. So can I? Please?"

I can't help but smile. "Only if I can use what you said too."

Lissa laughs. "Go ahead. Two answers are always better than one."

"What are you doing?"

I turn around to see Kaden at my doorway. The look on his face says it all. He's mad at me for inviting Lissa into my room and letting her sit on my bed and making her laugh at what I say, when it's his flipping fault. He's the one who made her wait. Lissa deserves so much better.

"We have an English test tomorrow," Lissa says. I get the impression she's annoyed that she has to explain herself. "We were studying while I was waiting for you." She goes for the door, turns, and gives me a big apologetic smile. "Thanks Logan."

"Any time," I say, my body surging with shame and jealousy and frustration, and then more shame, like a vicious cycle. "Happy studying, you two."

"Thanks," Kaden says, and they disappear across the hallway. I sit for a while, listening to their muffled conversation. This isn't fair. How does Kaden have a long term relationship when I can't even get a girl to talk to me the next time I see her?

Forget this. I storm out of my room and end up downstairs. Dad's in his la-Z-boy drinking a beer. "You missed the game," he says, overflowing with blasé.

"Blazers win?"

He takes a drink, nice and slow. "You know it."

I nod like I care and go for the door.

"Where you off to?"

I don't turn back. "Gonna go running, maybe shoot some hoops."

"In that weather?" He actually sounds impressed. I don't normally do a second practice on my own time. We have practice every school day for an hour and a half. Another one on top of that would just be crazy if you ask me, but Kaden does that every day. Something as crazy as this, and finally Dad sounds impressed.

I fling the door open.

"Don't break your neck out there," I hear Dad say before I slam the door shut and take off down the driveway for the street.

The rain is freezing, cutting into my bare arms like needles. I duck my head and concentrate on jogging. On planting my feet on the wet asphalt. Concentrate on breathing, on the rain soaking into my clothes and dripping down my back. Getting into my eyes. Making me shiver uncontrollably. Making me feel alive.

Before I know it, I'm at the river court, numb all over, inside and outside. I can't feel a thing. I stop jogging and stare up at the naked hoop. The nets somehow always disappear.

I forgot to bring a basketball.

A bolt splinters across the sky, blinding my eyes and jumpstarting my heart. Don't break my neck? How about don't get struck by lightning? Almost immediately, the thunder booms, like a warning. A challenge. A dare. How long can I stand the storm? How long before I give in?

How long would I have to stay out here before someone starts to worry about me? Maybe as soon as Mom gets home if she notices I'm not in my room. But if I was completely honest with myself, I know that no one would notice until at least eleven o'clock. More than an hour from now. In this rain, that's way too long to wait just to make someone notice me.

I turn around and run home.