When I was young and stupid, every Friday mom drove me on a two-hour trip up north to Manhattan where Grandpa lived. He lived in a four-story apartment building with thank goodness, a working elevator. The building was old and painted a bright yellow. But old age was beginning to have at it, because now large squares of paint were chipped off beginning to reveal the red brick underneath. The windows were always muddy because of low maintenance from the landlord. Sometimes the water didn’t even come out of the sinks.
Grandpa was eighteen when he moved here. Back then it was nicer. The walls weren’t chipped; the water flowed through the pipes. The kids from two blocks down the street didn’t pelt rocks at the windows. A girl named Sherri lived next door. It was perfect. Even now, he had me. We’d play chess every Thursday and scrabble every Friday. He always some how manages to win. Every Saturday he bakes brownies. For Gramps, I saw no reason for why he’d want to leave.
Mom thought otherwise. She never really seemed to like Gramps, even if he was her father. I don’t know why she always dropped me off at his house if she disliked him so much. I begged her everyday to come in and not just drop me off. One day, she came into the house, grudgingly after I had begged her for weeks. That tipped off Grandpa. We ate dinner that night in silence. We didn’t play chess which disappointed me. I had been practicing the entire week.
That night Grandpa sent me to bed early that day. It was the first time mom hadn’t just left after dropping me off at Grandpa’s and it upset me that grandpa didn’t want me there. Nonetheless, I went upstairs. I awoke from their voices. They were yelling. I opened my door a crack to listen.
“Jenny, you can’t do this. You can’t!” Grandpa shouted. “What about your kid.
Meg?”
“Dad, just leave me to be! You don’t know how it’s like to have somebody to
walk out on you. When you’re pregnant. When you know he doesn’t want you. I want to start over!”
“And get walked out on again? You’re walking out right now! You’re leaving Meg!”
“Shut up, Walter!” Mom screamed. I heard her curse. I heard her come upstairs and into my room. I pretended like I was sleeping. She whispered words into my ear. I heard her march back downstairs. I heard the door slam, and the car pull out of the driveway. From then on, I lived with Gramps. We never talked about mom again.
***
I was sitting in the corner, reading magazines. Maybe I should’ve been doing the pile of unfinished homework that’s been growing hungrily on the dinner table for two weeks. Possibly packing my bag for tomorrow, so I wouldn’t be tardy. Instead I read the magazines that just came in the mail. Josie says I should do my homework. I ignore her. Josie is Grandpa’s “helper”. I know that Grandpa was sent a “helper” from the retirement home or he’d have to move there. Gramps says he hired a maid. Josie laughs whenever he says that.
Right now, she’s cleaning the dishes. And scolding me at the same time.
“I’m serious, I can’t cook like this!” She points to the stack of homework that sits in the corner of the counter.
“You have plenty of space!” I called back. She ignored me. I know she’s going to tell Grandpa though, once he comes back from his doctor’s appointment. Josie can’t keep anything to herself.
“Whatever,” she muttered. I laughed and continue flipping the pages of the magazine.
She cooks soup that night. I think she made it extremely tasteless to tell me that she needs more space to cook. Grandpa doesn’t seem to mind.
“Delicious!” He cried. “Excellent Josie! You should make this more often.” Josie seems defeated.
“So, Grandpa how was the doctor’s appointment?” I ask, slurping on my soup.
The entire room went quiet. Josie turned pale, and takes Gramps’s soup bowl.
“I’ll get you another serving,” she mouths. Grandpa stares at me.
“I don’t want you to worry,” he says. The words slam into my head.
“Is something wrong?” I ask. Josie stares at us from the kitchen. Gramps lets out a big sigh.
“They said I have a tumor.”
I stopped.
“A tumor,” I repeat.
“Yes.”
“A tumor. Are you sick?” I ask. He shrugs.
“Emotionally, great. Physically, not so great.” I stare at him. I feel sick. “May I be excused?” I ask. Josie opens her mouth to say something, but
without waiting for an answer I head to my room.
***
The next few weeks weren’t great.
Gramps went to the hospital more often. Josie was the only one allowed to go and see him. She was older than eighteen. Most of the time, I just slumped on the couch and watched TV show reruns while being extremely depressed. That pile of homework just kept getting bigger. I didn’t do much. I skipped school, even though Josie scolded me every time. I ignored texts from my friend. I didn’t go outside too much. Most nights, Josie and I eat dinner in silence. She offers to play chess and scrabble. She even buys brownies. They don’t taste the same though. Too sweet. Salty. Burnt. I give her the credit, though. She’s really trying. Gramps writes letters. Most of them told stories about when he was a kid. When his teacher’s would get mad at him when he switched a and d at school on purpose. How he ate a cricket when he was younger. I know he doesn’t write about what happens there because he didn’t want me to worry. I wish he did though. But I still write back. In the recent one, he wrote that he would come home in a few weeks. I’m almost passed out. He was finally coming home. Even if it was only for a few days. For the entire week, I baked brownies from the recipe book in grandma’s loopy slanted handwriting. I set up the chess and scrabble board. I set pillows outside, so we could sit and watch the stars. On the day of his return, I sprinted from the bus stop home. I opened the door. The entire place was empty.
“Josie?” I called out. I heard sobbing. I walked into the living room. Josie was crying on the couch. “Josie?”
She stared at me. Her eyes puffy and red.
“Where’s he?” I asked. She put her hand on my shoulder.
“He had an emergency, sweetie. He might not make it.” I stared at her. Grandpa I think. She means Grandpa.
“Josie, drive me there. Please.” I said.
Josie didn’t argue. She drove me to the hospital and waited with me. I watched reruns in the waiting room, with little captions on the bottom. I don’t know how long we were in there. Maybe five minutes or hours. They came out and said he was done. I walked in alone, lying that I was eighteen. It worked. I walked into his room.
I stared into his eyes.
“Hey, baby. “He grabbed my arm and kissed it. “I suppose Josie told you the news.”
“Grandpa, you’re not going to die. “ He chuckled.
“Butterfly, I’m not getting any younger, you got to know that.” I stared at him.
I smacked my hand of the bedside table. It made the vases of flowers and cards on the table, from nurses and doctors, shake.
“GRANDPA! “I screamed. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Please. Tell me, you’re going to get better. Tell me you’ll come back home one of these days, and you’ll play scrabble and chess with me and win. Tell me you’ll come home and bake brownies with me. “I pleaded. I was desperate. “Grandpa, tell me you’ll be my grandfather. “ He stared at me with his teary eyes. He was blank. He was clinging on by a thread.
“Baby,” he whispered. “I love you.” He shut his eyes. I stared at him. The monitor recording his heart rate went blank. A terrible, horrible screeching sound filled the silent room. He was gone.
No.
“NO!” I screamed. I smacked my fists on the table. The vases fell shattering to the ground. But I couldn’t care less. My lungs felt like they were about to explode. I felt hazy. My body shook violently. He was gone.
“Grandpa,” I whispered. I touched his cold, wrinkly face. I sobbed and dropped onto his chest. I couldn’t believe it. I took his hand. “I love you too.”
I ran to the docks after that.
It was past eight when I did that. They were looking at grandpa. Studying him. I didn’t want to see it. I ran to the docks and looked into the darkening night. I stared at the stars that were beginning to show up in the sky. I thought of my mother. How she loved the stars. She loved me. Yet she left me. I remember what she said, word for word.
“Baby,” she had whispered. I remembered that day. Mother was small. With brown hair and blue eyes. She’d left that day, promising to come back. “Baby, my baby. I will come back one day. We will eat the most delicious bread in the city. We will live as queens. I will come back, baby. My beautiful baby.”
I believed mother. I believed in her lies for so long. It’s been four years since she had said that. She never came back, though. Mother had died. She’d promised that she would come back. Anger filled my veins.
“You promised!” I screamed. Only a cricket’s chirp replied. I could feel my fists beginning to clench. Mother had promised. She had died. Now, not even the soul of another would bring her back. My legs began to buckle. I could feel them dropping. I sobbed.
“You promised!” I screamed again. I felt crazy, like a maniac. I punched the dock. I punched it over and over until my hand began to bleed. I cursed. I swore and punched and screamed over and over, until my hand felt limp and my throat became sore. I fell onto my back. I stared at the stars.
“Grandpa’s up there,” I whispered to myself. “And so will I one day.” Mom was up there too. Watching me. Caring for me. She came back. Just like she had promised. Could she hear me? Tears filled my eyes. But I wouldn’t let them pour over.
“Mother,” I whispered with my raspy voice. “You came back. “ I stared at the sky. The sky that was home to my family. To me. That was the day my mother came back.
November 16th, 2007
The funeral home is a solitary one, built in the middle of Crimson Graves next to a pond populated by protective ducks. People rarely visit because it’s referred to as the Criminal Graves. Most unloved criminal bodies are dumped onto the doorstep of the funeral home to be buried without a service. Yet, as the fog covers the park like thick glasses, there are many people present for the funeral of my brother Daniel Snapper.
My family and I sit in the first row of chairs, the places reserved for immediate family. Dan’s girlfriend Tawny insisted she sit with us and bawl harder than anyone. I don’t like Tawny. She just adds to the mix of unfamiliar faces, taking up room where we should be, the image of a young woman yearning for attention.
The preacher speaks loud enough to be heard over all the sobs. Everyone cries louder than my family and I. Usually I would be mad that strangers are crying so, but this time there’s an excuse.
“I believe Dan’s brother asked to say a few words.” The preacher hands the spotlight over to me.
I stand to climb onto the platform but Mom grabs my arm. “You don’t have to,” she whispers. I let my hand slide out of hers as I step up to the podium. Nothing stops. The soft crying, racking sobs, and quiet side conversations continue. Like I don’t even exist. Dan’s friends piss me off.
“You know guys,” my shouting is a big hook that catches everyone by the mouth and lifts them out of their watered-down reality. “I don’t know any of you. I wish I did, but I don’t. I do know Dan. I don’t know how well, but I do.” I turn around to the open casket. A tuxedo. Dan would never wear that. Brown hair combed. Dan would never comb his hair. A rose tucked into the collar. Dan was allergic to roses. Skin cloudy grey. Dan would never grow old enough to see his skin such a tone. I lean down and kiss his lips, this stranger’s lips. I hope he’s still the same brother up in heaven. His lips are chapped to cracking. Dan never bothered to maintain his lips. Dan had a hard time getting to know me, but I didn’t have a hard time getting to know him.
“Dan may have been ashamed of that kiss,” I say, returning to the audience. “He was ashamed of a lot of things...” my breath comes short, trying to get past the ball of swords that lodges in the back of your throat when you can’t cry properly, “I miss him. I hope he’s never ashamed of that.”
I don’t feel triumphant as I walk back to my seat in between my older sister Lucy and Mom. Neither of them look at me, but Lucy’s eyes are red and her face is tracked wet; she hasn’t cried all day.
I watch Dan be lowered into the ground. Dan would hate being buried. He’d be ashamed because he’d take up too much space. If it were up to me--this is one of the few things Mom wouldn’t let me help plan--he would be cremated. Then again, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he would have loved to stay in the dirt next to Bill Van Carp and Mary Jordan Jared Jersey.
November 26th, 2007
I’ve been informed that “Dan’s death was hard on all of us” and that since I don’t talk about it, I have to keep a journal. Mom thinks I’m repressing my feelings. I would’ve thought that she would be happy that I’m not wallowing like Lucy, whose emotional stability is nonexistent.
On top of the funeral, when I returned to school three days after the funeral and a week before Thanksgiving break, every teacher treated me with extra kindness or gave me a card with notes from every student in ninth grade. The same thing happened in the grade above to Lucy only she loved the gifts. I didn’t. Two people die every second. Who’s to say that the person who died alongside Dan fought in an epic battle with him to get to heaven and the loser must rot in hell for all eternity? That’s why God made hell, for the losers. I’m not supposed to believe this because I’m Catholic.
Which brings me to church. Church was worse than school, and I knew it would be. Although we’re not very devoted, every Catholic at church manages to find out about our personal lives eventually. My mother had us attend Mass yesterday and we were greeted with the largest supply of kisses, hugs, warm words, and gifts. I came close to a panic attack, but escaped to the bathroom and hid there until Mass started. The same thing happened when Mass ended. I retreated to the bathroom for an hour until Dad came looking for me.
It’s not that I hate Dan. I really do miss my role model until seventh grade. I just don’t feel the need for so much attention. There are just so many people. Imagine if everyone in the world found out about Dan’s death and showed up at my doorstep to smother me; all seven billion of them.
November 29th, 2007
The last Thursday of November. I love thanksgiving. The food, the family, the smells… I helped Mom plan the dinner and called my grandparents and my aunt and uncle and their kid Sammy, who’s only two years older than me.
“Do we have cranberry sauce this year?” I asked Mom while she calculated the budget.
“Did we have it last year?”
“No.”
She contemplated it, chewing on the end of her glasses. “I think last time we served cranberry sauce Sammy had an allergic reaction.”
I inhaled agreeably. “That’s right. The Flabby Sam of ’05.”
She chuckled and subtracted cranberry sauce from the budget.
“I wish we’d done this earlier than the day of,” I sighed.
Mom smacked her lips. “I do too, Tim, but we haven’t had the time.”
“We might have if Dan hadn’t died.”
Mom ripped her glasses off the bridge of her nose. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“I mean, it would’ve made a difference if he hadn’t died.”
Her head tilted back and she squinted, either for lack of glasses or because she was trying to analyze my cold statement. “Yeah, it would have. But that’s no reason to blame him for our late start.”
“If we weren’t busy with the funeral we would’ve already had the turkey cooking. You think he’ll show up this year?”
Her neck cranes farther backwards and her eyes pull open wide. “Excuse me?”
“Well, he never showed up to the dinner when he was alive, maybe he will when he’s dead.”
“First off,” she shoves her pointer finger in my face, “dead people can’t eat. Second,” her bird goes up, “that’s disrespectful. Third,” the diamond in her wedding ring flashes as the last finger extends, “yes it would have made a difference not only with the dinner but with your sister, who would be happier if he were alive.”
“Lucy doesn’t matter in this conversation.”
I’m sure that comment would have been overlooked if Lucy weren’t walking by the kitchen at the most ironic moment. She exploded into a mess of mascara and whimpers and fled to the strong grasp of her bedroom.
“Tim!” Mom whisper-shouted. “Do you ever think before you say?”
“No, never,” it’s fun to watch how the air of my sarcasm blows into her next words.
“Don’t play sarcasm with me. Lucy’s not like the rest of us. She’s on an emotional roller coaster right now and hearing that she doesn’t matter to her little brother is only going to make it worse.”
“I didn’t say she doesn’t matter to me.”
“Go apologize!”
I obeyed and walked to the end of the hallway where Lucy’s pink bedroom is. Even if it’s absurdly girly, I still like the atmosphere she keeps in there. The Christmas lights pinned at the tops of the walls and the clean floor is inviting. I enjoy reading in there and, because of my long visits, Lucy and mine’s relationship is robust.
Lucy laid in the floor with a hat covering her face and a stuffed rabbit in her hands pressed to her flat chest.
The door frame that dug into my shoulder reminded me how pointless this was. “Listen, I know what you heard in the kitchen sounded like I don’t think you matter, but that’s not what I meant. I wanted Mom to say something else and it just…came out wrong.”
She didn’t move.
“Lucy?”
“Why did you say what you said at the funeral?”
“Because it’s true.”
“You think Dan was ashamed of us?”
“Maybe.”
“I know for a fact he wasn’t ashamed of you.”
November 29th, 2007
I couldn’t stop thinking about him. All through dinner--that lovely dinner that Mom and I served an hour late--I hardly spoke. No one else but Mom noticed.
The topic at the table steered clear of Dan. It made me a little mad. What’s wrong with sharing a few fond memories? I imagine if we did, I would share the memory of Dan playing piano. He bled his heart out on the one in our living room. Sometimes when I run my fingers across the keys, traces of his heart stick to my skin. It was his way of emotion. When he was mad or upset, he slammed on the keys with fingers that jumped like tarantulas on a stove. When he was cheery or untroubled, his fingers landed on each key like a flower was blooming out of them.
Dan wasn’t even mentioned, but I knew we were all thinking about him.
Mom pulled me into the empty hallway when dessert ended.
“Are you okay?” She asked, looking me up and down.
I shrugged. “Yeah I’m fine.”
“You’re usually very chatty during Thanksgiving.”
“I guess. Does it matter?”
“Yes it does. Is this about Dan?”
“Mom it’s not a big deal,” a hint of whine bordered my tone. “I’m not in the mood for talking.”
“Tim if you’re sad about Dan…”
“We should be getting back.”
“It’s okay to talk about him...”
“Fine! I’ll talk to people!” I ran away from her and struck up a conversation with Lucy and Aunt May. As I tried talking, seeing Mom stare at me in disbelief in my peripheral vision, all the energy I’d saved for my favorite holiday slithered away, using the last bit of adrenaline that came with my outburst to mask its departure.
November 30th, 2007
Sleep has hung out of reach for so many hours. It’s three A.M. I can’t pull my mind away from Dan and his big tarantula fingers that hang on to me. He’s looking down at me and he’s mad when I stare back. It sounds faux as I write this, but I can feel him shaming me. He doesn’t have a piano to take his anger out on. I have to get rid of him.
December 27th, 2007
The doctors have decided that my mental state is stable enough to log the events of the morning after Thanksgiving at three A.M:
I was so tired. So weary. But Dan wouldn’t let me sleep. His spirit remained restless. I couldn’t bare it. Something had to be done.
Mom’s car was in the shop. Dad’s keys were inaccessible. Lucy’s keys were sitting in her car in the garage. There was no way Lucy would drive me, but maybe my friend would.
Sammy slept on the couch in the living room. Although he’s sixteen and lives a couple thousand miles away from me, we’re still good friends. He’s the crazy, immature pothead and I’m the serene, mature chocoholic. He hardly ever questions me…unless it involves waking up at three in the morning.
“What the f-“
“I need a ride.”
Sammy rubbed his sleep-crusted eyes and rolled over onto the floor, exerting a thump and tiny yelp of surprise. I shushed him and scanned the hallway to assure no one woke up. Groaning came from Lucy’s room. The floor creaked unevenly as she approached her door. I acted quickly, throwing a blanket over Sammy and diving behind the couch. After a minute of silence, Sammy’s head popped up over the back of the couch.
“She’s gone,” he whispered.
I stood up and started toward the stairs, carefully picking past the creaking parts of the floor. Sammy followed, trying to imitate my steps. When we successfully made it to the ground floor, the questions fired up.
“What’s going on?” Sammy demanded.
“I need you to drive me somewhere.”
“Where? Your girlfriend’s house?”
I rolled my eyes. “Far from it.”
The garage door whined as it opened. Even the house was mad that I’d gotten up at three. It squealed and shook the whole house. I knew that someone would be up.
“Get in the car,” I ordered. “The keys are in the seat.”
We both slipped inside and Sammy resurrected the engine. The old van jerked into motion and sped out of the driveway.
“Where are we going?” he asked when we reached the main road.
“Criminal Graves.”
Directions were spoken and nothing else. When the van rolled up to the entrance, I climbed in the backseat and retrieved a shovel.
“Dude, why’s there a shovel in the car?”
“Lucy has a bat, a box of matches, one shovel, and three knives. She’s kind of paranoid.”
I shoved the box of matches in my pocket as Sammy came up beside the graveyard. We both got out of the car. The air, as cold as my speech at the funeral, pinched my skin. I made Sammy give me a boost over the gate that kept the dead inside and the alive outside, shovel in hand.
“Where are you going? Should I go?” he asked when I’d reached the other side.
“I’m taking care of something. Sit tight.”
Dan’s grave was right next to the lake, lucky for me. I came upon it and began digging. It’s hard to believe that the only thing standing between me and my brother was a car ride and dirt. It’s a fine line between the dead and the living, though it stretches out into almost an hour while shoveling. It’s like the gate at the entrance; practically nothing to rescue your loved one. But would it be the same if you did? Such a simple task producing such a big result; is it even worth it, seeing someone whose time came and went and they left you behind? It is when their time hasn’t come and they haven’t left.
The shovel hit Dan’s casket. I stooped down and brushed the remaining dirt away. It’s plausible to say that nobody opens a criminal’s casket, that’s why there wasn’t a lock. Yet it felt heavy enough to be locked from the inside. Maybe Dan’s arms were positioned to hold the lid closed. I still got it open and found the pale face of my dead brother staring at me. I fumbled around to get the matches, but my trembling hands dropped the box. I reached down for them. Just before my hands reached the box, Dan’s voice finally broke the barrier between whispers in the back of my head to screams right in my face; I felt his breath hitting me.
“Liar!” he screamed, startling me onto my knees. “Thief!”
My clumsy fingers grabbed a match.
“You said--”
Where’s the box, where… The shadows of the grass lengthen.
“that you--”
A flashlight couldn’t have cut through the dark shadow. The ground is wet because… I’m crying. The matchbox is wet too. Grab it, swipe it…Go, go, go; I’m a big failure…
“would always--”
Fire! It’s so small in my hands, but it glides across the tuxedo and bakes the skin into an orchestra of sizzles. It will be what comes in between…
“--be t--”
Smoke blistered my eyes and tore through Dan’s lifeless body. His screams stopped. He was gone. Was it triumph I felt? Or was it just his music leaving my body? I basically murdered his soul. I got rid of it. Only because he haunted me. That’s not an excuse. Because he yelled in my face and he’s never done that before. We’ve never fought. If only he’d been buried with a piano.
The phone rang, music I don’t want to hear. I don’t want to hear any music anymore so I answer it quickly: “Tim where are you!? Where’s the car, where’s Sammy!?” Lucy yelled into the phone, the voice of adults faint in the background.
She didn’t get a reply.
“Tim?”
“Are you alone?”
She pauses. The voices in the background cease. “I am now.”
“You’re lying.”
“Tim, what is going on?”
“You’re lying!” I shouted.
“Tim…” there was a sniffle, “there’s no one here.”
“No! No, I know he’s there. Dan is there with you!”
She started bawling. “Dan i-is dead…”
“How can he be when he’s right next to you!?”
“Just come home please.”
“You give him this message-“
“I can’t-“
“JUST TELL HIM THIS!”
Her silence came suddenly and quickly. I couldn’t hear her crying but I could see the tracks in her wet face that ran deeper and deeper until they were black lines that cut into the skin.
“Tell Dan that it’s over. And he…he can know that I killed him.” A smile crucified my frown, hung it with the nails Dan screamed into my face. “He didn’t commit suicide. I killed him. I killed his body, I killed his soul…” his music is the only thing I want to listen to, the only thing I want my eardrums to vibrate to. “And I’m not ashamed of it.”
Michigan is bleary, Anna thought to herself. There was more rain than sunshine and it was one of those rainy days. Countless worms were washed up on the sidewalk and robins darted back and forth, feasting. If she was back in Nebraska, she would have been late for school, picking up each worm and setting it gently in the grass, not caring if her hands were slimy. But not here.
Here was just here, no matter how many times her mother called it home. Nebraska would always be home to her; Anna was sure of it. She missed it all- hot summer days spent with friends at the nearby lake, her two-story yellow-painted house with the tall, flowering redbud tree in front, even her mean, old neighbor who always yelled at her when she took the shortcut through his yard on the way to school.
There, coming into sight around the corner, was the school. She’d seen it when they drove into town, but it looked even worse from a closer perspective. The white paint on the walls was chipped and weeds sprouted through the sidewalk cracks. Kids gathered outside the old building, talking amongst themselves, already forming exclusive groups.
And then, almost by instinct, they all rushed through the pale, red doors. Anna fell into step with them, pulling her schedule from the bag slung casually over her shoulder.
“Hi,” a girl said enthusiastically from beside Anna.
“Hey,” Anna responded with a shy smile.
The girl looked at Anna as if she belonged in the garbage, “I wasn’t talking to you.”
She walked away with a friend, both of them snickering. Anna tried to act like it didn’t bother her. It wasn’t like people were automatically nice to new kids. After stopping at the red locker with her number, Anna headed to class. The rest of the day wasn’t much better, and no one ventured to say hello to the new girl, although the teachers encouraged it.
Anna had been dreading lunch, and it met her expectations. Everyone was already seated with their friend groups and none of the tables looked inviting, as if everyone was willing her to sit somewhere else.
Frozen in place, Anna knew she had to sit down, and spotted a table with a lone girl. The girl’s blonde, unruly hair cascaded down her back and she was slouched over. She didn’t acknowledge Anna until she was tapped on the shoulder.
As the girl turned and stared with her pale, gray eyes, Anna asked, “Can I sit here?”
“Sure. It’s not like anyone else wants to.” The girl attempted to smile, although Anna could see she was sad about it.
As the two of them opened their paper bag lunches, Anna noticed that the girl wore bangles and bracelets of every size and shape on her wrists and arms. It wasn’t just a few accessories; the girl was covered with them.
Too curious not to ask, Anna ventured, “Why do you wear so much jewelry?”
“You’d think I’m silly.”
“Try me,” Anna said, serious.
“They’re for people I’ve lost,” the girl said, “People and animals.”
Anna didn’t know what to say, so the girl kept talking, “See this bracelet here?” She pointed to a pink one covered in silver polka dots. “It’s for Fluffy.”
“Fluffy?” Anna tried to stifle her laughter, but failed.
“My poodle,” the girl said sadly, “She died last year.”
“Oh,” Anna felt bad for laughing, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not like it’s your fault.”
The bell rang and everyone packed up. As Anna left the cafeteria, she couldn’t stop thinking about the strange girl.
All through her classes, she couldn’t stop thinking about the girl’s bracelets. There were so many bracelets; she must have lost many people she loved. And animals, Anna thought, remembering the conversation at lunch.
The girl was strange, Anna had to admit, but she was the only one who’d been the least bit friendly. Anna was still touched by the meaning of the bracelets. Anyone else would have thought the girl was extremely vain or spoiled. In reality, the girl was just remembering her loved ones.
“I never even asked her name,” Anna whispered aloud. She would sit at the table again tomorrow, Anna decided, and see if she could learn anything else about the girl.
Yes, that was what she would do.
On the way home from school, Anna didn’t even care that it was drizzling or that she wasn’t in Nebraska. She just wanted to get to her new house and lay on her bed, thinking. Anna liked to think. In Nebraska, Anna would climb up the grassy slope near her house and lay on her back, watching the clouds or counting the stars.
As she opened the front door, her mom called a greeting from the kitchen, “How was school?”
“Fine.”
“Make any friends?”
“One,” Anna wasn’t sure if the gray-eyed girl counted as a friend, but she knew her mom wanted her to adjust to life in Michigan. “How was work?”
Just as Anna was new to the school, her mom was new to the place where she had a job as an accountant. Anna could never remember the name of the company, and it wouldn’t be on her list of priorities, even if she had one.
“Oh, fine,” Anna’s mother said distractedly, without much feeling. Anna could tell her mother hadn’t had a very good day either.
At least Anna had met one person. Did it count as meeting someone if you didn’t even know their name? Anna pondered this in her bedroom until she was called down for dinner.
Dinner was simple mac and cheese, from a box picked up at the local grocery store. Anna suddenly had an idea, and excused herself as soon as she was done eating.
Digging through the drawers in her bedroom dresser, already full of unpacked belongings, Anna finally found what she was looking for. A small, wooden chest full of bracelets and other random trinkets from who knows where. She sorted through them all, picking out the prettiest ones.
As she slipped on the jewelry, she said names to go with each one, “Dad, Grandma, Grandpa,” all of her deceased family members, and then, “Sharon, Tess, Aurora,” all of her friends from Nebraska who she doubted she would ever see again.
She kept putting the jewelry on even after she stopped saying the names out loud. When she finally stopped and lay back on her bed, she was covered with an assortment of jewelry.
Anna tossed and turned, her accessories clanging about. Finally, she fell into a deep sleep, feeling safe and as if everyone she had lost was watching over her, even those who weren’t dead.
In the morning, Anna trudged to school. Although it wasn’t raining, the sky was gray and the sun wasn’t shining.
Again, she paid little attention during her classes, only listening when the teacher mentioned homework or assignments. For the entire morning, Anna was looking forward to lunch, not dreading it.
Instead of stalling in the hallway after her last morning class, Anna hurried straight to the cafeteria and sat down at the same table. Anna waited for the girl to show up. As the girl sat down next to Anna, a small smile spread across her face as she saw Anna’s memory bracelets. It was a secret smile, but Anna still saw it.
“What’s your name?” Anna inquired.
“Lina,” the girl replied. “And you’re Anna.”
“How did you know that?”
“I’m in your science class.”
“Really?” Anna was shocked.
“Yeah. You’re never paying attention in class, though. I sit two seats to the right.”
They spent the rest of lunch eating in silence, and Anna hurried to her next class, excited that there would be a familiar face. Sure enough, as class started, Anna noticed Lina a few seats to her right.
The rest of the day, Anna stayed alert during her classes, hoping to see Lina again, but she was disappointed. Science was the only class they were in together.
As the days went on, Anna still trudged to school every morning. She showed more interest in her classes, though she looked forward to lunch and science the most. She learned more about Lina too; Lina had a younger brother named Tim, her favorite color was baby blue, and she liked to sing when nobody was around, mostly country music.
Every day, when Anna got home, her mother asked her about school, and every day, Anna said, “Fine.” But when Anna asked about work and her mother said, “Great,” Anna could tell she didn’t mean it.
“Can you come to my house after school?” Anna asked Lina one day during lunch.
“Meet me outside after school.” Lina hadn’t directly answered the question, but Anna read between the lines. Anna was excited all through school. How happy her mother would be when a friend came home.
The afternoon went by in a blur and Anna hurried outside as soon as the bell rang. She spotted Lina’s familiar blonde hair, messy as always, like Lina never bothered to comb it. Anna couldn’t blame her, beauty wasn’t a necessity.
Lina didn’t acknowledge Anna until she was right next to her. “Took you long enough,” she said gruffly. Anyone else might have thought Lina was upset, but Anna knew she was only joking in her own special way.
As the two of them walked Anna’s route home from school, Lina seemed to be suppressing excitement. This was remarkable, coming from Lina, who usually acted as though nothing was worthy of emotion.
When the house finally came into sight, Anna picked up the pace. Lina, with her long legs, had no trouble keeping up. As they stepped inside, Anna’s mom called a greeting, “How was school?”
“Good.” Then before her mother could say anything else, Anna added, “I brought a friend.”
Anna heard a sharp intake of breath and then her mother was rushing out of the kitchen to greet them.
“And who might you be?” Anna’s mother’s eyes twinkled and she looked happier than she’d been for a long time as she stood in front of Lina.
“Lina, miss.” Lina’s shy side was coming out again.
Anna’s mother sensed Lina’s shyness, “It’s okay. No need to call me miss.”
“Bye mom,” Anna said as she pulled Lina by the arm out of the entryway.
They ended up sitting side by side on the old, wooden porch. Anna looked at her friend and realized how lonely Lina must have been before Anna moved, with nobody to hang out with. Nobody she could call a friend.
“So,” Anna ventured, trying to break the silence, “you’ve lived here longer than I have.”
“Yeah, why?” Lina raised her eyebrows.
“Just wondering.” Anna murmured. “I thought you might know if there was anything interesting to do in this town.”
“That is, if you don’t want to sit on this porch all day.” Anna added.
Lina cracked a smile, “I know just the place. It’ll be perfect.”
“Perfect for what?” Anna asked, feeling as if she was missing something.
“You’ll see.” Lina said mysteriously. “Come on, let’s go.”
“One second.” Anna replied, then shouted, “Mom, we’re going exploring.”
Her mom appeared, sticking her head out the door, “Where to?”
In response, Lina simply pointed. Following Lina’s finger with her eyes, Anna saw the top of a hill, poking above an expanse of forest.
“Oh, what a lovely hill!” Anna exclaimed with a smile, filled to the brim with excitement. “I never noticed it before.”
Lina smiled back and grabbed Anna’s hand. Lina pulled her to the end of the backyard and into the woods. Lina kept up a quick pace and Anna struggled to keep up as they dodged branches and jumped over logs. The ground was covered in dead leaves and their makeshift trail was beginning to slope upwards.
And then, they emerged at the top of the hill. The grass was a pale yellow and came up to the girls’ ankles. Looking back the way they had come, Anna could see the house and the porch they had been sitting on.
“Let’s sit.” Lina said.
As they plopped down on the grass, Lina pulled two matching bracelets from the pocket in her jacket. The bracelets were silver with blue flowers as decoration.
Lina offered one to Anna and took the other for herself, “To promise we’ll always be friends.”
“What now?” Anna questioned, knowing Lina had something else in mind.
“We need to dig a hole.” Lina replied.
The two of them jumped up and scoured the edge of the woods for a sharp stick. Finally, Anna came across the perfect one.
“Lina!” Anna called out, waving the stick in the air.
Back on top of the hill, sharp stick in hand, Anna began to dislodge some soil. The dirt was loose and she soon had a hole as big as her fist.
Lina wasted no time and dropped her bracelet into the hole. Anna followed suit.
“Friends forever?” Lina asked.
“Friends forever.” Anna assured her.
They shook on it, then buried the bracelets, patting the dirt down so it would stay in place. It was getting late and Lina got up to leave.
“Wait,” Anna said, “I want to watch the sunset.”
Lina sat back down and they looked west as the sun began to sink from the sky. And in that moment, their faces bathed with the golden glow of the setting sun, Anna knew she would get used to her new home. Anna’s mother, watching the two girls from the porch, knew that if her daughter could get used to Michigan, she would too.
The McPhersons were fast asleep in their small, yellow house on Bliss St. Christmas was coming and, as always, the McPhersons had their Christmas decorations up earlier than ever.
Abbey woke up the next day to the cold air bristling across her face. Mrs. McPherson had opened all the windows because she burnt the pancakes. Again. Abbey came downstairs and saw the burnt pancakes, so she got the cereal out right away.
“Is dad driving me today?” Abbey asked as a mouthful of cereal was about to go in her mouth.
“No,” Mrs. McPherson answered. “He’s at work, I’m going to drive you.”
“Can I drive?” Abbey asked hesitantly.
There was a long pause.
‘’Um, I guess,” answered Mrs. McPherson.
Mrs. McPherson doesn’t like when Abbey drives, so Abbey always has to practice driving with her dad. This is the first time her mom has actually let her drive.
Abbey got in the car excitedly, put in the key, and backed out of the driveway. The whole way to school her mom was yelling and screaming.
She had to rush to her first class because her mom kept making her pull over and insisting she drive the rest of the way there. As Abbey walked into her biology class, the door behind her made a big SLAM! Her teacher, Mr. Jenkins, glared at her and directed her to her seat. He continued in his lesson, “On Friday we are going to dissect a frog, so I hope you all have these notes down. Make sure to look them over.” He looked at Abbey as she was writing them down as fast as she could.
Everyone left and went to the next class. Abbey walked to chemistry, her favorite class with her favorite teacher, Mr. Gilmore. She walked in the classroom and sat down next to her partner and best friend, Rory.
“Okay, next week on Nov. 14th, we are going to do our vinegar and baking soda experiment,” Mr. Gilmore announced.
The whole day went by so fast. Rory and Leo came over later that night to study. They were all studying for Wednesday’s math test.
“Do you have any chips?” Leo asked. “I’m starving.”
“Yeah, I think we have some food stored down in the basement. Can you guys help me look?” Abbey said.
“Sure,” they both answered.
They went into the basement and saw a bunch of shelves and boxes stacked on each other. They each went in a little space and started looking.
“Found it!” Rory shouted.
There was a big shelf in the corner with different kinds of food stacked on each shelf. Leo grabbed a bag of chips and opened it right away. Just as Abbey was getting out of her area, she saw a box with ABBEY written on it in big letters. She stopped and said, “Come here guys, I found something that I've never seen in my life.”
Abbey opened it and there was an old dusty teddy bear, a little baby blanket, two mini bottles with different colored liquids in them, and a letter. She opened the wax-stamped letter and and read it out loud. It said:
|
Dearest Abbey, We are so sorry we had to leave you, we just wanted you to know that if we did keep you your whole life would be full of danger. See, in November 1998 the FBI asked us if we would make them a bomb, so we did. It could take out 15 miles of land. After that, a group called The Black Shield started tracking us down to get it. We hid from them for a long time and they still wanted it. Then we had you, and we just wanted you to be safe. The purple liquid is the bomb solution, so be very careful with it. The green liquid is a time-traveling solution, another one of our big accomplishments. The teddy bear was your favorite toy when you were a baby. We’ll love you forever, Bekah & Will Wallace (Mom & Dad) |
Everything was silent, except for the crunching of Leo’s chips. Abbey read it again and again. “Maybe you were supposed to read it in your head?” Leo said. Rory hit him, like he wasn't supposed to say that, and he hit her back. Abbey left the stuff there and went up stairs with the letter. Rory and Leo followed her.
“So are we gonna get back to studying?” Abbey asked, like everything was okay.
“I guess,” Rory answered confused.
The rest of the night Abbey didn’t say anything about the box of stuff or the letter.
The next day Abbey asked Rory, “Do you want to come over tonight to work on the chemistry project?”
“Sure,” answered Rory.“I’ll be there at 7.”
When Rory got there, she saw the box of stuff out on the table and looked surprised. Abbey explained that she didn't want to work on the chemistry experiment, she wanted her there to work on the time-traveling solution because she always wanted to meet her real parents and see what they were like.
When Rory sat down on the couch she accidently hit the table, and the time-traveling solution spilled on the bomb solution. Right then there was a big flash and they both closed their eyes. When they opened their eyes they were in a big purple bubble and started screaming. They saw a clock going backwards really fast and days going backwards. They stopped suddenly and there was another flash. The bubble disappeared.
“Where are w-” Abbey was about to ask, when an old lady with a broom came in and screamed, “Get out of my house!!!”
They saw the front door behind them and left. As they were walking out they looked at the front of the house and realized it was Abbey’s house, but really different. They saw someone on the street and asked, “What day is it?”
The person answered “October 9th, 1981,” and kept on walking.
They both looked at each other and were concerned.
“The time-traveling solution worked, but didn’t do the right date,” said Abbey.
“But how are we gonna get back?” Rory nervously asked.
“Uh, if the table and couch come back with us in the big purple bubble, then the bottles must still be on the table,” Abbey said.
They walked up to the house and rang the doorbell. The old lady answered.
“We left something in here,” Abbey said really fast.
They both slipped in the house, saw the test tubes still on the table, grabbed them, and left. They saw the lady calling the cops, so they got out of the house and ran down the street. They sat down on the grass and mixed a little bit from each test tube. There was a big flash and this time they closed their eyes for the whole time. There was another flash; they opened their eyes and were sitting on the ground. They walked up to one of the houses and knocked on the door. A woman answered and said, “Hello.”
“What day is it?” Rory asked.
“October 26th, 1998,” the woman answered.
The girls looked at each other and smiled.
“Do you have a computer?” asked Abbey.
“Yes,” the woman said,
“May we use it?”
The woman hesitated to say yes, but then she did. She led them through her house and there was a computer desk. The difference between the computers now and then amazed her so much. Abbey sat down and looked up Bekah and Will Wallace. It said their address was 1202 Myers Street.
“That’s a couple blocks from here,” the woman said, looking over their shoulders.
“Do you want me to take you there?” she offered.
“Uh, sure,” said Abbey. “Thanks!”
They all got in the car.
“I’m Liz, by the way,” the woman said.
“I’m Abbey, and that’s Rory.”
It took them barely any time to get there.
“We're here,” Liz said, as she was pulling into the driveway.
“Bye, thanks,” Abbey said as she was waving goodbye.
They got out of the car and she drove away. They walked up to the big brick house and rang the doorbell. A pregnant woman answered the door.
“Hello. Are you Mrs.Wallace?” Abbey asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
Abbey had a really excited but nervous feeling in her stomach, and asked, “Can we come in and talk to you and your husband?”
“Well, sure,” Mrs. Wallace said.
They both came in. Mrs. Wallace got her husband and they both sat down.
“Ok. What do you want?” Mr.Wallace asked.
“This may sound weird that we know this, but didn't the FBI ask you guys to make them a bomb?” Abbey said, nervously. They both looked shocked.
“How do you know that?” Mr. Wallace said.
“Um, well you can’t make that bomb, because then a scary group will want it and you’ll go in hiding and then you’ll have a baby and you’ll put it up for adoption,” Abbey said.
“And we're from the future and she’s your daughter,” Rory said quickly.
“We went back in time to tell you not to make the bomb,” said Abbey.
“You sent me with a box of stuff and it had the bomb solution, the time-traveling solution, a teddy bear, a baby blanket, and a letter,” Abbey said. “See here's the letter.”
Mr. and Mrs. Wallace read it together. Mr. Wallace made a phone call.
“Hello Jerry, we've made our decision. No, we are not going to make the bomb.”
He ended the phone call and walked over to a painting, took it off the wall and there was a safe behind it. He opened the safe and there were blueprints in it.
“These are the plans to the bomb,” Mr. Wallace said.
He got a matchbox out of a drawer and lit one of the matches. He lit the the plans on fire and put them in the fireplace. Just then, Rory and Abbey started disappearing because now that the plans were gone, the bomb would never bemade and they wouldn’t have gone back in time.
Abbey woke up the next day and remembered everything. She thought life was back to normal and nothing had changed, but then she heard, “Abbey, time for your favorite breakfast.”
It was her mom, her real mom. She got so excited, she ran downstairs and there was a big plate of French toast and bacon.
Gloria heard a soft knocking at the door. She sighed. She had just reclined into her favorite chair with a cup of tea and a large novel, but now she had to get up again. It must be someone trying to sell her something. The several “no soliciting” signs and the steep walkway up to the front door did nothing to dissuade them.
She got up from her chair too quickly and winced. She seemed to forget how the years were catching up to her, but she was reminded every time she walked by a mirror and was met by peppery gray hair instead of the sleek black she had been accustomed to in her youth. Having two little girls running around the house was quite stressful, but she loved kids, so even when they did foolish things, she still loved them more than anything. They were her baby chicks, and she the hen.
Slowly, Gloria made her way through the house. The rooms were tight and cluttered, but in a warm way, like getting a hug from someone loving. She had to push several stacks of papers and bolts of fabric out of the way before she made it to the staircase. Her youngest daughter, Elisabeth, was perched on the banister, swinging her feet and humming tunelessly. She perked up a bit when she saw her mom.
“Hi, momma. What’re we gonna have for dinner? Elisabeth said chirpily.
“Don’t know, m’love. I’ve got to go answer the door.”
“Can I come with you?”
“Alright, but no yammering at whoever’s knocking, okay?”
Elisabeth made a noise that Gloria assumed was a yes and hopped down from the high banister. She grabbed Gloria’s hand and said, “Come on, we can’t keep whoever’s at the door waiting!” Gloria smiled. Elisabeth reminded her so much of herself... When she was younger, that is.
They got to the door and opened it. It creaked loudly, just like every other door in the house did.
Before the open doorway stood a boy - a ragged-looking thing who looked like he hadn't had a proper night’s sleep in a long time. His eyes were big and round and scared-looking, like that of a mouse that has just avoided a cat’s jaws. He was wearing an old worn cloak that was too big for him. He looked familiar to Gloria. Did she know him from somewhere?
“Hello, sweetie, can I help you with something...?” She asked tentatively. He thought for a second then spoke.
“Mrs. Mercy, m-my, uh, dad told me to come here, if…” He swallowed and trailed off. “If he didn’t come home. For a long time.”
“Well, you can certainly come in for a while, how about that?” The boy nodded. Gloria smiled at him as kindly as she could, but a strange sense of dread was washing over her. What had happened to the boy’s father? Why wouldn’t he come back home?
“What’s your name?” Elisabeth inquired suddenly, and at a great volume, from behind Gloria’s leg.
“Ellis Valery,” said the boy. It took a second for this to sink in.
“Er...Valery, did you say?” Gloria said quietly, the color draining from her face.
“Yeah,” Ellis said.
“If you don't mind me asking, what happened to your father?”
Ellis looked reluctant to answer, but he muttered, “The royal guards captured him and- and…you know.”
“Killed him,” Gloria whispered, her worst fears confirmed. She realised she was probably not doing anything to help Ellis’s clearly fragile state of mind. She took a deep breath and turned behind her to yell to her eldest daughter.
“Oriel! Come down here!”
A couple seconds later she heard heavy footsteps coming from upstairs, then saw Oriel as she stomped moodily down the staircase. Gloria sighed inwardly when she saw that Oriel was wearing one of her especially low-cut dresses. They were no respectable garments for a young lady like her, but there was no way to get her to stop wearing them (other than to burn them, of course, but Gloria assumed that would not be the wisest decision, especially now that she was trying to improve their mother-daughter relationship).
“What do you want?” Oriel said testily. “I was just gonna take a shower- who’s that?” She had noticed Ellis standing in the doorway, and was now fixing him with a hawk-like glare.
“This is our… guest. His name is Ellis. Could you show him to the spare room next to yours so he can calm down there, please? He’s just going to stay here for however long it takes to sort things out,” Gloria said. Oriel rolled her eyes in the way that only teenage girls can properly master, but beckoned Ellis into the house all the same.
“Don’t worry, she won’t bite!” Elisabeth said happily, waving a small hand at Oriel. “Probably. But she has bit me befo-”
Gloria cast her young daughter a look that meant “stop talking, now.” Luckily, she got the message. Ellis followed Oriel into the house. As soon as they were gone, Gloria leaned her shoulder against the wall to steady herself.
“Are you…” Elisabeth looked worried, an emotion that did not often cloud her small face.
“Yes, honey, I- mommy just needs a second, alright?”
Gloria’s lungs felt like they had been just been grabbed by two hands and were being squeezed so hard that even the deepest breath felt impossibly, frighteningly shallow. Her heart was pounding. She wrenched the door open and stepped outside, the wind stinging her face and arms. She looked out on the garden that her children had helped to make. She stumbled down the steep path to the willow tree that they had planted, and sat beneath it.
She looked up at the darkening sky and counted the stars, just like she used to all those years ago.
~~~~~
Later, Gloria was back inside, thinking about what she should say to Ellis. It would be difficult to put it lightly. After all, this was no topic to offhandedly discuss over lunch.
She walked up the stairs to the guest room and rapped on the door. When she didn't hear a response, she cracked the door open and looked inside. Ellis was sitting on the bed. He was hunched over, his shoulders tense. He looked so… small, drawn in upon himself, that Gloria’s heart ached just looking at him.
“Ellis?” Gloria said as gently as she could. He looked up.
“What?”
“Would you like me to tell you a story so you can get to sleep?” she said, sitting on the bed beside him. He nodded.
“Once upon a time, there was a little boy quite like you. His family abandoned him because he was different, and differences attracted attention from royalty - often attention that they didn’t want. The boy wandered around, looking for a home. One day, he knocked on a woman’s door, just like you did. The woman took him under her wing. She raised him like a son, and she became the mother that the boy never had. She cherished how he was honest to himself and knew in her heart he would go far.
“As the boy grew into a man, he began to get involved with the royalty - speaking out against their ideologies, which may have been a little… unwise, especially when the land was in a state of political unrest.” Ellis looked quizzically at her. “Sorry. That was a lot of big words. It just means a lot of people were unhappy with how the country was ruled. It’s still going on today. Pretty scary things happened at that time, but they seem to be decreasing a bit now that your fa- that man solved things.” Ellis’s look of confusion did not diminish. “Um, I’ll get to that part in a second,” Gloria assured him.
“Anyways, the woman feared that he might get hurt if he spoke up against the disparities he faced. The man thought he could handle himself. He did not think that what she said… mattered. The concerns she expressed to him would go unheeded.” Gloria stopped here and looked darkly at the wall. Ellis looked slightly worried. Gloria glanced at him and hastily continued.
“B-but, the woman was not angry!” Gloria looked at Ellis with a rather non-genuine, nervous-looking smile. “No, not angry. She was aware that a day like this would come - a day when they would go their separate ways. Still, it was hard for her to let him go. Sometimes she felt like the little boy who had knocked on her door, so scared and fragile-looking on the outside, but with such a brave, kind heart, had gone completely. On the day the man finally bid the woman goodbye, she felt she hardly knew him.
“A long while after he left, he came to her door, a grin on his face, barely able to contain his excitement. He told her that he now had two young children, both boys. He was so happy. It filled the woman with joy to see him so delighted. She felt like she had him back.
“That was the last time she ever saw him.”
“B-but what happened to him?” Ellis asked.
Gloria sighed. She couldn’t hold off telling him anymore. “Well, If what you say is true, he was killed by the Royal guards.”
“If what I say is-...?” A look of realisation dawned on Ellis’s face. “Oh. Ohh.” He looked at Gloria suddenly. “So, that man-”
“Was your father,” She said.
“And you were the woman?”
“Yes, I was.”
“And- wait, did you say… two boys…” Ellis looked flustered. “Does that mean- do I have a brother!?”
Gloria laughed. “Yes, you do! His name is Jordan, and I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”
“How old is he?” Ellis was bouncing up and down on the bed excitedly.
“Well, he was born around the time that Elisabeth was, so I don’t expect he’s older than 7,” Gloria said. “He’s a little younger than her.”
“Wow,” Ellis said. “How come Dad never told me?”
“Well… I’m not totally sure if this is true, but I think your father sent Jordan out to live on his own. He would be a lot safer that way. At least, he thought so.”
“But… why? Wouldn’t he be better off staying with dad?”
Gloria paused to think about how to phrase the matter. “Well… See, your father was not a bad man, per se, but he was rather strong in his beliefs… A lot of the higher-class people really, uh, didn’t care for him.”
“Why?” Ellis said.
“Most of those people who didn’t like him were very rich, and if you’re rich, you don’t want to stop being rich. Your dad was trying to encourage them to give up some of their money and power to the people like him who couldn’t eat every day, but they didn’t want to do that. There was a whole lot of negative propaganda about him, and everyone got violent, and …well. You know how that ended.”
“Oh. So, he was like, trying to get poor people money, but the rich people didn’t want to give him money because they didn’t like him?”
“I guess you could say that.” Gloria thought to herself that that was a bit of a simple way of putting it, but he was just a child.
“Okay.”
The house was quiet, except for the sound of Oriel’s stuffy breathing coming from the next room.
Ellis flopped over onto his stomach. “I’m gonna go to sleep now,” he said into his pillow.
“Do you need anything? Pajamas? A glass of water?” Gloria said.
“Nah,” Ellis said as he wormed his way under the covers.
“Goodnight, then,” Gloria said, as she backed out of the room and closed the door.
~~~~~
The next morning, everyone was eating breakfast at the wooden table in the living room. Gloria was the most awake out of all of them - Oriel kept nodding off, and she nearly fell face-first into her cereal more than a few times; Elisabeth was still wearing her nightgown and was blinking sleepily; Ellis was absentmindedly nudging his food around with his fork.
Ellis looked up at Gloria. “Uh, I’ve been thinking, I might want to…”
“Yes?” Gloria said.
“I… darn. It sounds so stupid to say out loud.”
“No, what is it?” Oriel said. She was looking up at Ellis in interest.
“Would it be okay if we had some sort of… funeral? For my dad? I know we don’t have his body or anything, but… it would make me feel better to know that we... did that,” Ellis finished, somewhat lamely.
Gloria felt a pang of déjà vu. Ellis and his father were so similar.
“I’m sure we can do that this afternoon. Thank you for telling me.”
Ellis smiled a little, feeling more at home already.
~~~~~
Gloria, Ellis, Oriel and Elisabeth were standing outside. It was warmer than it was the previous day, and the tendrils of the willow trees swayed in the breeze as if they were underwater. Elisabeth had gathered marigolds from the garden, Gloria had gotten a photo she had of Ellis’s father off the mantlepiece, and Ellis had helped Oriel drag over a large, smooth rock over to the makeshift grave.
“Do you want to say anything?” Gloria asked Ellis.
“Nah, I think we should just be quiet for a while. Sometimes silence can be more powerful.”
Gloria chuckled to herself. Yes, she thought, Ellis is exactly like his father. She looked over at Oriel. She was being very subdued, more than normal.
“Hey, everything alright?” Gloria asked Oriel quietly. Oriel sighed.
“Yeah, I just don’t get why we’re doing this. It’s just a dead guy.”
Gloria was rather taken aback at Oriel’s insensitivity. “He’s not ‘just a dead guy’,” Gloria said, doing her best to keep her voice low while Ellis was crouched over, examining the photo of his father. “He was an amazing man and an amazing father. Doing this means a lot to Ellis and I. Can you just do something for someone else? Just this once?” Gloria had a pleading look in her eye.
“But last night you said a ton of people were pissed at him!” Oriel said agitatedly.
“Language,” Gloria hissed. “And when did you hear that?”
“You and Ellis were talking and-”
“You listened in on my conversation?”
“Well, I-”
“Oriel. That was a private talk I was having with him.”
“What, so you’re keeping secrets from me?”
Gloria put her hand on the bridge of her nose and sighed. “I’m not having this argument right now.”
“Do you trust him-” Oriel waved her hand angrily in the direction of Ellis- “more than me? Why do you even care about him!? You just met him a DAY ago, for christ’s sake!”
“Oriel-”
“Momma,” Elisabeth interrupted. “What’s that?” She pointed towards a dark shape on the horizon that was approaching quickly. It looked like a horse.
“I don’t know, honey,” Gloria said tensely.
Suddenly, an arrow pierced the ground right before Gloria’s feet. Elisabeth screamed and Oriel flinched.
“What’s going on!?” Ellis yelped, jumping up from the grave. He had a wild look of fear in his eyes, a look so raw and animal that it scared Gloria.
“I don’t know, but you need to run!” Gloria said. She had a hardness in her voice that the two girls had never heard before.
A booming voice came from the figure on the horse. “GLORIA MERCY! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR RAISING A TRAITOR AND HARBORING THE TRAITOR’S SON!”
“You three, RUN.” Gloria said it with such force that Ellis and Oriel moved, but Elisabeth remained still. The man loomed in front of her.
“Move,” he growled.
“No,” Elisabeth said shrilly.
The man swung his arm down on her head with a horrible thud. Elisabeth toppled like a house of cards.
Gloria roared and flung herself at the man. He picked her up as easily as if she were a sack of flour and cracked the horse’s reins. It sped forward, too fast for Oriel to catch up with, even with her long legs.
“NO!” Oriel screamed at the sky. She whipped around to face Ellis. “You know this is all YOUR fault, right!?”
Ellis looked terrified. He approached Elisabeth to see how bad her wound was, but Oriel leapt forward and shoved him out of the way. “Don’t touch her,” she spat.
Elisabeth stirred, and gave a sharp yelp of pain. There was a lump on her forehead that was beginning to bruise. Oriel leaned over Elisabeth, making soothing noises as she stroked her hair.
“Shh, shh, you’re okay,” Oriel said, but she wasn’t sure if everything was okay. The thought Elisabeth might have have a concussion, or something worse.
Ellis tried again to get a look at Elisabeth. “Is she going to be oka-”
“Shut up, just shut UP!” Oriel yelled at him. Ellis’s shoulders slumped.
“You… you really don’t like me, do you,” he said.
“No! Why the h- I mean, why should I!? It’s your fault that- that she’s gone! The only way I’ll ever like you is if you help me get her back!”
“I can do that,” Ellis said.
“How?”
“I know the route to the palace. I’ve been close to there before because I have a friend that’s kinda rich who lives close to it.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Oriel said with hostility.
“It, uh, didn’t seem related to anything,” Ellis said.
“Well, it was. Can you just help me get my mom back?”
“Okay…”
Oriel walked back towards the house. A few minutes later she came back, holding three satchels and coats.
“I’ve got everything we need. Which direction is it?” Oriel asked while she picked up Elisabeth.
Ellis pointed towards the hills.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” he said.
“S’okay,” Oriel said gruffly. “You can’t change what’s already happened. All we can do now is try to get her back.”
They began their journey.
Into the Light
“Discovering new things is the only way we can proceed in our technical evolution.”
Day one of three
I lay quietly on my bed; cold air from my open window seems to freeze me in its chilling hug. Outside there aren’t any birds, nor clouds floating through the vast sky, for that, I live, not on a planet, but in between two! I’ve always wondered what it would be like to go to the other worlds; are there clouds there? Trees? Grass? Those things are a myth to me, I have never seen anything like them.
I turn over on my bed so that the icy air cools my back and I stare at my fingertips, blurring out the background which is the world. I’m not the only one here in what we call the “Cross”. I am known as Miran in the Cross; my friends call me that. I wonder what my name could really be in the other worlds, or maybe it is actually Miran. I was never sure my whole life. Us “Crossers” call the other worlds two names: the world on top is called Hevacein and the world down under is called Levelias. I wonder what those two names mean.
My fingertips become too cold so I close my open window and tuck my hand between my two legs. Maybe that is how the Cross was created. Maybe we got too cold and somebody put us in between two other worlds to keep warm. I smile at what I know is an unrealistic theory.
I have a collection of notebooks on my wooden desk, stacked neatly on the corner of my desk by where my flower pots are. My favourite flower is the blue-purple one, I make sure to feed it extra water. Although, I do not know what the flower is called, for now I call it Lilas.
My dirty hair is tied into a ponytail on the back of my head a little too tight. I wear fingerless gloves, which is probably why my fingers got cold so fast. The clothes I coat myself in are ragged and brown. The thing is, they were brown from the start, just not ragged. From my pocket, I pull out a small gear about the size of my thumb. When did a gear get there? I study its design carefully but I do not recognize its type or where it is from. I roll over to see the gear in light. Still the same. I sigh and put it on my desk with a clank. Maybe the gear is from one of the two other worlds. Wouldn’t that be something? Maybe I have a chance to go to one of the other worlds and return the gear to its owner, and to see what it is like in that other world.
Probably not today though, I’m a little too tired.
I eventually drift off to sleep on my rough bed, my cold hand still in between my legs. I wouldn’t say my sleeping conditions are the best, or even that good to be honest. My blankets are too thin and my pillows are too hard. At least I actually have those two things otherwise my sleeping conditions would be worse. I’ll keep the sleeping conditions I have right now.
What I think is about an hour later, I wake up, feeling very groggy and only a little refreshed, so I decided to take a bath, maybe that can wake me up.
I fill up a large tub (a wooden barrel), with with warm water and soap. After that, I undress myself and toss my clothes onto my chair and slide carefully into the balmy bath. It is very relaxing feeling the water on you like a silky dress and the bubbles grouping together like tiny islands. I close my eyes and dip my hair down to wash it, splashing a few droplets of water on the ground. I sigh happily and slump back into the steamy goodness. I wished I lived in one of the two other worlds. Maybe I would chose Hevacein, mainly because there are flowers there. And trees and clouds. But right now I remain here, in the Cross, probably meaning nothing or being anything. It is almost bittersweet. I have made the most out of where I live though at least. I have a farm. Not the ones with animals, the ones that grow food. The food I grow is okay, it is not the best though, like my sleeping conditions.
When I finish my bath, and feel much more refreshed, I straighten my hair out and tie it back into a ponytail on the back of my head, this time it isn’t as tight. I reach for a towel hung on a hook beside my bath and wrap it around my body to soak up water. My goodness did that bath do well. As I finish drying myself off, I put on my clothes one at a time starting with my pants. Then my shirt, then my jacket.
I have to water Lilas now, so I step over to the tap in my house and pour out a small cup of water for the flower. The water is colder than I expected when I dip my finger in it. I put my hand over the cup leaving a tiny opening at the end and pour the water out onto Lilas. I pretend the flower is getting a bath like I was and I smile, then sigh.
Outside turns dark quickly so I close the curtains and throw on pajamas to sleep in my not so good sleeping conditions. I fiddle with my drying hair as I lay on my mattress, half asleep. There are no stars to look at in our world, nor a sun, Crossers have to rely on the light of the other worlds. My home does not lie on a ground of any kind as you might think, my home rests in air itself. I avoid going outside much, I am afraid of falling from the paths and into the endless nothingness. It is a scary thought for me. I do not know what really happens if you fall in the void.
Day two of three
The light from Hevacein brightens my room slowly like a heating forge. Stripes of dim yellow paint my room as if it were an empty canvas. I shift under my sheets and turn away from the Hevacein dawn. Sighing, I lift the blankets of myself and lay in my position or another few seconds. Mornings and nights come to fast and leave too slow. But that all depends on Hevacein and Levelias.
When I finally manage to get of my bed, I slip on a sweater to keep warm from the morning chill. My eyes are still half closed and my arms and legs are still asleep. The ponytail I kept my hair in for the night is loose and tangled. I reached for the gear I kept on my table and move it within my finger tips. I study it again more carefully. Still… nothing. I frustrates me a little that I can’t seem to figure out where the gear comes from. I put the gear down on my desk again and decide to deal with it later.
In a few minutes I brew myself a cup of light coffee and plop myself down on my cushioned chair and blow on the coffee to cool it down. I sigh and pick up the gear once again to study it. I notice that it carried much precision in its design; probably made from a professional. The gear is, if you look close enough, is actually a bit transparent, and it grows more transparent at the tips. I smile at my discovery and take a small sip of my coffee.
Where could this be from I wonder? Hevacein? Levelias? I can’t be fully sure unless I do go to those worlds to see. I cough loudly and wipe my face clean with the sleeve of my shirt; my coffee is too sugary I think, I always accidentally put too much sugar. A few smaller coughs follow after that and I decide not to drink too much coffee as a later thought.
As I take the last sip of my cooled drink, I grab an extra layer to wear and wrap a scarf around my neck, to take a walk outside and maybe ask people if they know where the gear comes from. Hopefully, they know. I tuck the gear into the pocket and zip it up containing it in the darkness. I put on my boots and step outside; it is more chillier than I thought it would be. I make sure the gear is still in my pocket (it still is), and I start walking slowly, then faster.
“Do you know where this gear is from?” I ask, the man I am asking shakes his head and continues on his way.
“Where might this be from, I ask?” the blacksmith shrugs and frowns and continues hitting a hot blade with a hammer.
“May I ask you if you might know where this is from?” Nobody… nobody knows. I go from person to person asking if they know, they don’t, I ask them to study it closely, they don’t know. Why? I am not sure. Even the most skilled in metal works do not have a single clue about where the gear might be from.
They. Don’t. Know.
I am convinced that it might be from Hevacein or Levelias. Or even maybe, a distant place in the Cross.
Day three of three
Then that’s when it happens. I start falling, faster than I ever thought somebody could fall. My stomach churns as I scream back to the path I was on. Nobody notices me at all, they only continue on their way. I flail around in the empty space I fall through. I can see Levelias down below me, burning and hot, but cold at the same time. Everything is painted blank in a split second. I cannot see around me, I do not think I am even falling at all anymore. As a matter of fact, I believe I am on bricks. Gravity feels different on me. My visions starts to clear up and I look around. I almost scream when I see where I am. I find myself, hanging from the side of a building as tall as tall could be, without anything keeping me from falling down. And dying.
I try to climb up higher onto a window pane in fear, fortunately, I can climb. I breath in relief even though my stomach still churns. Then I see Lilas, my beloved flower, drifting upwards mindlessly. My eyes widen in fear, I need to get my flower. That’s when I do it, I lift myself off the side of the building and jump into the air. I jump higher than I expected, I feel so light. Gravity seems to be pulling me onto the side of the building. When I land back on the building, I run as I can and accelerate to jump again. I cannot reach Lilas, she is too far.
The clouds around me become darker, like thunder clouds, and the wind becomes stronger, almost blowing me off the side of the building. My breaths become quick and sharp from fear.
The building begins to crack open, revealing its innards. The opening in the building is growing, letting stray bricks float out into the clouds.
Lilas disappears into the smoky atmosphere, leaving me in a storm of bricks and building parts. It grows more windier by the second and I cling onto the building for dear life. My clothes shake wildly on my back. I can’t breath properly because of the turbulent gale.
I start screaming, in terror, I am so high up… or down. I realize that the ground is near, I do not see Lilas yet. The remaining part of the building that I am on is broken apart in the furious winds and I fall down onto the ground, the blackness grasping me in its long fingertips.
I wake up breathless and panting, looking around to stunned to see properly. I swallow my saliva and get up from the ground. Ground? Where am I? I spot Lilas a few meters away, retaining no damages at all.
I run to Lilas and pick her up and sigh in relief. In the distance, I can spot a small village, a little bigger than my village at home. I decide to head to it and explore, maybe I can find the owner of the gear.
After about a four minute walk, I arrive at the border of the village made of tall sticks.I have never seen this kind of thing before. Fortunately, the gates of the village are open so I sneak inside and start asking.
“Do you know who made this gear?” I ask a young woman about the age of sixteen, wearing a maids dress. “I might know, there is this very talented blacksmith named Winrodae that lives right that at that turn over there. He might of made that gear of yours,” the girl said pointing to the turn she was talking about. There stood a rather big building with a large chimney and pipes that I inferred what was the blacksmith’s forge.
“Thank you,” I say and start walking towards the forge, turning back to see the maid girl staring at me suspiciously. I wonder why.
The forge is bigger when I stand in front of it; about two and a half meters tall it is. I have never seen a building this big. I walk up the steps of the forge and knock on the door and a loud voice booms from inside, “COME IN!”
I open the door with a creak and step inside cautiously, “Hello? I am here to see if-”
The loud man interrupted, “Let me see what you need laddy.”
“I need to find out who this gear belongs to,” I say “a young woman told me to come here.” The man stopped his work and looked at me with a raised eyebrow, “Show me.” I hand him the gear and watch him study it, moving it in his fingertips like I did.
“Well… I have to say that you are a very adventurous person but I did not make this gear.”
My hope slumped and I sighed heavily, feeling even more frustrated. “I am only kidding dear, I did make this gear, it is my own work, from my own time and hands! How did it end up with you?”
I feel relieved, “I am not sure.”
“Are you?”
“I am,” I speak nervously, having trouble retaining eye contact with the big and burly man. He does not say another word, but instead leaves into a room behind him, coming back with sac fulls of the same gear and other parts as well. I am not sure what he is doing.
“What are you doing I may ask?”
“Well I am giving you this of course! You will thank me later, for this ‘key’ to your future,” the man says. What does he mean? I am confused.
“Excuse me, what do you mean?” I ask coughing a little.
“Just remember me when the Cross no longer exists as a tiny place, but a world itself, my dear.”
I am still confused as he hands me the bags of gears, materials and tools. “Take these home,” the man says, “you will be pleased. Before I can say anything, the world around me starts to spin making me dizzy and nauseous. Everything seems to turn black like night and I feel numb; I don’t feel awake anymore. Where am I?
I find myself laying on my bed; cold air brushing my back from my open window. Lilas rests in her vase safely. I feel something in my pocket, I already know it is the gear. I fish it out and hold it in my fingertips, looking down to the floor. And there they are, bag fulls of tools and materials. I do not reach for them immediately.
I now know what grass, trees, and clouds look like, they seem so natural, like they have been in my life the whole time.
I toss my gear onto my desk and get up off my rough bed, my coffee cup still empty by my chair. I smile and I realize that, this might be a new beginning for the Crossers, for the Cross. We do not know much right now, we are even clueless on how to get large amounts of food grown.
I grab hold of the sacs and drag them over and out through my door. And when I make it outside, people’s faces are in awe, and I know exactly why.
Everyone was gone.
That’s the only way I can explain it.
One day, I just woke up and no one was there.
At first I thought mom and dad had gone to work early, but I noticed more peculiar things as the day went by. I opened my car door, and for some reason it was filled with water. It startled me as all of it came rushing out at my feet. Along with that, no one was at the bus stop as they usually were, no one was at school like how they’re supposed to be, no one seemed to be anywhere.
I came home and dropped my bag on the floor, with absolutely nothing to do.
I decided to eat some toast and Nutella.
I sat down at the table and took smaller bites than I usually did.
I looked outside the window.
The view from the kitchen was to the road, and there were always cars driving on it. Now, there were none, not even a car parked to the side.
Except for mine.
It’s like the whole city was pulling some sort of prank on me.
If this was a prank, I surely didn’t like it.
It’s been one and a half weeks now, so I’ve kind of gotten used to it, but it still hurts to be alone. I tried playing cards, but what’s the use of that with no one to play with? I tried playing soccer, but what’s the use of soccer without a team?
So I decided to take a walk. That’s one thing you can do without needing someone else, and it was rather peaceful too. It was a bright day. As the hours went by the sun didn’t seem to get any more or less bright.
I lay down on the grass for a while, looking up at the sun.
And the clouds
And damn, it was beautiful.
The goldness of the sun outlined the clouds.
It seemed so amazing to me how much I think I know, and yet, how little I’ve seen.
I noticed on someone’s lawn was a garden gnome, that was sort of odd, because everyone’s houses were completely swept out. I picked up the garden gnome, it’s expression was rather friendly. I looked around me far and wide, then back at the gnome. There was no one as far as the eye can see, and that’s pretty far. I would need a friend, cause it looked like I would be seeing no friends, no anyone, for days to come. I smiled a quick and small smile, and walked back home to introduce the garden gnome to it’s new house.
Eventually it turned dark.
I was hungry, and there isn’t much a 17 year old guy can make, so I had to eat Nutella and toast again.
The silence of loneliness seemed to be swallowing me whole.
At school, I was the popular guy, there was always someone to talk to, but now, I was feeling so isolated, as if everyone on earth went away and left me behind.
Damn, what I would give to see someone.
I went to bed.
I was alone.
All alone, unless you count Gnomey, but I was lucky enough to have Silence. That’s what I liked to call him, Silence.
Silence is always with me, through the good and through the bad. Silence listens when I talk to him, and, in a way, talks back, in my head.
I decided to think back to my life before everyone disappeared.
“Silence, show it to me,” I said.
And he did.
Before me, in my head, appeared images of my best friends, and I dozed off into my dreams.
It was when I met my best friend Garrett.
I was in the third grade.
Believe it or not, Garrett used to bully me, and it seemed like I could never avoid him. We lived on the same street, we rode the same bus and we were always in the same class. Whenever he felt like it, he did whatever it could to make my life torture (and yes, there are things that a third grader can do.) He would make farting sounds and blame it on me, cut in front of me in the lunch line and rip my homework to shreds. I didn’t like him at all.
But that all changed the day he saved my life.
I, being a silly little third grader, was walking in the streets, licking an ice cream without a care in the world, and not a sense to notice an oncoming car. At that moment, Garrett had come out to start bothering me, but seeing the car he quickly ran and pushed me out of the way just before the car could hit me.
I was startled by this. Garrett had a pretty nasty scar on his knee but seemed to have not noticed it the least.
“Why’dyou do that for me?” I asked, shocked of what happened. He looked me, and a giant ball of light seemed to enter his hazel eyes. A smirk crossed his face. “Who else am I gonna bug if you’re gone?” he said.
But in the days after that, he didn’t bug me at all, in fact, we became friends. Which was good because we lived on the same street, rode the same bus and were always in the same class. We were inseparable.
I could feel a warmth going over me as I dreamt, starting from the deepest part of my heart and ending at where my skin meets the world.
Next, Silence showed me the memory of my one and only crush for as long as I can remember.
Her name was Ariadiena, but she asked people to call her Ari, regardless of the gender of the name. She was a mix of african and asian, and was the most beautiful girl I’d seen in my life.
I remember growing up with her. We went to the same school since the first grade, she always seemed to be the smartest, most talented, or most beautiful person I’d ever met. She had a personality like a lamb and a smile like sunshine, but she was always in the background; kind of like gold, you have to sift through a lot of sand to find one.
In the 7th grade, she gave me her number. We would text each other about the most random things, if we liked elephants or what life would be like a million years from now. When we were done texting, and it was one in the morning, I would read our conversations over and over again.
In the 8th grade, everyone seemed to start noticing me as attractive and cool, and it grew out of hand. At the same time that it annoyed me to death, to be honest, I kind of liked it.
But Ari didn’t.
She despised it.
But then, 9th grade came. We had one class together and one class only, but I was lucky enough to sit next to her. Once, she told me about how people in her other classes were so obsessive over me.
I could see that she didn’t feel the same way about me as she might’ve felt before.
“Popular people” had always annoyed her, especially when they were liked for no reason at all.
I guess that was me.
So I told her what she wanted to hear. I told her, ‘Damn, they annoy me so much. I wish it would stop.’
And with that, a light came back into her eyes, she looked at me and through the curls of her hair, and smiled.
Just smiled.
Just the way I liked it.
My heart starting beating rapidly and loudly, it surprised me that the whole world couldn’t hear it. I started doing my hair in the morning, for her, maybe she noticed, maybe she didn’t.
It wasn’t until the 10th grade that I finally picked up the courage to tell her that I liked her. It was Valentine’s day, which wasn’t too far away from her birthday, the 18th. I had gotten her a bouquet of forget-me-nots which I knew was her favorite type of flower. I spent the whole night before practicing what I would say. I went up to her, took a deep breath, and said, ‘I know it’s kind of dumb for me to being saying this now when we’ve spent so many years together. But, everyday I think about you… And I just want to tell you that I like you.’ I handed her the forget me nots and smiled.
And she smiled. ‘That’s exactly what I’ve wanted to hear for so long,’ she said.
I could feel myself smile in my sleep recalling this memory.
Isn’t it amazing how beautiful people look when they smile?
After that, Silence showed me another memory, but this one was different, I never remember it happening.
I took Ari to prom, but it started raining.
It kept on raining and raining.
It flooded the streets and buildings all the way up to the top.
I started panicking.
I saw Garrett get washed under by the rain. I could hear him scream, but I couldn’t save him.
“Help!” I heard someone scream; I heard Ari scream.
“Please--” I saw her hand reach for mine, but I couldn’t grab it, and she went under.
“Ari!” I yelled. I swam down trying to save her, but it was too late. There was no light in her eyes, I could see small bubbles coming from her mouth. Next to her I could see Garrett, floating motionless, the water undoing his tie.
I could feel my tears even though I was underwater. I looked up at the sky through the water, through the rain. There was no moon, no stars, no light of hope. I could feel myself losing air. I struggled and wriggled my body about. I tried to swim back to the surface, but something kept on pulling me farther under, not allowing me to get out. I pounded on the force field, but it wouldn’t budge.
"NOOOOOOOOOOO !!!!!!!!" I yelled.
I sat up straight in my bed. My face covered in a cold sweat. It was morning once again, and a quite bright one too.
Once again, I was alone, but more peculiar things had happened.
There was an ice cream sandwich on my bed stand, and clothes folded on my desk. I looked around the house to see if someone had come, but it was just me, Gnomey and Silence.
I put my head into the folded clothes, I sniffed them, they smelled like forget-me-nots.
The ice cream sandwich, although it was still good, tasted like mud.
I stepped in the shower, but quickly got out recalling the feeling of getting drowned by rain.
I went to the park with Gnomey, I had nothing else to do, and it was a nice day as well.
Then I saw it.
Someone was there.
He was wearing a white cloak. I could see his face, it was rather friendly, just like Gnomey. I quickly ran over to where he was, but he hid himself behind a tree. A second later, I got to where he hid himself, but he vanished.
I didn’t understand what had happened, I was almost afraid.
I knew what I had seen, someone was here.
Gnomey and I walked home, even at how bright it was I couldn’t help but feel worried as if there were shadows following me.
We arrived home. I placed Gnomey where he always stood waving friendly at any person that looked at him.
A week passed with nothing to do at all. I bounced a tennis ball along the wall for entertainment. I was running out of Nutella. My phone had run out of battery. I’ve read all the books in the house twice. I’m running out of things to list…
Great.
I recalled more memories at the nights went by.
This one was about me hanging out with my friends in high school.
We were 16 and crazy. We went out 7 11 to get some food, and we found a speed detector as we were walking by. It showed us how fast we were going.
We were walking at 3 mph.
We had contest to see who could run 15 mph, not one of us could quite seem to do it. The next day at school, the largest, brutest guy came up to us.
His name was Grey.
Grey, technically, had no friends except the people who stood behind him looking as fierce as they could, but it was obvious that the only reason they stood behind him was in fear of getting bullied themselves. Grey took all of our lunches and flipped them over. Pasta sauce got all over my blonde hair which left a red taint for a week or so.
I stood up to him, but only for a split second.
I slammed my fist on the table got up and yelled ‘You’re a piece of trash!’
Grey looked at me dead in the eye with a dark expression.
He towered over me, with so many bulging muscles that it looked like if he made a wrong twist in his body they all might come tumbling out.
‘You say something, squirt?’ he asked in a threatening way. I kept my mouth shut, but my expression was enough to show my hate.
‘I didn’t think so,’ he said, and walked away.
Later that night, me and my friends walked over to Grey’s house with 5 cartons of eggs. We held three in each hand and egged his house while cursing and screaming wildly. I couldn’t remember having more fun, but then, the door to Grey’s house opened, and there was his dad who was 10 times the brute that Grey was. Garrett, idiotically decided to throw one more egg which hit the man square in the forehead.
We all ran faster than 15 miles an hour that night.
I got another memory of Ari. It was the first time I took her out somewhere, just the two of us.
We were at the movies watching James Bond. I thought I had chosen the wrong movie, it seemed like something you’re supposed to watch with you’re best friend, but she was so on edge, I had to stop myself from laughing. The good thing with Ari was that you could like her and still treat her like your friend. Before her mother came to pick her up, she pulled me to the side. She looked me in the eyes. Her eyes were so dark and yet so full of light.
And they were warm.
And kind
She smiled.
‘I had the best time,’ she said. She hugged me, I can still recall her smell. Strawberry jam.
Then, that dream came back again. I took Ari to prom. Her, Garrett and I drowned from the rain.
I woke up the next morning again, with sweat all over my face. I don’t ever remember that night.
I took a hot shower, even though I couldn’t be warmer, and went downstairs. On the countertop was an opened jar of jam. I picked it up and looked at it.
I gave a small chuckle, recalling it from my dream.
Then, I heard a thumping sound. I became a statue. I creeped down the hallway and turned my head towards the direction where I heard the noise.
I saw what it was.
My blood ran cold.
It was that guy I had seen before. This time, dressed in a cloak that seemed to be made out of sunlight.
My knees shook. The man was young looking and rather handsome, but I still recognized who he was.
“Pops?” I whispered.
He nodded.
“But you’re… you’re dead,” I mumbled still in shock.
“Child,” he said. “You ought to turn on the TV.”
Because no one was in the city, I didn’t think that the electricity would work, but I never tried either.
I grabbed the remote and pressed ON. It was the news. There was an image of a car being lifted out of a lake. It looked exactly like my car. “It was a rainy day on May 27th,” a woman said, “An accident took place on I 78, a car sped out of the road and crashed in a nearby pond. The car filled up with water drowning three teenagers coming back from prom night at Wilburg High school.” Then, on the screen appeared Garrett’s face, Ari’s...and mine.
We were both silent for a very long time.
Hours seemed to pass.
“Don’t worry,” Pops said.
He lifted his hand and smiled.
“Take it,” he said.
“What are you saying?”
His eyes were warm. “Death is not what people think, it is a gateway to happiness, to a new life.. You’ve been stuck in-between the worlds of life and death.” He gestured to his hand, “It’s now time to bring you to where you belong.”
“What if I don’t want to go?” I said, still shocked.
Pops smiled. “Garrett, is there,” he said, “and he’s your best friend.”
I could leave Garrett; at least I think.
“And so is Ari.”
I froze.
I couldn’t leave her.
I couldn’t.
“And I know,” Pops said, “that she loves you very much.”
I looked at Pops. We both had the same eyes, a scary, yet truthful blue.
“Let’s go,” he said.
I took his hand.
My breath was taken away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All of you back on earth,
you have so much waiting for you,
don’t worry.
We may have bid farewell,
but I’ll see you again,
You're in your place,
and I'm in mine.
It might take some time,
but everthing will be fine,
what happens is inevatable,
you'll just have to wait,
but soon we will all be,
where we belong.
Wow. It was amazing.
Wow. It was amazing. Definetely 1st place winner!
I woke up in an abandoned old subway station that was dusty and full of cobwebs. I was still kind of groggy, but startled awake when I realized I was lying in a pool of . . . something. I brought my hand, which was coated in the stuff, up to my nose. A familiar metallic tang hit my nose.
Blood. Not like I was surprised. Why else would I be lying on the ground in a empty old subway station? I registered my surroundings for the first time. There was a large, unmoving shape slumped on the ground a few feet away, which appeared to be the source of the blood. I scrambled to my feet and rushed over to it.
It was a teenage boy, about 15 or 16, with blood dripping out of cuts on his stomach, chest, and throat. What was on his chest? I wiped some of the blood away and saw a weird symbol. It was like an infinity sign with a cross sticking up out of it and another line through it about halfway up. I wasn’t surprised; it was the same sign that had been on the other victims. I checked his pulse, but he was long gone. I checked his wrist for a name, almost sure of what I would find. -
“Mary…” I read. I wanted to be surprised, but I wasn’t. I had known someone - something - had been killing my alters’ soulmates, and I was beginning to wonder if I had an alter I didn’t know about - one who was maybe a psychopath. This was the fourth death, and they were only getting more gruesome. I pulled up my sleeve and ran my hand over the name on my own wrist, as if reassuring myself that it was still there. "Castiel..." I whispered softly, as if I were sending a prayer to the heavens. I had come to consider him as a guardian angel of sorts, but with him being the archangel Cassiel in the bible. I'd probably never meet him. He was like that of a myth, or something out of a fairytale. "I hope you never end up like this. The only way to prevent it from happening seems to be avoiding each other, like neither of us exist. So I pray to you that we never meet each other."
In elementary school, the names didn’t really matter much. We weren’t thinking about soulmates! We were focused on having fun. Once we got to middle school, everyone made a big deal out of it. If you didn’t, you were seen as an outcast. High school was worse. We learned about how they worked, how it was that an apparently omniscient being who didn’t know you could pick out your soulmate from more than seven million people, and what the chances were that you would ever meet that person. According to the teachers, there is not one person in all of recorded human history that hasn’t found their soulmate. I refused to believe that, saying there must be someone, at least a few outliers. I got suspended for “treason and sedition.”
I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard the pounding of feet on stairs. Someone was trying to come down into the subway station. But who? It had obviously not been used in at least a decade, so why would anyone want to be down here? I looked over at the body, now almost completely drained of blood, and realized what a bad situation this was. I was covered in blood next to a corpse with a weird satanic-like symbol on its chest. I had to get out of here.
I hopped onto the rusty track and ducked into one of the tunnels as someone screamed and the footsteps ran back up the stairs. I ran through the subway tunnels until I saw a light from another station. I edged around the corner slowly, prepared to meet a crowd of curious onlookers, but when I got into view of the station, there was no one there. It wasn’t as dusty as the last one, and dim lights shown from the ceiling. However, it appeared to be closed, which was weird because most subways don’t close. I just accepted it as a random stroke of luck.
I jumped up onto the platform and ran across to the stairs. Looking up the stairs, I saw the starry night sky twinkling above the New York City skyline. The buildings leaned down ominously, making me feel trapped. I breathed in, smelling the familiar smells of the city: exhaust, food vendors, and the distinct pungent odor of cheap beer. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, it was all very faint because the tang of blood was emitting off my clothes and skin, masking all other aromas. I needed to wash all this blood off, and I doubted I could get a cab to my apartment when I was covered in blood like this.
I walked slowly up the stairs to the sidewalk, trying to avoid the curious stares and odd looks I was getting from passerby. Thankfully, I happened to be very close to my apartment. When I got there, I felt in my pocket and found a disappointing lack of keys. With a sinking feeling, I twisted the door handle, expecting it to be locked. Oddly, it wasn’t. The door creaked open, revealing a room bathed in shadow. That was the last thing I remember before I blacked out.
When I came to, I realized the murderer had been busy. I was tied to a chair facing the door and there was another dead body on the floor in front of me, one who was a lot smaller and had a knitted purple scarf around her neck. Oh god. It was a kid. I felt bile burning in the back of my throat and twisted around as vomit splattered on the ground around me, narrowly missing the girl. Unfortunately, the violent movement tipped my chair over and I landed right next to the kid’s arm.
Kanaya.
I swore loudly. Whatever this murderer was trying to get, he didn’t have many more chances. I only had six alters, and none of them were active after their soulmates were brutally murdered. It was either going to be mine or Jade’s soulmate next, and I felt bad about hoping it was Jade’s. My phone rang loudly, jolting me out of my thoughts.
“Hello?”
“Deanna! Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all night!”
My sister. Great. She was just the person I wanted to hear from when I was tied up with a dead body a foot from my nose. “Hiya Sammy.”
“No! You do not get to ignore me for four years and make up for it all with a ‘hiya Sammy!’”
“What am I supposed to say? If I remember correctly, you were the one who walked out on us, not me.” I sighed.
“You still could’ve tried to contact me!” she screamed. “I was sick with worry, Mom was so mad and I didn’t know what she would’ve done to you.” She trailed off.
“She wouldn’t let me talk to you.” I admitted. “Anyway, why are you calling?”
“Well, I’ve been trying to call you all night, but I was only getting this creepy guy. The first time I called I assumed I had the wrong number, but he was still there when I called again. I guessed he was one of your alters - unless you’ve been cured?” she said hopefully.
“I’m not going to be ‘cured,' Sammy. It’s not a thing that I can just take a few pills and it’ll go away. Well, I suppose I could if I took the right pills...but that’s not the point.”
“So then I guess that dude was one of your alters, right?”
“I don’t know. What was he like?”
“Well, he was also really slick, like a used car salesman or something.”
“Yuck. But trust me, I don’t have anyone that sleazy in my head. I know all of my alters, and none of them are that slick.”
“If you’re sure. Also...I heard something in the background of the call. It was weird. Kind of a gargling groan I think? I don’t know. The call was also really echoey.”
“Huh. That’s weird.” Not really. I knew exactly what that sound was. It was the sound of someone slowly bleeding out though their throat in an abandoned subway station. “Anyway, why were you calling in the first place?
“Oh...we kinda...lost Mom.”
“What?! She was in an asylum and you lost her?! Are you there now? I’m coming, just give me ten minutes.”
“I’m there, but don’t bother coming all the way down to Atlanta for this. We’re fine here.
“We?”
“Me, Sheila, Aunt Marcie, Do-”
I cut her off. “So you’re telling me that our entire extended family is there, but her daughter, the one who looked after her for years, the one that took care of her when everyone else abandoned her is not?!” I realized I was shouting. There was no one here to hear me except a dead body, and somehow, I don’t think it minded much.
“Deanna! I tried to call you, but your head was being taken over by a car salesman! In case you forgot, you’ve got a serious mental disorder that you refuse to get help for, and I know it’s getting worse! You’re not going to tell anyone about it and one day, it’s going to kill you!”
I hung up. Speeches like this one were the reason I hadn’t talked to Samantha in years. I didn’t need more life lessons from the girl who left me to deal with our psychopathic mom four years ago. Now that she'd hung up, I focused on the more pressing issue: how was I going to get out of these ropes?
Struggling wouldn’t help, as that would probably just push me into the puddle of blood and vomit that had formed on the floor. There was a knock at the door and I looked up. Who would be trying to get in? I hadn’t talked to my old friends in years, and I hadn’t made any new ones since I moved out of my mom’s house. “Who is it?” I called out.
“I’m your neighbor. There was yelling coming from here. Are you okay?”
A male voice, probably mid-twenties. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just…” I looked around for something that could’ve screamed. “My lamp...fell on my foot.”
“Oh ok. I hope you’re fine. I do need to borrow something, though.”
This was the worst possible moment for a him to come by. “I’m a little tied up at the moment. Maybe you could come by later?”
“Sorry, but I can’t. It's kinda urgent. Can I come in?”
I surveyed the scene. This didn’t look good, but he sounded like the type of person who might be cool with this thing, plus maybe he could help me out of these ropes? I sighed. There was no way anyone would be cool with a dead body. Oh well. I supposed it couldn’t hurt. “Yeah, sure. The door’s probably open.”
The door opened slowly, and I knew that there’d be look of horror on his face, then he’d turn green and rush out of the room. I could picture him shrieking through the hallway, on his way to call the police. But when he opened the door, nothing happened except a tiny flicker of horror and disgust that flashed onto his face, then was gone in an instant, replaced with a look of shock.
“Oh my god! Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m perfectly fine here tied to a chair on the ground. So comfortable.” Sarcasm was my only defense.
He scurried around the body and the puddle of filth and started untying me. As my wrists, then my ankles became free, I twisted them around, trying to get the blood flowing. He was avoiding my eyes and looking anywhere but the body. “Thanks dude. Anyway, what’s your name? I’m Deanna.”
He looked at me in disbelief. “Really?”
“Yep. So, what are we going to do about the body?” I asked, gesturing to the limp form in the puddle on the floor.
“We? Oh no, lady. I’m not getting involved in your weird satanic murder business. I get enough of that with my siblings, and I’m not getting involved in another plot to kill the president- I mean...I shouldn’t have said that.”
What did this dude get up to at home? This dude named… “Right, what’s your name again? You never told me.”
He avoided the question, saying, “We need to move this body.”
“Oh, so now it’s ‘we?’ Fine. Where do you think we should hide it?”
“Maybe the refrigerator? We're going to have to clean it out though.”
“I don't have any food in it.” I mumbled. “We can hide it in the refrigerator. But we do need to clean up this mess.”
“We’ll take care of it later. Let’s just focus on moving this body right now.”
Dead bodies are heavy. We picked it up, struggling to carry it to the fridge, then bending it any way it would fit in the refrigerator.
I wiped my hands on my pants, not really caring if I got them dirty. I glanced at the clock. “Wow, it’s only three am.”
“Only? This is the latest I’ve been up in a while. I’m exhausted.”
“Yeah, sleep might be nice. You can sleep on the couch.”
“I was going to go back to my hou-”
I cut him off. “No, you’re not. I don’t trust you enough to not tell this to the police. You’ll sleep here.” I tossed him some blankets from the cupboard. I strode into my room, leaving him standing there with the blankets in his hands. As I snuggled deeper into my mountain of blankets, I realized that I still didn’t know this guy’s name. I’d ask him in the morning.
Something was wrong when I woke up. I was staring up at the man’s face that was hovering over mine, looking worried and a little bit frightened. “Hey. Deanna? Are you…”
“What’s going on?” My head was pounding. “Is something wrong?” My vision still hadn’t cleared. “How did I get into my living room?” He was bleeding from wounds on his face and chest. “How did you get hurt?” I tried to sit up, but the room swam around me. There was a knife clenched in my right hand. I let go and felt feeling flood back into my fingers. My hands were covered with blood. Was it his blood? Nausea rushed into my stomach and I stood up, wobbling a bit, and staggered to the bathroom.
A few minutes later, I stumbled out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. “I feel awful… What happened?”
He stood at the sink, bandaging his wounds and pointedly not looking at me. “You went crazy. I woke up at five and you were standing over me with a long knife. There was a whole speech that I didn’t really pay attention to because I was more focused on the knife. Then you carved these-” He turned and showed me angry red cuts on his arms, chest, and face. “What the hell happened?! It was like you were a different person.” He searched my face for answers, but I had none for him.
“I’m...sorry.”
“Do you really think sorry’s gonna cut it? You almost killed me!” He got angrier, yelling and getting in my face.
“That wasn’t me.” The fact that I was so calm angered him even more.
“You really expect me to believe that? I watched you carve these into me with that sick, sadistic look on your face!”
“What’s your name?” It was like he was stealing all of my energy as fuel for his anger. I was getting exhausted.
“Don’t try to change the subject!”
“Just tell me. Please.”
“It’s Castiel.” Naturally. This explained the weird look he gave me when I told him my name. The fact that he stayed when he could’ve easily left. I rolled up my sleeve to show him the tattoo on my wrist.
“Castiel. No. Not possible. This can’t be happening. It’s got to be a different Deanna. Please.” He was pleading to the heavens now.
“Look, Cas - can I call you Cas?”
“No.”
“Too bad. Anyway, Cas, I’m just as irritated as you are.”
“Stop calling me that.” We were interrupted from our budding argument by a knock at the door. “Expecting someone? I hope they haven’t come for something refrigerated.” I gave him a look and looked through the peephole. My mother’s face, horrendously magnified, made me shriek and jump back.
“Let me in, darling. I have a surprise for you!”
“Who is she?” Cas whispered to me.
“My mother. Be careful around her, she’s supposed to be in a mental hospital right now. She killed my father when my sister and I were kids.”
The pounding at the door became more intense. “Let me in! I’ve got the best surprise! You’ll love it!”
“Go hide somewhere,” I whispered to Cas. He obliged, slipping into my room and closing the door. “I’m coming, Mom! Just a minute.” I strolled over to the door, pushing my pocket knife into a drawer on my way. I opened the door slowly, prepared for the unpredictable.
“Helloooooooo dear. What a nice place you’ve got here. But why did you abandon your only family?” she asked cheerily.
“You aren’t my family. You lost that right when you killed my father. I’ve got Sammy, who is the best family I could ever ask for.”
“Sammy? Samantha? Your sister?” She laughed hysterically. “You’ve got to face the facts, sweetie. I killed your sister right before I killed your dear, dear father.”
It’s one of those days where everything is gray. It’s no longer winter, but not yet spring, it’s just some unpleasant transition season. The once huge drifts of glittering snow have decayed into pitiful piles of dirty slush which continue to melt as small raindrops slowly erode at the icy crystals. The sky is a mass of gray cloudiness, an overcast shroud that smothers the sunlight. It’s not very windy, and the cold doesn’t hit you when you first walk out the door. Instead it slowly seeps through your jacket and into your skin until you feel like, even if you go back inside where it’s warm, you’ll never stop freezing with your bones chilling you from the inside.
And I’m just standing outside, shivering a little, but brushing away any thoughts of returning to my artificially heated house.
I’m waiting for something, but I’m not sure what.
Actually, I’m waiting for nothing. I know that. But part of me still hopes that something will break through the dreary gray, something from the fantastical dreams that flutter through my head every day.
If this were a fantasy story, then now would be the moment I hear a strange noise, or see some peculiar glint of gold through the gray. I would furrow my brow, confused for a moment, then wander over to investigate. As I would step around the piles of slush, I would slip on one of the few remaining patches of ice and probably fall flat on my face. I’d groan a bit, and then get up. But I would no longer be in my slushy, dreary front yard. I’d find myself in some enchanted forest, where everything is lush and green, where the water in the brook is laughing happily, where the sunlight streams through gaps in the trees and leaves dappled patterns on the forest floor, where a chickadee flutters away to bring news of my arrival to a dragon….
But that’s impossible. I know that. Still, sometimes I wish it could be true. Sometimes it feels like it is, like the words in a fairytale seem so much more real than the light patter of raindrops in February.
I turn and sigh, finally shrugging off my far-fetched dreams, and trudge back indoors. The heat washes over me like a welcoming blanket as I step through the door and kick off my shoes, but tiny, icy prickles of February chill remain embedded in my skin.
My mom smiles warmly as I step into the kitchen, but I can see the lines etched across her wearied face and the look of sadness deep within her sea-green eyes. Days like this are hard on her, too.
“Hey, Kya,”, she says softly, enveloping me in a warm hug. After a moment, she pulls back and searches my face. “You okay, sweetie?”
“I’m fine,” I answer, even though we both know I’m lying. “I’ll be upstairs, okay?”
She nods understandingly. “Just don’t be too long,” she adds as an afterthought as I start heading up the stairs. “Dinner’s going to be ready soon.”
“‘Kay,” I call back distractedly, going into my room and closing the door behind me. I flop onto my bed and stare listlessly at the ceiling, my thoughts and emotions swirling around in a slushy muddle inside my head.
Five months. Five dismal, bitter months.
It’s not too long before I hear a gentle knock on the door. My older sister, Zoe, pokes her head in. “You okay, sis?” she asks gently.
I start to nod, then pause and shake my head. Zoe steps in and sits down on the bed, taking my hand. She doesn’t say anything, just sits next to me.
That’s the great thing about sisters. They know when it’s best not to say anything, when just being there is the best thing they can do for you.
“I miss him,” I murmur eventually. I know it’s obvious, but I don’t feel stupid saying it, only sad.
Zoe nods solemnly and squeezes my hand. “We all do.”
It’s true. My mom looks so much older than she did five months ago, lines of grief etched deeply in her face like ripples in a frozen puddle. My dad is colder and quieter than he used to be, rarely cracking his jokes that used to be so common. Even Zoe, who once was the calm and confident one, still sometimes cries in her sleep. And me… well, I have days like this.
I blink several times as my eyes start watering. Before I know it, I’m sobbing into Zoe’s shoulder, clinging to her as a lifeline while she wraps her arm around me comfortingly. “I just want him to come back,” I mumble between gulps.
She just nods and hugs me tighter. “Me too,” she whispers. “Me too.”
Eventually the wave of tears subsides, and I pull away, still sniffling but feeling just a little bit better. “Tissue?” Zoe asks, smiling gently and offering me one.
I take it and blow my nose, wiping my eyes before I toss it in the wastebasket. “Thanks,” I murmur appreciatively.
“Zoe? Kya?” my mom calls from downstairs. “Can you girls help set the table?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Zoe says, squeezing my shoulder before going out the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Days like this happen, but they’re unusual for me. Usually when I think about him, I don’t really feel anything. It’s like the world I’m in just doesn’t have him in it, and the world that did feels like a distant, frozen dream. And on days like that, I know I should feel something, but it’s just not there.
But sometimes, on days like this, the dream feels all too real. On days like this, I just wish I could disappear into one of my fantasy novels, where everyone lives happily ever after, and never come back out again to face the crushing reality of the world I live in. A world of pain. A world of destruction. A world of death.
What would the world be like without it? Without pain, without destruction, without death?
I close my eyes, trying to picture it.
It seems like a wonderful place. The sky is clear, without the depressing blanket of clouds that is typical of February. The gardens are colorful and bright, without a trace of a single wilted flower. There’s a café where the funeral home once was, since there’s no need for funerals anymore. The man who usually begs on the street isn’t sitting at the corner with his sign anymore. Instead he’s laughing and strolling through the town, arm in arm with the woman who would have been his wife.
And he’s there, walking with Zoe and me, smiling as we all turn into the library. I start browsing the fantasy section, but he pulls me over to his favorite sci-fi series. He’s always wanted me to read it, but not until now does he finally convince me to bring all five thousand-page books to the counter. Zoe just rolls her eyes at both of us, then sidles over to the historical fiction section. She keeps glancing at the books I picked up, however―until I catch her gaze with a self-satisfied smirk. Then she flashes an obviously fake scowl and goes back to intently scanning the back of some thick paperback.
This painless world’s so different from the world as it really is. It’s the world as it used to be, but even better. Before the accident, pain and loss still happened―just not as much to me. Here, it’s all gone, leaving the world as it should be.
But is it really the way the world would be? If you could somehow erase pain and death, just like that, would you really end up with a perfect world without any consequences?
You never know a good thing until it’s gone.
The saying flashes through my head, changing my “perfect” world drastically. If there was never any pain or loss, would it really be possible to appreciate the good times? Can you truly understand how special something is until you lose it?
I picture that world again, and I’m surprised by how much it has changed. The laughter and happiness I had imagined vanishes, replaced by a mixture of nonchalant complacency and vague dissatisfaction. The beggar and the woman don’t stroll arm in arm, but instead walk lazily and make occasional remarks about the overly bright sun. Zoe completely ignores us as she thumbs disinterestedly through a book she’s read at least a dozen times. Nobody’s in serious pain or grief, but nobody’s joyful either. Everyone’s just… numb.
You never know a good thing until it’s gone.
I blink back tears as my image of that world fades away, just like all my fantasies do. I can entertain myself with them for a while, but they always melt like crystals of slush in a February rain. I know I can’t get him back. It hurts. It hurts more than anything, but at least I’m feeling something stronger than numbness, stronger than the apathy that runs rampant through my painless fantasy world.
It’s been five months since my brother died.
You never know a good thing until it’s gone.
Gone.
Plump clouds let loose a drizzle of rain unto the red-brick roofs of the squat houses in the village. There were only a few hurried figures to be seen, darting across the cobblestone streets, trying not to get soaked. They hugged their coats to their bodies, and pressed forward against the wind.
A mother and her small son were out in this weather. She, with a low ponytail of red hair that whipped from cheek to cheek in the wind, clutched her son's arm tightly as they passed into the neighborhood with the larger houses than their own. They finally came to the big white colonial at the end of the street, the one with the freshly painted crimson door with a brass knocker. The mother privately likened the color of the door to blood, while the son marveled at how shiny it was, like a firetruck.
The door opened, and a maid let in the boy, and the mother made her weekly promise to be back in a few hours, and slipped off down the street.
The boy strolled into the tiny sitting room off the kitchen as the maid called, "Miss, Ernest is here!" and disappeared into a different room of the house, perhaps to clean.
Ernest settled into the glossy rocking chair he always went to. Miss A was in her favorite chair in the corner, an overstuffed armchair with bright blue silk busting at the seams, and as always, scrawling away in a small notebook. Her watery blue eyes were set far apart, and she had a cloud of white hair that surrounded her head. Wrinkles under her eyes and in the corners of her mouth made her face look strange, as if the skin was beginning to loosen. Ernest didn't really mind, though. She was nice and occasionally gave him cookies.
"Hello, Ernest," Miss A said slowly. She did everything slowly. Except for writing. When it came to writing, her hands were nimble and swift.
"Hi Miss A," Ernest greeted. "What are you writing today?"
"Oh, not much," the old woman chuckled.
"Can I read it at the end?" Ernest pleaded. Miss A peered at him.
"Ernest, do you have many books at home?"
Ernest shook his head and widened his eyes to the size of quarters and jutted his lower lip out. Miss A chuckled.
"Would you like a new book? Perhaps a small collection of books?"
Ernest clung tighter to the armrest of his seat and wiggled his head repeatedly, "Yes!" He rarely received gifts, and new books were so very beautiful, with lustrous, gleaming covers.
Miss A laughed again, and began scribbling furiously at her notepad. Ernest watched intently, calming his twitching body down so the noise in the room ebbed down to the solitary sound of a pencil scratching at paper. And there they sat for a minute, until the writing stopped abruptly and Miss A glanced up and pointed her pencil towards the door.
"If you will go right through there, Ernest, and into the piano room. There should be a cardboard box. Bring it in here."
Ernest jumped off of his chair, wondering what would be in the box. As he crossed into the piano room, he resisted the overwhelming urge to tear the top of the box open. Instead, he hauled it up into his tiny arms and struggled with it into the sitting room. Miss A looked absolutely delighted.
"I haven't lost my touch after all," she mumbled, as Ernest pretended not to listen to her and instead gazed at the box with laser eyes. If she notices I'm looking really hard, maybe she'll open it up, he thought.
"Ernest, I can hardly walk because of my back, would you be a dear and open the box for me? It's alright if the box tears."
Ernest's face burst into an excited smile and he dove into his task with vigor. The cardboard was in shreds in mere seconds, and a pile of glossy hardcover books lay unsheathed on the floor. Ernest couldn't help the squeal of laughter that erupted from his mouth, and he dove in and began poring over the covers.
The Velveteen Rabbit, Aesop's Fables, The Penderwicks. The glee was spreading throughout his entire body like warm soup.
"Are these for me?"
"Yes, Ernest, just a small gift from an old lady who enjoys the company of a kindred soul every week. Even if it is for such short periods of time."
"I hope my mom lets me keep them."
"Why shouldn't she? She would be an absolute monster not to!"
Ernest jumped up and gently hugged Miss A. He never had embraced her before, and the feeling of the tiny body pressing into her arms thrilled her. The books beckoned to him, however, and soon he was back in their midst.
The next week, Miss A asked the little boy what he wanted. Ernest glanced down at his shabby, faded shoes. Miss A didn't need him to say anything. She whipped out her little plain notebook and began scrawling away again. In a few moments, she told Ernest to go into the other room. Ernest went, and found a pair of new shoes, polished and just his size. Delight overcame him, and he donned the shoes, and began to dance about the room as Miss A sat in her armchair, a contented expression donning her face.
It became a tradition between them. Every week, Miss A would ask what gift he wanted, and Ernest would respond enthusiastically. The item would appear in the piano room, and Ernest would remain giddy and bubbly for the rest of the week.
Ernest's mother had originally appreciated the influx of gifts that seemed to stream in for Ernest, but eventually she grew weary of their origins. She wondered aloud to her young son her thoughts at the dinner table one evening. They were eating small sandwiches with pieces of broiled and unseasoned chicken inside them, and Ernest's mother pretended to be full, handing her son more of the bread.
"Well, she asks me what I want, and I just tell her, and she just writes it down, in a list or something I guess, then we stay quiet for a little bit, then she tells me to go into the piano room. And whatever I wanted, it's there! I love Miss A."
Ernest's mother had put a glass of water to her lips - she placed it back on the table without taking a sip. "She... Just writes it down, and it appears in the other room?"
"In the piano room, yeah." Ernest sighed. Having to explain every little thing that he had already said to his mother was exhausting.
Ernest's mother stiffened in her chair for a moment, although he didn't notice. He chowed down on the rest of his chicken as she quietly cleared away the rest of the table. As he finished his meal, she came back to sit down. She cleared her throat in a low, authoritative rumble, and Ernest snapped to attention, his wide eyes locking onto hers.
"Honey, I have something to tell you," she began soothingly. "I think you're now old enough to be able to stay home when I go to work on Saturdays."
"Okay!"
"Which means you won't be seeing Miss A again."
Ernest inhaled sharply. "No! I love Miss A!"
His mother's nostrils flared and her eyebrows pushed outwards, and Ernest swallowed his following retorts.
"Ernest, you may see her one more time. I am granting you that much. At that time, you can tell her that you're a big boy now, and you can take care of yourself. Ernest, honey, look at me."
Tears were gushing into his vision, slowly filling it up from the bottom up. He refused to cry in front of his mother, though. She sighed and closed her eyes. Ernest looked away from the dark shadows underneath her eyelids, and her calloused fingers.
The next Saturday that he went to Miss A's, Miss A asked him what he wanted, as per usual. Ernest was quiet for a moment.
"I just want to keep coming here on Saturdays!" he exclaimed, and promptly began to cry.
"Oh, sweetheart, come here!" Miss A held out her arms clothed in her old lace white dress. "What do you mean?"
Salty tears and snot running into the corners of his mouth, Ernest stuttered, "Mom won't let me come here anymore. She wants me to stay home. I can't come to you anymore."
To Ernest's greatest shock, Miss A's bony hand, tremblingly stroking his shoulder suddenly stopped and he heard her laugh.
"Dear dear Ernest," Miss A clucked. "You don't really think a silly thing like your mother's propositions will stop us from having a good time together?"
Ernest sniffled and inhaled loudly and raspily through his nose. "This is my last time here though. She said. And you can't just change her mind."
Ernest sniffed and then crossed his arms. "I hate her," he stated resolutely.
Miss A didn't seem abashed in the slightest. In fact, a small smile seemed to flicker along the edges of her lips.
"If that's really how you feel, Ernest," Miss A said in her slow, slow tone. "Is that really how you feel?"
Ernest, in a moment of rebellion against his unknowing mother, nodded firmly. Miss A allowed the smile to creep onto her lips. Her lips stretched. How red they were. Like blood.
Mom said that's how my lips look when I'm in a fever, Ernest silently observed. She gives me soup though, and lemon juice with honey, and I always feel better afterwards.
The guilt began to weigh down in his chest immediately, and he squirmed in his chair. "Miss A, I really do have to go now."
"Only if you want to, Ernest," Miss A said. "I hope I see you next Saturday."
The guilt lifted for a split second, and Ernest felt glum about the prospects of that happening. "I hope so too."
As he left the room, he noticed Miss A pull out her trusty little notebook and begin to write enthusiastically.
"This will require a little something extra," Miss A muttered under her breath. Her hand’s pace quickened, if possible. She glanced up for a moment, with those watery, pale fish eyes, and smiled at Ernest. Her face sent a barrage of chills that seemed to latch along Ernest’s back, and he turned on his heel swiftly to leave the house.
It didn’t take very long for Miss A to accomplish the task at hand.
Ernest would be back to see Miss A again. Miss A, with one last flourish of her pencil, finished her sentence.
. . .
The first night, Miss A had had her maid light a nightlight in Ernest's new room. The light illuminated the new toys, the pristine white bookshelf filled with new books with covers that seemed to glow, and a smart little desk by the grand window. But nothing seemed to satisfy the little boy, as he continued to sob into the fluffy pillows. Miss A rubbed his little back, which throbbed with every jerking sob.
"I'm so sorry, Ernest," Miss A whispered.
"Where did she go? Why did she leave me?" Ernest cried inexhaustibly.
"She didn't love you, not like I do," Miss A whispered, her saggy, wrinkled skin against Ernest's flushed neck. The tears did not abate, and Miss A eventually straightened and walked downstairs.
The maid had left the newspaper out. The headlines read, "Local Woman Missing" with a photograph of a red haired woman holding a much younger Ernest. Ernest looked happy in her arms, but Miss A knew in her heart that Ernest was going to much rather living with her in her big house, with all her gifts. Not with that sadsack woman who couldn’t provide beautiful gifts for her own child. A child deserved many toys and nice things. An impoverished household for such a beautiful child such as Ernest; no, it wouldn’t do at all.
She sat at the kitchen table, drinking strong black tea. She attempted to blink the sleep away. It was exhausting, of course to bring objects and little trinkets into the world. Books and shoes and such. She let her eyes slowly drift closed.
But the most tiresome thing for an author, really, was to write something completely out of existence.
Miss A, the mastermind author of this little boy's story, put her head against the table and fell into a deep sleep, a trace of a smile lingering upon her lips.