Playing with Reflections & Other Stories, a Drama story

Playing with Reflections

"Do you ever question what God, perhaps, has in store for you? Do you ever question what your place here on Earth is?" The Doctor looked around the circle of downward faces for a response, settling on the newest patient. who gripped the edges of his chair uneasily while restlessly rocking back and forth. "Tad, how about you?" Tad gripped the edges of his chair uneasily while restlessly rocking back and forth. He shook his head fervently, letting the Doctor know that he wasn't yet ready to participate in group circles. The veteran patients knew how the Doctor worked. They knew that he wouldn’t pry any further, that he would let the new patients adjust before trying to crack them. Peering around the room again, his eyes lingered on me.

"Charlotte-"

"Lottie," I cut in, "Just, Lottie.”

"Charlotte, where do you stand on the topic? Why are you here?" He lowered his shoulders and bent forward, resting an elbow on his knee. I stayed quiet for a few moments, never raising my eyes from the hands in my lap. I sat in my chair, irritated by Tad’s presence. I blinked rapidly, trying to calm myself.

"Charlotte, please answer the question. What do you think God's reason is for bringing you to us?"

"I don't believe in gods." I met the doctor’s slate-grey eyes.

"What d-d-d-do you believe in th-then?" Tad asked from his seat across the circle, ceaselessly twitching as he spoke. He spoke more than most could tolerate.

"I guess you could say that I believe in fate, some form of it anyway. It's not a higher being really but it's always there making sure that no matter what, your life goes a certain way." I looked back down to my lap as I twisted a loose string from my pajama pants around my fingertip.

"What about chance then?"

"Doesn’t exist. Everything is already planned." I shook my head slightly, "It's kind of like a house of mirrors. The exit is determined before you ever step inside and the house is made so that there is only one path you can follow, but as you walk through everything is distorted so that even your wrong decisions will lead you down the path intended for you.” Tad turned his head, looking out the window at a squirrel on the sill. “Even when you think you are lost and can't find the way, you aren't really lost because you are still on the set path. Fate is the man who designs the carnival games."

“Fate is the man who designs the carnival games, huh? Is fate a toymaker as well?” The Doctor looked solemn, running his tongue along his teeth as he waited for my answer. “Did fate give you Daphne?”

Daphne was one of those cheap dolls that spoke when the string on her back was pulled. She had been my sisters. I was only allowed an hour or so a day with her.

“No, my mother gave me Daphne.” I imagined there was an air of confidence to me for a moment, but a second later, it was shattered.

"Have you always believed in predestination, or did it begin after your sister's passing?"

Stacy. The hair rose on my body as I struggled to fight off a growing sense of anxiety. The Doctor noticed goose bumps form on my arm at the mention of my sister. I averted my eyes as fast as I could, seeing the intense look in his eyes as they settled on the skin of my forearm. I tried to focus on the matter at hand; I tried to distract myself.

"I think I've always believed that, but it wasn't a fully formed idea until I came here. Destiny's trick of mirrors has me playing its game and I can't do anything but play." I rolled the sleeves of my pajama top down and tucked my hands inside the cuffs, trying as I spoke to ignore the weight of the doctor’s gaze that had now moved down to my chest. I tried to instead focus on the rocking back and forth of the always anxious Tad, as his thigh hopped up and down on the cheap, plastic chair.

"That's why they ca-call it a fun house. It's be-because f-f-f-fate is a, f-fate is a bitch." Tad stammered again, proving able to participate in circle when someone else was on the hot seat. I smiled as the group laughed. The Doctor’s gaze moved on.

Tad rocked violently in his chair as he chuckled, catching the attention of a nearby nurse. Uneasy, the Doctor stood up and adjourned the circle, leaving the patients to go back to their rooms. The Doctor nodded at a nurse, who sprang into action, motioning to the other nurses to hold Tad down before he nearly toppled over onto me. I eyed him as he struggled; the Doctor placed his hand on my shoulder and ushered me down the hall to my room.

I looked back just in time to see a nurse plunge the syringe into Tad’s neck, sedating him. The Doctor’s hand was hot as his finger slipped under the collar of my pajama top ever so slightly.

"You did very well today. I expect nothing less from our private session tomorrow," the Doctor said as we reached my room. "We'll be discussing Stacy in our next meeting, so be prepared for that. You're welcome to bring Daphne." I nodded as I walked into the room and sat down on the bed, grabbing Daphne from the desk at the same time. The Doctor lingered at the doorway for a minute, watching me as I cradled the doll. He jotted down a few notes on his ever-present notepad and closed the door, leaving me in solitude. Moments later, I heard the jingle of keys as the door was locked from the outside. Cradling Daphne to my chest, I shifted back towards my pillow. The crisp, white bed sheets crinkled beneath my weight as they always did. The room hadn’t changed at all in the five years I had lived in it.

Eventually my thoughts drifted back to Daphne, and I remembered Stacy's third birthday. After my mother gave her the doll, my sister never left her room without it. For over a year and a half, Stacy was constantly followed by the sounds of Daphne asking to play or telling stories. Stacy was entranced, her big blue eyes always reflecting the pale peach face of the doll. At some point I drifted off to sleep, reminiscing about Stacy on the floor of our living room, playing with Daphne as I watched the television from the couch behind them.

There was a knock on the door and the sound of keys jingling before a slender female nurse unlocked the room and stepped inside.

"Charlotte, it's time to put Daphne away," the nurse said sweetly, putting a hand out to retrieve the doll.

"It's Lottie. My name is Lottie," I said, snapping awake and inching towards the corner of the room.

"Come on now, Charlotte, please be a good girl and hand her over. It's almost time for dinner, but you can have it back tomorrow for your session with the Doctor."

"My name is Lottie." I said again, this time cradling Daphne to my stomach. I kept my focus on Daphne's pale peach face, willing the nurse to leave the room. The nurse’s eyes flickered with irritation.

"Okay, that's fine, but Daphne needs to go away for a little while." The nurse stepped further into the room and placed her hand on my knee. I seized the plastic ring on Daphne’s back and pulled the cord until it was taught. The nurse held her hand out for the doll again. My mind was still racing with memories of Stacy, and the only thing I could take from reality was the sound of the words, "I love you so much," as they sounded from Daphne’s voice box. I pushed forcefully against the back of my teeth with my tongue, suddenly furious.

In an instant, I lunged towards the nurse, wrapping the string around her neck as we landed on the hard linoleum. As the nurse’s head hit the floor, I straddled her and pulled tighter on the string, strangling her as she tried to scream for help.

I became overwhelmed with tears as the nurse’s eyes began to bulge from under her heavily made-up lids and she could no longer cry out, producing only choked groans and spittle. The pull of the string contorted the flesh of her neck until it tore open and her blood began to pool into the hollow of her neck. The nurse writhed spasmodically as she pawed at my face in a desperate attempt to push me away. Her hands pushed against me in a frenzy, and at the same time the scent of floral perfume invaded my senses.

“Lottie, look what Daphne picked for you,” Stacy said as she padded towards me with bare feet, holding a bouquet of freshly picked flowers between her chubby fingers.

“What are you doing? Those are from Dad’s garden.” Annoyed, I grabbed the flowers from my sister’s hands and threw them into the bin beside the barbeque.

“But they smell nice. We wanted you to smell them.” Stacy looked up at me with watery blue eyes, the same colour as both Daphne’s eyes and the plastic liner of the backyard pool.

“If I wanted to smell the flowers then I would walk over to the garden and stick my nose in them. I look away for one second and you kill the flowers,” I barked, walking past the pool and towards the house, trailing Stacy behind me. “And learn how to say my name; it’s annoying when you shorten it.”

Stacy stopped following me, cradling Daphne to her chest as I locked the sliding glass door between us. She shuffled towards the pool on the rain-soaked concrete. I watched from behind the door until my agitation dissolved into panic.

Stunned, I loosened the string a bit to let the nurse cough, and looked at my blood spattered hands. Seeing the nurse gasping for air, I dropped the doll into the small puddle of blood that had fallen from the nurse’s clavicle. My mind went wild with thoughts of Stacy’s face by the backyard pool after I had pulled her out, how she strained for breath that never came. How her blonde hair became red from the crack in her skull. There was only water and blood where air should have been. The only image in my mind was of Stacy’s blood dispersing into the pool and of my own reflection in the tainted water that day. I imagined I looked the same now, covered in blood, tears and with a wild expression. Pulling my gaze from the redness of my hands, I looked at Daphne.

“It was you.” I said with contempt. Before I could think of what to do next, a team of nurses rushed into the room. Two pushed me off of the nurse and back onto the bed where I thrashed violently. The other helped the wounded nurse up off the ground while calling for help and trying to stop the blood flowing from her neck. I could see their mouths moving as they spoke to each other. The injured nurse pointed to Daphne on the floor. I couldn't hear them over the sound of my own screaming.

“You killed her, Daphne. You lied to me and you killed her, you selfish little bitch. It was you, it was always you.”

Finally, one of the male nurses held me down long enough for the other nurse to push a syringe into my neck. As the sedative set in, my vision started to blur and I could only vaguely make out the shape of something silver, scissors, in the Doctor’s hand as he entered the room.

“Now Charlotte, that’s enough.” The Doctor pulled the string in Daphne's back for the last time.

"Do you want to play a game?"

3: 10 Reasons Why My Father Wonâ€™t Let Me Go Out With You (In Much Gentler Terms):

10 Reasons Why My Father Wonâ€™t Let Me Go Out With You (In Much Gentler Terms):

1. You work as a dish washer: he says that you have no hope of promotion, but I know that you’d just be happy getting discounts on our dinners.
2. Your hair does that thing where it falls in front of your face all the time: he says that it shows that you’re too lazy to get a proper haircut, but I know it takes a lot of effort to have to keep flicking it out of the way like that.
3. You dress like a skater, but you don’t own a board: he says that you’re not athletic enough to do proper physical activity, but I know that you are just mindful of your safety. I’d rather you just stayed on the couch and watched Fresh Prince re-runs like you do.
4. You listen to 50 cent and Lil’ Wayne: he says that you have awful taste, but I know that some of the lyrics are actually really meaningful, since it’s all metaphors.
5. You drink whiskey and rye: he says that it’s wrong for us to be drinking at our young age and that our generation doesn’t even appreciate Don McLean, but I know that you switched from beer to watch your weight after I told you that nobody likes a tenth grader with a gut. I don’t know who Don McLean is, but I’m glad you’re such a great listener.
6. You smoke menthol’s: he says that it’s a nasty habit and you ought to know better at this day and age, but I know that it’s a struggle for you to keep your limit down to a pack a day. I really am proud of you for not giving in to your addiction.
7. You have a tattoo of a dragon on your forearm: he says that tattoos are just a fad and it shows that you’re a punk, but I know that dragons are actually really important to your culture, because you’re like a quarter Chinese or something.
8. You were held back a year in middle school: he says that you must’ve failed a lot of tests and that you are both dumb and irresponsible, but I know that you were in juvie that year, so it wasn’t really your fault.
9. You went to juvie: he says that… well I can’t really put what he says about that gently. I swear I didn’t mean to tell him, it just came out.

I’m sorry that I can’t come out tonight, or any other night for that matter, because he says that…

10. I’m grounded for life.

4: Every Day

Every Day

The man kept mostly to himself,
reticent in his nature
He went to work daily,
his argent-handled briefcase by his side every day
and every day he would find himself passing a statue

This statue was sublime in creation,
it was a woman
draped in a cloak
with a hood that shadowed her face
and ringlet curls that originated from under her cloak
Her eyes were eternally closed

They gave her a pensive, wistful expression

Beguiling

He became enchanted
By serendipitous chance
That this statue was the one that he would pass every day
And he did
He stopped and looked upon her every day,
charmed by the statue
He returned without fail even on his days off
for three years
One could say that he loved the statue
maybe even more than he had ever loved anything
or anyone

One late evening he realized that he had forgotten his argent-handled briefcase at the office
and so he passed the statue for the third time that day
and then for the fourth on his way home
He felt faint
and so he laid down on the park bench beside her
The air was becoming less gelid as winter turned to spring
No one was around
He had never been alone here before
He put his feet an inch from her cloak
and his head at the opposite end of the bench, looking upon her
from a side wherein he could not see her face past the draping fabric of her hooded cloak
He felt as though he was in a state of simple reverie
as he closed his eyes to regain his strength she became enchanted

Her voice was one crafted for melodic lullabies
"why do you come to see me every day?"
His eyes opened and she was still a statue,
the same as she ever was
He stood up and walked in front of her
thinking that perhaps he had imagined the voice
Her eyes were open,

her expression as dulcet as her voice

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion
She did not move or say anything more
but her eyes sparkled with enchantment
He raised his hand to her face,
caressing her cheek

He shut his eyes
feeling the stone
as it began to move under his palm

He dared not open his eyes
worried that she would return to her previous position
He could feel her face smiling beneath his one hand
He felt stone fingers slipping between his own fingers on the other

"How come you have never spoken before?"
the man asked her,
his expression surprisingly serene under the circumstances

"I had never before tried to,
I was unaware that I had the ability."
He lifted his lids slightly, trying to sneak a glance at the angelic composition of her face

He realized that she could not move when he peered at her
she was a statue, not a person
She need not breathe
and she need not feel
and she was not made to love a man
but she was gifted all the same
and she did love him
as he loved her
"Your name?" he asked, resolving to keep his eyes closed for as long as the daydream allowed
She shook her head,
"I have never checked, although I am certain that it must be somewhere,
perhaps on the plinth below me?"
She lifted her other hand to his face,
reflecting his previous motion
"Would you please check for me?"
He knelt to her base stone and his eyes opened once again
Untitled was all it said, not even the artists name followed.
He repeated the word to her.
when he stood back up to look at her she had returned to her original pose
and she was a statue once more.
The rain cascaded from the clouds above them.

She never spoke to the man again
but his loyalty never faded or waned
every day
without fail
he returned
until he became an old and lonely man
having only loved this statue for his entire life

And every day the rain became more acidic, she became more worn
less and less detailed and defined
There was no more distinction between her features
with the exception of her lips, which seemed to never decrease in elegance
He wanted to speak to her one final time
knowing that she may never speak again
and he may not live much longer
and so he made his final return in the middle of the night
argent-handled briefcase in hand
just like the times before
so that he may have no regrets when it came time for his passing
He then laid his eyes upon her grisly appearance
"I love you" he said
closing his eyes and kissing her lips,
"And I love you" she replied.

5: Bluegreyblack

Bluegreyblack

southern manor:
      flaked blue paint over element-beaten paneling
      linen peeking through boards behind fractured panes
      unattended ivy, settled and fitted to the body of the manor
      thick cotton-like cobwebs
      wrap around porch:
                  flaked blue posts extending to the height of the third floor balcony
                  linen peeking through the wood of rocking chair seats
                  wood (ash?) boards pierced and beaten by southern elements
      heavily drooped clothes line:
                  ivy coloured dresses fitted to the bodies of unknown women
                  cotton fibers of unattended dresses peeking through thick layers of mud
      lopsided, rusted swing set:
                  growth over post-pierced floor, the set has sunken and settled below grass
                  rusted chain wrapped around fractured posts and element-beaten seats
                                                                                     fitted to the height of unknown children
      no service
      no power

      scent of blueberries
      frames of dust over oil on canvas
      blue floral wallpaper
      creaky ash wood floor boards
      four pairs of shoes:
                  makeshift
                  woman; child; man; man (made to fit)
                calf skin; leather; leather; leather
                  dust; dust; - ; dust
      four pairs of wilted roses atop canvas covered ash wood:
                  lingering layer of dust
      floral couch framed in doorway:
                  ash filled fire place extending up through the manor
                  ash covered shoes; makeshift firewood
                  wallpaper behind woman, child, man (face scarred) , (scored face) man                    …………………                                                            within a framed and dust/oil painted canvas
      cobweb air
      distant bellow of ballroom organ
      lingering scent of berries

      empty space with berry-air
      cobweb coated walls:
                  rose-colour red
                  burnt black from distant fire
                  sconces:
                              limp wicks; the remains, the only trace of candle left on sconces
                              oil and hardened wax in puddles like rugs on ballroom floor
                  taxidermy:
                              wolves; gators; rabbits feet
                  oil painted portrait gallery extending through generations
      what remains of an organ, barely an ivory key left in place
      puddles of water tracked in from my shoes, tracing the steps of my feet
      empty ivory candle holders on canvas covered tables
      padlocked double doors to my left:
                  drooping chains
                  rose-colour red gasoline jug peeking through the gap
                  traces of stairs in the distant black place
      what remains of basement cellar:
                  chained and padlocked
      flowers burnt to ashes
      fire axe

      fractured wall in front, then behind as I step through
      litter box
      pantry further in:
                  meat; meat; apples; oatmeal; rabbit
                  matchbooks
                  preserved jelly
                  empty bowl:
                              lopsided lettering read “BLUE”
      woodstove beside a water filled cooler
      serving tray
      serving tray
      serving tray
      serving tray
      stacked on servant trolley
      mildew; mold; dust; tile
      kitchen sink
      stairs leading down from makeshift entrance:
                  scent of gasoline and distant house fire
                  fractured steps sinking under weighty feet
                  what remains of basement cellar

            grey
                        grey
                                    grey
                                                grey
                                                            black
            the feel of cotton sheets scored with holes and laced with cockroaches
            mattress springs creaking under pressure
            the clatter and shattering of ceramic as I knock children’s toys to the floor:
                        unknown cloth
                        unknown plastic
                        unknown appearance
                        unknown age
                        cockroach insects skittering from my skin
            chainsaw:
                        absence of chain
                                                            black
                                                black
                                    black
                        black
            grey

            back doors
            ash wood trees
            blueberry bushes
            sticks in place of stones
            bones:
                        peeking through overgrown grass
            shadows from the second floor window

                                                                                                                                                           b
            steps from first floor to second
                                                                                                                                                            l
            steps from second floor to third

            Thick handcrafted quilt
            not a surface unpolished
            blueberry fragrance
            purring orange kitten
            a single picture:
                        mother and son
            pair of red roses tied taught with black ribbon like phantoms know to do

                                                                                                                                                           u
            steps from third floor to attic
                                                                                                                                                           e
            berry scent

            cotton bed sheets:
                        blue-white
                        fitted to bodies beneath like dresses or capes
                        taxidermy
                        preserved like jelly
                        preserved like painted portraits extending through generations
                        absence of oil paint
            loose floor board
            rose-colour blood from my body
            blue
            grey

black

6: Diction, Disease, and Dissection

A Lamppost Near Autumn

I peer out of the glass as the sun descends in the sky and makes it go some middle shade between amber and pink. I brush a loose lock of hair behind my ear, not wanting to untie my hair and do it again, my hands too busy fumbling for my phone in the pockets of my knapsack. I find it in a niched and recessed pocket near the back of the bag and stand in front of the window, anxiously awaiting the moment when I can crawl into my bed and rest for the night.

I ready myself to walk out into the evening air by pulling up the contacts list on my phone and scrolling down. I call the first number I think will pick up. Hitting the call button and pressing the receiver to my ear, I listen to the sound of ringing turn into the sound of voice asking me to leave a message. I dial a new number, this person picks up and I smile. I hear the muffled greeting and tell my feet that they are now allowed to leave their place between the half tile that intersects with the wall and the rest of the patterned floor. Exiting the building, I laugh at the story the voice relays, totally submerged in the description and the way the voice lisps coolly.

The brisk wind blows the strand of hair loose again and I leave it to sashay in front of my eyes. It's that odd transitional time of year between summer and fall, when it is just nearing Autumn, but isn't actually yet. You know what I mean, it's that time of year when you wake up and wonder whether or not you can get away with shorts, or if perhaps a thick woolen sweater and jeans would better suit the temperature. Today is a sweater kind of day, the air crisp with the promise of lowly temperatures, and content with gnawing at the bare skin of my hands and face. The voice tells me that the weather is still nice in Waterloo, the leaves still green and thriving. I argue that the leaves are still green here. Not for long the voice replies before leaving for dinner.

I look at the trees then, not having thought about it much before. They should be almost ready to drop and litter the streets and front lawns of moody residents. They haven't started changing colour yet, but I get a feeling that they will very soon when the Gaea grows weary of feeding them the necessary nutrients and they can subtly slip through the chains she has wrapped around them, anchoring them to the tree. She always grows weary this time of year, and the leaves are only too happy to form wrinkles before hitting the floor, having been bored all year of only blowing in the breeze, collecting dew and catching raindrops. What a woman that Gaea is, why can't she just leave the world to be what it is?

I try a new number, this time someone who may or may not have already eaten dinner and so, won't have to leave to eat. No luck. Rebecca this time. She doesn't answer either. Owen will most definitely answer, I think to myself as it rings. My skull aches with frustration when I am again asked to leave a message. Mom? Dad? No.

And then, that is it. I have no one left to call. I silently curse my silent nature. A person with more friends would never be in this situation. Not even my mother will pick up the phone and I still have another fifteen minutes of walking left. Off to my left a leaf dislodges itself from its branch (and the Gaea woman)'s loosened grip and I hear quiet cheers and congratulations of release from the wind as it blows a strong gust, sending the leaf into a nearby sewer drain. Although I don't hear it, I imagine the leaf to be laughing in triumph as it rides the flow of sewage into the undercarriage of the city. I push my legs to walk faster, hoping to make the journey back home a quick one. Shadows shift all around me as the sun goes behind the last of the clouds, just enough light to give off shade and nothing more. I can't see the end of the street, I can just see the movement of whatever things lurk in the shadows when it is dark enough that no one can differentiate between the shades of grey and black.

I call Derrik. How long as it been since I have talked with him? Perhaps too long. To my surprise, he answers, groggy from what I assume to be an afternoon nap gone too long, it was only eight in the evening. He asks who is calling and then why. He doesn't sound very happy when I say that I just wanted a chat, his grumble audible through the receiver. He tells me that he has been sleeping, I say that I noticed, he answers that he has work in the morning and can't talk. I can tell he is lying, he just likes to sleep because he is a human. I would rather sleep than talk to me too, so I don't blame him when he ends the call and leaves me to walk home alone.

The trees twist in the darkness and I hear them cracking in their old age. I bet if they could speak they would tell me to hurry. I bet they are wise. I bet they've seen a lot, staying out on the lawns all the time like that. I bet they have seen terrors that I've only seen in movies. I bet they would tell me to use a little more umph when I put foot to concrete. I am more focused on the street lights flickering to life, the few of them that still work. The closest one to me is a few feet away, and it casts a long shadow behind me. It is so deceptive. It tells me that there is only an extension of myself behind me. The only way to really know is to look.

My eyes survey the perimeter of my vision and make out the shape of a tree in front of me. The tree is fairly small and is sort of shimming, like a vibration of it's sides. I keep my eyes on it to calm myself. After a few moments I notice something very off, that the road does not end where the tree is, it only branches off in one direction and continues straight. I also realize that the tree is becoming larger, and not just because I am walking towards it but because It is a person, not a tree. He lurks in the darkness, thick-waisted, but still fairly tall. It makes sense that I would think he was a tree. Suddenly his feet appear out of the darkness and into the flickering light of the street lamp.

I shy off to the far side of the street, being sure to still stay in the light, but causing my reflection to be lost somewhere in the shadows that stretch out everywhere that this street light can't reach. The dark wash jeans appear above the sneakers and then a tight-fitting plaid shirt. It refracts every colour but red. I shiver as I think of the colour and the dirt-stained hands that appear from inside the cuffs. His arms moving side to side had caused the vibrations that I had thought I had seen before. I'm cold. The air is nipping at me and I pull my sweater tighter over my chest, folding my arms tightly overtop.

I try not to listen to the sounds of the tungsten flickering within its lantern cage. I try not to listen to the eerie smack, smacking on the concrete. The ground seems to shake with each smack of his sneaker and I shrink inwardly, telling my muscles and bones and anything else that can move to grow smaller and tighter so that I can be a mouse instead. He wouldn't be thinking what he is thinking now if I were a mouse, I'm sure.

He stares blankly at me, eyes thick with thirst, as he licks the cracks on his lips and taps his fingers against his pant leg. As he gets closer I can make out the thickness of his arms and the navy script on his baseball cap. His steps are slow and precise as he sizes me up. He probably has planned out everything, how to quickly jump out towards me, too fast for me to scream before his hand muffles it with the jacket in his hand closest to me, (that's the only logical reason for him not to have it on, as it is very cold), and pull me into the place between two houses where all the lights are turned off, the home owners away for the evening, and where a shed is waiting like a reverse brothel. He cracks his neck to one side, rubbing it with his free hand and licks his lips a second time, hungry from waiting for the taste of my feverish skin.

I try to look away from him but those brown eyes burn into me like a hypnotist's, daring me to break the gaze. As he passes by, my heart bangs in my chest as it tries to break free and run away, so that it won't have to experience what comes next, so it won't have to know the scars I will receive.

But then, he just passes, breaking the gaze and thrusting his hands into his pockets. My head jerks forward, my eyes now free of him. But, no, he wouldn't. I watch my shadow, which is now below me as I pass directly under the lamp. I don't see anything, but turn to look at his back for fear of his return. He disappears after a minute.

I start a jog, not knowing how quickly he will turn around and come back for me.

8: At the Top

At the Top

In my blue bathrobe with my uncombed hair, I stand for a few minutes at the window staring out, thinking about this street. I still remember the time I sat on the bench and cried because my mother had told me that my fish, Sonny, had run away. I know now that it was completely untrue because fish cannot run away. Sonny, as all things inevitably do, died.

I can clearly recall sitting there years ago, shivering from the breeze for what seemed like forever. I was about to give up and go back inside, despite the fact that I had told my mother I was running away with Sonny, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was a little boy. I turned to look at him but said nothing. He stared at me for a long time. He then sat down next to me on the bench and grabbed my hand from my lap. I was happy that I wasn’t alone anymore until I remembered that all little boys pick their nose and don’t wash their hands after, so I pulled my hand from his grip. He asked me what was wrong and I told him that my fish had run away. Then, he smiled shyly and told me something that I would never forget.

“She didn’t run away. She climbed the staircase to Heaven. She’ll be waiting to see you at the top, so don’t cry anymore.” I let my hair fall in front of my eyes and lowered my face into my palms. He stayed silent until a few minutes later when I lifted my head, “I’m Korey,” he told me.

“Lily.” We stayed up all night long.

It’s been almost three years. I have a new fish that Korey bought for me last year. He’s nice like that. He’s my favourite person in the whole world. We are on our way to watch the stars because Korey says that we might see a shooting star tonight. I don’t usually make wishes, but he always does. Now, I am brushing my hair quickly and throwing on the first shirt I see. I look in the mirror to make sure there is nothing on my face. I decide that it’s probably clean, but it’s hard to tell with my bangs in front of my face. I pick up the scissors from my pencil box on my desk and grasp my over-grown bangs. I cut it and it doesn’t look very good, but at least I can see my face and I was right, my face is clean. I put the scissors down on my dresser beside the pins and my hair brush and I stare. It have been easier to pin my bangs back. I suppose it’s too late now, and Korey says that I look pretty no matter how I wear my hair.

My mother is sleeping on the couch beside the half empty wine bottle like she does every night, so I can leave. My mother tells me that it’s dangerous to go outside after dark at my age, but Korey and I sneak out anyway. I don’t think my mother would be mad if she learned that I wasn’t in my bed, but she would be disappointed like she always is if I do something atrocious. I’m not sure what atrocious means, but my mom says that it’s not a good thing.

Korey is already standing in my driveway with a little, blue flashlight and a blanket when I get outside. I wave to him and he smiles at me, pointing to the new hole where his tooth used to be. He doesn’t pick his nose anymore and he tells me that he learned how to work the sink, so I hold his hand as we walk toward the park. We don’t say anything, we never do, not until we get where we are going. With other people it’s boring to just walk, but Korey is different than other people. We sit down on the blanket once we get to the park and look at the stars. We see a shooting star and Korey tells me to makes a wish. I don’t, but I smile and close my eyes when he looks at me to make sure I am wishing. After a while, Korey decides that it is late and that we should go home to bed. We stand up, collect the blanket and start down the winding path by the forest. Korey’s older brother is fourteen and plays in the forest but he says that it’s only for big kids. Korey’s brother never lets us play in the forest. I’ve always wondered about it.

I see something move between the trees, but it’s too dark to tell what it is. I know that Korey sees it too. We stand frozen for a few seconds, my hand grasping his tightly as I move to cower behind him. Korey pulls me and we run down the path, pebbles spitting out under the speed of our feet. I’m scared and I know that Korey is too. I know that we should stay away from the forest like Korey’s brother tells us to, but I want to be brave like the big kids. I pretend that I’m not scared and stop running. Korey stops too, but when he looks at me he makes a face that screams confusion and panic. I begin to walk again. “It’s probably just an animal,” I say while pushing my uneven bangs from my eyes, trying to make it seem like I’m not worried about what is in the forest. I don’t think Korey believes me and I can see that his shoulders are still up near his ears. I think the word for it is tense. We hear a sound. We both look towards the forest where the bushes are being rustled again by something and now I’m sure that it is not just an animal.

A man steps out of the forest. He is not very tall but he is big, a lot bigger than me and Korey and even bigger than Korey’s brother. The man has his hand closest to Korey in his pocket and the other is holding something. He twists it and the moonlight reflects off it. He looks at me. “What’s your name?” I try to swallow my fear, but I can't. It doesn’t work. I can’t talk either. When I get scared like this, it feels almost like a hand comes up from inside and grabs all the words out of my mouth and I have to force the hand back down if I want to talk. Korey answers for me.

“Her name is Emily,” Korey’s jaw locks. I don’t like how the lie sounds coming from his mouth and he makes a sort of whistling noise when he talks from the air going through the place where his tooth used to be. He voice sounds silly but his eyes are serious; I’ve never seen him like this before. He isn’t blinking. The man is looking at Korey now instead of me. Korey puts his arm up and steps in front of me defensively. “You’re not allowed to touch her.” The man laughs smugly at his whistling and as he chuckles the moonlight reflects off the shiny thing in his hand again. Korey looks at me, his eyes have changed now. He is trying to tell me to run, I know it, but I won’t leave him. His eyes close tight and I know that he is wishing again, his lips parting slightly. I don’t think that it will work though, because he didn’t see a shooting star.

“I want to go home now,” I say, pushing the hand in my throat away. The man looks at me as if I have said something crazy. He straightens his spine and spits his saliva at the side of the path. I turn and walk away from the man, grabbing the collar of Korey’s shirt as I march. The man doesn’t follow us. Korey is in shock even though I didn’t do anything special. As we walk home I can see that he keeps turning his head to make sure the man isn’t coming for us. I don’t look back even once because I can feel that we are safe now. We walk to Korey’s house first. Usually this is where he smiles and waves goodbye before letting go of my hand and running to his backyard so that he doesn’t have to go up the front stairs that pass his parent’s and brother’s bedrooms. We weren’t holding hands as we walked home and I knew if we had that his hand would be clammy and sweating. He is looking at his feet, unmoving on the street curb. I walk closer to him and whisper into his ear.

“No one will be climbing the stairs tonight,” I pull back and he looks at me. I’m not sure if he understands what I mean because it had been so long ago when he had told me about the stairs to heaven, but I smile and run away in the direction of my house anyway.

I could see that Korey’s brother still had his bedroom light on. He is always up late and he says that it’s because when you are older you don’t need as much sleep. I’ve only seen him in the morning a few times because he goes to middle school with the big kids and gets to sleep in, but every time I see him, he is cranky. Maybe if he got more sleep he wouldn’t be cranky. Korey is excited to grow up to be just like his brother, staying up late, sleeping in every morning and playing in the big kid’s forest. Korey’s brother is nice to Korey and me, but he gets mad a lot too. I don’t think I want Korey to grow up like him. I wish that Korey would never grow up, just stay like this forever.

When I wake up my mother says that we have to go get my hair cut after school. I don’t really care about how I look, but mother says that I look simply preposterous. I don’t know that word either but I pretend that I do so that she won’t lecture me anymore. She tells me to come home right after school and gives me my lunch bag. I run out the door to meet Korey. He is sitting on the bench in front of my house and looking at his feet again. His hair is messy and his shirt isn’t buttoned right. He turns his head when I call his name and he tries to plant a fake smile onto his paler-than-usual face. I know that his smile is just a mask to cover up the part of him that broke last night. His mask is cracking and I can see through the crack. I know that he is broken. I grab his hand and we walk silently.

We walk for five minutes until Korey stops. His eyes are wide and there is a light on his cheek. It moves onto my face and I look into the direction that it came from. We are in the park, because it’s a lot faster to walk through it than to walk around it. Mother says it’s safe in the morning, but she never tells me exactly what it is that I am supposed to be staying safe from. I know now that she means men with shiny things in their hands that play in the forest. The light is coming from the trees, it’s annoying, but we have to go to school so we don’t have time to stop and check what is making the light move. I start to walk past it and Korey follows me again. I can tell that Korey is still worried and it makes my stomach feel wrong; twisted. I look down at the path and start to kick the same pebbles that we had kicked up the night before because I don’t want to have that feeling in my stomach anymore. It doesn’t go away because I can see that Korey is stopping again. I look up at him and he looks even more frightened than before. I follow his gaze towards the forest that is only for big kids.

The thing that was making the light shine onto our faces is in front of us now. It’s a knife, the kind Koery’s mom uses to cut vegetables and it’s in the hand of the man from last night. Korey takes a step backwards. I think that the man will leave us alone if we explain to him that we are busy and can’t play in the forest with him. I don’t know why he has a knife; I think that maybe he was playing in the forest like the older kids. This must be why Korey’s brother tells us not to play in the forest. Little kids aren’t allowed to hold knives; I have to remember to tell him that it’s not safe to play with them because if it’s not safe for little kids then it shouldn’t be safe for big kids either.

“We have to go to school now. When I am old enough to play in the forest then I will play with you, as long as we don’t play the knife game.”

The man chuckles much like he did last night. I think that he will go back into the forest but he doesn’t. Instead he steps towards us.

“I quite enjoy the knife game though, don’t you Emily?” He continues walking towards us and he is still using the fake name that Korey told him. He laughs as he says it, as if he knows that it’s a fake. He can see through Korey’s mask too. Korey tugs on my hand, but I hold my ground.

“Here, I’ll let you have the first turn,” He says and holds up his arm with the knife in it, reaching for me. I shudder with the realization that he wants to hurt me. I want to shut my eyes, but I can’t make them close. I want to scream but the hand from inside me is grabbing again. I can’t even raise my arms to push him away. It all happens so fast that I am sure it isn’t really happening.

I ready myself for the pain and when I hear the sound I am shocked to find that it doesn’t hurt at all. I don’t even feel it. Then I hear a noise that will haunt me forever. I look down and Korey is on the ground in front of me; his cry is deafening. His shirt is turning red quickly and the knife is in his chest instead of mine. He is breathing heavily and the world seems to stop. I don’t know where the man is anymore but I don’t care. Korey is crying like I haven’t seen before and he is trying to pull the knife out without luck because his hands can’t grip the handle since they are slippery from his blood. I pull it out and he clutches his chest where the knife was. I know that this is the last time I’ll ever see Korey alive. My knees give out and I pull his head onto my lap. I put my hands on top of his and we try to force the blood back into his body and stop it from pooling onto the ground beneath us. I am crying now too and can see my tears dropping into his messy hair. His tears stop and he looks at me. I feel his hands turn underneath mine and his fingers go between mine. I want to scream and tell him not to give up, that I can’t push the blood back in by myself. I can’t do anything by myself. I don’t want to be without my best friend. This is not at all what I meant when I wished he would stay this way forever. I want Korey to grow up with me. He is my best friend. He is supposed to be that one who holds my hand forever. His eyes close and he is wishing. He lets me hear his wish for the first and last time but there are no stars out so I know that it won’t come true. “I wish Lily will have a bad life.” He is smiling now but I know it is hard for him because his lips are struggling and his eyelids are drooping. I cry even harder because I expect him to open his eyes but he doesn’t. I want to say one more thing to him so I hope he still hears me.

“Climb the staircase okay? I’ll meet you at the top. I promise” I lean down and kiss his forehead gently, my entire body shaking as I repeat the words ‘I promise’ over and over again. His fingers slip from between my own fingers and I let them go. They drop to the ground and into the puddle. I’ll work hard to make sure that Korey’s wish doesn’t come true. I know that he didn’t mean it that way because there weren’t even stars out. I’ll work hard to be happy, so that when I am ready to climb the staircase, I will know that Korey is at the top with a fish bowl, waiting to welcome me. Every night I’ll look for shooting stars from the safety of my bedroom, wishing to meet him at the top.

9: Norman Fitzgerald-Walker

Norman Fitzgerald-Walker

Norman Fitzgerald-Walker lived in the big house on the corner of Ingram Street and Dew Drop Lane. It was one of those old, but still beautiful homes. The paint was peeling from the exterior and the shutters were worn, as was the fence that surrounded walk out from his bedroom above the garage. Norman Fitzgerald-Walker was a peculiar sort of man, for he had a large house, but a surprising lack of furniture or personal items in it. He had a mattress and a couple blankets on the floor of his bedroom and a small cabinet with drawers for his Hawaiian t-shirts and boxer shorts in his large walk-in closet. He also had a kitchen table with a single chair in the turret room by the kitchen. The cabinets were filled with strong Mexican coffee and double fudge cookies. An odd combination of sorts, but this was normal for Norman.

Norman had a single chess table, no chairs, on his front patio. Every morning he would unlock his front door, which he always kept locked and walk outside in his boxer shorts and a Hawaiian shirt after finishing his strong coffee and he would move a single chess piece. It was unknown to him who he was playing but every morning, a piece that he had not touched, would be in a new position. Maybe it was the milkman, or the mail carrier, maybe it was the newspaper boy. It didn’t matter to Norman Fitzgerald-Walker, who by the way, had yet to win a single game.

Even more peculiar was that every wall in his home was painted white except for one lonely black wall. It had an eerie hold of people, the black wall, and one could sit and stare at it for hours and have no knowledge that any time had passed at all. This wall was in what one might consider a living room, were it to have furniture in it. The black room, as Norman had titled it, had a singular pillow placed in front of the wall where he would sit and stare at the wall for hours every day before returning to his kitchen table and his single chair, where he would work.

You see, Norman Fitzgerald-Walker was a writer, and a rather good one at that, but don’t try to search his name online because you won’t find a single result that includes this Norman Fitzgerald-Walker. The reason for that is because this Norman Fitzgerald-Walker wrote under numerous identities, aliases. Many different ones. Sometimes he was an elderly man named Robert Passionfeld, and sometimes he was a recent college graduate named Stacy Martin-Parks. Other times he was father of six, country boy Sammy McGregor. He never had to think of the aliases, they just simply came to him. Norman just simply knew. Each alias had their own personality and flair, no one would ever know that all these writers were in fact one. Norman Fitzgerald-Walker’s poetry was highly regarded in the world of literature, but he had never accepted any awards, not for fear of being found out, but simply because he did not have a want, nor a need, for such awards. Norman never even seemed to recall writing the pieces. He would sit down and become so absorbed in the world he created, that it was almost as if his alias took over and he became them, so much so that he could never recall the experience the next morning.

At this particular moment in time, Norman can be found walking towards the black room, where he sits on the pillow and stares at the wall until sundown. Then, Norman Fitzgerald-Walker goes to work. This evening he is the fourth of the writers, Bradley Shoots, a small town poet with a fascination for natural disasters. His characters are often put through the perilous events of Thunder storms that catch forests ablaze and Hurricanes that rip silos and animal pens apart.

After a long night of writing a certain poem about a young woman who was caught in a storm, which had broken electric lines and caused the water surrounding her to become electrically charged, he went to sleep in his bedroom with his lone mattress. He went to sleep that night, blankets tucked tightly around him, unaware that something out of the ordinary was about to occur, something peculiar, even for Norman Fitzgerald-Walker, the most peculiar type of person.

The next morning, Norman put on a new pair of boxer shorts and a clean Hawaiian shirt and walked down to the kitchen. As is his usual routine, he took out coffee beans and grinded them to a precise consistency. Then he made his Mexican coffee, while debating whether he really felt like eating a double fudge cooking this morning. He hadn’t had one since this time yesterday, but it was as if he could taste the chocolate cream filling on the roof of his mouth as much as he would taste it, were it actually there. Not wanting to break from his sense of normalcy, he took a cookie out of the bag and popped it in his mouth, the cookie not quite satisfying him as it did every other day of his eccentric life. He then, went to sit at the kitchen table, where he would routinely sit and stare at the street outside, sipping from his strong, Mexican coffee. As he drew near the table, he realized that the chair that usually sat at a precise fourty-five degree angle from the kitchen counter was nowhere to be seen. His brow furrowed and his arms began to itch. Not having any other chair in the house, Norman stood at the fourty-five degree angle, in the place of the missing chair, and watched the wind scatter the leaves across the pavement of his driveway.

Once his coffee was finished, he washed his mug and put it back in the cabinet with all the others, so that tomorrow, he could repeat the process. Seemingly back to his regular manner, Norman unlocked his front door and went out to visit his chess game. He sat and analyzed the pieces for his next move, but soon discovered that not only had no piece been moved by his opponent, but also that he was only a turn away from calling check. He tapped his left foot and wrapped his right foot around the leg of the chair. Stunned, Norman jumped up from his only kitchen chair, which had somehow moved to the front patio overnight.

He moved the chair back into the kitchen and then returned to his usual standing position in front of the chess board, debating how the chair could have moved without his knowing, and also, how he had gotten to this point in a chess game wherein he could actually win. He had accepted the fact that the mysterious player had always taken the game before, but the idea that he was going to win the game for the first time ever baffled him. He pondered the board some more while raising his coffee mug to his lips. As he sipped from the mug he was shocked to discover that the coffee was cold and stale, as if it had sat overnight. He then recalled that he had already finished his coffee and returned it to its nesting place in the cabinet. Confused, Norman wiped away the double fudge cookie crumbs and placed his mug back on the chess table, yawning as if he had barely slept at all the previous night in the process

10: Can You Keep a Secret?

Can You Keep a Secret?

This was the moment I had been waiting for. It had been almost 4 months since I last saw Nolan and he was finally coming home for Christmas. I sat on the porch swing in front of his house with Mackenzie and we were talking about the latest school gossip when I heard the car round the corner. He had one of those really old, outdated cars that you could hear from miles away. The muffler practically dragged on the ground. I remember when he first bought it a year and a half ago; he was so proud because he bought it with his own money. He would drive Mackenzie and I everywhere. He loved being in the car and I loved how his face lit up every time he sat down in the driver’s seat. He never played music, but I never minded. We would just listen to the sounds of the road and when it was warm enough to have the windows down, the wind. Mackenzie always complained and tried to turn on the radio but she could never reach it from the back seat without his hand swatting hers away. His front seat was always filled with various items that he would need for the day; a video camera, an old tee that said staff, the newspaper, the occasional cheeseburger, and various things that he wouldn’t; a fire truck red bucket filled with paint brushes and acrylic paint bottles, and of course, his collection of vintage pilot scarves. It was a strange collection but it was part of what made Nolan, Nolan.

Mackenzie and I stood up from the swing and walked to the curb of the road. We could see the silhouette of his car in the distance but it was too dark to make out specific details even though it was only 6:30 at night. As it drove closer I could vaguely make out another person in the car. It looked like they were in the front passenger seat, but that couldn’t be true, no one ever sat in the front passenger seat, it just didn’t happen.

“Is someone sitting in the front passenger seat?” asked Mackenzie, turning her head slightly towards me but never taking her eyes off the car. Then we heard it, the sound of music. It was awful and terrifying and one of my favourite songs. Nolan was listening to music with someone sitting in his front passenger seat! Nolan pulled his car into the driveway a minute later and shut off the car. There was a sudden silence as they took off their seat belts and grabbed some bags from the seats behind them. Nolan opened his door and stepped out. He smiled. Oh god, I loved his smile, the way he showed just the right amount of teeth and his dimples suddenly appeared as if from thin air. He laughed and hugged Mackenzie tightly. Her face reflected the fact that she was undeniably confused, her one eyebrow raised ever so slightly and her gaze still not lifting from the car and the figure that refused to emerge from behind it. Pulling away from her, he turned his attention to me and then gave me a great big hug, a lifting my feet off the ground kind of hug, just like he always did. He was only three years older but he towered over my tiny five foot three body. I could feel my face hinting towards a smile at the familiar scent of Irish body wash but then caught myself and returned back to normal.

“Kenz, Celeste! How have you two been? Are you on winter break already?” Nolan said, turning his attention from me back to Mackenzie. Mackenzie shrugged and smiled. She began to say what I hoped would be that school sucked and we still had a few days left but knew was that we were still learning attentively every day. Before she could express her contentment she was interrupted by Nolan; since when did he ever interrupt people? “Oh, I have someone I want you to meet. This is my girlfriend Simone, we go to school together and she’s on my floor at my residence.” Simone came out from the back of the car with some luggage and dropped it down by Nolan’s converse covered feet before nestling under his arm, as if the spot between his chest and his forearm was reserved specifically for her.

“Simone, this is my sister Mackenzie.” Simone smiled, said hello and held out her hand. Mackenzie smiled back and shook her hand firmly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Nolan doesn’t usually bring girls home.” Mackenzie said as Nolan shot her a look. It was true. Nolan had had the rare fling with a girl that he met at a bar or downtown but he never actually dated them and he definitely never brought her home to meet the family. Nolan looked a little embarrassed but not overly worried. Simone laughed and turned her attention towards me.

“Oh, and this here is Celeste. She is practically my little sister; I’ve known her for most of my life because she lives down the street.” Nolan said as he stuck his arm, the one not around his new girlfriend, out to rustle my hair. I tried to smile. She stuck her hand out again and my first impulse was to whack it away and tell her to get lost but I didn’t do that. I glanced down at her hand, she had long fingers with long fingernails; her hands were opposite to mine. I had stubby fingers with nails that would never grow no matter how many creams and polishes I used. I lifted my hand slowly and just as our hands were about to make contact, Nolan and Mackenzie’s parents came outside and gave Nolan the biggest hug, giving me an excuse to drop my hand before her perfect hands had the chance to touch mine. They were all laughing, as if it were a happy occasion that Nolan had brought some girl home to meet the family. Simone pulled back her hand, as I took a breath of relief, and directed it towards Nolan’s father as she was introduced by Nolan. As soon as the introductions were done, Nolan’s mother played the typical loving mother card and pointed them towards the house because it was winter out and so the inside was warmer, that part was obvious without her mentioning it. I wanted Simone to stay out here in the cold; I didn’t want her to see the house he grew up in. This house filled with his childhood, filled with his c-d collection and his art work, which hung in every room.

We all followed his parents inside and took off our boots. The entire time I tried my hardest not to glance over at Simone or Nolan and to appear happy but I could swear that I felt him looking at me. I didn’t like this new Nolan; it was like in the last few months he had changed. He looked the same and acted the same but underneath it all, he was different. When most people talk about change the idea of a caterpillar molting into a butterfly presents itself, but this was different. Nolan was a butterfly who had somehow reverted back to a caterpillar after skipping the step so long ago. The old Nolan would have never had a girlfriend, would have never brought her home, would have never let her sit in the front seat of his car and would have never ever listened to music while he was driving. Nolan loved music but he didn’t like to mix it with driving because he gets so into both, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate and there’s no telling what would happen if he were to mix them.

“So Simone was planning on taking the bus home but I offered to drive her, and let her see where I grew up.” Nolan said piling his luggage on the staircase.

“Whereabouts do you live Simone?” Nolan and Mackenzie’s father, Mr. Alden asked.

“Oh, just an hour or two south of here in Mississauga. I hope I’m not being too intrusive, especially around dinner time.”

“Oh, no no! We were waiting for Nolan anyway so food won’t be ready for another fifteen minutes. You are welcome to stay and eat, I’m sure that your parents won’t expect you home for a little while anyways.” Mrs. Alden told Simone as she put away Nolan’s, Mackenzie’s and my coat in the cupboard. After a few minutes and constant invitations from Mrs. Alden, Simone had agreed to stay for dinner and then Nolan would drive her home afterwards. Mackenzie and I put Nolan’s luggage upstairs as Nolan went into full tour guide mode showing Simone around the house. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Nolan had a girlfriend. I remembered talking to him on the phone over the past months about his college and his program but he never mentioned that he had a girlfriend. I couldn’t understand how he could just leave something like that out, ‘Oh yeah I’m seeing someone’, is that too much to ask for? We usually told each other everything; well, most things anyways. Nolan hadn’t had a girlfriend since grade 9 when he dated Rebekah Hollingshead for a week and a half, and that one barely counted. He had mentioned parties and school work and described a bunch of the people he went to school with but never once did he mention anyone named Simone, I don’t even think he mentioned any girls at all. It’s so strange that one person that you’ve known for so long can just change, and keep secrets from you guilt free.

Dinner was fine. Mr. Alden made his special scalloped potatoes that Nolan loved and Mrs. Alden made some roast beef and some vegetable stir-fry. Simone seemed nice, she was a little quiet but that’s probably because the Alden’s were a little intimidating. Mr. Alden was quiet and stern looking while Mrs. Alden looked youthful and innocent, Mackenzie on the other hand was a very loud and opinionated person, she looked like her parents but personality wise, she came from another planet completely. Except for the odd comment about whatever Mackenzie was talking about I stayed quiet most of dinner. After, Nolan left to drive Simone back to Mississauga. Mackenzie and I went downstairs and watched She’s The Man, one of our favourite movies.

At the end of the movie we went upstairs to brush our teeth because we were getting tired and I realized that I had forgotten my toothbrush and toothpaste at my house. I told Mackenzie that I’d be back in a minute and then I walked over to my house in my jacket, boots and pajamas. It only took me five minutes to get to my house so I brushed my teeth and walked back a bit slower. I had made this same walk so many times but tonight it felt different, something about the air surrounding me was just so suffocating. I turned into the park across the street from the Alden’s house and sat on the swings, my back facing their house. I swung back and forth trying to catch my breath for a minute before I could hear Nolan’s car pulling into the driveway. I checked my watch and found that it was just after ten. I swung a bit slower and since it was early winter I let my bare feet dangle in the sand, getting it stuck between my toes. The cold stung but I didn’t mind all that much. All I kept thinking about was Nolan’s face when he hugged me that last day in August, right before he got in his car and drove away to college. It was the last time I had seen Nolan, the real Nolan. The Nolan that used to pick me up from my volleyball practices on his way home from his art class, the Nolan that had taught an art class for younger kids after class at our old elementary school. He was in school for art now but he didn’t talk about his art in detail much anymore. On occasion he would mention that he had a project due and I would ask about it but he wouldn’t talk about the pieces he created like he used to.

“Aren’t you a little old for the swings?” I turned to find Nolan sitting in the swing beside me with only a thin flannel sweater and a flimsy pair of jeans to protect him from the cold. He was only swinging gently but I felt like he had been watching me for a while.

“Yeah I guess so, they relax me though.” I didn’t mean to say it, it just kind of came out, but it didn’t matter because the new Nolan probably wouldn’t care about me.

“You stressed out or something? What’s so bad that you need to de-stress, Celeste?” I turned my head to look at him. He looked genuinely concerned. I guessed some of the old Nolan was still around. Then he chuckled, a deep throaty chuckle. “Of course you’re not stressed; you are too young to know what stress is.” I stared at him. Since when was he so much more mature than me? That was definitely not the Nolan I knew. What was next? Was he going to pull out all that, ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’ crap? I hated this new Nolan for being so insensitive and for looking down on me as if I was a little baby, and for introducing me as ‘practically his sister’. We weren’t related and I had only become close with him five years ago, so I was not practically his sister, what I was, was his sister’s best friend and apparently nothing to him. I got up from the swings and slid on my shoes. I walked quickly through the slightly frozen grass. I could hear him following behind me and calling my name. I wished there was heaps of snow to slow him down. He grabbed my shoulder and turned me around. “Celeste, what’s wrong? I’m sorry if I said something that bothered you.” Nolan said to me gently. I wished he would stop saying my name. I only liked the way the old Nolan said my name, whenever this new Nolan said my name I wanted to slap him and run as far away as possible.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” I pulled away from him and walked faster towards his house. It began to snow for the first time that winter as I crossed the street, trying to keep myself together. I couldn’t let him see me because there were ice cold tears stinging my tear ducts and solidifying as they trailed down my cheeks. I couldn’t walk into his house and let Mackenzie see me either. I wanted to go back home and be alone, but Nolan was blocking my path. My only option was to suck it up and act like it never happened. I stepped in the house and slid off my boots and jacket. As I hung up my jacket, Nolan stepped inside. We just stood there, staring and not saying anything for a minute until I heard Mackenzie from upstairs.

“Hey Celeste, is that you? I have to show you something.” I called back to her that I was coming but didn’t move. Nolan took off his boots and went into the basement. As soon as he left I took a deep breath, collected myself and climbed the stairs and went into Mackenzie’s room. I threw my toothbrush and toothpaste inside my overnight bag and sat down beside her on the bed. She looked away from the laptop that was between her knees and looked over at me.

“You look horrible! What happened?” I looked over at Mackenzie, she looked too genuinely concerned at that moment, she and Nolan had that same look, but what was I supposed to say? That her brother had become unbearable to be around? That ever since he went to college he had become more reserved, sharing less and less with me every time we spoke. He didn’t even send me photos of his sculptures anymore. I loved his sculptures more than anything; I even had one of his chubby birds in my backyard. He used to show me every single one, first when they were almost done and then once they were completely done. I had only seen one or two since he went off to school and I know for a fact that he has done at least five. One time I sat as he drew out a portrait of me. It was two or three years ago and it was his first try at drawing from real life but it wasn’t too bad, even though he had always struggled with drawing. Of course it was two years ago when I was a little bit bigger but it had looked like me. I thought that now, Nolan had given up on drawing altogether which was disappointing because he had started to get good. As I was thinking this, Mackenzie was still waiting for an answer and since I could definitely not tell her about the recent events, I did what I always did when Nolan was the topic, I lied.

“Well it started snowing outside pretty hard and so when it all started hitting my face, I just got really cold and teary eyed.” Mackenzie immediately jumped up and ran to the window. I don’t even think she had heard anything I said after “it started snowing”. She was always like this, as long as I started with something that would get her excited, like a sign that the year is ending and we are getting closer to becoming adults, then I could probably say anything and she wouldn’t hear it. Once I tested this theory by saying to her “I brought my mom’s new Avon book to look at but my monkey ate half the pages when we tried to put him in the Jacuzzi.” We didn’t have a Jacuzzi, but she didn’t hear it anyways because make-up made her look older. She squashed her face against the icy window and you could see the condensation that her hands and breath were making on the glass. After a few minutes she got tired of the window and went back to the computer. Of course, she had forgotten what she had wanted to show me, saying that “if it were really important, then I’ll remember”. Obviously, it wasn’t important because she never remembered.

A few days of ignoring Nolan and handing in my final assignments later, the last bell rang and everyone gathered by their lockers to retrieve their coats and run into the snow outside. Mackenzie and I were heading towards the bus, talking about plans for the winter break. Now that it was finally here the snow seemed whiter outside as it fell slowly from the sky. First thing I wanted to do was make a snowman with my little sister, it was the first year that she could talk and walk and so I looked forward to her input on snowman building. Mackenzie and I were about to get in the bus when we heard a honk from behind us. It was Nolan in his car.

“Do you guys want a ride? Oh, and Pizza, my treat”. Mackenzie looked at me, obviously excited and obviously oblivious to the look on my face that screamed ‘no way am I getting in the car with him!’ But instead of reading this facial cue, she pulled the sleeve of my pea coat and pulled me into the backseat with her. Thankfully there was once again a mess of things in the front seat and the sound of silence just the way I remembered it. Slowly, Nolan made his way out of the parking lot and then laughed, “This school feels so different now, it is so weird”. Mackenzie looked at me and I whispered in her ear.

“I think he’s gone bonkers.” We both giggled and he looked at us in his rearview mirror.

“Laugh all you want, you’ll understand it when you’re older.” I almost snapped. First of all, I am a genius for knowing he would say that, but beside that, since when was he so much better than us. Sure, he was away at College in Toronto, but I don’t care, that does not give him the right to belittle us, even if we are smaller and younger. Mackenzie maybe, because it’s his sister, but me? Definitely not!

When the car stopped moving at a red light, as he was about to make a right turn I stepped out, I couldn’t take being around him anymore. I could feel them both looking at me but I didn’t look back. I just kept walking in the opposite direction until I found a small café that I could walk in for a break. I had seen it before but it had been in construction. I walked in and found a booth by a small bookcase filled with books I had never heard of before. I picked one up and inspected it, it looked a little old but I flipped to a page and started reading. A few words into the second paragraph I noticed that someone was putting a menu down in front of me. I just pretended to keep reading. I waited for him to leave before I opened up the menu and decided on a hot chocolate and a few shortbread cookies. The menu was pretty interesting; I had never been to a restaurant style café before.

“Hi, my name is Rupert and I’ll be your server. What can I get you today?” Rupert looked to be about my age with a sincere smile, big blue eyes and soft brown hair. He had a small scar on one side of his jaw and another on the same side of his face but on his eyebrow. I told him my order and he wrote it down hastily and nodded at me. Then his smiled faded and he really looked at me.

“Hey, do I know you from somewhere? You look so familiar.” I just looked at him for a second, trying to take in all his features and remember them. He did look sort of familiar but I couldn’t be sure.

“I don’t think so, sorry.” He looked disappointed but apologized and moved on.

After my hot chocolate and cookies I grabbed a bus home and built a snowman with my little sister Izzie. She was very bossy about how exactly the snowman would look and she spent about 20 minutes inside just looking for the perfect broom, perfect carrot, perfect hat and perfect scarf to put the finishing touches on our snowman. Izzie had named him Alfonso the snowyman. When we had finished Alfonso we were called in for some hot chocolate. It was good hot chocolate but as I drank it I could not get the café out of my head, their hot chocolate had been ten times better than my mom’s. I decided that I would go again tomorrow maybe for lunch and see if I could order a bagel or something. Mackenzie called and I tried to avoid all her questions.

After a few minutes she hung up and I went back out to the swings to relax myself. I sat on the swing set and tried to pump my legs but there was a thin layer of ice on the chains that was proving difficult to break. So I just swung numbly back and forth, barely moving at all. I was about to get off the swings and go home when I saw Nolan walking up the path. He looked just normal, not like Nolan but not unlike Nolan either. I didn’t know which Nolan I would get. I didn’t move.

“Look,” he said to me, nervously moving his hands within his pockets, “I’m really sorry for how I’ve been lately; I guess I just forget how sensitive you are.” He looked down at me, even though he was a full two feet away. “I feel really bad about it and I just hope you can forgive me”.

“Okay, you’re forgiven”. I said to him. Suddenly, he didn’t seem all that important to me, the attraction was gone. “I’ll talk to you later, Nolan”.

“Wait, that’s it? I’m just forgiven? That hardly seems like you.” Nolan took a slight step towards me, not quite big enough to make the space between us noticeably smaller, but enough that I felt claustrophobic.

“Well, I’ve changed quite a bit since you’ve been gone, even if now is the first time you’ve seen it. I’m older and things that I used to love don’t seem all that special to me.” I realized this was true, I did care for Nolan because after all, he was practically my brother, but I didn’t care for him like I used to and he needed to know it. I smiled and patted his shoulder. Finally, I was the one who walked away and felt good about it. I fell asleep easily that night and had the most peaceful sleep I’d had in a long time.

I woke up feeling refreshed and ready for anything. I helped my mom feed Izzie breakfast and then walked over to Mackenzie’s. When I knocked on the door, Nolan answered.

“Hey, she’s just finishing up in the shower but you can watch TV with me until she’s done.” I nodded my agreement and followed him into the family room. We sat and talked like normal as the TV played in front of us. It wasn’t until half an hour later that Mackenzie came down stairs and asked me if I wanted to start our Christmas shopping. We went to the little plaza with the café in it and we got some jewelry for our moms and for some of our friends. By the time it was about 12:30 she said that she had to get going to her hockey practice and asked if I wanted Nolan to drive me home. I told her that I had somewhere to be and waved her off.

I walked into the café and sat down in the same spot as the day before. A girl came by and gave me a menu and sure enough, I could get a bagel. So I ordered a bagel, some hot chocolate and a sugar cookie. I started reading a book as I waited for my food to arrive until I noticed someone standing beside me.

“Back again are we?” It was Rupert, my server from the day before. He was smiling sincerely.

“Well I really enjoyed myself yesterday so I thought I’d come back and see what else was on the menu.”

“So you’re gonna be a regular, I guess”

I giggled slightly, feeling myself blush a little. “I guess so, unless I get horrible service like yesterday”. He laughed and shook his head. He was about to walk away when I felt the sudden urge to stop him. “Hey Rupert. I was just wondering when your break was.” His face lit up.

He pointed over his shoulder to an elderly couple in a booth across the room. “I actually just have to give them their change and then I’m going on lunch.” He looked a little nervous now as he pushed his hands into his pockets and tilted his head slightly down. “And uh, I was just wondering if you wanted to keep me company during my break, I mean if you don’t mind it.” We both smiled and I nodded.

“Of course I don’t mind”. Rupert went back into the kitchen and a minute later he came back carrying my food and some other food which I assumed was for him. He sat down and passed me my plate. We talked for a minute about general stuff before I noticed a girl at a booth across the room had spilt her drink. She was sitting with one of the books from the bookshelf. The puddle grew quickly in size as she struggled to get the napkins out of the dispenser. Oddly enough, the puddle stopped just before it touched the book, as if it had some sort of protective spell over it and so it couldn’t be touched, couldn’t be destroyed. “Do you guys lose a lot of books to spills?”

“What?” he looked at me nervously until I nodded my head in the direction of the girl. He looked over and then shook his head. “It’s really weird that we haven’t but I guess the books are just lucky.” I smiled. I like the idea of being lucky, of never having to worry because you knew that things would just go your way. I’ve never had the luxury of being lucky.

“So, can you keep a secret?” Rupert said, catching me a bit off guard.

“Pretty sure I can.” He smiled shyly and then let his eyes wander over the books on the shelf.

“I remembered where I know you from.” I tilted my head a bit and looked at him, he still looked familiar, but I honestly couldn’t put my finger on it. “You went to Camp Tinaway when you were younger right?” I nodded. “Well, do you remember that little boy who tripped and sprained his ankle and had broken his glasses?” Instantly I remembered him completely. He had tripped over a root from one of the big trees during a game of capture the flag and twisted his ankle. When he had fallen his glasses had shattered and had cut the left side of his face open in a few spots, the biggest of cuts being on his jaw and on his eyebrow.

“That was you?” He looked a little embarrassed but nodded anyways before he took a sip of his tea and resumed fiddling with the cover of a book.

“My ankle healed after a few months but unfortunately my face was never the same”, he said pointing to the scar on his eyebrow.

“I’m so sorry, that must have been horrible.” He was still blushing, the redness in his face made his eyes seem ten times bluer in comparison. He took another sip of his tea and pushed a croissant towards the middle of his plate. I realized that I was fiddling with my napkin and tossed it onto my mostly empty plate.

“Nah, it wasn’t so bad. It would have been worse if you hadn’t found me right away, and besides, thanks to that little incident, my mom finally let me wear contacts.”

I smiled tentatively as I remembered his dorky glasses with the thick rims. “But why is that a secret?” He began to laugh. It was a laid back kind of laugh, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Some people think it’s a war wound and they would be let down if they discovered that I was just a clumsy child, back when I was in that awkward growing stage. You know, like how a caterpillar has to malt?” I smiled but he suddenly looked embarrassed. “Sorry that was kind of lame.”

“No, I know what you mean.” We sat and talked there for a while, first just about camp and then we branched off into other things. As it turned out he was my age and had just moved into town. He would be starting at my school after the winter break at the beginning of the new semester. He was in my homeroom and my lunch period too. After a while I glanced at my watch and realized that it had been over an hour that we had been talking.

“I hate to be the one to say this but I thought lunch breaks were only an hour long.” He looked down at his watch and started stacking our empty cups and plates.

“They won’t mind if I am a bit late, my mom owns this place anyways.” I think I must have looked surprised because he then added, “I know, cool right? I never pay and I didn’t even have to apply.” I nodded and as he was about to walk away I realized that I hadn’t paid.

“Oh, how much do I owe you?” He turned around, still holding all our plates and glasses effortlessly in one hand like a professional.

“Don’t worry, it’s on the house.” He smiled and walked away and I could feel myself smiling too. As I stood up and walked towards the door he waved goodbye. As it turns out, I did become a regular.

11: I don't remember how to delete chapters

Chapter: 2

Wow, that was creepy >.< I must admit, I didn’t expect that ending :P I really love all the descriptive language you used, it made it really easy to imagine the setting and characters. I’m curious about how Stacy died, after reading this I’m kind of thinking that Charlotte killed her by accident, or maybe it was out of anger… And she sees Daphne as representing herself, so that’s why she blamed her for Stacy’s death at the end. I’m probably completely wrong :P

I was a little confused by the last few lines, I wasn’t sure if it meant the doctor was going to destroy Daphne or kill Charlotte (or both, or something completely different :P)

January 5, 2014 | Genevieve Middleton

Reply
Hey, thanks for reading and reviewing.Ya, it's a creepy one. I wrote it for a contest in my program. Stacy slipped in the pool and Charlotte pulled her out. I doesn't explicitly say it so it makes sense if you were a little confused, but you mostly had it right, especially about Daphne. As for the end,the doctor cut's Daphne's string. Is that hard to get from that? Ie. should I make Charlotte see him actually cut the string?

Thanks again for reviewing, I really appreciate it. :D

January 5, 2014 | Cam H.

Reply
No, I think it's fine the way it is. Now I look back on it, it was obvious that was what he was doing XD

January 5, 2014 | Genevieve Middleton

Reply
Chapter: 2

I read the first chapter, or poem, too, but I can't critique poetry. Never wrote it and hardly ever read it, so I wouldn't waste your time talking about something I know next to nothing about. I feel like it went a little over my head, too.

As for this story, well, I loved it. I always find insane characters very interesting to read about, especially ones with blood on their hands. The descriptions of what Charlotte did to the nurse and Stacy's death were very well done- gritty, dark and bloody, the exact way they should have been.

You did a really good job of writing the crazy character, especially given the circumstances of the ending. I really didn't expect that- I assumed she was just a little banged up, not a flat out schizophrenic. One of the best short stories I've read in a while!

March 24, 2014 | A . Nonymous

Reply

Login to SparkATale.com