* * *

  “So, I went up to Dad’s over Christmas,” Marti started, breathing deeply as if she’d been underwater for a few solid minutes. She and I were sitting in my bedroom after being driven home by one of Mabry’s few taxies. Her shaky hands gripped a fresh cup of coffee, her lips pale and dry. I sat opposite her, like a detective on interrogation. I’d been waiting for this since late last night.

  Marti had refused to tell me anything until we were safe at home. So we’d sat hunching in the old drain pipe until Flip-flops limped back to his jeep and drove off. We heard his heavy tread above us, and I’d felt like Frodo when the Black Riders were hunting him in the Shire. Marti was always good at playing Sam to my Frodo, and she’d kept me cool until we heard his engine fire. Then I lost it and the tears flowed free. After that we wandered around trying to get our bearings.  Those few minutes wondering if he was still somewhere watching us… I’d never been so freaked out in my whole life. Surprisingly, we found that we weren’t really too far from familiar territory. It took a while, but the two of us made it into a cab and home again safely.

I half expected to find a horror-movie-like scene in my house when we snuck in through the back door: you know, parents sprawled on the ground, blood everywhere, my poor kitty mewing helplessly. But all we found was my mother alive as I’d ever seen her (although looking slightly horror-movie-ish, she was so pale).

  “Oh thank God!” She’d smothered me in an angry-grateful hug. “Where did you go? Ellen said you left without a word Marti!” Without turning her back on us Mom had reached for the landline, her fingers dialing Aunt Ellen’s number mechanically. Pressing the ringing hand-held against her ear, she’d continued her lecture. “You two better have a good explanation. Now, Meg, what’s gotten into you? You’ve never done anything like this before. Dad and I have been pretty easy on you this year because of all your extra classes, but I can’t just let everything go. Hey, they’re here.” She had said into the phone. “Yeah, they got back a few minutes ago. Tried to sneak in.” Her eyes darted into mine like needles of parental guilt stabbing me in the heart. I was suddenly reminded of every nice thing my folks had ever done for me. Nothing like a guilt trip.

Aunt Ellen had raced over, towing Marti’s Uncle Ben behind her. He had the radiant look of a grizzly bear who had been woken up only half-way through hibernation season. My dad had come and the four of them had grilled us. I managed to escape without lying, but Marti had ended up telling some real whoppers. She told them that we’d gone out to the DQ and gotten some shakes. We never went to DQ, and I’d been afraid they’d be suspicious but I realized she’d chosen it since nobody we knew worked there, and therefore, no one could be called to contradict our story. She’d explained the mud, and our lateness by saying that we’d run out of gas and had to hitch it to the Shell for a can. I’d had no idea that Marti could lie like that, and it made me just a bit nervous. After our parents had gone up to bed I’d said goodnight to Marti, my eyes making her promise to be back at my door early. I’d fallen asleep in warm fuzzy socks, thinking how glorious it was to be in one’s own bed after an hour of sitting in a mucky drain pipe.

And here she was. “So I went up to Dad’s over Christmas,” She said nervously. “And that’s when things started.”

50,000 Words!!!!

Blog is over 50k!!! Whooo hooo!!! :D

Imagination and Me

We used to be friends, Imagination and me.

I would run to her often, my child’s eyes starry and full of unspoken dreams, tales that Imagination and me would spin by the day. She was a companion like no other, and I was her heroine, her star, her lead for every role. We visited castles, Imagination and me. We soared with eagles and nested with fawns. We sailed the seas and survived Titanic, wrecked on an island, discovered countless treasures. We made it to Mars, Imagination and me, but it was too barren, for even Imagination could not change everything. The Moon was more to my liking. Often we visited ancient lands and forsaken civilizations. Even once or twice a courtroom with murderers yet to be uncovered.

  Imagination was a friend like no other.

But the years passed, and little lives grew busier. And Imagination was often left to her own amusement, trapped in the back of my brain as I filled it with other things. I still played with her, but not as often, for “When I grow up” was drawing nearer, and adventures seemed to find me without Imagination’s help. Every now and then I would call for her, and we’d travel afar again, visiting some of the old places and a few new.

  As the page turned, I found new uses for Imagination, closer to home. She was clever, Imagination, and she could twist even my most ordinary friends to fit any shell I wished upon them. From ravenous villains to handsome eyed princes or magnificent queens, we played with personalities, Imagination and me. A certain young friend became my costar, and we sailed through life together into the years of “Someday.” And I thanked God for Imagination, as life would have been too dull for good cheer without her. We smiled, Imagination and me, but I began to notice that her tales did not satisfy as they once had.

  Then times came when even Imagination could not ease the comfort of some pains. But I was grateful for her still. There were days when Imagination was my only friend.

  But more years waned and I nearly forgot about Imagination all together. I’d made a new friend: Reality.

Reality took my hand and pulled me into an exciting new world, and Imagination was forgotten, left to her own devices once again. But she was older now, like me, and she was waiting: waiting patiently for the day when I would remember her again, the day Reality would be found wanting.

  That day came suddenly and without warning. Reality betrayed me. Through my tears I turned to Imagination, but she was ready for that, ready with revenge.

  After tasting the flavorful thrills of sweet Reality, Imagination tortured me. She spun tales I did not want to hear, weaved nightmares in place of dreams, and everywhere I turned she was ready with another knife to throw.

  We used to be friends, Imagination and me. But those days seem gone, for the places we once visited have been lost, and remnants of Reality are all we find together. Each day she whispers in my ear, reminding me of the days I left her forgotten.

Help Me Say Goodbye

Heart sings echoes of the past

Evenly heavenly silently falling 

Light and dark, stars and night fall and shoot and dip and dive 

Prayers are said in whispers soft 

My eyes fill with tears of love 

Ever steadfast, ever dark and sweetly calling 

Somewhere my dreams hide in shadows deep

And each night calls out to me

Yes and no and no and yes: every answer, every plea

God alive, God great and small 

Oval sun of radiant bliss

Onyx storm withering, dark

Death powerless 

Beneath the weight of mighty righteousness 

Your beautiful soul once lost now found 

Ever after I'll hope, ever after abounding I'll fly 

Help me say goodbye

Through the Storm

Singing to the skies above

My eyes grow light

Bright in the reflection of Your love

I feel the heat of the sun and the stars

Bursting from within me

In the midst of a dark world Your face

Free of fear

Full of faith

It will guide me through the storm ❥

a poem for the Dreamers

Colors of the rainbow shine
Shine like ribbons across the sky
Sky dark and bright and gray and blue and white
White clouds against a sea blue sunset lake
Lake of golden pools of light
Light so bright my heart beats with wings
Wings of Sparrows
Wings of Eagles
Wings of Angels singing angel songs

Songs of the stars
Stars gleam bright as day fades away
Away I run before the sun can slip
Slipping sun beneath that western line
Lines and ripples in a clear cold pool
Pool of dimly mirrored reflection
Reflection singing dreaming of a world of reality
But I dream of a world of anything is possible
Tonight

Joyful Flight on a Cloudy Day

I fly across the sky
And I don't know all the reasons why
But I'll trust in love
And my faith will give me wings

I can't always understand
And though my tears will fall again and again
I know a clear day will come
And I'll always be free

Through the fog of grey dark life
I'll find the joy You've given me
And I'll sing a sweet love song until that day
When I'll up and fly away
Again

Heyyyyy

Heyyyyy my blog is dying! NOOOOOO! I WILL SAVE IT!

Forgive me... :(

Sooooo... I hate to do this, but writing is going to have to suffer yet again today. Other homework calls... and I must answer. :( Until tomorrow blog!

2.18.13.

K. So. It’s February 18, 2013. There is absolutely nothing special about this date to you probably. But to me, it’s the date I’ve been hearing about all winter.

You see, my dad has this theory: after February 18^th, the darkness begins to lessen and living in the Pacific Northwest is a little more bearable.

So congratulations everybody! We made it!  Now, if you’ll excuse me, Sam is making his “Good in this world worth fighting for…” speech and I’d much rather be watching that than writing this. So, SO LONG!

 

There may come a day when I will actually write something on my blog and not procrastinate my homework watching LOTR. BUT IT IS NOT THIS DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

* * *

“We’re calling the police!” I whipped out my phone as soon as the night grew quiet. The drain pipe was dark and damp, and still didn’t offer much protection.

  “No!” Marti clutched at my wrist and pulled my phone away.

  “What the freaking heck do you mean no?” I pulled it back. 9 was as far as I got before she clawed it away from me again. “Marti, are you crazy? We have to call the cops. We’re lucky to be alive!”

  “Please Meg, don’t! No one can know about this! I’m begging you, please.” She looked into my eyes in the same way she had that night at the cabin.

 

Never ok… The words she’d spoken then came back to me now. This all had to do with something. It all started somewhere. What tied it all together?

  “I won’t call on one condition.” She looked down, avoiding my gaze.

  “That I tell you everything?”

  “Yes. Marti…” I trailed off, my voice softening. “Please. You need to tell someone. And since I’m the only other sucker in this mess with you, I guess you’re stuck with me.” I whispered, sitting down in the muck. Marti smiled and plopped down next to me.

  “Ok, I guess you’ll do.” She laughed reluctantly.

* * *

I ran as hard as I could across the black rocks, dodging pipes and bulldozers. There were loose wires everywhere. Marti’s long hair streamed out behind her as she sent up a cloud of pebbles against my shins.

The crack of gunfire al behind me almost sent me flying into the ground, but I managed to keep my feet and zig-zag my way out of range. Marti reached back and caught my free hand. She pulled me faster, faster, faster than my own poor legs could have ever carried me on their own power. The gun cracked out again.

My mind was racing faster than my feet.

  How, how? I don’t believe it. It’s not real. It’s not. It can’t be. This stuff doesn’t happen to me. This happens in movies to James Bond and Jason Bourne but not to Marti and me! It’s not real. I’m dreaming. This is the result of too much chocolate and too many nights of watching Psych on Netflix. That’s it. I’m Shawn---no, I’m Gus. Marti’s Shawn. She’s the crazy one who never seems worried and I’m the realistic one who takes all the crap and will probably die of a heart attack at age forty. That’s it. Just a silly Psych dream. Holy crap we’re actually going to get shot and killed!

 That last thought was the result of another loud gun shot from behind me. The bullet came so close that I could feel the heat of it against my ear. Marti zagged the opposite direction, yanking my arm with her. The rest of me took it’s time and my socket nearly tore in two.

In my hand I clutched the pair of dirty, rubber flip-flops. Somehow, I don’t know exactly how even to this day, I’d snatched them off his feet when---well, let me back up.

Marti, with no warning whatsoever (Shawn-like), suddenly bailed out of the Jeep as soon as we made it to Main street. The drugs were wearing off more and more and we were both functioning almost normally, but that jump was still pure, terrifying agony, let me tell you. Hitting the pavement at twenty-five miles per hour may sound pretty tame, but I’d like to see your face after you give it a try. Needless to say, mine was priceless. Marti stuck her landing and started running almost instantly, however my parents never wanted to pay for gymnastics, so I landed like a log, rolled a few feet and stopped. I was a big slug, passed out on the ground.

I woke up to hear Flip-flops’ message to Marti:

  “Come out now or I put a bullet in Blondie’s head before you can say ‘Pretty-please don’t shoot.” His feet were in front of my face, and for some crazy reason I just reached out and pulled those dumb flip-flops out from under him. The gun blew, but up at the sky cuz he was lying on his back by that time. I took off running, still starry-eyed and nauseous. And I didn’t stop. Marti ended up in front of me suddenly, and she had the common sense to run over rocks. Barefoot feet don’t chase fast over any terrain, but especially not over the rocks and pipes and spare nails one finds in a construction zone. That’s where we headed. And by some miracle, it worked.

And we lived to see another day. Even if we ended up sitting in a drain pipe for a few hours before that day dawned.

* * *

  “What are thinking?” Plaid shirt guy was saying to flip-flops dude. “Why’d you bring them here? It’s not my fault you’re paying for this now! Don’t bring the cops to my place looking for you and your problems.” They were both about mid to late thirties and looking as if life hadn’t been real kind to them. Both of them had scruffy faces and tattooed arms. I liked Plaid shirt guy’s looks better than our apparent abductor’s. He had the face of one who regretted a lot, and those kinds of people are usually nicer to have around than Flip-flops over there. He looked as if he regretted nothing but maybe the fact that Marti and I were alive. At least, we were alive for now. I swallowed, the back of my tank top sticking to my spine. It was hot in the garage. The two men weren’t whispering anymore and Plaid shirt guy was starting to foam at the mouth. “Get them out of here.” He shouted, swearing loudly. I winced at the word. The man with the gun looked back at us angrily.

   “Fine. You two,” He jerked his thumb toward the Jeep. “Get in.”

 

I stifled a cry. Marti’s eyes were blazing---could it be with anger? I poked her arm and our eyes met.

Don’t do anything stupid!  My eyes begged.

Marti turned away and struggled to her feet. I did the same, feeling as if my body weighed about two tons. My head throbbed, and swum. I swear the only thing that got me up on my feet and to that Jeep was the jab of that revolver against my back. My pulse was racing through my wrists and when Marti took my hand to help me up I could feel hers doing the same.

Flip-flops turned away again. I took the opportunity to whisper to Marti.

  “Why are we here? Who are these guys?”

  “I don’t know. I—I think they’re here because of some people I contacted while we were up at Dad’s.” She bit her thumbnail.

  “What people?”

  “Prison people. Don’t worry, we’ll get out of this.”

 

How the heck was she so calm?!

  “Marti there’s a flipping gun to our heads!” I hissed. “If you want to get out of this than you better start thinking and fast.”

  “I’m working on it!” She hissed back, her voice gravely.

  “Well you better. I guess I better too.” I replied.

* * *

Muffled sounds. Blinding pain. Darkness.

Where am I?

 I was spinning, whirling through currents of water and fire, sucking turbulence and burning pain. I heard a soft moan that thundered through my ears with the strength of Hercules.

Oh shut up whoever you are. The moan came again, and I realized that it came from my own lips. I opened my eyes and saw stars flashing green and yellow against a wall of black.

 

  “Meg?” A whisper throbbed too close to me.

 

  “Oh stop screaming at me.” I sat up, feeling cold, hard cement against the palm of my hand.

   “Are you ok?”

   “Oh gee, let me think.”

   “I’m sorry, I blacked out before I could warn you.” The stars cleared and I could almost make out Marti’s pretty face, innocent and worried. She was looking like a toddler whose mother is just out of sight. I felt her soft touch on my shoulder. For some reason my confused visual state seemed to make my other senses sharper and I could feel the subtle ridges of her fingerprints as deep as canyons against my hot skin. I could smell grease and gasoline vaguely, and I figured we must have been in some sort of garage. “I’m so sorry Meg. So sorry.” For a minute I swear I heard tears in her voice again. But just like the flip of a coin, that choked tone vanished and sensible, stable, never-say-die Marti returned to me. “We’ll be out of this mess in no time, don’t worry.” She said. “Your folks knew you were coming over to my place right?”

I nodded, still trying to force my eyes into focus.

  “But they don’t know where we are,” Pushing myself up against the wall was the hardest thing I’d ever done. “And neither do we.” I reminded her. There. At last I could see more than blurry shadows. We were in a garage as I’d suspected. A black Jeep was parked there and two men were standing outside it whispering in grim voices. I felt blood rush to my head, fear pushing me to notice tiny details that probably wouldn’t matter. The Jeep’s key was still in the ignition, the garage door control was two feet above my head, the first man was wearing a red plaid shirt and the second had flip-flops on feet covered in dirt. And there was a gun in his hand.

Pointless details. But one of them would save my life later that night, and it wasn’t the one you’d expect to.

* * *

“Don’t do anything. Stay put. I’ll be over in just a minute.”

  “No, no Marti, don’t hang up!” The phone clicked even as I said the words. I reluctantly hung up too, rapping my fingers on my desk. I could feel waves of worry rippling through me all the way from my toes up into my spine and across my scalp. I waited a few minutes and then leapt up, snapped open my door and galloped down the stairs with energy I hadn’t had in years.

  “Does pizza sound good for dinner?” My mom asked from the kitchen as I came down.

  “Sounds great!” I said, walking by.

  “Are you ready to tell us all about your trip?”

  “Um, actually Marti’s coming over. We’ve got some stuff we have to work on before Monday.” I said, feeling guilt twinge in my stomach. It wasn’t really a lie. After all, we did have stuff we needed to get done before Monday; I just doubted we’d be working on that tonight.

  My mom looked surprised and a little hurt. “You saw Marti all week long? Don’t you want to hang out with us tonight? Dad and I were going to watch a new Psych. And I still want to hear about the vacation.”

  “Sure, mom I just need to go talk to Marti real quick ok?” I didn’t wait for an answer. No way it should take this long for Marti to walk forty feet.

 

She should have been here by now. I thought nervously.

Mom looked after me, a confused frown sitting on her face. “What do you have to talk about?” She called, as I pulled on my TOMs and headed out the front door.

  “Just school stuff. Guy drama and whatnot!” I answered back. At least that was the truth. This was certainly drama. Mom opened her mouth to say more, but I swung out the door before she had the chance. “Marti?” I called through the starry night. Not a sound could be heard but the trickle of Mr. and Mrs. Shonebourne’s garden fountain and the low hum of the freeway in the distance. Marti wasn’t on the sidewalk. I started walking faster, then sped to a jog. “Marti?” The night was still secretively silent. I looked down at the ground as I ran, waiting for that one stupid bump in the sidewalk to trip me.

  My eyes caught hold of something shiny on the damp cement. I stopped and went back. It was Marti’s bracelet. Her mom had given it to her on her eighth birthday.

 I picked it up, my mind swirling. Could this week get any worse?

 

Asked. And answered.

I felt a cold cloth slip over my face, a strange smell filling my nose. The calm world of my sleepy neighborhood disappeared into a foggy black realm where the only dreams allowed are nightmares.

* * *

I dialed Marti as fast as I could, hunting up her Facebook page at the same time. I seizure-speed clicked my mouse on her “Friends” list.

  “Hey, M. What’s up? You miss me already?” Marti's voice came through after the first ring.

  I didn’t bother sending some sarcasm back her way. “Ok, Marti, tell me what’s going on now.”

I scrolled through her list, searching for a name. There. David O’Hara.

The real David O’Hara had a profile picture that matched up pretty well with my blurry glasses-free memories from the other night, an info page covered in nerdy details and a friends list of 709. “Some dude hit me up on Facebook pretending to be David O’Hara from the other night.” Forgetting the freakiness of the whole situation I zeroed in on that number. 709? Way too popular for me anyway.

  “What?” Marti actually sounded pretty surprised. “It's not him? Are you sure? It’s probably just Maddie playing a prank.”

  “No it’s not.” I was completely convinced it wasn’t Maddie playing a prank, for several reasons. “Seriously, even if that prepster wasted a thought on me she’s a girl. Girls playing pranks go the whole nine yards. Overly cute profile pic, detailed information, way-too-flirtatious message. You know. Like that one you sent me in tenth grade, pretending to be Daniel. Remember?” Marti laughed.

  “Oh I remember.” She said wickedly. I grimaced, wishing I could forget that massive crush. 

  “Anyway, as I was saying, she’d never do something this lame. I’m sending you the link to this guy’s page. You can see for yourself.” I clicked back to the fake account. Or tried to.

 

Internet Explorer cannot display the webpage.

 

“Marti, it’s gone. He’s gone. Whoever this is…” Suddenly my heart started to beat like the wings of a thousand gulls flapping through a storm. My throat felt tight.

  “What Meg? What were you going to say?” Marti’s voice was breathless and low. “Meg?”

 

Did you and Marti just get home?

 

Yep.

 

“Oh holy crap Marti, he was asking if we were home!” I jumped up, banging my knee against my desk, but too panicky to care. “What if he knows where we live? That’s all he wanted to know. Oh God…” I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that this was nothing but my usual over-reacting. “He left as soon as I told him we were home!”

There was no answer from the other side and I could see Marti in her room, sprawled on her bed, her mind turning handsprings. Marti never said much when she was thinking hard. I’d have to wait a few for her to sort things out, and while she was sorting out, I was flipping out.

  I glanced at my door. It was closed all the way, but some irrational voice told me to lock it. I did.

  “Marti? You there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Should we tell somebody? Should I tell mom and dad?” She didn’t reply again. Still thinking. I was thinking too, but I didn’t have all the details. Whoever this person was, I knew he wasn’t just looking for me. If he was looking for someone, that someone was Marti.

She had the answers. She knew the meaning behind this. I didn’t.

  For reasons even I didn’t know I suddenly dropped my voice to a whisper that was barely a cobweb of sound swinging in the air.

“Marti? What are we going to do?”

* * *

 “Meggy? We’re home!” My mother’s voice called cheerily from the hallway as the rumble and bumble of paper bags and milk cartons sounded from outside. My eyes lingered on that “Friend Request Confirmed” bubble for a moment longer before I jumped up to meet them. My Mom was plunking grocery bags on the kitchen counter but my dad pulled me up into a bear hug and squeezed me so tight I thought I could feel my bones cracking. Ah it was good to be home!

  “How was your vacation, squirt?” Dad asked, setting me back on my feet. Before I could answer Mom plowed through with her interrogation.

  “Did you girls have fun? Did you meet a lot of Marti’s friends who live up there? Oh I bet you went swimming a lot! I hope you wore your floats. How’s Uncle Gerry?” She paused for breath and I gave her a hug.

  “Yes, yes, and alright I think. He was pretty quiet.” I twirled a blonde curl around my finger as my parents started unpacking the store bags. It reminded me of my packs that were still in a heap in the entryway. “I’ll tell you all about it later, right now I’ve got to go unpack!” I started for the stairs, secretly glad to get out of helping sort the cans in the pantry. I breathed deeply on the way up, loving the homey scent. I can only smell it first thing after a trip. After that my nose gets used to the smell again and it seems to disappear.

  My roomed smiled me a welcome. It was clean and fresh, a gift from my mom no doubt, since it had been a disaster when I’d left. Sweet of her, but it meant that I wouldn’t be able to find a thing for a week or two. Parents are always nagging you to clean but whenever my room’s tidy not a darn thing is where it’s supposed to be.

  I sighed and dropped all my bundles on the floor (aka, “unpacking”) and flopped across my bed. I closed my eyes.

And opened them. I knew I should go fill my mom in on everything, but I was too tire to talk.

I closed my eyes once more.

And opened them again. I felt unsettled. That surreal let-down feeling flooded through me, reminding me of how I always feel the day after Christmas.

I’m a teenager though, so naturally I turned back to the internet for my entertainment. A few minutes after getting online, I got a message.

It was from David.

 

  hey

 

Already? He was talking to me already? I couldn’t remember a guy being interested in me even for friendship in forever. I smiled, feeling color rising in my face. This guy actually seemed like he wanted to talk to me. I bit my lip again and typed hesitantly back.

 

  Me: oh hey

 

He responded quickly.

 

David O’Hara: what are you up to?

 

Me: not much, just unpacking

 

David O’Hara:  did you and Marti just get home?

 

Me : yep

 

David O’Hara:  cool. I g2g ttyls

 

Just like that? Dismissed? I couldn’t figure this guy out. Feeling worthless and nerdy again, I flipped to his page to stalk him a bit.

He didn’t have any pictures on his page. Or any information about his hometown.

Or any mutual friends.

Or any friends at all.

 

My stomach dropped.

 

That isn’t David O’Hara.

* * *

“Mom? I’m home,” I walked through my front door lugging my suitcase on one arm, a leftover Subway bag on the other, and balancing my pillow on my head. I waved a quick goodbye to Marti and tumbled all my stuff into a pile in the entry-way.  Marti honked and headed back to her Aunt and Uncle’s house two doors down. I looked around my house with a sigh. So friendly. So familiar. So comfortable.

I smiled.

  “Mommy? Where are you at?” I circled through my house, my eyes searching primarily for any of my apparently absent relatives, but also for something to eat. I was famished. I made it to the kitchen with no success on either front, and I sighed as I saw the heap of unfinished scholarship applications on the table. I’d been meaning to wrap them up and mail them for months, but somehow even though I was a crazy nerd I was eerily freaked out by the idea of college.

  I spotted a note on the counter. Somewhat disappointed, I read it quickly.

 

Welcome home Meggy! If you get here before we get back, let Mocha out. We’re out shopping.

Be home soon!

Love, Mom and Dad

 

Huh. Kind of vague.

 I looked around, thankful that school didn’t start until Monday. Before the load of homework arrived I could relax. Doing what was the question? First things first, let the cat out.

  “Mocha! Here kitty, kitty, kitty. Where’s my sweet Mocha?” Mocha came trotting around the corner, her pale beige fur sleep-flattened. No doubt she’d been napping on my chair again. “Hey pretty kitty. How’s my baby?” I don’t know if most people talk to their cats like that, and I personally don’t do it in public, but when I’m home alone I let myself go. I love my kitty cat. She’s always there to keep me company on late study nights.

I’m kind of an only child. Not really. But my brother hasn’t been in the picture for a few years. He shipped off to Cornell University to study law fourish years ago. We were freshies together and now he’s a senior just like me, but in college.  Anyways, since his first year on his own he hasn’t been home for any occasion besides a few days every Christmas. Not even summers. I guess after a few months away from home he lost his babyish neediness and became some sort of overly independent workaholic. I only hear from him every few months in a text, or if it’s a birthday, death, or anniversary he’ll award me a phone call. He’s always been quiet, so it didn’t take long to get used to.

I shoved Mocha out the door and sat down at my computer, wishing my parents would get home. All of junior year I’d had severe cravings for independence, but now that leaving was a reality, I’d been missing mom and dad in advance.

  My Facebook page was awhirl with notifications and messages since I hadn’t checked it all week. Ooh look! Even a friend request. Those are usually pretty rare for me, especially since my insanely over-protective privacy settings make me almost impossible to find.

 

David O’Hara.

 

Madelene’s brother. I bit my lip, not sure how to answer. He was nice, but.

My mouse hovered infuriatingly over the “Confirm” button, daring me to make an impulsive decision for once in my life. I remembered Marti’s voice saying, “Meg, you never take any risks….”

And she was right. I set my jaw.

 

 And clicked.

* * *

I should have felt better, packing up. It had been a crazy few days and I tried hard to convince myself that once we got home to school and friends and chess club and softball (mine and Marti’s respectively) everything would be ok and back to normal. But I couldn’t convince myself.

No, not even I, the queen of denial, could convince myself.

Never, she’d said.

Never.

Never.

Never ok.

How could someone never be ok? And not just someone. My best friend Marti. The most popular, kind, wonderful person I knew. How? I didn’t understand.

After she’d said it we just sat there. For once I kept my mouth shut and we just sat in the dark living room of the beach house thinking our thoughts with Marti still holding my hands. We were in the same room only a few inches apart and yet so many worlds away from one another.

I didn’t understand. She was right about that.

I probably never would understand Marti; I’d resigned myself to that years ago. But I wished that she would trust me enough to tell me what she was planning.

I thought about these things as I packed, folding all my clean clothes up into neat stacks.

 I organized my suitcase efficiently, arranging all my t-shirts according to color just like I did at home.  Across the room, Marti was desperately trying to shove a huge pile of unfolded clothes, shoes and tangled necklaces into her big purple bag. I sighed and laughed.

“Having trouble?”

  “Oh shut up you,” she laughed back, tossing a slipper at my head. I ducked before it hit me, but barely. There for a minute it felt like old times, and I had hope again.

Maybe everything will be ok.

  “Well are you girls all ready?” Uncle Gerry said from the doorway. He eyes were begging his baby girl to stay forever. Marti looked up at him and smiled.

  “I guess so. I wish I could stay longer!”  She jumped up and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “You’ll be back before you know it.” I said, standing up to go. I gave the room a last look, making sure I had everything. It looked bare and empty like a body without a soul.

 We threw everything in the back of Marti’s Honda exchanging goodbyes and receiving the inevitable driving lecture that all parents bestow on their children. Marti assured him she'd be safe, and although I knew better, I nodded and we climbed aboard. Uncle Gerry waved until we were out of sight, his lonely figure shrinking softly away.

The afternoon sun glistened on the water as we sped along the seaside on the lonely stretch of highway. I remembered the rush of the water gliding over me, and wished I could feel it again, in spite of my fears.

Marti was smiling as she drove, her hair whipping about in the wind, her aviators reflecting the road ahead.

  “Well. Home we go.” She said.

* * *

   The kitchen door somehow managed not to squeak, but the wooden floor in the hallway sent shivers through my nerves. I didn’t dare try to make it past Uncle Gerry’s door. I couldn’t get past without it letting out its tattling war cry. There was a basket of fresh laundry in the living room, so I peeled off my wet clothes and changed there, deciding to crash on the couch for the night, rather than risk waking him. I couldn’t face his questions. Somehow I’d felt responsible for Marti all these years. I had actually fallen into the role of substitute mother quite naturally. Always worrying. Always telling her not to do things that could be dangerous, offering her advice, and taking care of her. It had never been like that while Aunt Grace was alive, but afterward she was gone I’d felt a strong sense of accountability for Marti.
  Strange, because Aunt Grace had never been that kind of a mom. She was like Marti: strong-willed and free-spirited. She loved her daughter and protected her, but she wasn’t like most mothers. Even while Marti was young Aunt Grace let her fly free.

  Anyways, I knew Uncle Gerry would be going out of his mind if he knew what had happened at the beach. You probably think I’m a horrible friend for not telling him. After all, anything could be happening right?

But some part of me just knew to keep silent and wait it out.

Sure enough Marti showed up about half past three. She made it through the kitchen door too but she unwisely chose to risk the floor. Of course its squeak gave her away.

I didn’t sit up. But I whispered to her.

  “Marti.”

My voice was deadly cold. It even scared the crap out of me.

She whirled around and I could see her eyes wide and white with surprise in the glow of moonlight from the window.

 “Meg?” She took a few steps towards the couch, her silhouette, rigid and tense. “What are you doing sleeping out here?”

I bit back the urge to reply with, “I’ll ask the questions here young lady.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that one aimed at me.

Instead I said, “Are you going to tell me where the heck you just were and what kind of stupid excuse you’ve got for hopping in some rich kid’s car? Not to mention,” I added with biting distain riding off my tongue, “leaving me out in the rain with all those wack-jobs.”

  I couldn’t tell for sure in the darkness, but her shadow looked as if it was guiltily hunched over.

  “You don’t understand….”

  “Understand what?” I erupted from my blankets unable to keep my temper down another second. “Understand what, Marti? What more could I do to understand? You don’t ever tell me anything so how am I supposed to understand?” My voice was a furious hiss, dry and bare like dead driftwood floating on a thrashing sea. I flopped back down onto my make-shift bed, dropping my head in my hands.

Marti said nothing. It was at moments like this when I realized how quiet Marti really was.

She knew me better than anybody. She knew if she left me alone for a few minutes, I would remember how much I cared about her. She was right.

  “Are you ok?” I asked in a soft whisper.

Then Marti surprised me by doing something she had never done before. She knelt in front of me and took both my hands in hers and looked deep into my eyes. The lights in hers were stars in a fathomless blue sky.

  “Never.” She whispered back.  

* * *

I don’t know how I made it home that night. My legs managed to mechanically walk back up the long trail to the docks across the now rain-flooded beach and to the parking lot where Marti’s car was still sitting.

  I discovered that she had left her keys in the car, which was unlocked. Stupid, but I was grateful none the less. I opened the door and climbed in, my wet legs sticking to the pleather seats. The engine growled its usual grinding growl and started up. Driving hasn’t always soothed me. When I started out, I was nervous as a mouse in a lion’s den. My dad helped me by stating,

 “Always remember: you’re driving a two ton weapon down the road at high speeds. You could kill someone like that.” He snapped his fingers. Way to calm a kid down, dad. But after a few months I discovered that driving could actually relax me when I was stressed. It helped me think, and sort things out inside my head. It sure helped me that night.

As I drove back to the house the cogs and screws were winding in my head faster than the pouring rain.

  I was beginning to suspect that Marti had planned for this, which lit a fire of anger inside me. Abandoning your best friend at a “beach bash?” Cruel. Annoying. Rude. Dumb. Hurtful. Betrayful. Not a word, but I didn’t care. I was officially riled, and when I’m riled I make up words.

I was more angry than I’d ever been at Marti.

Mostly because deep down I was still worried about her.

 And I had no idea how I was going to face Uncle Gerry. How do you tell a man that you stood tongue-tied on the sidelines while his daughter got in a car with a stranger and drove away?

 

Yeah. Thanks Marti.

Still, she’d done her best to dissuade me from coming. I had to give her that.

But the more I thought about the whole situation the more I began to see all the signs that had been pointing to this all year. She’d been growing farther away: changing subtly.

The way she’d been acting and talking, all her new friends, all her late nights being even later than they’d ever been. I suddenly remembered the mysterious phone calls she’d made during lunch hour at school last month. I remembered her showing up to class in the same outfit two days in a row, as if she hadn’t gone to sleep at all the night before.

I remembered her sudden excuses when she claimed she “forgot” our get-togethers. At the time I had thought it was nothing. But now?

The streetlights gleam menacingly along the highway.  

Something was happening now, but not just now. Something had been happening for a long time. And I hadn’t noticed. I’d been too busy with my petty jealousy, my own little problems, scholarship applications, date-night cancelations, and my silly worries to see that something was not at all right with Marti.

She hadn’t just been growing up.

She’d been planning something.