October

by J. Grace Pennington

  I started on the spoons, rinsing each one under the lukewarm water, watching out the window as the horizon gradually darkened. Far to the right, I could see the Rivers’ cornfields, just a corner of them, the tall stalks catching the breeze and the last hints of sunset.

  “I’d miss you if you went back,” I said.

  “I know.” She put down the last dish.

  “Do you really know?”

  She joined me in watching out the window. “I know you think you would.”

  I turned my gaze to her. “Don’t talk like that. I would.”

  She shrugged.

  “I would. And Jax would, too.”

  “Okay, Em.”

  Once more, that forbidding tone. A sign as bright as her hair or her eyes, warning me to stay back, to not venture further into her.

  I was tired of staying back. “Tobi... I don’t know why you’re convinced we don’t care about you, or wouldn’t care if you were gone, but it’s nonsense. I don’t know why you came here or how long you’re staying, and I don’t know why you felt like you had to quit the choir just when we were having such a wonderful...”

  She whirled on me, flames burning in her crystal eyes. “You just don’t know anything, do you? You don’t know why I even wanted to be in the choir in the first place.”

  The shock at her outburst didn’t keep me from retorting. “Then why don’t you tell me? I’m your friend. I care about you.”

  “Right. You think you do. But you don’t know me.”

  “October Blake!” I cried. “How can you say that? We’ve seen each other several times a week since spring.”

  “So? That means nothing. You know what I want you to know. Because that’s the kind of person I am.”

  “What are you talking about?” I cried. My heart ached until it felt like it would burst, but there was no turning back now. Feelings of confusion that I had stuffed down for months were finally rising to the surface, and they poured out, blindly. “I’ve seen you cry; I’ve seen you overcome your fear of driving; you talked to me about everything.”

  “Everything? Really?” The bitter edge to her voice was foreign to me, and her eyes were the hard eyes of a stranger. “You just went on about how little you know. Want to know something? Fine. I joined the choir because I was specifically trying to do something that scared me. Like the driving. Like pretty much every single thing I’ve done all summer, but sometimes it just doesn’t work. Sometimes I just can’t handle it. Because that’s just how pathetic I am, Emily.”

  Angry tears sprouted from my eyes. “Stop that. Don’t call yourself pathetic. I talk to you almost every day. I know you.”

  “No. You don’t.”

  I opened my mouth but clamped it shut again as Mom appeared in the doorway. “Everything okay in here?”

  I swallowed back my tears and kept my eyes on October, watching as her face transformed to the calm dignity I’d seen the first time I’d noticed her in church so many Sundays ago. “Yes, we were just talking. But I’m actually ready to go... I’m not feeling well.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mom sympathized. I kept my gaze on Tobi, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I’ll let Helen and Tom know.”

  “Thank you so much. And thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Mom vanish behind the doorway again.

  October didn’t look at me. I looked out the window and saw that it was almost dark now.

  “Tobi... I’m sorry if I upset you...”

  “Bye, Emily.”

  She hurried out, leaving me with my heart sore and my mind reeling.

  Only a week ago we had been laughing together, eating ice cream after she finally got her driver’s license. She’d seemed the lightest and most joyous I’d ever seen her be. She’d thrown an M&M at Jax and joined me in making fun of him when it lodged in his one-eighth inch hair.

  Thus I was understandably baffled at how we had gotten from there to here.

  In bed that night, I turned it all over and over in my head, longing to make sense of it all. There was the October who had laughed and teased with us, charmed us with her style and her smile and finding pictures in clouds and in the stars. The October who could sing like an angel and find humanity in a shriveled old man at the post office.

  How was this the same October who could stonewall me at a moment’s notice, be too afraid to drive, and yell at me as she had tonight? How could the shining, confident young woman be the same girl who cried because she thought we’d fade out of her life like clouds, bail on choir without giving it a second chance, and cast longing eyes on the stained glass window of Jesus tending to His one lost lamb?

  *****

  I waited all next day for her to text me. When I got home from school, Mom had waylaid me on my way to get a snack.

  “Is everything fine between you and October?” she’d asked.

  I didn’t even consider explaining. Even if I’d wanted to, what would I say? That everything wasn’t fine, at least, I didn’t think so, but that I had no idea what the trouble was? “Yeah, everything’s great,” I’d told her.

  It wasn’t a total lie. I wasn’t sure whether everything was fine or not. But it might be. I just wasn’t quite sure.

  After dinner, when I was in my room trying to read, I finally gave in and selected her number from my contacts.

  It rang. I waited. She didn’t pick up.

  “Hey, Tobi,” I began when the message beep sounded, “it’s me, Emily. I mean... of course, you know that. I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I hurt you. I didn’t mean to. I just—wanted you to believe that I care about you. I really miss you. Please... talk to me soon. Okay. Bye.”

  I hung up, pushing past my reluctance to end even a one-sided connection with her.

  I went back to my book.

  Months before, I had immersed myself in the world of dragon riders and elves and swordfights without difficulty. I had been able to soar on the dragon’s back myself, flying through the clouds with a heart as light as they were. A life of school and of time with Melissa and Jax and other school friends, and even of playing pretend checkers with Patrick Charles. Trying to focus in church. Studying as little as I could to make it past my tests. Helping Mom cook. Rides with Daddy to the post office now and then.

  Life before October.

  It seemed like it had been a very long time ago.

  I gave up on the book and laid it down, closed, not face-down and open as I usually did. Then I leaned towards my bedside table, stretching my arms and torso to reach it, picked up my English textbook, and began to study.

  *****

  October never did return my call. She did text me on Friday evening. “I’m sorry about the other night,” she said. “I honestly haven’t been feeling well, and I think I’d better stay home for a few days. But I should see you at church. I miss you, too.”

  Not feeling well. It was vague, and sounded something like a lie.

  I did, however, see her at church. Sunday morning I kept my eyes on the back doors and was rewarded by seeing her make her entrance, hair french braided and tucked under, white dress covered by a light blue sweater, heeled boots clicking on the floor. She searched the crowd and found me, flashed a quick smile, then looked away.

  It felt so much like the first time I had seen her. Except then, I hadn’t had this weight of trepidation resting on my heart, as if the cloud that used to be there had turned to lead.

  “Please rise and sing hymn number sixty-six,” Pastor Ulrich called, his soft voice making only a dent in the Sunday-morning hubub of greetings and small talk. Ms. Hendrix began her piano accompaniment, and gradually the room silenced, and people began to stand.

  I looked over my shoulder towards October. Still, she didn’t hold a hymnal. She sang along perfectly, her lips never forming an incorrect word, and she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the pastor and his conduction.

  After the service, I rushed to catch up with her. “Tobi!”

 
; She turned around, looking for the source of my voice, and smiled when she saw me, a small smile.

  “You look pretty,” I said.

  “Thank you. So do you.”

  The rest of the congregation moved around us, hustling to get outdoors.

  “It’s a nice day,” I said. “Still pretty warm, for fall.”

  “Yes.”

  Controlled chaos continued around us. I searched her eyes, forcing myself not to look away, aching for any hint of the October I knew.

  An old man bumped into me and apologized.

  “Let’s go outside,” she said at last.

  I agreed, and followed her into the open air, where the predictable groups stood talking, families hurrying to their cars, old men laughing and talking about cars and football, teenagers laughing over the latest gossip and the least popular schoolteachers.

  I instinctively headed for the oak tree where October and I had sat the day we first became friends. She followed.

  As we got further from everyone else, the noise slowly faded and I could sense October relax beside me. When we reached the tree, I didn’t speak to her—I just sat down against it, facing neither the lake nor the church. And I just waited.

  She didn’t speak for several minutes, but I was determined not to be the first one to speak this time. I didn’t understand what was going on, and I wasn’t going to pretend to.

  When she finally spoke, there was no explanation, no reference to what had happened. “Can you get away for the afternoon?”

  “Why?”

  “I just want to take a drive. Get away from everything. Maybe even have a picnic.”

  It wasn’t satisfactory, but I accepted it for the moment. “With what car?”

  “I brought my uncle’s truck. They came separately. But... I don’t want to drive right now, Em. Can you, please?”

  I wanted to protest, but I was tired, and confused, and all I wanted at the moment was to have her back. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  *****

  We picked up lunch at the Farmland Diner and then drove out of town, not planning our route. Tobi said if we just went any which way it would be magic, and I indulged her, making note of our path so that I could backtrack it later. It was past one o’ clock before we finally found a little valley between two hills, several yards from the road.

  “There it is,” she pointed.

  “Where do we park, though?”

  “Just on the side of the road.” She gathered up the bags of food, which must be lukewarm by now.

  I carefully parked on the grass next to the two-lane road, glad that it hadn’t rained in awhile, and followed her lead to a spot very near the exact center of the valley. When we reached it, she plopped down, not minding the possibility of grass stains on her white dress.

  I lowered myself to sit beside her, and we opened our boxes of fried chicken and ate.

  Each moment that passed brought me back, back to the times before things had gotten confusing—a confusion so gradual I hadn’t realized it had come until it culminated. I hadn’t even noticed that it had been a long time since I felt sure of anything much. That somewhere in the search for pictures in clouds and in stars, I had lost sight of the realities of the clouds and the stars themselves.

  What part Tobi played in that was unclear to me. But my heart, despite the weight still resting on it, seemed willing to offer me a truce, a time of rest for one afternoon from the inner worries and uncertainties.

  We ate in silence, enjoying the food and the breeze and the rustling of the slowly dying autumn leaves, until the silence created its own magic spell around us, one I didn’t want to break. We finished eating and drank cool water from bottles. We put all our trash back in the bags.

  October flopped onto her back to engage in cloud watching. I didn’t follow suit. Instead, I picked pieces of grass and wove them together until I formed a little mat about four inches square. I handed it to Tobi, and she smiled.

  There was no one else on earth I could be silent for this long with. I felt no pressure to talk, no need to conjure up some cohesive thoughts. She seemed to understand that I had nothing to say, and the glimpses of her soul that I saw were clearly grateful.

  We watched and wove two hours away, then she stood up and picked up the trash. I abandoned all the grass mats I had made and followed her back to the truck, where she got into the passenger seat and waited for me.

  I drove us home in continued silence, seeming to leave my peace behind with the little valley.

  “Let’s go back to my house,” she said, shattering the spell.

  “Okay.”

  We stopped at Johnson’s Bakery on the way and picked up sandwiches, which we ate in the truck. When we arrived, it was already six o’ clock, and starting to become dusk.

  “Let’s take a walk,” she said when I parked the car.

  “Tobi...”

  “Please?”

  Despite my misgivings that my parents would not be pleased that I stayed out all day, I followed her out of the car and into the woods, where we wandered for an hour, until the stars came out.

  It all had a dreadful finality to it. As though things were never going to be the same after this, and Tobi knew it, and was trying to drag out the final moments of goodness before a storm hit. A storm that I could see the signs of without having any idea what it was.

  Finally, we circled back to the edge of the woods. It was dark now, and the starlight glistened in her eyes again. She sat down against a tree, hugged her knees close to her chest, and looked up at the stars through the sparse leaves.

  Another spell of silence set in, but it felt like a spell of dark magic, one that needed to be broken. “Do you see any pictures in them, Tobi?” I whispered.

  “No,” she whispered back, and she closed her eyes, shutting off the clouded windows to her soul.

  I sat down across from her and picked a tiny white flower. I picked the petals off one by one. Then I dropped it, crawled along the grass towards her, then scooted across the ground until I was right beside her. I tucked my knees under me, feeling the grass tickle at my legs, and I snuggled up against her, laying my head on her shoulder.

  She didn’t put her arm around me, or even lean on me. She shivered.

  I sat up and stared at her. The air felt warm, especially for this late in the fall. I reached out and pressed a finger to her face. It felt warm.

  “Are you cold?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, the syllable vibrating into the air.

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  She opened her eyes but turned away from me and fixed her gaze on the moonlit grass.

  I touched her arm, which was clasped around her knees, but she shrank from my touch, huddling into a tighter ball against the tree trunk.

  “What is it?” My lips remained parted after the words left them. “Please tell me.”

  Still staring at the grass, she spoke softly. “Don’t ask me, little sis.”

  Now I shivered, but it was a short, hard shiver. Not a prolonged tremble like hers.

  For a moment I sat obediently still and silent. Then I pinched my lips together, pushing them inward between my teeth. “Please?”

  She looked towards me, eyes reflecting the moonlight and looking more fairy-like than ever.

  “I want to know,” I reiterated.

  “No, you don’t.”

  I should have kept silent then. It wasn’t right to push Tobi, especially after her reaction earlier that week. She was a private person, she had said. Besides, she had a soft heart, and I knew if I kept asking she would tell me, which made it like taking advantage of her. But at the same time I felt like the whole day had been her way of preparing me for something, and the anticipation was making me too queasy to wait much longer.

  “Please, Tobi?”

  Her throat moved as she swallowed, and she drew in a long breath. “Don’t... you don’t... you don’t want to know about it.”

  “Yes I do.”

  She cl
utched her knees tighter, still trembling. She turned the glowing, moonlit eyes on me again. “I don’t want you to know.”

  “I don’t care,” I cried. “Please, Tobi.”

  Shaking, she let go of her legs. Her hands were white in the full moonlight, and I watched as they shook on their way up to her sweater buttons.

  The air remained warm, but I started shaking, too. I stiffened, trying to keep her from seeing. Her fingers found each button in turn and undid it, and when the sweater was open, she slowly reached over to her right sleeve and pulled it off, leaving the sweater dangling half off her body.

  She held her fair arm out to me in the moonlight.

  My stomach twisted.

  Thin red lines crisscrossed over her arm, from her shoulder nearly all the way to her wrist.

  I hesitated, then reached out and touched her arm softly with one forefinger. My eyes widened. I couldn’t seem to think.

  “What... happened?”

  She pulled her arm away and slipped it back into her sleeve. “I got scared and locked myself in the bathroom.”

  I knew she was stopping there on purpose, afraid to burden me. But I didn’t care, even though I felt like I was going to be sick. I had known about things like this, but I had never seen it, had never felt the impact up close and personal.

  “Then what?” I had meant to ask it out loud, but it came out in a whisper.

  “Don’t ask, Em, please!” She turned her head away.

  I swallowed. “But... why?”

  “I was scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “Always being this way.”

  “What way?”

  “Em, please stop!” The fierce, harsh voice from the other night was back.

  I sat up straighter and forced my mind to rise above the confusion. She must not know how very sick and dazed and—shattered I felt.

  “October?” I said, hoping that the use of her full name would have a soothing but jarring effect on her—the way I felt when she said “Emily.”

  Nothing for a moment. Then she whispered, “Yes?”

  “You are a wonderful, amazing, kind, caring, sweet, and beautiful person. I love you so much—more than...” I paused and swallowed. “I think maybe more than anyone else. I love you. You’re my only big sister. I don’t know anyone more wonderful than you. I don’t know anyone with such a big, soft heart. I don’t know anyone who’s so... so beautiful and magical. And I don’t have anyone else to be my big sister.” I laid a hand on her sleeved arm again, trying not to picture the grisly lines I now knew lay just beneath. “I mean every word from my heart. You know I do. I don’t like to hear you talking like there’s something wrong with you.” The last sentence was meant to turn the whole thing from a plea into a lecture, to try to be my normal, practical self, but it didn’t quite work. Somehow it still sounded childish rather than firm.