Remembrance

by Avery Kloss

  “Thank you for telling me now. I appreciate that. I can’t see the guy, if you’re dating him. You should know that.”

  We reached the car, mom standing by the driver’s side. “I feel horrible.”

  I sighed, getting in and fixing the seatbelt. “Don’t feel bad. We’ve had enough feeling bad to last a lifetime.”

  With the engine on, music played from the radio. She backed out of the parking lot, her attention over a shoulder. “I wanted to tell you now. I could’ve kept it to myself, but … I felt you should know, so you can decide if you want to see him. I had a feeling you’d be upset.”

  “I’m not upset. I’m relieved, actually. I can find another shrink. It’s no biggie.” On the highway now, trees filled my vision, the darkness of night necessitating headlights. “He’s a nice guy. I get a good feeling about him. I hope he’s someone you can trust.”

  “Gosh, you’re being so good about this. I was worried.”

  “You did the right thing. I know now, and I can do something else.”

  “God, what is the matter with this car?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s behaving really weird, like it wants to pull right.” She gripped the steering wheel, her look tense. “I think we might have a flat tire.”

  “Great,” I muttered. “Just what we need.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake.” She drove to the side of the road. “I don’t think I’ve ever changed a tire in my life. Your dad took care of that.”

  “Me either.” I laughed, “Well, now’s our chance to learn a new skill. Lucky us.”

  She rummaged around in the glove compartment. “I need instructions.” Pressing a button for an overhead light, she flipped through several pages. “At least it’s in English.” She read for a moment, muttering, “This has to be easier than assembling furniture.”

  I laughed at that, “Hopefully. There’s probably a jack in the back. Then you unscrew the nuts, change out the tire and screw the nuts back in.” I nodded, smiling. “Problem solved.”

  “I gotta put on the hazard lights.” She stared at the dashboard. “There they are.”

  “At least it’s not snowing or raining. We can do this.” I reached for the door. “Ready?”

  She sighed. “Yeah.”

  11

  Standing by the side of the road in the darkness, I zipped my jacket up, while I held a flashlight. “You see it?”

  Mom dug around in the trunk, and pulled out a spare tire and an assortment of tools: wheel wedges, a jack, and a lug wrench. “I think so.”

  The sound of a motorcycle echoed, the headlights shining in the distance. A car or two drove by, but no one offered assistance. “I guess we put the wheel wedges in front of the tires, right? So it doesn’t roll.”

  “Yeah, can you do that?” She gave them to me.

  “Sure.” I bent to the task, as the motorcycle approached, slowing. I stared at the rider, a man dressed in jeans and leather. God, please don’t stop. A prickle of apprehension drifted through me. We certainly did not want to be robbed or murdered. “Do we have a crowbar?”

  “No, honey.”

  “Too bad.” The motorcycle pulled in behind us, the man cutting the engine. “Oh … who is that?”

  Mom gave me a look. “Go get your phone.”

  “I have it in my pocket.”

  We had not asked anyone to help us, the arrival of the stranger worrisome. He set the kickstand, swinging a booted foot over the seat. Tall and lean, he offered a smile and a nod, approaching. He trod over loose rocks soundlessly.

  “Good evening,” he intoned, his voice slightly accented. “Might I offer some assistance?”

  “You’re not with triple A, are you?”

  I held the phone in a sweaty hand, ready to call 911 at any second, if need be.

  Grinning, he shook his head, glancing my way. “No, ma’am. Just passing by. You’re from outta town.”

  “We’re new here,” I said.

  He had seen our Colorado license plate no doubt. “We’re good. We got it.” His attention drifted over me in a lazy, unconcerned manner. I felt a prickle of alarm then, sensing something dangerous about the man, although I could not pinpoint it.

  “I’d be happy to help. You two look … stranded.”

  “We’re not stranded,” I said. “We’re perfectly capable of changing a flat tire.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “You can go away, thanks.”

  “Brie! You don’t have to be so rude. If this kind gentleman wants to help us with the tire, we should let him.”

  “Awesome,” I muttered. “If we wind up dead in a ditch, don’t blame me.”

  A low, gruff-sounding chuckle escaped the stranger. “I mean you no harm.”

  The soft tenor of his voice skimmed down my spine, and I shivered. “That’s not the vibe I get. Not at all.”

  “Oh, don’t mind my daughter. She’s seen one too many CSI’s. I’d appreciate your help. It’s not getting any warmer out here, that’s for sure.”

  I deliberately stood away from him, not wanting to get any closer. Aiming the flashlight, I noted how pale he appeared, his hands as white as his face. Dark hair fell to the collar of the jacket, his skin clean-shaven, looking baby smooth. He stared directly at me, not even squinting in the light. I stood there challenging him, waiting for a complaint that never came, because he said nothing, a bland, yet predatory sort of expression on his face.

  “Sweetheart, that’s not polite.”

  “I’m trying to be helpful. He can’t see in the dark.”

  Without another word, the stranger grasped the spare tire we left leaning against the car. He knelt, quickly unscrewing the lug nuts, while lifting the vehicle with one hand. The Subaru creaked and hovered a foot or more above the ground. Tossing the old tire to the side, he affixed the new one, and while holding the car up, seemingly effortlessly, he managed to screw in the lug nuts. He had the spare tire on in less than two minutes, the man not once using any of the tools provided. He had accomplished this task with his bare hands, which, after lowering the car to the ground, he wiped on his jeans.

  “Well, wow,” mom uttered, her mouth open. “That was … fast.”

  Stunned, I tried to process what I had just seen. “Um … ” I had no words.

  A know-it-all smile appeared. He stalked towards me, holding out a hand. “Gabe Murray, happy to oblige.”

  I shook it, his cold fingers gripping me tightly. “Hi.”

  “Brie, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t believe how fast you changed that tire. It’s … that was insane. Thank you so much.”

  I felt trapped in that moment, beneath the weight of his eyes, while caught in a cold, steely grip. An assortment of odd sensations settled on me, the impression of danger lessening slightly, although there was something about him that wasn’t quite right. I tugged my hand free, shoving it in a pocket for warmth.

  He turned to my mother. “Gabe Murray.” He shook her hand too, although not as long as mine. “Welcome to Clatskanie.”

  “I can’t thank you enough. You’ve been really helpful.” She offered a genuine smile, a flicker of relief in her eyes. “We could’ve done it ourselves, but you saved us a lot of time.”

  “It’s been a pleasure.”

  Although he spoke to my mother, I suspected those words were meant for me. I considered him carefully, finding his shoulders impossibly broad, the leather of the jacket stretched wide. His well-worn boots had seen better days, while the material of his jeans clung to his buttocks, tapering at the thighs. I chastised myself for staring, finding him physically appealing, although he could use a few days at the beach, as pale as he was.

  Sensing my appraisal, he pivoted on a heel to stare at me. “I guess I’ll be going then. It was good meeting you, Brie.”

  “Th-thanks for the help.”

  “No worries.” He sauntered to the bike and threw a leg over the seat, releasing the kickstand
. “I’ll catch you around.” The rumble of the motorcycle ended all conversation, the noise the sound of the loudest thunder I had ever heard.

  I chewed on a nail as he drove away, staring after him. “That was super weird, Mom.”

  “God almighty!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Did you see how fast he changed the tire? He just … it just blows my mind.”

  Out of curiosity, I approached the car and grasped the bumper. I tried to lift it off the ground, but such a thing was not humanly possible. “He must be … on drugs.” Although I doubted that was the reason he could pick up something that heavy with little or no effort. “Maybe he’s a bodybuilder. Who knows?”

  Mom tossed the flat tire into the trunk, along with the various tools we had not used. “I want to go home. We can debate the finer points later. I’m exhausted.”

  I nodded, and stared after the man, who could no longer be seen. “I was wrong about him possibly robbing us.”

  “Not every person you meet on a dark and scary road in the dead of night is bad, Brie,” she laughed. “I'm just glad the car’s fixed for now. I’ll find a shop tomorrow and get a new tire. I can’t drive on a spare for too long. Let’s go home, honey. I’m tuckered out.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  Mom had a date Saturday night, Dr. Walker picking her up at the house, the man standing in the foyer dressed in slacks and a black jacket.

  “Mom will be down in a second.” She had been trying on clothes, eyeing herself in the mirror in my room, asking for opinions. I found the entire situation bizarre, yet amusing. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, thank you, Brie.”

  “You can wait in the parlor. You don't have to stand there like that.”

  He chuckled, supplying, “Looking uncomfortable?”

  “Yeah. You seem a little … wound up.”

  “I know this situation is … odd.”

  “You can say that.”

  “I didn’t expect this.”

  “You asked her out, and she said yes. It’s pretty straightforward.”

  “Dating a patient’s mother. That’s what I meant.”

  “I know, but I’m not your patient any longer.”

  “I understand. It would hardly be appropriate.”

  “Look, you seem like a nice guy. I just hope you treat my mom well. She’s been through a lot lately. She lost my dad. I lost my mind. Nothing’s been easy.”

  He smiled kindly. “I like you, Brie. You cut to the chase, and you don’t bullshit. I wish I could still help you.”

  I’m cured anyway, dude. “I’m much better.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. If you ever need to speak to someone, there are other qualified mental health professionals in town. I can personally recommend at least three of them.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  Mom appeared at the top of the steps, having chosen khaki pants and a white blouse. I thought she might wear a long-sleeve purple dress, but she had obviously chickened out, going the safer route.

  “Hello, I thought I heard the door.” She reached us a moment later. “Why didn't you invite him in?”

  “I did. We’re standing in the house.”

  “I mean the parlor. We do have furniture, you know.” She had applied makeup, her lips glossy. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “I’m good for now. You look beautiful.”

  Mom beamed. “Why, thank you.”

  My attention drifted between them, picking up a fair amount of sexual energy, which thoroughly disturbed me. I did not want to know one single thing about my mother’s personal life in that way. The shock of her suddenly—inexplicably—dating proved almost too much as it was. I backed out of the room, wanting to give them some privacy.

  “I’ll be home late, honey.”

  “You kids have fun,” I quipped. Laughter followed me down the hallway, where I found myself in the kitchen. Standing at the sink, I glanced through the window, seeing a light from another house shining between the branches in the distance. Feeling someone right beside me, I said, “I’m good, Mom. You can go. I’ll entertain myself.” Glancing over a shoulder, I saw no one. The hair on the nape of my neck stood up. “Good grief! Freaking ghosts.”

  12

  I drifted into the realm of dreams, a series of them played out like a movie, until a familiar one began, the same dream I’d had since I could remember. I saw myself in the woods, having arrived in a meadow of grass and wildflowers, where the sun shone upon my shoulders. Although solitary, I wasn’t alone, a man waited on the other side, his face in shadow. We never met, the distance between us far too great, the feeling of yearning so severe, I usually yelled, waving my arms, crying for him. I had always known he was meant for me, the only person who could fill the void. In the dream, I remained in place, although I wanted so desperately to run to him. Something kept us apart, a heavy, powerful force that could never be broken.

  I cried out again, reaching for him—

  “Brie! Wake up, honey! Wake up, please.”

  Startled from the depths of slumber, I glanced at my mother, who stood over me. I had fallen asleep on the sofa, waiting for her. “What?”

  “You were screaming, honey.” A look of concern appeared. “Are you all right?”

  “Bad dream, I guess.” I licked dry lips, wishing I had some water. “I’m sorry.” I tried to shake it off, sitting up. “Did you have a nice date?”

  She grinned. “I did.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Nearly one.”

  “You were out late.”

  “You should go to bed. I’m going to bed.”

  “Okay.”

  I swung my legs over the edge of the sofa and got to my feet, but I felt the difference at once, that awful, heavy feeling had returned. The dream frequently brought it on, as deep, dark emotions lingered. I had to shake the impression as quickly as I could. I could not let it sink in. The last thing I wanted was another depressive episode, although they were often impossible to avoid.

  “I’ll see you in the morning.” She headed for the stairs. “I’ve locked up.”

  “I’m going up now.” I took the phone from the coffee table, pocketing it. Each step felt like lead balls and chains were clamped around my ankles. By the time I reached the bedroom, I knew I was in trouble. “Dammit!” I paced the room, running fingers through my hair. “No! Please, no! Just leave me alone. God, please, just go away!”

  I paced for hours, struggling to compartmentalize the emotions, but I failed in the end, and collapsed into bed before dawn. The sound of laughter woke me, my mother in the hallway. I squeezed my eyes shut, denying the new day and wishing death might show some mercy. I could not remember feeling worse—ever. The reprieve was over. All that I feared had returned, with a vengeance.

  Come Monday, I dragged myself to school, the cold, rainy day mirroring exactly how I felt, the weight of the world upon my shoulders. Not wanting to speak to my friends, I arrived right before the last bell, taking books out of the locker, while hiding beneath a grey, hooded sweatshirt and jacket.

  Sitting through psychology, I listened to the teacher speak about post-traumatic stress disorder and its effects on our military. I stared into space, wishing I had stayed home. In Chemistry, I ignored my partner, while in Spanish class we had a substitute, the teacher showing several videos. At lunchtime, I grabbed a tray, tossing the first three items on it, paying, and finding an unoccupied table in a far corner. I wasn’t hungry, although I took a few sips of water from a plastic cup.

  Someone approached, sitting next to me, which I found annoying. I shot an angry look at the interloper, preparing to speak my mind, but I stayed quiet when I saw who it was. Maven. She looked almost as miserable as I felt, her presence oddly comforting. She said nothing, shoving a tiny straw into a plastic juice box. The din of laughter and voices filled the cavernous room, students at tables chatting with their friends, a few people finished eating already and leaving.

  I t
oyed with the food I bought, a piece of fried chicken and a few carrot sticks. I had a nibble of each, finding the chicken to taste more like fried cardboard. Opening a small bag of cookies, Maven slid one my way. It sat on the tray for a few minutes before I picked it up and ate it, the flavor of chocolate melting in my mouth.

  “Thanks,” I murmured.

  “You want another one?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  We did not speak again after that, Maven getting to her feet a while later. She ventured across the cafeteria to drop the tray off, slipping through the double doors to the hallway. I sighed, knowing I had three more classes to attend before I could go home, dreading every moment of this existence and not knowing how I would deal.

  Sheer will got me through the rest of the day, the backpack dragging my shoulders down. I had not spoken to anyone, avoiding Tara and Steffy by not looking at them. The walk home remained a solitary affair, but that was how I wanted it. I would have had an appointment with Doctor Walker, if my mother hadn’t decided to date the man. Speaking about these feelings might have helped, but history proved it would not matter in the end. The depressive episode had its grips in me, and no amount of talk or therapy would change that. I had to wait for it to go away—and that might take weeks.

  Drowning in self-pity, I rested in the cemetery behind my house, dropping the backpack to the ground. I sat amongst the gravestones, seeking solace with the dead, while the wet earth from the earlier rain dampened my pants. The sound of birds echoed all around me, while a squirrel darted up a tree. I would have sat longer, but my butt went numb and I had to pee. Returning to the house, I met my mother in the kitchen, the smell of something delicious filling my senses, making my belly rumble.

  “Hello.” She smiled brightly. “You’re a bit late, aren’t you? You didn’t stop by Doctor Walker’s office, did you?”

  “Nope.” I slid onto a chair, staring at a set of salt and pepper shakers.

  “Do you have a lot of homework?”

  “Some.” I tried to rally, to appear like someone functional—normal. I did not want to alarm my mother, because the poor woman had been through so much as it was. “I’m gonna do homework.”