April Shadows

by V. C. Andrews

  Her fingers moved over the sides of my hips and came around to touch me where, as she had said. only I had touched myself.

  Just at that moment. the door opened. and Brenda stood there wavering.

  I was positive that when someone was shot with a gun or a rifle, this was how they felt. The electric spike that went through my heart and into my spine made me gasp and cry out. Celia sat up. surprised. She saw where I was looking and turned to see Brenda

  glaring at us. -."Oh," Celia said. "we were just...

  "You don't have to tell me what you were

  doing. Celia. I think I know what you're doing. You're

  both... disgusting." She backed out, slamming the

  door. I starred to cry immediately.

  Celia rose quickly, put on her bra and her blouse, mumbling to me that I shouldn't worry. She

  would explain everything.

  "She's just still quite drunk." she added, and

  left.

  I lay there unable to move, my body feeling as

  though it had liquefied into a pool of jelly. Until I sat

  up, I didn't even realize how hard and fast my heart

  was pounding. It was taking my breath away. I

  actually thought I might have a heart attack or my

  heart would just explode in my chest.

  When I stood up, I was dizzy. so I had to sit

  again and wait. Finally. I was able to go to the

  bathroom and throw cold water on my face. I put on

  my robe and opened the door just to look at the house.

  I heard Brenda screaming at Celia, calling her names,

  and then I was shocked to hear her call me names. too.

  Her anger was spilling over everyone. She was

  running people together, cursing, berating my father,

  Mama. Celia and me, coaches, anyone or everyone

  she had any contact with. The shouting seemed to go

  on for twenty minutes before she stopped and there

  was a heavy silence.

  Should I go to her? I wondered. Should 1

  explain? This wasn't my fault. I hadn't asked Celia to

  come to me. Why does she hate me so much? She'll hate me even more now. Everytime she'll look at me,

  she'll see what she saw happening here.

  I stepped back and closed the door. Then I sat

  on my bed and thought.

  Here I was in a school I hated to be in, living in

  a small shack, and now rejected by the one person at

  the school I thought would like me. Here I was living

  with my sister and her lover, and my sister, who was

  never really overjoyed about having to care for me,

  now saw me as someone evil and disgusting. Whom did I have? Who was I. really? Would I

  ever find my name. as Peter predicted? He was so

  good for me. He made me think of so many wonderful

  things. Now, I couldn't see myself returning to the

  chess club and sitting across from him.

  What should I call all this, checkmate? Had life.

  Bad Luck, proved too difficult to defeat? I had lost en

  passant. Just passing through here, I had been

  thwarted, vanquished, beaten again.

  I don't belong anywhere, I thought.

  And then I thought. I know where I should be. I

  know where being nowhere is.

  I rose and dressed in a shirt, sweater, jeans, and

  sneakers. Then I packed my small bag, making sure to

  include Mr. Panda.

  It was hours later now, close to four in the

  morning. I moved very quickly but very quietly,

  crossing the yard and then opening the back door of

  the main house as quietly as I could. I tiptoed in and

  listened. Brenda was probably dead to the world now,

  sleeping off her drunken stupor. However, she would

  never sleep off her anger. I knew how she could

  harbor hate and wrath so well and for so long. She

  was, after all, always a competitor. What had

  happened between Celia and me was clearly a defeat

  in her eyes. She would never forgive. Her philosophy

  was to defeat, defeat, defeat, and never look back at

  the enemy you've crippled and smashed.

  I moved softly past their bedroom into the

  kitchen and, as quietly as I could, opened the drawer

  that I knew housed some of the important papers. The

  one I was looking for was in there. I had seen it

  before. It was toward the bottom. I found it easily and

  clutched it in my left hand. Then I went to the pantry

  and found the can on the shelf that had our household

  funds. There was nearly five hundred dollars. I took it

  all.

  They'll get more in the morning, I thought. They

  don't need it.

  Again, moving as though I were walking on a shelf of air. I went down the short corridor. I was shocked to discover Celia sleeping in the living room on the sofa. I paused and stared at her for a moment, and then I slipped out the front door and hurried to my

  car.

  When I got in, I took another deep breath and

  asked myself if this was truly what I wanted to do. It

  is, was my reply.

  I turned the key in the ignition, and, without

  putting on the headlights. because I knew the glow

  would light up the living room and maybe wake Celia.

  I backed out of the driveway. Then I turned on the

  lights and drove slowly to the corner. I made a right

  turn onto the boulevard and headed toward the

  highway that would take me west.

  On the seat beside me was the paper I had

  needed. It was Uncle Palaver's schedule. I knew

  where he was now and where he would be tomorrow. Tomorrow had become the most important

  word in my mind, because tomorrow. I would be

  where I belonged.

  Nowhere.

  Traveling everywhere. This is why Uncle

  Palaver was so happy on the road. I thought. No one

  could claim him, and he didn't have to set roots down anywhere. He moved with the wind, when he had a whim, and it was in that movement that he found

  comfort and security.

  What was it Peter had told Celia when she

  asked him if he liked being where he was? "I see the

  earth as my home. Anywhere you go, you're under the

  same sky."

  That's all that mattered, being under the same

  sky. The rest of it was just... just window dressing. It had to be wonderful to leave the past behind

  and look only to the future.

  I used to hate the word soon. I used to hate to

  have to depend on tomorrow.

  But at this moment, it was the only word that

  was full of promise.

  Everything else was spoiled by defeat, by

  sadness, by mistakes.

  So, good-bye, Brenda. Good-bye, memories of

  Mr. Hyde. Good-bye, the horror of Mama's death.

  Good-bye, the discomfort of an unpleasant new home.

  Good-bye to it all.

  And hello to tomorrow.

  In fact. as I drove on. I could see the light of a

  new day creeping up the horizon, driving the shadows

  and darkness back into hiding.

  Was I just fooling myself one more time.?

  17 April's Adventure

  . Before I left the city proper, I stopped at a gas station and got a map. I sat in the car and studied it, drawing a line from one highway to another until I would reach I-10W and head to Uncle Palaver's next stop on his schedule of performances. El Paso, Texas. It wasn't a place I could drive to
overnight. I thought, The night was more than half over, anyway, but it was easier to drive in the darkness somehow, because it heightened my sense of escaping.

  I didn't stop at first light, either. I didn't think about being tired, but when it was nearly midday. I realized I was very thirsty and even a little hungry. I pulled off at the next exit and found my way to a fastfood restaurant where they served breakfast in the form of eggs in a muffin. I had some juice and coffee and took a coffee to go. I wanted to drive and drive and drive, because as long as I was moving, I wasn't thinking about what I had done.

  By now. I realized both Brenda and Celia would have discovered I had gone. They would have no idea how far I had driven or what my intentions were. I could just hear Brenda saying, "She'll be back. She's just having a tantrum. I don't want to waste any time worrying about her."

  Or maybe they would have another row and would break up over what had occurred. In Brenda's mind. I would surely be the cause of it somehow. She was always fonder of Celia than she was of me. I'd have to have been the cause of the unhappiness. If I had remained in that house after Celia left her or she had left Celia, it would have been horrible. I was very wise to leave. I concluded.

  When I was on highway I-20W. I realized I was weaving too much from lane to lane. Despite my determination, fatigue was settling in so deeply it had reached my bones. My eyelids were continually drooping. It was nearly five o'clock. and I had to think of stopping to eat something. anyway. I was angry at myself for not being able simply to drive all day and all night until I had reached El Paso and found Uncle Palaver. Once again, this hateful body of mine was disappointing me. I took the next exit, and this time. I had to drive a few miles before finding what looked like an old-fashioned roadside diner. I saw the trailer trucks in the parking lot and imagined it was a popular stop. I remembered Daddy telling us that when you travel on highways in America, you should look for parking lots full of tractor trailers,

  "Those truck drivers know where the good food is," he said.

  That seemed so long ago now. It was truly as if I had led two lives. I listened hard and closely to everything my daddy said during those days. He was truly a heroic figure to me, handsome, successful, and strong in so many ways. I thought there was nothing he didn't know and nothing he could not do.

  When little girls discover their fathers are just men, it's the first step toward the end of innocence. We don't want to take that step. We resist, but it's a battle fought in vain. I had to wonder, though, if Brenda had ever gone through it. Maybe that was the biggest difference between us after all. Brenda never had any childhood faiths to be broken. Brenda was born with realism in her eyes. Make-believe and fantasy were a waste of her time, detours that made no sense to her.

  In the end, perhaps she was right. I thought. She faced no disillusionment, and the only

  disappointments she had were of her own making. There were no mornings filled with dark depression and fear when bubbles of dreams popped.

  I pulled into the parking lot, parked, and got out after gazing at myself in the mirror and doing the best I could not to look totally disheveled and wild. It would be enough that I was a young girl traveling alone. I didn't need to do anything else to attract attention. When I entered. I tried to be as

  inconspicuous as I could be, keeping my eyes low, my head down, following the hostess to a booth way in the rear of the diner.

  The place was very busy and occupied almost exclusively with truck drivers. I saw two women who looked as if they might be riding along with their husbands, but otherwise no other females. Three counter men and two short-order cooks were working feverishly to keep up with the orders and demands two very overworked waitresses shouted. The din of conversation was so loud I didn't realize there was country music playing over the speakers until I had sat myself and gazed at the menu.

  The moment I did so. I saw Brenda's critical eyes watching me while she was waiting to hear what fattening food I would order. It was ironic how even after all that had happened and even though I was in flight from her as much as from anything. I could still hear her advice and her criticism and care about it.

  I ordered water to drink and the roast chicken and vegetable plate with no bread. My waitress nodded almost as if she had expected no less and scooped up the menu before I could have a change of heart. I noticed one of the younger truck drivers gazing at me from the next booth. He smiled, and I quickly shifted my eyes to the window.

  Night was falling faster because the sky was growing increasingly overcast. It's going to rain. I thought. I hated driving and riding in the rain. It always made the trip seem longer to me. There wasn't a sound more monotonous than the sound of the windshield wipers going steadily. Without realizing what I was doing. I closed my eyes and leaned a little more against the imitation faded red leather back of my seat. The drone of conversation, the clank of dishes and silverware, and the vague background of the country music worked like a lullaby. When the waitress returned with my dinner, I heard laughter and snapped my eyes open. All the men with the young truck driver were gazing at me and smiling.

  "Are you all right, honey?" the waitress asked.

  "Yes," I said quickly. "Just a little tired."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To see my uncle," I said.

  "You better be careful driving in this weather if you're that tired," she said.

  The demands of the other customers prevented her from asking any more or giving any more advice. I was happy about that but disgusted at myself once again.

  I began to eat. The young truck driver slipped out of his booth and came over to mint. He was tall and lean, with very dark brown eyes and a sharp nose and jaw line. I saw he had a small scar on his chin. His brown hair was cut very close on the sides.

  "You were dead asleep a few moments ago," he said. "You feeling sick?"

  "No," I said. "I'm fine. I was just a little tired.."

  "How far have you driven?"

  I glanced at the other drivers in his booth. They were all looking at us and smiling.

  "She's too young for you.. Dirk," one of them called, and they all laughed when someone else said. "That's how he likes 'em. Fresh eggs."

  Dirk slipped in across from me and folded his hands on the table, "How far?" he asked,

  "From Memphis." I said.

  He nodded and looked impressed. "Where you going?"

  "I'm going to El Paso." I replied. I was too tired to think of any lies, and I didn't care about what he thought, anyway. I continued to eat.

  "All by yourself?"

  I thought about Brenda and especially about Celia and how she would react to some man just making himself at home in her booth and poking into her business.

  "You see anyone else with me?" I shot back at him.

  "Whoa," he said, looking away. "You're a tough one. huh?"

  "No. I didn't ask you to sit here," I added. My blood was rising into my neck. I was very frightened but battled down anything that would show it.

  "I'm just making conversation." he said. "You know how to get to where you're going?"

  "Yes, thank you," I said.

  "It's not a few hours away, you know. If you want a suggestion about where to stop, there's a motel about seventy-five miles west of here I'd recommend. It's inexpensive and clean. It's called Dryer's. Owner's name is Fred Dryer, and either he or his son Skip runs the office."

  I didn't say anything. I kept eating. The food was okay but quite bland. It was nothing special to me. Daddy wasn't right. His rule wasn't always true. Was this what would happen to me my whole life, making discoveries that contradicted the things my daddy had told me and I had treated like gospel?

  "How old are you?" Dirk asked.

  "Do you mind?" I answered, and glared back at him, trying to look as tough as I could.

  "Suit yourself. Just trying to be helpful," he said. rising.

  His friends rode him with jeers and laughter as he returned to their booth. I was happy to see
them all leave before I was finished.

  "Happy trails," Dirk told me. I didn't reply.

  "Can I get you anything else, honey?" the waitress asked. I ordered a coffee to go, and then paid and got into my car.

  It was much darker now. I turned on my headlights, and just as I pulled out of the parking lot, the drizzle began. I turned on the radio to drown out the sound of the windshield wipers, sipped on my coffee, and continued down the highway. The rain got heavier and heavier. The wipers had trouble keeping up, and for long periods. I had to really slow down. When a car pulled in front of me abruptly. I hit my brakes and skidded to the side, drawing blaring horns from the cars whipping past.

  All I needed now was to get into an accident. I thought. I practically crawled along when I resumed. The rain was not letting up. Finally. I gave in and decided I had to stop somewhere. I took the next exit and saw a billboard advertising the motel Dirk, the young truck driver, had recommended.

  At least something good came of his poking into my business. I thought, and pulled into the motel driveway, stopping under the overhang in front of the office. I got out and went inside. I had to hit a bell to bring out an older balding man who had bushy gray sideburns and a light rust mustache.

  "I need a room," I said. "It's raining too hard."

  He squinted at me and then stepped up to the counter.

  "We don't rent to anyone less than eighteen," he said. "You got proof you're more than eighteen?"

  "Why is that?"

  "Too many runaways these days," he replied.

  "I'm heading to visit my uncle in El Paso, I'm not running away," I offered. He bit the side of his mouth and looked as if he were chewing on my answer. "I met Dirk at a diner, and he told me to stop here," I added quickly.

  "Dirk Pearson? You know Dirk?"

  "I just met him, but he thought this was a good stopover."

  "Oh. Well, if Dirk recommended you. then I guess it's okay," he said.

  I let out a breath and sired the book. When I paid him in cash, he looked very suspicious again. He gave me the key to room 8C and told me where it was. I had to drive around the corner of the building to an adjoining section that looked like an afterthought. I saw two tractor trailers parked in the lot and about four other cars. It was raining so hard now I was nearly soaked to the skin just going from my car to the motel-room door. The key didn't work too easily, either, and it took a few tries to get the door opened.