Within two weeks I knew that she’d been widowed for ten years, what her kids were up to, what schools they were at, who married whom, and which marriages she knew would never work. She hadn’t come by as often in the last few days. I guess the allure of the new stranger had worn off and there wasn’t much entertainment value in my plight—or so she thought.
Strangely, I did miss her in a way. Hearing her footsteps in her home below me was the only company I had. There was a delight she took in telling me her stories that made her smile and laugh all by herself. It was better than watching television, but I never knew what to give back in the conversation. Even the slightest hint at my past would crack the door open wide enough for her to get in. I couldn’t put her through the aggravation of playing with the Russian doll that had become me—there were so many layers, I wasn’t even sure where the real me was.
I had flown thousands of miles back to my hometown only to be alone. Geez. It took me two weeks to get to this point of even thinking of exploring. I pretended that I had no idea what brought me here and what I hoped to accomplish. I had spent so many years with objectives and plans and agendas that the sheer blankness of what was in front of me was more frightening than anything I could imagine. I had read about the astronauts living alone for months in orbit and the sheer vastness of space. There were times and places when the thought of infinity and vastness was pure excitement. Now I was sitting in a room alone while hurtling through space, and I was beyond terrified.
I laughed at my stupidity. It was as though the seconds were circling a race track and the laps were accumulated, and there I was trapped in the middle of the circle watching my defeat.
All this thought and reflection leading nowhere was procrastination. I moved around the bed and toward my suitcase. I found the hidden compartment where I usually kept important documents. I could see the newspaper clipping remained as I had initially received it. The letter sat enticingly next to it.
I studied it like I had studied it every night for the last month—or was it a month and a half? I peered over at the alarm clock next to my bed. The bright red glowing light displayed the time and, with an additional click, the date. The date was now so perilously close to the anniversary date of the article, a June date, eons ago—but not eons enough. Assembling the pieces of the puzzle that brought me here wasn’t a task for the faint of heart. Each piece was finely crafted with razor sharp edges. Putting them together would inevitably draw my blood.
I examined the article again front and back, back and front. I could clearly see the name of the paper in the top right corner above the date. Pauley River Times. Yep. It was indeed my hometown paper. The letter needed no newspaper byline. In the artificial lighting of the room, it was menacing in its simplicity. Loose-leaf paper and blue ink were enough to terrify me. Years ago, they were my source of happiness. Together these two reminders of my past had lured me back from where I had been safely hiding for years. My career was over, and I no longer had a choice; it was all about going forward by going backward.
I had to venture outside if I was going to get anywhere, though. The wheel started to spin, and I joined the race. When going in circles, chasing and being chased can look to be the same thing. I knew my landlady could at least recommend a nearby spot to eat. Never once did I expect to awaken on a couch so close to ancient times. Something inside told me there were pleasant memories to be found. I was clueless as to how to search for them. Yet, like a wondrous gift, they remained where I had left them.
CHAPTER 9
Going back to confront Rachel preoccupied my soul the entire night from the moment I returned back to my layer. The extent to which she was the keeper of a great mystery needed to be explored.
Fear circled inside me, waiting to pounce. While I lay in bed, I could picture her soft eyes and motherly smile. What fangs did lurk behind those lips? I wondered. Could she be so cruel as to seem so sincere? Why would she not have said anything when I was with her? Then again, maybe she knew I would figure it out and eventually return.
There was still a way out. I could go back to California to salvage my old existence and forget about this place again. Yet there was something that drew me here as a salmon would return to its sacred waters to . . . hmm. Did the salmon return to die or spawn, or both? The thoughts fluttered around, moths to a devouring flame.
The date on the newspaper stared at me. It was now almost twenty years ago to the day. I pulled the blanket up over my head and tried to sleep in a near fetal position. I looked out the window as the clouds crept in front of the moon. I knew that no matter what, the person I was currently would no longer be the same. Had I come here to die? Did I cheat death the first time and need to be forgiven of that sin? I put the newspaper clipping to the side and pulled out the loose-leaf paper. The handwriting, so recognizable, hypnotized me. I held the letter close to my heart as if keeping it warm while I drifted off into a slumber. If only Avery was here. She would protect me, even if it was only to protect me from myself. I couldn’t ask her, or anyone I cared about, to sacrifice for me. I wondered if maybe I was apprehensive about something far worse than dying.
My night was spent in and out of consciousness. My alarm clock didn’t even have to ring to give the new day its birth. The clouds had taken their positions in the sky, sentinels awaiting the marauding sun. They stood at their posts from the previous night, directing the rain that fell steadily. I put on a pair of jeans and the plain plaid shirt I had with the blue and black squares. It was apparel I had out west for cold nights along the beach although rarely worn until recently. An umbrella could protect me from the rain. No way was I going to ring the bell downstairs and ask for one, though. Foregoing the certainty of an interrogation trumped any risk of getting drenched.
I vaguely remembered the address of Rachel’s place. It was close enough to where I grew up that I knew how to get back there.
Any fashion sense I possessed became irrelevant as I approached the mirror with an untucked shirt. I looked at my face and could see the shadowy circles hiding beneath the sunken eyes. My beard had grown thicker and made me look sinister and hermit-like in appearance. I unbuttoned the top two buttons of my shirt to expose a vulnerable neck. I took a razor blade and twiddled it in my hands. I reached for the shaving cream. It splattered into my hands and on my face with the precision of a grenade blast. I took the razor and peeled away at the fur protecting my skin and appearance. Within a minute, my face was fully exposed as the beard disappeared, the tiny hairs drowning in the sink. I watched as they succumbed to the water and slid hopelessly into the drain amidst the gentle snow of the cream. The mirror divulged that same ghostly appearance that probably scared so many women off in the past. Only Avery had been able to accept me valiantly.
My breakfast was handfuls of cornflakes stuffed into my mouth. Now nourished and prepared, I left my building. The bus stop was a five-minute walk down the street. Before I departed, I walked over to the window and opened it for the spider. He could choose either to escape or sit in silence for fresh meat to stray into his trap.
The calendar on my wall was a jumble of letters and numbers, except for one date. The date seemed to stare back at me in sinister fashion. The puzzle pieces grew larger as if taunting me to assemble them, making themselves look so easy to put in place.
I walked along the street to the stop, realizing how unfamiliar I was with this section of the city. Every building seemed the same. Condos stood where low-cost housing used to be.
I chose not to call Avery or Rob. I didn’t want them directing me one way or another. Rob’s anger probably hadn’t completely discharged yet. I waited for the bus, reflecting upon the path I had taken. An audible sigh trickled out of my mouth before my lips could close ranks around it. My fingertips glided across the front of my shirt and made their way to my breast pocket. The letters, ever loyal and patient, waited for their rediscovery. I either had totally overdressed
for a potentially warm day or underdressed for the coolness of the river breeze when the sun receded.
With no headphones, book, or any other distractions, I waited for the bus. A girl and her mother sidled up next to me. The girl was in her teens with long, thick black hair and large brown eyes. The mother was slightly younger than me, with curly brown hair and similar brown eyes.
“I hope they’ll still have some cute dresses left, eh Mom?” asked the young girl.
“Of course, they will. Don’t worry. We’ll go to every store if we have to and find you a nice dress to wear,” said her mom.
“Thanks, Mom. I’m so excited for the graduation dance,” the girl said with eyes opened bright and a smile that lit the dreary day.
“It was sweet of him to ask you. He’s a nice boy, right?” she said, smiling at the girl.
“Yes. I like him. I was kind of hoping he would ask, you know,” she said, beaming.
The mom looked at me, probably realizing how exuberant their conversation was. “Big night for her. Needs a dress for her dance.”
“I’m sure she’ll find the perfect one,” I said to both of them.
Just then, the bus arrived. I moved slightly to the side to allow them to go in first. I clutched the letter in my hand as I boarded the bus. I must’ve looked uncertain because when I got to the driver, he stared at me. “Do you know where you’re going, sir? You seem confused. There’s another one that takes you out of town. And it comes by every hour.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t sure if this was the right bus. But, now I am. This is the bus I want to take. I’m certain.” While I remained confused over where I would end up, my instincts told me this bus would take me there.
He laughed and said, “You can change your mind later. The bus never stops running.”
I sighed, fighting back emotions that ran through me, desperate to break out. “It wasn’t important.” As I walked to the back of the bus and passed the girl, she glanced right up at me and smiled. Although my head was down, I could see her as I went by. I held on tightly to the letter in my hand, almost crumpling it, and looked up with salty, watery eyes and smiled back. She reminded me of the naïve hope I once had. The one I lost.
“Have fun,” I said.
The mother smiled at me and said laughingly, “Oh, to be sixteen again, right?”
I bit my lip and nodded, continuing to a secluded spot at the back of the bus.
I sat and stared out the window. It was about a twenty-five-minute ride regularly, yet it seemed to last forever in some ways. I watched as the bus glided in fits and stops past tree-lined residential streets. I could, in the recesses of my ear, start to hear the gentle roar of the river as we approached the other side of town. My mind had played so many tricks on me recently. I was unsure of whether it was my imagination or not.
The bus arrived near the park. I could now see the slow incline of greenery up Shep’s Hill and make out the wooded area at the top of the slope leading to the river on the other side. On the far side of the park was my old high school. Without straining my eyes too much, the path I walked upon for years to and from the school came into view. Surrounding all of this was a maze of houses.
I got off the bus at the next stop. My old house was two stops farther down with another five-minute walk. As soon as I periscoped around to check my surroundings, I recognized Rachel’s street from the previous day. In my youth, I hadn’t spent much time in this district, as it was on the opposite side of the school. The rain had let up when a strong gust of tepid wind emerged. Summer was no longer on the horizon: it had arrived. My now-naked face could nevertheless still feel the coolness of the air coming from the river.
Shep’s Hill captured my attention, pulling my stare to the forest behind it. In the distance, I could just see the outline of a box-like enclosure that stood camouflaged inside the woods. After all these years, it remained. Suddenly, the stillness of the image was broken by movement—a ghostly apparition walking through the forest to the front of the shack. I blinked my eyes, and the figure vanished almost as suddenly as it had appeared. There was something familiar about the figure, or perhaps it was my fanciful imagination. But I was no longer surprised by any tricks my mind played to rattle me. Such was life.
I took pride in finding Rachel’s bungalow when it came into view around a corner. I wondered if she would even be there at this hour. It wasn’t like I had any other place to go—I’d have an eternity to wait for her if she wasn’t there. A gentle drizzle started again as I turned onto her street.
I ambled up the walkway, thinking of the girl from the bus. The world to her was alive and singing. Her only worry was finding a dress to wear to a dance. If only it could stay that way. Life forever revolved around those moments of happiness when every song felt like its composition existed for you and you alone.
I took a moment to find some reason to turn around and go back west. I knew escaping was no longer an option. There were no “none of the above” options in life either. I took a hefty breath and hoped for the girl to have the simple life of finding the right dress and the right song for her first dance. If only, I thought, I could make it happen. It was past the twilight hour for me but maybe not for someone else. It all seemed frivolous as I stared at the white door with the peeling paint. Is it silly that I would care for a total stranger? My mind procrastinated, logic hammering the emotions back into place.
In my delusion, I figured I stared at the door for barely a second, not more than a couple. It was far longer. The wood porch step creaked loudly as I shifted my weight back and forth. The doorbell loomed at eye level to my left, quietly taunting me. Before I could lift my arm, the door slowly opened. I could see green eyes peering uncertainly through the crack of the door.
PART 2: WHEN THE MOON SANG
CHAPTER 10
High School
The first day of any school year always triggered trepidation in my heart. The leaves were about to turn, if they hadn’t already, and while still bright when you woke up, you knew the morning darkness approached with the coming of the cold.
Today was a little different. I had just turned fifteen; in two years, I would be in college. My birthday marked the end of the summer season, year in and year out. It was not like I didn’t enjoy school or did poorly. I looked forward to seeing the “school friends” or, rather, the kids who seemed to disappear over the course of the summer and reinvented themselves each fall. Most of my summers were spent not venturing too far off the beaten path. Pickup baseball games and swimming at the local park were my activities of choice. A few days out of town with the parents for a brief trip in a good year. The summer always came and went so fast. This was true every year.
Upon awakening, I took an unusually long look at myself in the mirror. My murky brown hair had grown long as the summer progressed, offering a hint of curl at the ends just above my ears. My skin was moderately tanned. I spent much of the afternoons with headphones on and a book in my hand. Gone, mercifully, were the oily patches of skin. I prayed I wouldn’t have to live with the acne and, dare I say it, the “boils” of the last two years. I filled my hands with cold water and, as was the ritual every morning, buried my face in them. The frigid water across my eyes revitalized me.
I slipped back into my room to loiter on the edge of my bed. I closed my eyes. I thought about what this year might have in store for me. I had grown a lot taller since the spring; shaving was now a daily necessity. I wondered which teachers I would have and would my innate shyness still provide shelter. I felt this year was going to be different. It scared me a lot, realizing I may no longer be able to simply run and hide.
For the first time this summer, I felt alone for a reason I couldn’t figure out. Relatives and friends assumed my loneliness went hand in hand with not having any siblings. Not true. I played a multitude of sports, none with any great physical prowess, but, always good enough to b
e under the radar of ridicule. When activities finished for the day, I’d be home listening to music or reading. I enjoyed that comfort and solitude until recently. I felt isolated when my friends and other kids went home for the day. I sensed a touch of grief when the numbers dwindled in the park as the kids went on their vacations with their parents. It was a new emotion and something strong enough inside to agitate me. Hours would pass with me sitting with my eyes closed trying to understand.
My parents sensed the change, too, and could see me distancing myself from them. They also knew better than to probe or interrogate.
The new school year suddenly held many opportunities and challenges as well. What if I still felt isolated and apart? Why do I suddenly need to not be alone? I smiled and laughed to myself that I had gotten fed up with listening to my thoughts . . . finally, I supposed.
The house was eerily quiet that morning. It was normal to hear my mom with the toaster or a frying pan, making an improvised breakfast to be ready like clockwork by the time I meandered down the stairs to the kitchen. My dad was up and out at the crack of dawn for his long commute to work. I often got up earlier to catch breakfast with him and beat him to the newspaper so I could announce the scores before he got to see them. When he did get to the paper first, I managed to pry away the comic section to get my daily dose of the Far Side or Calvin and Hobbes. If only I could draw.
I could smell the food from the kitchen. Oatmeal with a cinnamon hint. No other noise. Yes, this was a different day and the dawn of new era. My mom had re-entered the workforce, and she would no longer be home in the mornings when I rose. I was on my own. Naturally, I believed my mom became tired of the same old routine, so when she announced she had a job, I was genuinely pleased. What I overheard later on was my parents talking about how the extra income would be kept aside for the future. My dad, perhaps, had finally started considering retiring one day.
The Boys Who Danced With the Moon Page 7