Mayday

by Jonathan Friesen

  “Just looking, is all.” He reached for his pizza, but his gaze never left me. “How’s Crow?”

  Mel quieted, and from the corner of my eye, I saw her turn.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her since.”

  Basil chewed his lip and stretched out his hand, placed it on the lunch table palm up.

  I don’t know what it was about Basil. He was easy enough on the eyes, but you’d never find him in a magazine, and he certainly wasn’t the best athlete in town. More likely it was the secrets; his disarming grin always extracted a bit more information than I wanted to share. Yet something in his gaze convinced me that my feelings were safe with him. Then there was his confidence. He had a certainty about him. Basil’s suggestions, no matter how ludicrous, just felt right. If you know anyone like that, you’ll understand why seconds later I found myself holding his hand. And a few seconds after that, I was wearing Mel’s salad.

  Mel marched out of the lunchroom, and I scowled and picked lettuce leaves from my hair. “Thanks for lunch, Basil, and give my thanks to Mel for the extra serving. I, uh, need to go find Crow.”

  “Let me go with you,” he said. “I haven’t skipped in ages.”

  “No!” I stumbled away from the table. “No, I’ll be fine.”

  Basil jumped up and walked toward me. “But you don’t know where she is.” He reached out and gently removed a piece of romaine from my shoulder.

  I paused. “And you do.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  I grabbed a napkin and swiped low-fat ranch dressing from my forehead. “Show me.”

  • • •

  Basil and I slipped out of the mayhem, crept downstairs to the gym door, and raced across the field.

  “Just tell me where she is.” I huffed, and doubled over.

  He slowed and walked back toward me. “She’s with my mom.”

  Of course!

  I straightened and jogged away from Basil. In his middle school form, he was officially a pest whose presence hindered my work. And my work was to find Crow, to stay with her, to help her change the course of one day. It was possible; I’d seen events change with Jasmine and, with them, Crow’s future.

  Together, we could protect Addy. Yes, Sadie wanted me to focus on my life, but she probably wasn’t briefed on my sister’s fate.

  I reached the bus stop just as the Metro ground to a stop.

  “Hold up! You’ll never find her!” Basil pounded behind me.

  Wrong.

  I couldn’t forget. There was one adult who made me think growing up might be worth the effort: Basil’s mom—hippy throwback, Save Tibet activist. I believed it rare that a cop would end up hitched to the woman who, upon their first meeting at a PETA rally, smacked him in the nose. But he arrested her, cuffed her, brought her in . . . and fell in love. Such were Officer David and Dove Dewey, Basil’s odd-couple parents.

  I shook thoughts of Dove from my mind and climbed bus steps, Basil screaming in the background. I slotted my coins and plunked down, trying to recall when I first met Dove. The time escaped me. The location did not.

  Officer Dewey purchased a plot of land outside city limits. He claimed he wanted a place for target practice, but the truth was that Dove had demanded a garden Basil’s apartment complex couldn’t provide. A cop’s pay didn’t allow for a house, so Dewey dropped an old RV right in the center of the land, considering it both a great place to store his guns and a first-rate poker getaway.

  I don’t imagine he figured on Dove’s moving out and taking up residence.

  “Oh, I still love the man,” she used to say. “It’s the living with him I can’t stomach.”

  She claimed the RV, turned the plot of land into gardens, and Officer Dewey never got in even one hand of poker.

  The RV became Basil’s second home, and eventually Crow’s sanctuary.

  What a tangled web Basil and I did weave.

  • • •

  Basil’s hand jammed the accordion bus doors, and he staggered up, collapsing next to me in the front seat. I chuckled and turned away, again letting my head thunk against the window. Shane must’ve done that often, as it felt so natural.

  “See, Crow and my mom have always had this thing,” Basil said.

  “Yes, they did. I know about your family. I know Dove and the officer.”

  He frowned. “Crow tells you more than most. So tell me about yours.” He nudged my shoulder. “Your and Crow’s dad. Where’s he at now?”

  “Kentucky.”

  “Kentucky.” Basil rolled his eyes. “Great accent.”

  “Well, first Alaska, and then recently Kentucky.”

  Basil held up his hand. “Okay, dead.” It was a possibility, and it both ended all the family talk and provided a nice reason for my sudden appearance at Crow’s tree house.

  The bus bounced on, slow and hypnotic. A stray leaf of romaine lettuce fell from my hair. I peeked at Basil, so comfortable in this crazy world of mine.

  “Hey, Basil, why do you put up with Mel?” I lowered my voice. “And what do you see in Crow?”

  The instant the words were out, I wished I could reel them back.

  Please, don’t make a joke about this.

  To Basil’s credit, he did not. He straightened, bit his lip, and nodded.

  “Fair questions. Mel is a wind, nothing more, you know? Light, breezy. She never takes you anywhere you don’t want to go. She’s a head case, but a predictable one. End of story.” Basil paused, then whispered Crow’s name. “Remember the twister that blew through last year? Probably not, you were in Alaska.” He rolled his eyes. “Sky here turned green and the air hung, thick and heavy, waiting. The world was still, birds muted. There was a moment before the winds, an eye of the storm. That’s Crow. That heavy place where every word is important and everything she does is symbolic and you’re always a moment from a tornado. That’s life with Crow.” He peeked at me. “I couldn’t live without her, but—and no offense to your sister—sometimes the drama gets so heavy you need a light breeze, you know? Just a day at the beach. Enter Mel.”

  I wondered at the deepest words he’d ever spoken. “Ever told Crow that?”

  He frowned and eased back in the seat. “No. I guess I haven’t.”

  We rode the rest of the way in silence. I hopped off at the Park-n-Ride in Maple Grove and trudged toward Elm Creek. Though Basil’s words were still with me, he followed a few steps behind. The walk to Dove’s took four thousand and three steps, just over an hour. I’d always been into counting, a little obsessive/compulsive tendency that must have slid down Mom’s DNA strand into my own mind, and apparently my soul’s.

  Basil caught up to me.

  “You do know where you’re going.”

  I paused. No talk. It cluttered up my thinking. “Yeah. Three thousand five hundred steps that way.” I pointed.

  He bit his lip and shook his head. “You’re a little more like Crow than I thought.”

  I can’t explain the feeling I had with Basil at my side and Dove minutes away. The whole going-back thing, you’d think, would be déjà vu at every turn. But it wasn’t. I mean, this wasn’t. I’d lived to eighteen. My life had filled with five more years of strange twists and vivid memories, and in this young body I felt oddly detached.

  I was a visitor.

  Until I reached Dove’s plot.

  Her lot bordered Elm Creek on the back, shielded on either side by pine trees both tall and full. The grass was wild, just like Dove. Gardens filled the back half of the acreage. “After all,” she said, “I should leave some land for David.”

  Later on, those gardens would take over the entire property.

  I stepped into the tall grass and ran my fingers over its gentle wave. Maybe this is where the field in Lifeless’s dream was born. Dove worked the flower bed and slowly stood as Basil and I a
pproached.

  “Dove. It’s been so long,” I said, and broke into a broad smile.

  She leaned hard on her hoe. “Do I know you?”

  “Well, I’ve heard so much from Crow, I feel like I know you already.”

  “That’s a pile of crap.” She bent over and worked more dirt. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.” She looked up. “Nice of you to come, Basil. School treating you well?”

  “Day in, day out. You know.” Basil stepped forward. “Ma, this is Crow’s half sister. She needs to find her.”

  Dove paused. “Half sister. Where you from, half sister?”

  I peeked at Basil, couldn’t recall what I’d told him. “Wisconsin?”

  “Now I know she’s full of crap.” Dove turned her back.

  Basil walked toward her and whispered in her ear. She peeked over her shoulder and breathed deep. “I’ll be right back.”

  Dove disappeared into the trailer. From the beginning, she was my protector. I never witnessed this until I came as Shane, but I always felt it to be true. She wouldn’t let anybody near me. I loved her so.

  Dove poked her head out the door. “Come on in, Basil, Shane. Don’t make too much noise.”

  We followed her into the trailer. Inside, it was dark, not a light on, and we stumbled toward the back bedroom.

  “Crow?” Basil called. “It’s me. You back here?”

  “Yeah, I want to see Shane.”

  Crow’s outline sat on the bed cross-legged. I pushed in front of Basil, toward the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol, and sat on the foot of the bed.

  “Good to see ya, Shane, you little witch.”

  “Keep talking,” I said.

  There was silence here, and finally I turned to Basil. “You can go.”

  Basil shifted. “It’s my mom’s place. I’ve known Crow a lot longer than—”

  “You can go, Basil.” Crow said quietly.

  He tongued his cheek and backed out. “Yeah, right. I’ll be with Mom if you need me.”

  Our shadows looked at each other for five minutes. “So, how are you getting along? Do you need anything?” I asked.

  “Why didn’t you let me kill her?”

  Kill her? Oh, Jasmine.

  “I appreciate how enjoyable that would have been for you, but I’m telling you that in the long run, murder’s more a negative than a positive.”

  Her voice quieted. “Maybe. What time is it?”

  “Six or so.”

  “I need to get home.”

  “I know.” I shifted on the bed. “Why’d you do it? Why push Jasmine through?”

  Crow gave a heavy sigh. “She called me a psycho bitch, and I held it together. But then she called you one, too.”

  “There was no more?” I asked. “That’s it?”

  She hung her head. “Nobody says anything about my sister, real or you.”

  I scooted up next to Crow. “I’m gonna turn on the lamp. Close your eyes.”

  Click.

  “Holy . . .”

  Crow’s skin was ashen, her cheeks drawn. She sat amid beer cans and cigarette boxes and books. She winced and slowly opened her eyelids. Crow had no whites, only reds.

  I reached over and hugged her, felt her collapse against my side.

  “Shane, Jasmine said your name, but inside I heard Adele’s. I looked at her face, but I saw Jude’s. I couldn’t help it. I lost it.”

  I know. You’ll always protect Adele.

  • • •

  It was my first memory and, oddly, one of my most potent.

  A Dad memory. It should have been precious.

  Mom worked late at the library, while the two of us struggled to get Adele into bed. A number of obstacles stood in the way, the largest being “the tub”: a soapy, drippy experience that left all three of us soaked.

  “Run the water, Coraline.” Dad frowned at Adele’s diaper. “I’ll go to work on the back end.”

  I jumped to the tub and soon had it filled with foam. “Ready, Daddy!”

  He nodded. “Okay, here we go. One. Two . . .” He yanked off the diaper. “Three!” He hoisted her off the counter and plunged her deep into the water.

  For a second all was quiet.

  Then little Addy wailed.

  “It’s all right, darlin’. Just a bath.”

  She arched her back and screamed. Dad repositioned her and swore. “That water is scalding hot!” He drew Addy out, her skin mottled and red, and wrapped her loosely in a towel. “To the car, Coraline! We need to take her in.”

  I remember little about that urgent-care visit, except for the fish tank. I plastered my face against the glass and cried.

  Addy’s skin eventually returned to a proper shade, so the episode turned out well.

  Until Mom came home, heard the story, and flew into a rage. Dad slept on the couch that night. I know, because I snuggled with him.

  “I can’t do this, Cor,” I remember his whisper, as well as my toddler resolve.

  After that, I made a promise to myself. I will never let Addy get hurt again.

  • • •

  “You know,” Crow rasped. “You said you watched my silhouette through the window? That’s true. I pace to stay awake. If I sleep and he comes . . .”

  “You don’t need to tell me.”

  “But I do; I’ve got to tell someone. If I sleep, and Jude slips in . . . I don’t trust him. He wants to do a lot more than touch her, I just know it. I’ve told Mom again and again . . . how he looks at Addy, what I’ve heard in the hallway. She doesn’t believe me. Since Dad left, she believes nothing I say. But Mom’s not dumb. She sees it, and I see the knowing in her face, but Jude’s got her all tangled up in his psycho-babble. He says Addy needs a strong male in her life. He says I’m bitter and trying to turn the family against him, and Mom buys it because she wants to, she needs to. She buys it all and ignores it all and there’s not one person in this damn world who believes me.” Crow’s body shook. “I keep it from Addy ’cause I don’t want to scare her, but you, you’ve got to believe me.”

  “I do.” I rocked her gently and stroked her hair. “I so believe you, and you need to believe me. Nothing’s going to happen to Addy. We can stop him. . . . I promise you: we can do it.”

  Crow squeezed tighter and I squeezed back, and it felt so good to hug myself. I never let anyone get this close at thirteen, but she just let me in. Way in. Crow was changing, softening. And that might be good.

  Except that hardness alone kept me sane.

  “Last time you ate?” I asked.

  “Two days ago.”

  Inside, I boiled. This woman who gave me shelter cared little about my life. Were all mothers like that? “Dove’s just letting you die back here!”

  Crow straightened. “No. She’s letting me live. My way.” She rose from the bed. “Gotta get home. The Monster will be home soon.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Crow pushed by me, wobbled, and regained her balance. She reached back and squeezed my arm. “You should have let me kill her.”

  I shook my head and grinned. “With a trophy? Where’s the glamour in that?”

  Crow chuckled and marched toward the door, paused but did not turn. “Don’t leave me, Shane.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’d ask you to sleep over tonight if I didn’t live with him.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  Crow spun around, her lips curled. “All right. But I’ll tell you right now, I don’t sleep much.”

  “I know. We’ll watch together.”

  Side by side, we pushed out into the last rays of sunlight. One week till Mayday. One week to change Addy’s world. Soon Crow, I’ll need you, too.

  CHAPTER 8

  THE THOUGHTS OF C. RAINE


  Home is where one starts from.

  T. S. Eliot

  CAN YOU LIKE YOURSELF MORE WHEN YOU AREN’T YOURSELF?

  I only know that we stepped into Mom’s house at eight o’clock, and I had an admiration for Crow—for me—that I’d never before experienced. I was proud of her, which I guess meant I was proud of me. I had to admit, for a girl who defined life in terms of degrees of failure, it felt good.

  Awkward.

  “Follow me.” Crow walked into the kitchen and stopped. She spun and hustled me out, but a voice didn’t let us get far.

  “Look who dragged in!” Jude the Monster rose from the table and took a step forward. “You look half dead, Crow. Get some sleep tonight, will you?” His eyes roamed me, finally settling on my face. “And what’s your name, young lady?” He held out his hand.

  “I’m not a lady. I’m a girl. Then again, I’m told you’re not much of a man, so let’s just skip the intro part.” I turned to Crow, her red eyes wide with shock. “Is your mom or Adele around? I’d like to meet them.”

  Jude dropped his hand and cursed. “Another Crow.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Crow rounded my shoulder with her arm, pulled me through the kitchen and down the hall. “That may have been the single best moment I’ve experienced in thirteen years of life.”

  “Glad to provide it for you.”

  “Mom?” Crow called. “Mom!”

  “We’re in here.” Adele called from the bedroom.

  My heartbeat quickened, and Crow opened the door, collapsed on her bed. “I’m really hungry. Any leftovers?”

  “Where were you?” Mom didn’t turn. “Dove’s, I assumed.”

  They say that when you die, your whole life passes before your eyes. I didn’t believe that, especially given that I had some experience in the matter. But as I stood, my gaze again fixed on Addy, the one I’d come back to save, and yeah, the dam broke and the memories flooded.

  I saw her take her first steps. I did, not Mom or Dad. Me.

  I caught her when she fell off the monkey bars. Well, I broke her fall a little.

  I taught her to ride her bike.

  So many successes. One failure overshadowed them all.