Finding Eden

by Camilla Beavers

  I kick my feet at the ground, shuffling my feet as I walk. I try not to think about Brock and Evaughn, because that would just put me in a bad mood.

  My thoughts progress into the more absurd the longer I walk. Soon my imagination has spiraled so far out of control that I find myself almost dancing in real life as my other self in my mind dances at a royal ball. The dancing gets too far out of my control though and I dance into the street.

  A car horn wails and I'm brought back to reality. I jump back onto the sidewalk as the car passes, hearing the driver call me an idiot through the open window.

  “Holy crap,” I mutter under my breath, my heart pounding and adrenaline running through my veins.

  I'm so close to home that I decide to run the rest of the way, something I normally can't do. But I figure since the whole world has gone insane I'm allowed to do something a little crazy. Since my heart almost gave out when I was a baby, I've had to take medication every single morning and I haven't been allowed to do anything that might make my heart work overtime.

  I've never really ran anywhere, but I make myself do the unpracticed movement. I move faster and faster, my heart thumping in my chest. Soon I feel myself flying along and I can't believe I was never allowed to do this. But then my house comes into view, along with my car.

  My feet coast to a stop and I'm not out of breath. At all. My heart is beating faster, but it's not pumping out some strange disjointed rhythm it usually does when something startles me. How the hell is this possible? I'm out of breath from sheer surprise. Walking up the driveway, I walk into the house and grab some food before I head to my room. My phone vibrates in my pocket. It's Evaughn.

  I snap the phone open, “Hello.”

  “Oh my god,” she sounds relieved, “are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I'm fine. Why?”

  “You haven't been feeling weird or anything?”

  “No, Evaughn, I haven't.” I say, “Again, why are you asking?”

  “Okay, good,” I hear static, “wait... how did you get home?”

  “I walked.”

  “You walked all the way home?” She almost sounds like a mom.

  “Yeah,” I say, “Evaughn, why are you calling?”

  “Oh,” she says, “I guess you haven't heard. You remember the free drink stand?”

  “Yeah,” the word comes out quickly, “what about it?”

  “Well, turns out some kid decided to pull a prank and slipped something into the mix. The cops were called when everyone began to freak out,” she says in a rushed voice, “that's why Brock was acting the way he was. He had grabbed one of the drinks. He is so embarrassed. So am I. He would call... but he's not sure if you'd talk to him.”

  “It was drugs?” I ask into the phone.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh thank heavens,” I plop down on the couch, “I thought I was going insane!”

  “How do you think we feel?”

  “Yeah,” I say, “I bet. But at least now I know that Brock likes me.”

  “Yeah,” she sounds sad.

  “But don't worry.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you like him, don't you?”

  “No,” she says too quickly.

  “Yeah you do,” I tease, “from your quick denial I can totally tell you do.”

  There's a long pause on the other end of the phone and I look at the screen to make sure we didn't get disconnected.

  “Am I really that transparent?” She asks in a whisper. I feel like smacking myself with the phone.

  “No, you're not,” I say, “how about you come over and we'll talk this all over. I can order a couple pizzas and we can pork out on non-carnival food while we talk. Okay?”

  “Alright,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice, “I will be over as soon as possible.”

  An hour later Evaughn and I are sitting on my bed polishing off the second pizza.

  “So he knows that you don't like him?”

  “I'm fairly certain that my freak out earlier let him know exactly how I feel about him.”

  We sit in silence for a while and I can tell Evaughn is thinking about Brock, her colors swirling all pink, red and yellow.

  “You know,” she says out of the blue, “you and Sahariel need to get back together.”

  “What?”

  “I know you like him, and you know he was looking for you earlier right as things started going weird.”

  “He was?”

  “Yeah,” she says, “but when I was about to answer him, he stopped listening and ran off like he saw you or something.”

  “Weird.”

  “Yeah, even weirder because you were nowhere to be seen.” Then she says, “Did you even see him there?”

  “Yeah, I did actually,” I admit, “he's the one who saved me from the drug induced mania.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  “Knight in shining armor, huh?”

  “Something like that,” I mumble.

  “You like him, don't you?” She asks.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Then why are you sitting here talking to me about Brock when you should be with Sahariel?”

  “I'm not sure if he'd want to see me.”

  “Why's that?”

  “Because I told him to go away?”

  “You think that's going to keep him away?” She scoffs at me, “He's been lurking around the school behind you all super stalker like.”

  “Really? Then how come I never seen him?”

  “Because you're extremely unobservant lately?” Evaughn is sarcastic.

  “Oh,” I mouth the word but no sound comes out.

  “You're hopeless, you know that?” She says.

  “I try not to be,” I say.

  “Well, you are.” She looks at her watch, “Anyway, I should get going. I will see you Monday, alright?”

  “Okay,” I say.

  I walk Evaughn out and wave goodbye as she drives down the street. I look up at the clear night sky and take a deep breath as the salt of the fields washes away. Hopefully everything works itself out.

  Chapter Ten

  Over the weekend the catastrophe at the carnival is on every newscast. After the third time of seeing the same footage I decided to boycott television.

  On Monday morning my alarm goes off and I don't want to get up. I'm not tired. I'm nervous about seeing Sahariel. My mind is a buzz with what may or may not happen, and my morning rituals go by without notice. The car drive, the parking lot, class; a blur. Up until the point when Brock walks up to my desk in Literature.

  “Hi,” he says.

  I look up from my doodles and see him fidget under my gaze.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “I just wanted to apologize-”

  “Stop, don't worry about it.”

  “But-”

  “Seriously,” I say, “we're both pretty embarrassed. I won't hold it against you if you don't hold it against me.” I smile at him and after a few moments he smiles back.

  “Deal.” He says.

  He sits down next to me right as our teacher walks in with a television on wheels, gray and black swirling lazily around him.

  “He looks like crap,” Brock says.

  I mumble an agreement and watch as our teacher walks over and switches the lights off, my eyes following him. My eyes pass over the door, and a flash of what looks like might have been a person standing there comes and goes.

  I get up from my seat and walk over to my teacher, mumbling something to him about needing to use the bathroom, or at least that's what I think I said. I honestly can't remember what I said, my mind is too focused on trying to figure out who, or what, was at the door.

  I close the door behind myself, making sure the click is as quiet as possible. I look right down the hallway.

  No one.

  I look left. My eyes catch something moving around the corner and I go to investigate. I walk around the corner but again, no one
is there. But I hear footsteps.

  And they're close.

  I listen closely to try and figure out which direction they're coming from, but I can't tell. I can hear whispers though. All around me.

  I can't tell if it's one voice echoing or if it's many, but shudders run down my body, goose bumps raise on my arms and I feel the static in the air.

  The air feels like it's full of... something. It feels thick, like I'm in a tropical environment and the humidity is through the roof; like I'm breathing water.

  I try to take a deep breath but I can't. I feel like I'm going to hyperventilate.

  I take another breath.

  It's useless. Each breath gives me less and less oxygen. But there isn't anything wrong with the air. There's no odd smell; nothing.

  Carbon monoxide poisoning? Where would it be coming from, and why would I hear those whispers?

  My vision blurs and I find myself feeling dizzy. I put my hand against the wall and a hand against my heart. I try to steady myself but find myself sinking slowly to the ground.

  “Maybe I'll just lean my head against the wall for a bit,” I whisper.

  I tilt my head back and close my head. My head is throbbing, and leaning back and closing my eyes seems to make it ease a bit, as if the less resistance I put up, the less pain I feel.

  Finally able to take a deep breath, I smile and try to get up, but my arms won't respond.

  My eyes won't open. I'm stuck in the dark in my own body.

  What's going on? Why can't I move? My brain won't tell my body to move.

  I can't speak. Am I going to die?

  “Eden?”

  I hear my name from someone I thought didn't want to see me.

  “Eden.”

  The voice is worried now.

  “Shit,” he says.

  I feel myself being picked up, completely limp.

  “I'm going to kill them,” he says.

  I'm moving in his arms, and I'm able to register the change in temperature as he takes me outside into fresh air.

  “Eden,” his voice is close to my ear.

  A hand cradles my face; a finger runs across my cheek. I hear a whisper rush from his lips and I feel like I'm being covered in the words he's saying.

  Seconds tick by and I can register my body ready to respond to me one part at a time. I'm able to open my eyes, and although the words Sahariel has spoken are still swimming through my head, I can't remember them nor could I speak them out loud.

  “There you are,” he says to me as my eyes open.

  “Holy crap,” I say, “are you okay?”

  I look at his face, which looks worse than it did back when I was having my nightmares. His eyes look sunken in, his skin pale and a light sheen covers his brow.

  “I am not my main concern,” he says.

  “Well it should be.”

  “It's not,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “Because, Eden,” he says, “I'm not the one who almost died just now.”

  He's frustrated, but worried.

  “Who was?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  He rolls his eyes and I can't help but notice he's still holding me in his arms, my head gently cradled in the crook of his arm, seedlings growing.

  “I'm never leaving you alone again,” he says.

  The look in his eyes scares me, not because I fear for my safety, but because I fear for the safety of others.

  I don't argue with him.

  The next day at school Sahariel is back to following me around. Brock and Evaughn don't say anything, she just smiles and nods at me as we sit down to eat lunch

  “Oh, did you hear,” Brock says, “there was a gas leak yesterday. A couple teachers got all high because of it. Pretty funny.”

  I don't say anything; I just look at Sahariel and am startled to see a livid expression on his face. I hear him say something that sounds like, “of course it was a gas leak,” but he says it so quietly I can't be sure.

  “Yeah, Mr. Torres was freaking out with a bad headache and everything,” Evaughn comments on her band director.

  “How did it happen anyway?” I ask.

  “No one knows,” Brock says, “especially since the pipes were checked last week.”

  “Yeah, that is weird.”

  “Probably a prank,” Brock says.

  “It wasn't a very nice one,” I say, “someone could have been hurt.”

  “It was just a prank,” Evaughn says.

  “Yeah, but it wasn't a very nice one.”

  Brock and Evaughn look at me carefully.

  “Are you okay?” Brock asks.

  “No,” I say, “well, yes, I am. But I was affected by that prank yesterday. It was horrible. So to me it wasn't really a joke. I didn't find it funny. At all.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Yeah,” Brock says, “sorry.”

  I let out a sigh.

  “It's okay,” I say, “it just sucked.”

  The bell rings a little while later and I slowly get up and dump my tray. Sahariel follows me, keeping a small distance between us that frustrates me. I rub my temples trying to stave off a headache.

  “Please don't do that,” I say.

  “Do what?”

  “That,” I motion at the distance between us, “don't walk behind me like that. It annoys me.”

  “Oh,” he says.

  He takes the steps between us as if he were walking on eggshells. After a long couple of seconds, he's finally walking in stride with me again like he did before.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Not really.” He says.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  I frown at him as we walk into art class. With only a few months left in the school year most everyone is busy trying to finish their paintings. A few people are scrambling about, muttering obscenities under their breath, trying their hardest to finish even though they're not even close to completing their projects.

  “I'm really glad I'm finished,” I say, “I don't like being under a time crunch.”

  “I don't think anyone does,” Sahariel says, “but some of us don't have a choice.”

  I look at him and expect him to explain, but he never does. He just sits there and broods next to me while I doodle on a notepad to ease the time away. A scene begins to take form, somewhere I know I've never been, yet feels extremely familiar.

  There are trees. It's a forest maybe. But there is a clearing and in that clearing there is a fire. Three men stand around the fire. I don't know who they are, and they're too small in the drawing to have faces, but in the drawing they're being watched.

  “What did you just draw?” Sahariel asks.

  He's become suddenly alert, almost angry at me for drawing such a picture.

  “I-I don't know.” I say.

  “Where did you see this?”

  “I d-don't know,” I say, “I don't rem‒”

  “You have to remember.” He whispers harshly.

  “No I‒”

  “Yes, you do,” he says, “You have to have seen this somewhere.”

  “Why are you so angry?” I whisper, “I don't know why I drew this. Stop and listen to yourself. You're not making any sense.”

  I pick up the drawing and hold it up and look at him, a questioning expression on my face. How could he be so mad at me over a drawing? I look at the drawing and try to figure why I drew it.

  Is it from a dream?

  I continue to stare at it until I feel Sahariel get up from his seat, the chair scraping against the ground with a squeal. He doesn't say anything as he gets up and I watch as he leaves the room. I frown at the drawing, genuinely wondering what I had done wrong.

  Class ends and I pack up my bag, still unsure about why Sahariel is mad at me. Hell, I'm not even mad at him, I'm just really confused. I drive home and see dad's car in the driveway. I park next to his car, jump out and walk int
o the house, trying to be as quiet as possible.

  Walking into the house, I cringe when the door closes a little harder than I'd like it to and the sound echoes past his office and up the stairs.

  “Yes... thank you for informing me... it's great news... yes... thank you for calling me... uh-huh... thank you, goodbye,” I hear dad in his office, the click of the phone as he hangs up. I walk past the door to my dad’s office to the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible.

  “Eden, can you come in here please?” I hear him say as I pass the door.

  I slowly push the door open and it creeks a little. Dad looks at me over a pile of papers in his hands, an unreadable expression on his face.

  “Can you sit down for a minute?”

  “Uh, sure,” I’m confused, but I sit down across from him and try not to fidget, “what’s up?”

  “I received a letter from your school today,” he begins. I try not to look horrified.

  “Okay?”

  “I also just got off the phone from Julliard,” he says.

  He clasps his hands in front of himself, the odd expression still on his face. Why do parents emotions have to be so complicated?

  I don’t say a word. I just look at him; nothings clicking into place.

  “You’ve been approved for early graduation,” he says finally, “The call was about you being accepted.”

  “They called?” I ask, “Did you bribe them?”

  “No, I didn’t bribe anyone,” he says.

  “Then how did I get accepted?” I ask, “I didn’t even apply.”

  “I must admit that’s my fault,” dad says, “I had them hold a place for you since you were seven.”

  “Dad!”

  “What?”

  He manages to look slightly ashamed.

  “You’re unbelievable,” I say. I try to glare but smile instead.

  “I know,” he says, “so, dinner tonight or another night?”

  “Do you have time tonight?” I try not to sound too hopeful.

  “Of course I do,” he says, “now, I’m going to make a reservation for seven, so you’ll have a few hours to get ready.”

  “Oh my god.” I say with a huge grin, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  I leave his office almost unable to walk without hopping slightly. I need to go shopping since the last time I went out for a fancy dinner was when I was twelve, and I think that outfit would be a bit dated. I grab my purse and my cell phone, intent on calling Evaughn as I step out the door.