by Amanda Frame
“Hey Aaron,” Becca said, batting her overly-mascaraed eyelashes at him.
“Are you coming to practice tonight, Anna? I know you said you might not be able to stay late,” Aaron said.
“I can make it.” Actually, I hadn’t checked that text from my mom yet. “I just think it’s ridiculous that coach is making us stay another hour. Like, I know we did pretty horrible at the last meet, but…”
“Okay, enough cross country babble,” Becca interrupted, waving her hand in my face. “Are you going to Jess’s party on Saturday, Aaron?” The urge to smack that doe-eyed look off her face was strong.
“Um, I don’t know yet, probably,” Aaron replied distractedly, looking at his phone. “I’ll see you later Anna.” He took a right down the hallway and Becca started to follow, seemingly on auto-pilot. I grabbed her elbow and steered her in the opposite direction.
“Art class is this way, dumbass.”
“You’re such a buzzkill sometimes, you know?” She allowed me to drag her away, pouting. She sulked in silence all the way to class.
The whiteboard in the art room said “free paint” in big letters. Mr. Hornby sat leaning back in his chair, reading some trashy magazine, the epitome of “I don’t give a shit”. I smiled. “Free paint” basically meant do whatever the hell you want, because I know this class is a joke and none of you give a crap anyway.
“Free paint, hell yeah!” Becca loved art.
We grabbed some random colors from the huge, wooden, paint-stained table in the center of the room and set up two easels next to each other. I squirted a glob of black paint onto a pallet rather unenthusiastically.
“Why do you want to go to Jess’s party anyway?” I asked Becca. “She’s barely your friend, and kind of a bitch.” I streaked some black paint across my canvas, looking at Becca.
“You’re kind of a bitch sometimes, too,” she responded cheerfully, giving me an evil grin.
“Okay, yeah, but she’s like, perma-bitch.”
“Ha! I like that,” Becca laughed. “I want to go because everyone’s going to be there, obviously. One day I hope to reach a social status slightly above drama club loser.” She tilted her head to the side to carefully examine what I thought was the start of a painting of a bowl of fruit. Meanwhile, I was still throwing globs of black at my canvas and looking at Becca.
“We’re seniors. I’m pretty sure we aren’t gonna have enough time to move very far up the popularity chain. Why do you even care?” I asked, setting my brush down on my pallet as I remembered to check the text from my mom. Ok, sweetie, drive safe. I smiled. My mom was the best sometimes.
Becca still hadn’t responded. Another text followed a second later. You forgot to take Mr. Marshall’s trash out again. I rolled my eyes and regretted agreeing to do that for him every week. It wasn’t my fault he was like thousand years old. I snapped myself back to our conversation. “Becca, why…”
“What is that?” Becca interrupted.
“What’s what?” I looked up from my phone and followed her gaze to my canvas. It was a black shape, resembling a short man with arms that were way too long and hung past his feet. Its head seemed to be in profile, long and pointed with a line coming down at an angle like a jaw hanging open.
I yelped and pushed the easel away, jumping up from my chair and tripping over Becca’s backpack to land flat on my ass. My head hit the wooden table behind us.
“Oh God, are you okay?” Becca whisper-yelled. She rushed to my side and squatted down next to me.
“I…I think so.” I was panting and it felt like my heart was going to rip out of my chest. I felt so stupid.
“What the hell happened?” Becca asked, touching my shoulder gently. It made me jump. My embarrassed glance scanned the room.
“I…uh…” The entire class was on their feet, staring at me. Including Mr. Hornby, who didn’t get up for anything less than a fire drill. I felt heat rush to my face. My hands were sticky. I looked down and saw black paint dripping down my fingers. My eyes went wide and all I could think about was getting those slimy tendrils off of me. I wiped my hands on my shirt, forgetting that the whole class was staring at me.
“Anna, stop. I’ll get you some paper towels.” Becca grabbed my wrists and held on until I stopped struggling. She could be freakishly strong. I looked up at her and studied her face, imagining what it might look like if her cheeks and eyes sank into her skull.
What the hell is wrong with me? I shook my head to clear the confusion. Becca was standing over me and holding our backpacks with one arm. She grabbed my elbow with the other and pulled me to my feet. She led me out the door without saying a word to Mr. Hornby.
Becca led me down the hallway and into the girls’ bathroom. I stood in silence next to the sink, staring at my hands.
“For God’s sake, wash your hands!” Becca said as she crouched down to check under the doors of the stalls. The bathroom was empty except for us. She stood upright and looked at me with her mouth parted slightly and eyebrows pinched together. “Uh, hello? Clean yourself up!” She gave me a little shove towards the sink.
I watched blackness swirl down the drain, carried away by the icy water. There was a glob of paint by my ear. I tried to get it out with a wet paper towel but only managed to streak it through my hair. Grimacing, I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, hiding the mess as best as I could.
My ruined t-shirt went into the trash and Becca handed me her hoodie to put on over my tank top. I caught her staring at me in the mirror. “What?” I asked.
“What do you mean, what? What the hell was that? You just freaked the hell out for no reason.” Her face softened. “Are you okay? Was that like a…panic attack or something?”
I didn’t really know how to explain. I was embarrassed enough as it was. “Um…the painting…just kind of reminded me of something. Something that happened to me when I was a kid.”
“Okay. So why did you paint it?”
“I wasn’t paying attention, I thought I was just...I wasn’t trying to paint anything specific, it just kind of…came out.”
“Like subconsciously or something?”
“I guess.”
“It’s like, what’s it called? A Freud Slip?”
“I think you mean Freudian Slip. And I don’t know if that applies in this situation. I don’t really wanna talk about it.”
Becca put up her hands in a defensive gesture. “Okay, okay. I wasn’t trying to…get into your business or whatever. But I am your best friend, y’know. If you want to talk about it, I’d hope it would be to me. And you’ve never told me much about your life before I moved here.”
“I said I don’t really want to talk about it right now,” I retorted. Becca looked hurt. I leaned against the wall exhaustedly and sighed. “Sorry, Bec. I’m just frazzled right now. We can talk about it some other time?”
“Okay,” she said with a tight smile, “I’m always here for you, you know.”
“I know.” I smiled back, but it was forced. I picked my backpack up off the tile and shrugged it on. “I think I’m just going to go home, I’ll stop at the nurse and tell her I have a headache or something.”
“What about cross country? You told Aaron you’d be there.”
“Whatever. Our team sucks anyway. Missing one practice won’t kill me. I’ll just run a few miles when I get home or something.” Becca gave me a sceptical look and turned to the mirror to run her fingers through her fiery red curls.
“See you tomorrow, Becca. Don’t forget to do the pre-calc homework.”
“Okay, Mom,” she replied with a roll of her eyes and a smile, then more seriously, “Call me later, okay? I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’ll be okay, I promise,” I said with the best fake smile I could muster. “See ya.” I rushed out of the bathroom before she could ask me anything else. I heard the door slam shut behind me and cringed at the echo down the empty hallway. The silence was filled with the clomping of my boots as I trudged
past the nurse’s office and toward the front door of the school. Looking around to make sure no one saw me, I darted through the double doors and closed them quietly behind me.
~
I just wanted to be somewhere else. As I walked through the parking lot, looking for my car, I debated where to go. Home was an option. My dad would probably be at work until at least 7 pm. He was spending less and less time at home and more time at the office. I knew it bothered my mom, but he was on his way toward a big promotion, which meant more money, and a higher chance they could afford to send me to somewhere better than the local community college. My mom was working second shift at the hospital, so she wouldn’t be home till about 11 pm. Even though I would get about—I looked at my phone, it wasn’t even 10:30—eight hours to myself if I went home, I had a strong desire not to be there.
I threw my backpack in the backseat and climbed into my car. The steering wheel was warm and soothing against my forehead. The mall, I decided. I pulled down the visor and looked at myself in the mirror. Black paint flaked off my hair. “Whatever,” I said out loud, too exhausted and confused to give a crap.
I turned the key in the ignition, and my car made a “rrrr rrrr” sound a few times before starting. It had been doing this lately, and knowing nothing about cars, I was convinced it was going to blow up any day now.
I pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the mall. It felt like I was hitting every red light. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel impatiently while I scanned the radio for something good. Crappy song, crappy song, weather, crappy song, traffic report. Traffic report at 10:30 in the morning? Didn’t those just come on during rush hour? I listened.
“Route 408 westbound is moving along nicely, eastbound doesn’t look too bad either,” said a woman’s voice on the radio. “Interstate 4 north between exits 84 and 87 is stop and go due to two left lane closures caused by a disabled vehicle. Southbound is also…” The announcer’s voice cut off abruptly as I slapped the power button. Damn it. I-4 north led straight to the mall. This trip was meant to kill time anyway; so what if it took me twice as long to get there? I flicked on my turn signal and got on the on-ramp.
I zoned out and continued driving the route I had taken so many times, usually with Becca, to sit at the food court and eat ice cream while talking about the latest boy drama. Boy drama. Why the hell did Becca have to like Aaron? He could be such a jerk and seemed to have no interest in her whatsoever. He did talk to me a lot, though. I tried to convince myself it was because we were on the cross country team together and not because he had a crush on me.
I rolled my eyes at my own thoughts and passed exit 34 on the highway, just before the slight hill. As I topped the hill, the cars ahead of me were slowing down abruptly, tires screeching a couple lanes to my right.
“Oh shit!” The smell of burning rubber hit my nose as I slammed on my breaks. My car skidded forward, stopping mere inches from the one in front of me. My white-knuckled grip loosened from the steering wheel. My head fell back against the headrest and I let out a sigh of relief. My parents would have killed me if I rear-ended someone. The traffic report had warned me, I should have been paying more…slam!
My head whipped forward and slammed down onto the steering wheel as my front bumper rammed into the car in front of me. Black spots danced in front of my eyes. I blinked a few times and tried to figure out what had happened. Oh God, someone rear-ended me. I tried to turn around to see the car that hit me but my neck ached. I took my seatbelt off and turned my body around just in time to see another car coming over the hill, barreling toward the one that had just hit me. My eyes went wide and my brain froze. Oh no.
In slow motion, the second car slammed into the one behind me. I flew forward, head and shoulder crashing against the windshield before I realized what was happening. I was dimly aware that I had taken off my seatbelt to look behind me. Warm liquid ran down my face and I tasted metal. Slowly pushing myself off the dashboard, I lowered down into the driver’s seat. Dizziness and a throbbing headache almost blocked out the sharp pain in my side and shoulder. I groaned.
Banging on my window cut through the ringing in my ears. Muffled voices were outside. I held my head in my hands and tried to block it all out.
“Hey! Are you okay?” There was knocking on my window again. I cautiously raised my head out of my hands. My palms came away bloody. Someone was trying to open the driver’s side door. A balding man with a concerned look on his face was looking at me through the window as I stared back, trying to process what he was doing.
“Are you all right?” He pulled on the door again but it wouldn’t budge. “Roll down your window!”
I groaned and cranked the window open slowly. The glass was spiderwebbed with tiny cracks. It only opened about half way before I heard the squeal of glass on metal. “That’s as far as it goes,” I mumbled, trying to keep the slur out of my voice.
“Okay, just hang on a minute,” he said, as if I could go anywhere. He motioned to another guy standing nearby. At least five cars had been in the accident, maybe six. Traffic was completely stopped. Horns blared and people were shouting. I saw the blinking of blue and red lights reflecting off of nearby cars. Police had shown up. That was fast. Maybe I had lost track of time.
I heard rattling and turned back to the driver’s side window. Two men were now pulling at my door. It finally opened with a screech and a loud pop. The balding guy fell over and the other stumbled backward. My brain was getting hazy…what was happening? The balding man got to his feet and came over to me. “Do you have kelp?”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Do you need help?” he repeated. “Are you hurt?”
“Um…I don’t know.” My voice sounded fuzzy and distant. I looked down at my bloody palms and back up at him. People were milling about everywhere, someone was helping a man who was limping, and there was a guy sitting on the side of the road with a balled-up t-shirt pressed against his head.
“Well, uh, your head is bleeding. Do you think you can get out of the car?”
“Um, okay.” I gingerly turned toward the door and grabbed the frame with my right arm. A white hot pain shot up into my shoulder and I cried out. Sparks floated in my vision and everything started going gray…
“Stay with me, girl!” the man shouted at me, startling me back to reality. He helped me gently out of the car. As soon as I stood up, a wave of nausea washed over me and I vomited onto the pavement. I stumbled forward but he caught me by the sleeve of Becca’s sweatshirt. Why am I wearing Becca’s sweatshirt? I should give it back to her. I tried to take off the sweatshirt but my right arm didn’t seem to want to cooperate.
“How about you sit down with me over here.” He took my by the left elbow and lead me towards the shoulder of the road.
“I should really get home,” I said slowly, “I think…my keys…my keys are in my backpack.” I began walking back toward my car but it wasn’t where I had left it. In its place was a smashed up pile of metal. Where’s my car? My knees buckled and I decided that lying down might help me remember where I parked…
CHAPTER 3
ANNA
When my head finally cleared, I was inside a white room that smelled of bleach and something metallic. My eyelids felt like sandpaper, and my head throbbed like it was trapped in a vice. I groaned and sat up slowly. The cloth gown I was wearing confirmed I was in a hospital. The thin white sheet and blanket didn’t keep the cold from seeping into my aching body. I could feel that I was wearing nothing under the gown except my underwear and felt my cheeks get hot with embarrassment.
Machines beeped around me and an IV tube snaked from my arm. I grimaced at the thought of the needle that I vaguely remembered piercing my flesh. My mom sat in a chair to the right of my bed. She was asleep, head hanging forward with a magazine neglected on her lap. The bed squeaked as I propped myself up a little higher. My mom’s head snapped up, eyes wide and bloodshot. I was confused for a moment, then I remembered.<
br />
Car accident. I had hit my head… a few times. My shoulder… as soon as I remembered my shoulder slamming against my windshield I noticed the pain in my right arm. It was in a sling. I reached up to touch my head and stopped halfway there at the sound of my mom’s voice.
“Anna! Oh my God, sweetie, how do you feel? You’ve been out of it for a while. Do you remember talking to me? Do you know where you are? Do you know what happened? Are you okay?”
The questions hurt my brain. I took a deep breath and felt a sharp pain on my right side. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath to stop from crying out.
“Um, yeah.” My mom stared at me with concern written all over her face, waiting for me to continue. “I was in a car accident.”
“Oh baby, you remember!” She jumped up and pulled me into a hug, which made me hurt all over. My mom saw the pain in my squinted eyes and let me go quickly. “Sorry,” she said, “I’m just so relieved you’re all right!”
“I don’t feel all right,” I grumbled. “What happened?”
“You have a concussion, whiplash, two broken ribs on your right side, and you have a small fracture in your humerus…that’s your arm.” The fuzzy memory of an x-ray machine swam into my brain. I knew what a humerus was, but I didn’t say anything. Tucking my hair behind my ears, I felt that it was matted down with blood. I looked at my fingers. The sticky, half-dried blood reminded me weirdly of raspberry jam, the kind my grandma would make every year. I sat staring at my hand, thinking about how I never realized raspberries were the color of drying blood.
“Anna?” My mom’s head was cocked to the side, eyes wide with concern, trying to catch my gaze. I looked up.
“Where’s Dad?” I asked, looking around slowly, very aware of how stiff my neck was.
“He’s on his way,” she answered, looking exhausted. Her brown hair was a tangled mess. It probably looked almost as bad as mine did, minus the dried blood.