Waiting for our teacher to arrive, I started twirling my pencil and caught Claire to my left flirting with sleaze-ball Mike in front of her. I wasn’t sure if they had made it official yet, but by the way they were talking and touching each other inappropriately, I figured it wouldn’t be much longer.
I then discreetly moved my eyes to the seat behind Claire where Josh Sanders sat, who was already eyeing me with one of his shy, flirtatious smiles. Electricity radiated from my chest out to my fingertips, and I dropped my pencil on the ground. He bent down to pick it up but kept his eyes on me the whole time before finally extending his hand toward mine. I took the pencil from his open palm. As I did, our eyes locked and our hands touched briefly. Smiling, we held each other’s gaze for a few seconds until he bashfully looked away. His bright blue eyes, perfect smile, short, perfectly-groomed hair, and toned muscles always made him look like a sexy, dark-haired Ken doll. Too bad he wasn’t as confident.
“Iris Kohl,” he said thoughtfully, as if he enjoyed the feel of my name sliding off his tongue. “A little birdie told me it was your birthday tomorrow. Is that true?”
I jerked my head back to Nicole with a severe glare, but she just shrugged and smiled at me.
I turned back to Josh, blushing. “Uh…yeah…it is. Another year older…”
“Well, I have something for you.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a small dark purple object. “It’s really nothing,” he stated nervously. “I just saw it and thought of you because the violet color is really pretty like your eyes, and I knew you liked to read, so…”
He handed the purple item to me and I recognized the familiar shape. A bookmark. As simple as it was, his thoughtful gift felt like a priceless gem in my hand. Books represented a comforting retreat to me, a way to escape my chaotic, shadowy life. Even though he didn’t know the real me, the fact that he knew me well enough to get me such a meaningful gift, along with his kindness and the compliment about my eyes, sent me swimming in clouds of ecstasy.
“Thank you,” I said with more heartfelt emotion than I had planned. “Honestly. I love it. I’m glad you thought of me.”
Claire rolled her eyes when she saw the bookmark and returned to Mike. As she resumed her overtly flirtatious act, I overheard her talking about how her parents would be out of town that weekend. I attempted not to stare at the shadows hovering over them, but I couldn’t help but notice that the murky form over Mike appeared much darker and sinister than Claire’s, indicating things I really didn’t want to think about. I wondered if Claire had known what Mike was scheming if she still would have invited him to her house.
I thought about saying something to her, but the thought was fleeting. What could I say that wouldn’t sound crazy? I tried to convince myself she didn’t deserve a warning anyway since she was always such a witch to everybody. I almost succeeded, but it was more than her behavior holding me back. It was my fears.
“Okay, class!” announced an energetic Mr. Keller as he finally sauntered in four minutes after the bell. “Let’s turn in our books to page two hundred and seventy-five. Today, we’re going to be learning about our good old friend, granite.”
The entire class rolled their eyes and laughed at Mr. Keller’s quirky humor. For a reason we could never quite fathom, all rocks and minerals were our “good old friends.”
“Oh, and don’t forget I need your permission slips for the field trip to go spelunking at Bluespring Caverns as soon as possible.”
“Hey, Mr. Keller, what’s spelunking mean, again?” a small-framed boy across the room asked, half raising his hand.
“Amateur,” Mike muttered loudly enough for us to hear, and a few kids snickered.
“Well,” said Mr. Keller cheerfully, turning to face Mike, “since you know all about spelunking, Mike, why don’t you tell us what it is?”
Mike got a blank look on his face, but swiftly tried to hide it, shifting in his seat. “Um…doesn’t it have something to do with a cave?”
“Yes, Captain Obvious! Well done!” Mr. Keller clapped enthusiastically as the class laughed. I loved Mr. Keller. “For those who want a more specific definition, though, it’s the practice of exploring caves. Now back to our good old friend, granite!”
Mr. Keller spun around to the board to write the word granite in giant letters and I glanced back at Josh. His chin was resting on his fist, and the corners of his lips turned up into a shy but sexy smile. I dared to hope he was looking forward to the field trip as much as I was.
My brain and three pages of notes were filled with useless information about granite before the bell finally rang. Nicole and I hung outside the door for a few minutes, chatting about anything and everything I could drag out of her as I glanced anxiously at the school’s exit. Once there was nothing more to say and she deserted me, I meandered slowly to my locker. Even though I didn’t need anything, I rummaged through it as if I were searching for a tool on a job that paid by the hour. The longer I waited, the less people and, therefore, shadows would be waiting for me when I stepped into the parking lot.
I hated crowds and tried to avoid them as much as possible. Three years of dealing with the visions had taught me how to cope in various ways, but I’d never gotten used to walking among herds of people that were ignorant of the truth I was forced to see. It was like being the only one wearing ultraviolet glasses that unveiled every germ and bacteria around me and having to constantly witness unsuspecting people touching things and getting into things that are disgusting and potentially dangerous. Some people would feel lucky to have such insight. Me? I felt trapped, helpless, and exposed.
Luckily, since it was Friday, everyone wanted to get away from school as quickly as possible. By the time I stepped outside, the parking lot was basically empty. Only a few cars belonging to football players remained.
I began to trek the long distance to my car, which was at the end of the lot due to my near tardiness every day for the same reason I always left late. However, even though the lot was void of people, a couple of dark figures loomed over and around a yellow Camaro to my right. I recognized it as Marcus Beaman’s new car. He was a well-known football player and had been bragging about the birthday present for three months since he got it in June.
Why were these shadows out in the parking lot without any humans around? The bizarreness of it made me pause, and my mind began fabricating all possible explanations—none of which I could do anything about. Lost in my thoughts, I must have peered at them with critical eyes just a tad longer than was safe. One of them stopped, inclined its head to glare at me, and flashed an evil grin. I shuddered, closing my eyes tightly in an attempt to erase the image and pretend the scene away as I cowered toward my car like a timid little girl.
I threw open the driver’s side door, jumped in, tossing my backpack on the passenger seat, buckled my seatbelt and locked the doors. As if that would help. I briefly checked my rearview mirror for cars and then twisted around to scan for any shadows I might have missed, other than the two that continued to loiter around Marcus’s car. Somehow I couldn’t see the dark or bright figures in mirrors. Oftentimes that was a blessing. For the moment, the coast was clear.
Once I got on the congested expressway during the after-school rush hour, though, I was confronted with the all too familiar scene of shadowy figures hovering over cars, darting through them, and sitting in passenger seats.
I gripped my steering wheel and focused on the road ahead, but something caught my eye. The SUV to my right was cut-off by a speedy Miata that swerved in front of him to turn right at the next street. When the man in the SUV had to slam on his brakes, a spiteful, pompous-looking black silhouette in the passenger seat leaned over and whispered into the man’s ear. Immediately, the hostile man honked his horn several times and flipped the Miata the finger.
I sighed. Sometimes the shadows’ influences had such minor ramifications. Others…let’s just say that wasn’t the worst thing I’d seen a person do when prompted by a shadow.
MY SEVENTEENTH BIRTHDAY COMMENCED in the same manner as most every other day the last few years—with me gasping for air as my rigid body jerked upright and my hands frantically searched for my throat and chest. They found nothing but my thick, damp hair, which was glued to my drenched skin with sweat.
When I finally felt the air entering my lungs and realized I was alive and alone in my bedroom, I started to breathe in a little more deeply and a little more slowly to calm myself down. I closed my eyes tightly, annoyed and rather shaken, wondering if that dream was ever going to give up and let me continue my already deranged life in peace. Then I was even more annoyed at the impossible irony of that notion. My deranged life could never be peaceful.
I threw back the covers in a sulky huff and pivoted to drop my legs from my bed in order to feel the texture of the carpet on my feet. The understanding that I was in my own room, my sanctuary and safe room, always managed to give me a sense of reality and normalcy away from the morbid fantasy of my dreams. It was also the only place I felt safe from all the eerie, dark shadows and strange figures of light lurking outside.
With the aid of the brightening sun peering through my window and the penguin night-light my dad had given me before the divorce and long before I’d become a shadow-seeing freak show, I gazed around my room for a moment. For some reason, I needed to survey my well-organized possessions before forcing myself out of bed. I took deep breaths as if I were trying to soak up the order and familiarity. Today of all days I would need an extra dose of “normal” to get me through what hadn’t been a normal day for three years…my birthday.
I glanced at the clock. It was eight. I was surprised I hadn’t heard my older sister, Hanna, in the shower. Her hour-long primping ritual for her university library job normally began by seven forty-five.
Since my dream had successfully left me wide awake at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning, I figured I’d peek in her bedroom to see if she was alive. I found her stretched out on her stomach, fully dressed with her dark hair wet and sprawled out everywhere, soaking her clothes and pillow. The smell of shampoo lingered in the air.
“Hanna,” I yelled, trying not to laugh.
She jerked up her head at the sound of my voice, and then moaned a cry of protest. Eyes squinting, she slowly lowered her head.
“Hanna, did you take a shower in the middle of the night again, thinking you were running late?” I smiled to myself. This never got old.
“Uh, huh.” She was already trying to go back to sleep. She had this strange habit of waking up around four or five in the morning in a panic. Certain she was running late for school, she’d jump in the shower, go back to her room, look at the clock, and then realize she was an idiot.
“All right, go back to bed. I’ll wake you up when I’m out.” I shut her door, smiling as I headed toward the bathroom. Hanna was twenty years old, but sometimes her playful immaturity made her seem less mature than me. Nonetheless, her knack for unintentionally making me laugh and her positive attitude and outlook on life were definite highlights in my everyday routine.
The way we acted together, no one would have guessed it hadn’t always been that pleasant between us. When our dad left, she had been thirteen and had already been starting to go through that awkward middle school phase we all endure, but I had been too young to know what that was and that I should cut her some slack. As though puberty wasn’t bad enough, having to watch our parents go through a messy divorce and then hardly ever seeing our dad anymore had made her angry and hateful. She had mutated from a regular, annoying pubescent teen into a walking, angry hormone with devil horns.
It wasn’t until my fourteenth birthday that she’d changed and actually started caring about me. Even though we tried to avoid the uncomfortable topic associated with that day, I felt I could be myself around her since she was one of the few people I still talked to who knew about the devastating event…well, I couldn’t be completely myself, of course. Nobody but me knew about my curse of seeing the shadows, which, for whatever reason, started that same day. Exactly three years ago.
Once out of the shower, I sat at our kitchen table, slowly eating a bowl of cereal in a thoughtful, melancholic daze. My birthday and the unmentionable anniversary that came with it always forced me to think about the past. It was only three years ago that we left Cloverdale and moved to Lafayette, which was about twenty times bigger. Much easier to get lost in the shuffle here. As far as I was concerned, the less attention on me the better.
My mother wandered out of her bedroom into the kitchen, dressed for work but appearing worn and tired without her mascara or lipstick. She gave me a quick look as I ate my cereal meditatively and she started to open her mouth to say something but stopped herself, apparently thinking better of it. Instead, she turned to her pre-programmed coffee pot to fill her oversized mug.
The rich, comforting smell wafted toward me as she made herself some toast. After buttering both pieces, she sat down at the far end of the table and eyed me cautiously. I knew what she was thinking. She wanted to wish me a happy birthday but wasn’t sure if my mood could handle even bringing up the subject, fearing what painful memories might resurface.
I sympathized with her, sitting there all anxious and torn. Resolutely, I forced myself to tuck away my depressing thoughts and put her out of her misery before a shadow had a chance to materialize over her head. I put on my favorite lighthearted, sarcastic face and topped it off with an ornery smile.
“So, it was on this glorious day seventeen years ago that you endured fifteen hours of hard labor and finally gave birth to an eight pound fourteen ounce bundle of joy. How will you celebrate the most horrific yet rewarding accomplishment of your life?”
She let out a nervous but genuine laugh and sighed with relief. “Well, that depends on what the horrific yet rewarding bundle of joy has planned.”
When my sister walked briskly into the kitchen, I was saved from having to discuss the birthday plans I had already made with my two friends from school rather than with my family. Mom and I both looked at her and then went back to eating our breakfast. As Hanna poured herself some cereal, she took a sideways glance at the two of us, trying to decipher whether or not the topic of my birthday was safe.
Apparently she decided we seemed cheerful enough, because she plopped down beside us and asked, “So, Mom, have you already begun your captivating story of our birth, or was I fortunate enough to miss it this year?”
Mom smirked. “No…you weren’t.” Every year on our birthdays, our mom had this weird ritual of telling us the details of our birth, regardless of how it obviously never changed or got any more exciting.
“I was just about to, but I was waiting on you.” She gave my sister a pointed look, who then rolled her eyes and continued eating her cereal. “Well, Iris, you know the part about how the nurses almost had to deliver you because the doctor wasn’t in the room when you started crowning—”
“Oh, save me the gory details!” Hanna raised her hand in protest and turned her head with her face all scrunched up. She and I must have been getting the same mental picture.
“Oh, get over it.” Our mom swatted at Hanna’s hand. “It won’t be too long until Jenny will be going through the same thing. I know she’s only two months pregnant now, but seven months goes by quickly.” She paused with a reflective smile, getting sidetracked thinking about having her first grandchild. My oldest sister Jenny and her husband Austin had been trying for four years now to conceive.
“Back to earth, Mom.” Hanna waved her hand in front of our mother’s face playfully. “You know, Iris pretty much knows the whole story, since you’ve told it to us sixteen times already. So why don’t you just skip all the gross stuff and get straight to her name. That’s the best part anyway.”
“Okay, fine.” Our mom repositioned herself, only slightly miffed, and carried on with her enthusiasm intact. “So the doctor showed up just in time to run over and basically catch you. Then whe
n we were finally able to take a look at you and see your beautiful violet eyes, we knew we couldn’t name you Susan like we’d planned. The nurse came over and said, ‘Look at those gorgeous violet irises!’ and we knew that was it. Iris Kohl was your name.”
As many times as I’d heard that story, I still blushed at the compliment, “gorgeous violet irises.” It was rare to have violet eyes, and they were my one feature I truly loved.
I had long, naturally wavy, dark brown hair with heavy side-swept bangs that sometimes fell into my eyes, but I thought of my hair and bangs as more of a shield than an accessory. My skin was too pale from retreating to my bedroom and reading or doing homework to really call it an asset. I was average height and skinny, but not as much the curvy, sexy type of skinny as the boyish, flat as an ironing board skinny. Needless to say, my eyes were my favorite feature. Ironically, they were also the source of my unique curse that brought so much anxiety and isolation.
“Well, thanks for that riveting tale, but I’ve got to go or I’m going to be late for work.” Hanna got up from her chair swiftly, slurped what was left of her milk, and took her dishes to the sink to rinse off.
I checked the clock. “You’d better get going too, Mom.” I gave her an encouraging smile to assure her I’d be okay left alone, but she hesitated in her seat uncomfortably.
“So what about your birthday plans tonight?” She lifted her head slowly and smiled at me, making me feel guilty for making plans that didn’t include my family. It was just easier to put on a face and celebrate with people who didn’t know there was something else unique about this day. Since it had happened, the whole celebration thing had just been awkward for us all.
Their expectant faces clearly needed some sort of explanation. “I was going to hang out at Nicole’s house with her and Lexi tonight. You know the Bensons.” She nodded but stayed quiet. I threw in some minor details. “Nicole’s going to order some pizza, and Lexi’s picking out some chick flick for us to watch.”
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