And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him.
And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother’s keeper?
And he said, What hast thou done? The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground.
Seriously, this Bible stuff could get pretty creepy. I wondered if I should break out my old children’s book of fairy tales instead. Actually, most of them were violent, too. I turned back to Genesis.
And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother’s blood from thy hand;
When thou tillest the ground, it shall not henceforth yield unto thee her strength; a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth.
Wow. But it sounded like Cain deserved it. I wondered what “cursed” meant. I yawned hugely. Almost there.
And Cain said unto the Lord, My punishment is greater than I can bear.
Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth; and from thy face shall I be hid; and I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth; and it shall come to pass, that every one that findeth me shall slay me.
And the Lord said unto him, Therefore whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold. And the Lord set a mark upon Cain, lest any finding him should kill him.
Questions twirled in my brain, and the Bible slipped from my fingers. This time the dream was not scary. It was sad.
A woman dressed in animal skins ran frantically through a grassy meadow, up to a man’s body sprawled awkwardly on the ground. She fell to him, wailing, sobbing. A tall man with long, dark hair, braided down his back ran away across the meadow toward the thick copse of unusual looking trees, which seemed to be dripping, but actually had groups of long spear-like green leaves hanging from each of its long branches. Blue blossoms dangled from the tips of the leaves. Just before the man reached the trees, he cast a satisfied look behind him. The woman raised her tear-streaked gaze up and saw it. Her features pinched as she pointed toward him, her long, elegant arm seeming to spear him. Fear struck the man’s face and he made one final leap into the safety of the trees just as a burst of heat shot past him hitting the blue-belled tree. The woman screamed in anguish toward the purple sky, revenge still burning in her eyes. She pulled the slain man into her lap, whispering, “My love.”
I awoke with tears on my face. The first day of school was officially here. Not a great start.
Checklist
I dried off after an extra long shower and went about my morning preparations. I repeated the mantra that Ruthie made me promise to repeat every morning since she came back from vacation. Yeah, she probably got it from a fortune cookie, but whatever.
“Whatever the mind conceives and believes, it achieves.”
Then I was supposed to imagine the way I wanted my day to go. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to see myself as I wanted to be today.
I got nothing. Honestly, I couldn’t imagine what today was going to be like, at least in a positive way. So I thought about the good parts of my life.
Right now, the best thing I had going were my grades. School was easy for me, always had been, and since I didn’t goof off in class (unlike my best friend), the teachers liked me. Thank goodness, because after my mom died, I dropped out of sports, clubs, and my social life. The teachers must have felt sorry for me, because I pulled better grades than I deserved. However, that scholarship to Stanford was out of the question now.
Sophomore year was like running through water, and I was exhausted at the end of each day. I think I slept most of it. I got through the worst with the help of my best friend. Everyone else bailed on me, which was probably fair because I bailed on them first when I dropped out of everything, even the conversations.
“Stop that, girlfriend!” I channeled Ruthie and smiled, thinking I got her tone of voice right. I had to think positively.
With my towel wrapped around me, I headed to my room to dress. I ran my hand over the framed picture on my dresser. Mom and I were laughing so hard we were holding each other up. I couldn’t remember why we were laughing exactly, just that it was one of those silly giggle episodes that got out of control. I needed some of that silliness now.
A year ago, you couldn’t get me to think too deeply about anything. Now I thought too much. It was driving me crazy. Yeah, I know I should see a shrink, but it’s so not going to happen.
How utterly surreal to look at that picture and know that vibrant person was dead. I never thought much about death before the accident. I mean, who does, right? I saw death all the time, on TV, in the news, even joked about it. Yet nothing prepared you for the real thing. Would it have been easier if I had just been told she was dead? Perhaps. However, witnessing a death is much more life-changing than I thought it would be. Alive one second and so not the next—at least I think so. It was still very hazy in my mind. One more reason Dad wanted me to “talk” to someone. He thought I was blocking out the memory, but really I just didn’t remember much of it. I do remember seeing the impact of the car as it ran over Mom. I remember seeing her dead. I’d never forget that horror. And I couldn’t let go of the feeling that it was my fault, like I had killed her.
Anyway, I thought I was stronger. You know, the whole lecture about “she’ll always be with you,” “she would want you to be happy,” “you aren’t the only one hurting.” Yeah, surprise, surprise. Those sentiments don’t really make you feel better. I was only sixteen, and the person who helped me get to that pivotal age wouldn’t be there to help me through the rest, which would undoubtedly be way more difficult.
I had been a total mess last year.
The school year had almost come to an end before I noticed a change. It was like thawing out after swimming in the freezing Pacific Ocean; feeling began returning to my lifeless heart and spread to the tips of my fingers and toes—like a transfusion of life, but I don’t remember getting hooked up to anything. I’m not sure what triggered it—it just happened. I didn’t realize how far I had regressed until I actually felt something again. No, that’s not the best description. It was like not using a muscle for such a long time, it atrophied, forgot how to work. That’s how my life was, atrophied. Yes, that’s a better way to explain it. So I resolved to work harder and made a list of things to change about myself.
I ran my finger over my mom’s face in the picture frame, whispering, “I’m trying really hard, Mom.”
Toward the end of summer, I’d recommitted myself to life. I decided it was time to make a comeback, painful though it might be—which was why I couldn’t look like crap on the first day of school.
Staring into my mirrored closet doors, I felt grateful once again to Uncle Ira for getting me the job at the rec center this summer. I still hadn’t thanked him because he’d been out of touch most of the summer. He did that a lot. We went sometimes months without a word or way to contact him. I didn’t mind so much because when he was around, he kind of spooked me. I often caught him watching me, like he was waiting for me to do something. What? I didn’t know. But sometimes I wondered if he knew some of my secrets. Why would I think that? I don’t know. It was just a feeling. So I didn’t mind that he wasn’t around all that much. However, he had been there for me several times over the worst of the past year—that I could remember. Or at least Dad said so. Uncle Ira seemed to really care, so I pushed aside my own odd impressions of him. And I wanted him to see how much better I was, thanks to the job he found me.
I loved working with kids’ basketball and lifeguarding. Who knew I would? I’d been reluctant to try it, sure it would end in epic failure and kids scarred for life, but eventually I agreed to try it out.
That I was good at it surprised me as much as my dad. It had helped me get back in shape, physically and emotionally, plus I’d earned a great tan.
So check “pasty white skin” off my list of thin
gs to fix.
And although they say girls don’t grow much in high school, I was the exception. I had gone from “sturdy-looking” to long and curvy. Total freaking miracle, or so my best friend would say. My lack of appetite the year before (or maybe the lack of mom’s cooking) had a lot to do with it, I’m sure.
Check “nondescript body” off the list.
None of my clothes fit me by the end of summer. Let’s just say school shopping was a blast this year. Dad gulped at the receipts when he took me shopping. I tried to rationalize that we were simply making up for not buying new clothes for so long. But it didn’t seem to help him fork over the money any easier. The only thing that did help was the smile I wore.
Yes, check “catatonic” off the list.
Dad had been so happy about a stupid smile that I began to realize for the first time how worried about me he had been.
When I started going places again (check “introvert” off the list), he practically flipped cartwheels. He began to notice the differences in me. I had turned that corner from awkward teen to adult over the summer (better late than never). He suddenly changed his tune and started asking me a million questions every time I left the house. He worried needlessly. I never went anywhere besides work because my best friend was gone for the summer, and the rest of my friends had given up on me last year when I stopped responding to them. I’d made a few friends at the rec center, but the most we did together was have lunch or play basketball. Besides, I was content with less. For now at least. I was easing into this new “me.”
Now Ruthie was back. We had hung out every day for the last week, trying to catch up, and we were looking forward to our junior year.
Check off “no friends.”
I began to have hope for more. I gave myself one last inspection in the mirror. “It’s now or never,” I whispered to my reflection. Then I headed out.
Cujo
By the time I got downstairs, Dad had my lunch packed and a box of cereal on the table. You’d think I could make my own lunch by now.
“Hey, Sunshine!” Dad said, looking up from his newspaper and peering over the rims of his glasses.
I was certainly not feeling sunny. First-day-of-school butterflies were swarming in my stomach. I was excited and terrified at the same time. No. Blustery or scattered thunderstorms seemed more appropriate.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Great,” I lied, raising my voice an octave. Dad lowered his newspaper and I saw the ugly scratch along his face. The butterflies in my stomach stopped flying and got sick. What kind of freak attacks her dad’s face?
“Aw, Dad! I’m sorry about your face!” I joined him at the table and poured some cereal into the empty bowl set out for me.
“What, this ol’ thing?” He ran his finger down the scratch. “The guys at work are gonna love it! I’ll tell them I was in a bar fight. Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Hate to break it to you, but don’t guys give each other black eyes and broken noses? Besides, you don’t drink. That scratch looks more like you were girl fighting…”
Dad raised his eyebrows. “You’re right!” He leaned forward. “Go ahead. Punch me in the eye. Make it look good.” I giggled. The butterflies calmed. When I was younger, Dad would wrestle with me in the living room, and I always tried to get him in the eye, not that I ever got close. We got into trouble with Mom a lot.
“Hey! You know the rules: no fighting in the house…” I trailed off—that’s exactly what Mom would have said. Dad froze, just for a second, and I saw the shadows in his eyes. He tried to hide it by tilting away from me, but I saw them.
He cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, yeah… Uh, I probably don’t need to go into the office for a couple of days anyway. I’m supposed to be semi-retired, for Pete’s sake. I’ll just remind them again. No worries. It will be gone soon enough.” I was doubtful. He started folding the newspaper.
“Okay. You planning to hide out here until then?” I tried to patch up my blunder, but it wasn’t working. I couldn’t believe I said that. He’d been trying to get me to talk about Mom forever, but the first time I even remotely allude to her up in almost a year—well, even he wasn’t ready. The walls were starting to close in on me, and my breathing picked up.
I had to get out of there before he noticed. As if planned, a car honked outside.
“Yeah, um, I gotta go…”
Dad followed me to the door, grabbing my lunch bag on the way.
“No time for breakfast, I guess. Good thing I packed a little extra in your lunch.” He dropped the sack into my empty backpack, and leaned over to kiss my cheek. Part of me felt guilty for running off.
“Thanks, Dad.” I gave him a one-armed squeeze and kissed him back. I hoped the scratch would go away fast, not just for him, but for me, too. I ran my finger down the length of the pink line. The morning light chose that moment to peek in, and it lit up his face. I blinked and looked at his scar again. It already seemed to be fading. I laughed silently at my silliness, but it made me feel a little better. I guess you saw what you wanted to see.
“Have a good day, Dad.”
“You, too, honey. And good luck. Can’t wait to hear how it goes.” He knew how nervous I was for this day, how much I had to make up for my dismal existence last year.
As I swung open the door, a chill went through me and I shivered. I debated on grabbing a jacket, but didn’t want to delay my exit. The school classrooms were always mega hot, anyway.
Then I was finally out the door. I took a long, deep, cleansing breath like they taught in the yoga classes at the rec center, minus the sweeping hands, and headed down the walkway. Ruthie was waiting in her red Mini Cooper convertible, top down, a superstar smile splitting her face. She was one of the few juniors who could drive her friends around. Being held back a year in first grade landed her in my class, which is where our friendship had started. She had earned her license her sophomore year, unlike the rest of the class. Around here, you have to drive a year before you can drive underage passengers. This was the first time she could drive me to school, and we were both ecstatic.
Ruthie’s parents were so proud of her for passing all her driving tests the first time through, they bought her a new car last year. Where’s the justice? As jealous as I was, I was grateful to have a friend with wheels any time I needed them. I threw my backpack over the seat and climbed in. Ruthie grabbed me in a hug.
“I still can’t believe the new you! Where do you have my best friend stashed, you body-snatching alien!” she screamed.
I’d missed her enthusiasm. Ruthie had been gone most of the summer at church camps, family reunions, and her grandma’s farm up in Idaho. She kept checking me out—from anyone else, it would be creepy. I just rolled my eyes at her as she continued.
“I give you one week before you have a boyfriend. That’s about right. You look fine!” She drew out the word fine like the last note in a song, emphasizing it with her hands. I couldn’t really care less about a boyfriend. I’d never really been boy crazy like Ruthie; however, it didn’t prevent me from enjoying all the gossip she threw my way. High school traditions meant a lot to her, and a boyfriend was definitely on her list of high school expectations. Last year was a wash, but I could see that this year she was going to make me a personal project. My goal, however, was to reach normal status, and anything beyond that was icing on the cake—I just hoped she didn’t get too disappointed with me.
“Ruthie, you better watch the road,” I spat out, grasping the door handle as the car squealed onto the road. I was still getting used to Ruthie’s driving.
“And,” I continued, “don’t start setting me up. I don’t want a boyfriend. Let’s just see if anyone even notices me—in a non-zombie kind of way. Maybe I could start with having a friend who is a boy.”
“Would you stop with that zombie thing? No one will remember last year. That’s the beauty of high school, you get to reboot your rep every year.”
“If you say so. Besid
es, you’re the one who won’t be single long.” She looked better than ever. “I’m thinking the farm life really agrees with you.”
Her dark brown hair had a burgundy wash to it, making the overall color look very high end. It hung in waves just past her shoulders. Hazel eyes were outlined expertly with liner and mascara. Ruthie had filled out nicely way back in middle school. So not fair to the rest of the curve-challenged girls, me included. But she was a year older, and I guess you could say that was the best advantage of being held back a grade—she was ahead in the body department. She would have had a hundred dates by now, except her parents wouldn’t let her date until she turned seventeen. She coped with secret boyfriends mostly during school hours or activities. I did my best-friend duty, helping her sneak around a few times. It got a little dicey a few times, but for the most part, her family had managed to keep her “sweet and pure” as Ruthie joked. But her long-awaited birthday had finally come at the end of last school year, just before her family dragged her off on one trip after another. I had a feeling they did that on purpose, and I knew she wanted to make up for lost time.
“You said it, sister! Can I just say farm boys are sexy!”
“What? You never told me about a farm boy!” She was holding out on me. We’d been keeping in touch off and on all summer by phone. You’d think she would have mentioned that.
“I was saving it for today. Besides, it was just one kiss.” Her lips twisted up at one corner and down the other, a specialty of hers when she didn’t get her way. “The day before I came home. But it was awesome, you know! Best good-bye I ever had.”
I wouldn’t know. Not that I was saving my first kiss for anyone special, but no kisses had come my way, at least none that I wanted. Playground kisses didn’t count. And since then, my options had been pretty slim. The loser squad that hung out smoking at the edge of campus always seemed interested, but they seemed into any girl who walked by. Can I just say “Gross!” Seriously, kissing a cigarette mouth made me want to yak.
Secrets of the Sleeper: True Nature Series: Book One Page 2