by Foxx, Gloria
Chasing Peace
By Gloria Foxx
www.gloriafoxx.com
Copyright © 2014 Gloria Foxx
All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
The shafts of yellow light shining in through the window are deceptive. What looks like early-morning sun is the deceitful glow of a security light. It’s much too early to face the day, yet here I am. Shoving away the blanket, I move across my tiny space to the window, bars of light creeping across my face.
Today is the start of my new life. No, that’s not quite right. I’m going back to my old life, changed by the experience of the past few years.
I’m moving on, leaving my current life behind and reinventing myself, as much as I can on my own.
I know it sounds trite. We all reinvent ourselves. We pretend we’re someone new. Sometimes we shed the ugly old overcoat of high school and regret and parental accountability and what might have been. Other times we bluff and feign and impersonate and fail because we don’t change. I’ve learned that I can’t change who I am, but I can make different decisions, take different actions. If we’re the sum of our experiences and our memories and our beliefs then we need to experience the world differently, create a new consciousness, reevaluate our beliefs, live life in a new way.
That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to build a new life for myself, and I’m not going to let anyone interfere.
* * *
I slam my car door. It needs the extra coercion to close on the first try. Turning the key, the engine roars to life. “I sure hope I don’t need new exhaust,” I mutter to no one in particular.
Pulling from the parking lot, I aim my car toward campus, a conversation with Lyla playing through my mind like a song set to repeat.
“What’s got you down tonight sweetie?”
“Nothing really,” I tell her, denying my thoughts.
“A touch of melancholy then?”
That’s one of the many things I love about Lyla. She pushes without pushing.
“Just thinking about why I haven’t done anything with my life,” I say, grabbing a cloth and wiping the already immaculate bar. It’s easier to talk when I don’t have to look her in the eye.
“Oh Sterling honey, you’re only twenty-one. There’s still plenty of time.”
Lyla may be supportive and reassuring and there when I need her, but in this case I think she’s wrong. I’m marking time, not doing anything with my life. It’s passing me by.
“It’s your mother isn’t it Sterling?”
“Not really,” I deny, avoiding the discontent spinning through my head, the crazy music of a never-ending carousel.
“You’ll do what you’ve always done, what you think is best. Don’t worry about her. She’s a grown woman. She can take care of herself.”
“Hardly,” I growl, rolling my eyes.
“Well maybe she can’t, but you’re not responsible for your mother.”
“I guess not,” I say, but I’m not sure I really believe it. “You know Lyla,” I hesitate. She’s been good to me and I don’t want to insult her.
“What is it sweetie?”
“Some of the kids I went to school with will be graduating from college by this time next year and here I am tending bar.”
“There’s nothing wrong with an honest days work Sterling.”
“I know, but I feel like I’m on a treadmill. I keep moving, but I never get anywhere. I do all that I can and it’s just enough to have nothing.”
I stop at a red light before proceeding through the intersection. I’m doing it. I’m living my life and nothing can stop me now. My mind returns to that prophetic conversation so many weeks ago.
“Then get off the treadmill and take a walk somewhere else. Figure out what you’re passionate about and go do it.”
“I wish it were that easy.”
“It is that easy Sterling. Instead of sitting back and letting life happen, you decide what kind of life you want and you go get it.” She looks right at me, her dark eyes loaded and pushing as if she can will me to take her advice.
Turning down Sixth Street at the west end of campus, I think about how my life has changed since that conversation. Although I didn’t know it at the time, that was the beginning of the beginning.
I didn’t take Lyla’s advice and decide what kind of life I wanted. Instead life conspired against me. Sure, I’m going to college now, but it turned out to be a decision by default. You know the decisions we’re stuck with when we don’t decide for ourselves.
Default got me here but I intend to stay. I’ve created rules and drawn lines that separate my current life from what went before. This is one of those moments. There’s an unmistakable boldness. It feels like a dark solid line behind me, separating the person I am now from the person I used to be, and there’s no going back. I don’t live there anymore.
I chuckle aloud. It’s a derisive sound barely audible over the rumble of my car. I may not live there anymore, but I can still feel it, murky and desolate. The bitter taste on my tongue fuels my determination.
I drive up and down a couple aisles looking for an empty spot in the lot before claiming a space facing Sixth Street and turning the key. In the quiet of my now still car, I flip down my visor to check my look one last time before my new life begins.
While I can only see my eyes in the tiny mirror, I know what I look like. At five foot ten, I am skinny as a ribbon, although I’m really not. I have straight light hair with natural streaks, a look that some people pay big bucks to enjoy. I wear it long to my shoulders, with bangs that taper from my cheekbones to full length. My bangs are a little too long at the moment and doing a good job of hiding my eyes, boosting my confidence.
I’ve been told that my eyes are my best feature. Personally I think they’re too big for my face, but I like the color. They’re a silvery grey and reflective. My lips are curvy, plump but not fat. I consider my mouth my best feature with naturally straight white teeth and lips that are perfect.
Well, that’s me, although if I’m being honest, some might call me jaded. For the record, I consider myself a realist.
Flipping my visor back in place, I shove open the door, hoisting myself from the car. It feels like such a chore, this moving on.
Close in age to a typical freshman, I look like I fit in, but I don’t, not really. I have different priorities. Oh, I’m sure others here have had their share of difficulties. I shouldn’t judge, but I do. I think we all color life based on our own experiences.
The other freshmen I’ve seen are nervous, but excited. Me, I’m just nervous. They’re stepping over the threshold, into a new chapter, new experiences. I suppose I am too, but more importantly, I’m closing the door. I chuckle again as I slam the car door with enough force to make it latch, my destination, the line of busses two blocks away.
I’m living my dream now, although I can’t help but question at what cost. Looking around, I see others socializing, making friends, grouping together in twos and threes and sometimes fours.
Girls are checking out guys and guys are checking out girls, everyone on their best behavior and many going bold or slick or shy, hoping to attract just the right attention. I’m not really up for that. I’m on a mission and the sacrifices that brought me to this point remind me that this isn’t a game. It’s a gift and there’s no way in hell I’m going to squander it. Forfeit has to count for something and I intend to make something of Emma’s sacrifice.
* * *
Boarding the bus, a sea of students pushes me along. Voices are nothing more than a din, except for one voice ringing above the rest. “Sorry. This seat’s taken.”
Most students have paired up not wanting to be seen alone.
Moving toward the back of the b
us, I hear the voice again. “There you are. I saved you a seat.” A yank drags me down, surprised air whooshes from my lungs by the force of the man-handling. Collecting myself, readying my irritation, I take a breath. “Please don’t say anything. Pretend like you know me,” she whispers.
I don’t have time to register who might be talking let alone whether they might be talking to me and yet, I am the target. I stare speechless with mouth hanging open at the girl sitting next to me.
She’s tiny and I can’t imagine where she got the strength to move me like she did. She looks elfin and not just because of her size. Her smudge black hair is cropped just above shoulder length and flipped up at the ends. Large piercing blue eyes snap with interest and her nose turns up just enough to complete the image.
Our bus rumbles as it pulls away. “What gives?” I fire disdain from my eyes, matching the irritation in my voice.
“I’m sorry, but I had to ditch a cling-on.”
“A Klingon?” I’m not yet ready to believe her.
“Yeah a cling-on. She latched onto me on move-in day and I haven’t been able to shake her. I tried to be nice, but I don’t particularly enjoy her company, so, thank you.”
“What makes you think you’ll enjoy my company?”
“It doesn’t matter. I just need a break and since she lives next door I don’t have many options.”
“Have it your way then.” I look past her, my gaze going out the window.
A runner passes my line of sight. He’s moving faster than the bus as it accelerates from a stop. I watch as we gain on him. His hair is long, but he doesn’t have long hair. It curls along his neck and over his ears and right now it’s soaking wet and dark mahogany.
His muscles glow with sweat, defined by shadows, highlighted by sunlight. He’s wearing loose shorts, low on his hips, his tee tucked into the back of the waistband. The shirt writhes back and forth, the tail of it snapping right and left with every step, rhythmic and hypnotic. It teases with the notion it might drag down his running shorts. Fortunately, or not, the curve of his ass holds them in place.
He runs fast, almost full out, the bus gaining very little in stop and go traffic. I watch his movements, powerful and lithe. I study him and wonder if he might be running from something. Watching from afar is safe. I’m not meeting him, might never see him again. No distractions, no risks. I can watch all I want.
As we come abreast, I examine the tattoo on his left shoulder. It’s a raven with wings agitated and beak open. The bird’s talons hold tight to his upper arm, appearing to pierce his skin. The raven speaks to me. It’s a keeper of secrets and it symbolizes change and transformation, exactly what I’m hoping for right now.
We almost pass him, my breath bated as I anticipate his features, wondering if I might be disappointed. I turn my head, my gaze slipping past the girl beside me, glued to his form. Before I can see more than a partial profile, he turns away from the road, heading across the square formed by three tall buildings.
I try to keep him in sight, my head swivels to dodge the people blocking my view. For some reason I’m disappointed as I think fancifully that my daydreams will be forever plagued by a faceless runner.
“Nice huh?”
The comment from the girl beside me pulls me from my thoughts. I say nothing, but I can feel my cheeks heating to a dull red.
“I’m Annie Oakes, premed, and you are?”
I ignore her smile and her hand shoved in my direction. “Keeping to myself, thank you.” I leave her hanging. Who shakes hands anyway?
She drops her hand. “You know we’re all new to this and the way I see it we can either go it alone or we can work together.”
Usually limited responses keep people at bay, but obviously not with this girl. While I prefer to go it alone, I relent rather than risk looking like a total bitch.
Waving, like I’m raising my hand to testify, I introduce myself. “Sterling Adams, biology and secondary education.” So much for keeping to myself and going about my business I think while blowing the hair from my eyes with a huff of air. I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass. “So, you wanna be a doctor huh?”
I slide into my bartender persona with ease. I tend bar on weekends and I’ve found that people like to talk about themselves. If I keep them talking, they don’t ask much about me.
“My dad’s a doctor and his dad’s a doctor so it’s kind of expected. Besides, the more time I spend in school, the longer I can put off meeting my parent’s expectations.”
I have no idea what to say to that. “Sounds, uh, nice?”
“My parents will hate it,” she giggles with glee dancing in her eyes and delight bubbling through her laugh. It’s almost contagious, except that I’ve never experienced a parent who wants something better for me.
“Yeah, but you’re the one who has to do it, so I hope you like it.”
“As a doctor I can make a real difference in the world. I can work at a free clinic or join Doctors without Borders. Anything’s better than endless charity parties.”
“Is that what you really want to do?” I can keep the questions coming all night if I have to.
“I’m expected to marry a man with ‘standing in the community,’ and while away my days with children and charity work. What other options do I have?”
“Sounds like you’re more about thwarting your parents than anything else.”
“Oh yes.” She grins again, enjoying the conspiracy. “Thanks for helping.” She gestures with a nod of her head to the girl across the aisle and one row back. “You’re a lifesaver and the first person I’ve talked to that actually listens to what I have to say, what I think.”
Yeah. No. That’s not actually true, but I’m not coming clean about only half listening and I don’t really care.
She continues chattering like a chipmunk, irritating, but cute so I put up with it. “Most people just keep talking right at me,” she continues. “They tell me all about themselves as if they’re auditioning for a part or interviewing for a job, but there’s something different about you.”
Annie crosses her legs in the cramped space on the bus while my knees bump into the seat in front of us. That’s when I spot the telltale colored soles on her pumps. The bus jolted along, the PA system droning on, but I no longer try to listen to the tour guide.
Annie’s wearing a simple sleeveless blue shift with a necklace long enough to puddle in her lap while sitting. The necklace combines tiny silver links with blue, green and clear crystalline stones. Based on the shoes, I figure the chain came in a signature box and is probably platinum, not cheap-ass sterling, like me. The small sparkly stones in her ears are a bluish green, maybe aquamarine, or maybe colored diamonds. I know next to nothing about gemstones so there’s no way I can tell, but again, based on the shoes, I’m guessing diamonds.
Her skin glowing and smooth sports an all-over golden tan, not the farmer tan I get from wearing T-shirts and shorts all summer. Her hair thick and long looks healthy and the simple cut probably cost a fortune.
Yep, now that I really look, I can see that Annie exudes wealth, unless the shoes are fake along with her parent’s expectations of a good marriage. That explains people trying so hard to be her friend. Maybe she really did need me.
I meet her eyes. Sadness colors the clear blue with muddy uncertainty as if she’d misjudged me and doesn’t know where to go from here. Embarrassed by my obvious assessment, I brush it off, by questioning her name.
“So your parents really named you Annie Oakes, huh?”
Her eyes clear. “Clever, right? Actually it’s Annabelle, but who wants to go through life with a name like that, so Annie it is.”
“No cowgirl themed birthday parties?”
“Nope and now I can’t wear cowboy boots, shoot guns or round up cattle without someone spouting banality. However will I survive?”
She pressed a hand to her chest and fluttered her eyelashes, mocking a Southern belle, but I can see the secrets she hi
des so well from those dazzled by the exterior trappings. Loneliness lurks in the fringes, escaping occasionally as she yearns for honest attention.
Her vulnerability called out to me. I chuckled at her actions, playing along and pretending amusement, but all the while thinking about Annie as a poor little rich girl. Damn! Now I’m describing people in clichés. What does that say about me?
“So let me see your schedule. Maybe we have some classes together,” I suggest moving away from a subject that might prove alienating. I didn’t know it then, but Annie put the first chink in my resolve, a chink that would open me up for more and I have no idea how she did it.
Expecting premed and biology students to share science classes, I pull my crumpled schedule from my pocket. Annie pulls hers up on a shiny new phone.
Turns out we have Philosophy together with Campbell, not at all what I expected.
“So premed includes a little philosophy.” I raise my eyebrow making the statement a question.
“I think doctors need to be well rounded before they get to the medical stuff. A science geek just doesn’t cut it when you have to tell someone they’re dying of cancer or explain their child’s injuries.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach and I’m falling through space and time, unable to focus on her words.
She didn’t notice right away, rattling on. “They should have a lot of experience…” I don’t hear her anymore over the roar in my ears. “Hey, Sterling, are you okay?”
I collect myself and come back at her coaxing. “I’m fine. You’ve really thought this through, huh?” I haven’t given my career choice nearly as much thought.
Annie continued, but bad listener that I really am, I listened with only one ear as I looked around the bus, wondering if I would ever see any of these students again or if, like Annie and I, we’d share some classes.
Looking over my shoulder, I spot the girl Annie chose to avoid. She glared at me with mean intent. I’m usually pretty good at reading people, but I didn’t need to be in this case. Even the most clueless among us could read the anger in her eyes.