Solitary: A Novel

by Travis Thrasher

  As we hold one another, I can feel a trembling.

  I can't tell if it's me or Jocelyn.

  Or both of us.

  "I'll be fine," she says.

  But I don't believe it.

  As the car backs down our driveway, I watch it leave and I wonder when I'll see her again.

  I stare down at the woods below us, hearing the burble of the creek.

  I watch for a while, as if I'm waiting to see someone come out of those woods.

  I know someone is watching me. I just can't see him.

  Someone's there.

  If you are, then you'll know that I'm not scared.

  That's what I think, but deep down, I'm terrified.

  I'm terrified of losing her.

  It's always strange how life moves on after something dramatic or even tragic. But it doesn't have a choice. The world keeps spinning and the story keeps going whether you like it or not.

  The following week is uneventful, and in many ways, things go back to the way they were before the warnings and the drama occurred.

  For whatever reason-I don't think it's even a conscious decision-I'm back to talking to Jocelyn in the halls, eating with her and the girls at lunch. I invite Newt to join us, but he doesn't. Jocelyn scares him.

  The thing is this: I'm not disguising my friendship with her anymore.

  It's as if both of us know that I shot someone in her defense.

  As if both of us are thinking, If it happened once, it will happen again.

  I can't say that I'm feeling bolder or stronger since the incident. In fact, every day I half expect to see a bloody Wade step into my path like some sick and foul-smelling zombie.

  Yet the teachers drone on and the dirty snow sticks on your jeans and the cafeteria food all begins to taste the same-this is how I believe the world moves on. You get lulled in by the action of one period after another, of the days being shorter and your mom's shifts being longer. Of exams coming before Christmas break. Of homework that takes your mind to another time and place. Of life that moves faster than you can or ever will.

  The week passes, and it seems like things are better.

  Then Friday comes and ruins all that wonderful, boring momentum.

  I'm on the side of a road-I'm not really sure exactly where-and I'm running.

  Why am I here? Why am I running?

  These are good questions.

  If my hands weren't covered in blood, I'd probably answer them too.

  But soon enough, when things don't exactly add up-like how I can just keep sprinting without actually slowing down and hurting and sucking wind-or how I'm not even sweating-or how I'm wearing the sweetest Nike shoes ever when I don't own anything by Nike-when all of these things suddenly seem to not make sense, I understand why.

  That's when I open my eyes and wake up.

  What was I doing on the side of the road, blood on my hands, running? It's not a good way to start a day. Even if that day is the last day for the school week.

  I see him on my way to school that morning.

  See him standing at the edge of my driveway.

  The big redheaded man in the trench coat, the one I saw in town right after we moved here. I see him standing down there as my mom backs the car up to drive me to school.

  "Who's that?"

  "I don't know," I say. "Slow down."

  The man stands there for a moment, his big German shepherd at his side, almost deliberately blocking our path. He looks like a ghost in the early morning fog.

  I glance at my mom in surprise and shock, then turn back around to find the end of the driveway clear.

  "Where'd he go?"

  "He just disappeared."

  And he did. Just like that, the figure is gone.

  I think about those large tracks on our deck and suddenly figure out who they belong to.

  But what's this creepy guy doing around our house? Does he live close by? Is he spying on us for someone else?

  "That's strange," my mom says.

  I can only agree with her. It's becoming a cliche to say something is strange around here. Everything is strange.

  Strange and unexplained.

  "Still no sign of him?"

  Jocelyn shakes her head. We're talking about Wade, her step-uncle, who disappeared with a slug in his calf. "I don't think we will either."

  "How's your aunt doing?"

  Jocelyn rolls her eyes but doesn't answer. I can't tell if it's just because she thinks her aunt is flaky, or if there's something else.

  Its so hard to read you, even though I feel I know so much about you.

  Maybe that's just how it is with other people. Specifically other girls. Or maybe the entire female population. I don't know.

  We round the hall on our way to history when we see them.

  The creepy vibe just keeps continuing.

  Pastor Jeremiah Marsh stands at the end of the lockers next to an open doorway, his hands stretched out as if he's making an important point. He's talking to Mr. Meiners, who looks at him in a grim manner, as if he's being told someone in his family just died.

  As we pass them by, both men look at us and stop talking.

  "Chris, Jocelyn," the pastor says to us, nodding.

  We mumble hellos as we pass them.

  "What do you think that's about?" I ask Jocelyn.

  "I can only imagine."

  "Imagine what?"

  "I have a vivid imagination," she says. "You have to remember that."

  "How do they know each other?"

  "Everybody in this town knows everybody else. Especially all those living inside of Solitary."

  "But Mr. Meiners-does he go to that church?"

  "I don't know," she says sharply, as if to say, "Drop it."

  I don't pursue the question any more.

  Surely it's nothing. Surely the pastor is just visiting the school for some reason.

  Please don't call me Shirley.

  I want to laugh out loud and squeeze the insanity from my brain cells. I can probably fill a bucket from it.

  "What's that smirk on your face for?" Jocelyn asks as we arrive to class.

  "I don't know. I really don't. Sometimes I just-it seems like all I can do is laugh."

  "It's better than crying."

  My mom contradicts herself. I guess all of us do. But when you're an adult you gotta be careful because kids are watching, you know? I'm old enough that I no longer get so confused. I'm kinda over all of it. But still I have to find it funny-or perhaps ironic-to see my mother's actions.

  She celebrates Christmas, and not just in a small way either. With all of her anger at my father for his newfound faith-maybe I should call it a righteous anger, now wouldn't that be ironic-she still seems to almost believe in the whole child-in-a-manger thing. Guess that's okay. Yeah, Jesus was born in a manger in a town called Bethlehem. That's a safe thing to believe in. I mean, if you don't, then you can't have all those great Christmas carols, including my favorite, "We Three Kings."

  It's the other part, the Easter part, that Mom has a problem with.

  She's okay with the birth, just not the death. And especially not the resurrection.

  As for me, like I said, I'm over it. I'm indifferent.

  The only thing that concerns me is Jocelyn celebrating this day with us.

  And as for Jocelyn, well-she takes Christmas very seriously.

  Christmas Day comes, and with it comes snow, and with that comes safety. I don't know why, but I know that nothing's going to happen on this day. Maybe because it's supposed to be sacred or maybe because the strangers outside are too busy to watch. I don't know. All I know is that Jocelyn is planning on coming over later to celebrate Christmas Day with a party of three.

  Mom has already told me that we won't be celebrating with our aunt. Something tells me that Aunt Alice won't exactly be celebrating Christmas.

  She'll be too busy sticking needles in her voodoo dolls.

  I'm sure Mom would tell me to knock it off i
f she could hear my thoughts.

  I hear the song in the background. Christmas music is okay and it pipes out loud: one of those solemn, contemporary Christmas tunes, one I've heard a bunch of times before.

  Glancing out the window, seeing the thick flakes dancing around as I watch the driveway for Jocelyn, I feel depressed. Listening to The Smiths or Interpol or something like that should be depressing, but Christmas music? But this song is sad. Like I need any more sadness in my life.

  I remember this one since it's on this CD my mother plays every year. The lyrics stand out. In a world as cold as stone, the woman sings. Must I walk this path alone?

  I can relate. Not the "breath of heaven" part, but the walking alone part.

  The wind outside blows as the woman sings of hope, almost like a prayer.

  It's nice to think that someone is up there listening to a prayer such as this in the middle of the darkness, but I don't buy it.

  Just like there's no Santa and his reindeer in the North Pole, the same goes for the little baby Jesus coming to the world to save us all.

  I haven't been saved, and don't see salvation coming any time soon.

  Help me, the song goes.

  Yeah.

  Help me.

  Hold me together.

  A nice thought.

  But we're all alone down here, and no song can ever change that.

  I see the jeep pull up and watch Jocelyn step out.

  She takes my breath away. That's all I know and all I care about.

  She can help me and hold me together. And I can do the same for her.

  "I don't want to leave."

  "Then don't."

  Jocelyn is lying on the couch with her legs over my lap, a blanket covering both of us. We're stuffed and warm and comfortable, and life is good.

  "I have to," she says. "My aunt wants me home."

  "How about tomorrow? Mom would you let stay over."

  "I don't want to leave my aunt alone. I already spent most of Christmas with you."

  "I'm greedy."

  My eyes don't move off of her. Sometimes it seems like I could study her all day and all night long.

  "Thank you for today."

  The gifts are scattered around the room. Mom and I got several things for Jocelyn. Nothing huge, like an iPhone or a diamond ring, but small, nice gifts. Mom has been in her room for the past hour, giving us some space.

  I gave Jocelyn a couple more things then, when Mom went to take a nap. One of those was a mix CD with songs all designated to mean something between us. The other was a little booklet I made up that had an assortment of pictures and descriptions (most printed off the Internet) of Chicago. The title of the book was quite subtle: A Place We Will Escape to One Day.

  I told Jocelyn I was serious, that I wanted to take her to Chicago one day, that maybe we could do it sometime in the new year. I'd tell Mom we were visiting my father, but we wouldn't have to do that. Jocelyn had smiled and kissed me and thanked me for the thoughtful gifts.

  It's already nine, and I know she has to leave. She still hasn't given me her present.

  "Did you really get me something?" I ask.

  "I did."

  "Are you going to give it to me before you leave?"

  "It is a Christmas gift."

  "Then let me see."

  "I didn't have time to wrap it." She produces a small box that fits in my palm.

  "If this is a ring, don't you think it's a little soon to be talking marriage?" I ask with a smile.

  "Just open it."

  I open the box and see a round, brown strip of leather. A wrist band.

  "Cool," I say.

  Jocelyn smiles, taking the band and putting it on my right hand. She ties it carefully.

  "My mother gave this to my father when they were dating. She got it on a mission trip. She told him that she wasn't ready to give him anything else, but she still wanted something round that stuck to him. Something that he never took off that would remind him that they belonged to each other."

  Suddenly what I'm wearing seems priceless.

  "I can't wear this," I tell her.

  "It's my gift to you."

  "Jocelyn-"

  "I wouldn't give it to you if I didn't mean it."

  I lean over and put my hand to the side of her face, then kiss her lips.

  When I pull away, I remain close to her face.

  "I love you," I tell her.

  "I know. Thank you for today."

  "We can do this tomorrow if you want. And the next day. And the next."

  There it is again, the sad smile, the melancholy glance. She lets out a sigh and tells me she needs to go.

  I look at the leather bracelet as we get up.

  "What are you thinking?" she asks.

  "This feels right."

  "I know. I always wondered-but I won't. Not anymore."

  "Wondered about what?"

  "If someone would come along-someone that fit me-someone that belonged with me. I'll never have to wonder anymore."

  I hold her for a long time before she opens the door and walks out into the cold darkness.

  I watch her car drive off into the night.

  The day after Christmas, I turn on my computer and find an email from Jocelyn.

  DEAR CHRIS:

  I'VE MADE A MISTAKE.

  THIS ISN'T GOING TO WORK OUT.

  I NEED SOME SPACE. PLEASE, CHRIS-JUST GIVE ME SOME TIME TO THINK THINGS OVER.

  JOCELYN

  I stare at the message like it's in a foreign language.

  This is the same girl who just said "I'll never have to wonder anymore.

  The same girl who just spent Christmas with me, much of it side by side and in one another's arms.

  Mistake?

  Isn't going to work out?

  Space?

  Time?

  I want to think it's a joke, but nothing about it sounds like a joke.

  I email her back.

  WHAT'S GOING ON?

  And then a few minutes later I email again.

  JOCELYN-WHAT'S WRONG? WHAT'S

  HAPPENING?

  Then, after not getting a response, I get the phone and call her.

  I just get their answering machine and hear her aunt's voice. I leave a message.

  I leave two more that morning.

  Nothing.

  The day passes and I hear nothing.

  It's only in the afternoon that I start to worry and wonder.

  Mom is at work, and it's snowing. I know the roads are bad.

  All I can do is sit in this house and worry and wonder.

  A thousand voices tell me something, but none of them enough. All of them are insufficient.

  By the time night comes I can't take anymore.

  I go below our deck where my bike is stored and find the tires shredded like fragments from a bomb blast. They're not only flat, they're slashed. Beyond repair.

  Wind whips my body as I look into the wilderness and wonder who did this.

  I go back inside and wait to hear from Jocelyn.

  Wait to understand what's going on.

  So I wait.

  And I wait.

  Finally, the Wednesday after Christmas, after several days have passed and I've heard nothing more from Jocelyn since her cryptic and baffling email, I have my mother drive me to her house. I have her wait at the end of the driveway so she doesn't have to see any drama unfold. Yet as I approach the house, I suddenly know that nobody is there.

  There's no car. The snow on the driveway looks several inches thick and untouched. No lights are on and there aren't any footprints in the snow.

  The house looks abandoned.

  I knock on the door several times then try opening it. Part of me wants to kick it in (if I could actually manage to do that), yet I know there's no need to.

  Nobody's been around here for some time now.

  I wonder where Jocelyn and her aunt might have gone.

  What about Wade? What if he came b
ack and forced them to go somewhere?

  I know what I need to do.

  I run back to my mom and tell her to stop in town on the way home.

  I need to see the sheriff.

  "Just slow down a second."

  The deputy I'm talking to, Kevin Ross, chews gum robotically and rubs his nose as if he's bored. I stop talking and compose myself.

  "Is the sheriff around?" I ask again.

  "I already told you he's out."

  "When's he going to be back?"

  "When he gets back."

  This guy doesn't like me, I already know that. He looks like the kind of guy who has an attitude simply because he gets to carry a gun around all day long.

  "So Jocelyn Evans sent you a Dear John note-"

  "She sent me an email," I say.

  "And what did it say?"

  "It was just short."

  "What did it say?" the deputy barks out at me.

  "That she made a mistake. That she needed some space."

  "A mistake with you?"

  I nod.

  "So this space she's talking about-what does that mean to you?"

  "I'm worried something happened to her."

  "Because she broke up with you?"

  "She didn't break up."

  "Oh, no?" There's a smug grin on his face that I'd so like to wipe off with a hammer.

  "She's just confused."

  "Uh huh. So giving her a little space is going to her home and checking up on her?"

  "Can I talk to the sheriff?"

  The guy grabs my wrist and squeezes it so hard I start to see tiny stars. He shoves his face in mine, and I can smell onions on his breath.

  "You listen to me. You leave that girl alone, you hear me? She's fine."

  I wince and tug at my hand and he releases it.

  "Her uncle-her step-uncle-"

  "Yeah, yeah, I know about Wade," Kevin says. "Sheriff told me about the little altercation."

  "I'm just worried that he might have done something."

  "The sheriff told Helen that if they go anywhere or do anything, or if anything-anything-happens, to let him know. So she did."

  "She did what?"

  "Maybe it's not your business."

  "I'm just worried about something happening to Jocelyn."

  "Her aunt told Wells that they were going on a little trip. Called the morning after Christmas. Something happened. I don't know. Whatever you said or did musta left an impression. Because her aunt's gone bye-bye."