For The One

by Brenna Aubrey

  Suddenly, I want to hold her hand so I reach down and take it. Her head jerks toward me, then she smiles. Her fingers close around mine, and that warm feeling in my chest starts spreading.

  "What do you think of our center?"

  I nod. "It's a very interesting place. I bet they are sad you are leaving."

  Raul's head comes up. "You're leaving?"

  Jenna's head jerks sharply toward the boy. "No worries, R. I'm not leaving anytime soon."

  "But--" I begin.

  "Wil, it's time to go. 'Bye, Raul!" She's tugging me along and waving goodbye to Ann while giving her some instructions. Then she grabs her things, not speaking again until we are in the parking lot.

  Letting out a breath, she says, "If you come back here, please don't say anything about my leaving, okay?"

  Jenna is still holding my hand, so I tighten my grip. "They don't know?"

  "They don't need to know. Not yet. I'll give them notice. The Faire doesn't even leave the area for two and a half months."

  "You don't have the courage to tell them now?"

  Her eyebrows bunch together. "It's not about courage. Jeez, William. Sometimes you can just be so..."

  "Abrasive?" I've heard that one before.

  "Judgmental of other people's choices. I have good, valid reasons for leaving."

  Running away, I mentally add. "You also have good, valid reasons for staying," I say aloud.

  She drops my hand and blows out a breath. "Let's just get in the car."

  Sitting with her arms folded across her chest, she's silent most of the drive to Disneyland. So I begin speaking to her about the urban art that Raul was creating while pointing out some examples I see on our drive through Anaheim.

  Some of it is just crude, ugly tagging, but there are some examples of truly beautiful artistic expression. It makes me hope the creators of that art will someday learn and push their craft to a professional level. I realize how good it felt to teach someone else a little of what I know--and for him to appreciate that knowledge I shared.

  "I liked teaching Raul."

  "Good. Teaching can be fun." She smiled, and I could swear the light inside the car grew brighter.

  "Have you ever thought about becoming a teacher?"

  She looks at me for a long time. "Yeah, actually. I think maybe, someday...when I'm done filling my need to wander."

  I frown. The less said about that, the better. "I was surprised to see Ann. I'd forgotten that she worked with you."

  "Yes. That's how we met, and when I started going to the RMRA, she got really interested in it, too."

  "Is she also a war refugee?"

  Jenna nods. "Yes. From Somalia. She and her family escaped the war there by fleeing to Kenya before making it to the US."

  I think about that as we continue to drive. "And Raul? Where is he from?"

  "Honduras. His mom was killed on their journey here, which was almost completely on foot, all the way up from Central America. It was horrible."

  I picture Ann and Raul and their families walking through jungles or across deserts to find safety, and I'm suddenly sad that others have been born into such unfortunate situations. Like Jenna, for example. I can only imagine she saw more death and horror in the first five years of her life than I've ever seen--movies included. I realize how lucky I am, especially as I think about the news reports of the refugees from Syria who are escaping under similar circumstances.

  "What was your journey like?" I ask.

  "Huh? Oh, you mean from Yugoslavia?"

  "Yes, was it like that? On foot?"

  She pauses for a moment and glances out the window. "No, we were put on a truck in Sarajevo--my aunt, my sister and me--and driven to Zagreb in Croatia. There was a checkpoint along the way, and..." She shudders and shakes her head. "Anyway, it was not like Raul's at all. We had some family in Zagreb and stayed there until we could fly to America. I was lucky."

  After hearing her story and some of the things she's been through, I don't think that she's as lucky as she feels she is. I just think she's strong. Incredibly strong.

  And beautiful--not just on the outside, but all the way to the core of what makes her her. Jenna helps people and she's compassionate...it doesn't take a professional artist to appreciate that beauty.

  I hope that in proving my worthiness, I'll win her over and she'll want to stay. Because the more time I spend with her, the more I want her with me for good.

  But now my thoughts shift as we pull into the enormous "Mickey and Friends" parking structure that serves park guests. A weight drops into my stomach, my heart is racing and my breathing is coming fast. And though it's not even close to what Jenna has endured, I'm still filled with dread at the thought of reliving some of my own childhood horrors.

  Chapter 17

  Jenna

  We opted out of taking the crowded tram from the parking structure. This way, as we walked, our transition would be more gradual, less likely to induce anxiety. Fortunately, there were fewer people as it was the middle of the week in April, and the park was not near as busy as it could be in high season.

  But William still looked tense, so I decided to get his mind off of his fears. "So how come your dad and Adam call you 'Liam'? You don't seem to like it much."

  "It's a family nickname."

  "Ah, family only?"

  "Family members and old friends called me Liam when I was young. They're used to it. But I prefer William."

  "Oh, so I shouldn't call you Wil, then."

  "Wil is fine--when you call me that."

  I smiled. "So I'm the only one who can call you Wil?"

  "Well, I can't exactly stop someone if they want to call me Wil."

  "Would you want to stop me?" I tilted my head toward him with a cocked eyebrow.

  "It depends."

  "On what?"

  "How you are saying it. If you're speaking in an angry voice or shouting, I'd rather you not use it at all."

  I laughed and he smiled. Then he reached for my hand and I took it, squeezing it for reassurance--my silent way of saying, "You got this."

  "Jenna is technically my nickname," I continued, noticing he was more at ease while he was talking to me. "But it became my legal name when I was naturalized as a US citizen."

  He turned his head toward me, surprised. "Really?"

  "Yeah, I chose it when I came here and started school. It's kind of close to my real name, Janja. People were mispronouncing it. It looks like 'Jan-ja' but supposed to be said 'Yan-ya.' I was little and it bugged me, so I changed it." I shrugged.

  He frowned but didn't say anything.

  "What's wrong?"

  He shook his head as we walked along, his free hand stuffed in his pocket. "I just realized that there are so many things I don't know about you. And it made me sad realizing that there's so much more I'll never know."

  I blinked, suddenly aware of a vague ache in my chest and the little voice at the back of my head that said it's better that way. It would hurt less.

  "How do you say my name in Bosnian?" he said.

  "Vilijam," I replied.

  "And you'd shorten that to Vil? Someone might call me 'Vile' instead. I like it in English better."

  I laughed, relieved by the levity. William could be a funny guy, a sharp contrast to his stoic, silent demeanor. I laughed more with him than I did with most guys I'd dated.

  We were quickly approaching the park entrance. "Okay, the first hurdle is going to be the ticket stands," I said, squeezing his hand again. "It's a turnstile, so people will be lined up. There might be some crowding there."

  As we exited Downtown Disney, William looked ahead of us, past the shops and restaurants, toward the entrance to the park. "First, they'll look through your bag over at that station, there," he said, pointing toward the bag inspection station. "Then they'll take our tickets at the gate. I looked up the entire procedure online so that I could be prepared and anticipate any outcome. I also memorized a map of the place."

&nb
sp; I followed his gaze. "That's right. And after that, we'll pass the Mickey Mouse flowers on the front lawn just below the train station, then go through the tunnel to Main Street USA. There's usually a cluster of people taking pictures there."

  He nodded. "You know this place really well."

  "Alex used to work here. She snuck me in all the time. That is, after I told her the story."

  "What story?" He cocked his head, clearly interested.

  "When my mom and dad first told me they were sending my sister and me to live here, I didn't want to go." I shrugged. "So they sat me down and said I'd live near Mickey Mouse, and wouldn't that be a wonderful thing?"

  "Did that convince you?"

  You have to be brave, my little daughter. I gulped as Papa's voice invaded my thoughts. The Disneyland story was the story I usually told everyone. It was the truth. Just not the whole truth. As far as my friends knew, that was why I'd agreed to leave my parents and my country.

  But it wasn't the full story.

  "Sure, more or less." I shrugged again, suddenly wanting to change the subject. The thought of lying to William made me itchy and uncomfortable. But he was curious, I could tell, and we were about to make it through the ticket line without incident. So I kept talking. "I wanted to be a princess, like Ariel or Jasmine. Apparently, it was all I talked about, though I don't remember. Maja reminded me of it constantly when we were younger."

  "So Maja lived here too. When did she go back?"

  "We went back for a summer when I was sixteen and she was twenty-two. My mom asked us to stay and she did. I came back to the US."

  "So your mom had to talk you into coming to the US when you were five, but she couldn't talk you into staying in Bosnia when you were sixteen?"

  I darted a glance at him, impressed by his perceptiveness. "Yep. I was bound and determined to stay here."

  "Why?"

  "Well..." I glanced at him and then away, motioning for him to move ahead of me in line.

  We were just about to go through the turnstile when William balked. The person behind me in line bumped up against me, and I, in turn, bumped up against William's well-developed backside. Not that I minded. He had a great butt.

  "Sorry! Are you okay?" I asked.

  "Um," was all he said. His hands began rubbing up and down his thighs. Was he panicking?

  Quickly, I turned to the people behind me and directed them to the turnstile next to us, then I moved to William's side.

  "Hey! You haven't heard the end of my story yet. I'm going to go through the turnstile, and if you want to hear the end, you'll have to follow me through."

  He was frowning, staring at the turnstile. I handed the ticket lady both of our tickets and then slowly walked through. Then I turned back around and called, "Don't think about it, Wil. Just think about how much you want to hear my story."

  He looked up and bravely met my gaze. I smiled and nodded to him, and he visibly swallowed. Then, he pushed through the turnstile without touching it with his hands.

  We ignored the ticket lady, who was looking at us like we were aliens. William approached me, his eyes never leaving mine, and then he smiled.

  "Now, tell me that story."

  Chapter 18

  William

  "High five!" she says, holding up her hand and I slap it. Then she moves to hug me. I instinctively step back, not because I dislike hugs, but I don't take surprise hugs very well. It's startling when people reach out to grab me without advance notice.

  Jenna's eyes widen when she sees my reaction. "I'm sorry."

  "I prefer to be asked first."

  "For a hug? Okay. Got it."

  We walk toward one of the two tunnels that go under the train tracks and lead to the main plaza. There's artwork on the walls--stylized posters from the fifties and sixties advertising various attractions at the park. I stop to admire them for a moment and she stands beside me. "You could do better than that."

  It's true, I could. But I haven't forgotten why I'd moved through that wretched turnstile in the first place, with the threat of getting stuck inside it still as strong as when I was six and being dragged through it by my irritated mother.

  "So are you going to tell me why you decided to come back to the US?"

  She glances at me. "Oh, well that's mostly the end of the story."

  "But you said you were going to tell me why."

  She nods and turns, indicating we should exit the short tunnel. It brings us out into the Town Square, which, despite its name, is a circular plaza. From here, a street leads toward the rest of the park. There's a horse-drawn trolley car rounding the bend, and I give it a wide berth as we walk. Horses also make me uneasy, especially big ones like that shiny black draft horse.

  I take note of the buildings stretching down the short length of the "road," thinking I'd like to paint this scene some day. I wouldn't do it here, of course. So I memorize as many details as I can, in order to recall them later. Doing so also helps keep me distracted from noticing the people milling around. Thankfully, there aren't enough of them to be considered a crowd.

  "I came back because I was in love."

  I jerk my eyes to Jenna's face. It's hard to tell if she's joking, but she isn't smiling or laughing. I have to really know a person to know their body language and what it means. I can mostly read Adam, Britt and my dad, but Jenna is still about seventy percent mystery to me.

  "Who were you in love with?"

  She shrugs again. "A boy. Hey, we should go to the City Hall and find out what attractions have turnstiles so we can avoid them. Unless...you want to work on that today, too?"

  I frown, picturing the turnstile again, reliving that fear of getting stuck or chopped in half. I shake my head. "One thing at a time."

  "I'll be right back." Within minutes, she returns holding a list in her hand. "Apparently, you are far from the only person who has an issue with turnstiles! They had this list all prepared."

  She's told me that to make me feel better, I assume. As if knowing that all those other people having the same fear should somehow make me feel better about my own. I think about it for a moment, surprised that, in a small way, it does. Jenna's good at putting me at ease, helping me to feel like less of a freak than I am.

  Soon we're walking up one of the sidewalks on Main Street toward the famous candy shop. I can smell vanilla in the air.

  "Did you know that Walt Disney designed this street to make it look longer than it actually is?" she asks.

  "I did know that. And you changed the subject."

  She darts a glance at me and then looks away again, stuffing her hands in her back pockets. "I did. Because really, there's not much more to the story. There was a boy. We met in junior high school. We'd been dating for a few years by the time I went back to Bosnia to visit. I decided to return to the US while my sister and aunt stayed there. When I came back, I moved in with him and his family. Two years later, he was killed in a car accident."

  I frown. "That's sad. He was young."

  "Yes." I study her face, trying to determine if she is sad. It's a strange thing, grief. It cuts like a knife for the short days and months afterward, eventually dulling into an ache, then a tiny flinch of memory and regret.

  "What was his name?"

  "His name was Braco, but in this country, he went by Brock. His family is from Serbia, but they live here. I'm still close with them. They're like my own family."

  I don't know how to respond to this so I continue walking, and soon she continues. "In fact, I'm flying to Belgrade with them this summer and then traveling to Sarajevo for the wedding."

  "But you'll come back so you can travel with the Ren Faire?"

  "Yes." She points up ahead of us at the castle. "Look, Sir William, I do believe it's a castle to defend! Shall we go through and see if you can pull the sword out of the stone?"

  I scoff. "That's for kids."

  "Everyone's a kid at Disneyland, Wil. That's the beauty of it."

  "Well, I don't do
costumed people. They're creepy."

  "The characters?"

  I shudder. "Yes, we need to steer clear of those."

  She laughs. I love the sound of her laugh. It's musical. And it's times like this when I wish I could paint or draw a sound or emotion--that I could record them as clearly as I can record the things I see.

  We make it past the sword in the stone in front of King Arthur's Carousel and through the rest of Fantasyland without any incidents. And thankfully, no characters.

  I find that my challenges with crowds are at their worst when we have to stand in long lines for the more popular attractions. Jenna uses those opportunities to practice visualization with me, and for the most part, I'm happy to say that it works.

  One of the no-turnstile rides she found is Pirates of the Caribbean, and I end up enjoying this ride a lot. My favorite part about it is watching Jenna as she sits beside me, singing along with the music the entire way through. By the end of the ride, I'm happy that we came. It hasn't been nearly as bad as I thought.

  We don't go anywhere near Adventureland though, and after dinner we resolve to do Space Mountain and Star Tours a few more times. I think she's getting exhausted.

  We're coming out of the Haunted Mansion when everything changes in an instant.

  There are sounds like lightning and thunder overhead. Startled, we both look up and I clap my hands over my ears. I'm grasping at anything to calm myself when, out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jenna collapse into a ball on the ground.

  Is she sick? Hurt?

  She's curled in on herself, hugging her knees to her chest. People exiting the ride file out past us, jostling us, but I'm too concerned about Jenna to worry about any of them. I bend down next to her and ask, "Are you all right?"

  Shaking and whimpering, she rocks back and forth, tucking her head down.

  My blood runs cold as my mind races, trying to figure out what to do.

  Chapter 19

  Jenna

  "Jenna..." Even with his mouth pressed to my ear, I could barely hear William through the fog of my sheer terror.

  My mind was frozen twenty years in the past, held hostage in the moments between each explosion. My eyes shut tight, I recoiled with each new sky-splitting boom, and my breath came so quickly I became lightheaded. Just as I thought I might black out, arms wrapped tightly around me.