Each time I couldn’t remember it frustrated me more. And let’s not forget the isolation and self-loathing that claimed me for failing to connect to keepsakes that mattered to them. In their eyes, another epic fail on my part.
But these items are different than the ones my parents deemed important. These are items they would have thrown out. Perhaps this is a new tactic?
I pick up a pair of tickets, the paper so worn that the name of the event and date can’t be read. It’s like someone left them in a pocket on laundry day. I set them aside and pick up an empty jewelry box. The outside is dark blue velvet with silver embossed geometric details. I snap it open and closed several times before moving to the next item—the stinky sock with no companion. It’s dry rotted. I toss it aside without looking too close. I reach for a pink-and-blue book. I flip through, finding empty pages. The final item: a red spatula. This is the strangest of all of them. I tap the plastic to my chin, considering each but can’t remember anything significant. They spark no memories.
The spatula clanks as I toss it back in the box. The rest of the items follow. I’m agitated for wasting my time and mental energy. I should have hid the package in my closet and ignored it like I originally planned. I kick it aside and flop onto my mattress with a whomp. With the pillow cradled around my head, I reach for a tendril of hair and wind it around my index finger as I stare at the ceiling.
My past is often a word on the tip of my tongue I can’t recall. I rummage my mind to find it, allowing letters and sounds to roll along the roof of my mouth and tap my teeth. I’m eager to scream my word to the world, but find none are a perfect fit. When the realization of failure hits, the outline of the letters fade and my sensation of discovery is lost again.
The memories are one thing. Remembering that day—the slash that divided my life—is something else. I teeter. Slipping back and forth between wanting to know nothing and wanting to know everything. Everything. I conclude. It’s for the best. No matter how awful. I need to remember this terrible thing someone else did to me, so I can heal, forget, and move on. I roll on my side and drawn my knees close to my stomach.
Remember. Remember. Remember. I squeeze my eyes shut.
***
I’m back in the park, lazy with happiness and lounging in the sunshine. I roll over to my stomach and reach for my schoolbook. I crack it open but slam it shut again. Who can focus on homework on a day like today? My phone chirps. I lift my backpack and find it underneath. There’s a message. I swipe through and read the screen.
TEXT: Sorry I’m late. B there soon. <3
My teeth sink into my lip, and I smile. Thumbs fly over the buttons. “I’ll always wait for you,” I type. But before I can press send, my world dives from the highest high to a lowest low with one sound that sets off the beginning of my end.
Someone screams. And then that someone is me.
I launch from sleep in tears, lips quivering. I hug my blankets to my chest as my true reality fades in, revealing my room. My gaze skitters from my closet to a photo of Aggie and me, to my own hands trembling in my lap. I’m safe. I deepen my breathing, forcing the air in and out. I’m okay. I’m okay.
My phone reads 4:58 a.m. I reach to turn off my alarm. Staring into darkness, the images from my dream brush my mind. Of the ones I’ve had, it’s the most revealing. I can’t even place who I might have texted. Not that this is surprising. I know no one from the few years right before. It was as if I lived the life of a recluse when I attended Northwalton. In the after, I only had my parents and extended family.
Shoving the sheets away along with the dream, I stretch. If I don’t allow the dream to fester, I’ll have a better day. If I dwell, that’s when the depression kidnaps me. Some days it’s a crippling arthritis, a radiating burn consuming my mind and affecting everything I do. I cannot allow that today. I’ve been training too long for this marathon.
At seven a.m., I’m leaning over a table in Millennium Park, registering with a race volunteer. The woman wearing a neon visor hands me a paper number, and I safety-pin it to my sweatshirt. She presents a course map. With her pencil she traces the streets, beginning with the starting line on Lakeshore Drive, traveling north on Lake Michigan, and weaving back and forth through several neighborhoods before returning downtown.
“We had to change the course in Streeterville because of emergency construction, so in this area we’ll divert the runners through the Northwalton University campus,” she adds.
I nod, but I’m zoning out, barely deciphering her words. I’ve been avoiding the campus since I moved here for a reason. I’m not ready to return to the scene of the crime.
She continues, “Just follow the other runners and you’ll be fine, sweetie.” The volunteer must have read the paralyzing look on my face.
In a daze I move away, allowing the next person in line to step forward. I find an open spot to stand, but the crowd around me is blurring and tilting behind my eyes. I don’t have to do this. In fact, I can leave right now and run my own marathon, on any course I choose. Nothing’s stopping me.
Decided, I step in the direction of home, but Aggie emerges from a crowd waving enthusiastically. My step bobbles, and I halt. I’m caged. I forgot she was coming to cheer me on.
As she nears I take in her outfit: a Team Cait, Princess of Darkness T-shirt she apparently handmade. The letters are silver glitter on black. Red puffy paint drips from the bottom letters like blood. Despite myself, her endless loyalty makes the edge of my lip curl. She’s a good friend. No, she’s the best.
At her side she tugs a man with dirty blond hair and chunky black glasses. He’s dressed in a matching black shirt, jeans, and a black cape. I presume this is the infamous unicorn-owning Paul.
“I like your shirts,” I say when they near.
“Vand vthis fis va fest vart, vhow fher, Vaul,” Aggie hisses and spits with plastic vampire teeth filling mouth. My Vampire is a little rusty, but I think she said, “But this is the best part, show her, Paul.”
Paul smiles brightly, wearing his own vampire teeth and spins, facing away. He spreads his arms wide, opening his cape. It flows like raven wings in the breeze. On the back in silver sparkles it says, “I dare you to run with the Princess of Darkness.”
“You poor guy.” I laugh—a real laugh.
“Fits vfor vu fo vear,” she pauses, “vamn it.” Aggie spits her teeth into her cupped palm. “I made it for you to wear.”
Paul removes the cape and places it over my shoulders. He secures the ties around my neck. “I’m Paul, by the way. Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand and return the sentiment.
Feeling emotional, I crush them in a hug. “Thank you.”
Aggie pulls away and inspects me. “What’s wrong with you? You don’t seem excited. You should be excited. You’ve been waiting for this for months. What’s the shit? Tell me? I smell it, but I don’t understand why I’m smelling it.”
When I scowl, she tugs me aside.
“They’re diverting the run through Northwalton,” I say.
“Oh.” She turns glum. “You’re right. That’s a big pile of shit. Shit.”
“I haven’t been back since...”
“That’s understandable.”
“I was thinking of leaving.” My lips strain tight.
Her face falls in understanding but it ricochets back, the lights flashing behind her stubborn blue eyes, “Or, you know, you could use it as a moment of empowerment. Step right on that gigantic, smoldering pile of shit and run it through the campus. When you’re done, finishing will mean more than finishing for dumb people who run on purpose.”
I cross a hand to my shoulder and rub. She makes a good point. It’s been haunting me too long. Am I well enough to fight today? I glance down at myself searching for the answer.
“You did make me this awesome cape.” I swing it around, feeling a little powerful. If I make light of the moment like Aggie might, perhaps it will be easier. Or even possible.
“I di-id,”
she sings, elongating the second word.
“And it might upset my royal subjects if I don’t make an appearance,” I joke.
Paul steps into the conversation and takes a sweeping bow with one arm extended long and elegantly at his side. “My lady.”
When he rises, my nose burns and throat thickens. I can’t help the forthcoming tears. I turn to Aggie. “I’m scared.”
“I’ll be with you.” She clasps her hands with mine. “I brought my bike. I’ll crash the race and ride beside you if you need me to. Who’s stopping me? No one, that’s who.”
“Oh no.” I glance over her shoulder.
“What now?” she asks.
I jut my chin the direction of the registration tent. Evan stands outside it, pinning his number to his shirt. I forgot about finding the registration form for this event in his apartment the night I stayed there.
“You didn’t talk to him yet?” she asks.
“Sort of, but it turned into an argument and went nowhere.”
“Honey.”
“What?”
She groans. “We may or may not have gotten to know each other the day he was in the office. I like him. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I was pretty mean the other day. It was warranted, but still. I feel a little guilty. I may have gone overboard. I’m not sure.”
“So put on your big Golden Girl panties and go say you’re sorry.”
It might be the cape, but I’m feeling strong today. Strong enough to let this Evan drama blow over, so we can be whatever we were before this one-night-stand mess happened. I want to return to the time before Aggie’s big drunk declaration had me making terrible decisions.
I take a deep breath and jog to Evan. “Hey,” I say to get his attention.
“Nice cape.” He eyes me with suspicion.
To break the tension, I spin and show him the back. He reads it aloud. “Pretty fitting.”
“My blonde leprechaun made it for me.”
“I’m jealous.”
“That seems to be your thing,” I crack.
His grin turns sheepish. “Yeah, I never got to say I was sorry for that. And I am sorry, Cait. You didn’t deserve that, and I had no right.”
“You didn’t. But thank you.” I shift where I stand, building my own confidence. “But I also want to apologize—for being so, whatever, the other night. I just want things to be like they were before. Can we do that?”
“Like before?”
“Just two people who live in the same building, who banter on occasion. Nothing complicated. Nothing that causes this.” I wave a floppy hand between us.
“What’s this?” His mimics my gesture, appearing amused.
“Anger, hurt, confusion. Whatever it is, I don’t like it. It’s wrong. It doesn’t feel right. I want things back to normal.”
“Are you finally making me your friend?” His lip quirks.
“If you can handle it.” I grin.
“Then allow me to be the friend that kicks your ass in this marathon.”
CHAPTER 28
Lou appears, looking like he arrived from work. He’s wearing the same shirt as Aggie and Paul, except he’s accentuated it with a pair of lime-green leopard-print skinny jeans and a pink boa. He waves the rope of flowing feathers above his head.
Seeing the three near the start line, cheering Evan and me on, permits me a moment of happiness. For the first time after I’m positive I’m where I’m supposed to be, with friends who care. The only person missing is Ozzy. Together, they’re my new family. I’m no longer alone. Happiness spreads across my face.
Evan stands beside me. We’re stretching and talking smack. This, too, makes me happy, even if he has more your momma jokes than I do.
The announcer welcomes everyone to the race. We find our spots and stand at attention. A digital clock counts down at the start line. When it hits zero, a bullhorn blows and thousands of runners launch forward. Evan and I are locked within the moving mass for several blocks until the pack breaks.
With the space widening around us, I set a slower pace for the twenty-six-plus miles ahead. Evan settles in too. He seems unconcerned about winning—yet. But I know what he’s waiting for because I’m waiting for the same thing—the view of the finish line. As soon as I see it, I’ll blow him away.
At the first-aid station, I grab a plastic cup of water and drink it. At the next one, I splash the water on my face. My favorite part is running through Lincoln Park beneath the now bare trees. It’s here I hit my second wind, my body relaxes, and I exert less energy. With my cape flowing behind me, I could run forever.
When we pass through the Andersonville neighborhood, Ozzy’s building appears. My heart leaps when I spot him sitting in a wheelchair. Other residents and nursing aides cheer bedside him, each waving a sign above their heads that reads messages like, Go, Cait! and Cait the great! He’s organized my own cheer section. I melt at the sight of them.
Separating from the pack, I run to Ozzy. “Thanks for being here.” I give him a kiss on his cheek, and then fist-bump each of his friends before taking off again.
“I need one of those capes,” Ozzy calls. I spread my cape wide so he can read it. Then I ripple it in the wind. Today I’m Superwoman and nothing can stop me.
“Who was that?” Evan asks when I rejoin him.
“Ozzy.”
“The dude you bribe with candy?”
“He’s my friend. And minus the bribing part, he’s agreed to sell me the house.” I shoot him a smug expression.
“I’m happy for you, Cat.”
“Thanks.” I nudge him with my shoulder.
The race weaves through neighborhoods of cheering spectators, and at mile twenty, the buildings of the Northwalton Campus appear. At the mere sight of them, my muscles tense and my stride slides off-kilter. I do my best to adjust, but my body seems heavier. Stiffer. Achy. Perhaps if I lock on mental blinders, I won’t even realize where I am?
“You okay?” Evan must sense the change.
“Just planning my win,” I jab.
“That’s all it will ever be. A big fat plan.”
I allow his comment to ignite my competiveness and distract my roaming thoughts. I quicken my pace, determined to run out the last six miles. We enter the canyon of the campus. I stare straight ahead, focusing blocks away where the edge of the Chicago River divides the city. If I can make it there, I’ll be through it all.
The race route twists. They’re weaving us through every street to fill out the final miles, but it’s in the next bend that I see it. The park. My park. It’s beautiful and green and exactly as it was in my dreams. Awareness blooms. What’s here is too similar to my dreams for them not to be real. The images in my mind at night really are slivers of information coming back to me. This is proof. My heart leaps.
But then I see that spot. That exact location I was lying when it happened. It’s illuminated by the sunshine and framed by the building’s long shadows of jagged, graphite-colored formations. Fate is testing me by pointing it out.
I can be fearless, or I can fold. I clench my hands.
I slow, dragging my toes. My legs strain to lift my shoes. They’re suddenly the weight of bricks. Then I hear it. Music. My head jerks to the sound. It’s a melody struck on a guitar in the distance—the same song from my dream. Through the crowd of spectators and runners, I frantically scan, searching for the source. When I can’t find it, I stop in the middle of the street and turn to face oncoming runners. I’m an unmovable rock splitting a river as they rush around me. Someone screams. Then another. My attention zigzags to find the source, but the runners morph into people scattering for their lives.
It’s pure chaos. No. Pure hell.
My legs weaken, and I collapse to the asphalt on scraped knees. Blistering pain explodes from within my body. Arm. Stomach. Leg. Healed scars become open wounds, excruciating and burning. I thrust from side to side as blood spreads. I’m remembering it, hot and sticky and pouring out of me, and drai
ning to the ground, taking my happiness with it.
In the mayhem, I use the air left in my lungs to scream. It’s shrill and agonizing. My chest constricts, the squeeze on my lungs is too tight, and I wheeze. I grab my throat. I can’t breath. I’m suffocating and straining to survive. My surroundings blur. I tilt and fall, cheek and shoulder crashing into the ground before inky spots spread like feathering watercolors behind my eyes.
Then. Darkness.
CHAPTER 29
“Cait. Look at me, Cait.”
I come to. Images flitter between reality and a painful blurred memory of before. My head and back are cradled in Evan’s arms. His wide, worried eyes stare down at me.
I blink again. We’re on the ground and there’s a white tent above us. It’s confusing. Someone’s pinching my wrist. Evan holds a cool towel over my forehead. There’s a chill under my armpit, between my legs? Ice?
I move.
“You need to drink some water.” A man offers a plastic cup, but I push it away, and it spills across the back of my hand.
“Cait. Just do it. They need to get your body temperature down,” Evan says. They think I have heatstroke. They don’t know. They don’t understand.
“I need to see. I need to see!” I fight his grasp to wrangle myself for a view over Evan’s shoulder to see for myself that I’m safe. That everyone here is safe. I blink several times, but there are only runners streaming past. The park, my park, sits across the street filled with cheering spectators. They’re smiling, waving signs, and blowing whistles. This is a far leap from what I saw and very far from my horror-filled dreams.
As soon as I understand, relief washes over me. It was another panic attack. I slump back into Evan’s embrace. Sweat beads at my neck. Tears explode at the fully formed memory. The pressure in my head releases.
“You’re okay. You’re okay.” Evan soothes by rocking me. I grasp his shirt between my fingers, and he squeezes me tighter.
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