by Jeyn Roberts
“I don’t know what to do,” I finally admit. “I have to go to her again. Make her listen. I just need more time.”
“Maybe you’ll Fade again,” Mary says. She still doesn’t know about Parker’s secret. I haven’t had time to tell her, and she’s forgotten to question me.
“It won’t happen,” I say. “I was lucky enough to get a second chance. Do you really think I’ll get a third?”
“Maybe. The high and mighty up-above powers obviously decided she needed to be told again.”
“I don’t think so.”
I look at Parker for help, but he’s gazing out over the water. His face is dark with worry. I can’t tell if he’s regretting telling me about the way out or if he’s trying sincerely to find an answer in that mysterious brain of his. Either way, all this talk isn’t solving anything. Too much time is passing in the real world, and every second here is agony.
Why am I so obsessed with this girl? What is it about her that makes me sick with worry? I’ve never cared about the people I’ve crossed paths with before. Sure, I’ve thought about them sometimes, wondered if they solved their problems. But none of it has ever kept me this revved up before.
Does Tatum remind me of myself? Is that it? Do I subconsciously believe that by saving her, I’ll be making amends for my own death? Would I have reacted the same way Tatum did if someone had warned me? Would I have protected myself or looked at Walter and laughed? He’d seemed so harmless.
“She’s helpless,” I say, more to myself than the others.
“Some things are beyond our control,” Parker says.
“Not everything,” I say.
“Especially everything.”
I turn toward Parker, mentally reminding myself to take it down a notch. Yelling isn’t going to accomplish anything. “She’s going to die,” I say. “And I can’t make her understand. She’s more interested in me. She doesn’t get it. I’m already dead; I know what’s waiting. What if one day she ends up here?” I pause and look around again, worried that my words may have already come true. More faces refuse to meet my eyes, but thankfully none of them are Tatum’s. “I’ll never forgive myself if that happens.”
“Not all bad deaths end up here,” Parker says.
“You don’t know that,” I say. “We’re stuck here. How do we know there aren’t other lakes? Other places where more of us wait? Ours can’t be the only afterlife. There could be thousands of them just like here.”
“There could be worse, too,” Parker says.
“Prove it.”
“I can’t,” Parker says. “I can’t tell you if heaven exists either. But by your own logic, if places like this exist, then other places do too.”
“I sure hope hell exists,” Mary says. “It’s the perfect revenge for the arsehole who did this to me.” She places her hands over her throat. “Gutted me like a pig, he did.”
“Yes, Mary,” I say. “We all know. Your death was bad. So was mine. And Parker’s. And that of every single person here. Get over it.”
“I’m just saying—”
“This girl is still alive,” I say. “Why can’t we make it our business to try and keep it that way? Why does everything have to be about everyone else?” I turn and face the crowd again. “What’s the matter with all of you? Isn’t there someone out there you want to save? Why do you have to sit here, day in and day out, feeling sorry for yourselves?”
Parker gets up off his log and comes over to shush me. But I won’t let him. I shake him off, twisting my body out of his reach so I can continue my angry speech.
“And how come none of you ever do anything?” My voice has grown dangerously loud. “Get up. Move around. Talk? Why does everything here have to be so quiet? There are no rules here. Who said we need to act like we’re all dead?”
Because we are dead. I see the answer on all their averted faces.
Parker’s wrong. This is hell. It’s just cleverly disguised.
“It doesn’t have to be this way!” I scream. “This world. We can make it better. But we have to do it together.”
I’m greeted with silence. They’re embarrassed by my outburst. It’s so much easier to pretend I don’t exist.
“Come on,” Parker says, and he grabs my hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“And you,” I say. The tears are flowing down my face now. “How come you only touch me when you have no other choice?”
* * *
When Sweetwater took the stage on day one of Woodstock, Julian kissed me.
It wasn’t magical or mind-blowing. We weren’t gazing into one another’s eyes in adoration. I wasn’t chewing my cheek in anticipation, waiting for that moment that might never come. He simply placed his hands on my face and our lips met.
That’s when the magic began. Everything around me stopped moving. The screaming crowds and rock and roll disappeared into a fog. Butterflies pulled my stomach in all directions, and my legs actually turned rubbery. Thankfully, the crowd pushing against us kept me standing.
I hadn’t known a kiss could feel like that. Sure, I’d kissed boys before. In fourth grade, Josh Beaumont had cornered me by the swing set for my first. I can honestly say it never made my insides quiver. The kiss had been awkward, and two days later, thanks to Josh, everyone knew about it. I never did give him a second. There’d been more than a few since that, with other boys. But none of them had ever knocked the breath right out of my body. None of them had left me desperately hungry for more like this did.
When Julian pulled his lips away, it took all my strength not to straight-out attack him. With my arms wrapped tightly around his waist, all I wanted to do was pull him closer. He looked down at me with his sparkling brown eyes, his hair tickling my cheeks.
Slowly I became aware of the noise around us. Someone slammed against me, sending me closer into Julian’s embrace. The band’s guitars wailed chords, and the bass beat a rhythm that vibrated across the fields and up into my feet. I was aware that Andrea stood a few feet away, probably watching us, dying to get me alone so she could grill me for all the glorious details.
“You’re beautiful,” Julian said. His words were soft, but I had no trouble hearing him over the noise. “I’ve never met anyone like you. I never want to let you go.”
Everything was going so fast, like a big, gigantic blur. I couldn’t keep up. Part of me was terrified; the other part wanted to run headfirst into everything. My father’s lectures crept into my head, but I pushed them away. I knew that love meant getting to know someone better and that it didn’t happen with a bang. I’d heard him tell me about how he waited three months before asking out my mother. And how they dated for four years before he asked for her hand in marriage. My father believed in taking his time, in making sure he made all the right moves. He constantly warned me about the dangers of going too fast.
But even with all his faithful patience, he’d still lost my mother. Who knew how love really worked? I certainly wasn’t an expert.
I’d only known Julian for two days, but it felt like a lifetime. Even when I look back on it, all these years later, it still feels right. In fact, nothing in my life had ever made so much sense. It was as if every single thing I’d done until then had been pushing me toward Julian. I would follow him anywhere if it meant never leaving his side. If the feminists and their pamphlets could have read my mind, they would have tried to drag me away.
Terrifying. But oh so right.
“Come on, you lovebirds!” Andrea shouted. “You’re missing the show.” Guitars rang out, and the singer’s voice came through the microphone. “Oh man, that’s my favorite song!”
Julian’s hand trailed down my side, his fingers brushing against my arm, sending millions of sensations throughout my body. Taking my hand in his, he squeezed gently, his eyes never leaving mine.
I was in love. Completely, totally, helplessly in love. It had snuck up on me when I wasn’t looking, and I was happily freaked. I didn’t understand how such feelings could exis
t so quickly, but I wasn’t about to complain.
We stayed together for a couple more sets. The musicians kept coming and coming. Finally, Andrea suggested we head off to find something to drink. The heat from the crowd was staggering, and we were all thirsty.
Andrea was the queen of moving through a crowd. She was short, barely five feet tall, but she had no trouble maneuvering herself around the masses. I trailed behind her, my hand still tightly in Julian’s. I looked up at the sky, wondering if the people were right. The weather stations were forecasting rain.
“No more water,” the lady said when we reached the closest stall. Her eyes were red and bleary from all the smoke, her hair piled on top of her head in frizzy knots. “We got nothing. Totally sold out. Try some of the cars down the road. They might still have stuff.”
“Okay, thanks,” Andrea said.
But no one had anything. We walked almost all the way back to our car, and everything was gone. Even the watermelon vendor had nothing but a pile of rinds. The crowds had depleted their sources. Everything was sold out.
“Great,” Andrea said. “We’ve got food in the car, but no water. Who would have thought they’d run out of that?” There were small ponds over in the distance, and she gazed at them fondly. Even from afar, we could make out people skinny-dipping. “If we get desperate enough, there’s always that.”
I watched a group of naked children running down the hill toward the water. “Yeah, no,” I said.
“Come on,” Julian said. “I’ll introduce you to my family. They’re like pack rats. They may sell the clothes off their back, but they’ll have plenty of water.”
“You’re here with your folks?” Andrea seemed impressed.
“Not my actual kin,” Julian said. “They’re on a farm in Idaho. This is my traveling family. I met up with them a few years ago and I’ve been cruising around ever since.”
“Lucky,” Andrea said.
“Why’d you leave?” I asked.
Julian looked down at me, and those pesky butterflies came back with a vengeance. “I didn’t want to be a farmer,” he said. “That was good enough for my father and my brothers, but I always knew I was meant to do something different. I wanted to get out and see the world. I met Walter when his van broke down on the highway, and they took me in. There’s a whole group of us. Twenty, twenty-five. Some people come and go. We settle down for the winter in a different town so the little ones can go to school, but we spend our summers touring around. Selling stuff we make. It’s a great life.”
“That sounds fantastic,” I said. I tried to imagine being a nomad. Going from town to town, selling beads and shirts, moving on the second I grew bored. For a young girl who grew up in the most boring town on earth, it sounded like a dream come true.
“You should both come with us,” Julian said. “We always have room for more. The bigger, the better.”
“My parents would hunt me down and kill me,” Andrea said. “I can’t wait till I’m eighteen. Then I’m gonna give them the finger and take the first bus out of town. But Molly, her dad’s way cooler.”
“No, he isn’t,” I said. “You just think so because he’s never home. Your parents were fine with you coming here. They even tried to tag along. I had to lie to my brother and sneak out in the middle of the night.”
“You lied to come here?” Julian raised an eyebrow.
“She’s crafty,” Andrea said. “Made up this whole camping trip idea. You can’t trust a single word that comes out of her mouth.”
“That’s not true!” I said in mock anger.
“See! All lies!”
I gave her a playful push, sending her into a long-haired guy with glazed eyes. Andrea apologized to him, but he didn’t notice. He stumbled away, looking up at the sky. I couldn’t help but wonder if he thought it was falling down on him. Andrea and I caught each other’s gaze and started laughing.
“You can travel all over the world if you want,” Andrea said to me. “But make sure you take time to shower, okay?”
“Not a problem,” I said.
“Speaking of water, I’m still dying of thirst.” Andrea tossed her hair over her shoulders. “That stinky pond is starting to look good. Where are your people? I’m going to dry up before we find them.”
“Just over there,” Julian said, pointing to a VW bus. I recognized it. The back doors were open, displaying a few pieces of clothing. Most of the beads were gone from the table. Business must have been good. The older man still sat in his spot. He nodded at us as we approached, an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips.
“Who’s that?” Andrea asked.
“Walter,” Julian said. “He kinda runs the group. Him and his wife, Olivia. She’s amazing. She makes the clothing we sell. All by hand. I’ve never seen anyone who can work a needle and thread like her.”
A tiny older woman came around the corner of the van. Her blond hair was braided with beads and streaked with gray. The length almost reached her knees. She squealed happily when she saw Julian.
“Now, where exactly did you run off to?” she said in a booming voice. Her eyes trailed down to where Julian’s and my hands were still entwined. “Never mind. I see. I gets it.” She looked me over with a gigantic grin. Reaching out, she took my arm and pulled me forward. “Oh lordy, child. What do we have here? You’re gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. Now I know why our little mousie snuck out of the barn.”
“You got any water, Olivia?” Julian asked.
“Do I have water? What kind of mother hen you think I am?” She slapped at Walter’s legs. “Go get the jug. We’ve got some thirsty chicks.”
“Get it yourself, woman,” Walter said. But he’d already climbed to his feet. He winked at me before he climbed into the van.
Olivia tugged on my arm and gently pushed me into the spot Walter had deserted. “Tell me all about yourself, dear. Details! Or I’ll have to get them from him.” She pointed at Julian. “And he’s a guy. They never notice the right things.”
That was how I met Julian’s family: sitting in the back of the van, listening to amazing music as it drifted across the fields. Walter put some coffee on, and Olivia asked me all sorts of friendly questions. She was the kind of woman who didn’t believe in personal boundaries. As long as I kept answering, she kept asking. I didn’t mind at all. I wanted them to know everything about me. I wanted to belong.
A week later they became my new family.
No regrets. I’ll keep saying that until the end of time. Eventually it’ll mean something.
* * *
We climb. The forest swallows us up the moment we step off the beach. Ancient trees circle around us, enclosing Parker and me as we move forward through a multitude of green and brown. Moss covers tree bark and large leaves stretch above, closing us off from the blue sky. After the open beach, it’s not long before I’m feeling slightly claustrophobic. I turn around, and already the lake has disappeared.
Up, up we go.
Straight into the mountains.
Parker walks ahead of me, his footing sturdy, his back relaxed. There are no trails here, but that doesn’t deter him in the slightest. We go back and forth in switchback formation, alternating between heading toward what I imagine might be north and south. Every direction leads straight up. Parker never pauses to check out his surroundings. He’s the only one who ever ventures out here, and the woods have probably become a better companion to him than the rest of us. I’m sure he knows them more than he knows me.
Parker doesn’t once look back to see if I’m following.
If I still had muscles to worry about, they’d be aching. If my lungs took in air, I’m positive I’d be breathing heavily. If I still perspired, my shirt and face would be soaked with sweat. I’ve been sitting on that beach for over forty years; you’d think I’d be horribly out of shape. But I don’t need to worry about these things.
When I was alive, I used to hike in the woods behind our house when I wanted some time to myself. It wasn’t muc
h, just a few acres of land that hadn’t been developed yet. The trees were sparse and skinny, especially in the spring before the leaves began to grow. The wild grass yellowed as the summer took over, and the brambles would snag my clothing and leave red welts on my skin. But it was all I had within walking distance, so I didn’t complain. All the neighborhood kids must have felt the same way because I often came across them. They loved the woods as much as I did; it was their escape from the adults constantly telling them what to do. They built small huts out of pilfered wood and rug samples from the local hardware store. The boys would hammer nails into anything they could use, and the girls would bring their dolls to have afternoon tea parties. Sometimes I’d take a garbage bag to collect the bottles and candy wrappers they left behind. Other times I’d let them convince me to play games. Hide-and-seek. Freeze tag.
The woods behind my house were full of life. Birds used to fly over my head, building their nests, warning me when I got too close to their young. Squirrels darted across my path, climbing the trees in a way that seemed unnatural. With their tiny hands and bulging eyes, they’d run effortlessly across the branches, chattering away as I walked beneath. Flies buzzed across my face, and spiders spun their webs in the evening, leaving dew-heavy designs to avoid the next day. Once, I picked up a Coke bottle to discover that a tiny frog had crawled inside.
My point being: A forest is a living thing. It’s filled with life. This place, on the other hand, is just a shadow, a memory. Nothing but trees. No bugs, animals, or birds. No left-behind candy wrappers to show that someone once passed through. These woods are too silent. Too still. Not even the leaves move. And that’s the weird thing. As we continue along, I begin to notice that there’s no death in this forest. No fallen trees. No dried-up bushes. Everything is simply green and lush. Even the rocks look healthy.
“Why do you think this exists?” I ask as we walk along. “Do you think the trees are stuck here too? Maybe they were cut down to make houses and their spirits came here. They never seem to die. Look around. Not a dead branch anywhere.”