September Rain

by A.R. Rivera

16

  -Angel

  The first time I ever talked to Avery, we were standing over the body of a dead kitten.

  She had found the thing and showed me. A black and white bag of bones, covered in fleas, abandoned by its' mother; a stray cat that hung around the apartment complex we both lived in at the time. She'd showed me to an alcove behind the complex, where the trash was kept, and took me back to a dark, stinking corner where the rest of the litter laid lifeless. Four kittens in all; only one had found the strength to make it out into the grass near the playground only to meet the same fate. We cried over the tragedy and gave each a proper burial.

  I used to look back at that day and find comfort in the fact that two small girls with so much working against them were able to stare into the face of death and forge a friendship.

  Now I look back and see it for what it really was: nothing.

  I need to get back to the important stuff.

  Where was I? Oh, yes . . .

  +++

  Avery was staying over.

  The bed spread sprawled open and swayed to the floor like a lead feather. "I'll sleep down here. That way, if Deanna checks, I can slip under the bed."

  I laughed at Avery's silliness. The Foster worked nights and she didn't care if I had a friend sleep over-so long as that friend shared my gender. "And what if you're sleeping?"

  Her mouth quirked to one side. "I'll be the monster under your bed."

  "The rails are too low. Your giant head will get stuck and you'll never get out."

  Avery's green eyes brightened with humor. "I'll live on dust bunnies and lost socks."

  "I'll bring you water once a day."

  The trailer had a way of shaking so that the slightest move shifted the house beneath your feet and squeaky floorboards. When footsteps clattered down the hallway, we knew by the beat it was my foster brother, Austen.

  Avery straightened and leapt to disappear behind the door as Austen opened it. His eyes swept over me and the surfaces of my room. "Have you seen my headphones?" He kept one hand on the knob and the other pushed his overgrown hair back. It was thick and wavy and awful. He would have been so much better looking if he kept it short.

  "In the living room, on top of the stereo, last I saw."

  He eyed the blankets and pillows on the floor. "Thanks. Hey, I'm going to Sheila's, later. You'll be okay tonight?"

  I nodded, "Yeah."

  As he turned to leave, Avery jumped out from behind the door. Her eyes fierce, her smooth face twisted. "Bwahh!!" She shouted, with outstretched arms and claw-like fingers. A very convincing monster.

  Austen just rolled his eyes. He'd seen that trick one too many times. When he shut the door, we were rolling, laughing until our sides ached.

  "Music." Avery insisted.

  I obliged her by putting on Meta Morph by none other than Analog Controller. And turned it up until the speakers crackled. When the first note of the song played, so began our feast for the ears. Our heads were quaking over jerking necks. Four hips shook, matched by thrashing feet. Now the floor was really creaking. My sneakers slipped from my feet onto the blanket.

  When the next rotation started, we were thirsty and nowhere near finished. That's when Avery opened her backpack to reveal the treat she'd brought. Her nails, colored in with black marker, were wrapped around the neck of her favorite drink.

  "Schnapps anyone?" She offered.

  It felt like half a bottle later when I hung up the phone with Jake. The band was auditioning another potential new lead guitarist. Some guy from Phoenix. Jake was convinced that he could either play the lead guitar or sing and wanted my opinion. He didn't need it, though. The band already voted that a new guitarist would be an easier transition. Very few singers had Jake's smooth and rough tones as well as the wide vocal range. I agreed that another guitar player was easier, but I never liked the idea of Jake giving up anything. I wanted him to be able to do everything he wanted. I was going to go over there, but it'd been a while since Avery stayed over. Jake was grasping, it seemed, because he really didn't want that girl in the band. I took a measure of comfort in that and ignored the two words that were still stuck on repeat in my head.

  "Not yet."

  Once we sobered some, Avery, who'd borrowed her mom's car again, drove us to our looking point, a place she and I liked to go to chill out.

  There wasn't much to do in our area so football was kind of a big deal. Not to us, but to the rest of the world. Avery parked at the bottom of the lonely mound that overlooked the away side of the high schools' stadium. We climbed up the steep backside to our spot to look out at the empty seats. There was no game tonight, but there were always some lights on. Still, even dim and empty, the open arena was something to see from our small hill.

  There was one tree and a patch of grass at the top that dried up every spring, like the rest of the state. There was also lots of sand and a few cacti sprinkled among stray rocks. A couple had ripening fruit. But, I didn't think prickly pear would mix well with cinnamon schnapps.

  Hot air breezed past, tossing up my mane, and relieving the moisture that kept it stuck to my neck.

  "That feels nice." I combed my fingers through my hair, pulling it up to twist in a knot.

  I sat down while Avery stood, looking on at the dark. Her palms were clasped together, fingers twisted in knots.

  "Those blank spaces . . . . Angel, how is your memory?"

  Something large and heavy lodged in my stomach. My throat tightened. "What?"

  "Forget the question, already?" She turned to look at me over her shoulder.

  I shook my head, shocked that I was feeling so suddenly defensive. "It's fine."

  I don't care how well you know your friends there are always parts of them that you don't question. Pools inside them that are too deep to dive into. It might be because they tell you not to ask or maybe because you don't care. In this instance, it was more that Avery knew me well enough to know never to ask.

  She had never, and I mean never asked about my memory problems. She knew about them, sure, but it was one of those things that were not up for discussion because there was no point. She couldn't help me solve them. I never delved into why she was always pretending to be happy when I could see she wasn't, or why she sometimes acted more like a mom than a friend, or about the obvious distrust she had for my meek foster brother. I never asked Avery why she felt the need to cut herself, either because she'd never tell me.

  So for her to up and ask about my memory problems was weird.

  "Do you remember your first foster home?"

  It was like the air around me went cold. "I don't know."

  She wrapped her arms around herself and seemed to squeeze, murmuring indecipherably.

  Everyone knows one person with real shit for luck. For me, Avery was that person. My life was no bed of roses, but it really seemed that all the bad stuff happened to her. It also seemed that she put herself into those situations, but that was another one of those off-limit things. I cared. I wanted to ask all the time, but Avery wouldn't tolerate it. She'd let me stand beside her, hold her, even let me see her wounds, but she wouldn't let me heal them. She wouldn't let anyone in-not into that part. Only she was allowed into that black part she carried around. Her quiet storm.

  As I sat on the dry ground, watching Avery's lonely form in the moonlight, I wondered if this was a precedent, if we were going to start talking about the things that really mattered.

  But that wonderment was halted when Avery turned to look at me, clapping her hands together. "Time to get the fuck out of here."

  + + +