“I need an older boyfriend.” Kara flashed a bright smile. “A boy who has a driver’s license.”
Where was the girl who used to read mystery novels and was fascinated by papier-mâché? I tried to steer the conversation to other topics, but all she wanted to do was talk about boys. I ended up going on the roller coasters by myself.
I couldn’t wait to go home. It would be dark by that time, but I still might sneak out to see if Tommy was at the tracks. After all, he’d said he was there most nights. I told Kara about Tommy. She squealed and wanted to know all about this new boy. What did he look like? Where did he live? Was I in love with him?
I could tell her what he looked like. I didn’t know where he lived. I was not in love with him. I didn’t think of him like that. He was my friend. My best friend.
***
The moonlight cast eerie shadows as it shined on the scattered trees in the woods. My stomach clenched. I glanced back to the safety of our backyard. Maybe I should just go home and go to bed. But I wasn’t tired. Anyway, I needed to get over my fear of the dark. I was thirteen years old. Old enough not to be such a baby.
My fear of the dark started at age five. I’d been sleepwalking since I was four. My parents would find me wandering around bumping into things in the middle of the night. I never remembered anything when I woke up.
One night, I unlocked the deadbolt on the front door. Somehow, I made it outside. All I remember was waking up, curled in a tight ball on the dusty ground, in the middle of a cornfield. It was the cornfield behind our house. Late July, and the corn stood tall and green in the Pennsylvania farmland.
I didn’t know any of that, though. All I knew was that I was drenched with sweat, surrounded by tall, dark shadows, no idea where I was at.
I’d stood and ran between the stalks. Tripping over a rock, I’d landed on my knees. Warm blood had trickled down my right leg. I’d burst into tears and screamed. The darkness seemed to envelop me. Clouds covered the half-moon shining directly above me. The familiar sounds of our neighborhood now scared me. Tree frogs croaking, crickets chirping. The low hum of the interstate a few miles away. Normally comforting sounds that now echoed in my ears as the soundtrack in my dark prison. I’d got up again and tried to maneuver my way through the field. I couldn’t find my way out.
Dad had found me there, bloody and tear-stained. I felt like I’d spent hours wandering around. I remember him scooping me up into his strong arms. My body shook, and tears had continued to flood my face. Luckily, I’d never sleepwalked again. I never went outside in the dark by myself, either.
Until tonight. I turned away from our trailer and continued to walk into the woods. My flashlight bounced as I trailed through the rocky terrain. Now, at the beginning of August, heat was at an all-time high, even this late into the night.
Sweat beaded on my forehead and trickled down my neck. I reached the edge of the woods. A full moon beamed down on the tracks, creating a type of lighted stage on the steel parallels. The trees along the Millers’ fence cast large shadows on the grassy area beside the tracks. I scurried down the bank and climbed atop the fence. Turning off the flashlight, I waited in the darkness that shrouded me.
Chapter Nine
Tree frogs croaked the same song they sang every night. Their melody engulfed me while I kneaded the hem of my too-big T-shirt. Thankful the moon hung full and bright, I kept my gaze on it while I waited for Tommy to show up, certain he’d be there eventually. He held no knowledge of me coming out here. And I never came out to the tracks past dark. He knew that.
Call it intuition, but I knew he’d be here. And I was right.
His appearance seemed to happen in an instant, as it had occurred before. My gaze, intent on the brightly lit moon, drifted down on the train tracks, desolate only moments before, to reveal his presence. The thought which had run through my mind so many times prior to tonight flitted again. He seemed to know when I was here waiting for him. He seemed to know when I needed him.
“Hey,” I called. My voice echoed in the night’s stillness.
“Hey, yourself.” He walked over to me. His lips curved into the familiar easygoing smile I’d grown to expect.
“What are you doing out here in the dark?”
I hopped off the fence. “Mixing things up. I decided I’m too old to be afraid of the dark.”
“Cool.” He grabbed my hand. “Let’s go.”
I didn’t have much choice but to follow him due to the strong grip he had on my hand. He moved quickly down the wide, semi-grassy path next to the train tracks. The flashlight in my other hand bobbed up and down, creating an odd light show in the darkness surrounding us.
“Where are we going?”
“I found something,” he said, moving stealthily in the overgrown grass.
“What is it?”
“You’ll see.”
An ominous hoot of an owl filled the humid night air. We glided along the shiny tracks with the help of my trusty flashlight and the glow of the moon. Tommy traveled swiftly, and I kept pace, anxious to see where he was leading me. We were far down the line at this point. In the darkness it may have seemed farther than the true reality. But when I glanced behind me, I couldn’t see any lights. Not even from the Millers’ farm. Only the moon cast silvery brightness around us.
A sting of fear rippled through me. Fear of the dark. Fear of the widening distance between the safety of home and the unknown destination Tommy seemed intent on showing me. Perhaps even fear of Tommy.
I didn’t like or understand this feeling. I trusted this boy who glided like a gazelle, skimming over the ground effortlessly, his sun-streaked hair still golden, even in the dark night. Why, I had no idea. If I needed to write an essay on why I trusted Tommy Tucker, it’d be a short piece of writing. I possessed no concrete reasons, only feelings and knowledge that I had nothing to fear from him.
Nevertheless, while my heart knew this, my mind still raced with possibilities. Possibilities I’d rather not entertain on a hot summer night at midnight while I ran in the complete darkness. Fear of the unknown.
He led me off to the right into an alfalfa field. The growing hay scratched my bare legs as we snaked through the grasses. He stopped abruptly, taking my hand with the flashlight; he shined the light to the left of us.
“Over here,” Tommy said. His sweaty palm still grasped mine.
I breathed a silent sigh of relief that we would soon reach our destination.
A circle of large rocks stood ahead of us in the middle of the field. The rocks formed a short wall, rising to my kneecaps, with an opening in the center, allowing us to enter the circle. For a moment, I wondered if Tommy had constructed the rock circle for one reason or another.
Tommy let go of my hand. Even the humid night air felt cool on my moist hand. I wiped it on my shorts and looked around the circular shape I now inhabited. Old, thin stones stood upright in a haphazard fashion around us. Tommy walked to the back of the circle and knelt. I stared at the thin stones, and a realization washed over me. I was standing in a graveyard.
***
My pulse quickened as my flashlight illuminated the names of the deceased around me. A freaking graveyard! I needed to calm down. Fact was, these people were dead. They couldn’t hurt me. And I didn’t believe in ghosts. My panic merged into anger.
“Tommy Tucker,” I yelled. “Why would you bring me to a graveyard? At night? Why didn’t you tell me where we were going?” I blinded him with my flashlight set straight at his eyes.
“Why are you pissed?” He pointed to a particularly worn-down headstone. “I thought you weren’t afraid of the dark anymore.”
“I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I want to come to a graveyard in the middle of the night.”
“Hey, it’s not a big deal,” he said. “Come over here. This is what I wanted to show you.”
I rolled my eyes, which I doubted he could see in the dark. Reluctantly, I walked through the overgrown grass. My legs were really itchin
g now. If I got poison ivy somehow on this little adventure, Tommy would never hear the end of it. When I got poison, everything itched, not just the affected parts. I thought it was a mental thing with me. I could have poison on my leg, but my arms, back, and head itched, too. Maybe I was a hypochondriac.
“Okay, I’m here,” I said. “What’s so special about this gravestone?”
“Shine the light on the name and dates.”
“Jacob Myer, born August twenty-two, nineteen-oh-one,” I read from the crumbling stone. “Died May thirteenth, nineteen-fifteen.” He was only fourteen years old.
“He was our age,” Tommy said. “Imagine what it would be like to die now.”
“Death at any age is shocking.” I looked at the dates. “You know it’s coming, but you still don’t expect it.”
“You don’t expect it at fourteen,” Tommy said. An edge entered his voice. “You haven’t even started living at fourteen.”
“Aren’t we living right now?” I looked at him. “The way my heart is racing, I’m pretty sure I’m living.”
“You know what I mean. A life. A career. Falling in love. Having kids. Experiences that change you.” Tommy paused. “Sure, I mean, we have experiences now that change us, but it’s only the beginning.”
“The beginning to the end.” I no longer felt scared. But kind of depressed.
We stood in silence staring at Jacob Myer’s headstone. Another owl, or maybe the same one, hooted from above us, likely perched in the scattering of trees surrounding the graveyard. His hoots echoed in the darkness, but I didn’t feel scared. I wanted to leave this place. Not chat about Jacob Myer and his half-lived life. Nor did I want to talk to Tommy tonight. Half the time I wondered why I talked to him so much anyway. Death was the last topic I wanted to discuss. I didn’t want to be standing in an ancient graveyard in the middle of the night. I wanted to be snuggled safely in my bed by myself.
“I’m going home now,” I said.
Chapter Ten
My bed never looked, or felt, so good. I stretched my legs the full length of its twin size. My shorts and T-shirt were still on; I was too tired to take them off. My bedroom window hung open, a slight breeze wafting over my sweaty forehead. The air-conditioner in the living room died last week. Mom was going to get it fixed but hadn’t had time to call anyone yet. So, the windows were always open now, even when we weren’t home. Not like anyone was going to steal our crap, anyway.
I didn’t want to think about death anymore. I was kind of pissed at Tommy for taking me to that stupid gravesite. I wanted to sit and talk to him about my day and about Kara. My first night out in the darkness since my sleepwalking incident and spending it in a graveyard pondering the early death of a kid I didn’t even know wasn’t on my list of priorities.
I felt cheated and annoyed. I did not want to think about death, but its foreboding grip clung to me like an unwanted visitor. Glancing at my alarm clock, two-thirty in the morning, I rolled on my right side. I picked up a silver-plated picture frame from my nightstand. My whole family smiled back at me, myself included. Disney World when I was eight. We all sat together, crammed in a booth at one of those theme restaurants. I thought it was Chef Mickey’s. I was holding up a Mickey-Mouse-shaped waffle like it was the best thing in the world. Sam had a goofy smile, and his eyes were closed. My dad seemed healthy and full of life. It would be another two years until we found out he was sick. But my attention quickly moved to my mom’s image. She wore her hair longer than she did now. But on this day, she had it swept up in a clip, soft brown wisps tickling her slim neck.
Her gaze was on Dad, loving and full of happiness. I knew pictures could sometimes be deceiving. I, for example, resembled a wooden statue in nearly every photo I was in, whether I was happy or not. I didn’t like to have my photo taken. I hated being put on the spot to smile or be interesting. I wasn’t that interesting, and the camera never failed to reveal this fact. However, this picture was not deceiving. It showed the truth of that moment in time.
Dad gazed straight ahead at the camera. Mom watched him, her right hand lightly touching her cheek. I could see, almost feel, the love she held for him by the look in her gaze. Half-tilted eyes stared adoringly at him. Her full, red lips curved into a wide smile. I’d almost forgotten she used to smile like that. We were happy in that picture. Every single one of us.
***
A buzzing sound interrupted my already fitful sleep the next morning. I lay motionless as the small black fly landed on my arm. Swat! I missed him. But I must have scared him since he wasn’t buzzing around my head anymore. I groaned and rolled out of bed. I hadn’t closed my curtains last night, so the morning sunshine greeted me with its bright fierceness. My skin was hot and sticky. Eight in the morning, and it felt like it was 100 degrees. I needed a shower. But I needed some orange juice first.
I stumbled out my bedroom and walked into the kitchen. I took out the carton of orange juice, grabbed a glass from the cupboard, and poured. Sam still slept on the living room sofa. Same place I’d seen him when I’d come home last night.
I put an English muffin in the toaster and got out the butter. Nursing my juice, I sat at the kitchen table and waited for my muffin to pop. Sam stirred and joined me at the table.
“Why were you sleeping on the couch?” I asked.
“Waiting up for you.” He raised his eyebrows. “I got up last night to get a drink. You weren’t snoring like you usually are, so I looked in your room. But no Emily. Where were you?”
“I don’t snore.” I jumped up as the muffin popped from the toaster. I took the knife and applied a slab of butter, watching it melt into the crannies.
“You do. But you still didn’t answer my question. Where were you?”
“I took a walk,” I said.
“At one in the morning? Alone, in the dark? You’re scared of the dark,” Sam said skeptically.
“I decided it’s time to stop being a baby. And besides, I wasn’t alone.”
“Who was with you?”
“Tommy.”
Sam took a swig from the half-empty orange juice carton. “Who is this kid? You’re always hanging around with him, but I’ve never met him.”
I laughed. “Meeting you is hardly a requirement to be my friend.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean.” Sam stood. “I’d like to meet him sometime. You are my little sister. I don’t want you hanging out with some weirdo.”
“He’s not a weirdo,” I said. Although, I still felt kind of strange about him taking me to the graveyard last night. He knew I was scared of the dark. Why on earth would he take me to a graveyard? He could have showed it to me in the daytime.
“Are you sure?” my brother asked. His eyes squinted as he studied me.
I didn’t answer him. Not sure. I knew I trusted Tommy. I thought. I knew I held his friendship in the innermost part of my heart. But I couldn’t deny there was a great deal unknown about him. And that lack of knowledge sent a tingle, just a tingle, of fear through me. Not enough to keep me away from him. But enough to wonder how our friendship had become a driving force in my life. He confused me, but I did know I couldn’t stay away from him.
***
“Did I freak you out last night?” Tommy leaned against the old apple tree next to the Millers’ fence.
Small green apples had formed on it, easily making the transformation from delicate white bud to growing fruit in the hot summer heat. Usually, the bugs dug into them before people got the chance to enjoy them. If the bugs didn’t devour their sweet flesh, deer who traveled through the woods would certainly take care of the job. Last summer when we moved here, I’d salvaged a few. Tangy, sweet, and juicy. Everything an apple should be, wrapped up in a golden, delicious skin.
I looked at him and rolled my eyes. I couldn’t hide anything from him. But I didn’t want to admit anything either.
“I know you were upset.” His dark-blue eyes held my gaze. “So don’t act like you weren’t.”
“Why’d you take me there? In the middle of the night? You knew I was scared of going outside in the dark. I told you that. So you take me to some stupid graveyard?”
He shrugged. “I thought it was cool. I just wanted to show it to you. I didn’t want to scare you.”
I yanked a buttery dandelion from the grass, closed my eyes, and took a sniff. They never smelled like anything. Just a weed, which I guessed they were. I always thought dandelions were pretty, though. Something pretty should have a nice smell. It didn’t.
I leaned against the fence. My thin blue tank top did little to shield me from the scorching sun, baking my back. Exactly the type of hot, sweaty day Dad had been buried. Mid-July, and the summer heat had reached its peak. Even hotter than today. I’d worn a scratchy black dress and strappy black sandals that had been my favorite at the time.
We’d stood on the Memorial Cemetery lot, surrounded by gray headstones, all exactly the same, and perfectly manicured grass. Some headstones had flowers sitting by them, some had small American flags, I imagined for the Fourth of July holiday that had just passed, and others were bare. I’d stared at the mound of fresh earth nearby, adjusting my uncomfortable dress for the millionth time; this was where Dad would be going. Forever.
I’d known it was just his body, not his soul. I may have only been eleven, but I’d known about Heaven and Hell since I was three years old. At least that was when I remember understanding about religion. Mrs. Sneed, my Sunday School teacher, had brought the Bible alive in the form of felt characters on a board. In the brightly colored room, stuffed with books, puzzles, and a play kitchen, these stories filled my mind. I still wasn’t sure of all the logistics but I knew God was real. No explanation of why was needed. I felt Him in my heart. And I knew Dad was in Heaven with Him.
A nudge on my arm, breaking into my daydreaming. Tommy stared at me expectantly.
The Tracks Page 5
