“Don’t be mad at me.”
I sighed. “Okay, I’m not mad. But don’t drag me to some creepy place in the middle of the night again.”
Tommy held up his right hand. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were a Boy Scout?”
“Nope. I’m not a group person. More of a loner.”
“A loner.” I rolled the word around in my mouth. “I’m kind of a loner, too.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Two peas in a pod.”
Chapter Eleven
“Peas in a pod, huh?” I smiled at Tommy. “So what are we peas going to do today?”
“Hang out at the clubhouse?”
“Maybe. Aunt Holly is taking me to the pool later. You can come, too.”
“Nah. No thanks.”
“You take this loner thing pretty seriously, don’t you?”
He didn’t answer at first. Leaning his head back, his dirty-blond hair falling perfectly into place, he simply stared at the sky. “It’s not that, Emily. Just that a lot of people don’t see me the way you do.”
“What do you mean?”
“People see what they want to. Sometimes it’s not what’s really in front of them.”
“Like…” I wondered where he was going with this thought.
“Like my mother, for example. Every time she meets a new guy, she thinks he’s the love of her life.” Tommy sighed. “Nothing else matters but this guy. Nine times out of ten some jerk who’s going to treat her like garbage. But she’s blind to it. She sees potential. Potential for her to have a happy life. She doesn’t realize she can have a happy life without a guy. She just can’t see it.”
“Why can’t she see it? If every relationship she has turns bad, she should recognize a pattern.”
“She should, but she doesn’t. All she sees is what she wishes was true. She’s been doing it my whole life.”
“Maybe she’s an eternal optimist.” I’d heard Dad say that term often about himself, always looking on the positive side of things. The hopeful circumstances.
“Yeah, right,” he said, still gazing upward. “There’s no such thing as an eternal optimist, at least here on Earth. You either see what’s real or you don’t.”
“There’s nothing wrong with hoping for good things in your life.”
“No, that’s true.” His gaze shifted to me. “As long as you can see the truth and not be blinded by what you want to see.”
“It’s all about perception.” I’d learned this concept recently. Partly because of my addiction to talk shows and partly because I was smart. I say this in a non-condescending way. I didn’t think I was better than anybody in any kind of way. But it was a fact, I was intelligent. I would never be one of those girls who downplayed the intelligence they possessed. I loved learning and sharing my knowledge.
“See, Emily,” Tommy winked at me, “I don’t have to explain this to you. You already knew it. I knew you did. You and I are very much alike. That’s why you see the real me.”
“Who do other people see?”
“I think that depends on the person. Like you said, different perceptions.”
“Who cares what they think?”
“Not me,” he said, taking a deep breath. “But it might bother you.”
I slid my hand across the white wooden fence, tracing the grain. I winced when a shred of it entered my forefinger. Bright-red droplets formed.
“Damn it.” I stuck my finger in my mouth.
He cocked his head and stared at me. “You’re sassy today. Why are you yelling at me?”
I held up my finger. “Splinter, sassy pants. Anyway, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I couldn’t care less about what people think.”
“Do you ever wonder why we get along so well?”
I nodded. “Sometimes.”
“You have the heart of an artist,” Tommy said. “And the soul of an old spirit. More so than anybody I’ve ever known.”
He stared at me for a moment. So intensely, I wondered if he may see inside me to my very heart. A slight breeze rippled through the fresh green leaves of the maple tree behind me. For some reason I was holding my breath until he spoke again.
“I’ve been able to recognize this trait, or really a state of being in people.” Tommy paused. “Believe me, these people don’t come along very often. But when they do, I befriend them and relish the time we spend together.”
I didn’t know where he was going with all of this. My curiosity was piqued. No fifteen-year-old boy spoke like Tommy did. Nobody I knew spoke like him. I held on to his words, like precious jewels in my hands. A smooth ruby, a sparkling diamond. I was at a loss to express how his words made me feel. An unexplainable feeling. His words surrounded me in a warm haze, my hungry mind gobbling up his thoughts and ideas. They mixed together with mine in a delicious tango that left me mentally dizzy.
“Emily!” my brother’s voice pierced the air.
I ignored him and stayed focused on Tommy. I wanted to hear more of his thoughts. I wanted to understand this connection I felt with him.
“Emily! Come here!”
I glanced over to see him standing at the edge of the woods. A scowl covered his face.
“Just ignore him,” I said to Tommy.
“I can,” Tommy said. His lips curved into a knowing smile. “But you can’t.”
He was right. I turned to Sam and yelled, “What do you want?”
He moved down to the tracks. I turned away from Tommy and walked to meet my brother.
“Well, you can meet Tommy,” I said when I reached him. “Why are you down here anyway?”
Sam just stood in front of me. Confusion clouded his features. His hair, slick with sweat at the brow, stuck straight up as if he’d been running his hands through it. A nervous habit he’d had since he was three.
“Is something wrong?” A shot of worry snaked through me. “Is Mom okay?”
“Mom’s fine,” Sam said.
“So what do you want?” I sighed. He irritated me, standing there like some moron. I doubted he and Tommy would get along. They were so different. “If you’re not going to say anything, at least come over here and meet Tommy.”
I turned and walked towards where Tommy was leaning on the fence. Or had been leaning. He was gone.
“Where did he go?”
Sam grabbed my arms and shook me gently. “Where did who go, Emily?”
I pushed him off me. “What is wrong with you? Where did Tommy go? He was just here a few minutes ago. You saw him, right? I was talking to him when you started yelling for me.”
Sam stared at me. “What’s wrong with you, Emily? Are you going nuts or something?”
“What the hell, Sam! What are you even talking about?”
“I’ve been watching you for the last half an hour, probably longer than that. I’ve watched you stand by that fence and talk…”
“…to Tommy,” I interjected. “He was just here.”
“…to nobody,” Sam said. He spoke in a quiet voice like he did when I was sick. “Emily, you were talking to yourself. Nobody else was here.”
Chapter Twelve
Anger surged through me. Sam was being a complete ass. No wonder Tommy took off. I wouldn’t want to meet my know-it-all brother either. Since he was older than me, he thought he was smarter, too. What a joke. I didn’t have a clue why he’d make up something like this. But no matter. This was Annie Tootles all over again. Or at least I was sure he thought so.
Annie Tootles was my imaginary friend when I was about four years old. We did everything together. I knew that sounded stupid. But I was four. Whispering my secrets to Annie Tootles each day, I created a pretend play land for myself. I could tell her all my secrets, as much as a four-year-old harbored secrets.
Sam hated when I talked about Annie Tootles. He possessed the imagination of a cement block. Always seeing the reality in life, whereas I saw the possible realities. Or the realities of my own active mind. I loved my imagination and someti
mes ran wild with it.
I’d been soon turning five. Fast approaching kindergarten. Sam had warned me Annie Tootles could not go with me to school. He’d hounded me relentlessly to get rid of Annie until one day I couldn’t take it anymore. Sam and I had got into a fight. A wrestling match of sorts. After that day, Annie Tootles hadn’t come to me again. I’d known she was not real, but she was no longer in my imagination.
But this couldn’t be like Annie Tootles. Tommy was real. A real boy. Sam had to see him. I wondered if Sam knew Tommy somehow and didn’t like him. Tommy was just talking about how people didn’t see him the way I did. I guessed he was right. Sam certainly was proving this point. But he didn’t have to act like I was crazy to do it.
I focused on Sam, giving him my sternest look. “I was talking to Tommy. He was leaning on the fence, right there.” I pointed to the spot Tommy had stood. “You must have seen him.”
“I could see the fence, you, and the trees and grasses beside it,” Sam said slowly. “That’s it. Nobody else was here. Is Tommy someone in your imagination? Like Annie Tootles?”
I knew he was going to say that. Trying to make me doubt my sanity. I wasn’t losing my mind. “No. Tommy is a real person. As real as you or me. Stop acting like this, Sam! You know you saw him talking to me. If you don’t like him, that’s fine. Just don’t pull this shit and try to make me think I’m imagining things.”
Sam shook his head. “If you really think you were talking to a real person, I’m worried about you, Emily. Really worried.”
I stared at him. I didn’t know what kind of stupid game he was playing. I didn’t have time for it, though. Ignoring him, I turned around and stomped toward home.
***
I lay on my still sweaty bed wondering if Mom would ever get the air-conditioner fixed. Only three days had passed since it broke, but I believed I may have lost half my body weight in the sweat that rolled off me every time I was in this tin can we called home.
At my old house, a trailer park sat at the edge of town. It was separated from the other houses by a wide vacant lot where weeds grew wild. People seemed to think it was their personal trash dump. Candy wrappers, white Styrofoam cups, and broken bottles littered the ground. Far enough away from the ‘nice’ houses that nobody got fired up enough to do anything about it.
I visited that trailer park once. I was eight. A soft-spoken new girl with silky blonde hair was in my class that year. We’d shared a love of sticker collecting. She had the best collection of googly-eyed stickers, my favorite, I’d ever seen. She’d invited me over one Saturday afternoon to play. I’d accepted.
When Mom had pulled up to the plain white trailer with baby-blue trim, she’d glanced at the piece of paper she’d scribbled the address on.
“This is the place,” she’d said to herself, rather than me.
We got out of our sedan. The same car she still drove, although in better shape back then. A child’s tricycle, rusted from the weather, sat in the unkempt front yard. A bird bath, filled with brown water, stood solemnly on the other side of the yard. Mom had given me a warm smile as she’d pressed the black doorbell. Shuffling could be heard inside the trailer, even smaller than the one I now occupied.
The screen door had creaked open to reveal a heavyset woman in a stained white T-shirt. She was friendly enough, inviting us inside her home and making conversation to Mom. The girl, I forget her name, had wanted to show me her room. We’d walked through the tiny kitchen, through the short, dark hall to her bedroom. Inside, we sat on her sunshine-yellow bedspread. The room was about a quarter of the size of mine at home. The girl got out two huge boxes of stickers, excited to share them with me. I just remember sitting there in that tight room, so tight I felt claustrophobic and feeling sorry for this girl. Sorry that she had to live in such a depressing place. Look at me now. I was that girl.
I grabbed my sketchbook from the nightstand and stroked furiously. Sam’s words hung heavily in my heat fogged mind. ‘…Nobody else was there.’ None of this made sense. I knew Tommy was there. Knew he was as real as me, or Sam. I’d spent the last couple of months with him. Almost every single day.
My pencil strokes became more erratic and angry. If Tommy wasn’t real, it only meant one thing. I was losing my mind.
Chapter Thirteen
A swirl of dust followed me while I barreled down the beaten dirt path. A shortcut to town. Through the woods, past knotted trees with leafy canopies. Cigarette butts covered the side of the path along with other assorted trash. The golden rule of no littering obviously wasn’t followed on this side of the woods.
I pedaled fast, enjoying the somewhat cool breeze it afforded me. My ponytail slapped the back of my neck as I moved along. I was in a hurry to get to the library. While we had a decent laptop at home, we didn’t have internet. An unnecessary expense, in Mom’s opinion. She used the internet at work when she needed to, and we had it at school, of course. That didn’t do me a bit of good, being on summer vacation and all.
I was still furious with Sam for what had happened earlier today. Furious and confused. I knew Tommy was real. Why would Sam say those things? For all my complaining about him, he was actually a good brother. He wouldn’t make something like that up to hurt me. He had to have seen me talking to Tommy. And why had Tommy run away? Made no sense. I thought about how he’d acted when Sam had showed up. Kind of strange, like he knew something. A secret of sorts.
Sweet-smelling honeysuckle filled my senses. I pedaled on. I had to get to the library. I needed to find out every detail on Tommy Tucker. I knew he wasn’t like Annie Tootles. Not a figment of my imagination. I knew the warmth of his body, the touch of his hand, the presence of his soul. He was a real person. As real as me. For some reason, I now had to prove it.
***
My fingers flew on the keyboard. I shivered in the cool, air-conditioned library, a sharp contrast to the heat outside. A quick search of Tommy Tucker revealed twenty thousand matches. I added our town and state. Two matches. Both links to the Maidenford Daily News, the town’s local newspaper. I clicked on the first link.
I scanned the article quickly. An accident on the train tracks outside of town. A bike accident. A fifteen-year-old boy killed at the scene. His name was Tommy Tucker. I held my breath and scrolled down to a picture of the victim.
My best friend stared back at me.
My dead best friend?
His hair was shorter in the apparent school-issued picture, and he was dressed in a dark-blue polo shirt with white stripes. It was odd seeing him in anything other than his standard gray T-shirt. But his smile, and his eyes, exactly the same as the Tommy I knew.
My hands shook, reading the article again. Tommy Tucker, 15, of 43 Jay Street, had died on impact. My address. Tommy had lived in our trailer. What the hell was going on here? How could any of this be true? He’d lived at my address. He’d died two years ago. How could I have been talking to him this morning? For the last four months?
Panic welled inside me as the facts raced haphazardly in my mind. He was dead. Not alive. The thought of someone playing a cruel joke on me flitted through my thoughts. But it didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. I gripped the mouse and enlarged the screen. The words screamed at me. Tommy Tucker, 15, died at the scene.
Confusion flooded my mind. Unlike any I’d ever experienced before this day. I had never doubted my sanity. Always viewed myself as a more level-headed person than not. But now, all sense of reasonable explanations flew out the window. All that was left was staring at me from the computer screen in the tiny town library. Dead boys don’t talk. They also don’t run through the woods and drink soda.
I printed the article and clutched it in my hand, exiting the library. My bike was parked at the curb. But instead of getting on it and riding home, I sat. The hot afternoon sun melted me, sending moisture running down my back. I avoided looking at the crumpled printout I clutched in my hand.
Instead, I took my sandaled foot and destroyed an a
nt hill lying on the curb beside me. I squashed it in a circular motion. Around and around. And got an odd pleasure watching all the little black ants scurrying for safety. They were real. I could see them and feel them crawl over my toes.
Real. How did I even know real from fantasy anymore? Maybe I was losing my mind. Just like Sam thought. Had I made up Tommy in my mind? Like Annie Tootles? I was thirteen years old. I couldn’t have an imaginary friend. And how could I have imagined him? He was a real person. Or used to be.
Slowly, I opened the paper in my hands. Tommy stared back at me again. I read the article. It said the same thing. Tommy Tucker had died while riding his bike on the train tracks. Hit by a westbound train. Dead on impact. My thoughts traveled back to the day I asked about riding bike, and he told me his was broken. An icy chill snaked through my body. He knew why he didn’t ride bike but couldn’t tell me. He must know he was dead, but why befriend me? Did he have a plan for me?
Numbness crippled me as the truth sank in. If he was dead, how was I seeing him? And talking to him? I remember how he’d grabbed my hand that first time he’d showed me the clubhouse. His hands had been soft and warm against mine. Real hands. If he was dead, were those ghost hands I’d held?
Chapter Fourteen
I went home after stopping at the grocery store where Sam worked. I told him it was a big joke. I’d known he was watching me. And I made him promise not to tell Mom. She had enough to worry about. Besides, she was still kind of pissed at me about the whole date thing. I didn’t want to argue with her about this. He looked doubtful at my lame excuse but said he wouldn’t say anything to Mom. I knew he was still worried about me. Even though I hated to admit it, he was a good big brother.
I wandered through the trailer. I was trying to find signs of Tommy. I knew it sounded crazy. But if he’d lived here, maybe he’d left something behind. Something that I’d missed. It would be easy for me to miss. I rarely spent time in here other than eating, sleeping, and watching TV. I paused in the hallway, wondering which bedroom had been his. My guess was Sam’s. It was the bigger one, and Tommy was an only child.
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