The Tracks

by Sally Royer-Derr

  Glossy posters of rock bands and bikini-clad women hung on the walls, surrounding me as I entered his room. A large pile of dirty clothes lay in a heap beside his bed. Empty candy wrappers adorned his nightstand along with a sticky soda can. My brother was a pig.

  I surveyed the room. I didn’t know what I was searching for in here. I hoped something would jump out at me. Something that related to Tommy. It had to be in the framework of the room. The floor. The walls. The ceiling. All these things were the same when he’d lived here.

  I ran my hand along the dark paneled wall. Each section felt exactly the same as the next. I studied the cheaply carpeted floor, looking for a section that appeared different than the rest. None that I saw. Then the ceiling. Just a large piece of painted white drywall hanging above me. Nothing unusual.

  I left his room and went into mine. Flopping on the bed, I squeezed my eyes shut, resisting the urge to walk down to the tracks. Part of me wanted to run there and find Tommy. I wanted to feel his hand intertwined with mine. I wanted to hear him talk and his slow, smooth laugh.

  The other part of me was terrified. If Tommy was a ghost, why was he here? To hurt me? That didn’t make any sense. I had to know more about him. And why he was here.

  But I did know about him. I knew him. How he swung his head to get his longish hair out of his eyes. The way he focused on things with intensity I’d never seen in anybody. His gentleness when I’d talked about Dad and being stuck in a town I hated. Our discussion about God had been in my mind on the bike ride home. He was so adamant about His existence. Could he have met Him in Heaven?

  I flicked on my CD player, knocking the Katy Perry CD case, which sat on my nightstand, on the floor behind my bed. I crawled off the mattress and reached to retrieve it. I couldn’t get it. Flipping the quilt, I peered underneath. The CD had slid right along the wall, dead center of my bed frame. I lay on my stomach and stretched my hand back toward the wall, snatching the CD up. The wood-paneled wall behind it caught my attention. Part of the paneling was missing, leaving a hole just big enough for my hand to fit through.

  I dug inside, searching. My fingers touched something smooth and lumpy. I squeezed it, and it oozed warm goo on my hand.

  Was it blood?

  Or something from beyond?

  ***

  I jerked my hand from the small hole, cutting it along the edge of the paneling in the process. Crimson blood gushed from the jagged cut, alongside an unknown brown substance that had settled itself on my hand.

  I screamed and ran down the hall to the bathroom. I flicked the faucet on full blast. I washed away the blob of reddish-brown occupying my hand. I turned the handle off and snatched a Band-Aid from under the sink. The padded bandage now hid my throbbing cut.

  I marched out to the kitchen and searched through the drawers for the salad tongs I knew we owned. I was going to find out what was in my wall. But I sure wasn’t going to touch it again. Finally, I found them lying next to the salad spinner we never used. Salad tongs. Salad spinner. Made sense they’d be next to each other, I guessed.

  Tongs in hand, I raced back to my bedroom. Lying on my stomach again, I reached with the tongs and grabbed whatever was hiding behind the wall. Slowly, I pulled it out, not sure of what I might find. I dropped it on my bedroom floor. I stared at it. A half-eaten bag of plain M & M’s. Melted M & M’s.

  I sank down on the floor, grateful my discovery wasn’t something disgusting as I had originally thought. I knew now I’d found what I’d been looking for earlier. Tommy had put that candy in there. Plain M & M’s were his favorite.

  I stayed sitting on the floor for a moment, listening to the steady tick of my bedside clock. It was just last week when Tommy and I lay on the creek bank sharing a bag of plain M & M’s. I’d brought peanut, too, since I liked both, but he said plain was the only kind he ate. One of those perfect summer afternoons had loomed around us. The air hot but not humid. A soft breeze rippling through the canopy of trees standing tall above us. The steady rhythm of the creek water lending its calmness to the scene. A day somewhat seemingly without a beginning or an end. You know how people said ‘living in the moment’ to describe an attitude toward life? This was more a ‘living in the moment’ state of being.

  I’d made a mental note that this was his favorite candy. I was sweet like that. If someone I cared about liked a particular kind of food, I liked to surprise them with it sometimes. And I cared about Tommy a whole lot.

  But he was dead. How could I care about someone I never knew? At least when he was alive. And how could a dead boy lie on the creek bank beside me? How could he eat candy and talk to me about the meaning of life? The same shiver I felt in the library shimmied through my body. How could I see him? Talk to him? Feel him next to me?

  Dad used to watch those ghost hunter shows sometimes. More like a joke, but he did acknowledge there was the possibility. I did not. Ghosts didn’t make any sense to me. You were either alive or you were dead. There was no middle ground. At least in my opinion. And the ghost shows were so ridiculous. People sitting around for hours with cameras and lights to catch an image in a mirror or a flash of light through a room. Probably created by one of the crew members who were sick of waiting for some dumb ghost to appear.

  But I didn’t ever remember seeing a show where a person became friends with a ghost. The image of a ghost was just that flash of light or a strange image. Or a goofy Halloween costume. Something you might look at, or laugh at, but certainly nothing you would talk to or feel next to you. Or develop a friendship with. Develop a friendship with a ghost. That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of in my life. And if I wasn’t the idiot who’d done so, I would think I was crazy. Actually, I still wasn’t too sure about my sanity at this moment.

  I took a deep breath. I had to see what else Tommy had hidden in the wall. Creeping back under the bed, I cautiously stuck my hand back into the hole. I rummaged around and felt what I thought was a book. It was a book of sorts. An old calendar from three years ago with various magazine clippings taped on the pages. I pushed it out from under my bed and slid my body out, too. Leaning against my bed, I paged through it.

  Mostly they were pictures of places. San Francisco, Los Angeles, New York City, Las Vegas, Chicago. Along with the magazine images were sketches. Not like the ones in the clubhouse. These were darker. One was a teenage boy choking himself. Droplets of blood dripped from his bulging eyes onto his bare chest. Another was a drawing of a beautiful woman with a blackened eye and a swollen lip. There were two images of her. One showed defeat and sadness in her eyes. Another held an almost needy allure. My guess it was Tommy’s mother.

  But the one that caught my attention the most was at the end of the book. A detailed drawing of the tracks I knew well. And a familiar boy riding his bike along them in frayed jeans and a gray T-shirt.

  I laid the book down and decided to dig everything out from behind the wall. I needed to examine every piece of what he’d left there. For some reason, he’d left them for me to see.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I surveyed my bedroom floor, the contents of Tommy’s hiding place strewn across it. A half-empty pack of cigarettes, curled at the top. A dark-blue lighter. An old Playboy magazine that I’d rather not dwell on. And a letter. Written to his father.

  I got up and opened my bedroom window as far as it would go. I slid back down on the floor and I uncurled the cigarette pack. Breathing a sigh of relief as the lighter lit its flame, I placed a cigarette between my lips. And inhaled.

  I’d sneaked some of Sam’s cigarettes every so often. I never experienced the coughing fits that you saw on TV of first-time smokers. Wasn’t something I made a habit of doing. I knew it was disgusting. But sometimes I enjoyed it. It calmed me.

  I leaned back against my bed and picked up the letter. His handwriting was messy, a combination of print and cursive that was difficult to read.

  Dear Dad,

  I don’t know why I’m writing this. It’s n
ot like you care that I ever existed. But you’ve been on my mind a lot lately for some reason. I wished I could have known you. At least a little bit. I wonder if Mom would be different if you’d stuck around. She’s so desperate and needy. About men, really about everything. We don’t have much of a relationship because her life revolves around whatever man happens to be here. But at least she stuck around. She didn’t write me off as a piece of crap before she’d even met me. Like you did.

  That was the end of the letter. He hadn’t signed it. I doubted he had finished writing it. I turned the paper over. Some scribbled numbers on the back. 12-14-88. Looked like a locker combination. I squinted. His handwriting was so hard to read. No. 25-14-33. Most definitely a locker combination.

  My locker combination.

  This was getting freakier by the minute. We shared the same trailer. The same school locker. I took another drag of the cigarette, slowly exhaling the smoke into the empty room. Confusion reigned in my mind, overshadowed only by my curiosity. There must be a reason all of this was happening to me. A logical reason.

  Standing, I stubbed out my cigarette in a glass on my nightstand. A leftover from last night. I gathered everything I’d found and put it in a shoebox in the back of my stuffed closet. It may be summer, but I needed to go to school.

  ***

  I parked my bike in front of the red-brick building. A few cars were in the front parking lot. I knew the school wasn’t completely closed over summer. I’d heard my teacher talking about how she needed to move certain things in her room, so the custodian could clean during break.

  My flip-flops squeaked as I entered the front doors. Nobody was there to stop me and ask me what I was doing, like during the school year. The halls were empty.

  I hurried down the south corridor to my old locker, keeping a careful eye out for any inquisitive janitors. My squeaky flip-flops did little to hide my presence, so I took them off, carrying them while I continued down the hallway.

  I reached my locker and quickly entered my combination. Mine and Tommy’s. A familiar click, and I slid the door open. I scanned the empty metal box I’d called home for nine months of the year. It smelled of ammonia cleaner. Any remnants of my existence wiped away with a sponge. I didn’t know what I thought I would find here. Anything Tommy would have left in the locker would have been long cleaned away. Still, I placed my fingers along the back and glided them throughout the smooth surface, searching for any noticeable change.

  Nothing unusual. I pushed my fingers around the corners. And finally the floor. I even studied the door. Nothing caught my attention. I stood back and peered into its emptiness once again. Something was in there. Even though I couldn’t see it, yet, I felt with certainty something was waiting inside for me.

  I explored again, this time paying careful attention to every stretch. Then I pressed down. And I knew I’d found what I was looking for in there.

  ***

  The metal on the bottom was loose. Not noticeably so, if you just looked at it. But I pushed hard on it, rocking it back and forth. It was still attached, but I sensed there was a way to release it. I twisted it, like a loose tooth you knew was soon going to break free.

  “What are you doing?” a raspy-voice person asked. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

  Oh, great. I turned to see an old white-haired man in dirty jeans and a baggy T-shirt standing behind me. He took another step closer to me, the mass of shiny silver keys hanging on his belt jingling in the process. I stood.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said, smiling sweetly at him. “Nobody was at the front entrance when I came in. I forgot that I left something in my locker on the last day of school. Something very important to me.”

  “Humph,” the man said. “Must not have been too important. Anyway, the lockers are all cleaned out. Anything they found would be in the lost and found box. Go to the office to check it.”

  “Well, I kind of had a secret hiding place in my locker.” I grinned. “You know, sort of a Nancy Drew thing.”

  He shook his head. “Whatever. Go on and finish looking. Just hurry up. You can’t be wandering around the halls all day.”

  “Thank you!” My face hurt from the fake smile still plastered on it. “It’ll just take a few minutes more.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, slowly moving down the hall.

  That was close. I bent down and continued to press on the loosening locker bottom. Finally, it broke free. I lifted it. I didn’t know what I expected to see underneath. A brown paper lunch bag clung to a small object lying in the open space I’d uncovered.

  I quickly slipped the package into my shorts pocket and replaced the metal piece of the locker. Slamming the door shut, I raced down the hall. I didn’t want to run into the key-jingling man. I slid my fingers over the wrapped object hidden in my pocket. Whatever it was, I knew it would give me a clue as to why Tommy was still here. I felt that certainty in my heart.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I resisted the urge to open the package at the school. Instead, I hopped on my bike and rode home. I kept a watchful hand on my shorts pocket that held the prize. I barely noticed the rest of the town as I whizzed down the street. Pedaling as fast as I could, I reached our trailer in record time.

  I ran inside and raced back to my bedroom. I slammed my door and slid down on the floor. I didn’t want to be interrupted. Mom and Sam would both be home from work soon. It was time. I pulled the brown paper bag from my pocket and unwrapped it. A tarnished gold pocket watch lay in my lap. Not exactly what I’d expected. Who knew what I’d expected.

  I picked up the watch and studied it. The front had a design of an old-fashioned train moving along the tracks. Puffs of smoke poured from the top. I turned it over. There was writing on the back, but it was hard to read. I walked over and flicked on my lamp. I held it under the light and read the words.

  Happy 12th Birthday, Joe!

  Love, Mom and Dad.

  I read it again. I didn’t see any type of clue in the watch, or the inscription. Who was Joe? Why did Tommy feel the need to hide this in his school locker? I sighed, defeated. At the beginning of the day, I had a best friend. The only best friend I’d ever had in my life. Now I’d found out my friend was not even alive. I went on this wild goose chase for a stupid old pocket watch. And I still knew nothing. Not one single thing about why this was all happening to me. The only one who could tell me was Tommy. Hesitation filled by body. But I knew I had to talk to him again. And I knew he was waiting for me at the tracks.

  ***

  A partially melted ice cube clinked against the glass as I sipped the last of my ice tea. I took a French fry and sopped up the remaining ketchup on the plate. The remnant of my cheeseburger lay beside it, uneaten. A little too well done for me.

  This was Mom’s early day. She didn’t work at the steakhouse tonight. I itched to get to the tracks. I had to see Tommy. Had to talk to him. Make some sense of everything that was going on. But it wouldn’t be easy. Sam was home, too. And he was watching me like a hawk. True to his word, though, he hadn’t told Mom about earlier today.

  Mom gathered the dishes and put them in the sink. She opened the drawer beside it and got a clean dish towel out. She turned to us. “Oh, I want you two to stay home tonight. Nick is going to bring some dessert over. I thought it’d be nice if you met him.”

  Nice for who? Certainly not nice for me. I glanced at Sam. He avoided my stare. Instead, he got up and placed his plate in the sink.

  He smiled at her. “Sure, Mom. I’d like to meet him.”

  Since when did he start acting so grown up? I was sure he didn’t want to meet the mysterious Nick any more than I did. Who in their right mind wanted to meet their Mom’s boyfriend? The whole idea was just gross. I wanted no part of it. Besides, I had something else to do.

  “Uh, I don’t know if I’ll be around,” I said. “I have some stuff to do.”

  “Stuff?” Sam looked at me. “Like what?”

  “Just stuff,” I said. “Nothin
g that would concern you.”

  Mom turned back to the sink. She lifted the stainless-steel lever on the faucet. The sound of the running water filling the basin echoed in the now quiet room. I stared at Sam. I knew he wanted to say more. But he was silent. Nobody said a word for a few minutes.

  Finally, Mom spoke. “Emily,” she said, in a quiet voice. “I want you to be here. I’m going to continue to see Nick. And I want you to meet him.”

  Longing speared her voice. A longing to have me be happy about her newfound happiness. Happy to meet this man she was seeing. But I wasn’t happy about any of it. All of this felt selfish to me. She was being selfish. She was moving on with her life. She was forgetting about Dad and all of us.

  But I didn’t want to start a fight. I knew Sam was on the edge of telling her about this morning. I didn’t need the trouble. First, I had to figure out and understand what was going on with Tommy. I was in no shape to try to explain it to anyone at this point. And for that reason, and that reason only, I’d stay home and meet Nick the Great.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll stay.”

  Mom turned off the water and twirled around. A soft smile spread across her rosy face. “Thank you, Em.” She walked over and gave me a hug. “I know this is hard for you.”

  I let her hug me. But I didn’t say anything. I had nothing to say.

  ***

  Nick showed up half an hour later. He brought a grocery store chocolate cake and a half gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. I sat with them at our small dining table and politely answered his questions between bites of cake and strawberry ice cream. All typical adult questions like what subjects Sam and I liked in school, if we were having a good summer, blah, blah, blah.