Pieces Of Me

by Bedly Alcide

  I found myself cocking my head to one side and felt my mouth open a little bit. How was a person supposed to respond to something like that? I’ve never been spoken to so much in all my life. Aside from being completely dumbfounded and a little spooked as he pointed out, I was also oddly flattered.

  “So Dawn, what’s your story?” he asked.

  I shook my head in refusal and he got the hint. It would take a lot more than that for me to divulge anything personal to this stranger. He already knew my address. That meant his jog this morning had had a purposeful path.

  “Fine, be that way. I’ll just sit here with you every day for lunch going on and on about my wonderful childhood memories ‘down under’ until you decided to tell me something about yourself,” he declared. I felt my eyes widen and my head snap up, casing my hood to fall back, revealing a mess of red waves.

  As I searched through my bag for paper and a pencil, Ashton began talking again! I really shouldn’t have been surprised. Did that boy ever turn off the volume? . . . It must be an Australian thing.

  “I didn’t even know what color your hair was! I had you pegged for a brunette. Man, I was way off,” he slapped his knee incredulously and watched me with an uncomfortable intensity as I scrawled something on a piece of paper.

  I’ll tell you one thing about me per day.

  He read it and then looked up at me with a triumphant smile plastered on his face. “I guess you’re a woman of few words on and off paper.” I rolled my eyes subtly and his smile broadened. “What one thing do I get to learn about Dawn today?”

  I thought for a moment before telling him. I wanted to find out more about him, and this didn’t seem like it would be a problem because he seemed ready to lie out an autobiography for me. By telling him something personal about myself, I was breaking my ‘don’t let anybody in’ rule.

  I had a feeling it would be worth it. “I love to walk,” I told him. Then, I was saved by the bell.

  Chapter 2: More Mysterious Secrets

  Why would I blow everything I’ve worked for on a boy? I kept my secrets for a reason! I liked being an individual. I didn’t want to be part of a group, however small it may be. I built up my silent exterior so that I wouldn’t get hurt. I always figured that if you don’t have friends and you don’t make enemies, then there’s no reason to ever be let down. And now, some Australian stalker has broken me down.

  I’d thought I was stronger than that. Sitting here, all alone in my little deserted house, as Ashton has so kindly pointed out, I realized that I didn’t have anything to lose. He seemed to be genuinely interested in me, and by the way he spoke, I knew that on his second day of school, he felt that same sensation I had this morning when looking out my window. Would that be considered a connection with him? I’d never had anything with anyone before.

  I got up from the wooden desk in my bedroom and began pacing, looking out the window every other time I passed it. My homework was finished. The laundry was in the dryer. The dishes were going through their last cycle. It was only 6:30. Usually, at this time, I would go out and buy groceries or watch TV on the ancient, static-filled television downstairs. I’d already gotten milk on my way home from school and somehow, Wheel of Fortune didn’t sound all that appealing right now.

  I decided to shower early instead and was making my way to the bathroom when something stopped me. A green, hardback book with the words HAZELWOOD HIGH ACADEMY YEARBOOK stamped across the top in yellow letters. Those were the school colors: green and yellow. I hadn’t even opened my yearbook yet, but now seemed like a good time. We’d gotten those weeks ago, but it was better late than never, I suppose.

  The sophomore class only had 92 students in it, so I decided to look through the 10th grade, starting with Mila Abraham. I remembered something Ashton had said about me acting like I didn’t think anyone else existed. That was only halfway true. I could name each person in all my classes, I realized because I was unnaturally attentive, but I could put a face with only two of them, other than my own: Loraine and Ashton.

  Fifth period, I had Biology class. I saw the name Eric Grady, and knew he was in that class. I’d had no idea what he looked like until just now. He had black hair that was far too long for a guy and orange glasses. I continued looking at each of my classmates, not recognizing anyone until I got to Loraine Marshall. The only class we had together other than lunch was 7th period Art class.

  In Loraine’s picture, she looked like a crazy hippie in 80’s workout clothes. When I’d said she was eccentric, I’d meant her personality, but I guess her style was that way, too. I wondered what we looked like sitting by each other at lunch, me in all of my dark glory, and she in her . . . colorfulness. An image of a big glob of bright pink bubblegum lying next to a cinderblock came to mind.

  Then, I found the one picture I’d really been looking for. Ashton Voss was the second-to-last name and picture in the sophomore class. His blond hair looked overly perfect and he was wearing the same I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile that he’d given me right before I left him at lunch time.

  The very last picture was mine. I had on the same hooded sweatshirt I’d been wearing all day. My hood was over my head but my face was turned down so that my eyes were peeking out from under it. The corners of my mouth were just barely turned up in a poor excuse of a smile.

  I’ll tell you one thing about me per day.

  The words kept ringing in my ears even though they hadn’t been spoken. I knew there wasn’t much to tell about me. After a while I would have to get down to my family life and my dark past. That was valuable information to me and I’m sure it would make a nice headline for the school paper. “Quiet girl Abandoned by Parents and Living Alone off Monthly Fortune,” it would read.

  Nobody knew that about me, but based on what Mrs. Kurl had said to me, a lot of people were waiting on some fantastical secret to blow them all away. They’d probably just be disappointed anyway. My life wasn’t exciting; it never had been. Today was the most eventful one that I could remember, and I’d only said five words. I guess that was a lot, though, considering my daily average was a whopping zero.

  I closed the notebook and returned it to its rightful location on my desk. Next to it were a stack of envelopes. That reminded me that I hadn’t gotten the mail yet. Hence, I meandered downstairs to the front door and opened it. I noticed a red mini-van parked across the street that had never been there before. It looked like there was a figure in the driver’s seat, but it was dark and I’d taken my contacts out after school. I couldn’t see anything without them in.

  Despite the unsettling notion that there might be someone watching me, I walked out to my mailbox and opened it. The car roared to life and I almost jumped out of my skin as its headlights blinked on. Then it turned into the street and sped away. Well I guess tat answered my question about whether someone was in there or not. I didn’t believe in ghosts, so I was fairly certain someone had just been spying on me.

  I shivered in the autumn breeze and hurriedly grabbed the mail. It included a package, and an envelope. I never got mail except my $600 twelve times a year. Bills never came in the past, so I supposed my parents had set that up so they would be sent to them.

  Things like that always frustrated me when I got to thinking. If my mother and father cared enough to provide for me, why weren’t they with me? Why didn’t they communicate in some form or another? Maybe I wouldn’t be so socially screwed up if I’d had a mom or dad around to remember. Instead, I was left friendless and secluded from everyone and everything because nobody ever taught me how to act like a real human being. There was only one person to blame for that, but I found it easier to make the two that I never knew the scapegoats.

  I looked down at the package and envelope. I knew it was from them because my address was typed on both of them. They didn’t even want me to know their handwriting? I guess they just didn’t want their daughter to have any sort of connection with them.

  I opened the envelope first. It
contained the money. I brought that up to my room and stacked it atop the rest of the envelopes. I brought the package to a different room. It was a room I hadn’t dared set foot in since I was ten-years-old. I’d made a pact to myself that I wouldn’t re-enter my parents’ old bedroom until it was the right time. When I’d made the personal promise I had no idea how I would know when that was. Now, I was sure.

  The room was exactly as I remembered it six years ago. That didn’t seem right. Shouldn’t there be dust and cobwebs and mold or mildew everywhere? The room looked recently cleaned. It must be some of that special magic only a parent could instill in a room . . . after they deserted their only child. No, that could be right either because neither of them had ever been a real parent to me.

  Nonetheless, I went over to sit on the spotless Queen-sized bed. All that was left on it was a single beige sheet and two bare pillows. I looked down at the package in my lap, and then let my eyes roam over the walls. I wasn’t actually seeing anything though, because I was deep in thought. I loved the quiet almost as much as I loved music. In the spare room, I ad shelves piled with CD’s. Right now, however, I embraced the silence. I closed my eyes and relished in the feeling. Closing my eyes was such a relief sometimes. It gave me a break from righting to keep everyone out and allowed me to hide behind my stubborn exterior.

  My hands traveled over the cardboard box and I found myself opening it. Through a faint burst of hope, I wondered if my parents were finally contacting me or even just writing a note. Maybe it was a present or a passport to their hideout.

  I felt packing peanuts beneath my fingers and looked down with my eyes open. There were a lot of packing peanuts. I didn’t see anything else, so I dug through them for a moment. When I expected to feel the cardboard bottom, my fingers brushed something paper instead. I grabbed it and pulled it up out of the box, little Styrofoam pieces spilling onto the shiny hardwood floor.

  It was a movie poster. Why in the world would anyone send me an ancient movie poster? Then I read the title. “Watch out for the Kurl,” and there was a picture of a witch-looking old lady with claws for fingers and teeth like razors dripping with gore. Confusion smothered me as I realized this was another puzzle to figure out. Did that mean Mrs. Kurl? I already knew to watch out for her! Along with the overwhelming bewilderment came disappointment. If this was my parents, what did they know about Mrs. Kurl and why were they sending cryptic warnings to me about her?

  I was tired of thinking so hard, so I put the poster back inside the box and left the room, closing the door behind me. Why was everything changing now? Why was I making connection with a popular boy and why were my mystery providers suddenly sending more than just cash? I believed in karma and destiny, so it seemed that fate had dealt me a strange card.

  I showered then and read The Diary of Anne Frank until 10:45. I went downstairs to make my lunch for the next day, wondering if Ashton was going to follow through on his word and sit with me again. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to or not and uncertainty killed me so this was not a healthy situation for me to be in. Another reason for my seclusion from the world was that I couldn’t stand drama. It was so pointless and just gave people a reason to obsess about one thing or another.

  I was in bed at my usually punctual 11:00. I was always timely, and liked to be right on the dot for anything and everything. My eyelids shut but drowsiness didn’t engulf me like it always did. I laid awake for hours on end, tossing and turning. I think I eventually fell asleep somewhere around dawn and possibly had a really weird dream. When I woke up, I couldn’t hold on to the dream anymore and it was swept from my memory.

  Chapter 3: Raise It Up

  It had never been so hard for me to wake up at six in the morning. I had figured I’d only gotten maybe three hours of sleep as opposed to my usual seven. Truly, I wasn’t worried about lack of ‘beauty sleep,’ but rather that my weariness would affect my learning ability in school.

  As I trudged along to school, I feared tardiness as well. The faster I tried to walk, the more sluggish I felt. I should have just driven for once. Of course, at that moment, I should have also remembered the saying “Be careful what you wish for.”

  This time, I was spared the obnoxiously loud rap music when Ashton pulled up next to me on the sidewalk. “You realize you’re going about one mile an hour, don’t you? You’ll never be forty-five minutes early if you keep up that pace,” he chuckled and I almost picked up the rock I’d been kicking along and threw it at him. That would not be polite though, and he was my ticket to getting to school on time.

  I shot him a sideways glance and he told me to get in. I hid a smile with the navy hood of my sweatshirt. I’d decided to go out on a limb and wear a color other than black today. My corduroy pants were even dark gray.

  “Whoa, call the cops!” Ashton gasped facetiously, echoing my thoughts. “You’re just wearing way too many colors to be acceptable.” I took in his army green long-sleeve t-shirt and blue jeans that were both probably from Abercrombie if the logos were any indication of that.

  I climbed up into his monster truck and buckled my seatbelt; safety first. Plus, this car looked kind of like a death trap. I would have been more worried if I hadn’t figured that there was now way any other vehicle could possibly make a dent in this one.

  He resumed driving and turned the notch on the volume up of a song I’d never heard of. It wasn’t rap, but it did have a nice melody and soothing lyrics. I guess he was trying to make sure I wouldn’t start hyperventilating and throw up all over his expensive leather interior. I wondered if having super big cars was some sort of jock fetish. They all had either humonguous trucks like this one or shiny, foreign-looking SUV’s. Never in my life had I seen a football player driving a mini-cooper. I could be completely wrong, too. After all, I didn’t pay all that much attention to the automobiles in the school parking lot.

  “What do I get to learn about you today?” he asked as the song on the radio ended. I hadn’t thought much about it, but I wasn’t going to tell him until lunch anyway.

  Pondering for a moment about how best to explain this to him with the least amount of words, I finally came up with “Not yet.”

  I saw him give his windshield a cheeky grin and was relieved to know he kept his eyes on the road. “You don’t talk to anyone else. Does that mean I’m a special case?” he asked. I guess I kind of dug myself into that hole, and now I had to figure out a way to climb back out.

  “Or a nutcase,” I mumbled, surprising even myself. I’d never made fun of someone aloud before. I didn’t even like to do it mentally, even if in this case, I was only kidding around. I never joked. What was Ashton doing to me?

  “A nutcase?” he exclaimed wildly. “I knew it; you do have a personality. Just admit it, Dawn. You feel this weird connection with me, too. Am I right? Because I’m going to feel totally lame if this is a one-way street.”

  I stifled a giggle. He was completely correct, but I didn’t think his ego needed a boost. As he pulled into Hazelwood High’s parking lot, I thought of something else to bring up instead.

  “You have an Australian accent, but use American slang,” I noted hastily. That was like a speech for me. Talking never held much appeal before, but everything was different with Ashton. I was less shy, more talkative, and able to show some of myself to him. That was a scary thing. Secrecy was practically my entire identity, and I didn’t know if I was ready to lost that or not.

  “That was like, an entire sentence! I’m impressed. The reason for that is I took speech class after all my football buddies were on me for talking like an Aussie. They’re not very bright, you know? I have to spell things out for them,” he explained. If that was so, then he obviously didn’t think very highly of his ‘buddies.’ I would’ve said something about it, but I didn’t want to overwhelm him, or more importantly myself.

  Ashton parked his car in what I assumed was his assigned parking spot. I hopped out wordlessly and hauled my book bag over my back before disappearin
g into the hustle and bustle of students milling around before class. There was no reason for me to stick around and embarrass Ashton in front of all of his supposedly dim-witted friends.

  It was 7:45, which meant I’d wasted fifteen minutes attempting to walk to school. Routinely, I grabbed my things for English and made my way to Mr. Mason’s. As I was walking, I opened my notebook to the void-like chasm I’d drawn yesterday. I wanted to fill up its emptiness and make it look like a real picture instead of just a lonely abyss. When push came to shove, I wouldn’t mind going into the art industry for a career. Lots of artists were a little bit off like I was. I might not be such a rare find in that world.

  With my head down, I couldn’t see where I was going. I only knew the tentative path to the English room. Therefore, I should have been less surprised when I bumped into somebody and went tumbling to the ground with a cry of “Sorry!” on my part as well as on the opposing party’s.

  “I only wanted to walk with you to class,” a shockingly familiar voice repented. I almost laughed at the irony as Ashton stood up and brushed himself off before offering his hand out to me. I smiled politely but proceeded to pick up my books and his before standing up on my own.