by Bedly Alcide
“Good idea,” he nodded in agreement. “You know, for two such opposites as we are, we sure do think alike.”
I wondered if he had any idea how right he was. To be honest, this thinking alike thing was a bit spooky. I suppressed a shudder and focused on the question I was being asked.
“Okay, so I’d like to hear a critique from a true artist. What do you sincerely think of my painting?” asked Ashton. He was putting his thumbs out in front of him and squeezing his eyes until they were all but a fraction of a centimeter closed. It reminded me of one of those serious photographers before they snapped a picture or maybe of a landscape artist before depicting the scenery in front of him onto the paper. “Tell me what my coffin says to you.”
Once more I studied his deathly masterpiece. I began to unravel the source of his motivation to portray such a thing. Maybe it was when he sang to me earlier that day. He must’ve got to thinking about if I would ever sing, and if so, where at? Then, he thought of his funeral, if we were friends when he dies. When the funeral subject came to mind, that would obviously bring about death, and I supposed you could consider the container some got buried in, a coffin. I wasn’t sure what the opening lid was symbolic of, but it made me think of someone whose time it was to go, but they just were not ready to leave and wouldn’t accept that fact that they had to do so. It was a contradiction on display.
“It’s controversial, yet well-painted in its simplicity,” I settled with in a quiet tone. People had begun to stare and I felt the urge to hide my face when I spoke so no one could see. I’d been comfortable in my silence for so long, I felt self-conscious having people know I was verbally interacting with someone other than a teacher.
“I guess I’ll take what I can get and accept that as a compliment,” he laughed and I went back to my own drawing. After studying it for a while, I noticed only one alteration. There was the beginning of something sketched in next to the pencil-me. I couldn’t make out what it was. Class was almost over, so I pulled my Writing notebook out and emulated the lines I’d drawn on the blown up paper to the notebook drawing. I would work on it more tonight when I was thinking about what Ashton and I would talk about the following day.
My imagination didn’t run very wild. I tried to think of something fun and creative until class ended and the dismissal bell rang at 3:15. The best I could come up with was me telling him everything I could about my past while we walked in the park. That seemed unlikely because the temperature had dropped so drastically over the course of the afternoon. That was how I found myself trudging slowly along the sidewalk (on my usual side) with my arms folded under my sweatshirt like a strait-jacket for protection. It wasn’t long before I was pared the near-freezing weather.
“You’re going even slower than you were this morning, if that’s possible,” he said, reaching across the car to open the passenger door. I quickly got in, basking under the warmth of the car’s heater blowing on my face. “Nippy wind for the middle of the fall, eh?”
I nodded my head but remained silent, keeping my eyes on the road. I wasn’t sure if he would remember the way to my house. The only time I knew of that he’d been there was yesterday morning when he was jogging. This time, we were in a car and coming from the opposite direction. If I had to, I would tell him which way t go although I truly was orally exhausted. How did he do it; talk all day, every day?
“Do you have a cell phone?” he asked, pulling into my neighborhood. Impressed by his sense of direction, I pulled out a pen and a piece of paper and wrote down my cell phone number. I had only used it two or three times in the few years I had it, so my phone bill was seriously low, I expected. Seeing as I never got mailed any bills, I wouldn’t actually know.
He stuck the paper in his pocket and told me he would text-message me later so I would have his number, too. Then, he parked his truck in front of my house. I unbuckled my seatbelt and looked across the street. An instant reminder of last night’s mystery visitor was forced to the front of my brain. Thinking about it still spooked me a bit, so I figured the best thing to do would be to tell someone about it.
“Do you know anyone who drives a red mini-van?” I asked quietly, afraid to disturb the thick silence that consumed the cab of his truck. My hand was on the door handle, and I was ready to bolt of need be.
“I don’t know, maybe,” he said thoughtfully. “I think I might have seen one in the school parking lot. Why do you ask?”
I shrugged my shoulder nonchalantly, but on the inside, terror gripped at me from every corner. One of the students at my school was stalking me? One of my fellow classmates, whom I’d undoubtedly never said a word to, was watching my house? Also, what about that cryptic movie poster I’d gotten in the mail? I had to watch out for Mrs. Kurl and one of my classmates who was old enough to drive?
“You’ll tell me tomorrow, right?” he asked hopefully. That seemed fair, and I knew he wouldn’t drop it until he was satisfied with my honest answer. Therefore, I smiled in return and got out of the warmth into the windy atmosphere.
Chapter 5: Revelation
I was wrong; I didn’t make any progress that night on my abyss. After I’d gotten through my usual after-school routine, I drove my little truck to the gas station to fill him up. I decided if I was going to actually start driving the green Toyota that I should give it a name. It wasn’t exactly what I would call a contemporary vehicle, considering I’d had it for twelve years and it certainly hadn’t seemed modern then, either. I thought it had some character though. At last, I settled on Grandpa Plucky. It seemed very fitting.
When I returned to my house, it was 4:30. I took a brief shower and had even gotten my notebook out to draw some more. In the middle of my brainstorm, my eyelids began to sag and I slowly drifted off to sleep. I didn’t wake again until it was time to get ready for school the next morning.
My stomach growled with a vengeance and I regretted skipping dinner last night. I had a crook in my neck for falling asleep sitting up and a nasty case of morning breath. Other than that, it felt great to have gotten more than twelve hours of sleep. I had extra time to dawdle because I would actually be driving to school for once.
The end of the day couldn’t come fast enough. I’d actually ended up driving behind Ashton on the way to school. He asked if I had named ‘little Green’ yet and then laughed when I said it was Grandpa Plucky. It came as a relief to see him looking antsy, too. Apparently, he was just as excited as I was for school to end.
When the lunch bell rang, I didn’t waste any time getting to the cafeteria. I wasn’t quite fast enough for Ashton, though. He was just getting situated at my table when I walked in. I briefly wondered where Loraine had taken to sitting. I knew she had friends, but I wasn’t sure who they were. I’d seen her talking to Miss Rayneshine several times and figured they must get on well. Thoughts of them were quickly washed away when I sat down across from Ashton. His eyes were bright and he couldn’t seem to top fidgeting. I could only assume he’d had a big thermos of coffee this morning.
“So I was thinking we could go to my house for a couple of hours, maybe. You could meet my parents and we could do homework if that’s okay with you? Then, if you’re up to it, you could possibly give me a tour of your oh-so enigmatic home. Does it sound like a plan? He asked. I had to pause for a moment and piece together the words a second time in my head so that they made sense. He’d been speaking too fast for me to catch all of it.
Then, I nodded my head in agreement and began to eat my bologna sandwich. “Too much caffeine this morning,” I commented with a semi-teasing smile. I was still new to the light-hearted joking thing and figured it might take a while to get used to.
I watched in amazement as the sixteen-year-old boy sitting across from me ravenously devoured his concoction of a sandwich with a passion that would make someone think he hadn’t eaten for a month. I was more relieved than words could explain when Ashton had the decency to swallow before replying. I simply could not quite fathom how, with two he
althy-sized mouthfuls in his mouth, he was able to swallow in one painful-looking gulp.
“I drank about a gallon of coffee because I felt like a zombie or something this morning. I slept horribly last night, i.e. not at all. I possibly got a minute or two here and there of shut-eye the entire night. You would’ve thought I was sleeping on a rock for all the tossing and turning I did!” he exclaimed.
That was odd. Could the fact that I slept more than I could ever remember in my life be relevant to his sleepless night? “I got thirteen hours,” I apologized guiltily. His mouth was once more nearly overflowing with contents of his fully-loaded sandwich and he had to gulp down another heap of it just to drop his mouth open to pretend-glare at me in amazement. I pondered the reasons why he would be surprised that I’d gotten so much sleep. Clearly, he wished he could’ve gotten even a fraction of that length, but he seemed genuinely shocked that I had slept for more time than what would equal half a day. I thought back to three mornings ago when I’d seen him jogging outside my window. Was it a possibility that he’d seen me watching him and had immediately pegged me for a morning person?
“There’s no way. I thought I’d hit the nail on the head when I labeled you as one of those people who’d never seen eight hours of sleep in their life,” he said, now on his last bite of Super-Sub, the Impossibly Large Sandwich.
In actuality, he was correct. Except for last night, he had hit the nail on the head. I wasn’t about to let him know that. “I love being stereotyped,” I mumbled mock-sarcastically. Maybe I was getting the hang of this expressive speech deal. Never having had to put a tone to my sentences other than ‘polite student’ when answering a teacher’s question, I was still adjusting to the confusing world of teen-talk. I didn’t think even an amateur knowledge of teen-talk would be acceptable for Mr. and Mrs. Voss, so how was I supposed to talk to them, if at all? Maybe I would treat them like I would a favorite teacher. That, at least, would be respectful.
For the rest of the lunch period, I listened to Ashton tell me all about his mother and father. Evidently, they were both slightly out there. Nancy Voss was some kind of doctor/scientist who often blew up bits of the basement. Deryll Voss was a music producer. That’s how he knew the name of the group who originally sang the song Ashton had performed for me in the park. I guessed that they weren’t hurting for money.
That guess was proved right about three-and-a-half hours later as I followed behind Ashton’s monster truck. We were rolling down a one-hundred yard long driveway paved of blacktop after getting admitted through the gates by a man behind some bullet-proof glass in the gate-house. This driveway led up to a five-story mansion of a home decked out in red brick and gray stone trimmings. Huge white pillars held up the roof of the porch, under which sat double French doors. It could have been a brick version of the white house.
I parked Grandpa Plucky next to where Ashton parked his own truck. This family was definitely not hurting for money. Intimidated by the formidable castle, the hood of my dark purple sweatshirt went up for the first time that day. I hadn’t put much thought into the reasoning behind that little habit of mine. Now, I realized I felt very safe with my face hidden. It made me feel less conspicuous, which had always been a good thing before.
Following Ashton to his front door, I hurriedly pushed my hood back down before entering the foyer behind him. Apparently, it mattered not whether I put my hood down because it would’ve fallen back anyway as I faced the ceiling to take in the whale of a chandelier. I could only assume it was pure crystal hung from golden chains. With four levels of differentiating sizes of crystals, it had to be worth more than Grandpa Plucky. In fact, I was sure it was.
“Nancy, hurry!” a male voice yelled from somewhere to the right of me. “Ashton’s here with his friend!”
My face grew warm and flushed as I returned my attention to eye-level and was met my polished, dark wood floors, a classic grand piano, and a surprisingly cozy-looking room beyond the front hall. That’s not to mention the two scurrying figures that were rapidly approaching.
“Brace yourself,” Ashton whispered to me. I knew it was supposed to be a joke, but I did as I was told anyway because I didn’t know what else to do. Clearly, I was not much of a people-person.
“You must be Dawn,” said the man whom I assumed to be Mr. Deryll Voss. “Welcome; we’ve heard so many good things about you.”
I might just have to ask his son about that later. For the time being, I stuck out my hand awkwardly and inhaled a deep breath. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Voss.”
Ashton’s mother was the first to shake my hand. She had short black hair and a lab coat on. I guessed she was just conducting some crazy scientific experiment before we’d arrive. “Please, call me Nancy.”
“And you can call me Deryll,” boomed Mr. Voss, grabbing me hand in a firm grip whereas his wife’s was gentle. I nodded my head politely, unsure of what to do next. I wasn’t really comfortable calling any adults by their first names, just as I mentioned with Miss Rayneshine, but I would feel disobedient if I didn’t do as they asked.
“We were so relieved when Ashton told us he had a friend coming over. Ever since we moved here, he hadn’t had any buddies over of gone out on the weekends. Would you believe our outgoing little fellow here actually enjoys spending time with his folks?” Mrs. Voss said fondly. I’d never actually seen two parents in action before. Even if they were slightly on the weirder side, it was obvious how much they loved and cared for Ashton.
“I think it’s nice,” I said with a small smile. I was inevitably reminded of my lack of two such caring parents or any parental figures for that matter. I only hoped that no such emotions showed on my face. I didn’t need to bother them with my own troubles. If what Ashton had said about his older sister was true, then they had enough child-related problems as is.
“Yes, it really is,” said Mr. Voss. “Well, kids, there are snacks in the lounge if you’re hungry. We’ll leave you to your homework.”
The two of us smiled in thanks, and Ashton gave each of them a hug before leading me down a hallway on the left. It didn’t surprise me that Ashton wasn’t too insecure to show affection toward his mom and dad in front of me. So far, he didn’t seem to get embarrassed about anything. That was certainly more than I could say. Then again, what would someone like Ashton Voss possible have to be insecure about? He was nice, social, athletic, good-looking, and a morally good person. What didn’t he have going for him?
I was saved from trying to find a fault in him, other than that he talked too much, when he opened a door on the right side of the hallway. I guess when Ashton’s dad had mentioned snacks, he’d meant a soda fountain and vending machine full of junk food that you didn’t have to pay for. Some people really did have it all, didn’t they? What did that leave me with? Grandpa Plucky wasn’t much of a consolation prize. I guess Whoever had been dealing out the Good Fortune cards around the time of my birth had either run out of them or just skipped me entirely.
“Yesterday, when I dropped you off at your house, you said that you would tell me why you asked that question about the red mini-van. It bothered you; I could tell,” he said, strolling over to the refreshments. He filled two plastic cups up with soda from the soda fountain and pressed some buttons on the vending machine. I heard the “plop” of something falling to the bottom before Ashton pulled out a bag of jelly beans and some Cheetos. I began my explanation.
“It was parked across my street two nights ago. Someone inside was watching,” I said shortly. It was hard to tell a good, or at least detailed and informative, story when doing my best to use the least amount of words possible.
Ashton set down one cup and the jelly beans in front of me. I took a sip and tasted Dr. Pepper. For himself, he’d snagged what looked like Mountain Dew and, of course, the Cheetos. I looked at the bag and cup in front of me with something that might resemble bewilderment. I hadn’t asked for anything, yet there in front of me were two of my favorite things in the wo
rld. That was kind of touching, really. But . . . how did he know? I thought about what I would’ve picked for him had the situation been reversed. He definitely struck me as the kind of guy who would want the most caffeinated soda out there, and long, crooked, cheesy puffs. It seemed kind of a strange combination to me.
“Basically, you think someone is keeping tabs on you? In other cases, I might think you were jumping to conclusions. However, I don’t think it’s normal for you to get worked up over something unless it was serious,” he voiced his thoughts on my confession aloud. He was right one that, at least. Normally, I might not have given a second thought to the mystery car. It was different because my life had so suddenly taken on a whirlwind of changes and nothing was the same anymore. I figured I had to be on my guard.
I nodded my head to indicate that those were my thoughts exactly. “Do you want to hear about my family life?” I asked timidly. I figured now would be as good a time as any.
“If you’re ready to tell me, I’m ready to listen,” he said calmly. Oh, and he was considerate, too. Maybe someone should write a book about all of his admirable qualities. I’m sure it would make for a good hundred pages or so. Nonetheless, I opened my mouth and it all came pouring out. Everything I’d ever worked to remain a secret came spilling in a cacophony of paragraphs like a spewing waterfall of words. I couldn’t believe myself, but I just kept going. I think I talked for twenty minutes straight. I told him everything about me. He learned that I’d been living alone since I was a little girl because my parents left me with naught but a monthly allowance that they would send through the mail. He learned that the reason I didn’t have a last name was actually because I didn’t know mine. I even threw in, at the end, anything I could think of to tell him about myself, like my favorite color, food, number, and animal. The whole time I spoke, I was horrified that I wouldn’t be able to stop and he would just get up and leave out of boredom at any moment.
