Pieces Of Me
Page 6
I should’ve known better, of course. Ashton was a very good listener. He gave appropriate gasps and nods in all the right places. I couldn’t believe it was actually happening. In only three short days, I had grown to know and trust someone enough to let him in. What did that say about my judge of character – that I’m easy to be friend? I doubted it. I’d been friendless forever until Ashton. It obviously had something to do with the mental pull we’d been feeling toward one another since that early morning a few days ago. That didn’t figure anything out, though. Could it really just be fate? Two perfect strangers destined to find each other and be best friends for life.
When all was finally said and done, Ashton’s eyes were bigger than golf balls. At first I thought it was a this-girl-is-crazy look. After I studied it a moment longer, I realized it was more of a sympathetic you’ve-been-through-so-much look. I hadn’t thought that I’d embellished my story away from the truth because I really hadn’t experienced all that much adventure. Maybe that wasn’t his definition of having been through so much. It must have been something along the lines of me growing up without anyone to look up to or help me tie my shoes.
“I don’t really know what to say, Dawn. It’s not much, but I know how hard it must be for you growing up like that. Well, I don’t know, exactly, but I can imagine. Maybe we should go back to your house and check the mail. You said somebody sent that movie poster via post. Maybe there’s something else in there that could help us figure out what Mrs. Kurl and your stalker are up to. Would that be all right?” he asked.
I could only smile and nod my head in agreement. I guess I didn’t have a problem talking anymore, but maybe that was just in front of Ashton. Even if I were back to my usual, silent self, the relief I felt at being accepted by him left me speechless. This had to be a dream. It was some kind of cruel, twisted mind-game that was being played on me in my own insanity. Pinching my arm, I realized that I wasn’t hallucinating at all. That pinch had actually hurt and Ashton was really here, accepting me and my pathetic excuse of a past. He could be friends with someone who didn’t have any family.
We took Grandpa Plucky back to my house. Ashton left his truck behind because it was too eye-catching and he wanted to feel like a secret-agent when investigating the mysteries of my house and my stalker. I guess he was trying to bring his childhood fantasies back to life. I would never understand males . . . then again; I should probably begin to understand homosapiens in general before I could get to specific genders.
Before I could even pull to a stop in my seldom used driveway, Ashton hopped right out and made a beeline for the mailbox. It was really nice that he wanted to help me with it, but I just wasn’t sure why he was in such a hurry to do it. We were only sixteen, which mean that we had plenty of time for anything that was thrown our way.
“There’s a letter!” he shouted. I got out of Grandpa Plucky and went to unlock the front door of my house. I was once more ignorantly nervous of what Ashton would think of it. He hadn’t run away when I told him all of my tragic secrets. Why would he run now? The house was clean, at least.
Wait, he said there was a letter? Was it from my parents again? What if it was some sort of threat from the red mini-van driver? This was too much excitement in a day for one girl who was used to routine boredom. What was I supposed to do with this entire enigma that had so suddenly blasted its way into my life? I didn’t know if the anxiety was a welcome change from my formerly emotionless exterior. Would I rather be seemingly numb on the outside, or full of turmoil on the inside? I didn’t think both could harmoniously reside in one person together. I would be a walking contradiction!
He handed me the letter before going to explore the house. The envelope was small, rectangular, and white. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary about that. No words were typed or written over the outside. My hands picked at the seal until the lid broke free. The square corner or something black immediately caught my eye. I plucked it out with my fingers and unfolded the dark piece of construction paper.
13 3 11 14 9 7 8 20
3 15 2 14 21 20 20 15 14
That was all the paper had written on it. There were only fifteen digits scrawled across it, meaning God knows what. I mean, I was fairly intellectual, but that doesn’t mean I would be able to figure out some sort of secret code. I ran a hand through my wild hair in frustration. Perhaps Ashton’s secret-agent instincts would actually kick in and help me to figure out how to break this code.
“This is a cool place,” said a familiar voice from the stairs. “As much as I love my parents, I would kill for a place of my own some times.”
I nodded my head, but I couldn’t actually see where he was coming from. Each of us clearly had no idea what it would be like to take a walk in the other one’s shoes. As much as I wished I could imagine having siblings to bicker and bond with or parents to boss me around and take care of me, I just couldn’t. I would grow up not knowing what it felt like to have a family. At least, I now had a friend.
“I don’t understand these numbers,” I said, handing him the letter. He glanced over it quickly as I watched his face, hoping for some sort of recognition to dawn on him. I was, for once, disappointed in Ashton. Judging by the subsequent sentence, he had no more idea what the jumble of numbers could mean than I did.
“Sorry, but neither do I,” he admitted in defeat. “It seems to me that whoever wrote it would try and encode the letter in something they thought you would be able to figure out. Are you sure you’ve never seen anything like this before?”
I racked my brain zealously for any recollection of decoding cryptic, numerical messages. Unsurprisingly, nothing came to mind. “Not that I can remember,” I told him honestly. I’d always thought my memory was pretty good, but I couldn’t actually picture what my life was like before eleven years ago. I remembered my first day of kindergarten, and basically everything that followed. Before my fifth year, however, I drew a blank.
“That’s too bad,” he said frowning. There wasn’t really any more either of us could do, except some homework. And so we did. We worked together, mostly in silence. I suppose it was because we were each so deep in thought about my current predicament. Schoolwork seemed moderately mindless compared to everything else I had on my plate.
It didn’t take us long to finish. I was delighted to find that he was as smart as I’d hoped he was. I mean, it was no secret that he was a fairly intelligent guy, but he was also a football player. However stereotypical that sounded, I also heard the way he talked about the rest of his football players. Maybe his notation of that was proof enough that he wasn’t like the rest of them.
“I guess I’ll see you later, then?” he asked as he packed up his books and prepared to leave. As much as I hated to admit, it was hard to watch him go. He knew my secret now. I had someone to talk to whom I could be honest and open with. The only thing that prevented me from getting all clingy was the fact that I knew I would see him at school tomorrow. That was a comfort. Besides, nobody wanted a clingy best friend.
Chapter 6: Search And Discovery
Scratch that; I’d now been disappointed by Ashton Voss twice. I waited and waited all through Biology class for him to come running through the door, apologizing for his tardiness. My wait didn’t stop even after class ended. But as I walked down the halls with my head facing my shoes, I noticed something unusual besides the absence of a certain friend. People were whispering as I walked by. The customary bellowing conversation no longer surrounded me. Instead, I believe they were whispering about me.
Feeling tremendously insecure, I lifted my head up to see what all the fuss was about. My eyes were met by a horribly familiar sketch. My abyss . . . Dawn’s Abyss was blown up on one of those giant pieces of paper and plastered to the wall. In the bottom right hand corner, my name was written neatly in a penmanship that I couldn’t identify. I scanned the rest of the hallway and felt my face drain of color. There were countless more of the same blow-ups all over the walls.
I could figure it out though, right? I mean, whoever had taken the picture would have to have been in my art class with Miss Rayneshine. It was a small enough class. The only thing was: would I be brave enough to confront the person when/if I found out who it was. I doubted it, but maybe I was underestimating myself?
By lunchtime, I’d just about had all I could take of the murmurs that had followed me all throughout the day. I guess it was a matter of pride, but I didn’t have what it took to take down all of the posters all over the school. I’d walked up to one and stared at it for a good ten minutes during lunch period, but I hadn’t been able to do it. After I’d eaten alone (despite Ashton’s absence, I hadn’t seen Loraine at lunch either), I’d gone back to the same poster of my drawing. My stomach ended up churning and a wave of nausea swept over me. I only just made it to the bathroom in time before the contents of my lunch spilled into the toilet bowl disgustingly.
Throwing up in school got one an automatic Go-Home pass. I was grateful but also a bit upset. I was clearly grateful because I wouldn’t have to endure everyone talking about me behind me back. Even though I’d come out of my shell a bit and was able to talk to people – well, one person, at least – didn’t mean that I was comfortable with being the sole source of entertainment for the entire school. It was as if I weren’t self-conscious enough already! The reason that I was kind of upset, too, was that I was hoping to scope out the students in Art class and try to figure out possible suspects for whoever put my drawing all over school.
The moment I got home, I lay down on my couch. I’d been expecting to rest my eyes for a moment or two and allow the queasiness to pass before calling Ashton, finding out why he wasn’t at school, and telling him about my fiasco. Things didn’t always go as planned. I already knew this, of course, but it was proved as I ended up falling asleep.
****
I was staring down at a blank piece of black construction paper. It didn’t have anything written on it. From my point of view, I saw two, pale, chubby little arms sticking out from the direction of my body. My arms didn’t look like that now, but I knew it was me. In one of those pudgy, toddler hands there was a piece of chalk.
A larger, masculine hand came into view. It gently took hold of the arm that was holding the chalk. A deep and soothing voice emanated from the man whose body the big hand belonged to. I couldn’t make sense of the word he was speaking. I knew they were English, but they didn’t register in my mind. All I knew was that he was encouraging me. He was encouraging me to write down what I had already learned.
I knew what to do then. I remembered what the man had taught me. My miniaturized hand flew across the paper with a speed that did not match up with the size of my tiny fist. I was writing out a key, or a legend. It was the secret to decrypting a hidden message or code. Wasn’t there some sort of numerical letter I was supposed to be figuring out? I couldn’t remember.
I watched with intent amazement as I wrote and wrote without hesitation. I studied my work and found that I actually understood what it meant.
I shot up from the couch like a zombie might do in a horror movie after just becoming one of the undead or living dead. Whatever that dream had meant, I didn’t know. One thing I could be sure of was that I knew how to solve the hidden message. It was so simple that I wanted to smack myself in the head for not having at least thought of it before. I rushed over to the countertop where I had set the black paper, nearly identical to the one in my dream.
13 3 11 14 9 7 8 20
3 15 2 14 21 20 20 15 14
Each number was equivalent to the letter it was in the alphabet. In my dream, my infant hands had written:
A=1
B=2
C=3
It went on like that until it got to Z=26. Now all I had to do was match each number with its corresponding letter and the message would be decoded. I hoped it would actually mean something.
In all of this excitement, I completely forgot that I was supposed to call Ashton. Little did I know, he was otherwise preoccupied for the time being. He wouldn’t have answered even if I had called him. Meanwhile, I figured out the puzzle.
M=13, 3=C, 11=K, 14=N, 9=I, 7=G, 8=H, 20=T
3=C, 15=O, 2=B, 14=N, 21=U, 20=T, 20=T 15=0, 14=N
Okay, that left me with McKnight, Cobnutton. McKnight could be anything; a name, a place, a brand of something. The only Cobnutton I could think of was a small town about two hours away that was a serious tourist attraction because of its historical value or something. I’d never driven there, but I’d heard about it. I figured I could just MapQuest it for directions. The internet! I could go to Google.com and see if there was anything called McKnight in Cobnutton. My spirits were suddenly soaring high in the air. I didn’t know what this all was leading to, but it had to be something good, right?
Upstairs, my heart was racing as I pulled up the internet on my computer. Was this really it? Was I about to find my family? I suppose the better question was, did I really want to see them? I’d made a promise to myself long ago that I wouldn’t waste any time looking for them. I didn’t think they deserved that kind of devotion after they’d forsaken me. I wasn’t strong enough to just forget about them, though. I had to try and find them, even if it was just to demand and explanation for . . . well, for everything.
I waited for the page to load on Google after I’d typed in what I had decoded of the letter. This would be the moment of truth, I suppose. Maybe there wouldn’t even be any results. What if the only thing I was left with for the rest of my life was a piece of paper with the intended message “McKnight, Cobnutton,” on it. Would I be able to live with that? I doubted it.
My mind almost went into panic mode when I laid eyes on a nearly blank computer screen. That was, until I spotted the single match that had come up for what I’d typed in. I hurriedly clicked on it. Some website that I’d never heard of before popped up. There were only a few things on the page. Foremost was a name: Carson McKnight. Below that was a bunch of information. Most importantly among that data was the address of this man who lived in Cobnutton.
I printed that out along with directions to get to his place. I didn’t know if this was even the right person, but it was all I had to go on. My instincts were urging me forward, but something was holding me back, as well. Then, I remembered. Ashton! He hadn’t been at school today and I hadn’t told him about my drawings all over school or my divine discovery only moments ago.
I quickly pulled my cell phone from the back pocket of my dark, khaki pants. I actually carried it around with me now that I had someone to call. After five rings, I heard his voice.
“Hey,” he said.
“Ashton, it’s me. I just –” I began, but was promptly cut off by him.
“Sorry I couldn’t get your call. My cell phone is obviously inconvenient for me to answer right now, so if I were you, I’d leave a message. Hopefully, I can get back to you soon. Here’s the beep,” his voicemail beeped and I left a short, but descriptive message about what had happened at school. I asked why he hadn’t been there and I told him about my revelation. Then, I said goodbye after explaining my plan of action.
If I had it my way, Ashton probably would have been coming with me. However, beggars can’t be choosers, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be alone or not the first time I met Carson; my dad. If he wasn’t my dad, he must just be some person who is trying to warn me against ‘the Kurl.’ Whoever the person was, they would have to know about Mrs. Kurl. Who would know about her that didn’t live in Hazelwood, unless Mrs. Kurl
was a Cobnutton native. That didn’t seem likely because nobody ever moved to Hazelwood. It was probably the most boring place on Earth. I wouldn’t even call it peaceful either, except, perhaps, for the community park. I was fairly certain my Algebra teacher wasn’t one for going on walks, though.
Without another thought, I was pulling out of my driveway in Grandpa Plucky. The directions to Carson McKnight’s address were in the passenger’s seat. Glancing at the paper made me realize something. If Carson was my father, would that make me a McKnight? The idea of actually having a surname was quite appealing to me. Dawn McKnight; it sounded pretty good, come to think of it.