by Cameo Renae
The cottage was log style, built with a warm knotty pine which sat along the edge of the Martin’s five acre lot. Its red shingled roof and painted red door stood out amongst the green. During the summers, it was tucked away behind blooming trees and foliage. Its well-manicured lawn was edged with lilacs, and wildflowers. Only during the winter was it visible through the leafless trees.
Emily’s mom made the mistake of letting her husband choose the guts of the cottage. The cabinets, counter-tops, and appliances ended up a boring white. He obviously never watched a home decorating show. At least the flooring, a natural brown slate, and the warm blonde walls, broke the monotonous white.
It had one bedroom, which I artistically accented in lime green, aqua blue, orange, pink and chocolate brown. The living area perfectly fit my oversized brown-suede couch, accented with multi-colored throw pillows, and my twenty-nine inch television. The small kitchen was open to the living area, and still had most of its original appliances - in adequate shape considering they were a bit over ten years old. With Michael and Emily’s help we turned it into a warm, rainbow-like haven. The bright colors made it a happy place, even during the darkest of days.
………………..
I grabbed a few cotton balls from the cabinet, slathered make-up remover under my eyes, and attempted to swipe away the black mess running down my cheeks. Then, I dug through my make-up bag, dabbed on some concealer, buffed on some powder and blush, and slathered pink gloss across my lips. That was as good as it was going to get. I didn’t want to spend another hour tediously re-applying make-up. I never really liked wearing it anyway. The feeling of liquid and powder suffocating my skin just didn’t feel right. I preferred to be natural, a plain Jane, with a touch of eyeliner and gloss. Michael didn’t seem to mind, and that’s all that mattered.
I stared at my reflection, completely dumbfounded by the horrible feelings that had overcome me. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before. Not even remotely close. I wondered if there was something wrong with the water I drank.
Michael told me to be ready by five, but five had long come and gone. He was picking me up in his brand-new, shiny, black Porsche 911 Carrera (a graduation gift from his parents). It was expensive, luxurious, and a complete contradiction to my busted old jeep. He, however, was excited to take me for a drive, and I was equally excited to ride shotgun.
I sighed loudly and shook my head. I guess I’d cut him some slack, as this was the first time he’d ever been late. Maybe he’d just forgotten to pick something up. But what if he forgot me? Better not have!
My eighteenth birthday was quickly approaching. I was finally going to be an adult; a turning point in my life. Michael had planned on us going away on a vacation. It would be my first trip on an airplane. The thought made butterflies twist happily in my stomach.
I ambled to my brown suede couch, plopped down, and sunk deep into its wide, fluffy cushions. I shoved a few pillows under my head, grabbed the remote control and turned on the TV hoping it would distract my thoughts until he arrived.
I’d finally resolved to watch something educational, so I flicked through the stations to find the Discovery channel. Survivalist, Bear Grylls, of Man vs. Wild, had a frog clasped in his hands. I knew, from past experiences, that the poor frog didn’t have a chance of surviving with him grasping it… unless it was poisonous. Bear was explaining how most frogs weren’t dangerous, and kept eyeing the frog, whose legs dangled helplessly from his grasp.
“Don’t eat it! Don’t eat it! Don’t eat it!” I begged the television with both hands clasped over my mouth.
I watched, horrified, as Bear opened his mouth and forced the frog’s head inside. His teeth clamped down and with a sawing motion and pulled the body back, severing the frog’s head from its body.
I felt the acid in my stomach quickly rise into my throat. I swallowed hard to keep it down. I continued to watch Bear’s face twist as he chewed. Blood and guts comingled in his opened mouth, while the camera man zoomed in for a closer shot.
Ugh! I was getting sick. I swallowed hard, and breathed in deeply to keep from vomiting.
During the long commercial break I felt my eyelids drooping. My couch seemed to have that effect on all of its occupants. It was just too comfortable. I fought to stay awake but my lids were winning this battle. Michael had a key. He could come in and get me.
I glanced at the clock one last time. 7:29 P.M.
Chapter 2
I jerked and my eyes popped open.
“Good morning,” a warm voice comforted, “or should I say evening?”
“Michael?”
My eyes were still focusing. I definitely wasn’t home anymore. It was dark and I was cold. I tried to focus on my surroundings, and the first thing I noticed was the smell of new leather and the sweet spice of Michael’s cologne. I was in his car.
“Hey sleepy head,” he turned to me and grinned. His hand reached over, lacing his warm fingers into mine. Always a perfect fit.
Michael was a gentleman. He always looked out for my better interests and never took advantage of me. He had a certain magnetism that drew people to him, like a bug to a zapper. Only he zapped with his charm. His clean-cut, light-brown hair was always disheveled (in a hip way), and his glimmering chocolate-brown eyes were always wide with life. His features were strong and chiseled and most signs of his fuller youth had smoothed out and matured very nicely. He looked like a young Hercules and was heavily envied by many a jock.
“How’d I get here?” I asked puzzled.
“I carried you,” he answered so matter-of-factly.
“Are you kidding me? I really must have been out cold!” I straightened up in my seat, quickly combing my fingers through my hair hoping it wasn’t the rat’s nest it usually was when I woke up. “What’d you do… sling me over your shoulder?” He chuckled. “So, what took you so long? Why didn’t you call me?”
He didn’t answer but a half-smile curved on his full lips; his eyes kept on the dark road ahead.
“Can you at least tell me where you’re taking me?” I was fishing for some type of response.
“It’s a surprise. You’ll see when we get there,” he said, glancing at me with a wink, flashing perfect white teeth. He carefully lifted my hand to his face, pressing his soft lips on the back. My heart fluttered at his tenderness. I never got used to his touch.
“You know I love you… don’t you, Liz?” he asked softly.
“Of course I do. What kind of a question is that?” I asked sarcastically.
He sighed, with a sad sort of grin.
Something didn’t sit right in my gut. It all seemed way too strange. I was a light sleeper and would wake at the drop of a dime; not to mention someone carrying me out to a car and loading me in. Maybe whatever hit me in the bathroom had a lingering effect.
I glanced out the window. I didn’t recognize the area. Any of it. And I knew almost every road in town, like the back of my hand. This road was different. It was dark; and there were no other cars in sight. Actually, I hadn’t seen a car since I woke up. But how long was I asleep?
I started feeling a bit uneasy. Red lights from the dashboard glowed eerily through the darkness, softly lighting Michael’s face. His eyes seemed distant… pondering. His brow creased down the middle, meaning he was either stressed or sad. He was easy to read. But, he knew me just as well, and sensing my stress, he gently squeezed my hand.
The car stopped in the middle of the road. Dark silhouetted spruce trees, lining the road on either side, looked like daggers piercing the night sky. He turned and faced me; his eyes tenderly searching mine. He pushed his seat back and patted his lap. I unbuckled and slid over to him, and he wrapped his muscular arms around me. I rested my head on his chest and breathed him in. Here, I always felt safe. Here I was at peace, wrapped in the warmth of his arms. I felt the heat of his breath on the top of my head as he kissed me.
“Liz,” he whispered, carefully lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “I want
you to know that I will always be here for you.”
“I know, Michael. Are you alright?” I asked, focusing on his face.
He leaned down pressing his warm lips over mine, kissing me ever so gently. I closed my eyes and tingles surged through my body, and he was the source. His lips moved slowly to my cheek, then down the nape of my neck. Carefully brushing stray hairs over my ear he whispered lightly, “I want you to know that I love you more than anything in this world.”
“I know,” I breathed. “I love you, too.”
The electricity between us was enough to have lit an entire city. He leaned in and pressed his warm lips against mine, this time unyielding. Waves of pleasure rolled through me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. But never close enough.
Suddenly, a phone rang. Loudly. But it wasn’t my cell phone. It sounded like… my house phone? But how? We were in the middle of nowhere.
It stopped.
Michael stiffened. He sighed and gently cradled my face in his hands. His brown eyes were intense, boring into mine. Careful. Studying. And then he smiled. But something was wrong. I could tell behind his smile that he was hiding something. I knew him too well and it disturbed me.
“What’s wrong Michael?” I whispered. I hated to see him sad. For Michael it was rare.
The phone rang again.
“Where is that ringing coming from?” I asked, looking around for some sort of explanation, but it didn’t seem to faze him. His eyes were locked onto me. I looked at him confused.
“Come here, you,” he said, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me back into his chest. The steady beating of his heart caused me to relax a bit and I melted again into his arms. His smell was intoxicating. He was intoxicating.
“Forever in my heart,” he whispered.
“Forever,” I breathed, closing my eyes, squeezing him tightly.
The phone rang again. This was so wrong! And it was beyond irritating.
“Are you doing that?” I questioned.
He laughed at me, and I adored the sound of his laughter.
“I love you so much, Liz,” he said gently, rubbing the side of my face. “You’ll find your answers… very soon.”
“What?” I pulled back to ask him what he meant by that, but the damn phone rang again. I knew then, everything was wrong. Very wrong.
“Michael, what’s going on?” Things were beginning to get creepy. I felt uneasy and straightened up. I looked into his big brown eyes for answers. He smiled wearily, and took my chin in his hand.
“You need to wake up now, Liz.”
“Michael, what are you talking about?” I asked, totally confused by his words.
“You need to wake up, sweetheart,” he breathed in my ear. He kissed my cheek, and then held me tight within the safety of his arms. I froze. “Liz… always remember how much I love you.”
The phone rang louder.
I jerked, and my eyes popped open. I was back on my couch, and the TV was playing an infomercial.
What the heck just happened?
The phone on the side table next to me rang, making me jump. I stretched over the arm of the couch and grabbed it.
“Hello?” I said in a sleepy voice.
“Elizabeth?” asked a deep, strong voice on the other end.
“Yes. This is she.”
“Elizabeth, this is Mr. Young.” It was Michael’s dad. What was he doing calling me? He’d never called me before.
“Oh. Hi, Mr. Young.” I sat up and tried to sound chipper.
“Elizabeth…” he paused. His breath was loud and erratic. “Michael’s been in an accident,” he said pausing between words. Was he crying? It sounded like he was crying.
I was speechless, trying to process his words very carefully. “I-is he okay?” That’s all I needed to know.
A loud moan echoed through the receiver on the other end.
Mr. Young was a tall, strong, handsome man. He was about 6’3”, medium build, and looked like he could’ve played professional football in his earlier years. He had thick brown hair, and dark brown eyes, like Michael’s. He was a good mixture of Native Alaskan/English from his mother, and German from his father. He was a strict but loving father. One that taught his son that real men never cried; that crying showed weakness. To hear him - sobbing like this - it must have been serious.
“Mr. Young… is Michael alright?” I pleaded for an answer. “Mr. Young?” My heart began to beat hard against my chest, my stomach twisted in knots.
There was a long pause, and I couldn’t stand it any longer. Before I could say anything, he cleared his throat.
“He’s… he’s… dead,” he wailed. “My son is dead!” There was a loud thump as the phone on the other end dropped to the ground.
I froze. It was as if time had stood still. Every one of my senses became numb. He couldn’t have said what I just heard him say. He’s not dead. Michael can’t be dead. He’s coming to get me.
I glanced over to the clock. 10:57 P.M. It can’t be this late! This can’t be happening! A sudden wave of horror rushed through my body. I flashed back to the dream I’d just had with Michael. Was it really a dream? It seemed so real. I touched, smelled, and had a detailed conversation him. This had to be the dream. I needed to wake up. I needed to wake up now! I needed to get in touch with Michael!
A shuffling on the other end of the phone temporarily halted my rationalizing.
“Lizzy?” This time I knew the voice. It was Mrs. Young. Petite and sweet, Mrs. Young. She had a soft, high-pitched voice that was rarely angered. Her 5’6” frame was slender and she had beautiful light brown hair, like Michael’s, which cascaded like soft silk down her shoulders.
“Lizzy, are you there?”
I could tell she’d been crying. Her voice was soft and weary.
“Yes… I’m here,” I answered almost breathless.
“Oh, Lizzy. I’m so sorry we had to tell you like this,” she wept. Michael was their only child. I knew how much they loved him. Their whole world had revolved around him.
“What happened?” I asked. The news still hadn’t sunk in yet. My mind was still questioning if this was all just a horrible dream.
“They don’t know exactly how it happened. A couple of tourists, who were lost on the road to Hatcher’s Pass, saw his car lights in the river. When they pulled over, they noticed a body in the car, and then they immediately called the police. They said it was most likely an accident. That speed might have been a factor. There was a lot of black ice on the road up there. Michael must have lost control and crashed into the river,” she cried, almost hysterical. “Why was he there? I don’t understand. He said he was leaving to get you. Why? Why?” She wept repeatedly.
That was the same question that was ringing through my mind.
“Should I come down?” I asked. My voice was still shaky, along with the rest of me.
There was a pause. “No, honey. Don’t come down here. There is nothing more they can do. They’re sending us home now. I’m so sorry Lizzy. We’ll call you tomorrow,” she sobbed. She hung up before I could say anything else. I went numb and started feeling woozy again. As I processed the call, my breathing became rapid and shallow and my limbs felt weak. I managed to reach my bedroom and fall onto my bed.
Flashes of Michael, his smile, his face, constantly played like a slideshow through my mind. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted him to call me and tell me everything was alright. I wanted him to tell me that this was all a horrible nightmare. I needed desperately to hear his voice again.
I pried my weakened body off of the bed and practically ran to the kitchen counter. I picked up my cell phone and pressed two-talk. My eyes felt hot as liquid quickly filled them, spilling down my cheeks.
It went directly to his answering machine, but this time, I was glad to hear his voice, even if it was a recorded message. I dialed his number again and again, which made me feel comforted, grief stricken, terrified, and alone, all at the same time.
&
nbsp; “Michael, you can’t be dead! You can’t! This can’t be happening to me!” I cried out loud. I somehow made it back to my room, and realized I wasn’t dreaming. I wouldn’t wake from this haunting nightmare. I would never again see Michael’s face again, or feel his touch, or hear the sound of his voice. We would never have the chance to finish the plans we had talked about. Plans to get married, have children, and grow old together. It wasn’t fair! Why was this happening to me? Hadn’t I already been through enough!
The perceptions of MY so-called “perfect life” had disintegrated in an instant, like a torch to a thread. My world had become even darker and colder than I could have ever imagined. I suddenly felt alone; abandoned to this dreadful life.
Michael was my strength. He was my rock and my best friend. He was there for me during the hardest trials of my life. My life, which seemed to be cursed with cruelty and unfairness, would now be utterly unbearable.
Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. I clutched my pillow and buried my face deep into it. My heart, my head, my body, ached for him. I didn’t want to live anymore. I wanted to go to sleep and not wake up.
I felt lost and hopeless, and couldn’t even call my own mother for help. It would just be another shove closer to the edge she was barely able to stand on herself. She was probably passed out on the couch, anyway. And there was no way I was going to call Emily. Yes, she was my friend, but right now, she wasn’t the one I wanted to talk to. She wouldn’t be the shoulder to me that Michael was. I knew she’d probably only irritate me.
I decided to call my mom. Maybe she was up and sober enough to comfort me. After all, that’s what mothers are for. Aren’t they?
I carefully dialed her number and lifted the phone to my ear. It rang once and I heard her pick up her end.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Mom? Did I wake you?”
“Oh! Lizzy. Where are you?” she slurred heavily into the receiver. She was wasted. This was a mistake.
“I’m at my house, mom.”
“Lizzy. Don’t forget to take the dog out. He’ll poop all over the floor,” she garbled.
