Living on the Borderlines

by Melissa Michal

  “I agree. Stories are that way, aren’t they? Those end twists.” She giggled and handed Cam a due-date slip.

  As she turned to leave, Nancy touched her arm. “Wait. Take this.”

  “What is it?” Cam held an oblong, flat rock. Smooth blackish-green something. She didn’t know.

  “A luck stone.” Nancy’s smile beamed, and she waved the person behind her forward.

  “Oh.” Cam had trouble moving. She stepped aside, but stood there peering at the stone. She turned it over, then over again. The stone really was smooth, as if someone else had done this repetitively.

  Luck stone? She shrugged. Whatever. The woman was clearly odd. Nice, but odd. Cam put the stone in her jeans’ pocket.

  She biked along the busy sidewalk toward Rochester Institute of Technology. Probably she should be biking on the streets, but she got nervous so close to cars. Who knew if they paid any attention to her small ten-speed. As each pedal moved, she felt the stone. A round, thin impediment marking her thigh.

  If she stopped at the library, she was usually late to class. But as she rode, she encountered no stops, no people to curve around. The breeze blew and cooled her forehead. When she dismounted, she still felt clean, rather than sweaty. Nice. She clicked the helmet button and ran in, backpack on and helmet under her arm.

  Used to closing the door quietly, she did so, only to see a mostly empty room. This time, she sat up front and opened her book while others arrived. American History to 1700. She preferred current topics. But her adviser suggested it for her cultural anthropology major. She wanted to focus on Rochester and stay in the area. Maybe law or politics.

  Pop quiz. Easy questions. Unusual.

  Some guy even stopped her after class, asking directions to the gym. He blushed and kept staring at her. “You’re cute,” he said. He wrote his phone number on her hand.

  She stared at the digits long after he left. She hadn’t had a real date. Ever. Just some agreed-upon boyfriend/girlfriend labels in middle school. She didn’t wash her hand until copying the numbers.

  A scratch-off lottery ticket. Ten dollars.

  B+ paper in Social Justice.

  Class canceled for Anthropology 200.

  Clear traffic back home.

  The stone was warm in her palm. She turned it over again. The shine mesmerized her. Hmm. Does this actually work?

  “Hey, Cam. You ready for dinner?” her dad called.

  “Oh. Yeah. What are we having?” She zipped the stone into her backpack. The kitchen shone with afternoon light. September brought out the sun at times, which surprised her.

  “Weather changes these days,” her dad said.

  “Dad!”

  “Global warming is real. Our ancestors knew this was bad for us.”

  She rolled her eyes when he talked about relatives she didn’t know. And he hadn’t even met. Super weird.

  The hot pan sizzled. Oil and pasta mixed with veggies and peanut sauce. Heat filled the room, and she breathed in garlic and ginger.

  “Yum, Dad.”

  “My daughter deserves stir fry today.” He kissed her forehead.

  “Why today?”

  “I don’t know. I felt compelled. Got out early today, too. The boss was feeling good about our sales.”

  Cam kissed his cheek. She wished her dad had gone to college. But she had come along. He swore he preferred her over books. Still, she hated seeing him work people to sell a car. The back of his head had a large bald spot and gray hairs poked out, years of just them marked right there.

  “You going to hit the books tonight?”

  “I didn’t get any homework today.”

  “What?”

  “I know! Do you want to play a round of rummy?”

  The next days were much the same. Things went smoothly. Cam had known good days, but not perfect ones. That’s what they felt like. Perfect. The stone warmed in her hand throughout the day. At first, the stone gave her a vibe she didn’t like. It made her leave the rock at home. Like a push-pull though, she was drawn back.

  Cam experimented during the following weeks. A few times the stone was in the pocket of her thrown-off jeans. Somehow, on certain days the stone appeared in her pockets without her knowing. It seemed that as long as she carried the stone, though, in her pocket or bag or purse, Cam experienced days better than even the one before. Twenties appeared on the ground. Lights turned green. Homework was light. Grades were high.

  “Dad?” After a month, she wanted answers. He always knew odd details about life. “Dad?” She plunked her keys on their coffee table. That and googling hadn’t answered anything else.

  A note on the counter read, Had to fill in at work. I’ll be back late. See you in the morning.

  Fall meant extra hours. She sighed. The stone wasn’t with her. That explained his absence.

  Cam called him. She tapped the pen by the note. It rang several times before she ran up to her room and grabbed the stone.

  “Cam?”

  “Dad!”

  “Everything okay, hon?”

  “Sure. I wanted to talk. Do you have a break?” She rolled the stone through her fingers.

  “Just on it.”

  “Dad, are there things, you know, objects that hold powers? Does that work ever?”

  “Well that’s direct and strange. What’s going on?”

  “It was something brought up in class.”

  “Hmm. Okay. Well, yes, sometimes objects hold power. Remember our false face masks?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Depends on who made it or the history behind it.”

  “History?”

  “Yeah. Things can hold energies. That’s all. You can smudge and bring in positive energies to balance things.”

  “Okay, but what if it’s positive itself? Giving?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of objects giving things. You sure everything is okay?”

  “Of course, Dad.”

  “I have to go. See you at home.”

  The stone fit Cam’s hand, perfectly. What was the harm in good days?

  Cam continued her easy semester, enjoying finally being a straight-A student.

  “Wow, Cam. You’re so lucky!” said Sarah. She sat in Cam’s oversized lounge chair. They knew each other from high school, and now had two classes together. But they had never been close. She liked this girl’s constant talk about movies and her curiosity about phenomena like conspiracy theories. “Did you know about the signs on the dollar bill? The eye in the pyramid? It was on the Great Seal, first. Then Roosevelt put it on the dollar. They say Illuminati. I say, government eyes.”

  Cam nodded. She wanted to laugh, but held it in. She really did like hearing her talk. And some of those theories might be true. Who knows.

  “There’s like some kind of bubble around you lately. Protective.” Sarah bit into a large pizza slice. She yelped. “Dammit. Hot!” She tended to jump around like that.

  Cam picked off the peppers and took a few bites. The sauce was sweet with a slight kick. She licked her fingers when she finished. Cam still wasn’t totally sure her luck lately was fully the stone. Something told her never to leave the house without it, though. Inside the house, she forgot about the smooth texture and colors that melted together. Colors that when she carried the stone, she pulled out just to stare at.

  Sarah saw her the day before with the stone in her palm, staring. Cam shrugged off the questions. But Sarah was clearly drawn too. She had even reached out her hand until Cam hurried the stone into her bag.

  “Hey, let me see that stone. Where did you put it?” Sarah’s eyes grew large. “Come on. It’s so cool.”

  Cam wondered if Sarah knew. But she didn’t, right? Cam had thought about asking the librarian what was going on. But she couldn’t bring herself to go back to that library. It was strange. Cam loved books. And she couldn’t let go of that stone. At all. She didn’t know what would happen if she saw the woman. She no longer felt strange vibes about the rock, though.
Just vibes that … fit.

  “My dad’s got it.”

  But Cam caught Sarah rolling the stone in her hand when she came back with drinks.

  “Sarah, you should put that down.”

  “Oh come on. You’ve had this thing all these weeks, hogging it.” She put the stone in her hoodie pocket.

  “Give it back!” Cam grabbed Sarah’s shirt and pulled the stone out. Power surged through her, rolling within her blood, quick and heavy, like she hadn’t known. A harsh strength.

  “Hey.” Sarah jumped Cam, but Cam kept her hands under her, one over the other, the stone protected. She squeezed her eyelids tight together. Sarah pulled her hair. Ow! What the hell? It’s a stone.

  She wished Sarah would stop. Right now!

  The pounding suddenly ended. And Sarah was gone.

  Had she walked out? Cam looked around. She held the stone out and away from her.

  Where is Sarah? Her heart tumbled against her chest.

  “Dad? Dad?” Cam yelled until hoarse, but he wasn’t home, yet.

  She put the stone in her bag and backed away. Then pulled the stone out again, the colors mesmerizing her. Cam closed her eyes. Come on, Cam. But the stone went back in her pocket. Flat. Her breath moved faster and faster. She remained in her room, seated, holding her knees, back against the wall. The floorboards were cold.

  When the lock snapped back and the front door shut an hour later, her breathing slowed.

  “Dad?”

  “Hey, honey.”

  “What do you know about stones?”

  “Good evening to you too, Cam.” His cheeks twitched and eyebrow raised.

  She took a deep breath. “Can they hold powers?”

  “My mom said they could. Some are healing. Some a bit cranky. Why?” He drew out the last syllable.

  “Nothing.” The rock heated her pocket.

  “Is this about that call last week?”

  “No. Just, something someone said.”

  “You want dinner?” He boiled water in a large pot and threw pasta in. But he kept staring at her, his eyes still dark.

  She watched him stir, forever standing by that window. That’s how she knew him. When her mom died, Cam was too young to know her at just three. Pictures were the only source of knowledge about her mom. Her dad didn’t say much. But then again, Cam didn’t ask. Her questions always made her dad sad.

  Her dad had pictures of her mother scattered across the house. Some only her, some her and him, some all three of them. There was one in her own bedroom, with Cam and her mother when she was maybe a year old. Her mother looked down at her, her mouth open as if she was talking, midconversation. Cam, though, faced the camera.

  Just last week, there he was, staring at a picture, holding one from his nightstand. He had left his door open and she caught this as she passed by.

  No matter what she tried, she simply could not remember her mother. No smell, no sound, no images. This bothered her. But her sadness didn’t match her dad’s.

  Last year, she wanted her dad to try online dating. He simply shook his head no and that was the end of it.

  “Come on,” he said. He warmed pasta sauce from a jar, with no time to make his homemade marinara.

  They sat down, the sun setting. The changing light turned their garden yellow. Her dad had been cultivating the small yard, turning the land so many colors with vegetables and flowers since her mother died.

  The steam drifted and her face warmed. “It’s getting to be fall finally. That warm up held it off.” She even tasted fall in the pasta sauce. Cam was sure her dad had added a little cayenne pepper and cinnamon.

  “How’s school?” he asked.

  “Same. Good grades.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  She couldn’t smile back. She wasn’t sure she was really earning her grades. They came to her more like winning numbers on a lottery ticket. Flutters looped around in her stomach. She put her fork down.

  “You good, Cam?”

  “Of course. I ate too much with Sarah.”

  “Where is Sarah? Will she ever stay for dinner?”

  “Uhh, home.” Cam rinsed her plate, red sauce spreading and spreading into the sink.

  “You two are getting close this year. That’s nice. You need some girlfriends.”

  “Yeah.” She had trouble breathing again. Cam couldn’t believe Sarah had just … vanished. She slowed her breathing. People don’t just disappear. “We kind of had a fight.”

  “Oh?” He said no more. He often waited like that with her.

  Her dad reached out and hugged her. He squeezed and let go. “What if we go fishing tomorrow morning?”

  “That’d be great Dad.”

  “Guess we had better hit the sack.” He laughed.

  She awoke early. Earlier than even necessary for fishing. She groaned. Don’t get up. Don’t get up. Not now. She rolled over, but the hallway light her dad left on trickled under the door.

  Okay. She threw her legs over her bed. The clock said 3:30. She would have to get up in a half hour anyway. Her eyes nearly shut, she opened her closet door. Light circled her coat pocket.

  The luck stone.

  She couldn’t handle anymore lost people. She slammed the door and leaned against the wood. Seriously. Seriously.

  Cam swore she heard the swirling light make a sound. One she couldn’t place.

  It was just a stone. Right? Sarah left … embarrassed.

  Deep down, Cam knew differently.

  She opened the door. The light was still glowing in the pocket. She pulled out the stone. Light shone through it, illuminating a butterfly shape. She had always thought something was there among the dark patterns.

  She had had the luck stone for over a month now. She felt good with it around, but at the same time, she could only explain the feeling as out-of-body. Not herself. Good things happened, but she didn’t feel better.

  A voice she couldn’t place, but knew was unconnected to the stone, said, “Fix it.”

  Bring Sarah back.

  Sarah appeared, curled on the floor, midpounding. She looked at her hands, then at Cam. “Oh.” She slowly rose. “I’ve got to get home.”

  Cam opened her bedroom door.

  “Sorry.” Sarah’s eyes became dark.

  “Me too.”

  The stone’s light faded.

  Cam found a loose board in the closet and tossed the stone in the gap. Her breath let out long and slow.

  The water held a glisten only the early morning could create. Quiet moved all around the two figures, her and her dad. She tried being quiet, had often warned her dad about how much this being still wouldn’t work for her. He knew talking was her way, but ignored her trait here.

  “If the fish will bite, they will bite,” he had told her.

  She went fishing whenever he asked. They rented a boat from a friend along with his truck a few days a year.

  The breeze covered her body, sending fall chills her way. The river swayed their boat. Not a short ride, the St. Lawrence River was his favorite spot, but he could rarely go there. So this was his go-to, Lake Ontario. Her fishing pole hit the boat, clanging against the floor.

  “Crap. Oh, sorry, Dad.”

  “No worries.” He handed her the pole. “You get some sleep last night?”

  “Yeah. Just up earlier thinking.”

  “Okay.” He reeled his line in, ever so gently. The bobber made its way to their boat once surfaced. Then he cast again. His arch, perfect, both with arm and line. “These fish can take talk, Cam. No need to worry.”

  She attempted a smile, which formed contorted. She cast her line, and the hook stuck somewhere in the boat. Two minutes later she found where, while her father chuckled.

  Once her recast hit the water, although roughly, she shifted. “Dad, what was Mom like?” She swallowed. Her heart beat so fast, she had to take deep breaths.

  He wound his reel, pulling the line in, nothing hooked.

  When she turned, he was w
atching out the other end of the boat. He cast again, sat back, the seat enveloping him. “She was special.” The words were almost soundless, almost lost. “We had such few years together. But her beauty and the way she stood for things. Cared deeply … She worked at a daycare on the rez. That was her. In a nutshell.”

  The two didn’t speak again. But in the car ride back when their song came on, the one they always sang along to, the music turned up loud, their voices carried the tune together.

  Her bedroom was quite warm, more than usual. But her dad hadn’t turned the heat up. At least not at night during fall. She held the picture, just her and her mom, and peered toward her dad’s room. The door was shut tonight. Sometimes when he was very tired he did that.

  She had a thought. What if … Power filled her hands. Her head. Her blood going again.

  Cam was overcome. She knew she could do anything. Create anything. That was what this was—she was creating. Like her dad casting a line, rippling the water.

  With that realization, a small light appeared surrounding her, warm and soft. The butterfly shape appeared and then faded. The stone’s light left.

  Cam stood there a moment. She closed her eyes and mentally sensed her body, searching for signs of luck. She didn’t feel lucky. But then again, she never had felt it. Whatever it was. She couldn’t tell.

  Her room was normal. Bed. Shelves. Closet. Window. Check. Still mint green with the stitched quilt full of flowers by her mom. Shit. Nothing changed. Shit shit. Something clanged downstairs.

  Dad. One of his late-nights snacks. She ran downstairs, her feet clomping, echoing on the wood. Maybe it was toasted cheese.

  Light hit her eyes and momentarily blocked her kitchen view. Then, there she was. Her mother. Stirring some sauce, the window framing the darkened night behind her. Her long hair flowed down her back, black and straight.

  “Oh.”

  “There you are, honey. I was heating myself up a snack.” Her mother looked at Cam as if they had spoken that morning. Snack? Pasta sauce? Wasn’t it late? A large smile, her skirt crumpled, but fitted to her body perfectly. There were gray strands sprinkled in her hair and small wrinkles along the eyes. She was pretty. Different from the photos, though. Aged maybe.

  “Mom?”

  “Yeah. Of course.”