Flood

by Maria Quinn

  He backtracks a few steps and sat down next to me. “I hate you,” I say sarcastically.

  “Awe, now you just need to get back to your former glory.” He says grabbing the sensitive spot on my thigh where it tickled.

  Reflexing up in a laugh I swatt him away. I lean back on a moss-carpeted ledge to catch my breath. I peer through the trees; the view is unbelievable, so incredibly stunning. I reach for my camera to snap a picture, but it clicked when I touched it.

  I hope the battery wasn’t on this whole time. But I look up and Greg had taken a shot of me. “Why?” I ask. “I’m a hot mess, and I probably stink so bad you’ll smell it through the photo.”

  He took another shot.

  “Greg!” I smile desperately.

  He set the camera down slowly like a newborn baby and stares right through me like there is something vital behind me.

  I look back and saw nothing. “What are you…” He cut me off short with a kiss.

  It is like a bat to the face, except in agonizing slow motion. When we part, I feet like all my teeth had been knocked out emotionally, I didn’t know what to say.

  My body is heavy, I can’t lift my arms.

  I don’t want this, I just want to be friends, did I lead him on? Say something!

  I open my lips, but nothing came out. I just look down in embarrassment to avoid his longing expressing.

  “I’m sorry.” He apologizes.

  Feeling terrible, I just hope I didn’t look too disgusted, “Greg…” I start. “I really like you…” I say in a lateral tone.

  “Is it James?” He asks jaggedly.

  “What? James? Cop James? Why does everyone think there is something there?” I’m so confused.

  “You didn’t say no.” He looks stern and heartbroken.

  “Because it’s ridiculous, you shouldn’t have even asked that.”

  He looks like an awkward puppy, yet I had the urge to kick in his ribs.

  He fiddles with his camera, I look away. “Listen, I just don’t think I need this right now, especially now. I need to get things back together, ya know?”

  “Yeah sure.” He stands up with his backpack, “It’s going to get dark soon, we should head back.”

  I rise to follow, I want to say I’m sorry, that I want too, but I can’t. Instead, I stay three steps behind him.

  Three is not four.

  29

  We part ways halfway through our trek; I want to visit my favorite place in these woods, and I honestly needed space from Greg. There is a serene little river not far from this path and on no map. Calm and quite the water is almost still in some areas, rapid in others, and clear as diamonds all over. A towering ancient oak cranes over this river alongside its children, providing a natural arch of shade and privacy. The soft, delicate grass under this historic tree is one of my favorite reading spots and places to clear my head. I sit on the edge of the river on a small boulder, peeling off my shoes and rolling up my pants. My toes taste the icy river first before my legs follow and I wander around the large stones parting the waters. I inspect the stones and tadpoles as if intently looking for something, it’s like I'm always looking for something, I just never know what.

  What was supposed to be a calming jaunt has turned suddenly uneasy, like something is lurking nearby. This frigid feeling is how I imagine prey to feel before they're jumped; before they're dinner. With darkness falling and this feeling growing, I decide to slip on my shoes and head home. But something came over me, over the forest.

  Winter settled in, a cold depression that came from the outside and not within, everything became murky, thoughts slowed, actions are in slow motion. It's as if my mind isn't my own and it's how people always say, life isn't real and our brains are hooked to computers controlled by aliens in another reality, except the computer glitches, and I feel this. I feel haunted, and I feel like a ghost. But the real ghost is in front of me, a thin raven-haired girl wearing a white gown and a mute expression. Unbothered by the blowing wind, her waist long hair is still.

  I've never hallucinated people before, I found this more fascinating than frightening because I know it's not real. She drifts up the riverbank, I follow, wondering what medications they would put me on if I told my doctors about this. Not even 30ft up the river and she vanishes, like smoke wisping away from a cigarette, and the winter lifts. Making my way to her last appearance, I leer into the woods checking for predators, while still feeling like prey. A glinting in the water stole my focus. Reaching in the glassy shallows, I pull out a gold-chained necklace with a tiny crystal encrusted rosebud hanging from it. Freaking gorgeous I thought at first, but never has a hallucination lead to something like this is my second. I pocket the necklace, and as for every important thing in my life, I push my thoughts deep down within me and bottle it up, soldering it closed never to be opened again. No consequences of that.

  I walk home in soggy shoes not thinking about anything at all, especially what had occurred and Greg trying to play tongue hockey with me. Especially not that.

  30

  I hate myself! It was soooo awkward, so awkward. What was I supposed to do? I love him like a brother, not in making out slobber-fest way. This whole thing is absurd, it’s like I’m 5 years old again. Everything is going off track; I feel like a car that needs realignment. I was pathetic out there and in so many ways. What am I going to do about Greg? Does he hate me now? How will I fix this? I hate having more questions than answers.

  Feeling manic, I stop writing, take in four deep breaths and let them escape my ever tightening lungs. I think journal ranting is doing more harm than good. I need to slow myself and get back where I need to be.

  I don’t know what else to say.

  This just sucks.

  * * *

  Night cradles the sky as I sit on the edge of the back porch, letting my dangling feet dry before going inside. Staring into the woods hoping to see the family of deer that have taken up residence nearby, all I can think about was that stunning apparition. Thumbing the necklace, I put it back in my pocket along with what else happened in the woods today.

  Seeing Robert earlier in the day flooded my mind with what had happened in these woods many years back when I was a little girl, and he was barely a man.

  Dashing through the forest I was uninhibited by rules and medications, chasing a spotted baby dear until I was out of breath and it was out if site. Something that I did see that was entirely out of the ordinary was a man strewn on his back coated with a thick blanket of blood, and still bleeding profusely with a gun in hand. Cautiously stepping closer I noticed holes in his body where there shouldn't be any, including one on the side of his face. His eyes barely opened gazing at me as twigs snapped underfoot, but rolled back into his head as he coughed up foamy blood.

  Picking up the cell phone that was halfway out of his pocket I immediately called for help. Kneeling down beside him I wanted to help, but there were too many holes and not enough hands. Having watched many violent films with death, I knew all that was left to do was to comfort him as he lay dying. Cradling his head in my lap, I sang him a part of an old song I used to hear on my grandmother's vinyls. What possessed me with such weird affection at that moment I know not. All I knew at that moment is that I wanted to help and that's the only thing in this world that mattered. He wavered between worlds and consciousness as I sang for his comfort, his consciousness almost seemed to sway with my words.

  I heard sirens in the distance, police and ambulances rushing forth. My eyes darted to the gun as I hear car doors slam and feet smashing twigs at a leopards pace. I've also watched enough Law and Order to know if he survives this, he might be in prison. I grabbed the gun and hid it under my bulky pink bloodstained sweater not even considering if he was a mass murderer that had gotten his due. There were so many things I didn't consider, but I was just a child. When the paramedics and police came, I bolted home, hiding the gun in the back of the toilet, another violent movie trick, and buried weeks later in th
e woods.

  I remember the horror on James face first when he thought I was hurt, and then when he thought I hurt someone else. Adults soon swooped in to first, freak the hell out, then clear things up. Everyone seemed to believe I needed comforting and became suspicious when I didn't. I have seen everything there is to see, mostly in my head, but I've seen it all and because of this I lacked reaction growing up and still do; nothing scares me.

  Although nothing frightens me, that ghost definitely unnerved me, my hallucinations are changing, and I'm worried I'm getting worse. I'm afraid one day I won't be able to tell reality and my visions apart, that one day I'll be committed and lose my freedom, that sort of thing scares me.

  31

  A deep, lingering ache has returned. I guess it never really left; I just ignore it by keeping busy with other things and other people. I wish I knew what it wanted, what it needs, I want it to stop feeding on my happiness. I feel like a black hole that will suck in singing canaries and rainbows if they come too close. I think this void ate my mother, or at least my connection to her. And I guess I’m too consumed by myself to care.

  I’m selfish.

  My closest relationships are eroded.

  I’m acidic.

  “Hey ape!” Lea slaps me on the back, bringing me out of my depressive trance.

  “I’m not a monkey,” I growl.

  “I said ape, anyway cheer up you bag of doom! Tomorrow is our last day!”

  “Yay,” I say with bowls of charisma.

  “What’s your problem?”

  “I’m acid.”

  “You’re on acid? Don’t do that it puts holes in your heart. Anyway…” she carries on as though she’s being funny.

  She carried on all the way to school about people she thinks are stalking her and my mind just ossified, tuning out her and the rest of the school. It was all white noise, yet pleasantly lonely. By the time school was through and work was over with, I felt like a rubber duck with a stone in my head.

  I’m top-heavy. Am I going to pass out?

  Sitting down on the edge of the sidewalk I counted the infinite pebbles on the road. I held my legs close to me in case they wanted to run away.

  How did this day fly by so slow and fast? It is like waiting forever in line to receive your fast food that you think you want but know it will come back to haunt you later.

  It took me a few seconds to realize the shadow casting on my pebbles; I peek up hoping that it isn’t Greg. Looking up to see James staring down at me, my eyes widen in surprise as I scan the area looking for an escape route.

  “May I sit?” He offers.

  I nod, biting my lip.

  He leveled himself with me and sat in a seeding silence. I tried imagining my own skull to keep me from thinking about him, and how close he is. He smelled of hardware stores, old spices, and something warm I couldn’t quite place; I drink it in.

  The silence is deafening ; like dolphins playing tubas. I would kill to ride away on a dolphin right now.

  "You hungry?" He asks.

  Yes, dear sweet baby Jesus YES. "Nope." I lie, swallowing hard.

  I think he caught me un-recalling my last meal.

  "Come with me." He demands.

  I look around again, to see who he's throwing demands at, and then stare at him blankly.

  "Just come on, trust me." He pleads.

  Begrudgingly I get up while eyeing him suspiciously the whole time we walk. What does he want? He must want something, everyone wants something. But from me? What can I give him that a normal person can't? Does he want his portrait painted? Why is he so damn quiet?

  Well if he's not talking, I'm surely not going to start up a conversation.

  We start our jaunt into town, and something in the air was palpable, but I couldn’t quite place the feeling.

  "What are you thinking about?" He looks at me with a mysterious smile.

  “Um…” I stutter, I didn’t know what to say, it’s as if I just realized what I’m doing; I’m walking next to James, the guy I hate/like/love/I have no freaking clue and I’m about to eat with him? I have a sudden urge to vomit my rib cage. "Nothing." Second lie.

  "What do you want to eat?"

  I'll have a pizza, and a dozen hot dogs please. "Not really hungry." Third lie. How long can I keep this going? FOREVER, I'm no quitter. But wait, I never finish anything…

  "Pizza it is." He guesses correctly.

  How does he know? I try to smile but nothing happens; I’m a statue with pigeons circling above.

  He looks curiously pleased.

  We stop in at Todd's Pizza; I know, who wants pizza from Todd and in a barn style eatery at that? Trust me, he's good, his pizza is unbelievably magnificent, like eating gold dipped chocolate riding an alcoholic unicorn. My mouth waters as soon as that greasy, cheesy scent smack us when the door opens, just as the doorbell went off like Pavlov's experiment.

  He orders a whole pie for us with all the meats and cheeses just how I've always like it.

  It wasn't that long ago he was detaining me for shoplifting, freeing innocent animals, and "borrowing" peoples cars and before that, babysitting me. I guess his mother was a family friend and when she died, my mom paid him to keep an eye out for me, but it was also to keep him away from his abusive father. The thought softened my behavior; I'm letting my anger get the best of me again.

  "Thank you." It is barely audible, his beaming smile is the opposite. My cheeks burn as I turn away to find a table for us.

  I wish I could decipher him, I just need a Rosetta stone. I sit at a nice antisocial corner in the back and stare at a woman with Oprah hair, trying not to let my mind consume itself while waiting. A soft breeze through an open window wisps my hair like the flags all around, yet the Oprah hair is an immovable force.

  “Big hair.” James startles me, sliding a pie onto our table.

  I try to fix my own hair, but it has a fortitude all its own. Hunger takes hold and I begin to defile the pizza. First slice gone.

  Inhaling my food I can’t help but think of his other generous gestures. I remember him always being kind, me on the other hand, I was quite the demon growing up. Possessed, some people say, ill my parents called me, rambunctious is what I like to call it. But he never called me anything other than April; that I will always remember.

  Eating almost half the pizza, I came up for air and realize I've been pigging out in front of him for 20 minutes straight.

  "Not hungry?" He smirkes.

  "Not now," I state matter-of-factly.

  James lets out a long-winded laugh.

  “What, did you want to say grace or something?” I stab.

  He throws up his hands in defense, “No, no, I just didn’t know you were so hungry.”

  “I can pay for my half if that’s what you are getting at.”

  His face seals into a chastising grin.

  “What, you think I can’t? I have a job now.” I assert myself while embellishing my stomach with greasy goodness. Fourth slice gone.

  “How is that going for you? I hear you’ve made many friends.”

  “Who’d you hear that from, small round and stubby? He’s defective.”

  “Didn’t you know where you were working when you took the job?”

  “No. I don’t really get out much I guess. Besides, it doesn’t matter; I’m looking for another job anyway.” I flip my hair nonchalantly.

  His eyes fell sullen. “You know…” He starts, letting out a sigh. “None of them hate you, it might come as a surprise, but not everyone is out to get you.”

  What exactly is he trying to convince me of? “If they don’t hate me what would you call it? Admiration? Am I their best friend? Awesome, now I can invite them to my pool party.” I stung like a wasp.

  “I think more would sink than swim.” He tries to be funny.

  It sort of works, my face cracks like dry plaster into an unfamiliar smile. “Yeah.” I exhale. “I guess I shouldn’t invite anyone with a waist size longer than thei
r firing range.”

  We laugh together. It felt wonderful.

  “Am I invited?” He questions raising an eyebrow.

  “To what?”

  “The pool party,” He says teasingly.

  “I don’t have a pool.” God, I really wish I did now.

  “We could go somewhere else.” He says casually.

  My heart tightens, my vision is a kaleidoscope of pizza, him and a thousand ardent expectations. My mind runs rampant with wild absurdity; we could go bowling, to France, or the moon! “Um…” I twist my hair in knots, “I’m pretty busy these days.”

  What did I just say? Why do I care? I feel like I’m caught in quicksand with sharks circling. What is he doing to me?

  “That’s too bad.” He takes a long sip of his drink while searching my eyes, trying to foster a response.

  I take the bait, “Why, why is it too bad?”

  “Well,” He repositions himself, “It’s just that, I have a boat, and we could go anywhere. But you’re too busy so...”

  He is so smug.

  “Hmmm, interesting, boats are nice.” I try not to care, as I sip my drink.

  “So then this weekend sometime?” He moreover states.

  “Uh…” I am completely disconnected from my body. Is this a date? I hope not, I think.

  He is airing empowerment through his teeth, grinning control over me. I hate not being in control, I’m never in control, and now he wants to take away the last bit I have over myself.

  My face radiates discontent, but I still give in. “Maybe...” My body is riddled with anxiety when the words come out; my darting eyes give me away.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, I have life jackets.” He tells me.

  “I’m not worried, I uh…just don’t feel well.”

  “You think it’s the half a pizza you vacuumed?”

  No, it’s him. “Heh, yeah I guess.”

  It is hard to look at him, I don't remember when things got so awkward between us, though I pretend it isn't.