by Calia Read
Tonight my dad yelled about fireworks.
He slammed his hand on the table as we ate dinner and yelled, “That damn Halstead boy was shooting rockets, sparklers, fireworks, and God knows what else, till four in the fucking morning! I should’ve called the police.”
They were beautiful. But I would never say that out loud. I sat there quietly and watched my dad rage for an hour before I asked if I could be excused.
I went to my room, turned off my lights and stared out the window. I was trying to get a better view of my neighbor’s house. The neighbors I was taught to hate.
The Halsteads moved next door four years ago. And throughout the last four years, my dad would rant about them every chance he got. “Damn the Halstead family. I could have bought the land their house is on…” And on and on it went. It would always start out as a grumble, but his voice would become louder, stronger. His eyes became darker.
It scared me. I didn’t understand his hate. They seemed okay to me. I had only met Mr. Halstead, and that was with my body hiding behind my nanny as she talked to him and their gardener. Mr. Halstead was this large man that seemed to be as tall as the sky. He wore a hat that covered his head, but I could see his eyes. They were kind eyes. He smiled at me. Told me to call him Jeremiah. I was too nervous to answer.
That was also the first time I saw Lachlan. He was directly behind his dad, playing with his friends in a treehouse. They were being silly. Climbing and dangling on branches. I even watched Lachlan walk across a tree limb with a mixture of jealousy and awe.
I knew I was supposed to obey the rules. I knew I was supposed to dislike the Halsteads because my dad disliked them. But I couldn’t.
Last year, on the Fourth of July, they set off fireworks. They woke me up. Scared me. But when I ran to the window and saw all the pretty colors and lights, I couldn’t erase the smile on my face. Even with the large field between us, I swear I heard cheers and hollers from their house.
Later on the next day, I told my mom I saw the fireworks. She nodded and turned the page of her magazine. “That’s nice, Naomi.”
“I wish my birthday was on the Fourth of July,” I admitted. “Then those fireworks would be for me. It would be Naomi Day. A national holiday.”
My honesty earned a sharp look from her. She pursed her red lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. Your birthday is your birthday.”
I realized that she was right. July 19th was my birthday.
No national holiday.
No Naomi Day.
Just my birthday. I celebrated my ninth birthday with no fireworks.
But turning ten was a big deal. And instead of presents and a birthday cake with candles to blow out, the only thing I wanted was bright lights. I wanted to see them light up the sky and make everything seem brilliant. I wanted to hear more cheers and hollers and I would pretend that they were for me.
Tonight, I wanted to be as bright and brilliant as those fireworks. I wanted to be alive. I was going to do something I had thought about for the last few months.
I was waiting until my parents went to bed and then I would escape my room. The wait was torture. I stayed up past my bedtime, and kept myself busy by watching the clock every five minutes. When the time finally came, I quietly opened my door and tiptoed downstairs. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. Fear was there too. But excitement trumped my fears and made my hands shake with anticipation.
I shut the patio doors behind me and ran across the gravel, toward the barn and quickly led my horse out of its stall. Rumor was a beautiful Arabian with a shiny chestnut coat and a calm temperament that made the two of us bond.
I stroked his neck and casually talked to him. “We’re going on an adventure tonight, Rumor.” His ears pricked. I smiled. “It’s only to the neighbors’. I’m going up to this treehouse that no one else uses. Someone should use it, right?” I asked.
We stopped next to a broken tree stump. I used it as a boost and quickly jumped onto my saddle.
A sigh escaped me as I looked around at the dark landscape. I felt like I was the only person that existed. The world was mine and mine only. I could go anywhere I wanted. The dark sky, with a smattering of stars, was my map.
I felt like an adventurer.
A thrill seeker.
I pushed down my excitement for a second and focused on quietly escaping the boundaries of my family’s property. When I was a good distance away, I pressed my heels into Rumor’s side. A second later we took off.
It was exhilarating. Strands escaped my braid and blocked my view, but that only made me laugh. Rumor’s hooves thundered on the cold ground. Ba da bum. Ba da bum. Ba da bum. It was a beautiful sound.
Freedom.
All too quickly, I was on Halstead property. The house in front of me was similar to my own. Impossibly large. Enough space to fit a village inside.
I barely gave it a passing glance.
Easily, I jumped over the fence, and instead of cutting through the immaculate yard, I took the long route. My eyes were focused on that treehouse the whole time.
I stopped at a tree a few steps away from the treehouse and dropped down from the saddle, tying the reins around a sturdy branch. Before I stepped away I looked all around me, making sure the coast was clear.
All the lights were off in the house except for a television flashing in a second floor room. It made me pause for a second before I accepted that I was still in the clear.
Hurrying across the damp grass, I stopped in front of the large oak tree and stared at the wood slates nailed to the tree trunk. Nothing could take away the happiness I felt right at that moment. I was here. I was actually here, standing in front of his treehouse.
“What are you doing?”
Something close to a gasp and wheeze came out of my mouth. I turned around and flattened myself against the tree. My heart thundered as I stared at Lachlan.
He was taller than I remembered. His dirty brown hair needed a haircut. I couldn’t see his eyes. I could only make out the slope of his nose and outline of his lips that were in a thin line as he stared at me solemnly.
I was scared out of my mind. All my determination was for nothing and now I was caught. I would never get the chance to go up into that tree.
And Lachlan was quiet because… well, I had no idea why he was quiet. But every second something wasn’t said, the more terrified I became.
I cleared my throat. “Y-you don’t still use this, do you?” I croaked.
Frowning, he looked at the treehouse and back at me. “No. Not really.” He took a step forward and I dug my fingers into the tree bark. He stopped, only a few steps away, and gave me a curious look before he stuck out his hand.
“I’m Lachlan Halstead. Who are you?”
He could tell my parents I was trespassing. He could get me into huge trouble. That was enough to send me running back to Rumor. But my feet stayed rooted in place. I forgot that I had a voice or that I even had a name. I struggled to breathe for a second and just stared at him.
I forced my tongue to move and with my hand shaking, I reached out and shook his hand. “N-Naomi Carradine. I’m your neighbor,” I said with a squeaky voice.
Lachlan looked over his shoulder, in the direction of my house.
Please don’t tell on me. Please don’t tell on me, I chanted in my mind.
“So what are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to see the treehouse.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Please don’t tell my parents!” I said frantically. “I only wanted to climb up there. That’s it. I promise!”
He laughed with ease. “Relax, kid. I won’t rat you out.” He tucked his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and looked up at the tree. “Why do you want to go up there anyway? It hasn’t been used in years. I’m surprised it hasn’t collapsed.”
I squirmed and looked down at the ground. “Since you weren’t using it, I thought I could,” I mumbled.
He kept his gaze on the tree and
nodded. “Good enough answer.” Slapping the base of the tree, he looked at me expectantly. “You going up?”
That’s what I came here for. But now that he was next to me, I was nervous and still scared that he would tell on me.
I looked away from Lachlan and tilted my head back as far as it would go. I nodded slowly.
“I’m going up.”
I gripped the wooden steps with shaky hands. When I peeked through the opening I smiled and hefted myself up. Lachlan was behind me. He immediately walked to the corner, looking bored. I was anything but. I was only a few feet up from the ground but I felt like I was in the clouds.
“How are you doing over there?” Lachlan asked.
“I love it,” I breathed.
“You don’t get out much,” he murmured.
My shoulders tensed. “I do too.”
“I’m just kidding.” He walked around. The wood creaked underneath his feet. Finally, he rested his elbows on the ledge next to me and stared out into the sky. “So all you want to do is come up here and sit?”
“Yes.”
He said nothing.
“I was right,” I finally said. “It’s beautiful up here.”
The two of us sat in silence, but I was okay with it.
“If that’s all you want to do, then you can come up here whenever,” he said.
My eyes widened before I anxiously turned toward him. “You mean it?”
Lachlan shrugged. “Sure. But I don’t know if sneaking out in the middle of the night is a good idea for an eight-year-old.”
My chin went up in defense. “I’m ten.”
He didn’t look impressed.
“You’re outside too,” I said. “And you’re not that much older than me. Aren’t you thirteen?”
Lachlan’s eyes narrowed. “Fifteen.”
I ticked him off but this was the most fun I’d had in so long.
“Well, have fun up here,” he said. “I’m going inside. And to bed. Like normal humans.”
“Hey, wait!” I said urgently. Lachlan stopped and looked at me expectantly. “What did you used to do when you came up here?”
“A lot of pointless games really.”
“Like what?”
He sighed loudly and sat down. “Stupid games. I’d shoot invisible guns, and then climb down to make runs to the house for more ammo. Sometimes this would be my spaceship. A few times this was my secret agency headquarters. Most of the time, I’d make this place my secret hideout. Or a stranded island.”
I saw all the games he described perfectly. My imagination ran wild, seeking and grabbing everything he was saying with greedy hands. If I looked to the left, I could see mountains with plush green grass and flowers sprinkled throughout. Directly in front of me were palm trees and clean blue waters that touched the sand. To the right were ruins of a castle that once stood tall in Germany. I could see it all.
“That’s why I always came up here,” he explained. “I could dream up anything in this treehouse.”
I nodded and tried to keep the huge grin off my face.
“Dream up anything,” I repeated in awe. “I want to do that.”
“You don’t do that stuff? You’re ten! All ten-year-olds do that.”
Not all.
There were limits that I never crossed. I played board games, Barbies, and rode horses. I rarely used my imagination. It never ran wild like Lachlan’s did.
“No.” I looked down at the wooden floor with shame.
“Not once?” he asked.
I said no again.
He persisted. “You’re lying.”
I cleared my throat and looked at the sky.
“I’ll create a story for you. But you have to keep it going.” He stretched his legs and crossed them at the ankles. I couldn’t tell if he was staying solely because he felt bad for his strange, ten-year-old neighbor, or because he might actually enjoy my presence. I’d accept either option.
“Okay. The world has been invaded by aliens. And now the CIA is relying on you to protect the human race.” He continued on with his storytelling, painting the perfect picture for me to imagine.
I watched him with fascination.
“What’s your name?” he quizzed.
My eyebrows drew together tightly. “Naomi.”
“No. What is your name?” He emphasized slowly. “Just imagine and you can be anything.”
I smiled, grasping onto the meaning of his words. The possibilities were endless. “Claire… no, I like Julia. Oh! No!” I excitedly sat up onto my knees. I couldn’t keep up with my brain. It was exhilarating. “I want to change it to Elliot Kid! I like that!”
“Nice,” he said, and then he smiled. It was true and honest. Nothing deceitful about it. I earned that smile and I’d do just about anything to earn another smile from Lachlan Halstead.
He talked to me for hours. Until the sun was up. Until my eyes were threatening to quit on me. Until I absolutely had to leave.
That night, Lachlan Halstead woke me up and pulled my mind into a whole new world. I was way too young to know that at the fresh age of ten, I had willingly handed my heart over to Lachlan Halstead.
“Did you get any sleep?”
I glance at Mary. “I got some.”
She tilts her head, a sympathetic look on her face and I can tell that she knows I’m lying.
We’re close to Dr. Rutledge’s door when a nurse stops in front of Mary and pulls her away. I’ve seen this nurse around. She’s the same age as Mary, but she has a permanent frown on her face and wears scrubs in dark, solid colors to match her rigid personality.
My eyes narrow and I watch the nurse’s lips move rapidly. I can only make out bits and pieces but I watch her form the words, ‘suggests’ and ‘group therapy’.
It suddenly becomes hard for me to breathe.
Group therapy.
No way. No how. I’d rather have a lobotomy than sit in a circle and talk about all my problems.
Mary looks at me over her shoulder. You know it’s going to be bad when your nurse, the sane one, doesn’t look happy. I should’ve run from that look alone.
The uptight nurse walks away, leaving Mary and me in an awkward silence.
“Change of plans,” Mary announces.
“What do you mean?”
She gently grabs my elbows and we do a quick U-turn. “Dr. Rutledge wants you to try group therapy.”
I stop walking and face her.
“I don’t want to do that.”
She tugs on my arm. “Why not?”
“I just… I just don’t want to do that.”
“Group therapy is very effective,” she reasons.
“Maybe for someone else, but not for me.”
Mary doesn’t answer.
“I saw the way you looked at me when the nurse told you! You think it’s a bad idea, too.”
“Give it a shot. You have nothing to lose.”
Translation: Your options are becoming really limited. If you don’t start improving there’s nothing left for you.
I move one foot in front of the other, feeling like I’m walking toward my demise.
“How long is it?” I ask.
“Just an hour.”
We arrive at Room 62. A large open room where most group therapy sessions are held. Blue plastic chairs are in the center of the room. It looks like a cozy little circle, like we’re in kindergarten, getting ready for show and tell.
I stand in the doorway and watch everyone. One girl stares down at the carpet, whispering to herself. Next to her is a middle-aged woman. I’ve seen her a few times during dinner or in the rec room. I call her Pretend Mommy. She wears red silk pajamas, with a fur coat wrapped around her, almost every day. She always has makeup on and smells like lilac. In her arms she rocks a plastic baby back and forth. She stops rocking the baby and sings it a lullaby as if it’s crying.
Clearly she’s crazy.
And clearly I’m on the fast track to following her down that road because h
er presence is comforting to me. She appears so motherly to me. If I close my eyes and forget, I’m no longer in a mental hospital. Pretend Mommy is a real mom, who’s holding a real baby.
On the opposite side of Pretend Mommy is a skinny girl named Amber. She is the resident anorexic. She sits there, staring at everyone with resentment.
I go to turn around. Mary grips my shoulders and says in a gentle voice, “You will be fine.”
“Can I have your confidence?” I say weakly.
She squeezes my shoulders. “Everything will be okay. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
Mary’s not going to leave until I sit down. I walk into the room. It feels like everyone is looking at me. They have their own problems and issues but I swear they’re whispering to each other, “Do you see her? Look how fucked up she is. She’ll never be able to leave Fairfax.”
I choose the seat closest to the door. If shit gets weird, I’ll be ready to bolt. But that seat happens to be next to Amber. Her lip curls in disgust.
Fuck you too, skinny bitch.
I cross my arms. My legs bounce up and down. I wait for that nervous feeling in my gut to fade but it gets stronger the longer I sit there.
More people come into the room. The chairs are filled up.
A male doctor and two female nurses walk in. I watch them carefully as they talk quietly near the door.
Get this over with! I want to scream.
I bite down on my lip.
The doctor clears his throat and the room grows quiet. He introduces himself as Dr. Cooper before he goes into this whole spiel of group therapy and its benefits. He says that this is a safe place. An outlet for us to really open up and let everything out.
I stare at him doubtfully.
He continues to talk and that’s when I start to hear another voice.
It’s distant at first, but it comes closer and closer until the voice is right next to me, and I hear, “You’re a filthy bitch.”
My skin breaks out into hives. My fingers grip the blue plastic chair I’m sitting in as I look around the room frantically. Did they hear Lana’s dad? Could they see him behind me?
But everyone is staring at Dr. Cooper with boredom.
