Reclaiming the Sand

by A. Meredith Walters

  I gave Reggie a push toward her car. “Take her home. Deal with her there,” I told her. Reggie looked scared. I didn’t blame her. Dania was pissed. And when she was pissed, she was irrational. Good luck with that.

  “Take me home,” Dania demanded, glaring at Reggie who looked ready to pee in her slutty pants.

  I made sure the two of them left before I got into my own car. I turned the key and the engine made a clicking noise before it finally turned over. I heard a distinctive clanging as I pulled out onto the road and knew that couldn’t be good. But as long as the old clunker got me to where I needed to be, I internally promised to have it looked at as soon as I had the cash.

  Black River Community College was only fifteen minutes from where I lived but it might as well be on another planet. This was a side of Wellsburg that still looked semi-decent. Well-manicured lawns and pretty brick buildings were everywhere.

  I stuck out in my jean shorts and second hand button up shirt like a sore thumb. I had made an effort to look nice today but my wardrobe was severely limited. As I looked around at the other kids in their pretty clothes and nicely trimmed hair, for the first time I was embarrassed by how little I had.

  Enough of the feeling sorry for myself shit. That didn’t get me anywhere. I threw my shoulders back and squared my jaw before heading in the direction of the financial aid office.

  An hour later I left the building in a bit of a daze. I had gone into the meeting expecting to have the door kicked shut in my face.

  What I hadn’t anticipated was to have…options.

  That wasn’t something I was accustomed to.

  But they were there, shining like new pennies. For the first time in my life, something I wanted might actually happen.

  Mrs. Randolph, the head of financial aid at the school, had looked over my GED paperwork. I had done surprisingly well on the test for having barely paid attention during the prep course.

  Apparently, given my history in the system as well as my low-income status, I qualified for several grants that would pay for me to take classes. As in I wouldn’t have to pay for it out of pocket. As in, I no longer had an excuse for not doing this.

  I had taken the folder of paperwork from Mrs. Randolph with a promise I’d fill it out and return it to her before the fall semester’s July 30th deadline. She had said she could expedite the financial aid process so that I would be able to start at the end of August when classes started.

  She had been kind and helpful. And I hadn’t wanted to knock her teeth out. I was super proud of myself.

  I clutched the red folder to my chest and walked out into the hot, summer sunshine. I knew better than to get my hopes up. I just knew something would come along and snatch this golden opportunity from my needy grasp.

  Things like this just didn’t happen for Ellie McCallum.

  And there he was again.

  I saw the slouched shoulders and dark hair darting between the trees, skulking as though trying to go unnoticed.

  Just like that, my tenuous good mood evaporated and I became angry again. As though Flynn Hendrick were a bad omen.

  One that I needed to get rid of…quickly.

  So I followed him.

  I watched as he skirted around people as he hurried toward his destination. I also couldn’t help but notice the way girls looked at him.

  Huh. That was new.

  He had never been a guy to get the right type of attention when I had known him. He was a joke. A freak. Not the sort of boy that girls lusted after.

  Apparently things had changed.

  Because even though he kept his head down, girls were definitely checking him out.

  They just didn’t realize what a weirdo he was.

  An older man stopped Flynn and I ducked behind a tree to watch them, fascinated in spite of myself. Flynn fidgeted, his hands jammed into the pocket of his khakis. I snickered seeing them. He always wore the same thing. Khakis and a long sleeved button down shirt, no matter how hot it was. The guy really hadn’t done himself any favors by dressing like a dork. He was such an easy mark. As though he were begging to be picked on.

  I took a sadistic joy in realizing he was still awkward and messed up.

  Just like me.

  But then he did something that surprised me. He lifted his head and smiled at the older man. Then he laughed. And I could hear it from my hiding spot behind the tree.

  It had been a long time since I had seen Flynn Hendrick smile. In all the years I had known him, in all the time I had made it my mission to hurt and humiliate him, he hardly ever smiled and he very rarely laughed. I often made sure that he never had a reason to.

  But he was laughing now and it completely transformed him.

  My heart twisted painfully in my chest at the sight.

  Because Flynn looked happy.

  Freaky Flynn looked content and at ease.

  My hatred and bitterness clawed inside of me, desperate to get out. Wanting to be free. To bring this guy back down to the depths of hell with me.

  Why did he get to be happy? What rules of the universe deemed him worthy of joy while I was suffocating in my own despair?

  Fuck Flynn Hendrick and his smile. Fuck him and his apparent wonderful life.

  I was having a hard time breathing. I wanted to leave. But I couldn’t stop watching this man that I blamed for so much. This man I had tried so hard to bring down and who was clearly better off for it.

  Flynn turned his head, as though feeling the weight of my stare. The sun shone down on him like a freaking halo. How fitting.

  And then he found me. As though I had a neon sign pointing in my direction. He frowned and I knew he was trying to place me. And I knew the moment when he recognized me.

  He began to rub obsessively at the back of his hands. Something I remembered him doing when he became upset.

  The rubbing became more pronounced, as though he were trying to remove his skin.

  The older man beside him said something but he didn’t respond. He continued to stand there, like a deer in headlights, staring at me as though he had seen a ghost, rubbing at his hands over and over again.

  Then some cruel part inside me that had been left to fester all these years lifted its ugly head. I grinned at Flynn’s discomfort. It made me feel good.

  I raised my hand and wiggled my fingers in his direction. Letting him know that I saw him too.

  Flynn’s hands stopped rubbing, as though he were making a conscious effort to stop himself. He shoved his hands back in his pockets, his eyes never leaving mine. I was surprised to see a strength that had never been there before.

  It left me feeling weak in comparison.

  He turned to the man beside him, giving me his back. Letting me know that he didn’t care if I was standing there or not. That I didn’t bother him. Not anymore.

  And Flynn stood on the steps of a brick building, pretending he had never seen me.

  But I noticed that he had pulled his hands out of his pockets again and was once more rubbing them furiously.

  -Flynn-

  Many years ago…

  I couldn’t get comfortable. My mother hadn’t changed my sheets this week and they are rough on my arms and legs. I hate them. They hurt. I don’t want to roll over because then I’ll feel the fabric.

  So I lie there in my bed, rigid, staring up at my ceiling.

  I don’t sleep.

  I can’t. Not with the sheets touching me.

  I was staring a new school tomorrow.

  Everything would be new.

  I didn’t like new.

  I wanted to be back in Massachusetts where everything was the same. Especially my house.

  The bathroom was two doors down on the left. The light switch was just inside on the right wall. My room was brown with a green border. My bed was beside the closet. The stairs had exactly twelve steps.

  It was the house I had lived in my entire life. It was the last place I had been with Dad before he went to heaven.

 
; I didn’t like West Virginia. I didn’t like the house we live in now that I don’t recognize.

  Here the bathroom is beside mine and it confuses me. My room is blue not brown. And there are fourteen steps. I hate counting them. Because it isn’t right.

  It makes me anxious.

  My mom tells me to stop being silly. She says that this is a fresh start. I don’t understand what that means.

  I start rubbing my hands back and forth. Back and forth. Down my hands and back up again. Running over the smooth skin. Over and over again.

  I lie there until I can’t take the feel of the sheets anymore. I rip them off my bed and throw them out the window. That makes me feel better.

  My mother comes in to see what the noise is. When she sees my window wide open and the sheets and blankets gone, she gets me some new ones and makes up the bed again.

  These sheets feel much better.

  But I still can’t sleep.

  So I lie there rubbing my hands. Over and over.

  Until the sun comes up.

  Wellsburg High School is much bigger than my last one. There were people everywhere.

  “Stop rubbing your hands, Flynn,” my mother said as she pulls into the parking lot of my new school.

  Telling me to stop only makes me rub them harder.

  Up and down. Over and over again.

  My mother reaches out to take my hand but I pull away. I hate when she touches me. She usually didn’t. I don’t like it.

  “Flynn, please try and make an effort to get along with the other kids. Let’s make this time different,” she said with a sound in her voice I didn’t understand.

  Her eyes are wet and I frown. Why was she crying?

  I rub my hands a little harder.

  My mother let out a breath and got out of the car. She opens my door and I slowly get out, making sure not to touch the rough fabric of the seat with my bare skin.

  I follow her up the steps to the front door of the school.

  I keep my eyes down. I don’t want to look at anyone.

  I rub my hands again.

  It is really noisy. Too much noise. And the lights are bright. Too bright.

  It was better once we are in the office. It is quieter and I stop rubbing my hands.

  My mom fills out some paperwork and I wait, not looking at anyone, though I can’t take my eyes off the tiny statue of a pyramid on the secretary’s desk. I reach out and poke it with my finger. It doesn’t look like the pictures I have seen in my books. It isn’t right.

  I like looking at pictures of different places and then drawing them. I like the details.

  “It has a crack in it. And the color is all wrong,” I said to the woman I haven’t looked at yet.

  My mom makes a noise and swats my finger away from the pyramid. I touch it again anyway.

  “It’s ugly. And it’s all wrong. That’s not how they’re supposed to look,” I said flatly. I tell the truth. It doesn’t look like a pyramid. I can make one a thousand times better than that.

  The woman behind the desk clears her throat and reaches out to pick up the tiny pyramid and tuck it into her drawer so I can’t see it anymore.

  “I’m so sorry. He has Asperger’s. He has trouble communicating,” my mother said and I feel the woman behind the desk looking at me. I don’t like the way she looks at me. People always look at me when my mom says that.

  “Principal Higgins will be with you shortly,” the secretary said, her voice sounding funny and tight.

  “Flynn. We talked about this. Remember what Dr. Johnson told you about not always saying what’s in your head?” my mother said quietly.

  I remember. There isn’t much I don’t remember.

  I start rubbing my hands again. Harder this time.

  My mother makes another noise. She did that a lot. “Is there something in your throat?” I asked her.

  She closes her eyes and I wonder if she is tired.

  She reaches out and touches my hand. I don’t like feeling her touch me. My skin doesn’t like it. I pull away.

  “Stop rubbing your hands, Flynn,” she said and I know she is mad. Dr. Johnson had shown me pictures of faces and told me what they were feeling. Right now my mom’s face looks like the guy with the angry expression.

  The principal comes out and introduces himself. He holds his hand out for me to take.

  I don’t.

  My mom explained I had Asperger’s syndrome. The principal was looking at me like they all looked at me.

  They talk a little more about giving me an individualized Education Plan with a focus on my behavior. I hear what he is saying, I just don’t get it. What is wrong with my behavior?

  Then we are done and I am given a slip of paper with my schedule on it. My mom bites her lip and her eyes are getting watery again.

  “Do you need me to walk you to your first class?” she asks me. The principal puts a hand on my shoulder and I push it away.

  “Don’t touch me,” I said.

  Principal Higgins clears his throat. “I’ll make sure he gets to his class. Don’t worry, Mrs. Hendrick.”

  Before my mother leaves she says, “Be nice. Try to get along with people. This is our fresh start.”

  I start rubbing my hands again.

  There is a girl in my class with bright purple hair. She sits in front of me. Her hair is long and brushes the top of my desk.

  I don’t like that.

  I take my pencil and push the strands away, careful not to touch them.

  She slouches down in her chair, her hair falling on top of my desk again.

  “Move your hair,” I said loudly.

  People are looking at me. They always look at me.

  “Is there a problem, Mr. Hendrick?” the teacher, Mr. Goodwin, asks me. He is ugly with a bald spot on the back of his head. He made me stand in front of the room while he told everyone who I was. I didn’t like them looking at me. I told him he smelled like beer.

  He let me sit down after that.

  I hate when people looked at me. I put my head down and poke at her hair with my pencil again.

  The girl turns around and her lips curl up. Was she smiling at me? Maybe she was nice. Maybe we’d be friends.

  It would be nice to have a friend. I don’t think I ever had one before.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” she asks, her lips still looking like a smile.

  I frown, not understanding her question.

  “Your hair was on my desk,” I said. She is pretty. I like the way she looked. Except for the metal in her eyebrow and her nose. Those aren’t pretty. Why did she put them there?

  I point at the ring in her bottom lip. “Why did you do that?” I ask her.

  The girl’s lip curls again. I can’t tell if she is smiling now.

  “None of your business, freak,” she spits out.

  I rock back in my seat. She isn’t smiling. She doesn’t want to be my friend. She is really mean.

  I put my head down and tuck my hands into my lap, rubbing them furiously.

  “What are you doing? Jerking off?” she asked me, her voice sounding not nice at all.

  She leans down and looks under my desk to where I am rubbing my hands. Up and down. Over and over again.

  “Fucking freak,” she hisses before turning around. And then she lifts her long purple hair and drapes it all over my desk.

  I try poking it with my pencil but she keeps shaking it back in place. It covers my book and papers.

  “Move your hair!” I yell, knocking my book off the desk and onto the floor.

  The room is silent.

  Everyone is looking at me.

  I hate when they look at me.

  “Mr. Hendrick, I think you need to leave,” Mr. Goodwin said, pointing to the door. Keeping my head down I leave the room. But I look at the purple haired girl before I do.

  This time I know she is smiling at me.

  -Ellie-

  I laughed. An honest to god laugh. The hairy body pressed i
nto me, a long, slobbery tongue darting out between black lips.

  I nuzzled my face down into the furry neck and let myself smile. This was the only place I let myself do that.

  The large dog bounded out of my arms and ran to fetch the rubber toy I had thrown. I grinned like a mad woman as I watched the light brown furry thing shake the toy in his mouth before bringing it back to me and dropping it on the ground at my feet.

  “Good boy,” I cooed, scratching a spot behind his floppy ear.

  “You should adopt him. You’re the only one he listens to,” a voice said from behind me. My smile dropped but my hand kept scratching the spot behind the dog’s ear.

  “I don’t have time for a dog,” I said gruffly, forcing myself to remove my hand from the inviting warmth of fur.

  Erin Hoffman, the director of the Wellsburg Animal shelter, gave me a smile that I didn’t return. She was about ten years older than I was and lived for her job. Good for her. I could admit, even to myself, that it would be nice to be dedicated to something…anything…like that.

  I rarely said much during my volunteer hours at the shelter. Erin and I had only engaged in minimal exchanges. It’s not like I was there out of the goodness of my heart.

  I had been given court ordered community service after getting caught with Stu and Shane vandalizing the old covered bridge outside of town over a year ago. We had been drunk. Stu had convinced us it would be hysterical to spray paint a cock and balls on the side.

  It hadn’t been so funny when the cop car had driven by. And it was even less funny when I had been wearing handcuffs and taken downtown for processing.

  I had been put on probation and was given a list of places where I could volunteer in order to “better the community.” My probation officer, Mr. Cox (go ahead and laugh, I did) thought the animal shelter would be a good fit.

  “Since you’re not exactly a people person,” he had told me. And he was right. I wasn’t fond of people. Not even the ones I spent time around.