by ANDREA SMITH
On the way to Evanston, I fill Dad in with as much information as Ma has shared with me on all of this with the stalled souls. A couple of times, I catch the sparkle in his eyes when I tell him about her referring to them as “Limbonians” and assuring me that she could vouch for them all.
“What?” I ask when I hear his soft chuckle just as I am describing how she looked in my dream the previous night.
“Oh, it’s just that I know my Karlie and it tickles me that the first order of her business after reaching her…uh, final destination was to make sure her hair and wardrobe were up to date.”
“I guess fashion and style were her thing, yeah?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he replies, his smile as broad as I’ve ever seen. It’s funny, but as serious as Dad always is, each and every time Ma comes up in a conversation, it’s like he makes up for all the smiles that he’s missed over the years. “Did she ask about me?”
“Yes, apparently she knows that I’m staying here with you and Sheila.”
I could see him visibly tense up. “Is that an issue?” he asks.
I look over and touch his hand that’s on the steering wheel, forcing him to glance over at me briefly. “She’s totally fine with it,” I reply. “In fact, I told her how nice Sheila is and that she would really like her. She loves you, Dad. And because of that, she wants your life to be happy since she can’t be here with you.”
He nods and the rest of the trip is spent in silence.
We reach the cemetery that she spoke of in my dream. It is exactly the distance she said it would be on the highway to the north of Evanston.
Dad parks the car and says he’ll go to the office and see where the grave is located in order to save time. Within five minutes, he returns and maneuvers the car around a winding paved drive towards the wooded section of the graveyard.
It’s a fairly remote section of the cemetery, an older section, where only sporadic graves are still decorated for the holidays. He pulls the car over and shuts off the engine.
“This is the area,” he says. He gets out of the car and opens my door, helping me out. We trudge a few yards—me following him. The snow has covered many of the headstones, but Dad finds it with no problem. He brushes the snow off of the flat headstone and peers down.
“Cecily Rene Adams; born September 18, 1956, died February 14, 1974.”
I feel the chill of the December wind whip around me. It feels like icy fingers caressing my neck and shoulders. Today is December 30th and it’s bitterly cold here. I’m not sure what to do since the only other time I have interacted with a stalled soul was the result of a car accident and I was sort of ‘out of it’ at the time. Something inside tells me that I need to do this alone.
I turn to my father. “I kinda need to do this on my own, I think.”
“Bambolina, I’m not leaving you here.”
“I’ll be fine. Do you trust Ma?”
He nods, but doesn’t look convinced. “Of course I do Parrish, it’s just that…”
“Okay, then please just go back to the car and wait. I promise you that I’ll be okay. You can watch me and see if anything requires your intervention.”
“I’ll not take my eyes off of you, sweetheart, I promise.”
Once he’s back inside of the car, I get down to business.
I clear my throat, wondering how I need to start this whole process.
“Hello?” I mutter sounding totally clueless. “It’s me, Parrish Locke? I think you know Ma…I mean, Karlie Masterson? She sent me to you, Cecily. I’m uh…I’m here to help?”
I feel like a complete idiot. I will never get used to this shit. I’m sure of that.
“So, I’m sure that Karlie filled you in about me coming by and the sooner you appear, well, the sooner we can get down to the nitty-gritty of your...issues. I mean, that’s why I’m here.”
Oh for Chrissake. I’m totally blubbering here.
I look over to where Dad has parked the car and I can see that he’s watching me, making me feel more self-conscious if that’s even possible. I release a heavy sigh. Perhaps Ma is wrong about this gift bullshit. Maybe it’s only a one-time thing and she somehow got her signals crossed with ‘Alpha Control.’
Then a voice, barely an audible whisper, floats to my ears.
“Call me Cece,” it says.
I whirl around to where I see her behind me. There she is, sitting on the frozen, snow-laden ground right by her flat headstone wearing the clothing that I presume she was buried in.
Oh. My. God.
It’s a fucking cheerleading sweater in gold, with a kelly-green pleated skirt, white bobby socks and tennis shoes. She’s got an awesome figure and her dark blond hair is pulled up into a ponytail with a kelly-green ribbon tied around it. She is cute…not beautiful, but definitely very cute.
“Hi, Cece,” I say, the nerves evident in my voice because I don’t want to screw this up.
“Hi, Parrish,” she responds in her hoarse, but loud whisper. “Your mom’s pretty far-out. She said you could help.”
When she smiles, I see that she has a dimple.
“Yes,” I stammer, “I’ll do everything that I can to help you, I promise. I’m fairly new at this, so where would you like to start?”
“It’s probably best if I show you. Do you mind?”
I watch as she stands up and then comes closer. All I can do is nod my head ‘yes’ even though I’m scared as hell at the moment. Of course, I know that my dad can’t see her and that however much time it takes for me to travel back in time to witness and observe Cece’s story will only be minutes of real time for us, but still.
Shit!
A fucking cheerleader?
Oh, Ma. You owe me.
And that’s the very last ‘Parrish’ thought that I have before Cece takes over my body as we begin the trek into the circumstances of her death.
Chapter 2
April 10, 1973
Evanston, Wyoming
“Cecily! You’re gonna miss the bus if you don’t shake a leg, girl!”
I’m looking under my bed for my other tennis shoe, which I finally locate and toss into my athletic bag.
“Did you hear me?” Mom hollers once again.
“It’s cool, Mom,” I yell back. “Erik’s driving me today anyway.” I cram the rest of the stuff I need for tryout practice this afternoon into the bag and zip it up.
I grab my books and head out of my room towards the living room only to be greeted by my mother’s disapproving glare.
“Why is Erik driving you to school?”
“Because I asked him to, why?”
“You know how I feel about that boy,” she replies, frowning as she pulls a cigarette out of her pack and taps the end of it on the countertop in the kitchen.
“That boy,” I say, “has been my best friend since we moved here eight years ago and my boyfriend-boyfriend for almost two years, so I guess you better get used to it, Mother. Besides, what’s he ever done to you besides being respectful and polite?”
She lights her cigarette, blowing the smoke from her nose as she finishes packing my lunch. “Yeah, well he wasn’t smoking dope when he was nine,” she replies, shaking her head. “And, think about it, Cece, what are his aspirations?”
“Grass is a natural herb. Native American Indians smoked it in their peace pipes, you know? And, Erik is a musician and that’s his dream. There’s a ton of musicians out there making major bucks and I think he’s every bit as talented as they are.”
She remains quiet, shaking her head unconvinced.
Luckily, I hear the sound of Erik’s horn outside before I’m forced to listen to her rant about how smoking pot leads to heroin addiction and that all rock stars are dopers or burnouts. “I have cheerleading camp after school, remember,” I remind her as I open the door to our mobile home and make a quick exit.
“Do good,” she hollers after me. “Those tumbling lessons weren’t cheap, ya know?”
I roll my eyes, glad t
o be out of there. This is almost becoming our morning routine. Mom was fine with Erik until we started going steady and then, suddenly, it’s as if I’ve somehow thrown a wrench into her plans for me.
I understand that. Since she and my father split eight years ago, she’s been doing it all on her own. She works two jobs to keep us afloat and she’s hell-bent on me going to college, although I can’t see how that’s going to happen. My father has remarried and lives out of state now. He doesn’t help out financially…at all.
I pile into Erik’s ‘65 ‘Stang and immediately the sound of Led Zeppelin IV greets me. Erik’s favorite rock group and one of mine as well.
“Hey you,” I say. “Just in time.”
“Your mom jumping in your shit again?” he asks. He looks over at me and, as always, I am totally enraptured by his brooding dark looks. His thick, dark hair is nearly to his shoulders, but it only makes him look hotter and those dark blue eyes pierce right through me.
“Yeah, the usual,” I reply.
He cranks up his 8-track and backs out into the drive of the trailer park. We head down towards the two-lane highway that snakes around the county and ends up at Mountain View High School. I’m a sophomore and Erik a junior.
“I’m staying after school for the cheerleading practice for try-outs,” I say. “Can you hang around and give me a ride home around four-thirty?”
“I’ll come back and pick you up,” he answers, changing tracks on the tape so that ‘Stairway to Heaven’ starts playing. “And, why are you trying out for the pep squad? I thought you said those chicks were plastic?”
I have to smile because that’s exactly what I said to him when I didn’t make the squad the year before. “Decided to give it another shot. Besides, Mom keeps reminding me how much money she spent on those gymnastic lessons, so I guess I owe it to her to give it another try.”
“Your mom wants you to do that whole preppy scene, including having a jock boyfriend, huh?”
Erik Laughlin is a deep and perceptive person, but then again, my mother is not subtle with her words or her actions. It’s been obvious to him these last couple of years that she’s hell-bent on pushing me into a different social group.
“Yeah, well I’m my own person,” I reply. “No cheerleading sweater’s gonna change that.”
Nothing more is said until he pulls up into the half circle drive in front of the school rather than in the student’s parking lot in back. I look over at him quizzically.
“I’m bugging out of classes today. Goin’ to spend the day with the band. Dave’s parents are gone, so we can practice there.”
I give him ‘the look,’ but remain silent. Erik is so bright, so smart, but school is not a priority for him. It’s all about his music. And, I’ve got to say, he’s extremely talented in that arena as well. He’s the drummer and back-up singer for a local rock band called ‘Roxy.’
I lean over and give him a kiss. “See you at four-thirty then?”
“Later,” he says, kissing me back. “Love you.”
“Me too.”
I watch as he drives off, wondering if things might be changing between us. I can tell that he feels it even though he doesn’t say it out loud. I love Erik, but I’m only sixteen years old and I’ve been focusing on my future plans lately. Getting a part-time job, planning for college. I’m like that. I like to have some sort of blueprint on where my future is heading. Maybe at seventeen, he’s doing the exact same thing. Are we drifting apart?
It feels like it.
He started off as kind of the boy-next-door best friend, who then morphed into the guy who gave me my first kiss and, ultimately, the one who asked me to go steady with him.
But, I know that he’s not happy that we haven’t taken our physical love to the ultimate level just yet. I mean, we make out like crazy at times and, yes, he’s been under my shirt many times and down my pants once, but that’s as far as it’s gone because I always stop him and he’s not been happy about it.
“What’s your deal, Cece? I have rubbers that are turning to dust.”
“I’m not ready, Erik.”
“When will you be ready?”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
My thoughts are interrupted when my best friend comes up to me, looking perturbed for some reason.
“I wondered where the hell you were,” Kim says, looking down the road. “So what? Erik’s skipping school again? What is it this time?”
“The band,” I say with a sigh. “What else?”
She shakes her head, flipping her long brown hair back over her shoulders. “I don’t get it. Why do you bother with him at all? I mean I get that he’s good looking and deep, but shit—those dudes in his band are losers for sure.”
“Erik’s not a loser,” I snap back instantly. “He’s got talent and I don’t own him, so drop it, Kim.”
“I didn’t say he was a loser,” she quickly interjects. “It’s just that you need to broaden your horizons here. I mean, if you make cheerleader this time, you’ll have a whole new social circle available to you. I don’t see Erik fitting in.”
I quickly stop and turn to her. “Is that the only reason you’re trying out? To what? Hang with the clique?”
“What’s wrong with that?” she asks, defensively. “Aren’t you tired of being on the outside looking in?”
“That’s not how I see myself. I’m happy in my own skin. Besides that, what if one of us makes it and the other one doesn’t? Does that mean we won’t hang with each other anymore?”
We’ve reached our lockers by this time and Kim takes a moment before replying. “Don’t be dumb, Cece. You know we’ll always be friends. I mean, if you don’t make it, nothing will change between us, I promise.”
Kim obviously feels she’s got a better chance of taking one of the three open slots for the varsity squad next season. I feel a bit ticked at her assumption, especially since she hasn’t perfected her back handspring yet and I have.
“Pretty sure of yourself, huh?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she replies, slamming her locker shut. “It’s just that I’m going with Keith and he is a super jock who’s pretty tight with the senior cheerleaders. They’re the ones doing the judging. So, yeah, it just might give me the edge I need.”
We head down the hallway, turning the corner towards our homeroom when I collide with a varsity letter jacket. I’m knocked against the wall and immediately I’m ready to hurl a profanity at the dickhead wearing it.
Then I see who it is and I’m overcome with shyness.
“Hey - sorry, Cece. Are you okay?”
I swallow nervously, feeling my tongue getting tied up like it always does when I look into those pale blue eyes. I simply nod.
“You sure? I slammed into you pretty good there.”
“I’m cool, Marshall,” I finally sputter. “No harm.”
He gives me a dazzling smile and a wink and saunters off in a fast pace, once again, heading to his homeroom before the bell goes off.
Marshall Rydell is the Big Man on Campus at our high school. He letters in every sport offered and, even though he’s a junior, he makes first-string everything…including the ladies. It’s no secret that Marshall can have any chick he wants within a hundred mile radius. With looks like a young Troy Donahue; tall, blond and built like a brick shithouse, along with his many achievements on and off the playing field, I’m both surprised and flattered that he knows my name.
“Earth to Cece,” Kim interrupts my train of thought. “He knows your name. Do you realize that?”
“We have a study hall together,” I reply, trying my best to act ambivalent when, at the moment, I know my heart is still racing wildly and that makes me feel guilty. “C’mon, we’re going to be late to homeroom.”
“You see? This is exactly what I’m talking about, Cece. You’re so out of touch with the possibilities here. I mean, Marshall Rydell? He’s the ‘golden boy’ of this town. Handsome, a jock and his family is flippi
n’ rich out the ass.”
“Erik’s better lookin’,” I reply as we hear the bell ring.
“You’re hopeless.”
Chapter 3
“Cece, I’m leaving for work early,” Mom tells me as I’m painting my fingernails alternate colors of green and gold. “You sure you have a ride to the pep rally?”
“Yep. Kim’s got her mom’s car and we’re going to the bonfire after the rally and then she’ll drop me off here.”
“Mind your curfew. Just because I won’t be home until one doesn’t mean you can stay out past midnight, you hear?”
“I hear.”
She brushes a kiss on the top of my head. “Did I mention how proud I am of you for making the squad?”
“Yeah, you did,” I reply giving her a smile. “Several times.”
She sighs, brushing my hair back from my face. “You’re gonna have a better life than I ever did, that’s for sure.”
“Why? Because I made the cheerleading squad?”
“Not just that, honey. You’re learning to compete and going after something and getting it. You’ll be in a whole new social circle.”
That statement prompts an eye roll from me.
“Just you wait and see,” she replies. “Have fun and remember to have your butt home by midnight.”
“Later, Mom.”
Once I’m alone, I contemplate her words. I don’t see how this one accomplishment is going to do all that for me. I look out the window of our mobile home and see Erik working on his car. I know he’s got a gig tonight. He blew off going to the bonfire for that reason, but I know he wouldn’t have gone regardless. High school social events are not “his thing.” This particular event marks the last week of classes. Finals start next week and then school is out for summer break.
I wave my hands in the air to help dry my nails. I’ve got about fifteen minutes before Kim gets here and I need to talk to him.
I saunter over across the road to where he’s fiddling with something underneath the hood of his car.
