Ember Burning

by Jennifer Alsever

  Little light falls into the forest through the thicket of trees, yet I hear colors everywhere.

  The hushed hoo of an owl becomes copper-colored dots. The wind swishing the tops of the trees in big, breathy sighs shows up as shimmery black lines. Chirping birds echo as bright yellow orbs. My feet crunching the dead leaves sounds like the color of peanut butter. Even my own labored breath sounds dandelion yellow. The noises become synesthesia pinwheels. It’s too much.

  Standing there, the trees are claustrophobic. That crazy sense of déjà vu washes over me as that same dense fog moves across the ground. Breathing, rolling like a weightless river. The cool air tickles my fingertips, climbing up my arms and neck. A metallic taste develops in my mouth. The fog begins to form that tunnel through the trees, and I run. Branches trip me as I make my way through the fluffy, creepy, one-way lane of fog, moving deeper into the forest. The hazy passageway surely will take me to the gate. It has to.

  Soon, relief spreads through me. The bright light. The iron gate with sharp pointed tips. Once I step through the opening, I see Lilly, looking like a fairy in a dream, her blonde hair blowing in the sunlight. I was right. This was real.

  “I knew you’d come back,” Lilly sighs, gliding to me and taking my hand.

  19

  Each of them embraces me on the deck. Everyone except Tre. When he sees me walk through the screen door of the house, the light in his eyes dims slightly, delivering a virtual punch to the gut. I swallow the disappointment.

  “I can’t believe you’re all still here,” I say. It’s like no time has passed.

  “Nowhere else to go,” Pete says, flopping back in his seat.

  “Wow, look at the sky,” I say, taking a chair next to Lilly. The cliffs and trees look painted black amid the midnight blue sky and the air feels crisp, like a fresh sheet from the dryer. It reminds me of the nights my family and I would go jeeping and picnic outside of town.

  “See.” Lilly squeezes my hand. “Told you, it’s great here. You can never leave, Emby.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” says Chris, leaning back in a chair several feet away. “Welcome to Hotel California.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, surprised to hear from Chris since he barely talked last time I visited.

  “You know the song,” Chris says, leaning forward then quickly glancing back over his shoulder into the house. “The song ‘Hotel California.’ The Eagles. 1976. Big hit.”

  “Yeah, I know the Eagles,” I say. “My dad loved them.”

  “Ahhh, okay then,” he says nodding. “The night man says you can check out of that fancy hotel. You know? But you never really do leave.” He nods slowly and hums the tune.

  I love that song. I remember being mesmerized by my dad’s fingers picking the strings in the intro to the song.

  Chris leans back in his chair and sips his drink, satisfied with his Eagles rendition.

  “So. Ember. Tell us. Where have you been?” Lilly says, tucking her legs beneath her in the wicker chair. Just like Mom used to.

  “Home.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to graduate?” Tre says, eyebrows raised.

  I shrug. “Yeah.”

  “And this is where you come,” he says. “What’d people say when you told them you were coming back to Trinity Forest?”

  “I didn’t tell anyone,” I say with a one-shoulder shrug. “No one would believe me anyway.”

  “Why?” Lilly asks. My eyes flick to her. She pulls a blue blanket over her, covering everything but her head, and stares at the redwood deck with a faraway expression.

  “Because of all the urban legends of people disappearing here.”

  “Silly,” Lilly says softly. She looks like a ball with no arms huddled in that blanket. “Just stories.”

  “So where are your friends?” Tre asks. “Shouldn’t you be lapping up all the fun before graduation?”

  I don’t have friends. I’m not going to graduation. I give him a hard look as embarrassment bubbles in my throat. I forgot what a serious jerk he was. Last time, I felt so much more comfortable here than I did at home. I thought maybe these people could be my friends.

  The air feels colder, and Tre’s razor edge makes me think this was a bad idea. I stand up, making a split decision to leave, when a hand stops me.

  It’s Zoe, sitting to my left, gently grasping my forearm with a warm hand and delivering a weird, soothing pulse over my skin. I look down to meet her liquid eyes. They’re soft and glimmering in the light of the house.

  She offers a small smile. “You don’t need to leave again,” she says quietly. I obediently sit back down, taking in the scent of lavender. She continues to hold my arm. A gold bracelet spirals up her bicep, flashing in the light from inside the house. It’s in the shape of a snake, its eyes made of what looks to be black goethite. I remember Mom held up goethite one day at a gemstone shop and told me it was supposed to dig up wounds buried within the unconscious. Whatever the snake bracelet means, it’s a combination of sexy and scary, and it coils up from Zoe’s elbow, twisting and hugging the rest of her strong bicep. Like it’s alive.

  “Ember,” Zoe says quietly. Her voice breaks my bracelet fascination. “There is a light within you that the world did not give you. You must let the light inside you shine. You will shed your skin here.”

  It’s a completely odd thing to say and makes absolutely no sense to me. But her presence and her voice are like velvet, and I’m back somewhere that feels like magic, where people don’t look at me with pity, or judgment.

  I want to wrap myself in the energy of this place and just go to sleep.

  20

  The black garbage bag rustles when I walk. I seriously cannot believe I am wearing this trash bag toga outfit. It drapes over me, tied over one shoulder, the plastic sticking to my legs. The smell of wet grass fills my head as I gaze down a ridiculously steep hill not far from the house. No trees. Just grass.

  “You got this. You got this,” Pete says, patting my plastic-covered back.

  “Summer body sledding. So. Awesome. Promise,” Lilly says. She pulls her own plastic outfit over a pair of cuffed orange shorts. With hands on her hips, she squints to survey the hill.

  I collapse onto a nearby rock to watch. “I’m not so sure that I feel an urgent need to sled in the summer,” I say. Or a need to wear garbage bags for clothes, for that matter.

  I’m tired after a day of old-school Pac-Man video games, a tournament of pool, indoor bowling with milk jugs and basketballs, some pizza, a game of poker, a movie, and hours of jumping off the staircase onto mattresses and pillows.

  Now, as the sun begins to set, I’m being asked to sled down a hill, in a trash bag, on wet grass. I’m so tired. It’s about time for a break. Maybe I’ll go read a book. Alone.

  “Come on,” Lilly says, her voice becomes dramatic and breathy. She catches my bicep and pulls up on my arm. “It’s what we do here for fun.”

  “Why don’t you demonstrate then,” I say.

  Zoe glides toward me, her long bohemian skirt billowing—like she’s floating. In the dusk, her face glows like she’s made of copper, or maybe bronze. Sometimes I look at her and she doesn’t even look human. “You get to take the inaugural run, Ember. I insist,” she says.

  Lilly nods enthusiastically, bouncing, clasping her hands together. “It’s soooo fun, chickadee. This is the stuff we live for.”

  She takes both my arms and attempts to lift me up, leaning back on the heels of her flip-flops. Her willowy body bends like a lithe crowbar. It works. I’m up. She holds my hand and points down what looks like a black diamond ski hill. “You will totally smile. Promise.”

  “For sure, she does need a smile,” Pete says from behind me. A loud, airy laugh hisses from Chris’s nose.

  I roll my eyes and stand there with attitude, holding my left bicep with my right hand. This is not what I want to do. It’s lame. It’s dangerous, and it kind of pisses me off that they’re pushing me to do it.

  �
��You gotta try it,” says Lilly.

  “Ember…” Pete says my name in a deep voice that sounds like a silly growl.

  I glance up and he’s nodding and grinning so genuinely I can’t help but catch it. Lilly and Pete gave the same pep talk to get me to jump off the staircase, too. That was fun.

  “Fine. Fine. I’ll do it,” I say, loosening up.

  “Ah, that’s our girl!” Pete pats me on the back with a gregarious thump. “Just run and dive on your stomach and you’ll sail away.”

  “No rocks?” I ask. “You cleared them?”

  “Sure,” Zoe says with a quick shrug before turning away to find a spot to sit.

  About a hundred yards below, Tre stands in a thistle of knee-high wet grass, watching us quietly with crossed arms. He’s dressed in all black with clunky army boots. No trash bag toga. Lucky him.

  With a deep breath and a running start, Flying Trash Bag Toga Girl bounds through the air and drops hard—like a fish flopping on the ground. The landing nearly knocks the wind out of me and for a minute, I wonder if I’ve cracked a rib. But a second later, the pain is forgotten and I’m sliding. Fast.

  Trees zip by, grass swooshes, and my cheering section up at the top of the hill claps and whistles. My legs kick up into the air behind me, and my arms extend out front like I’m flying. Like I’m some kind of superhuman bird. A joyful yelp makes its way out of my mouth.

  I spin sideways, blindly sliding, rolling onto my back now. Head first, down the hill. Out of control. Not my intention. At all. I release a high-pitched scream—part fear, part child on a rollercoaster.

  Near the end of the slope, a realization crosses my mind: this Flying Trash Bag Toga Girl has no brakes and no steering wheel. Conclusion: high probability that Tre gets pummeled. He’s upside down to me now, and I see him only in glimpses. My happy scream transforms into a panicked screech, and I drag my feet. They bounce wildly behind me, my toes jamming into the ground. Tre backs up quickly to get out of the way.

  Too late. My shoulder knocks something, and then Tre flies up and onto his back. My whole body slams hard and fast into him, thrusting something boney into my stomach—an elbow? The world alternates between blue sky and green grass a couple more times before I stop spinning, my cheek pressed into the wet ground.

  I sit up slowly, feel my lungs tied shut at the top. Anxiety surges through me like electricity, and my hands spastically flap around my face. I hear footsteps, a signal that Tre must be standing over me.

  “You’re okay,” he says, leaning in to gently touch my back. His chocolate voice makes me light-headed, delivering those Color Crayon Brain images of swirling rich browns and amber. “Slow down and breathe. You’re okay. You probably just knocked the wind out of yourself.”

  I do as instructed, and slowly, the tie around my lungs loosens, allowing me to regain my air—and my composure. A quiet groan slips from my mouth.

  “You know,” he says, “we aren’t bowling anymore. You didn’t have to knock anything down.”

  I try to laugh, but nothing but a wheeze comes out. It’s painful.

  “You barely missed that rock,” he says. I flop my head back to see a boulder the size of a toaster just inches from where I landed. So much for clearing the rocks.

  I grasp Tre’s extended hand, and he helps me stand. As we walk, he leans into my hair and whispers, sending a tingle down the back of my neck, “Hey, you need to know—” He hesitates. The sound of his voice, his whisper tickling my ear, makes me want to lean into him. Why do I like guys that are dicks to me? It leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but I can’t help how I feel.

  “I can’t believe you came back,” he whispers quickly. His words shoot ice into my veins.

  I pull my head back to look at him, incredulous. “What?”

  “I mean, you… you should leave now,” he continues. Irritation coats his voice.

  It takes a second before his words register in my brain. Hurt and confusion mottle my thoughts.

  Just then, Pete stumbles down the hill toward us, whooping and laughing. He holds his arms wide open as if to embrace me, a loopy grin plastered across his face. “Awesome! The girl has got to go again!”

  Tre drops his hand from my back, leaving a cold spot there, and I want to lean back into him and put it there again. For some reason, despite his rude words, he feels safe.

  “Interesting pastimes you guys have here,” I say to Pete, forcing a smile. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and gives me a signature Pete shake as he pulls me back up the hill.

  “That was so wicked!” Lilly sings, bouncing on tiptoes, as we reach her. “You need to do it again. For sure!”

  “Naw. Thanks.” I sigh and find a seat on a log. My head is still spinning, making the hill look like it’s made out of water, and I have to shut my eyes to get it to stop.

  Evidently, Lilly doesn’t know the meaning of no. Because she stands over me, pleading. “No, you really need to go again.”

  I wave my hands in front of my face. “That was crazy. But once is enough.” My head flops down on my arms, held up by my knees, and I close my eyes.

  I can feel her hovering over me.

  “Seriously,” Lilly says, her voice more demanding. She pulls up on my arms but I resist. My body is dead weight. “You have to. That’s that.”

  I glance at her upturned wrists, revealing three scars across them. The only other person with those kinds of scars was Zach’s uncle. When he held out the blue pill in his palm, it looked like he had thick lines, like rubber bands, around his wrists.

  The memory of that day coats me with shame so thick I’m sure everyone else here will see it on my skin. I let that happen. The overdose. I’m not going to be pushed into something like that again. Ever.

  “Yeeeeah. No. Sorry, Lil. Not gonna happen.” I look up and offer my grimace-smile and a few slow blinks as punctuation.

  “You have to,” Lilly repeats, putting her hands on her hips, standing too close to me.

  Tre steps in front of me, facing Lilly. “Leave her alone,” he says to her. “You’re like a hungry dog. Ever think she might want to make her own decisions?”

  He comes out of nowhere, like some sort of superhero, defending trash-bag-toga people all over the world. It’s the same Tre who earlier put his hand on my back—not the Tre who, last night, told me I was a loser for not focusing on graduation.

  “I’m just trying to help her make the most of it all.” Then, slowly, Lilly’s beautiful porcelain face contorts into that of a red-faced, angry child. “You’re such a drag, Tre. Ever since me and Pete—you just turned into such a jerk. You can’t take it. Admit it! You’re jealous!”

  It’s like she has two faces. One is enthusiastic, inviting, and sweet. Cool lemonade. The other is this. My head pounds as I attempt to understand what they’re fighting about.

  “You’ve given up, Lilly,” Tre responds. His voice grows louder, and he even looks larger, standing in front of me.

  “Get out of my way,” Lilly says, pushing with all her might to move him aside.

  Tre stands firm, extending a tanned, strong tattooed arm out to block her.

  “So, what? Are you now protecting her from me? Ever since Germany, you feel like you have to fight for the little guy, fight for the freedom of everyone,” Lilly spews. “Big Hero Tre.”

  She picks up a rock and hoists it over her head.

  Holy crap, what is she doing? I lean back on the log and press my feet into the ground, ready to make a run for it, kick her, or fight back.

  “She needs to go again… and have fun!” Lilly says. Her words do not match her actions.

  “Go again? That’s not even the point, Lil. You want her under your control. It’s not going to work,” Tre says, before reaching out with two hands to take the rock from her.

  She cranes her head around him, hanging it down low to give me a delirious grin. Hot pink lipstick smatters three of her teeth. “Watch me. Watch. It’s soooo fun.”

  The next second, Li
lly throws herself down the hill, plopping onto her side. She’s spinning, rolling, screeching, and tumbling, her legs like rubber flopping behind her. We all stare at her silently, mouths gaping. I’m starting to feel bad for her. What. In. The. World. She is fully losing her shit. I don’t get where this came from.

  After fifty yards, she stops, lying completely still on the hillside. For a moment, I worry she’s unconscious, and I crane my neck to get a better look. Then she comes to all fours and I half expect her to start barking like a dog. Instead, she bounds up to stand and then bolts back up the hill.

  “See? See?” she yells. Now twenty yards away, she looks as disheveled as she sounds. Chunks of grass and dirt clump in her hair, and her bottom lip looks cut, yet her mouth turns up in a crazed grin. As she climbs, her feet slip, making her fall forward. She claws the hill with her hands until she reaches the top. Her eyes grow fierce, and her mouth shrinks into a determined, shriveled O.

  She thrusts one foot forward toward Tre and lets out a primal, raging scream. She reminds me of those howler monkeys on National Geographic, if they were pretty, blonde, and angry.

  I’m hiding, shrinking from the screams. From this crazy shit show. Just when I think it might be over, Lilly spews more words, slamming Tre’s chest with her palms. He doesn’t flinch. “I hate you, Trevor Hudson!” she screams.

  “Me. You hate me,” Tre says. Incredulous and calm. “Why would you say that, Lilly? Don’t you mean that you hate that I won’t buy into this?”

  “I hate you. I hate that you hate this place. I hate that you can’t accept our fate,” she says.

  Tre takes a deep breath. “Lilly, you’re lost. You’ve given up, and you want everyone else to give up with you,” he says in a hushed whisper. He shakes his head but doesn’t drop his arm that hides me from her.

  “And you—you refuse to let go,” she says, jutting her chin.

  Pete steps in front of Lilly and with three fingers pushes Tre’s shoulder and sticks out his chest like a rooster. “She’s right, Tre. Get off.”