I half listened as we toured the rest of the house. All I really wanted was to turn around and go back to our home in Clayton. I wasn’t trying to be difficult, but since the move was done rather hastily, I’d become skeptical. After coming home from school one day, she announced that we were moving. Just like that, without any warning. Sure, she’d been talking about fresh starts and new beginnings, but I didn’t take her seriously. Apparently, I should have.
She was crafty about it, I’d give her that. She set everything up without my knowledge. She got her transfer papers in order for the Veterans Affairs Hospital, which was what brought us to this area, I later learned. They had a position open in the intensive care unit—the same unit she worked—making for a smooth transfer. She had met with a realtor and found this house for a decent price. It had been on the market for ten years, and the owners were desperate to unload it, which was how we ended up in this particular town. My high school papers…everything done behind my back.
The one thing she overlooked, whether intentional or not, was my therapy sessions. She completely failed in finding me a therapist. “We’ll have time for that later,” was her lame excuse. We scheduled one last session with my therapist, who basically released me from care, and two weeks later, here we were.
Why I was opposed to the move didn’t make sense, really. One would think I would be ecstatic to move as far away as possible. There was nothing enjoyable about living in that town. In fact, I hated it. I wasn’t even going to miss any friends back there. Truth be known, I didn’t have any friends to miss. That was why I was seeing a therapist. It gave me an outlet, someone I could talk openly to about my problem.
The few friends I had, if you could call them friends, turned away from me when I started seeing things. Visions. “Clairvoyant” was the term my therapist used. Freak was the term kids at school gave me.
I could understand why they shied away from me, though. We tend to avoid things that were different or odd, and I definitely fell into that category. Even my own mother didn’t want any part of it. She certainly wasn’t anyone I could confide in. That drove a wedge between us, keeping each other from being particularly close.
Still, it hurt her badly, seeing me treated in that way. But I was all right with it, for the most part. I pulled strength from their pettiness which, in turn, formed me into a stronger person. That lesson taught me to rely on one person, me. That was my solution to things; ignore everyone else, and depend on myself. Her solution, though, was to move away from it. I just hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed when it started to happen again. No doubt that it would, which was why I was opposed to moving. Back home, at least, they already knew about me. I knew what to expect. I wasn’t accepted, by any means, but I knew what to anticipate from their reactions. Here, I didn’t have the slightest clue how people would respond. It will drive me crazy, waiting for them to discover my secret.
“So…that’s just about it. I know this old house needs a lot of work, but I think with some tender loving care and good old elbow grease, we can turn it into a home…Our home,” she said as she panned the room, her eyes glistening over.
Shameful thoughts about my attitude infiltrated my mind as I studied her. While hope filled her eyes, guilt clouded mine. A chance at a normal life was all she wanted for me. Everything she’d done was for my benefit. Caving to my conscience, I stated, “Mom, it’s great. I think I’m going to like it here.” Much to my own surprise, my sentiment was genuine.
“Aw, Heather…” She came over with her arms spread apart, giving me a hug. “We’ll do just fine here.” With another squeeze, she eyed the room one last time before saying, “Okay…let’s get busy.”
Suppressing another sigh, I followed her out to the moving van parked at the end of our driveway, and started the tedious chore of unpacking.
~2~
Small Steps
The first week of school sucked. All right, it hadn’t been all that bad, but if Mother thought it was going to be this perfect fit, and I would instantly make friends, she was sadly mistaken. I’d spent most of my life avoiding close relationships, and I wasn’t planning on it being any different here. Regardless, I still felt a twinge of pain when the hopefulness in her eyes quickly shifted to disappointment after she asked how my first few days went.
“Like every other day,” was all I contributed before pushing past her and heading straight toward the kitchen. I quickened my steps in a desperate attempt to get away from her. I did not want to have this conversation. It was hard enough, knowing I continually disappointed her by my lack of social skills, but she didn’t need to continually harp on it.
Opening up the refrigerator door, I reached for the milk carton as Mom’s steps sounded behind me. I knew she wasn’t going to let the conversation drop that easily, but I was kind of hoping. I just wasn’t in the mood to listen to another lecture about making friends. Would she ever let it go?
“You know, Heather. You’re going to have to put forth a little effort in order for people to be nice to you. It wouldn’t hurt for you to at least try,” she scolded.
As I poured myself a glass of milk, I stared as the opaque liquid swirled into the glass. It’s easy for her, I thought. She doesn’t have to worry about being different; she’s normal. I wished more than anything I could be normal like her, and everyone else, but that wasn’t reality. Not my reality, anyway. In my world, I’d always be a freak. I didn’t see that changing. The sooner she realized that, the quicker tension created between us would ease. Honestly, I failed to see the point of trying, because once people discovered the truth, they wouldn’t want to know me.
It was obvious by the way she held her hand on her hip, with eyes narrowing in on me, that she wasn’t going to let this conversation drop. Deep down I wanted to scream. I needed to change my tactic, otherwise the argument would keep continuing. In my most reassuring voice, I replied, “Don’t worry, Mom…, I’ll adjust. People aren’t backing away from me as I approach them.” Yet, I mentally added.
“I’m sure, with a small effort, you’ll be able to make a friend or two,” she countered.
I finally agreed with her to shut down the conversation. She seemed content enough when I told her I would try harder. I didn’t actually mean it, but that was what she wanted to hear. Satisfied with my answer, she turned and left the room. Since that was my way out of the argument, I hurried toward my bedroom to escape any further scrutiny. As I shut the door, I closed my eyes, wanting desperately to feel good about being alone. But once I reopened them, the unsettling feeling swept through me again.
I let out a breath as I scanned my room. Even with the walls freshly painted a creamy color, I still couldn’t get a sense of coziness there. It certainly didn’t feel like home to me. We hadn’t lived there for very long, which may be part of the reason, but there was something else. Something I couldn’t explain. Aggravated, I shook my head. I might never understand this feeling of displacement whenever I entered this house, but I wanted to figure out why it was strongest in my bedroom. The easiest solution would be to move into a different room. Would that even make a difference? I quickly dismissed that notion since it would bring up more questions from Mother. Ones I didn’t want to answer.
I dragged myself away from the door and went over to lie down on my bed. As I stared up at the ceiling, I pushed the uneasiness away, and began mulling over what she said. Maybe she’s right, and I was just too stubborn to see it her way. I didn’t know…It wasn’t like I’d tried. I’d been pretty much keeping to myself, like I always did. Maybe I should put forth a little effort. Or at least not recoil when people did reach out to me.
There have been a couple of times people went out of their way for me. I was just polite enough to not be rude, but I immediately went back to my own business, totally ignoring them.
A smile crept across my face as I thought about the guy sitting behind me in my physics class. On my second day of attendance, he went out of his way
to make sure I had proper notes from the lesson they were currently on. Right before the teacher arrived to start the lecture, I felt a soft tap on my shoulder. A warm, jolting sensation shot down the side of my arm, causing me to whip around. My eyes grew wider as I took in the sight of him. Staring back at me was the most gorgeous guy I had ever seen. His sandy blond hair was disheveled on top, giving it that just–so–sexy look. But it was his eyes that captivated me in that moment. They were warm and inviting, tinted the softest shade of hazel. I sat there for a second with my mouth slightly ajar as I just stared at him. I was caught completely off guard. Nobody had ever captured my attention that way.
Finally blinking, I couldn’t force myself to turn away as the corners of his mouth drew up into a half smirk, obviously aware of my ogling. A warming sensation zinged through my body as the heat crept into my cheeks. I glanced down, embarrassed that he could elicit that type of response. What the heck was I feeling anyway?
He waved a stack of papers back and forth as if he was vying for my attention. Finally, I snapped out of my trance at the realization he was trying to hand them to me. As I snatched the papers, I barely heard him murmur something about notes from the current lesson before turning back around. It was such a nice gesture, especially since I came part way through the lesson, and I was sincerely touched by his kindness. He certainly didn’t have to do that. But in that particular moment, I wasn’t thinking clearly.
A small chuckle escaped as I remembered my response. Instead of playing it cool or even pretending to be appreciative, all I said in return was a generic thank–you. Then I turned around and discounted him, as if he wasn’t important. I didn’t even bother with introductions, which I thoroughly regret now, since I still didn’t know his name. Why couldn’t I have come up with a proper “thanks?” I cringed at the thought of him thinking I must be the biggest snob.
No, I certainly hadn’t been trying to make friends. Living in my own personal bubble, I think I’d grown accustomed to the contentment. That was where I was most comfortable. I guess I needed to get out of my comfort zone and try. The next time an opportunity like that arises, I was going to make an honest effort. Maybe then Mother would back off. Of course, I probably wouldn’t have made that resolution had I known an opportunity would present itself so fast.
~~~~~
As I stepped out of the school’s front doors the following day, I heard a male voice yell from behind me. “Heather, wait up, I’ll walk with you.” Confused as to who would know my name, let alone yell for me, I stopped and slowly turned around. Surprisingly, the guy with the notes from my physics class was jogging to catch up to me. With the sun shining brightly, rays cascading off of him, I inhaled a breath as this gorgeous creature ran toward me. I couldn’t do anything else but stare at him. It took a minute for me to collect myself. I knew he was hot when I first noticed him the other day in class, but I had suppressed that thought as quickly as it appeared. I mean, I’d never pined over boys before. What’s the use? Boyfriends were for other people, not me. But watching him run toward me, unlike all of my previous encounters, I couldn’t help but think there was something special about him.
Quickly trying to dismiss lingering thoughts of his hotness level, I was left standing there, wondering why he would want to walk with me. After being indifferent toward him the other day, I found it rather odd he would want anything to do with me. I wanted to run away, but reminded myself about the resolution I made last night, and remained standing. It was hard. It took every ounce of energy I had to fight the urge to escape.
“Hey,” he said as he caught up to me. With his half–grin, he extended his hand out offering to shake hands. “Barry,” he said as he introduced himself to me. “We haven’t officially met.”
Mesmerized by his smile, it took me a second to realize what he was doing. Forcing myself to quit staring at his face, I glanced down toward his extended hand. A different type of fear filtered its way through me, filling in all my crevices. A handshake was normally just a polite greeting between two individuals. But he had no way of knowing it caused an overwhelming amount of anxiety deep inside of me. Still staring at his hand, I blurted out, “Heather.” Hoping he didn’t notice my hesitation, against my better judgment, I went ahead and shook his hand.
Warmth spread throughout my body at his touch, causing me to quickly let go. My anxiety level was at an all–time high, but I tried to appear calm. I was sure I looked like an idiot who had never shaken hands before.
Luckily though, other than throwing a quizzical glance my way, he seemed to discard my erratic behavior. I could imagine what was going through his head, but he certainly didn’t act like it fazed him any. “I’m headed in the same direction. You live next to my grandma’s house,” he clarified. “I saw you move in a few weeks ago.”
“Oh…, I haven’t met any of my neighbors yet.” I stumbled around on my words. Feeling guilty, because I didn’t socialize with anyone, I suddenly felt the need to come up with an excuse for not meeting his grandma. “We’ve been kind of busy, fixing up the house since the move,” I added, hoping he bought it. I told myself it wasn’t a complete lie since we had been slowly fixing it up.
“Yeah…, that house sat empty for years. Ever since…,” Pausing, he winced while running his hands through his hair. It was brief, but sadness overshadowed his face while he hesitated. But he recovered quickly, making me question what I saw. “Well, awhile anyway. Seeing the house occupied again is good.” His gaze shifted downward, with a shrug.
“Thanks,” I replied, wondering if that was the proper response. Intrigued as to what he was going to say, I wondered how he would’ve finished the sentence. My curiosity was piqued by his hesitation and peculiar reaction, but I dropped it. Prying into people’s business was totally what I wanted to avoid. It was the safest route.
The corners of his lips spread into a shy smile as he looked at me. As we began walking down the sidewalk, I mentally sighed in relief as he steered the conversation toward safer topics. It wasn’t long, unfortunately, before he asked the inevitable. “So, what town did you move from?”
The rest of the walk home was spent with us talking about Clayton, the town I came from, as well as the life happenings of this place. Barry was actually pretty cool, easy enough to talk to, anyway. I hadn’t carried on a conversation that intense with someone my age for a long time. In fact, I didn’t even remember the last time I actually had a real conversation with anyone other than my therapist, or Mother.
I must admit, it felt kind of nice. A feeling l had long forgotten.
Keeping the answers about myself kind of vague, he finally touched on the topic I didn’t want to discuss, friends. Fabricating a story about them, I pretended it was hard being separated from them, but keeping in touch through the Internet and texting had helped.
That seemed to appease him, but I felt a little guilty lying to him. I was used to telling people what they wanted to hear, I’d done that practically my whole life, but with Barry it didn’t feel right for some reason. For the first time in my life, it just felt wrong.
When we arrived at the end of the sidewalk leading up to my front porch, I motioned toward the house. “My exit,” I simply said.
Appearing a little unsure, he glanced toward the house while taking a deep breath. As he slowly exhaled, he turned back toward me, staring directly into my eyes. I was unsure what his expression meant. The unsettling declaration in his eyes expressed he wanted to say more, but he remained quiet. After pausing for just a couple of more seconds, he finally said, “Thanks for letting me walk with you. It was nice getting to know you better. Next time, I’ll have my car back from the shop and I’ll be able to give you a ride.” He half grinned, making me catch my breath again. Staring back at him, I seemed to get lost in his entire face. I really didn’t understand what, or where, that feeling derived from, but when he smiled like that I couldn’t help but want to get to know him better. He was totally hot. I wasn’t blind, but it seemed more tha
n just superficial attractiveness. It was a much deeper feeling, more genuine. I hadn’t felt like that before.
“I’ll hold you to that,” I said, smiling back at him despite myself. Where did that answer come from, and why, all of a sudden, did I have tons of confidence?
“All right then,” he said, grinning. He started to take off for his grandmother’s house, but stopped and turned toward me. With a sly grin, he added, “Hey…, I’ll look you up during lunch tomorrow, and introduce you to some of my friends.”
And with that simple sentence, reality came crashing back. Forcing a smile, I replied, “That would be great.” I hoped he didn’t pick up on my sudden mood shift, but meeting his friends was the last thing that interested me. I was sure anyone in my position would be elated to have a totally hot guy take his time to make sure they’re welcomed, but I felt I’d put forth enough effort for the week. The last thing I wanted to do was pretend to be interested in multiple people.
“Sweet…I’ll see you tomorrow.” With a little wave, he flashed a quick smile. His eyes drifted toward my house, causing his smile to drop for a second, before they settled back on me. He smiled again, but it was strained. After adjusting his backpack, he turned and headed for his grandma’s house.
As I lingered there an extra second, I watched him walk away before heading up my own sidewalk. Slowly, I turned to walk up my stairs, still feeling a bit confused. I liked Barry, that part was pretty clear. He was nice and seemed genuine. Not to mention he was definitely gorgeous. With his tall, slender build, and untidy, sandy–blond hair, he would be on anyone’s radar. His perfect jaw–line and those warm, hazel eyes definitely set him apart from other guys. But his smile was completely mesmerizing. The sole problem was me. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to become friends with anyone. I’d been solo for a long time and letting people get close scared me. What if I become friends with people here and then my visions start again? It would be just like the last time all over again minus the actual having friends part.
Visions: The Mystical Encounter Series (The Mystical Encounter Series Book 1) Page 2
