Cosmic Girl Rising Up

by R S J Gregory

  I don’t want people to be afraid of me.

  I wonder if it might be P.M.S., but shake my head. No, it’s too soon for that.

  Then I remember Mitchell.

  Damn it! I’ve scared him again. I need to speak to him as soon as possible.

  I slip my backpack off while I hover above the clouds, and reach in for my cell phone.

  I speed dial his number and it rings. I hold the phone to my ear and wait.

  “Where are you?” Mitchell’s worried voice answers after a few rings.

  “Hanging around.” I say. “Look, I’m really sorry about what happened.” I blurt out.

  “Hey, it’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have broken his arm.” I say.

  “I probably would have done the same thing.” He says after a few seconds pause. “Look, what’s done is done. He probably deserved it anyway.” He adds.

  “I still don’t like what I did.” I say. “If you hadn’t arrived…” I say and trail off.

  “I know, Britney. I know. It happens.”

  “I love you.” I blurt out.

  “And I love you.” He says warmly.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m not feeling too good.” I say.

  “I understand. This wasn’t your fault, you know.”

  Then why do I feel like crap?

  “Bye.” I hang up.

  I slip my cell phone back in my backpack, and slip it over my shoulders again. I hover in the sky and look down at the sprawling city below me through a break in the clouds. The city feels too big now. I thought that I could make a difference, but I’m only one person. How can I prevent these horrible things from happening to others?

  My chest feels tight. I try and take a breath, but an anguished cry escapes me instead. I shake my head before pitching forward. I rocket toward the clouds. I’m through in a heartbeat, and race towards the city that’s sprawled out beneath me like a concrete cobweb. As I get lower, I recognize some of the buildings and streets. I veer off to my right and head back towards my school. I get changed back into my normal clothes mid-flight, and zoom towards the street. I land on the sidewalk, and head home.

  Jessica opens the door as I get to the top of the steps. I shrug off my backpack as I walk past her and head for the stairs.

  “I’m beat.” I mumble as I climb the stairs.

  Tears are still in my eyes when I close my bedroom door. I lean against it, and close my eyes.

  I can’t explain the hollow feeling in my stomach. It’s like death has placed it’s cold bony finger there, promising more death and despair for me, and I just shrug my shoulders and say, ‘Okay. What else is new?’

  I shrug out of my coat, and drop it on to the thick pink carpet. I kick my shoes off carefully, and then collapse on to the bed.

  So many thoughts and emotions are buzzing around in my head, I feel sick, like the room’s spinning. I roll over and lie face down.

  The small bitter voice is starting to get louder again inside my head.

  Who have you helped? No one. Just yourself. You didn’t save that boy because you were too focused on yourself. Too focused on your boyfriend. The voice taunts.

  Shut up! I pull a pillow over my head. Shut up, shut up. It wasn’t my fault.

  You were distracted. The small voice accuses. Heroes can’t have distractions. Your boyfriend makes you weak. The acid voice spits at me from inside my mind.

  I can almost feel a finger prodding me in the back.

  You’re no good with him. You can’t be a hero and have Mitchell. You must choose.

  “Mom….help me.” I cry into the bed covers.

  I hear my bedroom door open.

  “Britney?” I hear Jessica’s voice say, full of concern.

  I break down and just wail into the covers. I hear her hurried padding across the carpet, and then I feel her hand on my back.

  “Britney, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m no good.” I cry as I hold the bed covers to my face.

  “What are you talking about? Of course you’re good.” I hear Jessica say with annoyance in her voice.

  I roll on to my side and lower the covers to look at her.

  “Good at what? Saving my own ass? Yeah, I’m good at that.” I say bitterly.

  “What’s brought this on? What happened today?” She asks.

  “Mitchell and I were just having a date…sniff…” I begin and rub my nose with the back of my hand. “A boy was shot right outside the café. Right under my nose.”

  “Is he okay?” Jessica asks quickly, and looks shocked.

  I shake my head and bury my face again.

  “Hey.” Jessica says and rubs my back. “It’s not your fault.”

  I sit up and look at her harshly. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” I ask testily.

  “Because it’s true, stupid.”

  “Hey!” I protest.

  “You’re being really stupid, Britney. How the hell were you supposed to know?”

  I hang my head and shrug. “I should have.” I grumble.

  “You can’t know everything, you silly thing. You don’t even know what you ate yesterday?”

  Hmm, what did I have?

  Jessica sees my expression, and chuckles. “See, scatter brain?”

  I shrug and try to smile.

  “You expect too much of yourself.” Jessica says, and punches me playfully in the arm, then instantly regrets it.

  “Ow!” Jessica rubs her hand and looks at me in shock. I chuckle.

  “Serves you right.” I say, and sit up and check her hand.

  I feel gently with my thumb over her knuckles and fingers.

  “Nothing feels broken.” I say quietly as I examine her hand.

  “It felt like punching a brick wall.” Jessica moans as she stares at her right hand.

  I look up through my lashes at her. “Sorry.” I say sincerely, and massage her hand gently.

  “You might need to put some ice on that.” I say and release her hand, and sigh loudly.

  “Having these powers is such a drag.” I moan, and swing my legs over the edge of the bed and sit next to my sister.

  “You know, you don’t need to use them.” Jessica says, and I turn and look at her. “I mean, yeah, it’s cool and stuff. But it doesn’t mean that you have to play at being a superhero.” Jessica adds with a half-smile.

  “I know. But I must have been saved for a reason, Jess.”

  “You gotta stop thinking about that day, Brit.”

  “How can I?” I ask and look at her.

  Jessica hangs her head and sighs. “I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat.” Jessica says sadly.

  “You can have the powers.” I moan, and pat her knee.

  “That’s not what I meant.” She says and looks at me. “If I could spare you the pain of what you went through, first with the accident, and then last year in Washington, I’d trade.”

  “I love you, Jess.” I say, and mean it.

  Jessica gets up and looks down at me. “I’m proud to be your sister.” She says, and then turns and walks out of my room, leaving me speechless.

  My dreams are dark that night.

  I’m surrounded by a sea of faces that I don’t recognize. It’s very dark, with occasional flashes of lightning, which illuminate eerie faces around me. I’m standing in my pink pajamas, and the people reach out to touch me.

  Their mouths are open, but the thunder above, and the roaring wind are the only sounds I can hear. The lightning flashes again, illuminating some faces near me. I recoil in shock when I see them. A man in his twenties stares at me from half a face. The left side of his face is missing, and so too is much of his neck and shoulder. A woman stands to his right, and stares at me from one eye. The socket where her right eye should have been is just a gaping wound, and her right cheekbone looks broken. They both stare at me expectantly, their mouths moving. Then I feel something pulling at my pajama bottoms. I look down, and gasp.

&
nbsp; A young boy, hard to tell how old he is, he’s too badly burned, looks up at me as he tugs at my leg. Despite the burns, there’s something odd about him. He’s low to the ground, but his arm and head look normal sized, not a child’s.

  His left arm and both legs are missing. He’s almost black all over from burns. But then I look into his eyes, and the realization of who I’m looking at knocks the breath from me.

  It’s Zack.

  When the van exploded in Washington, I had been thrown back along with Mitchell, but Zack had been standing right next to the van.

  “Oh, Zack. I’m so sorry.” I say, but my voice breaks, and even I can’t hear my voice.

  Then I spot the young black boy who was shot earlier. His thick coat is covered in blood around his stomach area. He smiles sweetly at me and waves.

  “My sweet child.” A woman’s voice says from behind me.

  My heart hammers in my chest as I turn slowly. I peer over my shoulder, and I see the long brown hair, so like my own. The left side of her face is badly bruised, and her left arm hangs limply by her side. My own eyes stare back at me, and the loving smile that I have missed so much is on her beautiful face.

  “Mom?”

  “My brave child.” Mom says and she opens her right arm to me.

  I run to her and wrap my arms around her waist. She feels hard and cold, but then I feel her fingers in my hair, and I don’t care anymore.

  “I’ve missed you so much.” I cry into her purple, blood-stained dress.

  “I never left, baby. You’ve been so very brave, my little angel.” Mom says as she strokes my hair with her good hand.

  “I don’t feel brave.” I moan.

  “You are stronger than you know. You take after your father.”

  “Who are all these people, Mom? I know Zack, and….” Then I notice Miss Wheeler smiling and waving at me. The two bullet wounds on her forehead still look fresh. I smile back, and then look up expectantly at my mom.

  “Victims, my love. People who died before their time.”

  “Why am I here? I don’t like it, Mommy.”

  “Don’t be afraid.” Mom says and strokes my cheek with her cold fingers.

  “Death is a part of life. I wanted to show you that we’re okay. You need not concern yourself with us, my love. Focus on the living. They need you. More than they realize.” Mom says and ruffles my hair.

  “You have to let us go, my love. Be the hero, I know you are.” Mom says and grips my shoulder firmly.

  “I will always be with you. I will always love you.” Mom says, and then releases me and steps back.

  “But you have to let us go. The living need you. Go, and be the angel I know you are.” She begins to fade, and I reach out to her.

  I turn to face the crowd, and they begin to dissolve into a fine mist. I reach for Miss Wheeler, and she smiles and blows me a kiss, and then dissolves before my eyes.

  “Aaggh!” I cry out as I sit up.

  It’s dark, and I hear the gentle patter of rain against my closed window. My face feels clammy, and I reach up and wipe some sweat from my forehead. I get up, and head into my bathroom and splash some cold water on my face. I look in the mirror, and my blue eyes are blazing brightly. I frown as I regard my freaky eyes. I turn the light off, and head back into my room. I crawl back in bed, and pick up my Mom’s picture frame. I see my blue blazing eyes reflected back in the glass. They look a little older as I stare at my reflection. I kiss the photo, and place it down on my nightstand.

  “I’ll make you proud, Mom.” I say, and stroke the top of the wooden frame.

  Twenty Two

  I find the next day in school very difficult. I see the young boy’s face everywhere. The boy who just walked past me is around the same age as the kid who was shot. Throughout most of my classes, I’m constantly wiping away tears, while I try to focus on the subject matter. But it’s impossible.

  By lunch time, I’m miserable. I must look a poor sight when I flop down into my chair at our table. The other’s look at me in shock. Paul is about to say something, then stops and looks at Beth. I chew my food slowly, while they talk amongst themselves. Secretly, I thank Beth. I can’t take any questions, not now. My spirits are rock bottom. I feel Mitchell’s light touch on my arm. I look down at his hand as he strokes my arm gently with his fingers. I look up into his brown eyes, and a tear sparkles precariously at the edge of his left eye. He curls his fingers around my hand and tries to smile, but then thinks better of it, and just sighs. I continue lunch in silence while the rest of the hall is filled with talk. There’s the usual gossip behind me. Who’s dating who, and who saw last night’s mediocre television series. I hear some guys over to our left rapping, while someone does beat-box and slaps the table in rhythm. I let the thrum of noise enter my head and drown out anything else. I don’t want to think, I want my thoughts drowned out. I finish my lunch, and then shrug from Mitchell’s hand and walk quietly to my next class.

  School couldn’t finish soon enough.

  As I put my books in my locker, I can hear a senior ragging on a freshman nearby.

  It sounds like he’s trying to pick a fight with the poor kid.

  I close my locker and turn. I watch as the taller kid pushes the smaller kid against the lockers. The kid hits them hard. The clang makes everyone stop, and they watch to see what’s going to happen next. Will the kid defend himself and fight back, or turn tail and run?

  “Back off, you Neanderthal!” The smaller kid says loudly.

  Okay, so it looks like he has some courage. I turn and head over to them.

  “Make me, Short-stop.” The tall kid says as he takes a step towards the younger kid.

  I grab the tall kid by his belt, and hold him in place.

  “I think that’s enough. Leave the kid alone.” I say tonelessly, as the tall guy turns and looks down at me.

  “You’re kidding?” He says, and turns to the smaller kid, who is looking at me puzzled.

  “She your girlfriend? You let your girl fight your battles, do you?” He snorts, and laughs at the hapless kid who is looking around him.

  I still have hold of his belt, so I yank him backwards.

  He slams into the lockers on the other side of the hall behind me with a bang, making everyone jump back in shock. He slumps to the floor. Oops!

  “Miss Brookes? Stay right where you are.” A man’s firm voice calls out to my right.

  I turn and see Mr Brown storming towards us. His black horn-rimmed glasses bounce on his face as he hurries over. I look over at the smaller kid, who’s staring at me wide eyed. He fidgets with his bag, and looks around nervously as the science teacher comes to a breathless stop near me.

  “What is going on here?” Mr Brown huffs.

  “Ummm….” I begin, and then everyone begins talking at once.

  I sit on a red plastic chair outside the Principal’s office, while the Principal is getting a grilling from the bully’s father. Turns out the idiot’s name is Roman Sanders, and his father is a lawyer. Go figure. I feel for Mr Meyer, as he withstands at least fifteen minutes of Mr Sanders’ tirade. I wait patiently, and pull at a loose thread from my denim skirt. The door opens suddenly, and Mr Sanders storms out, then looks down at me.

  “You stay away from my son, or I’ll get a restraining order. Understand?” He snarls at me, then pushes through the glass double-doors, and disappears down the hall.

  “Well. That was pleasant.” Mr Meyer’s calm voice says next to me.

  I turn and look up apologetically.

  “Come in, Miss Brookes.” Mr Meyer says calmly from the doorway, then turns on his heel and walks back inside his office.

  I get up and walk slowly into his office, and close the door behind me. I look around, and soon find a chair near his desk. I sit down as Mr Meyer stands staring out of the window, as the rain beats against the glass. Mr Meyer sighs.

  “The sound of rain is calming, don’t you think?” He mutters quietly, and turns slightly and looks at
me.

  “Yes, sir.” I agree.

  “This really is awkward, isn’t it?” Mr Meyer says quietly, and then walks back to his desk, and sits down wearily.

  I sit still and look at him, waiting. He leans forwards and links his fingers together, and forms a steeple, and then gazes at me curiously over his fingertips.

  “What to do, hmm?” He says quietly. “Your father will be notified of this incident, of course.” He looks hard at me, and then sighs and sits back in his leather chair.

  “You’ve placed me in a difficult position, Miss Brookes.”

  “I know. And I’m really sorry. I don’t mean to cause trouble.” I blurt out quickly.

  “I hear that you were helping one of our students.” He looks down at a piece of paper. “A…Rodney Moon.”

  I shrug. I didn’t know his name.

  “He says that you pulled Mr Sanders off of him to stop a fight. Is that correct?”

  I nod.

  “You were a bit rough though, hmm?” He regarded me curiously.

  “I don’t know my own strength, sometimes.” I say meekly, and smile in embarrassment.

  “Indeed. Mr Sanders has a mild concussion, and a fractured collarbone.”