So this is where things start to get insane. I think this is one of the hugest twists one of my stories has ever taken, and what I want to know the most is if whether or not it WORKS. Nitpick away, and I really hope you like it.
Chapter Six
April 21, 2009, dawned. The day that would change my life forever and leave scars that would never heal. I just didn’t know it.
It was a rainy morning. Unusual weather for us in April, but I didn’t particularly notice. I was too busy pretending not to notice Mattie packing, acting like it didn’t bother me at all that he was leaving.
Finally it was time. Mom came out of her room, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed, and I came out of mine. She began to walk down the stairs alone, and then I caught up with her and touched her hand. She looked at me, dimly surprised, and I offered a timid smile. She managed a tiny smile in return. We didn’t say anything, but for once we understood what the other was feeling.
Mattie was waiting uncomfortably by the front door, a small suitcase resting at his feet. Through the front window I could see Beth’s car idling by the curb, impatient to snatch my brother up and take him away from us forever.
“You’re taking her car, then?” I asked stiffly.
Mattie’s soft brown gaze met mine as I descended, and the breath caught in my throat. “No, I’m following her in mine,” he answered shortly, then he looked at Mom, and I struggled to hide myself again.
“I love you,” he said, hugging her loosely. She was so fragile, it seemed like even the most gentle of hugs could shatter her. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Be careful,” she whispered. Mom didn’t say anything else. I didn’t think she could. To her, it was Dad leaving all over again. How can he do this to us? I thought once more. Mattie turned from her to face me again.
As if he knew what I was thinking, Mattie’s gaze suddenly darkened. He reached out to me, and when I tried to back away he jerked me into his arms roughly. His stubble brushed against my cheek, and I inhaled his familiar scent, weakening.
“I’ll be a phone call away,” he told me harshly. But his embrace belied his tone; he held me as if I was infinitely precious, something to be protected. “If you need me,” he continued, “I can back in a little over a day, if I drive fast.”
I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me. “Just go away,” I muttered, tears stinging my eyes. I hated crying. “Get it over with.” Under my breath, so quietly I knew he couldn’t hear me, I muttered, “I won’t be waiting for you when you get back.”
Mattie’s grip tightened, if that were possible. I couldn’t breathe. “You know I’ll come back for you,” he said through his teeth. “I don’t have a choice.”
Before I could discern what he meant, my brother was letting me go and bending down to pick up his suitcase. Mom pressed her hand to her mouth but didn’t make a sound. I just watched him go, face cold and expressionless.
He didn’t look back.
* * *
I didn’t leave right away. Mom needed me, and I wanted to be around for a while until she got herself back together.
Surprisingly, she didn’t cry anymore. It had often been obvious to me how different we were in that way. When she was upset, Mom went off somewhere by herself to cry or mourn in her own silent way. When I was upset, I became hard, bitter, angry. A stone that couldn’t be broken, reached, or touched.
As I watched my mom bustle around the kitchen, I promised myself that I would always be there for her. I wouldn’t be like Mattie or Dad. I wasn’t going to leave her behind. My eyes traced the slender lines of Mom’s face, the bones of her delicates wrists. She reminded me of a bird, a wounded bird that couldn’t fly.
You’ll fly again one day, I told her.
She finally took notice of me, just sitting there on a stool and staring. “Did you finish your chapters today?” she asked with a hint of sternness.
I tried not to smile. “Yes.”
Mom nodded, pursing her lips and turning to add a cup of flour to the bowl in front of her. “Good. You know I don’t want you to fall behind.”
“I know.”
“Good,” she said again, and seemed to forget all about me in the makings of what I recognized as Granny After’s famous banana bread.
“I was planning on going to Goody’s tonight, if that’s okay with you,” I ventured.
Mom was deep in thought; her brow was furrowed in that way of hers. “Fine, fine,” she murmured. “Are you sleeping over?”
I hesitated. “No, I don’t think so. I should be home in a few hours.”
She nodded again. “Fine,” she repeated. “Have fun,” she added as an afterthought. My mother didn’t smile at me, but I knew she would have if she could.
My bag was already by the front door, tucked under a chair where no one would notice it. I grabbed it, glanced around the entry way once for a reason I didn’t know, and left the same way my brother had.
I didn’t have a car of my own, and since Mattie had been the one who drove me everywhere—his car was gone now—I had to resort to other avenues of transportation. I hadn’t ridden on the L.A. bus system that many times before, but I’d done a little research and I knew what to expect. The closest stop that I knew of was two miles away from our house, just outside of the urban neighborhood that I’d grown up in.
My backpack thumped against my back as I walked. A few cars passed, and I watched them speed down the road absently, lost in thought. I was trying to think of simple things, easy things that would keep my mind from a certain person driving away from L.A., away from me for only God knew how long. I wouldn’t listen to the sneaking fear rising up within me that said he would never come back. That I would never see him again.
Think of the next pattern you’re going to sew, I ordered myself. Or what you’re going to make for Mom’s birthday. No Mattie. No sad thoughts.
It seemed to work for a while. Almost as if I was counting sheet, fabrics and patterns paraded across my vision, and I regarded them with a practiced eye. I’d learned to sew and embroider—both fading arts, now—from my old piano teacher, Mrs. Harper, just down the street. The piano I hadn’t had the patience for, but every time Mom dragged me over to Mrs. Harper’s I would always notice the supplies and projects lying on a low table next to the fireplace. One day I decided to ask her, and that day I abandoned that damn instrument and took up the needle.
I don’t know who was more relieved—me or Mrs. Harper.
It was weird, actually. I’d always been more of the kind of girl who would spend the day outside, or go out with friends. Doing my nails, looking in the mirror, sitting still—none of it had interested me growing up. Much to Mom’s chagrin. For many years I’d been Mattie’s shadow, getting my gun license, playing basketball in the park with the boys, learning to skateboard. It was only after I took notice of Phil that I began to put makeup on my face and pay attention to what I was wearing.
Mattie had accepted me no matter who I chose to be. During all those years, changing, growing, becoming, he’d been there, everything I needed him to be. A playmate, a teacher, a friend, a brother. When did it start to change? I asked myself, feeling my face contort in confusion and pain.
I shied away from the question, and something inside of me balked at doing so. I wasn’t the kind of person to avoid confrontation. But this, this I wouldn’t face. I wasn’t ready. And what if it was all my imagination? It was sick, what I was thinking.
But it isn’t my imagination. I knew it wasn’t. Against my will and all my promises, I pictured Mattie, the one person I knew the most and the least.
“No, I haven’t seen her today. Wasn’t she at the coffee shop this morning? I heard she was meeting Paul. Mm-hmm.” A blond woman dressed in a business suit and high heels barely took notice of me when I stopped beside her and faced the road. We were the only two at the bus stop. My stomach was tight and my head was aching, the result of thinking and trying not to think.
“I know! Can you believe she bought him a ring? And Paul didn’t even blink. The times are changing, that’s for sure.” Blond woman laughed.
It was actually kind of nice to listen to her stupid conversation; it provided the distraction I needed. She chattered away as if I was invisible, and I learned all about Paul and some woman called Victoria. Victoria had just had a nose job, apparently, and Paul was thinking about changing careers and having a tough time deciding.
What’s so hard about it? I thought with a degree of sardonic amusement. You either change it or you don’t. You do what you want to do. It was the philosophy I lived by, or at least liked to think I did.
A few more minutes went by, the businesswoman not stopping for breath once, and a woman with a small boy in tow approached. She stood a distance away from us and stared straight ahead. The boy beside her looked bored, his hand limp in the woman’s hold. I judged him to be about six or seven.
“Well, I’d better go. I see the noon bus coming now. Mm-hmm. Yes. Plan on nine o’clock, definitely. Goodbye.” The woman beside me shut her cell phone with a snap and shoved it in the small purse I hadn’t noticed dangling from her right arm.
She was right. The bus, big and white, was pulling up. My eyes traced the advertisement for McDonald’s on the side of it, Ronald smiling at me creepily with his painted face wreathed in friendly invitation.
The businesswoman got on first, of course, not sparing a glance at the three of us trailing behind her. I dug my money out of my pocket, dropping it into the small box by the overweight driver. He didn’t look at me, either, but the sun was shining in through the windshield, casting an eye blinding shine on his bald head, and I grimaced. I took notice of the odd glass box around the driver, as well, with a handle that seemed to open only from his side, and mentally shrugged. I supposed that there probably had been some bus robberies, and the glass box was for the driver’s protection.
“How long is the bus ride?” the boy asked his mother, but she shushed him.
I paused in surprise upon turning to face the aisle. Odd for the bus to be so full this time of day. There were hardly any empty seats left, and there were many people standing and clinging to the poles, as well. I headed for an open seat I spotted near the back, wondering why no one had taken it but mentally shrugging.
The woman and her little boy were following me still, and I noticed the two open seats beside the one I was making a beeline for. Huh. Guess people just liked to stand.
I stopped and stared down at the padded seat, not noticing anything off about it like gum or anything, so I sat. The two behind me did the same, but the boy loudly asked his mom for some gum. She looked frustrated about it, but she dug it out of her purse.
No one looked at me or them as the bus lurched into motion once more. The businesswoman had chosen to stand, and she was talking on her cell phone again. I looked around at the others on the bus, taking notice of a boy in a leather jacket a couple of seats in front of me and another woman and child in the front. Just next to me was an additional boy, this one chubby and sullen-looking.
My cell phone suddenly vibrated in my jeans pocket. I dug it out and somehow wasn’t surprised to see the PRIVATE CALLER again. I pressed the TALK button with a tinge of nervousness.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Dad,” he said. He said it quickly, like he wouldn’t have enough time to say it. I frowned.
“I know,” I replied kind of harshly. “Why are you calling?”
He laughed, but the sound was forced. “What, your good ol’ Dad needs a reason to call his favorite daughter?”
Now my eyes were narrowing, and my voice was sharp as I said, “Well, I’m your only daughter, first off, so I sort of have to be the favorite—which I actually think wouldn’t be the case if Mom had ever conceived another female. Second, you’ve called me about, oh, once in the past two years. So why—”
“Wrenny, don’t be like that,” Dad pleaded. “I’m sorry. You know I am. I wouldn’t say it if I weren’t, would I?”
“I wouldn’t know. You’re not the same guy I knew back then.”
“Wrenny—”
I hated that name on his lips. “Is there something going on?” I cut him off. “Do you not want me to come?”
“What? No! I mean, yes, I want you to come. So, wait, are you on your way, then?” Why did he sound so… I couldn’t figure out what exactly, but his tone sounded so…
“Yeah, I’m on my way. I’m on the bus.” I lowered my voice, because I realized that other people might be listening, and I didn’t want my whole private life broadcasted to everyone.
Dad cleared his throat. And did it again. Just get it out already, I inwardly snapped at him. “C-Wren, I just wanted you to know, that is, I know you’re going to see me soon, but I just have to say it again so you’ll remember—”
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Chubby Boy staring at me. Around his mouth was a ring of some kind of orange power, and when I glanced down I saw it was on his fingers, too. Ugh. I spotted the bag on the floor. Cheetos.
“Look, Dad, I’ll see you in a few minutes, and you can tell me whatever you want to then, all right?” I interrupted again. I hated the feeling of being watched, and it seemed as if no one had ever taught Chubby Boy that it was rude to stare.
Dad made a sound of alarm. “Wait, Wren, just listen to me a moment—”
But I wasn’t the same girl he’d known, either. Something cruel and vindictive slithered through me as he scrambled to get his words out. I wanted to hurt him as much as he’d hurt me, hurt our family. My family. I wanted to show him that he had no power over me, that I was in control of my life and that he could never affect it again, no matter how hard he tried.
I hung up.
Chubby Boy still wasn’t letting up on the staring-shindig, so I turned to glare at him icily. He pursed his lips, three more chins popping out beneath the first one as he lowered his head. Then he turned away and started out the window again, sullen once more.
“Mommy, my stomach hurts.”
It was so quiet on the bus that the small voice easily drifted to my ears. Bored already, I looked at the little girl sitting near the front with her mother. Her tiny face was pinched, and her mom murmured something in her ear, so low I couldn’t catch it. Now bored with the scene, I pulled a book out of my backpack and tried to read a little. It was no use—I was restless and anxious, nervous for what was to come with Dad, and nothing worked as a diversion.
Why did I agree to this? I ranted. And why was I so afraid to tell Mom? She deserves to know about him, doesn’t she? Why didn’t I want to tell her? Why did I think doing this would get back at Mattie?
I knew most of the answers to the questions; I wasn’t an idiot or anything. Well, most of the time. I hadn’t wanted to tell Mom because, quiet simply, I was selfish. Some part of me had been flattered, maybe even a little proud, that I had been the one Dad wanted to talk to. For once, I’d had a secret, something to make me stand out. Mom had her pain, Mattie had the burden of keeping the family safe and afloat—what did I have? Nothing. I was the burden, I saw the pain, but I was only a shadow.
And as for getting back at Mattie… I was doing something that, if he were to know about it somehow, would drive him insane with worry. I’d wanted to make myself the center of his universe again, wanted to prove to him that leaving wouldn’t solve a thing. It hadn’t worked, of course, because he knew nothing of where I was or where I was going, but it hadn’t mattered.
Now it did, though. This was real, my going to see the man I didn’t know anymore and who’d abandoned us for no authentic reason. What could possibly come out of this? Nothing could change. He was still a coward, and I still hated him for what he’d done.
Guilt.
It just popped into my head.
I paused, my brow furrowing. Guilt, my mind whispered again. That was his tone, what was in his voice when he talked to you. Guilt. He was guilty.
Of what? I scoffed. Abandoning us two years ago? I really doubt he’s that deep. Why would he suddenly need closure after so long?
I got no answer. But I kept thinking about it, not really noticing it when the TV above the driver’s head flickered on. It had been silent before, so I didn’t perceive that it was almost deathly silent now. There were no quiet murmurings, no one talking on their phones under the breath, no children complaining. Nothing.
Because of this, I actually jumped when the voice rang out.
“Greetings, contenders of the thirteenth experiment! You’ve been selected at random, and today may be the luckiest day of your lives! Let me introduce myself.”
But I already knew who he was. I recognized him from all the afternoons lying on my stomach in my living room, staring up at my TV. His bright, cheerful voice was familiar, the flaring eyebrows and fake smile memorable. I knew who he was in an instant, as soon as I heard that voice slice through the silence, the burst of clarity made me almost throw up all over the seats.
Because the man on the TV screen was none other than Gregory Hawthorne, host of the experiments.
And he was talking to us.
Now all I need to know is what is bugging her dad so much. Did he know somehow that she would be chosen randomly?
I liked how you really expressed her thoughts and how everything was clear in the mind of the reader.
