Song: You be the anchor that keeps my feet on the ground, I'll be the wings that keep your heart in the clouds -- Mayday Parade
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Isis tripped out of the doorway and jogged down the driveway, glancing both ways before she crossed the street. Seeing nothing but the sidewalk, blotchy like old age spots and the color of sand, she ran. She ran quickly, only looking back once, and just to see if she was being pursued by her mother, father, grandmother, or even her little sister.
But the street was empty. The only sights were parked cars and swaying trees, long grass and bobbing tulips. She spotted her unused basketball net, the neighbor’s tricycle laying overturned on their lawn, the old man across the street’s old Lincoln covered up with a dirty white sheet.
When Isis reached the stop sign at the end of the street, she stopped. She hunched over and panted, trying to catch her breath. Weeds sprouted from the metal pole, wild and unkempt, like her grandma’s hair. She closed her eyes, but shapes danced behind her lids, and eventually the shapes turned into the scene at the dinner table that she had fled from.
Her mother knew she still loved him. She knew a lot about Isis. She knew her favorite color was purple, her shoe size was eight and a half, her favorite comfort food was toast with butter and cinnamon sugar.
But most of all, Amy knew not to bring up Martin.
“I’m surprised,” Amy mentioned casually as she slowly stirred her soup. Isis was preoccupied with setting the table, but she glanced up at her mother.
“’Bout what, Mom?” Isis straightened the fork in front of her like a man straightens his tie. She had the other four plates in her hand with four cups full of silverware balanced on top.
“This is probably the first time you’ve been home for dinner in a long time. You’ve been out with Martin your whole life. It’s finally good to have my daughter back before she leaves again.”
Isis’s heart clenched and the spoon dropped from her hands.
“Mom…” Isis uttered quietly.
Amy turned around, holding the yellow soup ladle in her boney hand. “What?”
Isis shook her head to hold back the tears. “We…he…” She took a quivering breath. “He dumped me.”
“Oh,” was her response. She sounded almost delighted.
“He’s moving.” Isis stared blankly at the white dishes on the parsley colored tablecloth. They had little green vines with baby blue hearts on them. “Long Island. His uncle lives there. He’s taking him in.”
“Now, honey. You and I both know he was a low-life scum. He had no hope of a future ahead of him.”
Suddenly, fury bubbled inside Isis’s torso. She dropped the pile of plates on the table, and the glass made harsh clattering noises. Nostrils flaring, she turned to face her heartless mother. “He was not a low-life scum. He had aspirations, good grades. He wanted to go somewhere in life, unlike his crappy mom and alcoholic step-dad. It might not be your idea of a perfect career, but it was his. And that’s all that matters.”
Amy snorted. “Seeing that boy working anywhere but at McDonalds is highly unlikely.”
That’s when Isis ran. She picked herself up and pushed her legs, letting the humidity create beads of sweat that the breeze cooled. She sprinted down Mountain Trail Court and turned right at the light. Then, she ran until she reached her cement retreat; the overpass.
Four towering columns of concrete, thick as ancient tree stumps, held up a small section of the Blue Dell Expressway. Cider Creek Boulevard ran beneath it, usually empty and unused by cars, but full of cute burgundy houses. Between the overpass and the two slopes that lead up to it is a dark, little grotto that Isis called her second home.
She glanced up at the setting sun. The light blue backdrop was smeared with a melted lipstick pink and Crayola Golden Yellow. It was one of those beautiful summer vitas that you always look back on and think of the good times. The memories with friends, the summer flings, the vacations with families.
But all Isis could think of Martin. From their first meeting, to their first kiss, to their break up, like the lifecycle of a flower. She could only…experience him, it seemed. She could only feel his spiky hair under her fingertips, the gel cracking like eggshells. She could only see his teal colored eyes and thick lashes, his high cheek bones and narrow chin. She could only breathe his fishy smell – it stunk terribly and stuck to her clothes, but for some reason, she liked it. Only taste the sparks on her tongue and his name on her lips, hear his smooth, deep voice…
It was like he had taken over her, possessed her mind. The essence of him had engulfed her, so all she could live was him.
Isis hopped up onto the slope and began scaling the cool concrete. When she reached the top, she let the sounds of the cars speeding overhead drown out any thoughts she had. She sat down and hugged her knees, resting her cheek on top.
Suddenly, the roar of what had to be a motorcycle engine echoed from below. Isis’s head snapped up and saw a rusted out 1946 Harley driving by. The driver looked up and met Isis’s stare behind sunglasses before hopping over the curb and parking on the sidewalk. Isis could only see his back as he kicked his kickstand down and removed his helmet and hung it off the handlebar.
But when he turned around, she knew it was him.
He was wearing ripped jeans and his spikes were a little flattened from his helmet, but he still looked more beautiful to her than ever. He hopped up the slope like he was skipping on rocks over a creek, then stopped in front of Isis. He crouched down so his face was so close to hers that she could see the freckles splashed across his nose.
“Hi,” Martin said, smiling gently.
“Hi,” Isis replied, returning the smile with a miserable one.
“Need a friend?”
Isis shrugged and put her head back on her knees. Martin made the final step onto the flat ledge and sat down next to Isis, but her head was turned the opposite way. Isis could smell the fish on him, and knew he was sitting close. He wrapped an arm around her, and she turned her head to the other side so she could look at him. He was closer than she expected.
“Did you ditch the docks before your shift was over?” she asked.
He smiled. “Mick let me off early. Said I should finish packing.”
“I still can’t believe you’re moving,” Isis said quietly, almost a whisper. Then she sighed.
“It won’t be that bad. At least I’m getting away from my parents, right?”
Isis sighed again. “I guess. But…”
Martin waited for her to finish the sentence. There was a pause, uninterrupted by the cars above; the traffic must’ve slowed down. When she didn’t reply, he waved a hand for her to proceed. “But…?”
“It just hurts,” she breathed, feeling tears welting in the corner of her eyes.
“Hey,” he said lightly, and poked her nose. His fingers were rough and calloused, like a little child’s on the monkey bars. He smiled, but she could tell that there was more sorrow behind it than he was letting on. “We made it through high school, didn’t we? Even with all the humiliation, and nicknames…”
Isis laughed, but it sounded a little like a sob. “Like ‘Fish Boy’ and ‘Nerd Girl’?”
His smile grew. “Exactly.”
“I wish I had something to give you,” she said, looking down at her to see what she had available. “To remember me by, I mean.”
“You already did,” he answered. “You gave me the memories. And that’s priceless compared to a stupid nic-nack.”
“I want to come with you,” Isis blurted, overwhelmed by the sadness and pain his words were bringing on.
“I told you before, Ice. You can’t come,” he answered gently.
“Why not?” she whined.
“Because,” he replied, “there’s going to be some other wonderful guy out here in this town just waiting to fall in love with you. A smart, rich guy –”
“Is that why you won’t let me come?” she demanded. “Because you think it’s about the money? Because I don’t care if you don’t have a lot –”
“No, of course not, Isis. It’s because your family needs you. Who else can teach Bridget to read decent literature? Who else knows exactly where Grandma always seems to leave her deck of cards? Who else will be Isis when she’s gone?” he asked. “Nobody.”
Isis leaned her head onto Martin’s shoulder and closed her eyes. Life without Martin. What would it be like? It seemed unimaginable, like another civilization somewhere else in the solar system.
“I’m going to miss you,” Isis said quietly, and opened her eyes.
“I’m going to miss you, too, Isis.” He patted her shoulder and took his arm back. “You should get back. It’s getting dark and your mom’s probably freaking.”
She sighed. “Your right.”
“Hey Isis?”
“Yes?” she asked, turning to look at him.
He gently grabbed her chin and pulled her lips onto his. Isis’s body exploded from a flame deep inside of her; a flame of passion. There would never be another Martin in the world. There would only be the one she met in ninth grade in the cafeteria, the one she first kissed on the docks by Zephyr Lake, the one who dumped her on a Saturday night in person – not over the phone or on instant messages, like all the other jocks. But keeping him with her wouldn’t be fair. He’d have to live through his parents’ constant abuse and work for Mick, painting boats he’d never have a chance to sail.
After a moment, he retracted a fraction of an inch.
“And I’ll especially,” he whispered, and Isis could feel his lips moving on hers, “remember that.”
When he pulled his face away, a tear rolled down Isis’s cheek. She opened her eyes to see him standing, sliding his way slowly down the slope. Isis saw a car speeding down the road, and when she looked back at Martin, the steepness of the slope had sped up his pace, and he tripped over the curb.
“Martin!” she screamed, but it was lost in the screeching of the tires.
Before his body could hit the road, the car slammed into his side and sent him skidding across the pavement. Isis eased down the slope as fast as she could as his body rolled a few times and the driver emerged from his car, horrified. She prayed with each step that Martin would be okay, but when she reached the sidewalk, he was lying still.
Isis rushed to his body and dropped down onto the pavement. Sliding an arm under his back, she propped him up and clutched him to her chest. There were a few scrapes on his cheeks, harsh red against his tanned skin.
“No.” It started out as a broken whisper, but broke out into a chain of sobs. “No, no, no, no, no. Martin, please – oh please. No!”
“Is he…is he okay?” the driver asked, peering around Isis hesitantly.
Isis snapped her head to face him. “No, he’s not okay! He’s dead! You killed him! You killed him…”
Isis hunched over, burying her face in his neck. She grasped onto him desperately, like he was a stuffed animal a little child wouldn’t give up. She breathed him in, but he didn’t smell the same; he stunk of blood, metal, and death.
* * *
The paramedics announced him dead at the scene. After prying Isis off his body, two men loaded him up in the ambulance and shut the doors. As they drove off, the lights spun like a carnival ride.
They didn’t even bother to put the sirens on.
Amy came up to Isis and laid a hand on her shoulder, but Isis’s eyes were glued on the ambulance fading into the distance. She hugged the blanket the driver drapped around her closer, feeling her heart shiver in her chest.
“Isis…” The sorrow was palpable in her hushed tone.
“A sailor,” Isis said, still staring at the road. It was empty of cars but full of people, all staring with enquiring faces. “That’s what he wanted to be.”
I have so few problems with it, I decided not to quote the whole thing, just a few nitpicks:
