Preface
On my fifth birthday, my brand new bunk bed collapsed. On my lungs.
Of course, I was immediately rushed away in an ambulance. And despite the EMT's pinging machines and pumping valves and flashing lights, they lost me for only the briefest amount of time.
But still. I was clinically dead for three minutes and fifty-nine seconds.
When I awoke to those anxious hospital strangers in their masks like villains, I told them I’d seen heaven. And they tapped their watches and shot each other looks and somehow convinced me that it was all a dream.
And so I believed them. I believed them for eleven years and I forgot and forgot and forgot. But closing my eyes now, I can still see that blinding, consuming light that shone out of everywhere, even my own pores. I see that white and white and endless white. I see those final marble steps that I wasn’t allowed to climb because no, no, it wasn’t my time yet.
And so sometimes, after everything that’s happen, I picture that heavenly dream and I wonder if I really did make up all of those angels on my own.
1. See
Wallflowers have an interesting life.
It involves sitting on folding metal chairs on the outskirts of parties with plastic cups of Hawaiian punch, and watching other people live.
Here, among all of the soon-to-be juniors, was my life. Or our lives, because tonight---only a week away from going back to high school after a summer-long hibernation---we seemed to be one living, laughing, growing-paining organism. It was nice, though, we’d all spent so much time away from one another that we were willing to forgive and forget past wrongdoings for this one night. It was a reunion of sorts, the annual end-of-the-summer party that we all went to---the geeks, the jocks, the burnouts, the goths, and even me, who wasn’t typical party-girl material---even though we all hated it in varying degrees. But still, we loved it like we hated it.
Feeling nostalgic and melancholy like at the end of every long and sunsetty summer, I’d isolated myself in a dark corner of the party, next to the punch bowl and the spare Chinese lanterns.
Everything was in place for the new school year, routine and functioning like it should. Like always.
Cheerleaders whispered over their cans of light beer, a boy dumped his girlfriend and watched her cry, jocks slapped hands, wallflowers abounded. My friends sat on the hood of someone’s car and snapped pictures with cheap disposable cameras. One of them noticed me again and beckoned me over.
It was high time to stop feeling antique and go to them, so I nodded slowly, weighing my ponytail back and forth with the movement.
With some effort, I unfolded my feet from underneath me and shook out the pins and needles, bending down to retrieve my soda. I felt sort of like I’d wasted most of the fun, careless evening by sitting and watching and sipping soda pop by myself---after all, school restarted in one week exactly, and I hadn’t seen most of these friends since the end of May. But there was something about teenagers acting like teenagers that turned me off, and I was in a bad mood anyway.
I trekked over to Abby’s truck, dodging running boys throwing their Nerf football and couples watching the stars on the grass.
“Evy!” Misty welcomed as soon as I made it over to them, “You’re alive! Where’ve you been all night?”
I clambered onto the hood of the truck, raising one shoulder and lowering the other. “Just thinking.”
“Thinking?” Abby scoffed, “At a party?” She guffawed.
Misty intervened, “Have you danced with anyone, Evy?”
I shook my head, smiling slightly. They should know. “I was hiding out over there.” I pointed with my soda can.
Abby laughed again. “You looked so lonely!”
Annabel---dyed purple by the soft paper lanterns hanging overhead---ambled over to us with a plate of chips and salsa. Abby lifted her camera and snapped a candid.
Annabel smiled her pastel smile, bland and comforting and intelligent. “Evy. You’ve come back to us.”
I nodded noncommittally, and looked back over the party approvingly. It was one of the more successful class summer parties, always held in Connor Barrimore’s big backyard. There was the familiar self-conscience and judgmental aura all around the almost-juniors that I knew so well from school---analyzing whatever everyone else was doing and then trying to do it, too. But it was okay, expected.
The weather was nicer than it had been in weeks---muggy, warm---but cooler now that the sun was dropping lower and lower over the beachy skyline. The sky was surprisingly cloudless for once, not a trace of fog, and you could see the stars.
There was a sort of lucky perfection in the clear weather, the smell of the grilled macaroni and hot dogs the football players were barbequing, and the three-month-long forgiveness of peers that were willing to give you a clean slate so long as you would act like everyone else this year. There would be low-budget street fireworks, I knew, since the ground was dry enough. The annual Connor Barrimore Toast at the end of the evening would be funny and meaningless, but it would act as a pep talk for the coming year. Then we’d go back to our cliquish circles of friends and we’d gossip and watch until it was finally time to go home again.
“Have you eaten yet, Evy?” Misty asked me, gesturing to my soda can.
“Chips and pineapple, nothing really large. Maybe I’ll go get a hot dog.”
“Not grilled macaroni? It’s a tradition.”
I wrinkled my nose in distaste. “Not for me.”
Dawn looked up from her fingernails and gave me a disparaging snort. “Stop being so picky, Evy,” she belittled, “You can’t always get what you want.”
We ignored her snide slights, like always.
“Fortunately for me,” I said cheerily, “I can. They’ve got hot dogs, remember?”
Dawn sniffed, and went back to looking superiorly at her nails. I hopped off the truck’s hood, sensing victory.
“I’ll come with you,” Annabel said, and slid off of the truck next to me.
As we trotted over to the big gridiron grills that were spitting gray smoke and the smell of burning macaroni, the lanterns threw their soft colors over Annabel, making her change hues rapidly. But she was so easy to intrude color on. Annabel was a pastel sort of person, with her white-blond hair and matching skin, and her colorless eyelashes. Even her powder blue tank top and silver framed glasses added to her classic Annabel look.
I followed her timidly up to the grills, not making eye contact with the quarterback serving the food, and quickly skirted around him to get to the chips-and-cookies-plus-celery-sticks-that-no-one-are-eating table as soon as he deposited a hot dog onto my bun. My devastating shyness was to the level of “social handicap” already, and I didn’t want him to see me turn pink.
“You want to come over to my house after this?” Annabel asked me as I plunged my hand into the nearest bag of potato chips and dropped them on my plate, following this up with two more chance flavors, one of which might have been “jalapeño lime”.
“Misty and Abby are already coming over. But just us. We can, I don’t know, watch a movie? Eat some more junk food?”
It was nearing eleven o’clock right now, and my eyelids were getting heavy. But I didn’t want to disappoint her. “Sure.”
She tucked a strand of pale hair behind her ear. “Do you have a ride? How did you get here?”
“My mom is out, so she let me take the Prius.” My mother’s rule had been the same since before my sister or I had even dreamed of driving an automobile: “If you really want to drive, you’ll save up and buy your own car.” And I’d never committed to saving up the money, so I was without transportation most of the time.
“Ooh,” Annabel complimented, “Look who’s driving.” This was in fact the first time that I’d actually driven a car since I got my license back in July, because I wasn’t insured anymore now that I wasn’t a learner.
I grinned. “Watch out.”
“I guess Misty and I will carpool over to my house with Abby, and you can drive yourself.”
“Are we escaping early?” I wondered.
We were back to the truck, and Misty must have overheard. She looked appalled. “No! We’re staying for fireworks. And The Toast.”
I sighed, but didn’t protest as I climbed up to sit by her.
Right on cue, Connor Barrimore stood up on a picnic table and cupped his hands over his mouth like a megaphone.
“Hey, everyone!” he called to his audience.
“Hey, Connor!” a few kids cackled back.
Connor laughed with them charismatically. “We’ve got fireworks going in the front!”
Everyone whooped and hollered.
Connor leaped off the table and started to run in the right direction, just as a BOOM and a reddish plume of smoke wafted in our direction from the front yard.
“Smoke bombs!” somebody cheered, and suddenly everyone was in the mood for cheap grocery store fireworks, and we all hopped up from wherever we were, and jogged around the house to meet the next round of colorful smoke bombs and firecrackers.
•••
The party was a big success and everyone was feeling the love after The Toast, which was so well delivered that it was practically stand-up comedy, and the mile long train of hugs everyone dished out when we were told that it was time to clear out.
I was feeling happier than when I showed up to the party---less burdened down by the approaching school year---and I was excited to go hang out at Annabel’s house, something I hadn’t done since last May.
Plus I got to drive the Prius there, and finally feel like a big girl again, with my car keys and my shiny and neglected driver’s license.
I hopped into the front seat, waving goodbye to the others as they all got into their separate cars and parted. Abby was driving Marisol and Daniela both home, so I’d definitely beat them to Annabel’s house with lots of time to spare.
With nothing to do but drive in circles around Annabel’s neighborhood, I decided to drive to the beach and back---Annabel lived close---figuring that we could meet up at about the same time.
So I peeled out on the main road, looking beach-ward and driving only a little bit faster than the speed limit.
I got there faster than I had wanted to, with more minutes to spare and nothing to do. A walk on the beach would take too long, plus the icy gusts of wind that were beginning to blow off of the water were sure to be killer. But I feared falling asleep if I stayed sitting in the cab of my car, so I popped in a soft jazzy CD and cranked the volume knob around enough times that I could hear the mumble of the sax when I clambered into the chilly air and leaned against the car’s hood.
My thoughts roamed aimlessly. Minor, mild things caught my attention: the sea foam and the spot where I imagined the moon would be if it weren’t a new moon tonight. The stars were brave.
I liked to test the beach at night, staring down the stillness, looking away from the ocean fast enough to capture a certain immobility in the frame-by-frame waves, and speaking just loud enough for the silence to hear me.
“It’s late,” I murmured to the beach. “I’m the only one here. It’s only me.”
Late night beach bums were lost somewhere on the sandy boardwalk or the dock; they wouldn’t dare bother me under my abandoned cliffs in the dark.
And the waves and I were the only things alive to make a sound.
But wait. I cocked my head to the side, imagining I heard a disturbance in the water. No sea monsters, no impending doom, just a dog or another human coming to disrupt my peace. But I definitely wasn’t imagining it; there was a sloshy static rhythm conflicting with the pattern of the waves.
Footsteps, and coming this way. Rationally, people came to this beach all the time, during the late night and early morning, and I shouldn’t care if another random beach runner came jogging by me. But the coward inside of me quivered and noted suddenly how dark it was, here under the new moon and the cliffs. The sound was getting much closer, and I couldn’t see what was making the noise.
Always safe and sometimes sorry, I inched back into the car and shut off my CD. Curious still, I flipped on my brights to try and catch the perpetrator.
And I did.
!!! For you r writing style, it is very good. I like your writing style. It is very descriptive. This piece makes me feel like I am the person. The characters almost seem real and I'm watching it as this all happens. The way you left us on a cliffhanger is a very good key in writing and you wrote it well at the end. Keep working on it and you'll have a really good first chapter. I can't wait to read the rest of the chapters. It seems like a very interesting book. I really want to know who the culprit is.
Hiya! So I finally got around to reviewing this. 
Like, replace some of the commas with periods. Just do whatever to make the sentence sound good. ^_^
So, Evy seems like an interesting girl definitely. But, during the second part, it seemed like it had no reference to when the bunk bed fell on her. Wouldn't that have a huge influence on her life? Like, would she have any scars? Why not show something in the second part that has to do witih her "dying." Like, make her look at a scar. Or one of her friends ask if she is okay. Something about it into this part of the story. It would help out the story. ^_^ It would, it would!
Try this "Feeling nostalgic like at the end of every long summer" instead, see if you like it. ^^
Points: 1080
Reviews: 18
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