Imminent Past

~Chapter 1~

“Why don’t you want to talk about it, dear?”

I scowled at the ruby red curtains bordering the window. Outside the sky was a soulless murky gray. The faint sunlight was hitting the mahogany desk in front of me just right so the polished wood gleamed. Behind the desk sat the most annoying woman I’d met yet: Mrs. Wright.

I didn’t respond to her nonsensical question, not caring if I offended her. She was used to this sort of surly behavior; I was nothing new. I

“April, please,” Dr. Wright said softly, forcing me to turn my head towards her. She was a short, stout woman with straight, speckled gray hair and monotone gray eyes which at the moment were looking very tired and very old. Her face looked kind and selfless, but those were the kind of people that worked up my nerve. The lines around her mouth became more pronounced as she frowned deeply. She shut the notebook in her lap, which was blank except for the date scrawled in the corner. June 1st, 2009.

“If you’re hoping I’ll just give up, you can let go of that desire,” she murmured.

I’d never expected her to give up; these damn physicians did whatever they could to weasel information out of you—it was how they were paid, wasn’t it? One more depressively troubled teen pays the electricity bill. Despite the fact that I wasn’t much of a feminine girl, I remembered watching some chick flick with one of my friends who was into that kind of stuff. I recalled seeing a girl around my age at a physicians’ office, willingly spilling her guts out to the crabby woman in the chair behind the desk, bawling like she never had before. Of course, that was only a movie. I wasn’t willing to share my past with this stranger who I’d only known for three days.

My gaze swept across the tidy office in which we sat. There was a plant on the windowsill that looked like it’d had too much sun—which seemed highly unlikely due to the weather these days. It was as withered and dry as a bone, and the leaves that remained reminded me of paper mache. There was a large mahogany desk facing me, where sat Dr. Wright staring uncomprehendingly through the square spectacles of her glasses.

“Dear, the past will continue to haunt you if you don’t let it go,” said Mrs. Wright, when my eyes met hers again.

My hand tightened into a fist in my jacket pocket. I wondered idly if this woman would send me to yet another doctor because I wouldn’t open up to her.

But then, who did I have to blame for all of this? Aunt Jill. She had sent me here; she’d thought I was morally depressed just because it annoyed me to speak aloud and I wasn’t making friends so easily. She had sent me here because she thought I needed help.

I knew perfectly well who I was. I was April Meyers, soon-to-be junior in high school, sixteen years old. A girl unlike others, quiet, reserved, with a tragic past. Tragic, yes, but not so tragic that nightmares keep me up at night. Not so horrible that I’ve demoted myself to cutting my wrists. There was nothing hugely wrong with me. So why was I here? That question had run over in my head more than a million times by now, and I’d come up with a few short possibilities. Either my aunt wanted me out of her hair, wanted someone to babysit me for the summer, or sincerely believed there was something going on with me.

“April, honey, are you going to speak to me today?”

What right did this woman have to call me honey? She wasn’t related to me; I’d met her a couple days ago. I stared her in the eye, counting the seconds until I lost track, and then let out my breath. Very reluctantly, I responded.

“No.”

Her lip twitched—a smile hoping to appear. “That’s your first word today.”

Hoorah, maybe I get a sticker, I thought dryly, staring out the window at the light rain.

She looked at her watch, pursing her lips into a thin line, which made the wrinkles around her mouth appear again. “We’re out of time,” she announced, sounding highly disappointed, though I couldn’t have been more content.

Without instruction I got up and darted towards the door, stopping with my jaw set when Dr. Wright called me back.

“Your aunt isn’t here yet, dear.”

I grumbled a curse under my breath, too low for her to hear, and settled back in the stiff uncomfortable chair in front of her desk.

She was smiling slightly. “I’ll go call her.” She stood and disappeared out the door, leaving me alone in her office.

I stood and walked around, pulling my hood up over my head. That was a habit of mine—gladly hiding my face from the rest of the world. I walked around Dr. Wright’s office, examining the pictures hanging on the walls. In some she looked rather young—still a little stout and annoyingly kind, but around twenty years younger. There was a jolly hefty man with dark hair beside her, his arm over her thin shoulder, and another boy around nine in front of them with the same gray eyes as Dr. Wright and a mischievous smirk. I moved down the row, staring blankly at each photo. Dr. Wright seemed to have a lot of family, maybe that’s why she was helping others with their problems. My opinion—people who don’t want help shouldn’t receive it. I was one of those people who hadn’t gotten a choice in seeing a psychologist, because I wasn’t old enough, apparently, to make my own decisions.

The last photo was that of a very young woman around twenty with a very wide smile and a gap in her front teeth. She was very pretty, and wore a long red gown with dangly jewelry and a large opal in the center of her necklace. I looked down at my shabby outfit, comparing it to the pretty woman’s in the photo.

In contrast to her long red dress, I was wearing worn jeans and grungy sneakers, a t-shirt and a dull gray sweater that very much matched the color of the sky outside.

I heard voices from a room behind me, and that caught my attention. I turned from the display of photos and pressed my ear to the door to listen to Aunt Jill and Dr. Wright’s conversation.

“... Still seems very unresponsive. I tried talking about any siblings or pets or any childhood memories but she wouldn’t just react,” Dr. Wright was saying.

“I think she should still take the medication I provided, it’s the best solution we’ve got right now. And you should involve her in more day-to-day activities, so she’s not holed up in her room so much.”

There was no response, but I had a feeling Aunt Jill was nodding. Looks like I’d caught the end of their conversation.

“Alright,” I heard my aunt sigh, and heard shifting as they stood from wherever they sat.

“Are you bringing her back tomorrow?”

“No, we have to start packing tomorrow,” Aunt Jill responded dully.

“Are you moving?” Was I imagining the hint of relief behind her words?

I waited, heart thudding hard, for Jill’s answer. We couldn’t be moving... she would’ve told me...

“Yes.”

Fury overwhelmed me for a moment; my chest swelled with anger and my hands balled into fists, desperate to hit something, and my face flushed a deep red, but I got a hold over myself in time to hear their footsteps moving my way.

I turned quickly to observe Dr. Wright’s collection of photos, struggling to compose my face before they saw it.

I heard a click behind me, and turned to see benign Dr. Wright and my disgruntled aunt standing in the doorway. Aunt Jill didn’t look much like me—with a round face and flushed cheeks, light brown hair and very dark eyes—while I was tall and slender, with long, dark, and impossibly curly hair and emotionless hazel eyes.

“Ready to go?” Aunt Jill said, her attempt at enthusiasm falling flat.

My answer was striding past her and down the hall. I tried not to throw the door open once I was at the front door, but it slammed against the wall and Dr. Wright and Aunt Jill jumped behind me. I spotted the black sedan parked in the driveway and headed towards it, crossing my arms angrily over my chest once I was in the passenger seat.

Dr. Wright was speaking to Aunt Jill, both of them looking very worried. Then Dr. Wright gave my aunt a quick hug and Aunt Jill walked over to the car. Once in the driver’s seat I averted my gaze and fumingly looked out the window, angrier than I’d ever been before.

As Dr. Wright’s small house disappeared behind us, Aunt Jill finally spoke.

“How was it?”

I didn’t respond, too angry for words. But that wasn’t abnormal, so I didn’t understand why when she spoke again, Aunt Jill sounded annoyed.

“Why won’t you answer me, April?”

“Why should I?” I mumbled under my breath.

“Because you need to stop this nonsense. You know what she called you? Resistant. You’re resistant, April. You’re mentally depressed, and unless you choose to go along with this you’re going to stay that way.”

My mouth twisted into a grimace. “Like you care,” I growled. I watched the trees speed by with a venomous glare.

“Of course I care!”

“You care enough to let me know when we’re moving?” I said sourly, and looked at her.

Aunt Jill licked her lips nervously. “I was going to tell you about that,” she said quietly, keeping her eyes on the road.

“When? The morning of? Or were you planning to drug me asleep and smuggle me onto the plane?”

“April, stop,” my aunt said firmly, her mouth thinning. “I was going to tell you.”

“I don’t even get a say,” I snarled. “You never tell me about anything—”

“Because it’s not your decision to make—”

“Nothing is my decision to make!” I exploded. For the first time in ages I was approaching a tantrum. “I can’t choose what to have for breakfast without you approving of it!”

“April, this will be good for you. You need a fresh, new start,” Aunt Jill replied calmly.

“The only thing good about it is that I won’t have to sit in that damn doctor’s office all afternoon,” I spat, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring out the window again.

“Dr. Wright was trying to help you, young lady, and I think you should be more appreciative. You haven’t spoken to her, and it’s been three days.”

“I don’t need help,” I said flatly.

Jill sighed deeply, and that was the end of our conversation, at least for the moment. When we got home I stormed upstairs and slammed the door shut and locked it, then grabbed my earphones and plugged them into my CD player. I sprawled out on my bed with a magazine, aware of the mess on my bed, pushing all the clothes hastily aside. I flipped through the pages of the unnaturally skinny celebrities, the music in my ears drowning out Aunt Jill’s calls from the other side of the door.

* * *

The next morning I woke up to the sound of pounding on my door.

I jerked upright, my headphones and CD player noisily clattering to the floor, the ruined magazine underneath me tearing in half with an audible rip. I looked groggily around my cluttered room to find the source of the noise and my eyes settled unfocused on my door.

“April Marie Meyers if you don’t get up from bed right now...” Aunt Jill was saying, her tone impeccably angry. The only other time I’d heard her this furious was when she saw me sneaking cigarettes into my room.

With a loud groan to let her know I was awake, I pushed myself up from my bed, running a hand through my long dark hair, and headed to the bathroom. After washing my face, brushing my teeth, and hastily running a comb through my hair I looked down and noticed vaguely I was still dressed in the grungy clothing I’d had on yesterday. Quickly I slipped out of my old sweater, t-shirt and jeans and dressed in khakis, a camisole, and another sweater.

I headed out back to my room—and yesterday’s events came flooding back into my mind as soon as my hand settled on the doorknob. My jaw clenched and I remembered I was supposed to be angry with Jill. So I thrust the door open and headed downstairs, hoping my steps sounded thunderous.

Aunt Jill was at the dinner table having breakfast. I acted as if I didn’t notice her and walked to the fridge, pouring myself a glass of milk and glaring out the window at the rain. A large oak tree in front of our house was splatter the window with drops of rain, and I busied myself with counting them both to calm myself and because I didn’t want to speak to my aunt.

“Start packing once you’re finished with breakfast,” Aunt Jill murmured softly.

I didn’t respond, afraid of what would come out of my mouth. I was already pissed off about having to move, I didn’t need a grounding to anger me more.

So after I finished breakfast I apathetically started packing my things, shoving everything in whichever backpack or suitcase or box I could find. I kept my door closed, and it was only opened once—when Jill came to tell me to come down for lunch. I brought it up to my room and ate it there, because I couldn’t stand even ten minutes sitting at the same table as her.

After sealing away all my possessions into boxes and bags, I sat on my stripped bed and stared up at the ceiling. There was a small hole right above me, where my friend Aden’s rocket had hit the ceiling. That was a couple years ago when I was what my aunt would call “normal”, when I lived with my parents. Of course my aunt had wanted me to be comfortable, and had moved here instead of having me move in with her. But obviously her concern for my comfort was long gone now.

I didn’t know how long I lied there, reliving all my old memories, memorizing the youthful faces of my parents as they had been a year ago, before this stupid car accident had ruined my life. They had died, and I hadn’t. I almost preferred going with them than facing what lied ahead. Starting at a new school was a nightmare of mine—everyone at Lakeside High already thought of me as a freak, and I had a feeling I wouldn’t be making any quick friends when moving to wherever I was going. I still didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know. My aunt had asked me when I’d gone downstairs to grab dinner if she should at least tell me where we were moving to, but I escaped before the name escaped her lips. All I knew is we were moving out of state, away from Portland.

Of course, it was some consolation that I wouldn’t have to start at my new high school until the long summer ahead of me was over. I still had a whole two months to myself, and that at least cheered me up a bit. But once I’d start school again, people would wonder, and rumors would start. People would eventually hear about me being “depressed” and I would once again be branded the freak I was judged as.

But my solitude wasn’t the only thing that had worried my aunt into thinking I needed to see a therapist. She had asked me many times about the car accident, but my mind always came up blank. The weird was part was that I was there, and had witnessed everything. But the moment I’d woken up in the hospital, I couldn’t recall anything further than seeing a flash of light before my eyes through the windshield. One moment we were driving happily down the road, my mother laughing at my father’s imitation of a man that sounded like a Chihuahua on the radio, and next thing you know, poof, I wake in the hospital, informed my parents had just died.

I had tried, of course, to remember what had happened, but nothing seemed to trigger a memory. So I’d given up, and Aunt Jill’s attempts to solving my strange isolation and inability to remember had begun to annoy me, which led me to ignoring my therapists, which angered Aunt Jill.

But after all I’d done, she couldn’t have at least let me know we were moving? I was suddenly curious to where we were going. I remembered what my father used to tell me: “you should never think of the future—it comes soon enough.”

Once the light outside my window dimmed, I crossed my now vacant room to the nearly empty bathroom and took a long calming shower. Evidently, we were moving tomorrow, and I needed a relaxing shower to calm my nerves, though I wouldn’t need it until the summer was over.