A charged silence brought me out of my head and back into my new reality. Zander had stopped eating and was staring towards the back of the house in a way that reminded me of a dog trying to decide whether or not he should bark. I turned my attention in the same direction, but everything seemed pretty normal to me. I thought about asking him what was up, but before I had even drawn breath he had yanked me down under the table and had his hand placed firmly over my mouth.
Rude! I squirmed to get out of his grasp but he held me with no effort, and his attention never left the back of the house. I smacked his chest, likely hurting my hand more than him, but the noise at least got him to look at me. His eyes were wide in earnest and he had his finger placed over his lips telling me to be quiet. Yea, I got that before. Remembering our brief time together during childhood I thought of an old tactic that had always worked in these situations; I licked his hand. It tasted like dirt, but it worked. He was angrily rubbing his hand clean (ish) on his jeans and staring at me with a mixture of disgust and disbelief, but at least I could breathe now.
A shadow passed on the wall opposite us. He looked at me, again with his finger pressed against his lips. I nodded. He slowly and soundlessly moved to look out from under the table. Suddenly I was scared. Really scared. I grabbed at his shirt to pull him back under the table shaking my head, trying to convince him silently that he shouldn’t do anything that could get him seen. He smiled at me. Gently, he moved my hand from his shirt to my own knee, patted it twice in a way that I suppose was meant to be comforting, but felt kinda belittling, and crawled out from under the table.
Awesome. My one and only method of self defense was going to go investigate the origins of the creepy shadow on the wall. Anyone who has ever seen a scary movie knows investigating gets people killed. I listened carefully for sounds of strangling or stabbing. Not like I’d heard them before, but I figured I’d know it if I heard it. Nothing seemed to be happening. My short attention span led me quickly to boredom, and I started really looking around my old dining room.
I couldn’t see much of the kitchen because the breakfast bar was in the way. I could see the calendar still on the fridge. The first week of the month has red slashes through it’s days. Dinner for each day was written in purple sparkly ink up until the 15th - payday. The grocery list was gone, but I still knew the place by the calendar it should’ve been. Most of the pictures had fallen, or faded past recognition, except a picture of my cousins playing in our backyard when they were toddlers. Next to my hiding place, under the bench by the back wall, was a dirty old sock (probably my dad’s) and a toy horse.
I reached to examine the toy. My sister and I had been obsessed. Other girls played dress up with their dolls or house with their friends, but me and my baby sister were only interested in our little plastic horses. Well, we had other animals too, for dramatic purposes. My favorite had been a muscular grey unicorn, with fur on his hooves like a draft horse and a thick white mark down his nose. His horn was broken in half, he had lost it in a territory war a year or so after he was given to me. My sister’s was a dainty palomino with a long silky white mane and tail she would brush idly in her spare time. This horse that survived was a brown and white paint, with blue eyes and feathers braided into his plastic mane. He played the wise old horse in our little fantasies. Once he had advised my brave stallion that the herd should move north, to escape the pack of vicious and evil wolves that would be moving soon to their valley. My sister’s palomino (the stallion’s young wife) urged him to listen to the Old One, but he was too proud to move his grand herd for the sake of a few dogs. In the end the wolves proved too great a foe and my unicorn and a few of his bravest fighters were forced to sacrifice their lives so the women and children could escape to the bright valley in the north. There was a long tearful goodbye and an epic battle scene. It was all very dramatic and my sister and I were quite satisfied at the end of it. I’d have to hold on to him.
Still the house was quiet. I couldn’t figure out if that was a good sign or a bad sign. I thought of horror movies I had seen. If I stayed put, alone and basically defenseless, I was likely to be discovered and brutally murdered. If I went looking for Zander, I could either run into a crazy person and end up dead, or I could find Zander. If I found Zander, he could either be already dead or still alive. If he was still alive we could die together or escape together. I was not really happy with the chances of survival after riding that train of thought.
I had just about convinced myself to go looking for him when I heard footsteps in the hall. I froze, held my breath, I swear my heart stopped beating for a moment. This was it. Crazy murder man had found me. I was going to die.
“All clear.” Said Zander calmly as he sat back to his meal. I reminded my body to work again and moved back up into my seat. I sat staring at him, munching on his roasted cat like everything was totally normal.
“So….?” I inquired eloquently.
“So what?” He said without looking up.
“What happened with the shadow? Where’s the crazy murderer?”
He laughed at me. I might’ve liked his laugh if it wasn’t always directed at me…
“There was no crazy murderer. Whoever was out there is gone. Still, we need to make sure we stay under the radar, that’s the first time anyone’s come around here for a long time, I think they heard all that noise you made.”
“You mean the noise we made?” I said defensively.
“No, I mean the noise you made. I was just trying to tell you not to freak out, and what’s the first thing you do?”
I pouted until I was done with my meal, (if you could call it that) but after sitting quietly for far too long I decided answers were more important than spite.
“So what exactly is going on?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” He was picking at his fingernails.
“I mean what’s going on? Why are you hiding in my house? Why were you so freaked about someone finding us? What are we going to do now?” I paused. “Where is everyone?”
He stared for a moment with a mixture of curiosity and condescension on his face. “What makes you think there’s a ‘we?’” He leaned forward across the table towards me.
“Well-” I started, feeling stupid again. “Well I don’t know. I mean you’re all by yourself, and I’m by myself, and we were friends once…”
“That was a long time ago, and did you think maybe I’m alone because I want to be?” He got up from the table and began towards the hallway. “I can’t afford to worry about you. Do whatever you want now, I couldn’t care less.” I was left alone.
Whatever, you know? I didn’t need him. I didn’t even want him. He was the reason I was hurting all over anyways, scaring me the way he did. I could take care of myself just fine.
So I went up to my old bedroom. I was friggin’ exhausted and everything hurt. I laid down on my old bed. Examining the old horse, in my old room, next to my sister’s old bed, I felt kind of nice, peaceful sort of, for a moment. After that moment though, I started to feel how abandoned the place felt. I noticed the paint I helped my mom pick out peeling off the walls. I noticed the shreds of thread fraying out of the curtains and the blankets. Mostly I noticed how quiet it was in this house I always remembered to be full of the sounds of life; of my family’s life. Laying there, with the old toy horse in my hands, in my old room, in my bed, I closed my eyes for the first time in years and really remembered.
There was a scene, like a movie in my mind playing, not as clear as I would’ve liked, but clear enough. My sister and I were at the beach. I could hear Dad’s metal detector somewhere in the background. We were freezing because we were absolutely soaked with ocean water we weren’t supposed to have gone into.
“It’s your own faults.” My mother had said when we complained about a lack of towels.
We had dug pits in the sand warmed by the sun and we were laying on our backs looking at shapes in the clouds when we heard a car in one of the parking lots playing a song we liked. She started singing, but she was off key a little. I began singing over her, partially to help her correct herself and partially so I wouldn’t have to hear her anymore. So she sang louder, sacrificing quality for volume. Soon we were screaming the lyrics that had already been shut off as loud and as terribly as we could manage. The song quickly melted into hysterical laughter that brought tears to our eyes.
I rolled onto my side to look at my sister’s bed and wondered if her singing might’ve improved if she’d been given the chance to grow up. Then I curled into the fetal position and cried myself to sleep.
Rude! I squirmed to get out of his grasp but he held me with no effort, and his attention never left the back of the house. I smacked his chest, likely hurting my hand more than him, but the noise at least got him to look at me. His eyes were wide in earnest and he had his finger placed over his lips telling me to be quiet. Yea, I got that before. Remembering our brief time together during childhood I thought of an old tactic that had always worked in these situations; I licked his hand. It tasted like dirt, but it worked. He was angrily rubbing his hand clean (ish) on his jeans and staring at me with a mixture of disgust and disbelief, but at least I could breathe now.
A shadow passed on the wall opposite us. He looked at me, again with his finger pressed against his lips. I nodded. He slowly and soundlessly moved to look out from under the table. Suddenly I was scared. Really scared. I grabbed at his shirt to pull him back under the table shaking my head, trying to convince him silently that he shouldn’t do anything that could get him seen. He smiled at me. Gently, he moved my hand from his shirt to my own knee, patted it twice in a way that I suppose was meant to be comforting, but felt kinda belittling, and crawled out from under the table.
Awesome. My one and only method of self defense was going to go investigate the origins of the creepy shadow on the wall. Anyone who has ever seen a scary movie knows investigating gets people killed. I listened carefully for sounds of strangling or stabbing. Not like I’d heard them before, but I figured I’d know it if I heard it. Nothing seemed to be happening. My short attention span led me quickly to boredom, and I started really looking around my old dining room.
I couldn’t see much of the kitchen because the breakfast bar was in the way. I could see the calendar still on the fridge. The first week of the month has red slashes through it’s days. Dinner for each day was written in purple sparkly ink up until the 15th - payday. The grocery list was gone, but I still knew the place by the calendar it should’ve been. Most of the pictures had fallen, or faded past recognition, except a picture of my cousins playing in our backyard when they were toddlers. Next to my hiding place, under the bench by the back wall, was a dirty old sock (probably my dad’s) and a toy horse.
I reached to examine the toy. My sister and I had been obsessed. Other girls played dress up with their dolls or house with their friends, but me and my baby sister were only interested in our little plastic horses. Well, we had other animals too, for dramatic purposes. My favorite had been a muscular grey unicorn, with fur on his hooves like a draft horse and a thick white mark down his nose. His horn was broken in half, he had lost it in a territory war a year or so after he was given to me. My sister’s was a dainty palomino with a long silky white mane and tail she would brush idly in her spare time. This horse that survived was a brown and white paint, with blue eyes and feathers braided into his plastic mane. He played the wise old horse in our little fantasies. Once he had advised my brave stallion that the herd should move north, to escape the pack of vicious and evil wolves that would be moving soon to their valley. My sister’s palomino (the stallion’s young wife) urged him to listen to the Old One, but he was too proud to move his grand herd for the sake of a few dogs. In the end the wolves proved too great a foe and my unicorn and a few of his bravest fighters were forced to sacrifice their lives so the women and children could escape to the bright valley in the north. There was a long tearful goodbye and an epic battle scene. It was all very dramatic and my sister and I were quite satisfied at the end of it. I’d have to hold on to him.
Still the house was quiet. I couldn’t figure out if that was a good sign or a bad sign. I thought of horror movies I had seen. If I stayed put, alone and basically defenseless, I was likely to be discovered and brutally murdered. If I went looking for Zander, I could either run into a crazy person and end up dead, or I could find Zander. If I found Zander, he could either be already dead or still alive. If he was still alive we could die together or escape together. I was not really happy with the chances of survival after riding that train of thought.
I had just about convinced myself to go looking for him when I heard footsteps in the hall. I froze, held my breath, I swear my heart stopped beating for a moment. This was it. Crazy murder man had found me. I was going to die.
“All clear.” Said Zander calmly as he sat back to his meal. I reminded my body to work again and moved back up into my seat. I sat staring at him, munching on his roasted cat like everything was totally normal.
“So….?” I inquired eloquently.
“So what?” He said without looking up.
“What happened with the shadow? Where’s the crazy murderer?”
He laughed at me. I might’ve liked his laugh if it wasn’t always directed at me…
“There was no crazy murderer. Whoever was out there is gone. Still, we need to make sure we stay under the radar, that’s the first time anyone’s come around here for a long time, I think they heard all that noise you made.”
“You mean the noise we made?” I said defensively.
“No, I mean the noise you made. I was just trying to tell you not to freak out, and what’s the first thing you do?”
I pouted until I was done with my meal, (if you could call it that) but after sitting quietly for far too long I decided answers were more important than spite.
“So what exactly is going on?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” He was picking at his fingernails.
“I mean what’s going on? Why are you hiding in my house? Why were you so freaked about someone finding us? What are we going to do now?” I paused. “Where is everyone?”
He stared for a moment with a mixture of curiosity and condescension on his face. “What makes you think there’s a ‘we?’” He leaned forward across the table towards me.
“Well-” I started, feeling stupid again. “Well I don’t know. I mean you’re all by yourself, and I’m by myself, and we were friends once…”
“That was a long time ago, and did you think maybe I’m alone because I want to be?” He got up from the table and began towards the hallway. “I can’t afford to worry about you. Do whatever you want now, I couldn’t care less.” I was left alone.
Whatever, you know? I didn’t need him. I didn’t even want him. He was the reason I was hurting all over anyways, scaring me the way he did. I could take care of myself just fine.
So I went up to my old bedroom. I was friggin’ exhausted and everything hurt. I laid down on my old bed. Examining the old horse, in my old room, next to my sister’s old bed, I felt kind of nice, peaceful sort of, for a moment. After that moment though, I started to feel how abandoned the place felt. I noticed the paint I helped my mom pick out peeling off the walls. I noticed the shreds of thread fraying out of the curtains and the blankets. Mostly I noticed how quiet it was in this house I always remembered to be full of the sounds of life; of my family’s life. Laying there, with the old toy horse in my hands, in my old room, in my bed, I closed my eyes for the first time in years and really remembered.
There was a scene, like a movie in my mind playing, not as clear as I would’ve liked, but clear enough. My sister and I were at the beach. I could hear Dad’s metal detector somewhere in the background. We were freezing because we were absolutely soaked with ocean water we weren’t supposed to have gone into.
“It’s your own faults.” My mother had said when we complained about a lack of towels.
We had dug pits in the sand warmed by the sun and we were laying on our backs looking at shapes in the clouds when we heard a car in one of the parking lots playing a song we liked. She started singing, but she was off key a little. I began singing over her, partially to help her correct herself and partially so I wouldn’t have to hear her anymore. So she sang louder, sacrificing quality for volume. Soon we were screaming the lyrics that had already been shut off as loud and as terribly as we could manage. The song quickly melted into hysterical laughter that brought tears to our eyes.
I rolled onto my side to look at my sister’s bed and wondered if her singing might’ve improved if she’d been given the chance to grow up. Then I curled into the fetal position and cried myself to sleep.
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