Kristen

Kristen

          I don’t want to think about it and I don’t want to talk about it, I think as my friend speaks to me. I do not hear her words, her mouth opens and closes like a child's might when she is imitating her pet goldfish. It’s a private thing, it sits on my chest growing heavier until I feel like I am going to explode. I know she cares, but she would never speak to me again if she knew what I am. A scared look and a scream, maybe she would be gone from my life. Though maybe not, she might accept me, but I can’t take that risk. I feel a hand on my shoulder, its her, I nod as if I am listening. Who would accept me for who I am, when normal kids are not accepted for who they are? At least they can change, I can’t.

          “I’ll see you later, Amolas,” I hear. I shake myself and watch her disappear behind the graffitied concrete stairs.

          Most kids won’t even talk to me. I give off a strange vibe I’m told. But she still hangs with me. The park is too far away to see, but I still look in that direction anyway. My sunglasses slide down my nose, but I push them up before anyone sees my eyes. The park is where I first met her. I hear a sound behind me. I should have gone to class, I think as the gang of seniors begins to surround me. Too late, after a chorus of “Freak boy” I am pounced on and before I have time to think, I am pinned to the ground. I keep face as still as stone, thankful that my sunglasses hide the fear in my eyes. They spit at me like a pack of pissed llamas. My fists were clenched and I am about ready to blow my secret to just get away. My shirt has already started to rip.

          “Stop!” A girl’s voice screams.

          I think I am hallucinating. The seniors flee like spooked chickens. She holds out her hand, like she did when she was five years old and had rescued me from a group of kindergarten dropouts. “We have to stop meeting like this,” I joked.

          “Amolas, what did you do?”

          “What?”

          “You should go to class.”

          I stare at her, but of course she can’t see my eyes.

***

          I don’t see her for the rest of the day. Her usual seat beside me is as empty as a freshly robbed vault.

          One of my teachers walks up to me. “Have you seen Kristen?”

          He looks at me as if he truly cares. I know better. “Why?”

          “Amolas, don’t do this.” Apparently, its important, he usually humors me.
          “No, not since this morning,” I want to say more, but I hold my tongue.
          He runs his fingers through his thinning gray and white hair. His steel blue eyes stare off somewhere.

          “Mr. White?”

          “Thank you,” he walks away, towards his classroom, fighting his way against a sea of students.

          Something is up. Kristen never skips class. She may have gone home sick, but if Mr. White is looking for her. That is not the case. My mind wanders, maybe those seniors got to her. I clench my fists, sorry Mr. White, but Kristen is more important to me than a passing grade in English.

          I leave the school, the lady in the office, doesn’t even pay attention. Too distracted by a cheesy romance novel and chewing what has to be at least a half a pack of gum. An entire army could walk by and she still would not look in my direction. I open the door and I’m met with a blast of cold air, that I am sure wasn’t there earlier this morning. If only my parents would let me have my license.

***

          I reach the park, this is a good place to start as any. The smell of rain warns of an impending storm. The swings move back and forth, as if the ghosts of small children have decided to play. That is except for the last swing. “This is where we first met,” her voice softer than the last time I heard it.

          I don’t answer, but sit down in the swing beside her, displacing any ghost child that may have been there.

          “We’ve known each other our whole lives, and I have never seen your eyes.” She says.

          I touch my sunglasses, I feel them cool against my finger tips. The first barrier between me and the rest of the world.

          “Let me see your eyes.”

          “I can’t-“

          “There you go again.”


          “Why did you leave school,” I say, attempting to change the subject.

          “My mother is in the hospital and I just couldn’t stay.”

          “What?” I reach to touch her, she moves. I watch her pump her legs in and out, raising higher and higher, as if she was the one able to fly.

          I copy her movements.

          “I might be leaving to visit her. I haven’t seen her since dad and her-“

          “Separated,” I say finishing her sentence.

          She drags her feet in the dirt, slowing herself down in response. “I should go. I don’t know when I will see you next.” She gives me a hug about the shoulders and before I know it, she’s gone.

          Alone once again.

          Rains begins to fall, a little as if the rain was a timid mouse and then more as if the heavens decided they’ve got to give everything they’ve got. I remove my sunglasses, revealing my downcast yellow eyes. I know that it’s the worst time to try flying, but I don’t care. I pull my soaking wet shirt off. It sticks to me like a second skin. I stretch my wings toward the sky. I want to tell her, but I can’t. Not yet.

***

          My hair is plastered to my head and my shirt clings like a second skin. I remove my shoes and add them to the pile beside the door. Laughter floats from the living room to my ears, I wince. I walk by sliding on the hardwood floor. They did not say a word. I stare at the back of my parents heads. My mother’s long black hair and my father’s closely cut blonde hair.

         I guess they don’t care, that I skipped class and now home past my normal curfew. They’re more interested in some sitcom, most likely Seinfeld or King of Queens. I walk up the stairs, looking at the mocking eyes of those in the pictures on the walls. They tell a different story of the people that live in this house.

          My door closes behind me without a sound. I peel of my black shirt and fall on to my bed face down, my wings flop over like lifeless fish.

***

          I feel warm, when I wake up, I guess mom came in the night to throw a yellow comforter over me. The sun is shinning a little too brightly. I stretch almost knocking my Snoopy lamp over. It turns around in my hands, a childhood gift from Kristen. A memento that should be boxed away like my one and only teddy bear with the missing eye.

          It’s dim downstairs, the only light is coming through the windows. A bright yellow sticky note is stuck to the fridge door beside a two-month-old grocery list. ‘

Went out be back about at dinnertime. $10 is on the table in case you’re hungry ~love mom and dad’

          Breakfast is four eggs, two slices of toast, five pieces of bacon and a tall glass of Florida’s Orange Juice. The phone rings, I let the answering machine pick up. I hear my mother’s voice ramble on about leaving a message after the beep. I walk back upstairs ignoring the voice leaving, what can only be a long drawn out a pointless message. Trying to sell some vacuum cleaners or one of those Sleep Number type deals which no one wants.

          I throw on a pair of jeans that seem clean and tuck my wings in as I put on a Southpole shirt that my mother bought me, all of my other shirts are in need of a good run through the washing machine. I haven’t the heart to tell her I hate the shirt. Maybe an accident will happen to it.

          Once downstairs avoiding any eye contact with the pictures, I hit the answering machine button and listen. Its quiet except for breathing, like you hear in all those horror movies, there is a reason why it’s freaky. Then the classic horror movie voice picks up.

          “We know where you are, its been seventeen years but we’ve found you. We’re done—”

          I couldn’t make out the rest, the guy must have asthma or something. These are the times where I hope it’s a wrong number, a misunderstanding that in fifty years I can look back on this and laugh. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear and let my parents deal with it whenever they get home.

***

          Outside, there’s a breeze, the identical houses file by like marching soldiers in boot camp. Kristen’s back faces me, by the way she’s standing it looks like she isn’t happy.

          “Dad, we are going to be late. The plane isn’t coming to the house to pick us up. Let’s go!”

          A smile, exactly what I need. Kristen turns and stops. Her cheeks flush, “Amolas I-”

          I tap my sunglasses as a gentleman might tip his hat. Both of us know that I don’t want her to leave. I put my hands on her hips and she wraps her arms around my neck as if we were to begin a slow dance. Her breath is warm against my skin, as our face move closer.

          “Kristen!” Honk!

          We turn away from each other. “Guess he got to the car alright. Well bye.” A quick wave and soon the car disappears behind a corner, hidden by the identical houses.

***

          Swinging back and forth, is a young me and a young Kristen, why can’t everything go back to those simple days? I stood up, the younger us run off, hand and hand, shrieking with laughter. The sun has started to go down, and I begin the long trek home. Though what I see when I arrive isn’t what I expect.

          Blue and red lights flask like beacons in the dark, I bet you were expecting that right? I follow like a ship, but I still hit the rocks.

          A man in blue looks at me, his eyes cold and distant, as if he’s seen more than a lifetime’s worth of action. “Son, you can’t come any further.”

          He didn’t have to say anything. I don’t think that I could move if I want to. All I want to know is that my parents are okay. That this is some clichéd dream, that I’ll wake up from like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. I almost click my heels together and say there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home. You’re probably laughing at me, a 17 year old boy clicking his heels together.

          I look at the house, all the lights are on, shadows move across the windows. One man is speaking softly in to his radio. Does he know what the hell is going on? I step back, he looks up at me, his eyes are green, soft like moss. “What’s your name son?”

          I adjust my sunglasses and look at him. “Amolas.”

          He doesn’t answer, but whispers something quietly into his radio.

***

          I am at the cop’s house. His wife figured I would like to stay for a time, continuing at the same school and all that sentimental stuff mother’s are into. The way the house is set up is identical to my house. The pictures and the furniture is one of the only differences. Drawings done by their four year old cover the fridge. In the living room there is a picture of the girl perched on top of a brown pony, both covered in pink. She might hate horses. Another she wears a ballerina tutu like any typical four year old girl, but she isn’t looking straight at the camera, but far off in the distance.

          “Amolas let me show you to your room.”

          I see a young woman, the cop’s wife, peeking over the banister wearing a pink t-shirt and jeans. Her smile brightens her whole face. I plaster on a smile and follow her up the stairs. “You’ll sleep in the guest bedroom.”

          She takes me by the shoulders, her face more serious, her mouth in a slight frown, looks directly into my eyes. “They will find your parents. John will make sure of it.”

          I want to believe her, but why should I get what I want? My parents didn’t even seem to care, but then why do I miss them so much?

          “It’s okay to cry Amolas.” She says.

          She hugs me like she might her daughter. No tears, but there’s a pain in my chest that won’t go away.

          “Dinner is at six, if you’re not hungry I understand.” She closes the door and I listen to her soft steps as she descends the wooden staircase.

          The walls are empty except for a mirror and a painting of a sailboat. A bed, neat with a pale blue bedspread, with a bedside table to match, I sit on the bed. My face is in my hands. My parents are missing, and people I don’t know are actually caring! What will they do if they knew about my wings?

          I get up and start pacing back and forth across the white shag carpet. A knock snaps me back as the four year old enters the room.

          The girl smiles her hair pulled in to identical braids, wearing a pink dress. “Hi.”

          “Hi”

          "What’s your name?”

          “Amolas.” I say

          “I’m Amy”

          “Amy what do you want?” I don’t mean to be rude, but I want to be left alone.

          “Tea party,” Amy says hiding her face with her hands, giggling.

          “A tea party? You want me to go to a tea party?”

          “Yes silly.” She grabs my hand and leads me to her door. There’s a gold star on it that says Amy’s room. I am blinded with pink when Amy opens her door. How one person can stand that much of one color, I’ll never understand.

          “You sit here and I’ll sit here,” Amy offers me a tiny chair. Soon I am sitting beside a mountain of stuffed rabbits and teddy bears, some with missing eyes or limbs. Straw hats with matching pink bows are perched on our heads.

          Amy hasn’t stopped smiling since I walked in. I pretend to be dainty, pinky extended as I sip imaginary tea. Sure enough Amy imitates me, chatting away to her stuffed friends. I wonder if Kristen was like this when she was four. Must’ve put up with it then as I am doing now.

          “Amolas?”

          I look up from my imaginary biscuit. “What?”

          “Thank you.”

***

          Amy hums a tune as she eats her pizza. John stares at his plate, briefly looking at his wife. She does the same as her husband. Their eyes meet and then they look at me.

          “We’re glad you’re here Amolas,” John says. “Gwen and I what you to feel right at home, until your parents are found.”

          I nod. Gwen's eyes are red and her cheeks are tearstained. “I need a moment.” She gets up and walks out, her bare feet slapping the blue tiled floor.

          “It’s not you Amolas. I’ll explain later,” John says, his expression matches his wife’s.

          “I’ll go check on her. Keep an eye on Amy.”

          Amy continues humming pretending to feed her doll, the plastic face is covered in pizza sauce and grease.

          “Amy why are your parents so upset?”

          Amy shrugged her shoulders and kept on as if she hadn’t heard me.

***

          “Are you alright Amolas?”

          I stare at Mr. White’s steel blue eyes. I want to scream, too much pity from too many teachers. No Kristen, so I have no one to talk to about anything.

          “Fine, Mr. White, fine.”

          “You take as much time as you need to finish your portfolio.”

          “It will be in on time.” I say. “See you tomorrow.” I gather my books and walk out of the classroom.

          A few seniors are standing by my locker.

          “Looks like your little girlfriend isn’t around to protect you anymore,” The lead senior says, my nose wrinkles at his breath.

          “Don’t-” I start spinning my lock until it clicks. Got it to open this time.

          “What re you going to do? Go home to mommy?”

          “He can’t, his mommy is missing,”

          “Don’t-”

          “There is no one to hide behind, Amolas.”

          “Don’t-”

          “What about his sunglasses?”

          Bam, my locker bangs closed, making them all jump.

          The halls are deserted now, like a mall after closing time, and I’m security making the rounds.

          “Not so fast.”

          Where’s backup when you need it? My arms are pinned to my sides and the seniors press me up against the lockers shouldn’t they have gone to class? No one is going to look for me. Ms. B must think I need some time alone.

          “Let’s see what you hide behind these things. It’s not like you’re Cyclops from X-Men."

          I try to move, to do anything to stop him. Stuck fast like a fly caught in some hungry spider’s web. I don’t think there is any difference between that senior and the spider, or me and the fly.

          Its slower than it should be. His hands curl around my sunglasses. He backs up almost knocking the rest of the pack over. “You’re eyes,” the sunglasses clatter to floor. “Bird eyes,”

          His friends take one look at me and drop my arms. I want to run, but I can’t move. What would Kristen say if she saw me now?

          “Are you some experiment gone awry?” One says.

          “No,” I reach out, snap. My sunglasses are beneath the lead senior’s heavy booted foot. I tap my fingers against the toe of his boot before I know what happened. I push on the floor like a 100 yard dash runner. And there’s the gunshot.