Wallflower

It started out as a murky, not-so-bright morning. Not a typical Sunday, but a common one in the town of Saint Iris. I could always predict what kind of day I was going to have by observing the weather outside my window. Today, apparently, wasn’t going to be fun; and I was right.

I woke up too early for it to be the weekend: meaning I was up before noon. My head was pounding, and my eyesight was a little fuzzy. These were telltale signs that I had gone drinking the night before, but I was fairly certain that I hadn’t. I didn’t remember making plans to, anyway. I rubbed at my temples and wondered to myself if maybe I was coming down with something. I dragged my palm over my face, exaggerating the pain I felt. How it happened didn’t really matter to me so much as getting into the bathroom and grabbing an aspirin.

With a groan, I crawled out of bed and dragged my feet across the carpet. My door was open; as it always tends to be after my mother tries to wake me up. I made my way to it, stretched in the open space, and scratched an itch on my arm; all the while, squinting in the unblocked hall-light. Usually, Mama would be gone long before now, as her only breaks come on Sunday afternoons. But today, there was some kind of sound coming down the hall from her bedroom.

Naturally, I was curious about this. Was she starting the vacation that I had spent weeks begging her to take? I watched her door for a minute, half to see if she was coming out soon, and half to wait for my eyes to adjust. When lines became crisp, and turning my head no longer left me with stabbing, optical pain, I forgot about the sound and ambled into the bathroom.

It wasn’t a long walk. My mother and I lived in an apartment: two bedrooms, one bath, and one kitchen/living room. Both of our bedrooms and the bathroom opened up into a little hall that only took six steps to clear. Getting to the bathroom, for me, only took three and a half steps. Once there, I didn’t bother with the lights. At the time, lights were on my ‘hate’ list. Instead, I turned the sink faucet to cold, and attempted to open the medicine cabinet.

Now, our medicine cabinet was a beast. It was big. It was ugly. And it liked to stick. My mornings were often ruined by my trying- and failing- to open it. That morning was destined to be one of them. I tugged and swore and came away with nothing more productive than a splinter. Aggravated, I tried to shove my cupped hands under the water that usually comes out of a faucet, only to discover that- for some unfathomable reason- our water lines were acting up.

My early-morning ritual was completely thwarted. Sleepy, and more than a little irritated, I rolled my shoulders and marched towards the kitchen. I stopped in the middle of the room, and looked around. Sparse and open, with thin carpet and yellow linoleum, our home was nothing special. But the windows had a great view of the pier and the marina. The curtains were parted, and I could easily spot a majority of the local fishing boats returning from their insanely early start. I patted my stomach absently and looked back at the kitchen. I wasn’t very hungry.

“Hey Mama,” I called back the way I came, “have you eaten breakfast yet?”

I waited, to see if she was going to respond. She had a habit of bringing work home, and forgetting that she didn’t live alone. I gave up when my feet started getting cold and made my way back to my room. Skipping breakfast was normal for me, so I wasn’t worried. And if I really was getting sick, I was better off not giving my belly something to reject.

With no shame at all, I grabbed a shirt and jeans off my bed, and changed with my door hanging open. It’s not like my mother would care. Or notice. Rolling my eyes at my thoughts, I grabbed the wireless phone sitting on my dresser and flopped onto the floor. It was messy, but not dirty. I cared about filth, not organization. Settling in cross-legged, I dialed Zoey’s number, vainly hoping she could help me wake up. Zoey was my best friend. And, being truthful, she was pretty much my only friend. I was the kind of kid who didn’t ‘socialize’ with others my age.

That wasn’t a big deal though. The two of us could entertain ourselves easily. It wasn’t always legal, but when no one manages to remember who you are or what you look like, it’s easier to slip passed the law; one of the perks to being ‘invisible’ on the social ladder.
While I was considering these things, the phone had managed to ring five times. It wasn’t helping my headache, but I was stubborn, and I wasn’t about to let her ignore me. On the seventh ring, someone picked up.

“H-hello?”

There she was. I smiled, satisfied. “Zoey! Hey, It’s Liz. You wanna-”

“Hello?”

I scowled, not at all in the mood for games. “Zoey!”

“I-is anyone there?” she left me baffled. The girl sounded like she had been crying.

“Zoey, can you hear me?” I asked.

The dial tone rang in my ear. I hit the ‘end’ button, and stared at the phone. What was up with her? Zoey-of-the-stone-heart didn’t get upset. Ever.

Suddenly, the phone began to ring. I shrieked and accidentally dropped it. Trying to calm my racing heart, I reached for the plastic, off-white device and checked the caller-i.d. It was Zoey. Her phone must have been going on the fritz, and now she was calling back.

Feeling better, I jabbed the ‘call’ button and lifted the phone to my ear. “He-llo!” I sang my greeting. It was something she was used to by now. I waited for her to say something sarcastic, but all I got was another annoying RING. I clicked the phone off and on again, but it didn’t help. Feeling frustrated, I yelled, “Mama! Get the phone! Mine isn’t working!”

I waited again as the phone rang one more time, then stopped. I sat up and dropped the mobile so I could check if my mother actually answered, or if Zoey just gave up. I got to her door and tried to twist the knob, only to discover that it was locked. I could feel my brows furrow. Mama never locked her door before.

It was getting annoying, having all these things happen first thing in the morning. I leaned against the door to try and overhear what that woman was up to. I could hear her voice, but it was muffled and hard to understand. I did manage to catch a few words though. A ‘No, I didn’t call…’, an ‘I know…’, and an ‘I miss her too…’ drifted through the wood separating us. I was incredibly confused. My mother sounded like she had been crying harder than Zoey. What was up with those two?

The situation had me teetering between irritated and worried. Worried, because these were people close to me who were obviously upset, and irritated, because that was my phone call, and neither of them seemed interested in letting me know if they were okay or not. I’m afraid the irritation won out. I decided that if my mother wanted to ignore me, then I’d make it easier on her and leave.

I shouted, “I’m going out for the day!” at her door and waited. Nothing. “Don’t wait up for me!” I called. I ended up leaving the apartment without so much as a ‘goodbye’ from her.

I went for a walk. I didn’t have any particular destination in mind, but the road I was on led towards my high school. No sane student wants to go to school on the weekend, especially not this close to summer, and I am quite confident in my sanity. But, there was a turn about 3/4ths of the way down that would take me by the pier. I was in ‘one of my moods’, and the ocean always made me feel better.

It was such a blah day. You couldn’t see the sky or the sun, and the clouds were more like mist than the usual fluff. It was a little cool out for me, but I had long sleeves so it wasn’t much of a bother. What did bother me was the fact that everyone else outside was wearing t-shirts and shorts. They all looked ready to head to the beach! Buncha crazies. But even so, Saint Iris was small enough that people noticed and stared when someone was drastically different. I wasn’t spared a single glance for my cold-weather attire. Another ‘perk’ of my ‘invisible’ status, I thought bitterly.

By the time I got to the pier, I was thoroughly sick of people. Usually, I hate people because they look at me too much. Their judgmental eyes and sneering faces made me bristle. Today, I learned that it was indeed possible for me to sink even further into the ‘invisible’ section of society. I was creeped out and jumpy, turning to try and catch people talking behind my back; trying to figure out why I was suddenly being treated so strangely. I was half tempted to jump on someone just so they’d yell at me and make a scene. At the time, I was deluded into thinking it would be okay to get arrested if it meant all this would stop.

There were two girls- one, maybe two years older- walking behind me. They were the pink-and-khaki-wearing type that spent the end of each class fixing their hair and talking about losers like me who were ‘trying to look cool’. I was stereotyping, and in this town, that kind of thinking was usually right. At the moment, I think they were busy tittering on about what ‘Ashley-May’ came to school in last week. I scowled when I realized that I'd be relieved if they would just look up and start talking about me instead.

The ocean had always been my refuge. Whenever I got upset, going out on the pier would give me the best view. I could sit on my bench and stare out over the wooden railings; find the horizon and pretend that that’s where I was. Not stuck in a no-where town, going to a rundown school, dealing with a daily dosage of morons, and heading towards a dead-end job. With the grandmother of the mother of all headaches. I was looking forward to the sparkle of sun on water and the call of sea gulls and the way inane chatter seemed to fade as I gazed out.

Then, I noticed him. I had to, because he was on my bench. He was tall, or at least long-legged. He was also dressed like a punk, with black bondage pants, some kind of tight, dark, band shirt, and a spiked bracelet. My scowl deepened. He had shaggy, pageboy blond hair tipped black, a crooked, slightly big nose, and grey-blue eyes. If I weren’t so annoyed with him, I’d have probably found him attractive.

But, what really clinched it? He looked at me. This wanna-be-bench-thief was the only person today to even notice that I existed. I hated life. I also hated irony.

I stopped about three feet away from him and my bench. He eyed me up and down, looking faintly ill. I wondered for a moment if what I had was an epidemic, until he opened that big mouth.

“You look like shit,” he stated. It was done oh-so-casually, as if he was commenting on the weather.

There was an indignant sniff behind me, and I turned my head to watch the girls in pink stalk passed me. Twin glares were spent uselessly on the bench-thief, as if he had insulted them directly. Thanks for caring girls, now if only you could have given me a wave, or wished me luck on kicking that jerk off of my bench. I realized, after that, that the bench-thief might not have seen me, and really had insulted the pinks.

Cautiously, I turned back. Nope. He was talking to me. Stupid thief. I looked down at myself, taking in the lime-colored, long-sleeved shirt and faded blue jeans. I knew my hair was up in a messy bun, but I certainly didn’t look ‘like shit’.

I glared. “You’re on my bench,” I informed him.

He smiled rather pleasantly, but his voice was filled with sarcasm when he shot back, “When did you buy it?”

I would have replied, but it would be a waste of air. Stupid people weren’t worth the effort. Instead, I dragged up all the dignity I had left, and moved to sit on the edge of my bench. As far away from him as physically possible. I could feel his eyes on me, but I tried to ignore it by concentrating on the ocean. The calming, deep, green ocean.

“Melissa Cambry, right?” he asked. He was so sure of himself, as if he knew already that I was going to say ‘yes’.

I turned a bitter gaze on him. It wasn’t fair that he knew me when I barely recognized him. Saint Iris was small enough that it was very likely that we went to school together, but I never paid my peers any mind. I was feeling a small bit of regret for that decision.

It seemed he took my silence as a 'yes', because he kept going. “You know, I used to have a crush on you in middle school.” I could feel my face turn red. Was he hitting on me? But no, “That didn’t last long. I gave it up when you went on that 4-year, men-are-dogs, rampage.” He laughed. I sagged in my seat. That stupid jerk; why was he telling me this?

He kept watching me, and finally I turned enough to look him in the eye. He had such a serious face. I wouldn’t believe he had just cracked a joke at my expense if I hadn't heard it. He opened his mouth, and I found myself holding my breath.

“You’ve been missed,” he said.

I didn’t understand what he meant. Missed? I hadn’t even been gone for a full day! And who in their right mind would miss me? Besides Mama and Zoey? I asked him as much and he frowned at me with sad eyes. It was so stupid. I was the one being ignored by everyone, and here’s this kid who was dark and burdened-looking already. And he had the gall to feel Sad. Sad over me.

He turned away without saying anything. The two of us sat for a while, not talking. I suddenly realized, after watching gulls dive-bomb for food scraps for an unknown amount of time, that I didn't know this guy's name.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He was leaning back, head tilted at a strange angle to rest against the back of the rail. "Hey," I murmured. He made some kind of noise, like a grunt, that told me I had his attention. "What's your name?"

I don't think he expected me to ask that, because he was silent for a while after. I was beginning to think he wasn't going to say anything at all, when he sat up and twisted himself to face me completely. I blinked at him. I wasn't used to people who were so quiet and intense. It was a little intimidating, so I leaned back a few inches.

He smiled, which I guess was an attempt to make me feel at ease, and asked the strangest question: "Do you remember what you did yesterday?"

I opened my mouth to say 'Of course!', but then I stopped. Yesterday was... Today was Sunday, so yesterday was Saturday. What did I do? I suddenly realized that I couldn't remember. It was alarming to discover such a big gap in my head.

So I backtracked. Friday. Met up with Zoey after school, walked to her house, called home, got the answering machine, hung out for a few hours and went home. Okay, nothing happened Friday afternoon. Slept that night, woke up, ate breakfast by myself, watched t.v., got a call from Zoey at 1. It was coming back to me. Something about a party. Zoey came over, we spent a couple hours messing around and primping, and then what? Party... party... it was at some jock's house.

Suddenly, it was all there. The alcohol, the wild dancing, the surprising attention from a few more than attractive college guys. I had volunteered myself to a drinking contest and won. The poor guy I beat had been half sloshed already. There had been cheering, and one guy- I could barely remember his face- put a hand to my shoulder and led me to the side. He asked me... I couldn't remember what, but suddenly I was in his car.

I felt so stupid. I knew better than to get into cars with strangers! And I definitely knew better than to get into any moving vehicle while drunk. What had I been thinking? Better yet, what happened after that? I had been so tired, but I couldn't rest with all the sharp turns the guy had been taking. We had been laughing about something, and then- light. And noise. And pain...

Slowly, I became aware that more than just my head was hurting now. The whole of my right side throbbed and burned. My eyes watered, and I brought a hand to the side of my gut. A sickening squelch reached my ears.

Fear stuck me, and I could feel my breathing pick up. Everything hurt so bad... I looked at the boy beside me, and his ill-looking appearance began to make sense to me. I must look a sight.

"There... there was a crash..." I said.

He nodded, "Last night, a blue Honda- one driver, one passenger, both drunk- hit and flipped over the guard rail on Aurin Lane."

Aurin Lane was a well known driving hazard on the best of days.

Hesitantly, I asked more than said, "There were..."

"No survivors," he finished.

I nodded, and suddenly felt lighter. The pain was fading, and warmth that felt like the sun was hitting my back. I gave into the crazy impulse to smile at this boy. Such a weird kid, talking to me like that. He raised an eyebrow at me, questioning.

I grinned a little wider. "What's your name?" I asked again.

His shoulders shook a couple times, but whether he was suppressing a laugh, or a sob, I'd never know. He took a deep breath and smiled beautifully at me.

"Par. Par Healy," he replied.

I nodded, feeling satisfied. "Thanks."

I stood up, and my world turned white.