Throw It All to the Wind

Amazing, really. Who would have thought there were so many ways to read a book? Some teachers seemed to assume the classic intellectual's method, appearing as if they wished nothing other than to devour every single word like some class of starving wolf. They'd tap the cover systematically and hold it close to their heart, as if stating their undying adoration of its contents. Tap, tap, tap. Tappity taptap. Glance at the students to check no one was passing notes or making interesting hand gestures when they weren't looking. Tap. Gaze critically at manicured nails and give an expressive sigh; this was always a dignified release of breath, emitting a loud WHOOSH sound only teachers could make. Tap. Back to the book and make up for lost reading time, their voice becoming high-pitched and excited. Whether the subject was Pythagoras and his famous theorem or Shakespeare and his characterisation of Lady Macbeth, the various teachers would make a great show of their admiration for X, Y or Z.

And then, of course, there were the teachers at the opposite extreme. These teachers spent most of their time dodging the paper aeroplanes the tough boy with spiky blond hair was so industrially constructing in his corner. Such was their terror of a white A4 spitfire that they would barely glance at the glorious bold words of genius portrayed on a book's pages. If and when they sighed - this was a frequent occurrence - it was habitually an exhausted sigh, one that seemed to be far too tired of it all: "Please, be kind to me! I've - I've taught you all I know!"

Cori glared at the clock, willing the awkward hands to jerk forward just a little faster. The exasperated teacher currently standing in front of the class, hands on hips and looking resolute and determined, had once compared Cori to that very same classroom clock, pointing out that both made the same pitiful effort towards their given duties. Neither seemed suited well to their task. Both nearly drove the poor teacher out of her mind; Miss Ferston was clearly one of Teacher Type B, and was always quite as relieved as her students when the usual infernal ringing signalled the end of the day.

The seconds hand slid clumsily into position to confirm the arrival of four o'clock, and found the teenage girl in question springing out of her seat (consequently knocking it over and creating a rather indiscreet crashing sound) and running a frustrated hand through her distinctive sleek straight black hair.

Currently sauntering her way through an "all doom and gloom, black and death" faze, as her mother had called it, Cori had gathered herself a group of friends who reflected this, as much an accessory as her new dyed hair and dark loose-fitting clothing. She wasn't quite sure what to do with herself, or her life, and she got easily bored with everything and anything life chose to throw at her. Constant change was her way of life; she had a new image almost every time she sauntered into her form class at school late, new opinions cancelling out those she'd possessed the previous day. One could wonder whether or not there was anything at all that could be defined as consistent character, that Cori's personality was only portrayed in her fashion sense, as if this was the only method she knew of and felt comfortable in using to express herself.

It was raining hard when she finally exited the school and headed for home. That reflected her mood too; melancholy to the extreme. She wore no jacket as she faced the elements, listening to the methodical and almost hypnotic dripping sound the raindrops always made as they hit the pavement. Relentless, unforgiving. Her trousers attached themselves to her legs just as a second skin would, and every time she ventured to move a foot she could hear the water splish splashing from the heel to the toe and then back again. A queer motion that consequently resulted in the majority of her limbs feeling not unlike blocks of wood, with minimal normal human sensation. And all the time a curious and stinging wind touched her with its cruel, probing cold fingers.

She'd meant to be staying after school to attend the senior swimming club, but she'd received a message just after lunch that demanded she come home directly at the end of the school day. Cori had been a little irritated, but she'd decided to go along with it nonetheless. That was the only workable way to get by with parents - if you have nothing against what they're asking of you personally then simply go along with it. As she absent-mindedly wandered through the puddles a rhyme from her childhood returned to her. She wasn't quite sure why this happened, but she found herself walking along and muttering it under her breath, chanting it with increased pace until she reached the family house's front porch. She couldn't help but wonder what sort of a scene her parents would have kicked up if she'd refused to babysit her brother while they enjoyed themselves at their nice party. And they moaned thought they were justified in moaning daily about all that they did for her. She, on the other hand, was always supposed to be on call, ready to look after her younger sibling just at the minute when her parents decided to gallivant off to the nearest party. Pathetic, she told herself. Utterly pathetic. Cori's chant reached a new level of urgency, her voice pitched unnaturally high.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!

The chant stopped suddenly. Cori frowned, stubbing her toe on the step. It was all so abrupt. She'd forgotten the rest of the words to that rhyme, and stood there, in the rain and harsh wind, for a while longer. It was unusual for her to waste time on her memories, as she looked firmly to the future. Her Mum always complained that before she'd even finished with today, she'd be racing ahead to tomorrow, and all its potential. This was frustrating her. Why? Why was she so bothered about some stupid child's rhyme? Cori was desperate to move on, to find herself and to determine what fate had destined for her as she rushed along the paths of life. The wind slapped her the minute she ventured out of her house. Her home used to be so comfortable, warm. Despite standing outside her house now and turning her key slowly in the lock the teenager still didn't believe that she'd located her final destination. Onwards. It was all Cori was certain of. She had to progress, somehow.

She was quite aware of being late, and nervously tried the doorbell, rubbing her hands together as she wandered backwards to wait on a response. Checked her watch. It wasn't that she was scared of her parents' reaction to her returning home late. Not exactly, anyway: it was a factor, but there was something else, something she just couldn't put her finger on at that moment.

The door opened slowly, with a creak normally heard in crumbly aging horror films. Any moment now the skeleton would slide its flesh-challenged hand round in an attempt to throttle her, or the psycho knife murderer would finally make his presence known. It was perfectly normal, of course. Only Robbie. Just her younger brother acting the fool and trying to scare her. Again. He knew how wonderfully it worked, and he loved to stand back as she shook and trembled violently, his suspicious smile etched upon his face, showing his grim satisfaction in the completion of the deed. It was so easy to wind up his sister! Evil laugh as the demon child would widen his oh-so-innocent eyes and apologise profoundly. He was exceptionally good at it, as he had the art - or indeed, sport, as he enjoyed it quite as much as football, tennis or swimming - of sister provoking perfected with years of practise.

"You're...late...Cori," her brother stressed every syllable in an obvious display of schadenfreude, "Daddy isn't going to be pleased at all."

Cori fought to grasp hold of a reasonable excuse; their parents had always been strict about latecoming, and of late she'd been a persistent offender. At the end of the school day she'd go to all the clubs she could, just to ward off any association with her parents. At the weekends she'd arrange to spend time at friends' houses or to go bowling or window-shopping. Anything. Anything at all, providing her finances were adequate for the purpose. Providing, at the very least, that she could at least help herself to a little of her parents' money - if a twang of guilt threatened to persuade her to reinstate it in her mother's purse she would reassure somehow - she'd escape that domestic prison. Her parents simply wanted what they thought was best for their sole daughter. Cori would rather take a running leap, and dive headfirst into the world that awaited her independent arrival, even although she still didn't know quite what it held.

She'd stayed at a friend's house when her parents had first started to argue. They'd throw things at each other, ornaments and the like, and hurl insults to and fro. Back this way, back that. A constant game of ping-pong, and Cori felt that, for whatever reason, she was the ball. Many of these disputes were about her, she knew. Turning up the volume on her CD player she'd try to ignore all that shouting about her being irresponsibly and ill-respecting her elders. School was a refuge, although she could not concentrate on her work most days. At least it meant she got away from that house. It wasn't a home; it was simply a house now, the warm red brick frozen and impersonal.

Pushing past her brother, she mumbled quickly, "I know."

Robbie didn't move, and instead remained perched on the doorstep, rocking back and forward on his heels. "They're not back yet. They're late too, just like you."

His words echoed in the most horrible fashion, bounding off the house's walls. Late. Late. Late. It cried high and it cried low. Late. They're late. Late. Cori almost threw her hands to her head as the noise penetrated her thoughts. Late. She didn't know why this echoed word was significant, but it made her wonder why she'd come back that afternoon at all. Their parents were at a Christmas party with some friends; adults only, no children invited. Cori didn't view herself as a child anymore, but she hadn't wanted to plead with her parents to be included in the afternoon. She didn't want to be a part of one of their stupid social events at any rate, oh no. She would much rather keep quiet and pretend she was still a child. She didn't care, and she'd repeat this to herself for as long as it took to make herself believe it. Force herself to accept her own bitter theories as truth. All she'd ever wanted was to be included, to be part of the group, but being a teenager meant you didn't hang around with your parents and their friends. Definitely not.

Late.

It was odd for her parents to be late. The latter simply wasn't characteristic behaviour. They must have some good reason. Shaking her head, ready to reprimand her unreasonable parents when they so provided her with this chance, she slipped into the kitchen to make herself a cup of hot chocolate. She carefully took her favourite seal mug from its peg and did the necessary. Somehow she'd always loved this mug, despite it being a link between her and her parents. When it was ready Cori slouched into the lounge and collapsed on the old and hairy green and yellow striped sofa, wrapping her hands around the mug for warmth. A ringing noise ensued. Surely just a noise from within the confines of Brookside? There it was again, failing to cease. Groaning, Cori made an effort to drag herself over to the house phone, hot chocolate and all. Needless to say, nobody had phoned, and yet that compelling noise proceeded to further pollute the house.

It had to be her parents at the door - they must have forgotten their keys, and were maybe standing there singing Jingle Bells still clutching sherry and shortbread, waiting to be let in. Cori wasn't sure what to expect when she opened the door. All she knew was that if her father was drunk she'd want to make a rather quick getaway as he got in.

She'd opened the door now.

One policeman, one policewoman. She could vaguely make out their car, even. The lights weren't on, and the night outside seemed so silent. A few solitary stars hung in the dark drape of sky.

"We need to come in."

Forget the question. This was a statement. Cori wondered if they'd come for her, but they didn't even raise an eyebrow when she'd arrived at the door. Didn't inquire on why she'd taken so long, or given the traditional shout of "Let us in or we'll break the door down!"

It had been a long and wordy explanation, but Cori only comprehended a few words of the conversation. Crash. Her parents had driven to that party, and they'd both been in the crash. Her mother wasn't coming back. Her father was in the hospital: something about it being critical. The tears came slowly to her eyes, and she struggled to stem them with a sleeve. She couldn't believe that any of this was happening, although who would? It belonged to Brookside, not to the real world. It hadn't just been a physical crash of two cars; Cori's world was crashing around her, and she was finding it hard to breathe. The walls were closing in on her. Reality had located her at last, and she was still prepared to convince herself that this was some sick joke, some late Halloween spectacular. They were wearing uniform, and it looked genuine, but she couldn't be sure.

CRASH - what a cutting word. Cori glanced down, looked to her feet. The police were still there, now attempting to explain what had happened to Robbie, but in more simple terms. He was too young to understand, they had said.

For the first time in her life, Cori tried to protect her brother, but the following CRASH was deafening.

The seal mug lay smashed on the hall floor, and she closed her eyes tightly, one arm round her sibling, trying to shield him. It was as if they were experiencing the tragedy that had robbed their mother and wounded their father. Such awful echoes, whistling their way around the house. It took a while for the two children to recover themselves, and the two others present looked patiently on. Robbie understood; he was not too young. These outsiders - the policeman and the policewoman - could never comprehend. Never. And still the echoes, calling, calling.

Late. Late. Too late?

Cori couldn't sleep well at all that night. For the grim fact remained definite; the crash had happened. The replay had been nothing less than a nightmare, but it had all occurred, but a few years previously.

A chorus of voices from downstairs, and she couldn't drown them out. Her father and brother, asking for breakfast. Her father looked not unlike a robot, strapped to that infernal chair, and he was helpless. They needed her to make the toast, to put on the kettle for coffee. It was her responsibility now; reality had forced her to be the strong one. She'd made an attempt to pull away before, thinking that her future was her own, and that her family would never play a significant role in this. The accident hadn't been the be-all and end-all of her future. She'd thought it was, to begin with. It had, if the truth were told, taken her a few weeks to accept it, but now the resolution was absolute. She understood now.