Twelve

It still seems so unreal, the whole ordeal. It’s funny. The way Fate and Destiny criss-cross our lives, mapping out a spider web of a path. There are endless possibilities of how to get to the end. I chose the path definitely less travelled. It’s miles from a fairytale, nowhere close to Prince Charmings and happy endings, but it’s a fancy tale nonetheless. I guess the only reason why I’m writing this is…a tribute of sorts. To my late father. He was a great writer and would probably like my story. He was a fan of unbelievable tales—and mine is unreal.



One

Brad Parker. He was my father. When I was five, he divorced my mom. A few years later, he remarried. His second wife’s name was Samantha, but she went by Sam. Sam had already been married herself once and also had a daughter, Ann Miller—but she went by Millie. Millie was three years younger than I was. A few years after Sam and my dad married, they had a son, Johnny.

My dad did pretty well after he divorced Mom. He became a published author, a huge icon for “independent readers.” Sam was a nurse who worked in the ER. Between her pay and Dad’s pay, we weren’t filthy, stinking rich, but we were above middle class. We lived a fairly swanky life, I suppose you could say. We had a huge house with five bedrooms, a finished basement, and a three car garage. My dad had his little, battered Honda Civic. Sam had her SVU of some sort. When I turned 16, they bought me a VW Beetle. It was red convertible. For other birthdays, they had bought me a red laptop, a red mp3, a red cell phone, a new red cell phone—I was a red sort of girl, which made sense because I wanted to go to UGA. Their school colors were red and black. I didn’t really do black but red was all right.

Anyway, so while Dad and Sam and their collage of a family were living this sheltered, moneyed life, Mom was stuck in Pennsylvania—well, I mean, she travelled a lot, visited countries all over the world and always brought me back a souvenir, but she wasn’t living the sweet life like us Parkers. Mom, Jody Christian, was a speaker, a saleswoman for some company. She flew around the world to convince others to purchase this product or that one. She was really successful and made a steady income, but she was hardly ever home. That’s why Dad divorced her. He had to be the mom, and that didn’t float his boat too well. So they split. Mom took it really hard; she was still in love with Dad. I think Dad may have still had some feelings for her but seemed to compensate by marrying Sam. Personally, I think he was just pretending Sam was Mom, but who knows? I never got a chance to ask.

It was Tuesday, September 3rd. I was sitting in my journalism class, staring at the clock, waiting for the bell to ring. I was hungry and it was lunch time. I hadn’t eaten breakfast—and I really regretted that when the aide knocked on the classroom door and asked for Cindi Parker. I went out into the hallway to see what the aide needed and was surprised when the sophomore told me to go to the front office immediately. I ducked back inside the classroom to collect my backpack, purse, and books and quickly went to the front office. I hoped I hadn’t done something wrong. As far as I could remember, I hadn’t broken any rules…I hadn’t been dresscoded or been tardy. I hadn’t skipped a detention or gone AWOL for a class period. I was clean. Why on earth would I be needed in the front office?

I walked into the front office and froze when I saw Sam, Millie, and Johnny there. Millie, a freshman, was hunched in a chair, staring sullenly at the carpeted floor. Johnny was sobbing into Sam’s green scrubs. Sam was sniffing and wiping at the smeared mascara under her eyes. I felt my heart sink ten stories and nervously swallowed the lump in my throat.

I still remember the look in Sam’s eyes when she flicked her dark eyes up at me. The door in her eyes was closed, the tender love I had seen in them gone, the soft mother I had argued with gone. Her black pupils ringed with charcoal irises, pain and anguish burned in the embers of her eyes, she was crying black tears.

I still remember the sound of her voice when she spoke. Her voice cracked, leaves crunching underfoot in the autumn, cold stars tumbling down from the chilly autumn sky, those words, thick teardrops of frozen blood.

“Brad is dead.”

Dad. Dead. Dad was dead. He was driving. A car crash. An explosion of crunching plastic and metal. He was driving through an intersection, battered by a Jeep running the red light, rear-ended by a sedan following too close. Squashed like a bug. In that cocoon of a Honda. Travelling at forty miles an hour. Squashed. Dead.

My heart choked. Impossible. Dad couldn’t die. He had to…He had to live. He had to take care of me. He had to miss Mom…He…He…he couldn’t be dead.

Who was I supposed to go fishing with on Sunday afternoons? Who was I supposed to make sandwiches with on school mornings? Who was I supposed to joke with?

I mean…after all…Me and Dad…we were all we had. I mean…There was Sam and Millie and Johnny. But…they weren’t there from the beginning like I was. Dad and me, me and Dad. That was our life. Our bond was unbreakable—except by Death. And…I just couldn’t grasp it.

I collapsed in the arm chair next to Millie. I was too shocked to cry. I held my breath, waiting for Sam to blink away her sadness and open that door again and tell me she was just playing a joke on me. After all, tomorrow was my birthday. And we didn’t get along. At all. That would be perfect, the best practical joke. Especially if she got Millie and Johnny in on it, too. Millie and I never saw eye-to-eye. And Johnny was secretly a terror. In Sam’s eyes, Johnny was a perfect, little angel. Dad was suspicious of his son and somewhat believed me. I would like to think he only believed Sam because he felt obligated to—but I know that was only wishful thinking. He only believed me somewhat because he was obligated to.

The whole thing was wishful thinking. Sam wasn’t joking. Millie and Johnny weren’t aiding and abetting Sam in this evil deed. It was for real. It was real. It was unbelievable.

I went back to class, to lunch, finished out the rest of the school day. Everything seemed a little green, a little out of place. I wanted to tell them, my friends, but I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I would lose it and cry and cry and cry. I couldn’t cry. Not in front of them anyway. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t tell.

I didn’t tell anyone. Anyone found out when they were invited to his closed-casket funeral. That was three days later. I was eighteen. And the only present I’d gotten was a box of tissues, which I bought myself.

It was at night. When no one could hear me, when no one could comfort me, when no one could hurt me—that’s when I cried. I wrote a lot in my journal those three days. Mainly, I was trying to condole myself, ease my pain with memories.

Mom was at the funeral. She was dressed in her favorite simple black two-piece suit. She wasn’t wearing any make-up. She wasn’t clenching a tissue or a six year-old. She was merely sitting in her fold-out chair, her black handbag pressed between her smooth hands. She was merely staring at the shiny white casket, her ankles crossed beneath her. She didn’t look at Sam when she said a few words. Sam had asked me to speak and tried to convince Mom to speak. Both of us refused.

I sat beside Mom. Johnny and Millie sat beside me, and Sam beside them. Grandparents were there. Aunts, uncles, cousins. Friends, editors, critics. The guy who mows our lawn. So many faces. Faces, faces, faces. Handshakes, pats-on-the-back, kisses, hugs, smiles, tears. Faces.

Everyone loved Dad. All those faces. That’s what we had in common: Dad.

The funeral was a blur. Inside the air-conditioned funeral home. Outside in the sweltering Georgia heat. I left the funeral early. I drove off in my red VW Beetle, driving to nowhere, to anywhere, parking, and sobbing.

I sat in my car for a long time. It was dark when my red cell phone rang. It was my mom. She wanted to meet me. Where? How about Chili’s? Sure. I hung up and drove off to meet my mom at Chili’s. I wasn’t hungry but I needed to see my Mom. She was still flesh-and-blood. She still loved me. I still loved her. Dad was gone. Mom was here. Mom was now. I needed to see her.

We sat in a small booth and either silently munched on chips and salsa or stared out the window. She still loved Dad. She missed him. She needed to see me.

Mom faced me and said, “Cindi, I’m moving down here.”

I looked up at her in surprise. “Why?”

“So I can be closer to you. You need to be with one of your parents. I’ve already spoken with my boss. He’s relocating me to the Southeast district. I’ll still travel a little, but I’ll be closer to you. I…I want to be the mother I should have been thirteen years ago.”

I stared at her. “You’d do that for me?”

She nodded. “It’s your senior year and I can’t let Sam ruin it for you or for me.” She smiled sadly. “I want to set things right.”

I stared at her for another long moment. “I can’t live with you, Mom.”

“I know,” she replied. “But I need to be here, with you.”

I sucked on my straw. “Thanks.”

She stared at me, looking into my lifeless eyes. “I love you, Cindi.”

I nodded. “I love you, too, Mom.”

I drove home that night, feeling a little better, a little less sad.

Mom moved into a small ranch about thirty minutes away from our mansion. She was gone most weekdays but every weekend I visited her. We went out for dinner, shopping, movies…I’d never been so close to my mom. Ever. It felt weird, having a mother I got along with, but it also felt good.

Sam was jealous. She’d make me prepare dinner with her. Some nights, she had to work so I’d make dinner by myself. Sam would take me grocery shopping with her. More often than not, she’d send me out to shop for her. And then Millie got a boyfriend and needed a ride every other night to everywhere and nowhere all at once. Sam couldn’t drive around her darling. So it was me. And I couldn’t leave Johnny at home by himself, so I’d have to drag him along. Millie would whine about us tagging along. She and I would fight, me trying to pull rank, her trying to tattle. Johnny was easily entertained with a DVD but Millie would complain about how childish it was. Millie and Evan stopped having dates—or at least, stopped having me cart them around.

But nothing helped. Being with Mom, arguing with Sam, fighting with Millie—it only made me lonelier. They couldn’t understand my sadness, the hole in my heart, the black hole, the void—the love I had for Dad. No one understood. Mom had felt it for so long the pain had numbed. Dad had been emotionally dead to her for thirteen years. He physically being dead was the next step.

Sam didn’t grasp my pain. She couldn’t. She didn’t have time to really have prolonged sadness. She had to work, she had to save lives. She had to save lives. But she couldn’t save her own husband’s.

But then, she never saw him come into the ER. She was at home, getting Johnny ready for school. That’s when the police had come, knocked on her door.

Millie and Johnny…Neither had the bond. Dad loved me most. I was his favorite. That only made Millie jealous and Johnny was too young to notice. Now, Millie was shining in her mother’s eyes, her mother’s favorite. Johnny was just a kid, just a child. He was a pawn in Sam’s game.

I stopped talking to my friends at school. I’d never been the most outgoing girl at school. But when Dad died, my lips seemed to sew themselves shut. I sat by myself at lunch. I left my Facebook account untouched. I only wrote in my journal, my new best friend. I wrote, listening to music. CD’s, tons of them—they had been Dad’s. He had written his bestsellers to these tracks, these audio files became ingrained in me. He had been working on another book, a sequel. I read the first three chapters. That’s all there was. That’s all there was ever going to be. I read and reread them. I read the first novel, which I hadn’t been particularly fond of. I learned to love it. I became obsessed with his imaginary characters. They were all that was left of him, his characters. Each possessed a bit of him. By reading his books, I could find Dad. And in reading him in writing, hearing him in his words, he seemed so alive. I found Dad. An immortal Dad. I talked to Dad in my journal. He talked to me in his books. I never had to open my mouth.

September was a lonely month. I’ve hated that month ever since.

For my high school, Gwinnett High, September was a terrific month. The football team was creaming every other high school team. The marching band got first in one of its competitions. Seniors bragged about their colleges. I had been accepted by UGA, GSU, and Georgia State. I had chosen UGA. But half of the seniors bragging about their college was also going to UGA. Not that special.

I was promoted at work in September. I was a manager at my Chickfila. It was about time. I’d been working there since I was 15. I deserved a promotion. I was only promoted because with my vow of silence, I’d gotten more work done, avoided more gossip, pleased the powers at be. So, with great loneliness comes great perks.

That’s contradictory. That was my first September without Dad. Contradictory. I was closer to Mom, farther from Sam. I was lonely, paid more. I was avoiding homework, making A’s. I was fighting with Millie, finding peace with Johnny. I was writing to Dad, reading for Dad.

My favorite place to read was in Dad’s arm chair, still upholstered with the plaid and pineapple pattern from the 50’s. My favorite place to write was at Dad’s desk, my red laptop warming his smooth wooden desk. My favorite place to cry was in my red VW Beetle, staring out the windshield at the little grey marble marker. I visited Dad often.

I was lonely, I was my best friend.

I needed Dad.

No more chances with Dad. Ever again. And that hurt the most. Don’t waste time. There is no time to waste. Because once time has been wasted, it cannot be gained back. And all those chances are gone. All those moments have vanished. Life’s greatest magic trick: death.



Two

September 24th

Red hair, green eyes, 38 Cs, approx. 135 lbs. Beautiful. Diamond ring on left hand, engraved initials. Expensive. Café at six. Taxi cab. Husband with car. Six thirty lover. Target. Soon.

Her eyes looked through me today. She is bored. I will change that. Soon. Soon she will never be bored again. Soon…

Nineteen years ago Lilah and I met. I wonder if she remembers. I hope she does. I hope it kills her to remember. It kills me every day.



Most Recent Resume:

Profile Rejected but dedicated individual with eighteen years experience as an unhappy loner. Skilled in broken relationships and lovers. Created unwritten means to the end.



Work History

Lilah #2-present Excellent father, middle management, part-time superhero

Responsibilities:

• Push and reward as necessary

• Manage all aspects of interviewing/hiring of potential employees

• Saving the world from Lilah’s evil

The Day I met College student, new employee

Lilah-The Day

She Broke me



Education

Every day I knew Lilah and every one since



Skills

• Certified in Saving the world & Paying back the heartache

• Proficient in parenting, drinking, and handling

• Certified in Conflict Mismanagement

• Depression as a second language



Achievement

• Three girlfriends, one marriage, countless whores

• Owner of a gun permit



References

Available upon Psychic interventions



Three

Daniel focused on the baseball on the Hit-A-Way swinging back toward him. He dropped his right shoulder and slugged the baseball back around the pole. He was practicing for the baseball tryouts in January. He didn’t care that he already had a secure spot on the Varsity team. He needed to practice. When he walked onto the dry red infield, Daniel wanted to feel the whispers. “That’s Daniel Lane Johnson…He’s their star player…the Prince of Baseball…”

Daniel wiped a line of sweat from his cheek and hung his bat on the rack. He stretched and checked his appearance in the glass basement doors before heading inside and upstairs. He grabbed a PowerAde from the fridge and swept through the mail on the counter. A packet with his name on it caught his eye. He tore it open and his SAT scores swished onto the counter and floor.

Daniel swore under his breath and retrieved the papers. He quickly scanned the numbers, trying to process the score of 1740. Daniel felt his heart drop and shook his head.

“I gotta get these up,” he says to his goldfish. “If I wanna get into Tech, I need to raise my score at least three hundred points.”

Daniel looked at the fridge, the front side decked out with baseball magnets—some individual, some team pictures. Baseball had been such a huge part of his life for as long as he could remember. He smiled at his T-ball picture. His hat was too big and drooped around his six year-old eyes, his ears holding the hat in place.

Star player or not, Daniel couldn’t take his chances with poor SAT scores. He was shooting for a baseball scholarship to Tech but also wanted the academic support for his smarts. He grimaced. Smarts? He was making B’s in his classes.

It’s because he was practicing baseball so much, he told himself. If he really wanted to do well in school and raise his SAT scores…he had to stop being so involved in baseball.

“Dad’s not gonna like that,” he pointed out to his goldfish. “I have to be a pro-baseball player. Dad says so.”

The goldfish silently opened and shut his mouth continuously.

Daniel shook his head. “It doesn’t matter that I want to be a radiological engineer. All the nuclear waste on the planet couldn’t convince Dad.”

Daniel stared at his pet. “But you are right. What I want matters, too.” He nodded. “All right. First semester…I’ll only practice one hour a day instead of two. But when baseball season rolls around, I’ll be back on, practicing three hours. Besides, colleges don’t really care about your second semester senior year. Thanks for the advice, fish.”

He took his PowerAde and went upstairs to his room, where he pulled out his Calculus book and began the assigned problems.

A moment later, Daniel heard his dad stomp inside the house and drop his briefcase on the tile floor. He went to the landing at the top of the stairs and hollered down, “Hey, dad!”

His balding father looked up with his brown eyes at his son. “Hey, Daniel, practice yet today?”

Daniel nodded at his potbellied dad. “Yeah, I practiced for an hour and a half.” He stepped down the first few steps and asked his dad, “The mail came. Have you seen it?”

Daniel’s dad, William Johnson, or Bill, frowned up at his son. “No. Why?”

“My SAT scores are in.”

“Oh?”

Daniel nodded. “Yeah, I got a 1740.”

Bill smiled at Daniel. “Good job! That’s great! Your score is great and with that baseball scholarship and the HOPE…well, you might just get a free ride.”

Daniel cringed. “Dad…”

Bill shook his head. “Daniel, don’t refuse free money because you think you don’t deserve it.”

“No, Dad, that isn’t it.” Daniel said, coming down the rest of the stairs. “Look,” he said, “I want to go to Tech. Even if I get a baseball scholarship, I still need better SAT scores. I want to take the SAT again in November.”

Bill was nodding. “Makes sense to me.”

“But…Dad, that means I have to prepare more for the SAT.”

Bill kept nodding. “Fine.”

“That means I have to practice less.”

Bill frowned, cocking his head.

“Dad, just hold on a second, tryouts aren’t until second semester. I’ll practice one hour a day first semester. Second semester, I’ll practice three hours a day. I have a secure spot on the Varsity team anyway.”

Bill drew in a long breath. “All right, son. Focus on your academics. But after Winter Break, you’re busting your ass over baseball. Got it?”

Daniel vigorously shook his head. “Yes, sir.”

“And Daniel, I appreciate your loyalty to baseball. It comes first after all—even when academics are the pressing issue. Now go study. You better be the best baseball-playing, most studying boy at school for the next few months.”

Daniel took the stairs three at a time back up to his room. He was slightly stunned that his father took it so well. But he was also thankful that his father wasn’t upset about his decision. Daniel knew how much getting that baseball scholarship meant to his dad.

Daniel sat at his desk and turned on his laptop. He needed music to work to. While he clicked open Windows Media Player, AIM automatically signed him in. He glanced at the names of his online friends. He recognized a few teammates and some cheerleaders and team managers and a few other classmates. Suddenly a little box popped up. Daniel squinted at it. It was from his Physics lab partner Amanda. It read:

Hey DLJ

Daniel shook his head. Amanda had a thing for him.

Hey, he replied.

Watcha up to?

Calculus, u?

<shrug> staring at my wall

Sounds boring

Eh….it’s all right. There’s a poster of Robert Pattinson on it.

Ugh not u too

What?

Youre a twilight freak, too?

Can you blame me? robert pattinson is hottttt

Uh….okay

Hey did we have any physics hw?

Daniel stared at the screen for a moment. Did they?

I hope not

Haha nice

Daniel sighed. It wasn’t that Amanda was ugly or mean or stupid. No, she was all right. He just wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. Daniel frowned at the computer screen. He just didn’t know how to tell her that.

So u going to homecoming?

Amanda thas in three weeks

So? R u going?

Uhm sure

Sure? You don’t know?

Not yet. Look Amanda I’ve got hw to do…

All right, I’ll let ya go

Thanks, Daniel thought, how kind of you.

Ok, see ya

Yeah, see ya in physics

Daniel quickly signed out of AIM and opened up Windows Media Player. He clicked on Huey Lewis and the News and resumed working on Calculus homework to “Heart and Soul.”

A knock on Daniel’s door made him jump. He looked up at his father. He hadn’t heard him even walk upstairs.

His father chuckled. “Sorry, Daniel. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Daniel shrugged. “What do you need?”

“I’m going out for a while.” Bill said. “I’m gonna pick up some dinner. Anything you want?”

Daniel thought. “Just a hamburger and fries or something. I don’t care.”

Bill nodded. “All right. Be back later.” He disappeared from the doorway and slammed the front door behind him as he left the house.

Daniel stared out the window as his father slumped into his black Ford pick-up truck. He was going to get drunk, Daniel told himself. Whenever his father “went out for a while,” he always came back drunk. It must have been a bad day at work. That was usually why he went out.

And of course this meant that Daniel wouldn’t get his hamburger and fries. His dad would forget. Daniel sighed and finished the last math problem. He grabbed his keys and hopped in his Carrera. He would have to get dinner himself. He drove to Burger King and ordered his hamburger and fries.

While he sat in the drive thru, he flicked the radio on. He tapped his steering wheel to the rhythm of the Black Eyed Peas new song, waiting. He stared out the windshield at the parking lot across the street in front of the small café. His eyes swept across the rusty Blazers, the paint-chipped Toyotas, the black pick-up trucks…

Daniel shook his head. What? Black pick-up truck?

Daniel peered through the windshield, unnerved by the probability. He thought he saw the driver grip the steering wheel.

“Here ya go.” A cheerful voice told Daniel.

Daniel looked up at the girl. He had forgotten where he was.

“Oh, thanks,” Daniel faltered as he took the greasy Burger King bag from her. When he looked back at the parking lot, the truck was gone. Daniel shrugged. It probably meant nothing. There were lots of black pick-up trucks around here.

Extracting fries from the greasy bag, Daniel drove one-handed back home. He played some Halo while finishing his dinner. He fell asleep with the Xbox live headset still wrapped around his neck, stripped down to his boxers on top of his comforter, dead to the world when his father came back around two thirty, muttering and cussing to himself, very drunk.



Four

I stared at the blue piece of paper before me. It was the rubric for the Physics project we had to do: building a Rube Goldberg machine. It was a partner project, but I kept my eyes low and busied myself with scribbling on the paper whenever someone turned toward me. Thankfully no one asked to work with me. It was bad enough that I had to do the project. Having a partner would make it worse. I work better alone.

I wrote in my agenda book a note for stopping by the library to do some research. This project was completely an outside-of-class project. I would have to go after work today and tomorrow. I got off work at five on Mondays and Tuesdays. Every other day of the week, I had to work until eight. More hours was the price to pay for being manager. I prayed that Millie wouldn’t need chauffeuring and that Sam wouldn’t need serving, Some days I really hated being a part of Sam’s family. I wished I could live with Mom but with her being gone so often, there really was no practical sense in living with her. I was eighteen, though, so I could move out. But my small Chickfila wage wasn’t exactly enough for rent and food and gas and other such living expenses. I was stuck with Sam and the Gang and it sucked. Like I said, I do better alone—working and living.

The day only got worse. At lunch, I spilled my apple juice all over my pants. The snickering kids looking on didn’t lend me a hand or a napkin. I had to run to the bathroom with juice stains in awkward places. I guess that is a drawback to not talking to people. They don’t talk to you.

Or help you. Or really even care about you. You’re just a person, a nobody, a part of the scenery. I was invisible to them. I didn’t matter.

On my way to sixth period, I tripped, falling up stairs. I scraped my knuckles and knee—and both were bleeding heavily by the time I arrived at the classroom. I had my teacher sign a pass to the clinic. I got Neosporin and band-aids and cleaned up the mess.

During sixth period, I remembered that I’d forgotten to turn in my Physics lab from yesterday. It was due today, so when the bell rang, I dashed to my seventh period, threw my stuff down, and then sprinted over to my Physics class. The tardy bell rang as I slid into my seventh period class. The teacher told me to go to the attendance office for a tardy slip. I cursed her under my breath. It was my first tardy slip since freshman year.

When I got to work, I realized I’d left my Physics book in my locker so I had to go back and get it. Then I realized that I had the wrong shirt for work. The manager shirt was supposed to be golden but I had grabbed my old maroon uniform by mistake. I had to run home to get the right shirt.

When I walked in the house, Millie immediately told me she needed a ride over to the high school. She was meeting with some friends for the after-school play rehearsal. She had forgotten about it and had accidentally ridden the bus home. I sighed and drove her to the high school. I eventually made it back to Chickfila, wearing the right shirt this time. Then the dinner rush began.

I kept dropping things and slipping—I was having major klutz attacks. I kept scrambling orders, too, and I knew that my manager was frowning down at me disapprovingly. Even if he wasn’t looking. I knew that the other employees were watching me and wondering why I was chosen over them. I was grateful when the clock read five o’clock. And so were the other employees.

I collapsed in the driver’s seat of my VW.

“Cindi!”

I looked up at my mom. “Mom! What are you doing here?”

“Coming to get you.” She smiled and we embraced.

“I just got off.”

“I know,” she said, “I figured you might want some dinner.”

“Actually, I really need to go to the library for this Physics project,” I replied, feeling slightly guilty for having to turn her away.

Mom shrugged. “All right, well, how about you go to the library and do your research while I pick us up some food. We can take it back to my house.”

I stared at her a moment. “Meet me at the library in about an hour?”

She nodded. “I’ll go shopping or something while I wait.”

“Okay,” I said. “Sounds good.”

“Any preference as to our cuisine?”

I shook my head. “Surprise me.”

She smiled. “All right!”

My mom lithely climbed into her blue Focus and drove off. I sat in my car a moment. Her showing up right now was more than a welcome surprise. It was exactly what I needed. After such a poisonous day, some me-and-mom time was the perfect antidote.

I swung my legs inside the Beetle, shutting the car door and igniting the engine. I looked into the rear view mirror as I changed gears. A strange site inside the Chickfila caught my eye.

I twisted around in my seat, narrowing my eyes at the silent scene playing out on the other side of the glass doors. An older gentleman was lying on the floor. He had dropped suddenly and was unresponsive to the older lady screaming down at him in hysterical tears or to the CPR-certified employee bent over him.

In seconds, I had my cell phone out and was walking through the glass doors.

“This is 911. What’s your emergency?”

I burst into the Chickfila. “There’s an unconscious man here at the Chickfila at Highway 78 and McGee Road.”

The guy giving the older man chest compressions shouted to me. “He’s stopped breathing.”

“Yeah, there’s an employee here giving him CPR.”

“All right, we’ll send an ambulance. Just hang on.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Do you want to stay on the phone until the ambulance arrives?”

I shook my head even though I knew the lady on the other end couldn’t see me. “No, I think we’re all right.”

“Okay, an ambulance will be there shortly.”

“Thanks.” I replied and hung up.

I knelt beside the employee. “How’s he doing, Kevin?”

“Still no pulse.”

Our eyes met.

“Want me to take over?” I asked.

Kevin shook his head. “I got it.”

I nodded. “All right.” I stood and placed a hand on the sobbing older lady. Another employee was busily retrieving a cup of water for her. “Is he your husband?” I asked her.

She sniffed and sobbed harder, giving me short, jerky nods.

“Okay, ma’am, what’s your name?”

“Betty,” she squeaked.

“All right, Betty, your husband has had a heart attack. I called 911 and an ambulance is on its way. Everything’s going to be all right.” I said comfortingly, rubbing her palm between my hands. I smiled at her. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Betty covered her mouth and nose with a wet tissue and gave a throaty cough. She closed her eyes and nodded, rocking slightly.

“Why don’t you sit?” I suggested as the employee hands me the water. I set it down at a table and helped Betty into a chair. “Drink a little water,” I commanded, pushing the water toward her.

She grasped the Styrofoam cup with a shaky hand and brought the edge to her trembling lips, sipping at the clear liquid.

I patted her other hand. “That’s good, Betty. Drink a little more.”

I sat there, comforting her, while Kevin continued performing CPR. The ambulance arrived within minutes and took Betty and her husband away.

I drew in a shaky breath. “Good job, Kevin.” I told him. I left the Chickfila and got in my Beetle and drove to the library.

I sat in the parking lot for a while, staring at the dashboard. That man—I didn’t even know his name—that man almost died. And I helped save him. I helped stop death. Because I was in the right place at the right time. I’d thought about it a million times, wondering if I could have changed that day. My dad, the day he died, was supposed to be taking me to school early but I decided against it. But what if I had stuck to my original plan? Then Dad wouldn’t have been going down that road at the same time as that drunk. Then Dad wouldn’t have been squashed by that Jeep. I could have saved him. I could have stopped death then. Like I did just now.

I sighed and leaned my forehead against the steering wheel. What if, what if, what if. None of them mattered. I couldn’t change the past. Yet I still couldn’t help but think that I played a role in the traumatic crash scene. I felt my hot breath bounce off the black steering wheel and flush my cheeks. It seemed unfair. The older gentleman lived but my father, not even fifty, died. I saved the old and killed the young. Just another contradiction.

I raised my head and looked at the library. It was going to close soon. I needed to go research my Rube Goldberg project. I got out of the VW and went inside the cool air-conditioned public library. I avoided the computers. I could search online at home. I went to the nonfiction books section and started pulling books from the shelves. I took them to a nearby table and scanned the indexes for any useful keywords. There were a few books that seemed helpful. I scooped up the other books and went to return them to their shelves.

I turned down an aisle and collided with a tall wall of a guy. I muttered an apology and stepped back. The boy’s eyes flicked over me, echoing the apology. We hesitated a moment, each waiting for the other to move. Then we both stepped aside, once again blocking each other’s path. This shuffle dance continued for a couple more steps. Then I laughed at the silliness and backed out of the aisle. The boy, smiling, gave a throaty chuckle. His eyes locked on mine and immediately we stopped laughing. I felt my breath catch and my cheeks blush. He licked his lips and pushed a hand through his tousled brown hair.

To say he was mildly attractive would be putting it lightly. His facial features weren’t quite chiseled as a model’s but the build was astoundingly perfect. His smile was perfectly white. His eyes were blue, not too dark, not too light, perfect.

I dropped my gaze and cleared my throat. His probing, perfect eyes bore into me.

“Sorry,” I squeaked. I peeked up at him to check if he was still staring at me.

He was. He was smiling at me, too. He shook his head. “Pleasure’s all mine,” he said softly.

I glanced at the book he was holding. It was one of the books I’d been eyeing earlier. I looked past the book to his class ring and realized he was a senior as well.

“Physics?” I asked him.

“Hm? Oh! Yeah, some Rube Goldberg machine thing…” He cocked his head, reading the title of the books I was holding. “You, too?”

I nodded. “Yeah…Who’s your teacher?”

“King, second period.”

I met his gaze. “King, fourth.”

He smiled. “No way!”

I nodded.

“Cool.”

“So,” I asked, “What’re you gonna do?”

He shrugged. “Something involving a mousetrap. Those things are powerful.”

I smiled. “Cool.”

We stared at each other another moment.

“I…uh, I don’t mean to sound so…rude, but I really ought to…” I fumble.

“We should work together.”

“What?”

“I mean…help each other out. Like…What books d’you have? Maybe I can use one.”

I nodded. “I gotcha. Together but separate.”

He smiled. “Yeah…”

“Speaking of separate, why don’t you have a partner?”

“I focus better without one.” He dropped his eyes.

I watched him recall his memories.

“Hey, well…I don’t want these books,” I offered, “if you’re interested.”

He looked up at me. “Yeah, sure. Why don’t we find a table or something?”

“My stuff’s over there,” I said.

“Cool,” he smiled.

I handed him the pile of books and he returned them to my table. He sat down and began flipping through them as I searched for more.

I peered at him through the shelves. It was odd. We went to the same school, were in the same graduating class, had the same Physics teacher—yet I had never seen him before. And I was guessing that he had never seen me. From his reaction, you’d think I was a new toy. He seemed so enraptured. That’s a good word. Too bad it’s a little too farfetched of a description. He was probably just gawking at your smeared mascara or work uniform—or worse, your boobs. He’s a guy for crying out loud—a high school guy! They don’t gawk for promising reasons…

I pulled a few more books off the shelves and then returned to the table.

I took my seat and turned to the indexes again. Out of the corner of my eye, something flashed past the front of the library.

I felt eyes on me and looked up to find him staring at me again.

“What?” I asked breathlessly, afraid of his answer.

“Has anyone ever told you…” His sentence died as he just stared at me, his perfect blue eyes marveling.

I urged him to continue. “Has anyone told me what?”

He shook himself. “Nothing,” he said quickly.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay,” I said slowly, a smile spreading my lips.

He chuckled. “Sorry.”

I shrugged. “Found anything interesting?”

He shook his head. “Have you tried the internet?”

“I was gonna do that at home.”

He nodded. “Makes sense.”

I joined him in nodding. We sat there a moment, just slightly nodding, staring at each other.

“You work at Chickfila.” He notices, finally taking his eyes off mine.

“Yeah, I just got off.”

“You like working there?”

Were we really gonna make small talk? After undressing each other with our eyes?

“Yeah, especially now that I’m manager.”

“Manager…sounds like fun.”

I nodded. “Today I saved a man.”

He frowned.

“This older guy had a heart attack and I called the ambulance and calmed down his wife. One of my coworkers did CPR. He wouldn’t let me help him.”

“Really?” He asked, fascinated, and I wondered if he was usually like this around girls—or was it just me?

I nodded again. My neck was getting sore from all the nodding. “Really.”

“What other classes are you taking?” He was staring at me again, genuinely curious.

I rattled off my schedule and watched his eyebrows arch. He was impressed with my workload.

“Wow…Beautiful and smart.” He smiled softly.

I felt the blush steal across my cheeks and drew the book up to study. “I never said I was doing well in the classes.”

He shrugged. “But you are.”

I looked at him.

“I can tell you are.” He explained. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re making A’s and you’re proud.”

“My eyes say all that?” I asked, giving him a small smile.

He nodded. “And so much more.”

I put the book down. “Like what?” I asked, somewhat eager and somewhat nervous.

“Like, you don’t believe me.” He said. “And that you’re sad and lonely.”

I blinked. “You’re making that up. You can’t know that by looking at my eyes.” I said, pulling the book back up.

He took the book. “You’re wrong. It’s there. It’s everywhere. The way you sit, the way you smile, the way you look at me, the way you dress…You’re full of sadness.”

I clenched my teeth, afraid of the tears in my lowered eyes.

“It’s not a bad thing, you know.” He said after a quiet moment.

I looked back up at him.

“Being full of sadness means that life can only get happier.”

I shook my head, smiling. “I bet it could get a whole lot worse first.”

He pondered this a moment, silently studying me. “Grief. Grief is worse than sadness.”

I nodded.

This boy startled me by suddenly reaching across the table and grabbing my hand. I was too shocked to react, frozen and suspicious.

“Don’t be.”

I stared at him, confused.

“Don’t be sad.” He said, studying our hands. He looked at me. “I…I don’t want you to be sad.”

I stared at him, even more confused and now astonished. “W…Why?” I managed to squeeze out of my dry lips.

He blinked. “You can’t enjoy life if you’re sad all the time.”

“But why do you care?”

He shrugged. “You need someone to care.”

“Some boy I met at the library?”

“It doesn’t matter much who.” He said evenly.

We stared at each other again. He withdrew his hand and went back to flipping through books. I stared at the page, thinking about what he had said. He was willing to care about me. Why did I have to blow him off?

He’s a stranger! I don’t care if he’s a senior or that we have the same Physics teacher. I don’t know him. I looked at him with a sideways glance. But he is perfect on the outside and seems genuine about the caring thing.

I opened my mouth, thinking of the thick words my reluctant tongue was balking to form.

Suddenly, my phone began vibrating in my purse. I checked the text message. Mom was waiting in the parking lot. Oh, yeah! We’re gonna go eat!

I stood abruptly, gathering up the books I want. I looked at the boy who was watching me.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” I asked him.

He smiled at me. “Yeah, probably.”

“Cool,” I said, “Look, it was great talking to you, but I gotta go. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

My phone started vibrating again. Mom was calling this time.

He stood, too. “Wait!” He called as I turned around and started for the checkout line.

I glanced back at him as the librarian scanned the books and my library card. “Look, I really gotta go. My mom’s outside and I gotta go eat with her.”

My phone started vibrating again.

He shook his head. “I just wanna know something.”

The librarian handed me the books and my card.

“Thanks,” I told her.

“Wait!” He called again. “Just a second, please!”

I shook my head, walking backward. “I gotta go.”

As the automatic doors slid shut behind me, his question was nothing but silently moving lips. He stood there, bewildered and disappointed.

I suppose I should have waited. I looked across the parking lot and saw my mom leaning against her car parked next to mine. Then again, perhaps leaving when I did was the right choice. I hate making my mom wait. She tends to get embarrassing.

“Sorry, Mom,” I apologize.

“What took so long?”

“It’s a long story.” I said, unlocking my car.

“Why don’t you tell me over dinner?”

I nodded. “With pleasure.”