Remembrance Read online

  I let that sink in.

  I had options.

  If I ever needed them …

  The low hoot of an owl brought me out of my daydream, the creature in the nearby tree. I shook myself, as if clearing the fog from my brain, the thoughts I’d allowed myself to entertain disturbing.

  “No, Brie. You’re not going there.” I turned away from the railing, closing the door behind me … but a niggling feeling remained.

  I had … options.

  I must have slept in, because the sound of a door slamming woke me. Light poured in around the edges of the drapes. Staring at the dusty chandelier overhead, I thought about how low I felt, realizing I had forgotten to take my meds again. Some of the side effects annoyed me. It explained the insomnia, but being in a new house and stressing over the school situation could also be to blame.

  Tossing back the covers, I pulled on a pair of socks to keep my feet from freezing. Several boxes waited to be unpacked, with more downstairs that mom needed help with. After using the bathroom, I dressed in jeans and a sweater, going down, where I found mom in the kitchen stacking dishes in a cabinet.

  “Morning.”

  She turned to me, smiling. “I made tea. The stove’s gas, so that worked at least.”

  “I want to help you.”

  “You will. I found a bunch of books in a box in the library. We could drop them off at Goodwill or use them. I’m leaning towards using them. All the shelves in there are empty. What little we have won’t fill it out.”

  I slid onto a chair, my fingers around a mug of hot tea. “Yeah, good idea. We already purged enough, maybe too much. This house is gonna sound hollow for a long time.”

  “Once I get it renovated, I’ll furnish it. All the rooms upstairs will have beds.”

  And strangers coming to stay …

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Mostly.”

  “There isn’t much for breakfast. We have some apples and crackers. I really want to take a shower and do my hair, but I can’t.”

  “Take an arctic shower.” I snorted at the ridiculousness of the idea, although I would probably have to do it later. “The thirty second shower. I wouldn’t last longer than that.”

  Mom laughed, “That’s hardly appealing, but I might not have much choice. I swear; we’re getting electricity tomorrow. I can’t live like this.”

  “Me either.” I stared absently into the mug.

  “I explored a little. Did you know you can see the Columbia River from the top of the tower? It’s pretty neat. All of downtown too.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ll have to hire someone to maintain the yard. It’s so much bigger than I thought. One lawnmower isn’t going to cut it, literally.” She grinned, although the smile faded. “You look tired, honey.”

  “I’ll wake up soon enough.” I sat a little straighter.

  “Well, I’m gonna open some more boxes. I want to put a dent in it today and finish the first floor.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “You can do the kitchen stuff.”

  I glanced at the boxes, feeling slightly overwhelmed. “Okay.”

  Later in the day, I dusted the shelves in the library, pulling out books from a box. Stacking them on a shelf, I noted several books on Ireland and one encyclopedia of Mythology, the book heavy. None of these topics interested me in the least, the box quickly empty.

  Mom appeared in the doorway a moment later. “We have to go out to eat.”

  “Okay. I’m done here.”

  “I found a bunch of stuff in the attic.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I brushed away dust from my jeans.

  “It’s storming again.”

  “Yeah, I heard it.”

  “At least I found the rain jackets. Most of everything on the first floor is put away. We did good today.”

  “I hung up my clothes.”

  “I tried to open the window in the kitchen, but the damn thing’s painted shut. The parlor windows are the same. Who does that?”

  “It probably happened over time, Mom.”

  “We're gonna have to scrape the paint off to get the windows open. Now I’m worried about lead paint.”

  “You wanted to buy an ancient house.”

  She sighed. “I have to look on the bright side. I haven’t seen a rat yet. The inspector didn’t find termites. We have to count our blessings, I guess.”

  “Or roaches. I hate roaches.”

  She cringed. “Ugh.”

  “I’ll get boots on, then we can go. I’m hungry.”

  “Did you eat lunch?”

  “An apple.”

  “That’s not enough. I didn’t have much either. We really need the fridge to work. When you’re in school tomorrow, I’m going to get this taken care of. Things will be way better tomorrow night. We have to buy more wood on the way home too.”

  The mention of school produced a cold sweat, the palms of my hands suddenly damp. “I’m gonna … get ready.”

  Her smile remained serene, my mother oblivious to the sudden onslaught of chaotic thoughts that drifted through my mind. “I’ve such a good feeling about this place. I just know we’re going to be happy here. I always dreamed of living in a big house, one with history and character. We never could’ve afforded something like this in the Denver area.”

  I nodded in reply, having nothing meaningful to add to that, because I had lived in worse places, the greyish corridors of The Hope Unit filling my mind. That much was true.

  6

  The one good thing about long hair was being able to hide behind it. Mom went in to help me register for school, several students turning around to stare. Feeling the uncomfortable weight of eyes, I kept my head down, wishing I had worn a baseball cap. While filling out forms, I did not relish admitting my date of birth, knowing I was far too old for a senior. I might as well be a dinosaur at nineteen, and I was. After dad got sick, the depression spiraled, ending with a lengthy stay at the loony bin, which effectively stalled my academic career. All my peers had already graduated, some even in college for two years now.

  Note to self: If you tell people you want to die, they will strip you of all your possessions, including your rights, and lock you up. Yeah, I learned that the hard way.

  While mom spoke to the office lady, I glanced at a picture on the wall, an inspirational message on it. It said, Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts. Winston Churchill had written that saying.

  “I’ll print up the schedule, and she’ll be good to go.”

  “Thank you very much.” Mom touched my arm. “Are you gonna manage this?” She whispered, “You haven’t been in school in a while.”

  The backpack felt heavy, loaded with books and notebooks. “I’ll survive.”

  “They’re halfway through the year already. I know it’s awkward.”

  “Totally. I stand out like … a wart.”

  “Oh, honey.” She smiled sympathetically. “That’s not why they’ll be staring at you. You’re a beautiful young woman. I don’t doubt you’ll be popular. Just give it a little time.”

  “A real little time. I’ve a ton of work to make up, if I plan to graduate in a few months.”

  “I know you can do it. You’re smart. You’re very capable, Brie.”

  “I don’t need the pep talk. I’m good.” I swallowed a twinge of anxiety, having taken my medication this morning, which left me feeling slightly nauseous. The schedule came my way. “Thanks.”

  The lady behind the counter said, “Andrea, can you help Brie find her first class, please?”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” I blurted, mortified. “I can do it. I’m good.”

  “Don’t be silly. Let Andrea show you around.”

  A girl appeared, her blonde hair in a ponytail. “Hello.” She grinned politely. “I’m Andrea Young. I think we’re in some of the same classes. I can take you to psychology. It’s my first period too.” She continued to beam at me, wait
ing expectantly.

  I could have easily found my locker and first period, but circumventing the anxiety attack that threatened, I said, “Brieanna Thompson, but it’s just Brie.”

  “I love your name. It’s so pretty.”

  Good Lord, she was friendly, a verifiable ball of sunshine in my dark world. “Thanks.”

  “Well, we should go. The bell’s about to ring.”

  I glanced at mom, her smile one of relief. I nodded in return, leaving with Andrea. “What are they doing in psychology?”

  “We’re on mental illness right now.”

  I nodded, finding that ironic.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Colorado.”

  “Oh, it’s cold there.”

  “We barely got out before a snowstorm hit.”

  “Did you fly?”

  “No, we drove.”

  Heading down a hallway, we passed classroom doors, people milling about. I marveled at the size of the school, everything contained within one building. “How many students are here?”

  “460. It’s a middle and a high school.”

  I bit my lip, shocked. “Wow, that’s … not a lot.”

  “No, everybody knows everybody.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “You can’t do anything without everybody knowing about it.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  I managed to avoid the panic attack, finding the situation unnerving, yet manageable. Andrea helped me with the first three classes, although I hated Chemistry and I wasn’t all that interested in Spanish. US. Government was a snoozefest, the teacher’s tone monotonous. They had a quiz, which I did not have to take, sitting by a window with a view of a busy roadway, although that depended on one’s definition of the word, with a single car going by every thirty to forty seconds.

  Before lunchtime, I finally mastered the combination lock on my locker, sliding a book inside. The hallway teamed with students, voices and laughter resonating. I needed to use the bathroom, hurrying for it, and seriously contemplating hiding there for the remainder of lunch. Staring at myself in a mirror, I groaned inwardly, dismayed by how tired I looked. My hair, needing to be washed, hung limply, while shadows appeared beneath my eyes, giving me that vacant, haunted look. The chaos in my mind that threatened since first period bubbled to the surface then, which did not help in the least. All those negative voices …

  You’re such a loser …

  … loser … loser … loser …

  “Hi,” said someone behind me. “You’re the new student.”

  Washing my hands, I glanced at the person by my side, the girl wearing a purple t-shirt. “Yep, hi.”

  “I’m Steffy.” She ran a brush through her hair, the brownish strands shorn. “We don’t get a lot of new people. They’re all talking about you.”

  “Great.”

  “You look … older.”

  “Um … ”

  “They say you modeled in New York.”

  I coughed, stunned. “What? Who’s saying that?”

  “Dunno. Everybody.”

  “That’s not true. You’re kidding, right?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so. People make stuff up about anything.” She pocketed the brush. Two more girls entered the room, someone flushing a toilet. “You wanna sit with us?”

  I dreaded facing an entire cafeteria of people, but it could not be helped. I’d rather sit with someone—anyone than be alone. “Sure.”

  “Yeah? Cool.” She grinned. “I know everybody. Anything you want to know, I’ll tell you. I’ve lived here my whole life.”

  “I’ll remember that.” We left the bathroom, heading for a set of double doors, the sound of dozens of voices ringing out. “Does the food suck here?”

  “It depends. I’d avoid the spaghetti. It’s greasy.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  After grabbing a tray and picking a few items, we made our way to a table by a window, the rain having stopped for the moment. I glanced out, seeing a roadway with an intersection. The rumble of a motorcycle approached, a man in jeans and a leather jacket speeding by. He seemed to sense my notice, his head suddenly turned in my direction, although, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

  “So, what do people do here?” I picked at the broccoli on my plate, finding it nearly raw. I preferred it cooked a little longer, but I ate it anyway.

  “The same old stuff. We have football games and movies. For real excitement, we go to Portland. There’s tons of stuff to do there.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “You were in the city?”

  “A suburb. I didn’t go to Denver all that often, just for baseball games and concerts and stuff.”

  A girl arrived, placing her tray next to Steffy’s. She appeared fresh-faced and far too happy, with holes in her jeans and a striped t-shirt. “Hey.” She eyed me, her look inquisitive. “The new girl.”

  “Hi.”

  “I’m Tara.”

  “Brie.”

  “Ladies,” said a tall, lanky boy. “You mind if I sit here?”

  “Go away, Mark,” muttered Steffy. “The seat’s taken.”

  “Way to be nice.” He eyed me. “I’m Mark Rightman. How are ya?”

  “Good, thanks.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  I smiled politely, finding all the attention bizarre. “Possibly.”

  “Shoo,” said Steffy. “Go sit with your meathead friends.”

  He gave her a look, grumbling under his breath. As he walked away, two boys ran over, one of them tripped and stumbled into a table, making a scene.

  “Good God,” uttered Tara. “What clowns.”

  Shifting hair into my face, I hid from inquisitive stares, trying my best not to encourage further encounters. That’s when I noted the girl alone across the room, people giving her a wide berth.

  “Who is that?” I nodded in her direction, finding her strangely compelling. She did not seek, nor wish for attention, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular, a tray of food before her.

  “Maven Brown,” said Tara. “She’s weird. Nobody talks to her.”

  There were always outcasts in any school, and I suddenly wished I sat with her, feeling strongly she might be a kindred spirit. “How come?”

  “I don’t know,” said Steffy. “Her younger sister, Reese, went missing last year. It was all in the news and stuff. They never did find her. Maven’s on drugs or something.”

  “She’s not on drugs.” Tara snorted. “She’s just … she keeps to herself. Now, her boyfriend, he might be on drugs.”

  “You think?” Steffy shoved the tray aside. “Do you have a boyfriend?” She stared at me.

  “No.”

  “You didn’t leave anyone behind in Colorado?”

  “My dad, but he’s six feet under.”

  She blinked. “Oh.”

  I had never spoken about him in such a cold, matter of fact way, stunning even myself.

  “Gosh, I’m sorry,” said Steffy. “That sucks. What happened?”

  “I don’t really want to talk about it.” My attention drifted to the girl again. Our eyes locked for a moment, a tangible, symbiotic energy passing between us. Why was it, in a room full of people, I managed to hone in on the one depressive person?

  What was that saying, birds of a feather?

  7

  I sat through art and English, developing a low-grade headache by the last class, Algebra. Math at the end of the day proved challenging, as my blood sugar levels plummeted by that point, along with whatever energy I had left. I had a ton of homework for tomorrow, feeling stressed and overwhelmed, second-guessing my decision to return to school.

  You’ve waited long enough. What are you gonna do, be a twenty-five-year-old senior?

  I should have just taken the equivalency test, but I knew mom had grand plans for me, wanting me to go to college. I struggled to even entertain that thought at the moment, sitting down on the steps outside to wa
it for my mother, who promised to pick me up. I could walk to the house, realizing it wasn’t far at all, the exercise being beneficial.

  People rushed past me, a few glanced my way. It took a good deal of effort to smooth out my expression, knowing how I tended to frown, even when I did not have anything to frown about. They called it “resting bitch face”. Trying to look and act like a functioning member of society exhausted me, but I had made a promise to work harder to get better, even if I had to fake it.

  “See you tomorrow,” said a voice behind me.

  I spotted Tara, the girl smiling. I liked her well enough, although I doubted we had anything in common. “Yeah, tomorrow then. Same time, same place.”

  A giggled escaped her. “Absolutely. Five months till graduation. Less than five months, actually. That’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

  “I usually don’t think that far ahead,” I murmured, distracted by the sound of a motorcycle, the rumble alarmingly loud.

  I had seen the rider before; the man drove into the school parking lot, and several people ceased conversations to look at him. I questioned why I found him interesting, although he was good-looking in that dark and dangerous sort of way. He could easily pass for a felon. He idled to wait for someone, releasing the kickstand with a booted foot, while scanning the crowd.

  “That’s Flint Kirby.”

  “A little too old to be a student, isn’t he?”

  “He’s not. He works at the Bad Bone Biker Bar. He shouldn’t be a hundred feet from a school, if you ask me.” She sat on a step. “I’m waiting for my ride.”

  “You really do know everybody in town.”

  “It’s hard not to.”

  The mystery of whom Flint Kirby waited for ended a moment later with the appearance of Maven Brown. She flung a leg over the bike and sat behind him. “They’re together?”

  “He’s bad news. Everybody there is bad news.”

  “The biker bar?” Our neighbor, Ruth, had mentioned something about it.

  “Yeah.” She picked at one of the holes in her jeans, the skin on her knee visible. “He’s too old for her. I don’t know what her parents are thinking letting her hang out with him like that. Mine would be terrified.”