Storm Warning

Don't Ruin the Surprise

            As expected, it was hard to say goodbye. After sitting here for half an hour, I still haven’t worked up the nerve. With the imagined weight of a boulder on my chest and a pile of rocks in my stomach, I clear my throat. I finally manage to say “So… I guess I’ll see you around.”

            As I reach for the door handle of his truck, he looks at me surprised. I expected him to say something like not for a long while. So, I turned around surprised when he says, “I’m hurting, but I am not a jackass. I will drive you home.”

            I smile. Without looking at him, I simply state, “I know you would. It’s a 20-minute walk, and frankly, I could use the fresh air. Besides, it would be wrong for me to expect that from you right now.” Half of me is still terrified he may decide not to be my friend anymore even though he said he would. Half of me expected him to start yelling even though I knew he never would. Finally, gathering the courage, I look at him and say the only thing I could manage. “See you around, Derek.” I cannot help but hope that it is sooner rather than later. He has been such an important part of my life since  middle school. His loss would be devastating. But it may be inevitable.

            He nods as I close the door and peels away from the shoulder slowly, like he does not want to leave me to walk home, but knows that this is the one time that leaving me is the best thing for both of us.

            With a fond smile, I think back to the first time we fought. Derek was driving me home after a date at the movies where we ran in to a girl he was dating when we weren’t together. She was a cute little blond with bright baby blue eyes, and the girl flirted shamelessly and asked about when they would go on their next date while I stood there with my hand in Derek’s. She deliberately refused to acknowledge my presence, and Derek was obviously nervous as his eyes darted back and forth between me and the girl. He told her that he was in a relationship. This was no surprise that we were back together; since the beginning of high school, we were on-again, off-again every few months. I remember being angry with him. I was not angry that he saw someone in our time apart. I was mad that he didn’t force the girl to acknowledge me or tell her to shove it. I was mad at him despite knowing he would never hurt someone’s feelings if he could help it. It wasn't in his nature. He was your typical protector, but was never an aggressor. Still, we drove in silence for the first fifteen minutes before he asked what was wrong. I recall glaring at him as I yelled that he should have told her to get lost. He sighs, but says nothing, which only made me angrier. I told him to pull over; surprisingly, in the same spot I was now standing. Without a word, I got out of the car that day and started walking the few miles to my house. He started by speaking out of the window telling me to get back in the car. Within moments, he gave up and drive slowly behind me as I walked home. As I reached my door, he drove off – only to call me later to make up. Until today, he has never let me walk home alone—whether I am mad, sad, or happy. He was a steady support, following me in that truck of his.

            The guy was a saint. He really was.

            Shaking off the past, I begin the long walk home and pondered the endless possibilities about what could be wrong with me. The sweetest guy wanted to be with me, but the love I once had for the guy was just not there this last time that we got back together. Something was different this time.

            For the last year, I have been changing, which started with the dream, but in the last couple of months, I have been having the same odd dream every night about a young girl, left abandoned and alone, at a hospital with other children from 2 to 10 in age, nearly 30 of them all together. The hospital, from what I can remember, must have been a psychiatric hospital where they kept all the crazy kids. What I don’t know… is why I dream this? What does it have to do with me? Why is it the same dream every night for the last three months?

            The weird dream aside, that still does not explain the sense that something is not right with my life.

            As I pass through the park that I have visited thousands of times, I feel the hair on my neck stand up. I always hated this park after dark; there is something always so sinister about the way the tree branches reach for you as you pass and the way they sway haphazardly in the breeze. The shadows cast by the street lamps are eerie and seem especially dangerous for those stupid enough to cut through the park in the middle of the night.

            Trembling and cursing myself for my overactive imagination, I cannot help but pick up my pace as I practically jog through the park. I jogged the entire three minutes it took to reach the end of my street, Home Sweet Home on Cherry Lane. It is only now that I could breathe a sigh of relief as I exit the park and find myself comforted by the familiar houses with soft golden light peeking out from behind the curtains in the living room windows, the sound of voices from televisions as I pass each neighbor’s house, the excited giggles as children play while their parents sleep knowing that they should have been asleep hours ago, and the soft smells of freshly mowed lawns.

            The sense of comfort found on Cherry Lane came to an end all to soon as I approached the familiar red-bricked house that looked more like a cabin than a modern suburban home with rows of rose bushes lining the graveled walkway to the stairs of the front porch. Sarah used to complain about this house and how out-of-place it looked in a quiet suburban neighborhood. I liked the uniqueness of the place, and the way it stood out in a world where everything else looked the same. The house has its own history and its own personality.

            Just now, the front door was slightly ajar, and it was dark inside. It was odd to see the door open, but then again, crime has not occurred in this neighborhood since the day we moved in thirteen years ago. But still, having the door open with it being well after midnight is an odd thing. Reaching for my purse, I realize with a start that I must have left it at the club. I was in too much of a hurry to grab it when I left with Derek. Cursing myself once again, I walk slowly to the door and push it open slightly larger. I feel around the wall for the light switch. With a click, the room is illuminated with light.

            With a gasp, I look up to the streamers in purple and blue dangling from the ceiling. Above the fireplace is a haphazardly hanging sign with the words “Happy Birthday” in capital, bright pink letters with only one end attached to the fireplace and the other dangling to the floor. There is chocolate cake in the center of the small light brown coffee table with small paper plates and plastic cups filled with plastic spoons and forks in a half-circle around the cake. In the corner of the room by the fireplace were half-wrapped presents like she got distracted in the middle.

            Walking over, I find a gorgeous red leather-bound journal. Bending to pick it up, I am surprised to see that the journal was being wrapped. Sarah knows me better than anyone; so, why would she buy me a journal when I don’t journal? Opening up the front cover of the journal, I am startled as a sealed envelope flutters to the ground with my name written in Sarah’s elegant cursive handwriting and also by the name written in the journal - Jenny Griffin, also in cursive, also in Sarah’s hand.

            Why would someone else’s name be in a journal bought for me on my birthday? Why would the name be in Sarah’s handwriting? Flipping more pages, I can see that all of the entries are written in Sarah’s hand, ruling out the possibility that she simple wrote the name in the journal to identify who it belonged to. No, this was more. This is Sarah’s journal herself, but with a different name. What an odd thing to wrap? Flipping pages yet again, I can see that the entire journal has been filled with entries. Allowing my ends to skim one of the last few entries, the words “It happened again” grabbed my attention. I was so lost in what that could mean that I was startled when spice girls started singing from near the front door.

            Shaking myself, I followed the sound of the ringing to the table near the front door, the one that runs parallel with the couch to form a sort of walkway directly to the kitchen. Staring at the phone, Maddie’s name flashes across the screen. The phone rings once more and is silent. The piercing of the ringing phone is quickly replaced with a deafening silence. Almost immediately, a series of texts appear from Maddie.

MAYDAY!!!!

Our girl took off with Derek.

Couldn’t stop them.

Scrolling back to the top of the message thread from earlier today, I start reading from the beginning.

Maddie, I am giving Arielle a surprise dinner.… family ONLY

Of Course, Sarah.

That’s why I threw her a bigger one at the club.

Can I just Say…. PRESENTS EVERYWHERE

What do you need me to do?

DISTRACT HER, Maddie! Keep away from the house until tomorrow night.

DONE!

This conversation from several hours was followed with the messages from just a few moments ago.

MAYDAY!!!!

Our girl took off with Derek.

Couldn’t stop them.

Know you must have fell asleep!!!

What do I do?

WAKE UP!!!!

She left her phone and purse at club.

Can’t call her.

UGH…

Clearly, Maddie is losing her mind over this. Wanting to ease her concern but not let her know I found out about the surprise, I text her back from Sarah’s phone with a lie.

All good. Called from Derek’s phone. Spending night with his folks.

OH. Good. The surprise is safe!

            I turn off the ringer and start to the kitchen to make a snack before bed with phone in hand. With a start, I realize I never put the journal down either. Despite being an odd gift, it would be cool to see what a younger Sarah was like and why she goes by Sarah now.

            Sighing in exhaustion, I push my way into the dark kitchen and wander around the kitchen island. With all the lights off, Sarah must have gone to bed hours ago. She must have left the door unlocked, a normal but slightly annoying habit by everyone in this community, and it was blown open by the wind. The dream has me so messed up that I try to find the sinister in the most harmless things.

           Walking around the kitchen island, I am near the spot where the light switch is located. Why is this damn switch so far into the kitchen? Just as I finished the thought, my foot slips on something, and I fall with the journal and phone both flying across the room before they thud to the floor as I put my hands in front of me to brace for the fall.

            Sarah and her inability to bake or cook without making some kind of monumental mess no doubt.