Winged

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The piping-hot, cheese pizza from Luige’s succeeds in lifting my mood an inch. I curl up on the couch with a pillow and blanket to watch a chick flick with Grams and Mom. We all live together, one big, happy family, but Dad is pulling an overnighter at the fire station. It’s only thirty minutes into the movie and I struggle to stay awake.

One minute the beautiful, quick-talking journalist is letting the gorgeous archeologist have it, and the next minute I’m standing in the void. A medallion-shaped, weighty, white-gold amulet heats my palm. It’s engraved with a familiar tree-lined path and a girl who stands at the trailhead wearing only a grin. The figure lifts an eyebrow and smiles like she knows something I don’t and takes off down the path. I look closer at her and get pulled into the image like I would a good book.

Everything falls away and I become the girl running in the forest. I should be scared at the strangeness of it all, but I’m not. I’ve been here a thousand times.

My pace is smooth, and my strides are long. I practically fly with my arms moving gracefully at my sides in rhythm with my legs. Usually, I run like a penguin stuck on land with my arms flapping erratically. Not today.

The trees whip by and my speed increases until a fluttering begins at my core. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s odd. It extends to the rest of me until my body struggles to contain the thousand butterflies trapped inside.

There’s an explosion. I burst into light before I’m running on four legs. My heart soars with relief and excitement. I’m finally free! I kick it up a notch and gallop even faster before slamming on the brakes. At the end of the path, I’m yanked from my body.

“No!” I scream.

The amulet cools. The girl in the image is gone and a unicorn stands at the end of the path. She watches me without moving as my two legs buckle. I collapse to the ground, wailing over an impossible life I’ve lost. I’m incomplete. Trapped. I don’t even know who I am anymore.

The amulet slips from my hand and lands with a clatter. I press the spot above my heart where my birthmark lies. This anguish is overpowering. I sob uncontrollably for what seems like hours.

A voice gets my attention.

“Maybe we should call it a night,” says Grams. “Tessa’s out and you’re not going to make it to the credits.”

“I’m up,” I say and push myself into a more uncomfortable position. I rub my face and expect to find tear-soaked cheeks, but they’re dry. My body’s exhausted and my soul hurts like I’ve been weeping for hours, but I couldn’t have been sleeping long.

Grams shakes her head and shuts off the television. We all turn in, but I’m not about to go down without a fight. I get in bed, prop myself up with pillows, and grab my tablet and earbuds. I flip through until I find my thrash playlist. No way I can sleep to this. I glance at the time and can’t believe it’s only 9:00. This is going to be a long night.

I sit there mesmerized by the canvas print above my desk. The picture doesn’t fit the angry music flooding through my speakers, yet it’s me up there looking happy. I’m riding one of the two Andalusian mares we used to board. I jumped on bareback as the sun was setting, barefoot, in shorts, and without a helmet. Not exactly a picture of safety, but I was showing off for Oz, who didn’t believe I could ride her without a saddle or bridle.

Oz snapped the photos when the horse broke into a canter. I started laughing because I thought I was going to have a spontaneous footing inspection but caught myself before I fell.

This image once brought me joy, but now it fills me with longing and sadness. The horses are gone, and I miss having them around, but it’s more than that. Riding them set something within me free, whereas now I feel trapped. Slow. Small.

I get up, hide the canvas behind my desk, and fling myself back on the bed, trying to sort through the mosh pit of thoughts in my head. I can’t go on like this forever. I see two options. One, I accept I’m suffering from a chemical imbalance causing panic attacks, blackouts, and everything in between. I go back to the therapist and consider the pills the doctor wanted to prescribe.

Or two, I don’t accept it.

I wipe away an angry tear from my cheek, pull up the browser on my tablet and type: car crash logging truck Page Springs. Horrifying photos of the crash fill my screen. The massive logs crushed the little car like a tin can. I can’t figure out how the family survived. Like Dad said, the car isn’t scorched. There’s one clue. I remember an explosion. But it wasn’t red like fire, it was white.

I grab a pad of paper and write it down before I forget.

I enlarge one of the photos, looking for any more clues. I can feel the bastard hiding just out of my grasp. The gravity of the situation pains my heart as I think of the baby and pregnant mom and what could have happened. Gravity. The word feels important. I jot it down.

I wave my cursor over the screen, examining every inch of the vehicle, when I notice something in the background, behind the wrecked car and the logging truck. Past the first layer of trees, looks like a wolf. It’s blurry like it’s running. I thought I saw something in the woods when I stopped at the top of the hill right before the accident. Didn’t I hear a howl? I add wolf and howl to my list.

Next, I type: wolves in Page Springs Wisconsin. A bunch of stock photos, images of inspirational cards, and stupid wolf memes pop on the screen. I switch to “all” and find an article published by the local university. I skim the document and land on a paragraph explaining how wolves were once prevalent in this area and an important part of the ecosystem. Yadda, yadda, yadda...nonnative settlers hunted wolves into extinction.

I set my tablet aside and lie down, holding my list above me. I’m not sure what to look up next. My body vibrates like it doesn’t know how to be still, and I rub my gritty eyes. Nope. I’m not sleeping. I wish I could ask Reese and Oz for help, but something always happens to prevent the conversation. I scribble: can’t talk about it.

One of my favorite anime movies is about a young girl who gets cursed by a witch and becomes old. Part of the curse is that she can’t talk about it. I tap my pen on the paper for a minute before I finally write the one word I’ve been afraid to consider. Magic. I write “cursed?” for good measure and stare at the words. Both words, magic and cursed, fade from the page. I shake my head and they’re back. I must be on to something if the weirdness is messing with me.

The last thrash song on my playlist finishes and the next song up is by one of my favorite singers. Her music is raw and edgy, and her soprano voice pierces my heart. The lyrics are about breaking free from a messed-up life and flying away in the night. I need to get out of here. I grab my phone and text Reese.

Me: Come get me?

Reese: Sure. Where?

Me: Home.

Reese: Be there in 30.

Me: Sneaking out. Meet me at the road.

Reese: K.

The parental units will never let me out after the week I’ve had. Scratch that, the month I’ve had.

I throw on a black tank top, dark jeans, and a pair of black sneakers with pink laces. I free my hair from its messy knot and try to make myself presentable by covering my dark eye circles with makeup and putting on lip gloss. I fuss with the side bangs Oz talked me into getting last time I had my hair cut. I give up on them and leave.

It’s tricky to navigate the slippery, black stairs Dad recently painted but I manage to get down without falling. In the kitchen, I grab the coconut rum and vodka from the liquor cabinet and shove them in my backpack with a couple plastic cups and cans of soda. If I can’t figure out this mess tonight, maybe I can escape it for a few hours. This is the first great idea I’ve had in a while. I chug some iced coffee from the fridge before leaving.

I expect to feel guilty by the time I reach the end of the driveway, but I don’t. I only snuck out once before; I was twelve and got as far as Reese’s backyard. I’ve certainly never stolen alcohol from my parents. The two beers don’t count; Dad knew.

The adrenaline of sneaking out makes me feel alive. I sit on a stump waiting for Reese and get the party started by taking a swig or three of coconut rum straight from the bottle. After a few minutes, I catch myself humming. Soon I’m belting lyrics.

Maybe this is all I need. A night out. Reese finally pulls up and I get in the car. She takes a good, hard look at me and starts laughing.

“You’re drinking!”

I smile and wiggle my eyebrow at her. “Want some?”

“Aaaah, yeah. But I’m the driver.”

I give her my pouty lip.

“Maybe Oz can be the driver.”

She flashes me her pearly whites and off we go.

Sometime later, Reese, Oz, and I are sitting on swings at the park no one goes to anymore. Music thumps from Oz’s fancy speaker and we’re laughing hysterically over dumb stuff we did as kids.

“Remember the time we took the fast sled to the hill behind Oz’s house? We got in a big fight about who should be in front, the biggest or the smallest.” Reese twists herself on the swing before letting go with a happy squeal.

“We super-manned over the ledge at the bottom of the hill and almost killed poor Tess,” says Oz.

I got the wind knocked out of me and bruised my tailbone.

“God that hurt, but you guys were fine.” I take another sip from my plastic cup. It’s a nice combo of alcohol to forget my issues, sugar to make it taste better, and caffeine to keep me awake.

The song I was listening to in my room earlier plays from the speaker, and I can’t help myself. I pour more rum into my cup.

“Here hold this,” I say to Reese.

I grab a stick and climb the ladder to the platform on the playground equipment. It’s the perfect stage.

“Gimme, gimme,” I say to Reese.

She chuckles and hands me the cup. “Maybe you’ve hit your limit.”

“Whatever! Okay, start it over.”

Oz starts the song again and I chug what’s left in my cup and let the show begin. I sing into my stick microphone like my life depends on it, and Oz and Reese cheer. I pull out all my dance moves and swing from a pole holding up the shade. I get a kick of my long hair as it swings and flies when I twirl. I’m in my own world, and when the chorus begins, I belt this sucker like I’m giving a performance at the pavilion.

Every ounce of pain drains from me with each note I sing, freeing my caged heart like a bird. Reese and Oz have their arms in the air, swaying with the music while I give them a playground show to remember. The song comes to the end, and someone slow-claps from behind Reese and Oz.

“Not bad,” says Cyrus. “I’m surprised Brigid hired me when she has you.”

I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic.

“She reserves her performances for friends and family. Shoo.” Reese and flicks her hand at him.

And that’s when it happens. I turn my head away from my audience and puke, magnificently, down the twisty slide.

“Oh my gosh,” says Oz. He climbs the ladder in a flash. Or maybe he flew. I can’t tell. He grabs me and presses a cool hand to my forehead. I think I’m going to be sick again, so I push him away and puke on his shoes.

“It’s okay, Tess.” Oz taps my back.

“So dizzy.”

“This didn’t turn out so well,” says Cyrus.

“What are you doing here?” Reese demands.

“I was out for a run when I heard the concert. Thought I’d check it out.”

“You’re running at this hour?”

“Couldn’t sleep. What’s it to you?” he snaps.

“Don’t fight.” Oz tries to guide me around the puke. “We need to get her down, and the slide is no longer an option.”

“I’m fine. I can do it.” I step away from Oz and slip on something wet. He catches me before I land in it.

Cyrus sighs. “Let me help you get your girlfriend down and then I’ll leave you all to it.”

“Girlfriend?” Reese laughs.

Oz rolls his eyes. “He’s cute but not the brightest crayon in the box.”

In one swift jump, Cyrus is next to us on the equipment. “Here, give her to me.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good—” Before Oz can finish his sentence, Cyrus picks me up with one arm below my shoulders and the other under my knees. It makes me dizzier, and I wrap my arms around his neck because I think I’m going to fall. He smiles at me when I do.

“Hang on.”

He jumps off the same way he got up and lands in the sand softly. He tries to set me on my feet, but my legs turn to mush, and I grab on to him tighter.

“You smell really good,” I say before a wave of nausea hits me again. “I need to sit.”

He guides me to a picnic table with Reese and Oz in tow.

“Why did you do this to yourself?” Cyrus asks softly.

“That’s none of your business.” I narrow my eyes, but he’s out of focus.

“What’s none of my business?”

Reese and Oz look at each other.

“Why I did this.” His eyebrows furrow. “Didn’t you hear him?”

“No, sweetie,” says Oz. “He didn’t say anything.”

Reese crosses her arms but stays quiet.

I burst into tears and hide my face in my hands. I can’t escape this no matter what I do. There’s not enough liquor in the house for me to drink my problems away. What if I’m stuck like this forever? Standing at the edge of my life looking down with all its missing pieces, never quite understanding what’s going on.

Cyrus touches my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. It’ll be over soon. She must be close, or she wouldn’t be able to hear me like that.”

I close my eye and fall into his chest like I know him. His sympathy stabs my heart, and the snot fest continues. If I could only be a pretty crier, I’d be okay with this. But I’m not. I sniff and wipe my nose on my sleeve. When I open my eyes, Cyrus is gone. I’m in bed, and the first thing I notice is the picture of me riding is back on the wall.