Before I WAKE: A Becoming LUNA Novel

2

Weber Grove, Colorado was a far cry from the small Illinois. And a far drive, too, for that matter. It took us two days of driving to make our way across the Midwest. Well, just two states really— Missouri and Kansas, which blurred together in my mind. Mimi drove my mom’s old— I mean old— Volvo station wagon with a small U-haul trailer hitched to the back. I didn’t bring much from home, just an old desk that my mom had refinished, my book collection, which was admittedly humongous, and a couple suitcases filled with my clothes, yet somehow the whole trailer was full. Mimi insisted on taking the Volvo because it was “paid for and safe,” not to mention, the Volvo had a hitch and her Buick did not. So, she left her 1985 Buick Skylark behind, donating it to a charity in Quincy.

After two days of truck stops, dinners consisting of Cheetos and Cokes, and seeing a whole lot of combines harvesting autumn crops, we finally crossed the state line and were welcomed to “Colorful Colorado.” Mimi pulled over on the shoulder and made me get out so she could take a picture in front of the welcome sign.

“Say ‘New beginnings,’” she said.

“That’s lame,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Oh come on, smile like you mean it. No, smile because after another couple hours, we’ll be out of the car.”

“Okay, I can get behind that,” I said. I smiled so Mimi could snap a picture.

“Stay here with the car and I’ll be right back.” She handed me the camera and started toward the woods.

“What? Where are you going?” I asked.

“Nature calls!”

“You’re going to pee in the forest?”

“When you gotta go, you gotta go,” she said.

“I’m sure there’s a rest stop or something just up the road.”

“Maybe so. But I have to go now. Welcome to Colorado,” she sang as she ducked behind a tree. I could hear her footsteps crunching through the underbrush.

“Be sure to avoid plants with three leaves and red stems.” I called after her shaking my head.

Mimi returned a minute later and we headed out, set on the path toward our final destination.

In some respects, Weber Grove looked a lot like Quincy complete with its own quaint little downtown filled with brick-front shops and restaurants and lots of people walking around or riding their bikes. It almost reminded me of something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. All the little shops with picture windows and chalkboard easels advertising the sales and daily specials. Of course, the giant mountains in the distance were definitely not familiar. I watched as two little girls held their father’s hands while they crossed the street. One hopped the whole way across, her little blonde pigtails flopping up and down as she went along. The other tugged her father’s arm like she couldn’t get anywhere fast enough.

We looped through the downtown area and made our way past the local college, St. Claire University, and down toward Lantern Lane. I recognized the street name from Mimi’s return address and knew that we were almost there.

The lane was nearly overgrown by trees and brush and I got the distinct impression that unless you knew what you were looking for, you would drive right by. Mimi turned left and headed down the street. She drove slowly to give the small animals the chance to scamper away. “Shoo, shoo” she cooed. She rounded one more corner before we came to what I guessed had to be her house.

“Is this it?” I asked. She pulled into the drive beside what looked like a life-sized gingerbread house. Or a really well made tree house. It was even partially on stilts. The main walk and the front door were level with the driveway and lane, but the back end of the house hung out over an incline that led down toward the lake. The house was wood, like a log cabin and had huge glass windows in the front and a corrugated tin roof. 

“Yup. Home sweet home. Just wait until you see inside.”

I stepped out of the car and stretched. It felt so good to move and I couldn’t believe how stiff I was. “I’m getting old.” I said.

“I’d say you’re a regular geezer.” Mimi tossed me my duffle bag and grabbed her purse.

I followed her up the walkway and waited while she unlocked the massive wood door, which was speckled with little circles of glass. “They’re the bottoms of recycled bottles,” she said, running her hand over one. “It has the coolest effect in the morning sun.” She pushed the door open with her foot and flipped on the light switch. When I stepped inside, I wasn’t sure where to look first. There were so many strange and beautiful things going on in her front room, which flowed into the dining area and was only separated from the kitchen by a half-wall.

The ceiling was made from hundreds of picture frame corners so that they formed an elaborately random zigzag pattern. Straight ahead was a beautiful staircase, the banister for which was made out of driftwood. To the left was the kitchen, which featured an entire stucco wall with more glass circle windows, larger and more elaborate than the front door, embedded within it. At the back of the front room was a massive mural, like a mosaic of sorts made from lots of small circles that looked like buttons. I stepped closer to get a better look.

“Bottle caps,” Mimi said. “Isn’t that a hoot?”

“Mimi, this whole house is a, um, hoot. How did you find it?”

“A guy I know builds these things— energy efficient and almost eighty-five percent reclaimed materials. Usually he does them for low-income folks but the gal who owned this one defaulted on her mortgage, so I bought it up so the bank wouldn’t foreclose,” she said. “Although I’d be lying if I said my motives were entirely selfless.”

“I can see why. This place is incredible.”

“Wait until you see your room,” she said leading me upstairs and down the hall.

It was beautiful. All reclaimed-wood paneling, a stained glass window made from the same bottles as the front door and another window that was as tall as me. “That one opens onto its own balcony,” Mimi said. “And I thought we could put your desk over here, in front of the circles window and then those built in shelves are just itching to be filled with your books.”

She set my duffel bag down on the full-sized bed. “Oh, and there’s extra towels and another quilt just like this one in the linen closet, in case you need them,” she said. “Well, do you want to haul stuff in and then freshen up a bit? I thought maybe I could take you to the Cherry Street Bistro for dinner. Get some real food.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

I tossed the suitcases in the bedroom closet, promising myself that I wouldn’t go to sleep before I put all my clothes away on hangers or in the dresser. But at that moment, all I wanted to do was take a hot shower and wash the grime of the last two days off of my body. I felt like I had powdered cheese, fast-food grease and Diet Coke caked into my skin.

“Well, don’t you clean up nice?” Mimi said as she caught sight of me at the top of the stairs. I started down them and tripped over my own foot. I couldn’t even blame it on my shoes because as usual, I was wearing Chucks. Luckily, I caught myself on the handrail just before smashing my face into the wall. 

“You can dress me up but that still don’t make me a lady,” I said, quoting on of my grandpa’s favorite lines.

I grabbed the railing and carefully made my way down the last few steps. “Let’s go before I break something.”

“Like your neck?”

What had been a quiet little downtown when we first drove through was suddenly electric. The streetlights were lit and crowds of people had begun gathering outside the various restaurants and bars. What looked like a pack of college guys sidestepped us as we crossed the street. The unmistakable and overwhelming smell of cheap cologne wafted toward us as they passed.

“Phew, I think someone’s a fan of the ‘Irish shower,’” Mimi whispered, elbowing me as she flicked her wrist and waved in front of her nose.

I laughed. “There is such a thing as too much Axe,” I said, purposely a bit too loudly.

The Cherry Street Bistro was as cute inside as the front window suggested. Clusters of tables were draped in linen table clothes and scattered around the front room, which seemed like more of a townhouse than a restaurant. The built in bookshelves were lined with hundreds of library-bound books. I couldn’t make out any of the titles, but they were embossed in gold lettering. It reminded me of a law office or the library of a person who was either very important or well-read.

Someone had obviously gone to great lengths to preserve the home’s features, including the solid hardwood floors. Maple, and probably original, I noticed. As we followed the hostess through the restaurant to find our table, I tried to scope out what entrees looked best. I noticed that at almost every other table, someone had a crock of delicious looking cheesy pasta. I decided immediately that whatever it was, I’d be having it too.

“Oh, the lobster macaroni and cheese. Excellent choice,” Mimi said when I ordered. She’d gone with the pan-fried trout. “We must both be in the mood for seafood.”

“At this point, I’d eat anything,” I said. “Well, anything but Cheetos.”

While we waited for our dinner, I glanced around the room, watching the other patrons who were enjoying their meals. I wondered if any of the younger people in the room went to the local satellite campus where I would be enrolling. Maybe we could become friends, I thought of a tall, skinny blonde girl sitting at a table near the fireplace with her family. Then again, she looked a little more granola than I was used to, with her Birkenstock mules, peasant-style skirt and long straight hair.

Of course, then I had to mentally smack myself for being so judgmental. Mimi was wearing Birkenstocks, too. Sandals, actually, which were beyond seasonally inappropriate here in the coolness of the mountains. She rocked them just the same. Although admittedly, my grandma had a little streak of granola running through her and living in Colorado had only accentuated it. Pretty quickly I noticed that most of the people in the room were dressed, well, like they lived in Colorado. Patagonia must be the official state label or something.

As I was scoping out the locals’ fashion sense, I noticed a table along the side of the main room that was crowded with people that looked about my age. They huddled over their table and seemed to be talking in hushed voices sipping red wine. There was one tiny hummus plate between them all, like all eight or so of them were sharing one small appetizer? Weird.

But what struck me most was how they looked more than a little out of place, like they belonged in Manhattan or something instead of small-town Colorado. The girls were dressed mostly in black, wore big Chanel sunglasses on their heads and toted designer handbags, one with a Birkin that costs more than I made last year. Not a Birkenstock in sight although one of the guys was wearing a Patagonia puffer. “Who are they?” I whispered to Mimi.

She glanced over my shoulder. “Who? The socialites?” She laughed and flicked her wrist. “Just that. Some wealthy students at the private liberal arts college here in town.”

“A liberal arts school? Really?” I didn’t remember reading about one of those in Weber Groves when I was looking at my schooling options. Not that an expensive, exclusive school would have been an option for me.

“Yup. Exclusive, old money kind of place. It’s tucked back in the woods. Just across the lake from my house, actually.”

“You can see it from your house?” I asked. I kept one eye on the table, intrigued by their obvious otherness.

“Well, no, it’s up on the bluff. But I see the students down by the dock sometimes. Rowing and swimming and whatnot in the summer,” she said. 

I looked over to the table again, wondering what would draw them to Weber Grove of all places. Must be some school. As I was gaping, I noticed one of the guys at the table was looking my direction as he bit into a piece of pita. His sapphire eyes locked on mine and I blushed, having been caught red-handed in my rudeness. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks as I quickly turned back around toward Mimi. I flicked my hair forward, trying to hide my face a little but without being too obvious about it.

“Dah-ling, Weber Grove is the new East Coast,” Mimi continued, in her best Zsa Zsa Gabor voice. “Don’t tell me you forgot to pack your Manolos?”

I kept my eyes down but forced a laugh. To be honest, I probably wouldn’t even know what Manolos were if not for s*x and the City. “No, but I remembered my Jimmy Choos,” I said.

“Oh, good. Because I couldn’t possibly be seen in public with you otherwise.”

When we got up to leave, I noticed the socialites were still lounging around their table. But where there had only been one tiny tapas plate before, there was now a massive stack of dirtied dishes. It took two busboys to clear them. The socialites were talking over coffee mugs and an assortment of dessert plates. There were like eight of them but at least fifteen plates of sweets. Not that I counted exactly, but it was an excessive amount.

 I kept my eyes forward did my best not to actually stare at them, but I had to step aside to let the second busboy pass. I couldn’t help but glance their way so that I wouldn’t end up in someone’s lap. When I did, I found myself eye to eye with the same guy who’d caught me looking at them earlier. St first, he seemed to offer a friendly little smile but then all the sudden his eyes darkened and his face shifted. He stared at me intensely and looked like he was gripping the edge of the table so hard he might break it.

Chillax, dude. I didn't mean to bump your knee. I froze. If I were someone else, someone way cooler, I would have known exactly how to respond. Cooler me would have made a quip about how awkward this was and maybe his anger would have dissipated. Or maybe I could have took him exactly where to put his rudeness.

But instead, I absolutely choked. I didn’t smile. I didn't call him out. I didn’t say anything, I just stood there, gaping. And then, I had to wait like that for a few more seconds before the path was clear and I could scramble to catch up with Mimi. All the while the guy is just staring at me. If looks could kill, I think I'd be toast.

What the hell, dude?

Outside the restaurant, the streets were kinetic, buzzing with life and people. Downtown Weber Grove might look a bit like my small Illinois town, but the hustle and, well, nightlife, were decidedly un-Illinois-like. Back home, all the shops downtown closed up shop at 5, even on a Friday or Saturday night. Not here, it seemed. It was almost 8 and it looked like most people’s evenings were just beginning. Clusters of college students mixed and mingled in front of the coffee shops and bars. Mimi and I passed a cute older couple crossing the street. They held hands and smiled at each other. Mimi looped her arm through mine as we passed, a gesture that I interpreted to mean that seeing them made her miss my grandpa. I squeezed her arm.

Just as we crossed the street I heard a loud shriek followed by a sickening thud, the unmistakable sound of flesh smacking against the pavement. We turned to see the old man now crumpled at the feet of his wife near the edge of the sidewalk. He held his chest for a moment then fell backward, hitting his head against the street. “Herman?” she yelled. “Herman!”

A few people came running from every direction. One woman pulled her cell phone out of her purse while her friend stepped off the curb and attempted to block the traffic. She waved her arms at passing cars, which made her look like she was doing the chicken dance. It might have been funny if it, well, weren’t.

 I started toward the crowd, compelled to help in some way, though I wasn’t sure how. I took a CPR class and was still technically certified, but the only thing I could remember is that you’re supposed to sing “Staying Alive” in your head while you administer it. I couldn’t even remember why. Still, I knew I couldn’t just stand by and watch him suffer or even die. Most of my pre-med courses so far have been like chemistry and biology and anatomy. Nothing actually related to how to save a life.

I stepped forward to the edge of the throng of observers and watched as a man began to administer CPR. Thank God someone paid attention to that course. I crouched down and watched as the old guy’s eyes flailed open and he gasped for breath. I knelt down and put my hand on the ground, near his foot. For a brief second he turned his head and made eye contact with me. I gave him a little half smile as if to say everything would be all right though I had no clue if it would.

Then, like nothing had happened at all, he sat up and looked at us like we were all nuts. He jumped to his feet and clicked his heels. “Herman, good heavens,” his wife said. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You’re not a doctor yet,” Mimi said, tugging me to my feet by my elbow. I heard the sirens of an ambulance in the distance. “Let’s just let the EMTs do their job, okay?”

“But I don’t think he needs an EMT anymore,” I said. I had no idea how that was possible. Or how someone, especially someone his age, could be having what looked like a heart attack one minute and the next, be doing some kind of jig.

Mimi pulled me away from the crowd and led me from the scene. I looked back and saw that the moment we crossed the street, the man collapsed again in a heap. “Herman?” his wife shrieked, falling to her knees beside him.

I noticed the pack of socialites cross the street, away from the crowd of people who had gathered around the man. Except one of them hung back and stood there waiting as the EMTs pulled up. The angry dude.

Even as Mimi tugged me forward, I kept my head turned and watched as he knelt down next to the man, almost exactly where I had just been. It looked like he was giving the old man his Last Rites or something, which didn’t make any sense at all since the guy was clearly not a priest and he had no way of knowing if the old man was even Catholic.

Mimi pulled at my arm and we rounded the corner out of sight.

“What was that?” I asked as we drove toward home.

“What was what?”

“That. The guy? In the street? Didn’t you see? One minute he was fine, the next he was having a heart attack and then he’s up dancing. Then he was back down on the ground again.”

“I didn’t notice,” Mimi said. She kept her eyes forward. “But I’m sure it’s fine. Let those trained EMTs do their jobs.” She patted my knee. “Your day will come soon enough.”

I didn’t care what she said. Whatever that was, was bizarre.