The Lonely Ones (6 page)

I don't see her;

our shoulders crash together

in a painful meeting

of skin and bone.

Mary Mosley

whirls to face me.

“You're the girl helping Matthew,” she says

with narrowed eyes.

I rub my shoulder,

say, “I'm Fain.”

“Fain,” she repeats. “What kind of name is that?”

I don't know what to say

how to respond

but it doesn't matter.

She's already

turned around

moved on

forgotten.

I hear the sounds

as I approach.

I'm returning from a trip

to the wilds of Africa

and discover the war in my house raging on.

I stay outside

where it is easier to pretend

things are different

better.

Tyler and Dana

are off doing the same,

having adventures of their own

without me.

I'm standing on the lawn,

stones heavy in my hand,

when she approaches.

“What are you doing?” Anna asks.

Before I can answer,

the voices of my parents

hard and desperate as a knife

slice through the air.

For a moment

we just watch them.

They stand in front of

the wide window,

exposing our war to the world.

Anna steps closer,

her expression unreadable

in the moonlight.

She says, “That's the Little Dipper,”

finger pointed to the sky.

I follow with my eyes,

but I don't find utensils or simplicity

in the smattering of stars.

I see something else entirely.

That maybe,

just maybe,

I'm not so alone after all.

“Do you see it?” my neighbor questions.

She looks at the sky,

I look at her.

“I see it,” I lie.

Today

my time at the quarry,

my solace and writing,

is interrupted

by a fox.

It picks its way

over the rocks,

sniffing at the water

and the air.

I stare at it for

a while,

but it doesn't

notice me.

I go still,

hardly dare

to breathe.

I watch it

for a few minutes,

admire its grace

and strength.

We have so much in common,

this creature and I.

Both alone

cautious

quiet.

We learn

think

explore.

Just beneath the surface

we are each a stealthy breed,

staying out of sight of others

whenever we feel threatened.

But whenever people look at us,

they only see

Fain or fox.

Three words

I will never forget.

Three words

I will frame in my head like a picture.

“You won, Fain,”

my teacher says.

She puts the letter down

on the table,

the letter that says

Congratulations.

Mrs. Olsen

tells the class I won

makes the class clap

says my story will appear in a magazine.

I sit there,

stunned,

basking in the sun of this moment.

For the first time

since the monsters appeared,

I don't want night to come.

Nothing

can touch me.

I float

through the hallways,

oblivious

to Mary Mosley and her friends.

I stand

in gym class,

unfazed

by whacking balls and deep sneers.

I drift

to the courtyard,

unaware

of my sister's presence.

All that matters

is my story.

I am no longer invisible.

I ride the bus home,

Congratulations

in my hands.

Walk through the front door

to find a familiar scene:

Mom resting on the couch,

one hand tucked against her cheek.

Peter sits on the rug,

distracting himself

with blocks.

They don't know

my wish has come true—

that everything has changed.

“Are you awake?” I whisper.

“Can I show you something?”

The magazine liked it,

I want to tell her.

Someone found it worthy

of first place.

Before she can answer,

Peter's pile of blocks

topples over.

I feel the collapse

inside my soul.

Mom's eyes snap open,

irritation written

between red veins.

“Careful, careful,” she says,

as if saying something twice

will make it heard

make it matter.

“Look, look,”

I say.

She closes her eyes.

Tonight we explore

caves buried deep beneath

the earth.

The ceilings are low,

something drips

in the distance.

I follow my friends,

heart pounding

louder than any echo.

It's as though

every light in the world

has gone out

and nothing beautiful

could possibly exist

down here.

Finally

we reach complete darkness,

too thick and cold

to bear.

I hesitate,

draw back,

tell them

I don't want to go any farther.

“Just to those big rocks,” they insist,

clicking and scrabbling

along the stone floor.

Nervous,

scared to be alone,

I follow them

reluctantly.

Just when I think

I can't go another step,

I see it.

Up ahead,

a single light,

blinking like a beacon.

One light

turns into dozens

hundreds

thousands.

Green and glowing,

like tiny galaxies

hidden far underground.

We take hold

of one another

and walk through space.

Later,

after I've climbed into bed,

I think about how

beauty can be found

in the most unexpected

of places.

A piece of paper

lands on my desk,

made of sharp edges

and possibility.

Matthew smiles at me

as my fingers

unfold his words.

His handwriting

is boyish and small

and I want to tattoo it

on my skin.

Have you ever seen such a horrible toupee?

A giggle escapes me,

so unexpected

there's no way to stop it.

Mr. Pars

spins toward me,

his scowl as crooked

as the piece of hair

adorning his scalp.

“Is there something funny about particles?” he demands.

I bite the insides of my cheeks

to keep from smiling,

shake my head.

He turns away

and Matthew makes a face

behind his back.

I laugh so hard,

I don't even care

when Mr. Pars

yells at me again.

After dinner

I lie in the dry grass,

face tilted toward

the sky.

I hear a door open,

feel someone rustle

the grass beside me.

At first

neither of us speaks.

Then,

as if she's been holding on

to the words

too tight

too long

Anna tells me

how her parents

try so hard

to make everything perfect.

I tell her

how my parents don't try

to do anything at all.

One house full of false cheer,

the other swollen with silence.

It feels easier speaking

to someone I hardly know

with only the twilight sky

as my witness.

After all,

nothing bad can happen

once the sun has gone down.

After the quarry

when I come home

from school the next day

our house is dark,

everything shrouded

in shadow.

But there is nothing hidden

about the fight

between my parents.

White lips,

red eyes,

blue veins,

their anger I can see

as they argue

about who was supposed to pay the electric bill.

A horn honks outside,

Dana rushes out.

Music crackles through the air,

Tyler's door slams.

I huddle in my room with Peter,

whisper

of mermaids and mountains and dragons.

But I don't tell him

how much I enjoy the darkness,

how the night

is where I truly belong.

How it makes some things easier to hide

others more difficult to find

how it gives the feared and misunderstood

a place of comfort and understanding.

Then Mom comes in

with a candle.

Pale and silent,

she leaves us

with its light.

I resist the temptation

to blow it out.

Days pass,

leaves darken.

I sit with Matthew,

forget the quarry.

I talk with Anna,

don't hold back.

Then

the phone rings.

“Here.”

My sister

relinquishes it,

impatience written

in the lines of her face.

I stare at her,

some part of my mind

certain this is a trick or a lie.

Dana says my name,

shakes the phone in my face

till I take it.

“I'm bored,” Matthew announces in my ear.

“Talk to me.”

I press his voice

to my head so hard

it hurts.

He dialed my number.

He called me.

He wants to talk to me.

“What should I say?” I breathe,

slipping away

so no one else can hear,

not monsters

or parents

or siblings.

The boy from New Orleans laughs and says,

“Tell me anything.”

I smile

and tell him everything.

They're leaning against the lockers

when I walk past.

It starts quietly,

snippets sung under the breath

until it swells from a trickle of water

to a dull roar.

Mary's voice,

the loudest.

“Fain, Fain, go away,” they chant.

I hunch my shoulders

and hurry to class.

But not before

I see Anna

standing among them.

As the rest of my family

slumbers and dreams,

I am wild and awake.

A castle awaits

in the backyard,

towering over my house

like a giant.

When the clock sounds

I join my friends,

who whisper

of a dangerous beast.

We rush through the night

with armor that

clanks like a drum

shines like a star

protects like a stone.

Past the gates

the dragon crouches,

rumbling the ground

with the strength

of its growl.

I clutch the hilt of my sword

and we storm the hall

like knights of old,

shining and bright and true.

Flames climb the walls,

blackening

burning

reaching.

We duck our heads

and press on,

wielding our weapons

with discordant cries.

The chamber is high and wide,

swallowing the sounds of battle,

the clang of metal

the bellow of the beast.

There is no mercy here,

there is no hesitation.

But as soon as I pierce the dragon,

see it lying there with heaving sides

resigned eyes

I feel a twinge of regret.

Somehow

the end of October has arrived

without any of us noticing,

like loneliness or sorrow.

On the night

of candy and costumes

our parents are busy,

too busy to take Peter out.

Dana and Tyler

are busy, too,

busy avoiding the house.

My heart aches

to see my baby brother

press his face to the window,

watching families

witches

superheroes

princesses

pass by.

He shouldn't be

stuck inside looking out

on the outside looking in.

The other children laugh loudly,

buckets clanking

wrappers crinkling

doorbells ringing.

For a few minutes

I watch Halloween go on without us.

Then I run,

find a pair of scissors,

yank the sheets up

off my bed.

There are some things

we have the power to change.

We step outside just as

Anna walks past.

Marker lines

sweep across her cheeks

like whiskers.

“Hey,” she says,

“mind if I tag along?”

I almost agree,

but then I hear Mary's cruel words

in my head,

see Anna standing beside her

doing nothing.

“Maybe next year,” I tell her.

Hurt flashes across Anna's face

like a bolt of lightning,

there and gone so quickly

I wonder if I imagined it.

Then door to door we go,

me and Peter the ghost,

clutching sticky hands

seeking treats and childhood.

Though his costume

hides his face,

I can feel his smile

pulse through.

I'm so focused on Peter,

it takes me a while to notice

something moving in the shadows,

the swish of a tail

the sound of a growl

such sure signs

that my friends are following me.

But I don't crave

their presence tonight.

We turn the corner,

bump into Dana

having fun with her friends.

“What are you supposed to be?”

my sister demands,

eyeing my jeans and sneakers.

“Myself,” I answer.

Disapproval

tugs at her mouth,

and I realize

she has no idea who that is.