touch

Light from the hallway spilled onto the bed where I lay
curled on my side.  My blonde hair spread on my pillow like a halo.  Brian,
silhouetted by the light, stood unsteadily in the doorway hesitating.  Sweeping
a hand through his light brown hair, he sighed, turned off the light and made a
noisy attempt at creeping into the room.  I could smell the alcohol and perfume
on him.  We both knew I wasn’t asleep, but neither of us spoke.  Down the hall,
our daughter slept oblivious to her father’s infidelity and later, his alcohol
induced death.

Standing in the senior hallway of Middlelyn High School, I
dipped my shoulder shrugging off Brian’s warm hand and the remnants of the
vision.  He stood close to me, waiting.  Revulsion filled me as the bitter tang
of stale alcohol lingered in my nose.

Turning my deep brown gaze on him, I fit a stiff smile on my
lips and answered his question with a lie.  “A movie and dinner would be great,
but I’m not allowed to date.  Sorry Brian.”

Brian, a senior with great abs and too much confidence,
didn’t seem to hear me.  He shifted his stance, tucking his rejected hand into
the front pocket of his fashionably worn jeans.  “I could come over and maybe
help with homework or something.”

He spoke quietly so the animated conversations pouring from
the flow of kids moving around us muted his suggestion.  The school secretary’s
voice blared over the intercom system droning through the end of the day
announcements, joining the symphony of noise.  None of it registered as I
studied Brian’s expectant face.

My locker stood open waiting for the books still clutched in
my arms.  “Brian, I have to be honest.  I don’t trust you or your sudden
interest.  What’s up?  Really.”

When I first moved to Middlelyn a few weeks ago, the boys
asked me out based in genuine interest.  Blonde hair, deep brown eyes, a trim
figure and oval face with straight teeth, I passed as attractive.  Add to that
the fact I didn’t grow up with any of them and witness their awkward stages of
puberty, or they mine, and I stood out even more.  Fresh meat.

However, after rejecting most of the boys in my grade, the
requests had tapered off and I’d been labeled a prude.  Just one of many labels
I now carried.  The sudden interest of Brian, one of the most sought-after boys
of his class with fashionably messy light brown hair, chiseled classic
features, bold blue eyes, and a buff body, didn’t fit.

He flashed his cocky I’m-hot-and-you’re-not grin.  “Fifty
bucks for the first one to get you on a date.  Say yes and I’ll split it with
you.”

Hurt, I turned away and stacked the textbooks into the
waiting locker.  He didn’t leave, confident the money would tempt me.

In a school this size, everyone knew where I lived and that
my family didn’t have much money.  He probably didn’t even realize how cruel
his words sounded.  Just a game to them.  It annoyed me how callous boys could
be.  Then again, I’d witnessed girls acting just as bad.  In fact, I’d been one
of those girls a time or two.  I didn’t like being
that
girl, but
sometimes, I didn’t have a better choice.

“Wow.  So tempting,” I bit out sarcastically, still facing
the locker.  “But if I take half, it won’t leave much for the booze you’re
thinking about buying.”

Glancing his way, I caught his startled look before he
schooled his features.  I immediately regretted my temper.  Annoyed or not, I
should have kept my thoughts to myself.

“You’re a freak,” he said as if just now understanding the
rumors circulating about me.

I hated the rumors, but couldn’t claim them untrue.  My
mouth often got me into trouble.  Might as well finish with flare.

“Yep, and the freak thanks you for asking her on a date,
Brian.”

Grabbing my jacket and bag, I closed the locker door with a
metallic clang and walked away merging with the steady stream of passing
students.

The vision of my life with Brian remained consistent with
most of my visions.  Not horrible, but not better either.

Making my way through the halls, I ignored my schoolmates
and their careful avoidance of the pariah – me.  I tried to keep what I saw to
myself, but sometime details slipped.  I had a hard time ignoring the visions
wanting to believe I had some choice.  Some ability to influence the outcome. 
The rumors about me seeing someone’s death started circulating not long ago.

The recent vision had been clear.  Date Brian and he drinks
himself to death.  But what if I didn’t date him?  I didn’t know if he’d live
any longer.  Given his reaction, I’d guessed accurately about his current
drinking habits.  Would my rejection or comment about his drinking change
anything?

Out the main doors, the line of buses waited, their exhaust
tainting the clean cool fall air.  Heading toward the end of the line, I
boarded my bus, taking the steps two at a time, welcoming the warmth.  The
driver, using her mirror to watch the trouble underway in the back of the bus,
ignored me as I sat near the front with the younger kids.  They were less
irritating.  Less irritating made the forty-minute bus ride tolerable.  My
stomach rumbled as I thought of the lengthy ride, lunch long gone.

The flow of kids leaving the school slowed and the first bus
in line pulled away, the rest of the line slowly following.

At sixteen, taking the bus sucked.  I had my license, but no
car.  I had no job to pay for it.  No job because I lived so far out of town I
needed a car to get a job.  My aunt, great-great aunt, great grandmother, my
mom and I all lived together, pooling resources.  With all that pooling, we
still didn’t have any extra money for even the crappiest of cars.  Only my mom
and Aunt had jobs.

The little boy sitting next to me tapped my arm and asked me
to tie his shoe.  I smiled at him and showed him how to make bunny ears out of
the laces.  Boys were cute at this age before they learned to care what their
peers thought of them.  One of the first few stops, I moved to let him out and
then stared out the window watching trees pass in a blur of brown.

When the bus emptied of a few of the more obnoxious older
kids, I pulled out my homework to pass the time.  Despite the long ride, I
usually beat my mom and aunt home.  It worked out well though.  With my
homework done, I could help a little.  The quiet time spent making dinner with Gran
and great Aunt Danielle made my night.

Two minutes after finishing my last math problem, the bus
pulled over for my stop.  Bag slung over my shoulder, I stood near the driver
waiting for the door to open to let me off at the end of our long drive. 
Gravel crunched under my feet as I stepped down and a crisp breeze swept past.

The bus pulled away as I tucked my hands into my coat and
moved to the mailbox.  My one true chore in winter.  Carrying what I found
under one arm, I returned my hand to my pocket.  The air that had felt cool and
refreshing after school now just felt chilly.

Eyeing the distance to the house, I wondered not for the first
time, how we would manage to shovel it.  Naked trees and long dormant grass
crowded the narrow drive.  Minute hills and valleys in the gravel made for a
bumpy ride or a slow walk.  A challenge to navigate with a shovel.  But the
house made up for the driveway.

From a distance, the faded green paint coating the wood
siding of the two-story farmhouse didn’t look bad.  Up close, you could see the
crackled pattern in the paint that stubbornly clung to the old boards.  Other
than being drafty and needing paint, the house remained in good shape.  Low
rent made it worthwhile.

Hurrying my steps, I spotted my great grandma on the porch
waiting for me, rocking in an old wicker chair.  Her stark white hair stood out
against the green paint behind her.

Wrapped in a blanket, she watched me approach.  In her early
seventies, though she looked the grandmother part, she didn’t always act like it. 
Her life had been hard early on, especially after the death of her daughter. 
It had taken its toll.  She told me repeatedly that I’d breathed life back into
the family when I’d been born.

Smiling at the sight, I scolded her as I climbed the steps,
“Gran, it’s getting too cold for that.”

She laughed away my concern.  “The cold won’t be what kills
me.  How does spaghetti sound for dinner?”

“Great.”  Helping her from the chair, we both went inside.

It wasn’t much warmer inside, but I peeled off my jacket and
followed her to the kitchen, a small cheery room set just inside the front
door.  It’d warm up as soon as we started cooking.  I moved to the butcher
block as she went to the pantry.

“Anything interesting happen at school today?” she asked as
she handed me an onion to peel and chop.

She moved to the sink as I replied, “Brian asked me out. 
Touched me.  With me, he’d be a drunk and a cheat until the day he dies.”

“Any kids?” Gran asked absently pulling an empty pot from
the nearby stovetop to fill it with water.

The image of a sweet cherub face rose invaded my mind and I
suffered a pang of loss.  The visions, along with their emotional attachments
stayed with me for a few days.  When I recalled details, it all felt real.

Gran set the pot on the stove and pulled out another pan,
jarring me from the fake memory.

“One.”  I grabbed some garlic to mince while she prepped the
sauté pan with oil.

“Hold out for at least two.”

I didn’t bother answering.  That’s what they, my mother,
aunts and grandma, all said.  Not, ‘
Hold out for a guy you like who will
live to see his hair turn white.
’ or ‘
Wait for the right one.  Someone
who makes your toes curl.
’  No.  Instead, their suggestions all revolved
around holding out to make the best of a horrible fate.  After all, they’d all
done the same.

Knowing their stance didn’t stop their answers from
frustrating me.  I didn’t want to make the best of things.  I wanted life to go
easy on us all for a little while.

I could feel her eyes on me while I chopped in silence.

“Tessa, honey, you know we want you to be happy.  We’ve all
tried to find what happiness we could.  When you lose your man, you’ll at least
have your daughters.  That’s why we say to wait.”

The onions and the garlic made my eyes water so when I
answered, I sniffled a little.  “I know, Gran.  I just don’t understand why
this is happening to us.”

“All we have is what is in Belinda’s book,” she said sadly
before turning to pour the noodles into the boiling water.

Belinda, the first of our line, had created an unpretentious
small book detailing the basics of her life and passed it down to her
daughters.  The book followed her line from mother to daughter giving us a
sliver of knowledge.

All women of our line have a gift.  With a single touch, we
see a glimpse of our future.  The touch only worked on men.  The gift manifests
on our twelfth birthday.  We have until our seventeenth birthday to choose a
boy.  The choice is binding.  Once we choose, the gift disappears.

Reading the first few pages of the book, a person might
think fate favored us with such a wonderful gift.  To see our potential future
with any man we touched, who wouldn’t want that?  Avoid the cheaters and the
unmotivated and search for the one who could make you truly happy.  If they
read the whole thing, they would understand the depth of our misfortune.  The
one we choose dies young.  Always.  If we’re lucky, we’ll have a daughter or
two before that time.  Always a daughter.  Never a son.