Not If I See You First(23)

“Try out for what?”

“For track. What’s your distance?”

“What makes you think I have a distance? Because I bought a pair of shoes? If you think everyone who buys shoes from you actually runs with them I have some bad news for you.”

“Oh. You don’t run?” He actually sounds disappointed. Maybe just confused. “I thought…”

Damn it, how did I back myself into this corner?

“Well, no, I mean yes, I do. Run, I mean. I just didn’t…” Didn’t know how you could know that? Shit, that makes no sense.

“Are you as confused as I am?” he says.

“Not really,” Sheila says. “This is pretty normal for her. I’m used to it. It helps not to listen closely.”

“Ja-SON!” a deep voice bellows from across the parking lot. “Let’s GO!”

“That’s my ride. See you around.”

He trots away.

“Shit.” Shit, shit, shit.

“Parker,” Sheila says.

“What?”

“I’m smiling.”





TEN


I don’t know why my brain does this to me. I occasionally dream things that really happened, almost exactly how they happened, and it’s usually things I specifically try not to think about when I’m awake. My brain is a troll sometimes.

The dream I had was of that perfect day two and a half years ago. It felt wonderful for a moment when I woke, when I was still the Parker who didn’t know what came next, and then reality slapped my face. Yet now my mind keeps trying to think about those good times anyway, to recapture that feeling, but I know the truth and won’t let it. As an antidote I try to replay the conversation I had with Jason in the mall.

It doesn’t work. The stupid, misfired conversation I had with him yesterday in the parking lot keeps intruding. I try to think of nothing instead, which pretty much guarantees the thoughts I don’t want will rush in to fill the void.

I try something else. I reach out with my mind, floating into the hallway like a ghost, passing relatives I barely know, a neighborhood of people who barely know me, out into the wide, blank world… while back in my bed wrapped in blankets I’m crushed and alone. I’m glad for the good friends I have, but they can’t fill the space of a mom or dad who will always love me no matter what, and neither friends nor family can provide that special warmth I felt one time and somehow know, deep down, I’ll never feel again.

I tap the clock—4:47 AM. I’m unsettled and can tell sleep isn’t going to come soon. I can’t stop my troll brain from going back to the dream I just had. They were very happy memories once and I only push them away now because of what happened later. Maybe if I can separate them out, to live those moments again the way they felt at the time, when they were still happy, before it all went to shit…





It’s springtime, dawn on a Saturday. On my way to run in Gunther Field, I hear music.

This happens sometimes, when the city holds an event or there’s a party or a wedding, though usually not this early. Always inconvenient—thankfully rare—seldom lasting more than a day. This time I’m especially disappointed because I really need to run today. It’s the anniversary of the crash, when my mom left and took my sight with her.

I wish anniversaries meant nothing to me—after all, they’re just days like any other. What’s the significance of saying on this day last year instead of at this time yesterday or on this day of the week a month ago… it’s all arbitrary. But logic doesn’t help. On this day exactly six years ago I lost more than I thought I could bear, and I can’t stop thinking about it.

I almost turn back for home but there’s something strange about the music. Not the music itself, but the fact that it’s the only sound. No voices, no footsteps, no rustling, nothing else at all. I keep going until I reach the field.

It’s the soundtrack to Grease.

“Scott?” I call.

No answer.

It can’t be a coincidence. His mom plays this CD so often—it reminds her of Scott’s dad—that we eventually learned all the songs and occasionally bust out singing when we’re over there.

I walk out onto the field toward the music until I’m standing over it. I reach down and find a CD player. Lying on it is a large piece of heavy paper like a big index card. I pick it up and feel bumps. Braille.

Parker. Are you busy today? I want to show you something. Text me if you want and I will be there in two minutes. Scott.

I smile. Grade 1 braille, no contractions. Made with what feels like little blobs of glue. Must have taken forever. What’s he up to?

I text him: Where r u?

“Corner of Orchard and Hess.” I have his text-to-speech voice set to an Australian accent. It drives him crazy when he hears it.

Just sitting there?

“Waiting to see if you text.”

What do u want to show me?

“Lots.”

This is taking forever.

Come here.

As promised, I hear a bike, in way less time than two minutes.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey. What are you doing out this early?”

“I want to show you something, but first I want to take you to breakfast.”