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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... cc&d magazine (v213) (the September 2010 Issue) |
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Ocean’s Pounding
Jeremy Closs
“I’m going running, mom,” she says. She waits for the yell.
“You’re what?!” the voice calls from downstairs, right on queue. Footsteps pound down the stairs. Traci’s mother scrambles to the kitchen and tries to block the back door, what Traci called the beach door when she was little.
“You are not going out there, young lady,” she says. Traci sighs. She knew this was coming, but it still grates her.
“Mom, I’m fifteen. I can take care of myself,” Traci says. “Look, I even got this at the store yesterday.” She pulls a small can of MACE out of her pocket to show her mother. Her mother’s eyes grow wide.
“When did you get that?” she asks.
“I told you, mom. Look, Amy and I talked a long time last night. We both agreed that if we didn’t do something, they’d win.” she says.
“Then let them win!” she yells. She pulls a stained note out of her pocket. “keep your dyke slut cunt dauter away from our kids or we kill her,” she reads. Tears spring up in Traci’s eyes, and her mother’s face softens. “Honey listen, I know you want to make a stand. You’ve never been one to back down, and you know I love that in you. But these people are crazy. I don’t know if they’ll really kill you, but they’ll hurt you. I’ve already called up your uncle Kerry, and he says we can stay at his farm for awhile. I even called Amy’s parents, and they say we can bring her with us until this whole thing cools down. Honey, please, we have to be safe. I can’t let anything happen to you,” she says.
Traci falters. The farm up in Vermont would be nice this time of year, with all the leaves changing. Also, the thought of spending so much time with Amy sounds wonderful. A scene flashes through her mind, Amy and her spending an afternoon up in the hayloft, wrapped up in a blanket together, sharing a thermos of hot chocolate, sharing whispers, sharing other things. But then she looks at the note in her mother’s hand, and at the sheet of plywood that their neighbor helped put up to patch the broken living room window. She shakes her head.
“I’m sorry, mom,” she says, pushes past her mother, and runs out the door. The ocean’s autumn air hits her skin hard, and she realizes how flushed the confrontation with her mother has left her. She can hear her mother calling after her as she races down the sandy path to the beach. She blocks her out. Her mother doesn’t understand, not really. It’s not just about the note tied to a rock, death threat or not. She’s been getting threats ever since Amy persuaded her that they should come out together at the end of the summer.
They had walked into Robert E. Lee High on the first day of school hand in hand, and kissed each other goodbye when the first bell rang. Before the day was through, they had been called into the principal’s office and received a heated lecture forbidding any further offensive displays of affection. When the principal said affection, it sounded as though he was spitting out some awful piece of rotten meat. Traci had pointed out how often the students saw the football stars making out with their girlfriends of the week in the hallways. The principal flustered something about how boys will be boys. The girls received a week’s detention, and a strong feeling that their kind wasn’t wanted in this proud school.
That was just the start of things. Before the detentions were up, both girls had lost many of their friends. Traci remembers coming to school that first Tuesday morning and seeing one of her best friends, Becca. Becca wasn’t part of the group Amy and Traci liked to call their posse; she had known this girl since they had been in second grade, and they’d been close since fourth grade, but when Traci said hi that morning, she could almost see icicles growing off the hello she got back. When she asked Becca how she was, so got a stiff “fine,” and an awkward silence. The bell rang then, and Traci let it go for the time. Later at lunch, though, Traci went to sit with Becca. When Traci sat down, Becca got up and moved to a different table. When Traci confronted her about this after school, Becca tried to shrug it off.
“This kind of thing happens. Friends grow apart. It just happened,” she said.
“Bull! We hung out most of the summer. Come on, Becca, what’s happened?” she asked. Becca heaved a sigh and glared off to the side.
“God, you really don’t know? You’re dumber than I thought,” she said, and turned away. They hadn’t spoken since.
Most of their friends outside the posse just started ignoring them. The other students, however, were not so kind. Traci began dreading opening up her locker. It seemed as though there was another hate note in there every morning. There were plenty of Dykes Stay Away and No Gays in our Town; many had a religious flavor with proclamations of God Hates You, Burn in Hell Bitches, and other similar sentiments. About two weeks before Amy and Traci both got rocks through their windows, Traci found Amy crying in one of the bathrooms. When she asked what was wrong, Amy showed her a noose she had found hanging in her locker. When they reported it to the principal, he dismissed it as a Halloween prank, even though it was still the first week of October. The biting whispers and comments became so ubiquitous Traci stopped hearing them; the hate-filled stares of strangers told her what her ears ignored.
Traci’s back yard is a good quarter-acre, with the back fence coming right up to the edge of the beach. Right through her back gate, there’s about ten feet of soft sea grass, then all is ocean and sand. As she reaches her back gate, she kicks off her sandals and rushes towards her beach; the verdant grass brushing her, the cool morning sand bringing her alive. Traci had spent the first six years of her life away from the sea. Her idea of a large body of water was the lake that her dad would take her to in the summer. Then he had gone away, gone forever, and Traci hated him for it. Her mother told her that they were moving, and Traci decided she would hate wherever they went, because it wasn’t where he had been. She had arrived at her new home in a haze, not seeing or hearing anything. When they got to the new house, she rushed to her room and flung herself on her bed. She cried for an hour. As the last of her sobs were running out, she began to hear something. It was like a great, comforting breathing all around her. Then she looked up through her bedroom window for the first time, and saw the sea. It filled her eyes, and for the first time she felt her heart may heal.
Now that it is fall, all the summer people have left. The beaches once again belong to the locals. It is a gray, overcast day, and Traci has the beach to herself as she runs. She runs on the thin borderland between sea and sand, where the white foam rushes to kiss her feet with each wave. The sea is awake this morning. It was not angry, not yet, but it seemed to be in a bad mood already. It flings a mist of water up into Traci’s short brown hair as she runs on; the green of the sea dances with the blue in her eyes. As she runs, her memory goes back to that day three summers ago.
Traci met Amy when they were both twelve years old. Traci had been walking along the beach on a breezy June day. The beach in front of her house was packed with tourists, so she decided to head to the cliffs. The cliffs were about half a mile down from Traci’s house. They were almost sheer walls of rock which went on for about two miles. Traci hadn’t started running yet, but she loved walking alongside the cliffs. Thet were underwater during high tide, so there was always something new to look at. More importantly, most of the tourists stayed away, so aside from a handful of locals, this stretch of beach was hers.
Traci was almost at the other end of the cliffs when she noticed a cave in the rock’s wall that she hadn’t seen before. The only reason she noticed it today is because there was a girl standing at the entrance. She was wearing a bright orange one-piece suit, and her straight black hair was still slicked with salt water. The two of them stared at one another, and Traci felt an unfamiliar twinge inside her. The girl raised a finger to her lips and mimed to Traci, shhhhh. Just then, Traci heard someone yelling further down the beach.
“Amy! AMY! Where’d you get at? Come on, you bitch, get back here!” Traci saw that the shouts were coming from a high school guy, probably a senior, at least a junior. He was wearing camo-print swim trunks, and he was headed Traci’s way. He took a swig from the beer in his hand, and that’s when he noticed Traci standing there.
“Hey, you. Did you see a girl walking that way? Couldn’t miss her, had a ass-ugly orange suit on,” he said. Traci shook her head. Normally she would’ve said anything; she was scared of guys older than she was, but that finger on the lips, and the can of beer, told her that she should do her best to keep the cave girl hidden.
“I haven’t seen anyone, not since the other side of this cliff,” she said, then realized this was probably a tourist, so she added, “It goes on for about two miles, so, I would’ve seen her.” Traci kept her eyes locked with this stranger. She had heard that liars always look away. His eyes seemed to hold turning fire.
“Shit, girl, I know the cliff. I’ve only lived in this backward town for the past 17 fucking years,” he said, and kicked the sand. “Well, if you see her, tell her that her brother wants her,” he said, and stormed off in the other direction. Traci let out her breath, and realized she was shaking. There was a vibe coming off that guy.
Traci looked back over to the cave. A huge smile had made its way onto the girl’s face, and she waved for Traci to come over and join her. Traci made her way over to the cave, made sure the camo-trunks guy wasn’t looking, and ducked inside.
Traci followed the girl into the cave until they were both out of sight. The cave was damp and cool, but not unpleasant. There was just enough light to see by, and Traci could see sea vegetation growing on the walls, left over from the centuries of high tides that had visited this cave. The girl sat down on a rock, and Traci sat on the cave floor next to her.
“Thanks for that,” she said.
“No problem. That guy looked like a jerk,” Traci said. The girl laughed.
“Yeah, my brother is most definitely a jerk. Hey, what’s your name?” she asked.
“I’m Traci, who are you?”
“My name’s Amy. Are you here visiting? You know, ‘cause it’s summer?” Amy asked. Traci shook her head.
“Nah. We live here, my mom and me, just on the other side of the cliff,” she said. Amy’s eyes lit up.
“Oh wow, cool, so you’re practically my neighbor!” she said. “Maybe we could, ya’ know, hang out, when you’re not spending time with your other friends.”
That stopped Traci. She hasn’t really made many friends, any real friends, since she had moved. The other kids hadn’t been mean, for the most part, but not many had reached out. There had been a group of girls she would sit at lunch with during school, and she had been invited to her share of birthday parties, but there had never been any real connections. She was standing on the verge of the unexplored frontiers of 7th grade, and up until this point, she had been afraid that she would be left standing alone. Then, out of the blue, this girl came along and let her know that it didn’t have to be that way. The idea made Traci pause, and Amy looked worried.
“I mean, it’s OK if you don’t want to, I just thought-“ she said, and Traci interrupted her.
“Have you explored this cave yet?”
“No, I just found them this morning.”
“Want to see how far they go back?” Traci asked. The girls smiled at one another, and began exploring the dark earth.
Traci continues running along the beach. She has just reached the cliff. If she had not been so lost in thought that morning, she would have paid more attention to the close violence of the sea. As it is, though, the roaring of the sea matches the pounding in her heart, and she runs on. As she run, she remembers how her friendship with Amy had grown. Amy had spent almost every day that summer over at Traci’s house, talking, playing, growing through that great summer of change together. When fall came, they entered school side by side, and stuck together through the storm of middle school raged around them. The cruelty of their peers crashed against the wall of their friendship.
They had other friends at school. They had a group of six other kids who made up a posse of outcasts, spurned by the popular and unpopular alike. They were the group that the geeks called nerds. But they were loyal to one another, and they kept each other from going insane. They were introduced to pen and paper role playing. It was a great unearthed treasure in the land of their imagination, birthed from the fertile fields that J.R.R. Tolkien’s trilogy and its descendents left so fertile. The new Dungeons and Dragons system left room for endless adventure, and these outcasts spent most Friday or Saturday nights exploring dungeons, fighting orcs and looting treasure. There was only one other girl in their group, Sharon. She was going steady with one of the five guys. Traci thought that she would get a crush on one of the other four guys. That didn’t happen, even though she was well in to puberty, with her body changing and growing so quickly that her mother sometimes joked about getting the ceiling fans taken out of the house, just in case. Her hormones were raging so quickly that she was sometimes sure that she could really feel them crushing through her body, and her sex drive kicked into overdrive at least once a day. But she still didn’t find herself looking at her boy friends as anything more than friends. She couldn’t see any boy as anything more than another person. They didn’t excite anything in her. But when she was around Sharon and Amy, she felt a stirring in her she had never known. She didn’t know what this new feeling was, but she knew she liked it, and she knew she wanted more.
Up until that point in time, Traci had no concept of same-sex attraction. She had heard talk about homosexuals, but everyone said they were wicked people who spent their time hating God and messing with children. The idea that she could be that way was beyond her cultural imagination. It wasn’t until one night that following summer that she could finally admit the truth to herself.
Their band of friends had gathered on the beach for an end-of-school cook out. They built a small bonfire, played games, sang Floyd and Zeppelin, and enjoyed life. It had been cloudy most of the night, but as the fire burned down to embers the sky cleared and the stars shone down on the sea. The rest of the group had gone home after many fond farewells, and the only ones left were Traci and Amy, sitting by the embers in moonlight and the ghosts of firelight. They sat side by side, less than a hand-breadth apart. They enjoyed a comfortable silence as their eyes moved from the burning coals to the burning stars. Eventually, Amy broke the silence.
“Hey Traci,” she said.
“Yeah?” Traci asked. Amy was silent for another two minutes. Traci was about to ask her something again when she looked over and noticed the tears rolling down Amy’s face. The firelight turned them into rubies.
“Amy, hey, what’s wrong?” she asked, and put a hand on her shoulder. Amy shook her head and wiped her face.
“Give me a minute,” she sniffed. There was another short pause, and then she dived in. “My brother, you remember him? The guy who yelled at you last summer?” she said. Traci nodded. “He’s home from college, and my parents were away all day, and he cornered me in my room and he, he...” Hacking sobs took her then, and Traci wrapped her friend in a hug. Amy planted her forehead in the crook of her neck. Traci could feel the heat pulsing off her.
“I kept crying for him to stop, it hurt me, but he kept...pushing me, grabbing at me. I tried yelling for help, but nobody came, so I locked myself in the bathroom. I just cried and waited, for three hours. He grabbed me here, and here” she said, pointing at her new breasts and her crotch. That was all she could say. She squeezed herself tight against Traci and wept. Traci froze for a moment, then squeezed her back, tight as she could.
“Oh Amy, oh God, Amy, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she said. They sat there as Traci felt Amy’s tears fall on her shoulder and roll down the back of her swimsuit. Traci’s mind was racing, trying to figure out what she should do, when before she knew what was happening, she heard herself begin to sing.
Shining starfire way up high, burning in the black
I’m always looking in your eyes, you’re always looking back.
You’re the bonfire in my heart, burning from afar,
Oh my precious starfire, take me where you are.
Bring me up into the black and hide me when its blue,
And when the night has come again, let me dance with you.
Amy, my own starfire, let me dance with you.
There was silence on the beach for a moment, and then Amy pulled away.
“What was that?” she asked.
“It, um, that was -“
“Traci, what was that?” she asked again. Traci began backing away.
“Look, I’m sorry, just forget it, I’m sorry-“ she said. She started to get up to leave, but Amy grabbed her arm.
“Wait,” she said. She leaned in close and kissed Traci. Light poured into the world as Traci felt those lips on her own.
She is over halfway along the cliffs now, and her mind finally rouses itself out of memory enough to recognize the ocean rushing across her feet. She slows to a jog, and thinks that the water shouldn’t be anywhere close to her, it’s too early. Then she remembers what her teachers had told her on Friday, reminded her again and again – set your clocks back this Saturday night. She had forgotten. She was always sure to go running early in the morning to beat the tide, but today she has forgotten, and now she’s racing the tide. She knows that if the water gets deep enough before she escapes the cliffs, the storm waves will throw her against the rock like a forgotten ragdoll. She starts running faster.
The water is rising, already almost to her knees. Each wave threatens her balance. Her pace has changed from a morning run to short sprints during the waves’ recession, followed by bracing herself against the rock wall to keep from falling. She’s still a quarter mile from the other side of the cliffs and her cave when she first begins to worry that she might die. Not long after this thought raised its head, Traci is bracing herself against the cliff as a violent wave crashed around her. A jagged rock is flung up by the water, and it makes a large gash on Traci’s left leg. She cries out in pain and stumbles. She feels the water begin pulling her out towards the sea, and she scrambles to regain her footing. It’s at that moment she begins to panic. Her mind escapes to memory as the fog of survival falls.
Traci and Amy decided to come out to their posse at the start of that summer, right after school let out. The eight of them had been in Traci’s living room, running two campaigns on two tables, drinking Mountain Dew, eating Cheetos, laughing, enjoying the bonds of solidarity and friendship. Traci’s heart was pounding. She’d been researching stuff online, and she knew that girls her age coming out wasn’t anywhere close to unusual. Girls did it all the time. But she was still nervous. She couldn’t remember ever meeting another homosexual in her town. Either they all kept quiet about who they were, or they’d been scared off. Traci was old enough to recognize that tolerance was low on her town’s list of virtues. She thought her friends would be different. They had talked about this kind of thing before, about how stupid they thought people like Fred Phelps and Rush Limbaugh were, but that had been different. It’s easier to go against the grain in the abstract, but when it’s your friend? That changes things.
They were taking a short break from the campaigns, and there was a lull in the conversation. Amy decided it was time.
“Hey guys, um, Traci and I have something to tell you all,” she said. She grabbed Traci’s hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. “We’re gay.” Silence filled the room for a time until one of the guys spoke up.
“You mean you two are, you know... Into each other? Like Sharon and Vince?” he asked. Traci and Amy both nodded their head. There was another silence, and then he said, “Cool.” There were murmurs of agreement from the group, and then Joe, the group’s crass joker, asked if he could watch them make out. Traci threw a Cheeto at him, and everyone laughed. That was that, the group accepted. Over the next two weeks, the four single guys in the group came up to either Traci or Amy and lamented that they had been harboring a crush on them all these years, and now their hopes were dashed, but this was done in a friendly, almost brotherly way. Sharon told them both how much she respected their courage, and that she really looked up to both of them. In its own strange way, coming out ended up drawing their close circle even tighter to one another. It still took them another few months before they could come out to the whole town, but that night was a stepping stone to their choice to walk hand-in-hand into high school.
That night, after the others had left, Traci and Amy agreed to tell their parents the next day. They said their goodnights and Amy went home. The next morning, Traci got up and dressed for her run. She put on a baggy t-shirt, a cheap thing from a Race for the Cure event her mom had taken her to in the spring, and headed downstairs. Her mother was sitting at their small kitchen table, looking out the window at the sun glinting off the sea. She was drinking her coffee and reading the paper, going through her morning ritual as she prepared for work.
“Morning, mom,” she said. Her mom looked up from the paper.
“Morning, honey. Did you and your friends have fun last night?” she asked. Traci nodded.
“Yeah, it was good. We didn’t keep you up, did we?” she said. Her mom shook her head and went back to her paper. Traci stood in the doorway, her stomach tying itself into tighter and tighter knots.
“Hey mom, do you have a minute?” she asked. Her mom put down her paper. “Of course. What’s up?” her mother asked. Traci shuffled forward and sat across from her mom. “So, you know Amy, right?” she said. Her mother laughed. “What, the girl who seems to live here more than her own house? What about Amy?” she said. “Well, um, the thing is, we’re kind of... Dating,” she said. Her mother paused, took a sip from her coffee, and said, “I know.” Traci gaped. “Come on, the oogly eyes you two give each other every time you’re together? The way you play footsie under the table when you think I won’t notice? Traci, I’ve known for a long time,” she said.
Traci paused. There was no shouting so far, and words like oogly and footsie didn’t usually come up in conversation which ended in getting disowned by your parent. “So, what do you think, mom? I need to know how you feel about this,” she said. “Well, to be honest, I’m not sure yet. At first, I was hurt that you didn’t tell me, but now I think I understand you were probably scared. We don’t exactly come from a homosexual-friendly background, do we? Now, I guess I don’t feel comfortable with all this, but I feel OK. You’re still my kid, I still love you. I’m not kicking you out, and I’m not going to lock you in your room ‘til you’re eighteen. So yeah, I guess I feel OK,” her mom said.
They sat in contented silence for a moment, then her mother added, “Do her parents know?” Traci shook her head, then stopped herself. “No. Well, maybe by now. We both said we’d tell our parents this morning, so maybe,” she said. Her mother nodded. “I think they’ll be OK too. I just hope they keep it from her brother,” her mother said. Traci was about to ask why, then stopped herself. She knew why. Amy’s brother was well-known in town. When he left for college, most who knew him, all but the most Pharisaical, breathed a sigh of relief. He was off working as a camp counselor someplace over the summer. Traci and Amy both agreed they felt sorry for any kids in his group. “We’re going to meet up after breakfast to share how it went, so I need to get going,” Traci said. Her mom nodded and said, “Honey, if I was wrong... If her parents didn’t take it well, remind her about our spare room.” Traci beamed. “Thanks mom. I love you,” she said, and headed down to the beach.
Traci’s mind is still swallowed in panic. She doesn’t even see where she is when the wave picks her up off her feet and carries her towards the cliff. Her vision is clouded and wild; all she sees is raw rock flying towards her. As she is plunged into darkness, her first coherent thought is that she has died. Then she feels the water around her, pushing her forward, and she sees. She is in their cave. The sea has taken her home. She is floating on her back, and above her the cave’s ceiling is burning with natural fluorescents. She whispers “Starfire,” and the wave starts pulling her out again.
She is dragged back out to the shore by the sea, into the blinding grayness of the day, feeling the power of the ocean as it tries make her one with its titanic self. The sea foam coats her like a hand-knit blanket. The sand pulls against her skin, pulls against the gash that the rock made earlier, and she comes back to herself. She leaps to her feet, fighting the rage of the crashing gray around her. The end of the cliff is in front of her, in reach. She pushes herself farther than she had ever known. The adrenaline of survival flooded her body, leaving her mind no escape but memory.
They waited until their parents were asleep. They had to; after the death threats, they had been forbidden to step outside the house. But they had to see each other, they had to talk, so when they had called each other under the close supervision of their parents, they had agreed they had to meet in their cave that night. They hadn’t said so in such plain language, of course; they had used the language all lovers know as their own special tongue. When the house was silent, save her mother’s snores and the ocean’s breath, Traci pulled on a sweater and crept out of the house. She ran in the cloudy darkness of the beach. Even with no moon and stars to guide her, she found her way to the cave. The cave had been the sacred hiding place for all their greatest secrets back when they only knew each other as friends – when they had lamented the unjust sentence of their periods, when they had compared the mystery of breast growth, when they had made lucid plans to run off to the same college together when they graduated. They knew it was the only place for them to talk about what had happened.
The cave was chilly that time of year, and she was glad for the sweater. She sat alone in the darkness, waiting for her Amy. In the cave, time seemed to stop. Traci began to feel at one with the cave, secret and safe. Even the sound of the waves became far away, muted. After the attack, Traci had been filled with fear, followed by a dead numb. Here in the cave, though, she found peace.
Before long, Amy arrived. They sat side by side, talking about what had happened, what had caused it. Then they were hand in hand. Then they were clinging to one another for comfort. Then they were locked, lip to lip. Traci felt Amy’s hand crawling up her, pulling her sweater with it. Traci put her hand on Amy’s.
“No, Amy. Not like this,” she said. She felt Amy’s eyes meet hers in the dark.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because we’re not our own here. Not in this town,” she said. The peace was gone; red rage was filling her, pouring from her head down to her feet. “This town feels dirty. All this hate. God! I don’t know how they stand it. I don’t want the first time we’re, you know, together... They call us fucking whores, and that’s what it would be here. Fucking. Nothing more. Because anything we do here is going to be seen as rebellion, not love. So when we do... Have sex, I want it to be something more than... More than what this town thinks about us, that the gays just get together to get their rocks off, get punished with AIDS and die.”
Amy laid her head down on Traci’s shoulder. “Of course. I can wait. We’ll be worth it,” she said. Traci hugged her close.
“I love you,” they both said at once, and laughed. Then they made their way back home and tried to sleep.
She is close now, so close. She can see the end of the cliff. She knows she can reach it.
Two hundred feet, a wave.
One hundred feet, a wave.
She is almost knocked down again.
Fifty feet, a wave, and she is clear of the cliff.
As she runs up the beach, parallel to the sloping side of the cliff, the day is filled with new light.
The sea, which had been a murderous force moments ago, is now a testament to her strength.
The gray sky screams of victory.
The salt air is the green wreath filling her lungs; the sea spray plasters her hair against her scalp, making her head into a crown.
She closes her eyes and feels the world spin around her, inside her.
She does not see the figures standing beside the cliff, she does not hear the whimpers of fear.
“Well!
If this ain’t just perfect!
I went hunting for one dyke this morning, and the other showed up too!”
Traci’s head snaps around.
It’s him, the boy in the camo shorts, Amy’s brother.
Amy is there too, kneeling in the sand beside the descending side of the cliff.
He is standing just out of the reach of the waves, with a gun against Amy’s head.
He pushes the gun forward, crashing Amy’s head into the rock.
“Say goodbye, bitch,” he said.
A trickle of blood runs down the rock from a gash in Amy’s temple.
“Traci, ru-“ she says, and an explosion fills the morning.
The thin stream of blood is replaced by an ocean of crimson and gray.
The top half of Amy’s head is gone in an instant.
Traci’s feet are frozen to the sand as the brother raises the gun on her.
“Your turn, you cunt-licking whore,” he says.
Another explosion fills the air.
Traci’s world goes black.
She wakes up in a room filled with white light. She tries to look around, but she is too weak to lift her head.
“Am I dead?” she asks.
“Not hardly, though that gash on your leg was rather nasty,” a man’s voice answers off to her left. The voice is cheerful. Traci hates this; she can’t remember why.
“Where am I?” she asks, trying again to lift her head. This time she manages to turn it, and she sees a middle-aged man dressed in absurd Hawaiian print scrubs.
“Urgent care center. The officer who found you brought you in. What’s your name, honey? We need to call your parents,” he says. Traci wonders what’s happened to her school ID. She always keeps it on her, even during the summer, unless she’s out running.
Running.
The morning comes flooding back, and Traci is writhing on the bed, screaming, tears racing down her face.
It is later. She is home now, but she forgets how she got there. She is in bed; the sunlight of day’s end streams through her bedroom’s far window and sets her room on fire. She lies there for a moment, feeling the sheets beneath her, smelling the smells she has let herself grow used to, tasting each breath as it moves through her. She feels time slip over her. After lying like this for five minutes, the door opens and Amy walks in. She doesn’t speak as she makes her way over to the bed. Traci scoots over to make room for her, just as she has done a hundred times before. Amy lies down with her back to Traci, and Traci wraps her arms around her. She scoots up and rests her chin on Amy’s raven hair. Traci breathes deep, smelling the salt caught in Amy’s hair. They lie together for a moment, then Amy gives Traci’s hand a squeeze and gets up.
“Amy?” Traci says. Amy makes no response; she starts for the door. “Amy, no! Don’t go! You don’t need to go!” she says, her voice breaking more with each word. Soon she is shouting through tears. “Amy! No! Please God, no, don’t leave me like this! You can’t just go, please!” She tries to climb out of bed, but she crashes to the floor. It’s no use, Amy is gone. Traci wraps herself into a ball and sobs. Her mother comes in.
“Traci, honey? Are you all right?” she asks.
“Why didn’t you stop her, mom? She was just here! Why didn’t you stop Amy?” Traci says through her sobs. Her mother kneels beside her and strokes her hair.
“Oh, baby, she wasn’t here. Traci, Amy’s gone. I’m so, so sorry, but she’s gone,” she says. “We’re getting out of this place. Job or no job, I’ve had it with these people. It’s a miracle you’re even alive – that the cop shot that dick before he... We’re leaving for your uncle Kerry’s tonight. As soon as we sell the house, we’re gone for good.” Traci hears none of this, or anything else as her mother keeps talking. Why can’t she be quiet?
“I’m going to take a shower,” she says. Her mother stops.
“Sure, honey, whatever you want,” her mother says. “Anything I can get for you?”
“I’m going to take a shower,” she says again. She leaves her mother sitting in the middle of her bedroom. Soon she is naked, and the water is slamming against her. As she stands there in the water, as the sun sinks below the horizon outside, she hears the ocean’s pounding.
Breathing in.
Breathing out.
