Dream Smashers (2 page)

“Cool.”

The pit is an abandoned one bedroom house we
lay claim to on a regular basis, just a few blocks from school
property. It’s the sort of place that Grams would vomit hot chili
peppers over if she knew we hung out there: dark, creepy, broken.
But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Or me for that
matter.

We sneak around back and enter through the
sliding glass door.

I sit on a wooden chair that we found broken
in the back last month. There had been three of them we rescued,
just dumped like garbage. It wasn’t difficult to restore them. A
little wood glue, some sandpaper and paint, and now we have chairs
representing all the primary colors.

The blue chair is mine today, to express my
mood. Rainy sits in the red, as usual.

“Come here a sec,” Rainy says. “I wanna show
you our hot dates for tonight.” She pulls out her laptop from her
bag.

“What’s the big deal about these dates? You
know I’m drawing here, don’t you?” I hold up my sketch pad. “He
better be Taylor Lautner gorgeous.”

The laptop beeps, waking from its
slumber.

“What are you drawing now?”

“Just an assignment for school.” I toss my
sketch pad to her.

She looks at it for a moment. “Who’s
this?”

“It’s, uh, Jacinda.” My mom.

“Really?” She stretches pink gum from her
mouth and twirls it around her finger. “I thought it was you for a
minute, but it looks a little different. Is this what she used to
look like?”

“Yeah. I found a picture in one of Grams’
albums.”

“Wow. She used to be pretty.”

“Yeah, she
used to be
.” I don’t
remember her being pretty though.

The last time I saw her she was a walking
skeleton with skin. She didn’t look like that picture at all. Her
black hair, no longer thick and full, had become thin and stringy,
like doll hair. The dirt caked under her yellow finger nails turned
the tips of her fingers black, and the rash on her face turned her
skin red. Her teeth no longer resembled the pearls she inherited,
but rather nuggets of coal she dug from a mine. Those that weren’t
missing.

They called Jacinda a miracle child because
the doctors told Grams she couldn’t have babies. Grams got pregnant
with her at thirty-five—almost old enough to be a grandma rather
than a first-time mom.

“How’s your brother doing?” I ask.

“James?” Rainy shrugs. “He’s gained weight
and hasn’t run away from rehab in over a month. He gets out next
week.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“I guess. I don’t think he’ll stay clean when
they let him out. Once a tweaker, always a tweaker.” Rainy flips
through the pad. “Wouldn’t it be cool if gravity didn’t work for
meth addicts and they all floated out into space? They should
totally build a colony for them on the moon so we don’t have to
deal with them.”

“That’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“Besides, he’s still with Angelica.”

Angelica. She’s every guy’s wet dream. Only
problem is, if you’re a guy with Angelica, then you do as she does
and that happens to be every kind of illegal substance she can get
her hands on. She’s always been the go-to girl for parties and she
wears her reputation like a cheetah wears spots. For obvious
reasons, like turning her brother into a junky, Rainy doesn’t like
Angelica much.

The computer announces the arrival of
comprehension by beeping. Rainy picks up the laptop. “Are you ready
to see your prince charming?”

I stand behind her and wait for the unveiling
of my next nightmare blind date. If he’s anything like the last guy
Rainy set me up with, he’ll be a total dog. “So, what’s this guy’s
name again?”

“Evan Laverne.”

The computer flashes several pictures, all
strangers to me. With a tap of the mouse pad, one picture expands
to fill the entire screen. He’s actually pretty cute.

“That can’t be him. It’s probably a fake
picture or something. Don’t guys online usually look…how should I
put this? Dorky? Or insane?” I ask.

“Shut up!” She snaps around to hit me. “I
happen to go out with guys that I meet online and no, they don’t
all look dorky. And very few of them look insane. Some of them,
well, the ones I go out with, are freakin’ hot.”

“Ha!”

“You don’t even know because you are too high
and mighty to meet any of them.”

“What-e-v-e-r. I’m not high and mighty. I
just don’t go around throwing myself at complete strangers.” I sit
back down in the blue chair. “I have standards.”

People that I meet need to have something
about them—a spark, a sense of intelligence, or something else to
make me want to hang out with them. Rainy falls into the spark
category.

“Are you talking about standards like the
stupid lady in the fancy old car again? What’s that name you made
up for her? Ms. Lightheart?” she asks. “That’s just crazy dreaming.
You were what, twelve when you saw her? I think most of that
occurred in your head. Nobody has a completely carefree life.
Nobody is happy all the time. You just saw her on a good day. I’m
sure she lives in the same hell as the rest of us.”

“Oh, great, aren’t you the supportive
friend?” I spin away from her. “It’s not her that I set my
standards to. It’s the principle. What’s so wrong with having
standards anyway? What’s so wrong with having goals?”

***

I fell in love with Ms. Lightheart the first
and only time that she drove through my life. Well, not love in the
sense of goo-goo eyes, heart palpations, or
candy-coated-lip-kisses, but love in the sense of, “Man, I totally
want to be like her when I grow up.”

That day, I waited for ever-late-Rainy in the
park. The crisp air stung my nose and the sun swaggered low to the
ground. Annoying brats just released from their own
institutionalized hell, crowded the merry-go-round, the slide, and
monkey bars.

That’s when the epitome of what I want to be
drove by. With her strawberry hair pulled back in a dancing yellow
scarf, she seemed carefree, like a small girl gliding high on the
swings of life. If the traffic light hadn’t turned red, forcing her
to stop, I wouldn’t have had the chance to appreciate her from
afar.

I may have fallen in love with her car
first—a cream colored 1954 MG TF Convertible Roadster. Of course I
didn’t know what kind of car it was at the time. I only knew that
when I grew up, I wanted one just like it. And when I grew up, I
wanted to be her. I wanted her ivory skin hands, her long sleeve
t-shirt and puffy vest. I wanted her red hair that reflected gold
in the sunlight. I wanted her awesome vintage sun glasses, her car,
and her fluffy sheep dog that sat in the passenger seat smiling
with his tongue flapped out. Most of all, I wanted her freedom.

Her image burned into my mind that day. It’s
what I strive for in everyday life—perfected, carefree freedom.
Four years I have attempted to live carefree, and failed.
Eventually, I’ll get it right. And I’ll be just like her when I
do.

Just like Ms. Lightheart.

***

Rainy continues to fiddle with her computer.
“What? Did you say something?”

“You’re such a dork.” I laugh and throw a wad
of crumpled paper at her.

She catches it one handed. “Yeah, but I’m a
fast dork.”

Pounding rattles the front door and a man’s
voice says, “Hey! Is someone in there?”

I freeze. Rainy mouths the words “Oh-my-God”
and puts a finger to her lips.

Duh. Like I would say anything.

“Girls! I know you’re in there,” he shouts.
“Open the door.”

Sweat pricks my top lip. I mouth, “Let’s go,”
toward Rainy and point to the back exit. She nods in agreement. We
gather our things and tip-toe to the sliding glass door.

Just as I reach for the handle, a tall man in
black steps to the glass. He bears a knife in his hand and a
menacing grimace on his face.

Dear Jesus, help us!

CHAPTER TWO

Pounding. Jacinda’s head pounds like her
fists on the door. But the door ain’t opening. The fucking door
needs to open to stop the pounding—the pounding on the door and in
her head.

Darla’s stupid ugly roadster is parked in the
driveway, the car that she hid in storage for years from her
supplier. He’s locked away now and so her car is free. She’s got to
be home. Why ain’t she opening the door?

Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound, pound,
pound, pound, pound, pound, pound.

“Darla! Open the door!” Jacinda yells.
“Please, please open the fucking door.”

Maybe if she kicks the door Darla will hear
it. Kick, kick, kick.

Nothing.

“Darla! Darla!” Jacinda screams.

A fat guy with half an ounce of hair on his
head emerges from the house across the street. His belly hangs out
from the too-short-bathrobe that he didn’t bother to tie and his
boxers scream Christmas stocking stuffer—bright red with green
trees decorating his private parts.

Jacinda’s stomach spasms. She gives effort
one last blast. “DARLA! I know you’re in there. Please. I just need
one…” then slides down the door to sit on the cold cement and cries
in her arms. “Please…”

“Hey!” Fat-man yells.

A line of sugar ants scurry alongside the
door. They’ve found a crack in the seal to get into the house. “If
only I could be a sugar ant.” Jacinda smashes the ants with her
finger. “One ant, two ant, three ant, four ant, five ant—“

“Hey lady! Come here,” Fat-man says.

Oh God. Just leave me alone, you fuckin’
sicko perv.

“Fine. Ignore me. I don’t care. See if I help
you.” He waits for a response. “I think I have what you need.” He
stands in the middle of the street, scratching the globe hiding
under his dingy wife-beater.

“You do?” Jacinda asks.

“Come on over here. I’ll hook you up.”

Hope.

She crawls up the wall to a standing
position, then creeps across the damp patch of dandelions and brown
lawn. “You’ve got crank?” she asks when close enough for no one
else to hear. “Maybe just a quarter. That’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah…I got that.” Dead possum air
escapes his mouth. He scratches his backside and turns his head to
the left and then to the right. “Come on over.”

“Serious? Oh man. You’re a life saver. How
much? I ain’t got no money but I could pay you back.”

He checks her out with his eyes and a juicy
slug slithers over his lips. “Nah. We can take care of it right
now. Come on…I’ll take care of ya.”

A boulder drives itself into Jacinda’s brain.
Her eyes feel like exploding. “Whatever. Yeah, only if you really
have it.” Anything. She’ll do it.

A rumble ripples through the dark clouds
above, declaring to the world below rain is near.

“Come on.” He waddles back to his house.

Jacinda follows.

CHAPTER THREE

Pick up the pace. Fight through the pain, the
burning, the aching. Breathe—quitting right now would be too easy
and easy isn’t Evan’s thing.

Gritty mud flings onto Evan’s calves with
every pound of his foot on the trail. His skin tingles cold and
eyes water from the force of his body propelling forward through
the frigid air. Tibialis Anterior burns as fascia pulls away from
the bone, making this run that much more fun.

Training for this marathon has proven to be
more difficult than he ever imagined. Pictures and articles in
‘Runner’s Magazine’ made it look so simple, but in reality, Evan
hurts— his lungs, legs, feet, skin, knees, shins, shoulders,
and…well, that’s it. That’s not too much to complain about. He
shouldn’t be complaining at all. It’s a challenge, training to run
a marathon, and he’ll see it to the end.

The Legacy Trail is one of his favorites. It
wraps around Legacy Lake through forest and fields, creating a
peaceful environment to indulge in nature. He runs it every Monday,
Wednesday and Friday.

Rain pours constantly. It’s nice, though,
keeping him cool.

The afternoon comes to an end. Fog slithers
onto the lake, waking the evening life that ribbits and croaks and
hoots. A blue heron stands idle on the edge of the lake,
picturesque, while a large crane glides along the water, his long
wings agitating the air in a muffled blow. Calming voices of the
wild, along with the music of the rain on the treetops, take second
to the determination of Evan’s shoes on the wet trail and his
rhythmic breathing.

He passes the ten mile marker, weakening, but
doesn’t stop. There’s about an hour left before he needs to leave,
a perfect amount of time to finish the six miles with some time
left over—slow up and save the energy. If only he had pasta instead
of Mom’s green salad for lunch, he wouldn’t be counting the
minutes.

His stomach feels nauseous. He tilts his head
back, opens mouth, and lets the soggy air moisten his tongue, cold,
wet, refreshing. Wash away the pain.

Think of something else. Think of— the pizza
restaurant! Caleb showed him a picture of his date, Autumn. She is
pretty, but who knows what kind of editing had been done to the
picture before Rainy sent it to him. Something about her eyes, the
deepness maybe, made him think of her as a caring person, a person
who loves life, a person who loves people. If only he can keep his
meddling mother away from her, maybe he could actually have a real
date for once, and if things go well, maybe a girlfriend.

A sharp twist zings from his ankle up his
leg. “Auugh.” He slows to a trot and then a walk, shaking it away.
With all his energy spent, he sits down on a tree stump next to the
trail.

The rain slows to a drizzle. A pair of
teenage kids make out on the beach on the other side of the lake.
From here, Evan can’t tell how old they are, but they can’t be any
older than him. Watching from afar, the details are blurred, but he
can imagine what’s happening, what they’re thinking. What Evan
doesn’t know is how they’re feeling.