Ether (3 page)

            A long time
goes by and then slowly, drop by drop, pinpricks of ink shape themselves into
words.
You know me.
 I hold my breath as the words take shape, picturing
his gentle, slow smile and twinkling hazel eyes. I savour the memory for a moment,
before looking back down at his words. ‘Are you a ghost?’ I ask.

            This time
the wait is so long I begin to think he isn’t going to answer. When the ink
does start to appear it is a pale grey, like a printer running low on ink.
No.

           
No
.
It’s an answer but not really an explanation. I close the book slowly, suddenly
aware of wearing only a towel and having a very strange conversation with- a
book. Judging from the washed out look of his answer I really don’t expect much
more communication, and frankly, I’m relieved. It feels like I’m playing a
crazy game of Would You Rather. Would you rather lose your mind or have a
conversation with a disembodied spirit?

            My cell
phone rings inside the house, bringing me back to reality. It’s already 2:40
and Mandy has probably dialled my number the very second her feet left the
school property, and cell phone ban, behind. I scramble to answer it. With
Mandy it’s answer the phone, or receive a visit.

            “Becka,
where did you disappear to during gym? You could have at least said goodbye,
unless you were very sick, then I could have driven you home. Everyone was so
disappointed to miss you at lunch-”

            I pin the
phone between one ear and my shoulder, dressing as I listen to her synopsis of
the day. Mandy rarely needs much encouragement so I just make vaguely approving
noises as I stick my head into the bathroom. There’s no sign of steam or
messages but the vomit smeared pile of clothing is incriminating enough. I
gather up the wad of clothing and stuff it deep into the hamper, making a
mental note to get to the laundry before mom.

            “Great then
we’ll see you around seven!” Mandy exclaims with enthusiasm.

My
attention returns to the conversation. “What?”

She
lets out a dramatic breath of annoyance, “If you aren’t going to listen to the
conversation you’ll just have to live with my plans Becka. Everyone wants to
see you, and since you’re too
frail
to come out, we’re coming to you.”

My mom, blissfully
unaware of my shortened school day or any of the ensuing events strides through
the door at 5:30 sharp. Painful punctuality is one of my mother’s worst
personality traits.  She’s also crazy observant so, before some detail can give
me away I volunteer, “Dad picked me up from school.”

            She raises
one well shaped eyebrow and purses her lips, just a touch. “How, considerate of
him,” is all she says, though I know she is burning to ask me if he used the
Volvo or the Harley as a method of transportation.  “Any special reason he felt
the need to drive you home?”

            Her eyes search
mine as I answer. “He was just trying to be nice.”

            She frowns
but lets it go. Ever since the accident she’s avoided saying anything
unpleasant. It’s the walking on eggshells effect. In her eyes I’m still broken
and fragile, so I’m getting a free pass. “Your day was uneventful than?” she
asks, setting down her briefcase on the dining room table.         

            “Actually
it was kind of different. Being back at school, and all.” The
and all
part of it was especially interesting. “Mandy’s laying siege to the living room
with the gang tonight, if that’s okay?”

            Mom’s mouth
twitches in reaction to the news but whether she’s annoyed or pleased, I can’t
tell.  Even after living with her my entire life I still can’t read her
reactions. “As long as you don’t over tire yourself,” her eyes sweep over me,
noticing my change of clothing and the un-styled, fresh out of the shower look
of my hair. Satisfied that my health is in no danger she nod and shuts herself
away in the office. 

*          *          *

Scarfing down pizza, drinking
way too much soda and watching ‘B’ movies with my friends feels normal, which
feels weird after all the recent drama and strangeness in my life. Justin,
Matt, Mandy and I lounge across the living room furniture, trading quips and
bowls of salty snacks between us. It’s been like forever since we’ve done this,
and no time at all. Justin and Matt both live less than five minutes from my
house. We’ve grown up peeing in pools and stuffing erasers in our noses
together.  At this point we knew so much about each other that they’re more
like brothers than friends.

            Matt lazily
tosses a Cheeto at Mandy, trying to get her going. He’s an incurable tease. He
likes this kind of thing, watching movies, messing around, anything that
involves more laughter than deep thought. I don’t think we’ve had a single
serious conversation in years. It’s been all movies, music and sports but that
doesn’t mean we’re not good friends, we just don’t talk about it. He’s always
been athletic but in the last few years he’d really filled out. With his easy
sense of humour, dark hair and muscular build, he’s started to draw a lot of
female attention.

            “What?” he
says to me, catching me staring at him.

“Just
admiring the view, after all, I had to have something to live for,” I quip at my
driest. He rolls his eyes and tosses a handful of Cheetos at me but his throw
goes wide and hits Justin in the face.

Justin
is day to Matt’s night. He’s lean, fair haired, with light eyes and a
gentleness of spirit. He has a swimmer’s build, which is fortunate since that’s
was about the only sport at which he excels. Justin plops a few of the missile
Cheetos into his mouth with a smile. Unlike Matt, Justin has been my confidant
all my life. I always call Mandy my best friend, because she’s the other girl
in our group, but Justin’s always the first number I dial whenever life gets
difficult.

“I
told Matt we should put a picture of him by your bedside, as a beacon of hope,
but he was too modest,” Justin teases.

“I
just didn’t think hospital light would do me justice. I’ll get Becka a life
sized poster for her wall though, if it will speed her recovery. I’ve got some
great poses.” Matt jumps off the sofa and starts modeling bizarre heroic poses,
leaving me giggling. Justin takes the opportunity to slide over next to me. 

I
lean my head against his arm and just close my eyes, listening to my friends banter
back and forth. I smile to myself, maybe I’m really not as lifeless as I’ve
felt.

Chapter 3: Dreams

I’m
in the most amazing forest; row after row of white birches rise out of a smoky
mist. My feet step into the softness of the grass and miniature yellow flowers
wink up at me through the emerald carpet. And standing before me, hand
outstretched, is my spectre. He is as beautiful, perfect and as surreal as this
forest.

As
he holds my hand, warmth spreads up my arm until it I am bathed in morning
sunlight. His gaze is earnest, but kind. “Where are we?” I ask and my voice is muted
and diffuse in this mystical place.

“This
is a sacred, ancient place. It’s one of the eternal places of your world. Do
you like it?”

I
breathe in the warm, moist air with its deep earthy flavour and sigh. “I love
it.”

“Good.”
He smiles and leads me forward into the woods, pointing out little wonders as
we go, but always keeping one hand interlaced with mine. Like all dreams, it’s
hard to think clearly, or to ask the thousands of questions my waking self wants
answered. I am content to just be in this surreal place with this warm, surreal
boy.

I
wake with a smile still on my face, feeling the new morning sunlight across my
eyes. I slip out of my bed and pad to the shower. Stepping out of the shower
into the steam filled bathroom my eyes travel immediately to the mirror.
Hello
is written on the mirror in a flowing formal script.
Hello yourself,
I
write in the steam on the mirror
.
Instantly, the words fill in with
steam droplets, and new words appear.
Pleasant Dreams?
I smile, letting
the memory of the white woods wash over me.
The best.
I trace on the
slick surface of the mirror. 

            I skip down
to breakfast, trade some bright small talk with my mom and then race out, just
in time meet to Matt at the curb. It aggravates my mother an unreasonable
amount if I’m late and he honks for me. He smiles as I slip into the passenger
seat. It’s part of our morning ritual. Matt always picks me up first, and I
always ride shot gun with him. He hands me over a steaming cup of coffee, just
the way I like it. “Don’t spill, it’s still hot,” he says. Maybe it was the
night with my friends, maybe I’m just getting back into the swing of things,
but this day is easier than the one before.

            Mandy
burbles through the first three periods. She’s excessively pleased with our little
evening get together and is already planning a bigger event for Saturday. With
Coach T’s blessing I duck out of gym and head for the library to catch up on my
work. Justin takes the seat opposite me as soon as I settled down. He has
fourth period free and instead of taking a long lunch, he actually uses the
time to study. “Alright, here’s where we are. Matt’s going to tutor you in
chemistry. Mandy’s got English. Don’t hate me but Piper is the only one who’s
remotely good at Spanish-” I roll my eyes. I’m not that desperate to pass Spanish.
“-so anyway, that leaves me all the rest.” He finishes in a rush and gives me a
sheepish smile. “Are you in the mood for math or history?”

            I’m not in
the mood for either but I probably need his help more in math, “Math, I guess,”
I answer wearily.

            He chuckles,
sliding over my mint condition textbook, “thought you might feel that way,” he
says.

And
in my defence, I do actually concentrate on math for an entire half hour. It
isn’t my fault that little blotches of ink start to dot the margin of my workbook.
Having fun?

            “Aren’t
you?” Justin says lightly, looking over my workbook.

            “Aren’t I
what?”

            Justin taps
the inked question, “Having fun? Come on you’re telling me you didn’t miss this;
long hours in the library with me, slaving over equations?”

            I smile
despite the strange frozen feeling that grips my insides. Justin can see
his
words. Justin can see it, which means that this is all real; the messages, the
boy from my dreams, being brought back to life, all of it. I shiver.

            When the
lunch bell rings Justin bolts out of his seat, making a quick scramble towards the
cafeteria. He turns, taking a few steps backwards and beckons me laughingly
forward, but I wave him on. I’m not about to plunge into the thicket of
jostling teenagers just to have my choice of seating, especially since Justin
always saves me a seat anyway.

            I take my
time packing up my books, flipping open the pages to see
his
comments
over and over.  Witty, a little flirty, cute. The banter would have filled my
stomach with butterflies if it had been written the normal way, on a note
passed furtively between hands, or maybe as a text. Like this though, it’s
somewhere between eerie and fascinating.

            “Becka?” My
name, spoken woodenly, sends the sound of shattering glass into my ears and the
smell of pooling blood into my nostrils. My stomach tightens into a cold knot.

            “Derrick.” I
can’t make myself turn to face him. Fear races up and down my muscles,
tightening them until my body is so rigid I think I might snap. I take a deep
breath. Derrick is only a boy. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I let the
breath empty into my arms, breathing it into my muscles, trying to cleanse the
irrational fear from my body.  

            Oblivious
to my reaction, Derrick goes on. “Can we talk? Just for a minute. I feel
terrible.” His voice trembles and breaks slightly on the last word.

            It takes a
huge effort to turn and look at him. I have to wrestle my body into moving. Derrick
is standing about five feet way away, his right arm held in a rigid cast that
encases it in a permanent bend away from his body. His face is covered in dark
purple bruising and fading scratches are painted on his neck. The rest of his
wounds, whatever they are, are covered by his clothing. I stare. In all the
misery of the last few weeks, I’ve never once asked how he was. I think
someone, my father maybe, had told me he was alright. Honestly, he didn’t look
alright. He looks a lot worse off than I am, my bruises are almost healed. But
how is that possible? I was the one that bled to death on the asphalt road in
the middle of the night.

His
eyes are full of pain and for a split second pity wells inside me, drowning out
my resentment. “Becka, I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. You have
to forgive me,” he pleads.

            I nod, even
as a strange roaring fills my ears. It’s a rushing sound, like a jet engine
revving close by, or is it wind whistling through a car window? My head swims
and for the first time, the feeling of disorientation that the doctors warned
me about threatens to overwhelm me. “Forgive you?” I state flatly, the words thick
on my tongue. Memories come welling up from the deep dark places inside my
addled brain. I hear the ear splitting squeal of brakes and they go on forever as
the swerve of the car presses me sharply into the side of the car, moulding me
onto the metal like modelling clay. The door gives way and there’s a crazy,
weightless, empty feeling of falling through the air. Then there’s hazy
whiteness streaming around me.

            A great
distance away Derrick is looking at me with cool dark eyes, and grim
satisfaction. I blink, trying to come to the surface of my memories. Derrick is
still in front of me, eyes pleading for forgiveness, the image of remorse. He
is still waiting for my answer. I open my mouth to tell him to stay the hell
away from me, to take his forgiveness and shove it, that he almost killed me,
and then the smells begin; burning and blood, rubber and oil. The whole world
starts to go hazy around the edges. I lurch away from him without a word,
gasping for clear air. Beyond the roaring in my ears, the sounds of breaking glass
and my own ragged breath is another sound, sharp and cold; laughter.

By the time I make it to
the cafeteria it’s jam packed. Our usual table, near the large bay windows on
the far side of the room, is crowded except for one seat between Mandy and
Justin. Matt smiles a warm hello from across the table and Mandy begins a
speech on the difficulties of holding spots. Piper, all straight blond hair,
small eyes and thinness nods in my direction. It is the same curt nod my mother
uses. Paige, easily the richest and most fashionable girl in school doesn’t bother
to acknowledge me, but Mandy’s other friends wave, nod or smile greetings at me.
Mandy, Matt and even Justin belong at this table more than I do. Mandy is
friendly and her parents are beyond rich, Matt was chiselled and athletic,
Justin is, well, Justin. Everyone likes him; it’s just something about him.  I
sigh and Justin bumps his shoulder sympathetically against mine.

*          *          *

Tuesdays have always
been long days for me. Matt, Justin and Mandy all have after school activities.
Matt’s at football practice, Justice has swim team and Mandy is organizing
something or other, maybe a dance. As part of my sidekick duties I usually
rotate between them. One week I cheer on Matt, the next Justin. I’ve sort of
lost track of where I was in the rotation. I prefer to sit in the bleachers of
the pool. It’s warm, well lit and relaxing. On the other hand the football
practice tends to be a lot more exciting, plus it means a lot to Matt that I
came out to watch him since his family never does.

            I hesitate
on the back steps of the school, football field or swim complex? “Becka!” Matt
calls excitedly from across the green. He jogs up to me, already in full gear,
“Ready to cheer me on? I’ve been really off my game all month without my number
one fan!”

I
laugh. “It must have been very inconvenient for you, my whole hospital stay,
near death thing.”

He
grins down at me. “And don’t you forget it.  You may have to start coming to
practice twice a week, to make up the difference.” 

The
practice starts with warm ups then they move on to drills. From what I can see
Matt wasn’t kidding; he really is off his game. He’s clunky and uncoordinated,
fumbling the ball on easy passes. He’s usually so athletic. I lean closer,
trying to see what Matt’s doing differently today. A spot of light makes me
turn my head, but when I look nothing’s there. I focus on the game, and Matt’s
strangely out of sync playing. The ball keeps slipping through his fingers. I’ve
never seen him make so many fumbles. Another spark of light catches my eye and
another. I am trying to concentrate but flashes of light off the center of my
vision kept making me jump and turn my head. What am I seeing?

I
try to ignore the flickering but that just makes me jittery. The more I try to
just watch Matt, the more I want to turn my head and get a really good look at
whatever it is. A bright flash of movement blurs to my right, and I jerk my
head, trying to track it. It’s moving toward the woods.

I
stand slowly and stroll along the sidelines of the field, edging toward the
woods. Matt gives me a questioning glance but Couch T barks a play at him and
he returns to the practice. Now that I’m moving the shimmers at the edge of my
eyesight are almost continuous. It’s like looking at a photograph of traffic
where the tail lights merge into streaks of wavy color. I’m following something
like that, a streak of movement and color I can’t quite resolve.

Sunlight
shining through the leaves produces a dappled light that shifts with the breeze
and plays over the forest floor. It should be inviting and pretty but the
moment I step off the field and into the cover of the trees I feel a gloomy
coolness close in around me. My stomach tightens and goose bumps stand out on
my arms as I take another step forward. My instincts warn me to turn around and
get out of here. I want to run but something is tugging me forward. A swirl of
amethyst light spins in front of me, twisting around my body and leaving
tendrils curling around my right arm and leg. Another tendril of ruby light rises
off the ground, curving around the first. They twine around my body like snakes
constricting their prey. And the tighter they coil, the more terror rushes
through my body. I can’t fight. I can’t run. I’m frozen in place, helpless as
they slither over me.

A
cold so deep it makes my skin burn seeps out of the creatures. I feel them pressing
in on my, getting ever closer. I’m passing out; the world gets dimmer and more
distant every second. And I’m cold. A terrible, arctic cold is numbing me,
freezing me to the spot. Frost crystalizes on the ground before my feet and creeps
up my legs. What will happen when my whole body is covered in it? Will I freeze
to death? The hairs in my nose freeze and my breath comes out in frantic, icy
puffs.  

Becks!
Did
someone call me? An image wavers at the edge of the woods. I want so much to
turn and see the boy from the whiteness, the boy from my dreams, standing
there. I want him to help me wake up from this nightmare. The amber energy
reaches my throat and begins squeezing and squeezing. The world gets darker.
Becks!
No!
 

A
powerful blast of wind blows through the clearing, tearing the bright tendrils
away from me and scattering them. A burst of sunlight breaks through the
canopy. The light laps over me, thawing the frost around my feet. “Becka!”
Matt’s voice calls out. “Becka what are you doing here in the woods by
yourself? Are you alright?”