Miss Me Not (7 page)

It was rainy and overcast when I woke the next morning. The bleak weather seemed fitting for Mitch's service. Death was bleak after all. My life was bleak. I didn't know anymore if I was just trying to convince myself of that fact, or if the actions of two completely different people had really allowed a small ray of light to peek into my existence. It wasn't possible. Was it? Denial was a tough pill to swallow. No matter how hard I tried to crawl back into the comfortable dark cave I'd dwelled in for so many years, someone was slowly dragging me out. Dean. He was changing me. He was making me feel. I didn't want to think of him, but he was always there like someone standing just outside your peripheral vision.

Pulling my errant thoughts away, I began to dress for the day. The fact that I had to go to morning classes hampered my wardrobe choices. I eyed my closet critically, pushing the endless array of black t-shirt cluttered hangers to the side, hoping that the perfect outfit would suddenly appear. As a rule, I never wore dresses or skirts, preferring jeans and baggy t-shirts that I could hide behind. Finally, behind a few coats that had never seen the light of day because they were too heavy for our mild winters, I unearthed a long-forgotten dress. My grandma on my dad's side of the family had sent me the dress for Christmas last year. I'd been shocked when the package arrived. My grandparents had been sending me ten dollars for every occasion for as long as I could remember. I'd only seen them a couple of times my entire life since they lived more than halfway across the country in Arizona. They were in their late forties when they had my dad and hated to travel. My mom disliked spending time with them, claiming that their atheist views were not the influence she wanted me around, so visits were sparse to say the least. If they weren't so old, I felt I could relate to them. I envied their normal lives where church didn't consume their every waking moment. Normal. Was anyone really ever normal?
Probably not.
Life was a sham. Smoke and mirrors hid the dysfunctional lives all of us lived.

I pulled the shift-style dress out and held it up against my slender frame. It would be loose, but at least it would be presentable. Slipping it on over my head, I smoothed it down, liking that it wasn't formfitting. I was far from flat chested, so loose went a long way on taking the focus off my chest. There was a time when I used them as my greatest assets to get what I wanted. At that time, my wardrobe consisted of tight low-cut tank tops and scooped neck shirts. My cleavage was legendary by the time I started seventh grade, and I loved the attention it used to draw. Now I hid it in shame.

Stepping in front of my mirror that was attached to the back of my bedroom door, I studied my reflection critically. The dress didn't look all that bad. It was tan, not black, but I guess I could deal with that for the day. My skin looked paler than normal, and I grimaced looking at it. I may as well be a ghost. That would work well for me. I dragged a brush through my long locks until all the snarls from sleeping were completely gone. Once my hair was tamed the best it was going to get, I added eyeliner and mascara to my eyes, making them stand out against my translucent complexion. A touch of gloss to my lips brought out their natural rosy color better than any cosmetic I could have ordered. Finally, I slipped my favorite beaded bracelets onto my right wrist, which were the only
accessories I would wear. I looked in the mirror one last time to find a stranger staring back at me. It had been years since I'd put any kind of effort into my appearance. I knew I looked good, even without anyone telling me.
Maybe even beautiful.
I had to fight the urge to rip the dress off and scrub my face clean. Beauty was not a gift. Donna said beauty was evil and a powerful tool the devil liked to utilize. Past experience showed me she was right. It was a sin.

***

"Morning," Donna greeted me, not looking up from the newspaper she was perusing while sipping her morning coffee.

"Morning," I said, grabbing my own version of morning caffeine out of the fridge. I watched Donna for several moments as she turned the pages of her newspaper, looking for the arts and entertainment section. I fidgeted in my seat slightly, wondering how to broach the subject, deciding the best approach was to do it fast, like pulling off a Band-Aid.

"Donna," I said tentatively. The word felt foreign on my tongue. I'd lost track of how long it had been since I initiated a conversation. It seemed odd to address her by her given name. Like calling a stranger your "best friend" or a guy you'd never met your "boyfriend."

"Yes, Madison," she said in the even tone I'd given up responding to.

"I was wondering if you could add a cell phone to your account for me," I said, wiping my sweaty palms on the skirt of my dress.

"Do you have money to purchase it?" she asked, folding the paper in half and setting it next to her empty coffee mug.

"Yes," I answered, not surprised by her question. It was decided years ago that if I wanted to act like an adult, then I'd be treated like one. Any money I earned during my mindless summer jobs or that I received on birthdays or Christmas was added to an account set up in my name. Donna would add a deposit to it at the beginning of each school year so I could purchase school clothes and any supplies I might need. With the exception of new shirts, bras and panties, I hadn't touched it. My original plan was to leave it behind when I was gone. It could be considered payment for sins that would never be forgiven.

"Fine.
I'll contact my phone provider. You will be responsible for picking it up."

"Okay," I said, taking a shaky breath. In the span of one short conversation we'd exchanged more words than we had all of the previous month.

Donna fell silent after that as we finished our morning preparations. It was only as we were heading out the front door that she initiated yet another conversation.

"Are you attending the funeral?" she asked, taking in my uncharacteristic attire.

"I planned to. How did you find out?"
I asked, feeling slightly confused.
With the exception of making sure I maintained my C average, Donna steered clear of anything pertaining to my life.

"Your principal sent out a mass email to all the parents encouraging us to make sure we know where our children should be this afternoon."

"That sounds about right," I said, buckling my seatbelt.

"Did you know this boy?" she asked, backing out of the driveway.

"Not really. Does it matter?" I asked, wondering where this strange conversation between us could possibly be going.

"It matters in God's eyes," she said sternly, slowing down to let a car turn out in front of us.

"In God's eyes?"
I asked incredulously.

"Suicide is a sin. You know that. By committing this sin, you're forsaking your soul to hell. It is a foolish out for weak people."

"Is hell really any different than this?" I asked, climbing out of the car as soon as she pulled in front of my school.

"If your so-called life is 'hell' as you say, it is no fault but your own. You chose this life," she reminded me.

"I was thirteen," I said, closing the door before she could say anything else. I walked up the main entrance of the school without looking back. The "cross" I had been carrying for the last four years suddenly felt too heavy for me to bear. My surroundings seemed insignificant, and I paid them no mind as I mulled over her words.

"Hey, I was waiting for you," Dean said, startling me as he jumped down from the low wall by the school entrance.

I jumped slightly at his sudden appearance by my side. No one ever walked beside me, let alone held a conversation.

"You look nice," he added somberly. "Will you ride with me to the memorial service?" he asked, walking as close as he could beside me without touching. The other students stared at us in disbelief. I watched their faces as they tried to place me. My cloak of disguise had slipped and they were getting a glimpse of me for the first time in years. I knew it was only a matter of time before the rumors about me were once again unearthed. Would Dean be so willing to walk by my side if he knew the whole truth?

"You're seriously going to put a ding in your reputation by walking with me," I said, trying to give him an out.

"
Mads
, I seriously don't care what anyone says," he said, coming to a halt against one of the walls so he could face me. He used his body to run interference from anyone who might have jostled me as they hurried to class.

"
Mads
?" I asked, raising my eyebrow questioningly.

"I'll tell you what it means some other time," he said, wagging his eyebrows at me.

I placed my hands on my hips trying to bully him silently to tell me now.

He laughed outright, but wouldn't fess up. "So, will you go with me to the service?" he asked again.

"Dean, it's not a good idea," I said, darting my eyes around to indicate the other students who were studying us with morbid fascination.

"Madison, I don't care. Let them say what they want about us. It's none of their business."

"Um, hello, you have met the student body, right?" I asked, confused that we were even having the conversation.

"Who cares?" he said, leaning in close.

My breath hitched as he moved close to my lips. Panic seized me. It was wrong to yearn for the touch of his lips on mine.
I didn't want them.
I blatantly lied to myself.

"Let them look," he whispered a hair away from my ear. His breath fanned m
y hair and sent small shocks of
awareness down my neck as they traveled throughout my body.

I needed to tell him to step away. He should know he was invading my personal space. Any words I may have uttered were lost somewhere between my brain that urged me to be sensible and my heart that felt we had paid enough for our crimes.

"Meet me in the student parking lot after third period," he said, disappearing down the hall before I could turn him down.
Which really was my plan.
Seriously.

I watched him until the students hurrying to class swallowed him up before heading off to Whore Cat's class
myself
. I slid into my seat just as the bell rang. Shoving my backpack under my seat, I tried to ignore the countless stares that bore into the back of my head. Ms. Jones was busy writing the day's assignment on the board when a crumpled up piece of paper hit me in the head before falling harmlessly to the floor. I debated ignoring it. It had been almost four years since the last paper ball had hit me in the head. They always had some kind of inane derogatory comment written on them. Using my foot, I scooted the ball of paper closer to me and reached down to pick it up. I smoothed it out and saw a crude drawing of a girl hanging upside down in some cave-like thing. "Go back to your bat cave, freak" was scrawled beneath the drawing. I fought the urge to snort. It was a shame that four years later they were still as unimaginative as they had been at thirteen.

Folding the paper in half, I slid it into my textbook so I could add it to all the rest. I was more than certain that it bordered on mentally deranged to keep all the "hate" notes I'd received over the years, but in truth, they kept me centered. It was almost comforting to get one now. I was forgetting all my unspoken promises. Dean was tempting me and the note in my book only highlighted that. I'd ride with him to the service today, but that was all. He didn't have a place in my life, and God knows I didn't have a place in his.

***

Dean was waiting for me at the end of third period by the entrance to the student parking lot as promised. The rain was still steadily falling, so he was waiting for me off to the side under a small awning. He looked at me somberly when I joined him.

"I didn't bring an umbrella, so we'll have to make a run for it," he said, looking at me for my input.

"I like the rain," I said simply, stepping out from under the awning. The rain cascaded down on me as I dashed across the parking lot, headed for his jeep. Dean caught up easily and grasped my hand in his as I leaped over a puddle in one of the countless potholes that littered the student parking lot. I skidded to a stop after clearing the puddle and looked down at our joined hands before looking up at him. I should have protested the contact. He knew I didn't like to be touched and yet that hadn't stopped him. His eyes held mine. Neither of us flinched as he held my hand loosely in his. I could have pulled away. I could have stuck to my resolve earlier. Instead, I wrapped my fingers around his and held on like I never had before. He smiled slightly before pulling me toward his jeep with my hand safely enveloped in his.

By the time we made it into his vehicle, I was soaking wet and shivering.

"The heat will warm it up in here in a few seconds," Dean said, cupping my chilled hands in his. He blew on them gently while never taking his eyes from mine.

"You know you're seriously breaking my 'no touching' rule," I stated.

"I figured since I'd broken the rules yesterday, I was now exempt from them," he said balefully, finally releasing my fingers so he could put the jeep in reverse.

I looked out my window, biting my lip so I couldn't break yet another rule. Being around him and sticking to my resolve were becoming more and more difficult.