Vision of Secrets (4 page)

So I got up and discreetly left.

* * * *

“What did you see?” Mary asked anxiously. “In
your vision, what was it you saw?”

“I saw them in about ten years,” I said.
“They’ll be friends for a few weeks. Then they’ll be on her porch
and he’ll be trying to get the nerve up to kiss her. He’ll move in,
move away. Until she decides to kiss him instead. That’s a story
that they’ll share with friends and family when they get
married.”

“Married?” Mary said. “Oh that’s
wonderful.”

“Yeah, it is,” I said. “Brady and Jen found
each other that day. And he learned to forgive himself. He won’t go
back to that grave so often. Not that he’ll forget you. He’ll never
forget you. But he was able to move on with his life.”

Mary cried. “Thank you.”

She got up and walked over. She was wearing the
same pretty flowered dress she had on the day I saw her on the
bus.

“I suppose that this will probably be the last
time I see you to?”

She nodded. “I think it’s time. I feel bad. I
wanted to help you.”

“You did,” I said. “Really, being able to talk
about things felt good. It’s made me realize something. I didn’t
tell you this part, but on my birthday, I went into my parents’
bedroom. I don’t go in the often. I got a flash. They’re getting
divorced. I saw them talking it over like it was business
transaction. My name never came up.”

Mary’s eyes were filled with sympathy. “I’m so
sorry.”

I simply shrugged.

“Bristol,” she said. “I keep feeling like
there’s more. Something you’re not telling me. Like why you don’t
date. You’re a very pretty seventeen-year-old girl.”

I shrug again, but she won’t let it go this
time.

“I’ve always felt like dating someone would be
like cheating.”

Mary frowned. “On who?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know his name. We’ve never
met. I’ve seen him in my visions since I was little. I think we’ll
be meeting soon.”

“And then?”

I sighed, not wanting to think of the
possibilities. There were only two possible outcomes, both of which
terrified me.

“Then we’ll see,” I said.

Mary nodded. “Can I make a suggestion?” I
nodded, so she continued. “You should keep a journal. Maybe on a
computer with a password. If you can’t talk to anyone else, you can
at least have that way of expressing yourself.”

“A journal?” I said. “Really?”

“Why not,” Mary replied. “Or I could try and
not move on.”

“You need to,” I told her. “Not that I’m not
going to miss you.”

Mary smiled. “Wait,” she said. “I can’t leave
yet. You have to tell me about Jerry. Is he still hanging around,
singing that same song?”

I laughed and shook my head.

“No,” I said. “I dealt with Jerry.”

* * * *

“Come here, Jerry,” I said.

Jerry, who was standing on my dining room table
like it was a stage, hoped down. “I think I almost got it,” he
said.

The fact was, each attempt was further away
from the correct version. And it was getting painful. His lyrics
were now involving farm animals and the melody sounded like a cross
between polka music and heavy metal.

I held out a chair for him so he could sit at
the dining room table. Then I placed two sheets of paper in front
of him. As his eyes scanned the pages, I hit play on my
iPod.

The opening percussion filled the room and
Jerry looked at me with surprise. He recognized the tune
immediately.

“All right,” I said. “Together now.” I pointed
to the lyrics on the first page.

Jerry and I cleared out throats. And together
we sang, “Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl.”

After two run throughs, Jerry no longer needed
to look at the lyrics. The two of us bounced around, singing the
same song for an hour.

Finally, he was done.

“Thanks, Bristol,” He said. “I just couldn’t
move on until I did that.”

With that, he was gone.

I went to bed, on a Friday night, on my
birthday, at a quarter to ten. It took me twenty minutes to conk
out, however. I just couldn’t get that song out of my
head.

* * * *

I said goodbye to Mary and made my way home.
She was one of the ghosts who I was going to remember in a fond
way. When I got home, I found a note from my mom again.

Bristol,

Next Saturday, meet your father and
I at that trattoria you like for lunch. Get a table
outside.

Mom

Taking the note from the fridge, I knew they
were planning on telling me of their plans for divorce. I didn’t
know if I should fight them or not. Clearly, they didn’t love each
other anymore. I wasn’t even sure they loved me.

I went to bed, hoping I would dream something
that would help.

* * * *

That night I work in a sweat. I could still
feel his hands on me. I think I actually called out, for the dream
had been so vivid. It’s getting closer.

Of course, nobody came in to see in I was all
right. I might be alone in the apartment, but I might not be.
Either way, nobody came.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to go to sleep yet,
so I decided to try something. I grabbed my laptop and turned it
on.

Journal of Bristol
Blackburn

Entry one.

It was him again. The boy I’ve been
dreaming of since I was six years old. I’ve been having a lot of
dreams with him lately. Almost like a greatest hits. Him kissing
me. His hands touching me. Us sitting under a pretty weeping willow
tree and talking for hours. He’ll be my first. I’ve never even
kissed a guy because I felt like it was cheating on this guy who
I’ve never met and yet I know every inch of his body.
Intimately.

So lasts night’s dream wasn’t
anything new. I’ve had it before. It was, in fact, the first dream
I’d ever had of him. That angel’s face with the devil’s grin.
Normally he looks at me like I’m his entire world, but in this one,
his eyes are filled with malice and rage. His hands are wrapped
around my throat as he slowly kills me.

So yeah, I think it’ll happen any
day now. I’m finally going to meet the literal boy of my dreams.
Then I’ll find out if he’ll be the love of my life, or the end of
it.

And really, I have no idea which
possibility scares the crap out of me more.