MADISON FOSTER
Short Stories
written October 2018
MEGATOAD
The smell of funnel cakes oozed through the layers of humidity in the air. It was early October, yet Erin still found her tank top sticking to her back from sweat as she weaved through the masses of people, dragging Megan behind her. The Orangeburg County Fair had opened the day before, and there was no way Megan would’ve settled for a normal “Erin Friday” when fair food and rides were right down the street in the local strip mall parking lot. Plus, Megan and all of her friends had had finally reached the height minimum of 51-inches to ride the rides.
A normal “Erin Friday” typically involved Erin picking up Megan from her elementary school, calling Megan’s mom, who doubled as Erin’s best friend since college, and taking Megan home to play Mario Kart on the Wii. It was the only thing Erin looked forward to all week. They would dip pretzel sticks into peanut butter, and Megan would teach Erin all about the complicated world that is elementary school. “You wouldn’t understand,” she would say. “You’re like 80 or something.”
“A woman never reveals her age,” Erin would say, laughing. She was forty, but she would never tell that to anyone who didn’t already know.
Erin found that the fair was more crowded than she remembered. She had only been to one once in her life, back in high school. She and her friends had spent more time laughing, googly-eyed at the boys who’d invited them than actually riding any rides. That next night, a classmate of hers had died when his seat detached from one of those spinning and swinging pendulum rides. Erin hadn’t been close with him, Stephen was his name, but thinking about how she had seductively eaten her hotdog in front of her crush below that exact ride the day before made her heart clench with strange guilt.
“C’mon, sweetie, it’s not too much farther away,” Erin urged Megan. ”Please hold my hand.” Her little hand kept slipping from Erin’s grip, and panic lurched up her chest every time she lost contact.
“It’s hot,” Megan complained, holding the back of her light blonde hair up with one hand. Erin stopped quickly to help her tie it up into a high ponytail. “Do ya think my mom is coming today?” Megan continued.
Her mom, Laura, liked to take Fridays off from being a mother. Her husband left her when Megan was four, and since then, Laura claimed she didn’t have time or energy for a permanent man in her life. Instead, she went into the city Friday nights and found a few temporary ones to buy her drinks. Nowadays, Erin felt that she was closer with Megan than she was with Laura.
“No, not today,” Erin frowned. “Your mom has work until later, but we’re so close to the rides, and they’re going to be so fun,” Erin said, pasting a smile on her face. Although it had been about 25 years since the pendulum ride incident, her hands were visibly shaking as the rides loomed over the two. She tossed her own wavy brown hair into a ponytail.
Luckily, Erin’s mention of the ride caused Megan to perk up. “Megatoad?” Megan asked, her voice lifting at the end. She had not stopped talking about this new Megatoad drop tower. It was a new kind of drop tower that spun on its quick descent.
“If that really is the one you want to ride,” Erin said. She had chuckled when Megan first said its name, but each step they took closer to Megatoad, her laughter became shakier.
A short woman with small, round glasses and overalls that snapped a little too tight across her chest jumped in front of Erin and Megan. “Step right up, step right up,” she said, all her words running together, “Would you ladies like to try the One-Shot-Wonder? One shot, two dollars, and you could win big.” She smiled a little too wide and gestured toward the basketball tossing booth on the right.
“We’re good, thank you,” Erin said, guiding Megan to her left to shield her from the woman and smiling at the ground to avoid eye contact. She was not about to get lured in by that scam. She knew games like those. There would be some problem with the ball or the net, and she would end up spending two dollars to lose big. No fair game was safe.
Megan was not paying attention to the lady. Instead, her gaze was fixed on a food truck selling ice cream. A chalkboard sign leaned against the truck and had blocked letters spelling out fair-themed flavors like “Fried Oreo Fusion” and “Mrs. Betty’s Apple Pie.” Erin could see Megan’s eyes widen as she read the sign.
“Ms. Erin, I need ice cream,” she sighed and repeated her earlier complaint, “It’s hot.”
Erin rolled her deep brown eyes dramatically and responded, “You are too convincing. Did you get that from your mother?”
Megan instantly broke into a smile, “Let’s go!” She was dragging Erin this time.
Distant screams, warped by the high-speed drop tower in front of them, terrified Erin as she sat with Megan on a small metal bench outside of the Megatoad. Megan was focused on eating the remains of her ice cream. The “Caramel Corn” flavor, to be exact. The disintegrating cone had leaked onto her hands, leaving sticky beige streaks down her fingers that made them look like they were adorned with fancy lace gloves.
Erin had lost her appetite. She used her mini plastic spoon to swirl her two-toned ice cream, “Cotton Candy,” in her cup, blending the pink and blue colors together into a greyish purple.
She thought about her classmate who had died. Stephen had been kinda cute, with blonde bangs poorly cut over his bushy eyebrows. What if she’d gone to the fair with him instead of whoever that boy was she went with from debate club? Would she have let him go on the ride?
“Can we just go now?” Megan asked impatiently. She proceeded to lick some caramel streaks off her fingers before announcing, “I’m ready!”
She sat in a stylish outfit her mother had picked out for her, a pale pink blouse and lace-up sandals. The way she looked now, with her ankles crossed and her eyes watching Erin’s intently, she looked ten years older. The image terrified Erin almost more than the drop tower looming above, and she looked away. She couldn’t face the fact that Megan was getting older and would no longer need her soon.
“I don’t think I’m up for it right now, sweetie,” she said, shifting her gaze up to the tower suspended in the air directly above them. The ice cream she’d eaten turned over in her stomach.
The Megatoad was made up of thick, dark green metal woven like vines extending 100 feet up. The car was sculpted to be a four-headed giant purple frog with eight bulging red eyes. Four people sat in each car on each of the four sides of the tower, right in the frog’s mouths. The frog heads made their typical steep climb before dropping off into a deep plunge, spinning on the descent. A modern feat.
“Well, I’m still riding it, right?” Megan uncrossed her ankles and crossed her arms.
Erin hesitated. She thought back to a day eight years ago when Megan had just learned to walk. At the time, Erin had recently lost her job at the law firm that hired her after she graduated from college. She didn’t go to law school or anything, but she got a certificate to become a paralegal with the goal of trying for law school in the next few years. But once she fell into her schedule, she decided she was happy enough and didn’t need to go back to school.
The firm had a different plan. Even after all the years she spent working for them, they couldn’t afford to keep her. She was 32-years-old, and she felt too old for grad school, so she gladly watched over Megan a couple of days out of the week while she looked for other means of work.
That particular spring day, toddler Megan’s wispy blonde hair seemed to stand straight up on her head. They were having a picnic in Laura’s backyard while she was at work. The yard was at least triple the size of her house, and half of the yard contained a small forest of trees. The sun cascaded through them and left a mirage of leaf shadows on the grass.
After they ate their turkey sandwiches, Megan slowly stood up and waddled toward the forest. In a sleepy daze, Erin watched her carefully until the woods had enclosed around her. When she realized that Megan was too far out of reach, she immediately snapped into focus, pulling herself up off the ground.
“Megan?” Her heart beat quickly inside her chest. She couldn’t let something happen to her in those woods. Now that she was focused on the forest in front of her, the trees seemed much darker.
She listened closely for the leaves crackling beneath the toddler’s feet.
Crunch. Crunch.
She quickly tiptoed through the forest, scared that a snake, or something worse, already had Megan between its teeth.
When Megan came into sight, Erin was surprised to find that there were no snakes, spiders, lions, tigers, or bears surrounding her. Instead, she was sitting in a beam of light, her pudgy legs out in front of her, scrutinizing a white flower she’d found.
Remembering this early moment of Megan’s independence, Erin reluctantly decided to let her go. “Sure, ride the ride. I’ll just sit here and watch,” she said, smiling. “But please be careful!”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you,” Megan squealed, giving her a quick hug before pivoting around and hurrying to the line.
“Wait,” Erin called out, reaching for her. Megan didn’t hear her.
Erin felt dizzy from craning her neck to look at the thing, so she sat down on the bench and shifted her gaze back at the queue just in time to see Megan, identified by her high ponytail, climb into the frog’s mouth closest to Erin. She fastened her seatbelt across her little chest and leaned as far as the seatbelt would allow her to so she could try to see the top of the tower from her seat. Erin shuttered. She smiled and straightened back up, turning to the young woman next to her and saying something inaudible. The young woman laughed.
Watching the interaction made Erin smile softly. It didn’t feel like that long ago when Megan was born and made Erin smile without using any words at all. Erin wasn’t quite sure what her life would be like without Megan, and she didn’t quite know what she’d do when Megan no longer needed her. So much of her own life had flown by, just as Megan’s had.
Erin never found a real job after the law firm. She wasn’t sure why no one wanted her; she wasn’t too old at that point. She ended up settling for a waitressing job at a fancy lobster restaurant called Pete’s Shack that always smelled more like cheddar cheese than lobster. Laura brought Megan and the husband there to visit once when she first started the job, and Erin remembered Laura’s words exactly, “Quite a catch you got here with this job, right?” Erin had laughed at the time, but later that night, as she sat alone in her apartment thinking about Laura’s little family, she had cried.
Erin made eye contact with Megan and gave her two thumbs up. “Have fun,” she shouted, but Megan couldn’t hear her. The ride had already started its slow ascent towards the 100-foot drop.
When the ride finally dropped, screams pierced through the air, feeling closer this time. Erin knew one of those voices belonged to Megan, and she started to second guess her decision to let her go alone. Black spots flashed in her vision.
“I’m assuming this isn’t her first ride,” a low, southern voice spoke up next to Erin.
“What?” Erin jumped and turned to face the man that had just walked up. He was dressed in a blue Life is Good shirt. He seemed to be a little more than fifteen years younger than her, someone she would’ve thought was attractive if she was also about fifteen years younger. His brown, wavy hair matched her own, but while hers fell down to her collarbone, his ended just above his eyes and ears.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said.
Erin rolled her eyes at the “ma’am.” She wasn’t that old. She raised her eyebrows at him.
He continued, “That was your daughter you were sendin’ off? She looks like she’s been on a ‘coaster or two.”
Erin laughed politely, “She’s not my daughter.” She became self-conscious of the sweat dripping down her face and discreetly slid an inch away from him so he wouldn’t notice.
“Oh, really? She sure looked like it. She sat down right next to my wife.” Erin hummed an ahh and turned away.
He explained, “She didn’t want me to ride with her because she needed some space. I don’t wanna get too personal, but we’re having a hard time… and seeing all these kids at the fair are making it worse. Honestly, I haven’t seen her laugh all day until your little girl sat down next to her.”
“Really?” Erin felt a twinge of pride in her chest. “I mean, she’s not my little girl, but--” she was cut off by a loud screech coming from above their heads. Erin’s ears rung.
She whipped her head back and squinted to get a better view of the frog. It was gliding up slower and slower on the dark green tower, making an abnormal clicking noise. It got to the top, and it was as if someone had clicked pause on the ride. Smoke rose from the frog heads. Everything went still. The constant lull of chatter and laughter from the fair’s surrounding crowd became quiet.
“Megan?” Erin screamed, breaking the eerie silence. She threw her hands over her mouth as people resumed talking, this time louder and more urgent. The smell of cotton candy ice cream on her hands had gone bitter.
She felt helpless. Megan was suspended a hundred feet above her. She probably wanted her mom. She probably wasn’t even thinking about Erin, whose life had become dependent on their Fridays and pretzel sticks, hyperventilating below her. Erin tried to slow her breathing, but she felt like she was going to suffocate if she slowed her breath any more. Black spots again appeared in front of her eyes that darted from side to side, struggling to focus. What if Megan died like Stephen? Would Erin?
The young man sitting next to her put his hand on her shoulder, “It’s probably just a malfunction; they’ll be moving along any minute now.” He paused before asking, “Are you all right?” There was worry in his eyes, but it seemed the concern was more pointed towards Erin than the dead Megatoad.
“But… but… up there… the smoke. It’s too hot,” Erin gasped, sounding like Megan. She squeezed her arms to wipe off her sweat. “Do something,” she pleaded.
The man looked around nervously before leaning closer to her, “What smoke? Do I need to call someone?”
“What?” Erin asked sharply. He didn’t repeat himself, so she said, quieter, “No… no, I’m 40-years-old.” Her hands again rushed up to her face.
A sound like a roaring engine broke through from the frog as it jolted back to life. Little hands lifted up from inside the car as it picked up speed, flying down the tower. Megan’s blonde ponytail rose up into the bright sky. Megatoad slowed with just enough time to ease safely onto the ground.
The crowd cheered for a moment before continuing on with their days, cycling in and out and in and out of each ride. Erin shakily looked up from her hands, still breathing heavily, and noticed the man had started walking to the ride’s exit. Probably to meet his wife so that they could live a life happier ever after than Erin was ever going to.
Erin figured she should go meet Megan at that exit, but she didn’t move. Instead, she looked out into the crowd and watched teenage lovers gazing into each other’s eyes, an older couple sharing a funnel cake, and a mom and her daughter holding hands, laughing. Megan ran up to her. “Ms. Erin, Ms. Erin! That was so fun, you have to ride it with me this time!”
“I’m sure it was, sweetie, but I’m not feeling too well right now. I think your mom would really be a better candidate. How ‘bout we give her a call?” Erin was already pulling out her phone.
Megan shrugged, “Ok.”
Laura’s number was easy to find at the top of her starred contacts. Erin hesitated for a moment before clicking her name. She didn’t want to abandon Megan, but she wasn’t her real family. She couldn’t even ride a frog ride with her. She clicked the name, listened to the numbers dial, and let it ring.
It rang, and rang, and rang.
PEAKING
written in November 2018
Bella dug her electric green Asics shoes into the steep dirt hill in front of her in a rhythmic motion. Left, right, left, right. She leaned further into the incline, her whole body on fire. Her heart felt like it was being inflated by a bicycle pump. Cold wind ate its way deep into her lungs and ears. Just a little further to the top.
She’d already run about ten miles worth of mountainous trails that morning, weaving through the small dirt paths of the state park by her hometown. She was training for her first marathon. Specifically, she was training for the Jingle Snap Marathon next month, one of those tacky races where the runners wear things like DIY reindeer antlers and red and green tutus. Bella cringed when she thought too much about what she was getting herself into. The only thing close to Christmas attire that she was planning to wear is her lucky cherry red racing shoes. Ba humbug.
The training plan she’d been following rigidly each morning before her 8 a.m. classes required over ten miles a day. Since she’d gotten home for Thanksgiving break two days ago, she found that this is more mileage than her tiny hometown neighborhood would allow without having to circle around the same streets a dizzying number of times. So, into the woods she went. Not that she was complaining. The more time that she spent training and away from her clingy family, the better.
In one final surge, Bella reached the peak of the mountain, slowing to a jog to decrease her momentum. Gasping for breath, she stopped and laced her hands behind her head, elbows out like wings. Her body was numb, the kind of numb that she craved after a hard sprint. Like she wasn’t actually in her body but was watching it suffer from the outside.
The Blue Ridge mountains layered on top of each other in the distance. They were a little more than just blue this time of year, since the leaves had changed for autumn. The trees of red and orange in the distance were almost startling in comparison to how they’d looked last time Bella had hiked up this mountain with her older sister, Sydney, the first time Bella had come home from college over fall break.
Taking that same overlook trail, it had taken them four hours of hiking to peak. Sydney had to stop to catch her breath more than once, probably winded from trying to force conversation that simply wasn’t going to happen. She asked Bella way too many questions about what she did at her real college. What is a real dining hall like? How many people are at real frat parties? Bella gave her short answers as they’d hiked, staring intently at her legs as they flexed and relaxed climbing up the trail. If Sydney had really wanted to know what a state school was like, she would’ve gone to one instead of choosing the community college two minutes from home.
Ever since she started high school, Bella had lived a completely different life from Sydney. She had learned how to put together the puzzle that was high school. Join the cross country team, get a boyfriend, sneak vodka out of her parents’ alcohol drawer, repeat. Sydney didn’t quite mesh with that lifestyle. She just wanted to study in her room and play Monopoly with their parents, who were at Bella’s throat about every hour of her day. Why did practice run so late? Where was she going every Friday when there was no practice? Had she finished her French homework? It was an obvious choice for her to attend a college as far away from them as they would allow. Three hours, to be exact.
Bella started to move a little closer to the mountain overlook. But as she took a step, a searing pain flared up in her left ankle. Tears pushed behind her eyes, but she squinted hard to hold them in. Shit. It’s gotten worse this time.
Bella limped to an old wooden bench that faced the overlook. It was decked out with scars of initials and hearts from past lovers. Typical. As she sat down, she tested her ankle slightly, putting a little pressure on it. But her attempt was met with searing pain. Shit.
It had honestly been bothering her for a while, but she had refused to acknowledge the pain, assuming it was probably just sore or bruised. Maybe overworked? Or maybe she just wanted to assume that, needed to. She had to keep running or else there was no way she would be able to train hard enough to run 26.2 miles in just over a month. Plus, she would have no idea how to spend her free time. She’d been running since she was 9-years-old.
She breathed in and exhaled fully, the steam coming from her mouth temporarily clouding her vision. If her injury did her any good, it was that she got to take that moment to catch her breath and watch the mountains loom ahead. It was peaceful up there, felt like no one else had ever stepped foot on that mountain. Then the numb warmth from her run began to wear off, and shifting around, she felt her joints had gotten stiff from the cold.
“It’s too damn early for this,” Bella said under her breath. She wobbled up and tested her ankle again. Not too shabby for a ten-minute break. It would have to do for the descent. Luckily, this particular trail had a shorter switchback that led to the parking lot, and even in this condition, three miles was a breeze for Bella.
When she finally made it back home, she walked through the front doors— tall, wooden, and double— into a temperature increase of approximately 50 degrees and the sight of her mother basically running to the door to wrap her in a hug. “You’re back,” she squealed.
“And you turned the entire house into the fiery blazes of Hell,” Bella replied, laughing uneasily. Bella could tell that her mother had already gotten a head start on the Thanksgiving meal the next week. For one, the smell of pecan pie wafted through the house, causing Bella’s stomach to growl from post-workout hunger. Secondly, Bella’s mom was wearing her infamous “purple turkey apron,” a shabby old thing sewn by Bella’s grandmother that she insisted on wearing every November, no matter how many feathers had fallen off the year before.
Bella peeled herself from her mother’s grip just in time for her little brother, Tanner, to emerge, tackling her into a hug. His face practically disappeared underneath his curly brown Flanagan hair.
“You missed breakfast! Sydney made us Mario-shaped waffles,” he exclaimed. “I gotta Luigi one. We saved you the Bowser one.”
“Ah, yes, the fire-breathing antagonist. Dude, you are too kind,” Bella smirked, ruffling his hair.
“Wanna come play with me? Please? I’ve waited for you for hours,” he said, pulling on the bottom of her black Nike tank top. Tanner would pester her for hours if she didn’t get away.
“I’m really sorry, but I can hear the shower calling my name. Screaming it, actually. Wouldn’t wanna upset that old thing, right?” She turned away quickly to walk up the stairs to her bathroom, masking her limp as best she could.
“Bella, wait here for a moment,” her mother grabbed her wrist to stop her, looking down at her ankle. Shit.
“Mom, that hurts,” Bella shook her wrist out of her mom’s tight, concerned grip.
“It sure looks like it does. I haven’t seen you limp that bad since you broke your leg playing kickball when you were seven!” An exaggeration. She was barely limping. Plus, she had broken her leg playing soccer when she was seven; she was too hardcore for kickball. You’d think her overbearing mother would remember.
“Oh, that’s nothing. I meant my wrist, you hurt my wrist. Please let me go shower,” Bella said. She missed her dorm, where her roommate never questioned anything about her life. If she had been at school in this moment, she would have gotten straight into the shower she shared with her easy-going suitemates, and she would have played her music as loud as possible.
“Sweetie, if this half marathon is going to injure you, it might be best if y—”
“No,” Bella shouted, cutting her off. Her mother’s mouth dropped, and Tanner stared up at her, his green eyes ten times bigger than usual. Bella had forgotten he was there. “Sorry,” she added, back to her normal tone of voice. “It’s not a half, it’s a full marathon. I don’t think you’d get it. I can’t talk about this right now.”
“Well, we’re talking about this tonight, Belles. Your father will be home from his golf trip, and we’re revisiting this with him. Just because you went off to college this year doesn’t mean we aren’t still invested in your wellbeing, you know.”
“Oh, I get it,” Bella said. She slipped up the stairs, her ankle throbbing with each step that she forced to a normal stride.
***
The beige bathroom tiles were icy cold beneath Bella’s feet as she stepped out of the warm shower. Her skin was already showing goosebumps, as cool air drifted over her exposed skin. Why is it that the second floor of the house never seemed to have any heat? The first floor has surely never had this problem. She wrapped her body in a burgundy towel and her hair in a small floral, monogrammed one she’d had since she was a kid.
Bella sat down at her desk and crossed her ankle over her knee to get a better look. It was a little swollen and kinda more blue than she had hoped. She massaged it in earnest before reaching for a bottle of Advil, taking three.
“Belle? You in there?” Sydney’s soft voice carried through her bedroom door.
“No,” Bella sang back.
“Ha, ha, so funny. Can I come in, please?”
Bella sighed, “Sure.” She moved her ankle back down to the floor.
The door creaked open, revealing Sydney’s slim figure. Her posture made her look sort of crumpled and awkward in the door frame. Her soft brown eyes were set downward, avoiding eye contact as if she feared Bella.
The two had never been that close. Most find it hard to believe not only that Sydney is older than Bella by a year but also that they are related in the first place. While Bella took up running and spent the majority of her time distracting herself with the sport, Sydney hadn’t ever found an outlet to deal with her problems. She kept all of her worry and unfulfillment caged up inside so that no one else would ever see it.
“Hey, sis,” Sydney smiled softly. “You missed the waffles I made this morning.”
“Oh, Tanner was sure to fill me in.”
“Yeah,” her voice trailed off, and she bit her lip.
Bella felt the awkward Sydney vibes fill the room, so she focused on applying her coconut lavender lotion in hopes that Sydney would notice the awkwardness and leave. But she held out.
“Listen, Belles,” Sydney started back up, “Mom told me about your ankle.” Shit. “She thinks you shouldn’t spend so much time running.” The last part ran altogether out of her mouth like it had been rehearsed.
“Did Mom tell you to come talk to me about it?” Bella scoffed. “She can just tell me herself.” Bella removed the floral towel from her head, letting her dark wavy hair fall in a tangled mess around her left shoulder.
“I mean, she just cares about you,” Sydney paused. “And so do I.” Oh, now she decides to play big sister.
“I know what I’m doing, and I don’t get why y’all are so invested in my life. I don’t even really live here anymore,” Bella said, raising her voice.
Sydney’s eyes widened, and she moved a tiny step into Bella’s room, shutting the door behind her. “Are you crazy? Mom would be so upset if she heard you say that.” Her hand clutched her side as if she’d been shot.
“Well, it’s true,” Bella said. “Only coming home for a few days every couple months definitely does not count.” Legs crossed, she absentmindedly rolled her ankle in the air, causing a pain to shoot up her shin. Shit. She winced. She looked up quickly to make sure Sydney hadn’t noticed, but she had been silently staring at her own ankles. “Anything else you wanted to add?” Bella asked. “I’m kinda naked here.”
“Actually, yeah... You know David Klein?”
Of course Bella knew David Klein. Sydney knew she did. How could Bella forget the boy a year older she had shared strawberry milkshakes with every Friday after school for three years? The one she would talk to on the home phone for hours before her mom trusted her enough to get her a cell phone? The one that came to every one of her races and screamed her name louder than anyone until he broke up with her in the month leading up to the state championship her junior year?
“Yeah.”
“Did you hear about that reunion party he’s throwing tomorrow night? His parents are leaving for some weekend trip, so he invited basically our entire graduating class.” Sydney’s eyes lifted to meet Bella’s. “But, I mean, I heard a lot of freshmen are going too. I think Gabriella might be there, like, if you still talk to her.”
“I’ll text her about it,” Bella said. Her heart picked up its pace, no matter how hard she tried to suppress the jittery warm feeling growing in her stomach. She hadn’t talked to Gabriella, her best friend in high school, since they’d moved into different colleges back in August. They had grown further apart by the last semester, when Bella said something about her boyfriend that she doesn’t even remember. Then the distance didn’t help when Gabriella went to California for college. However, Bella was already pulling out her phone, thinking of a text she could construct in order to find out more about David’s party.
Bella’s wandering mind snapped back when she noticed Sydney was still lingering at the doorway, her hand tightened around the doorknob. Bella knew what was up. “Do you wanna come too or something?” she asked.
Her eyes focused on Bella’s for the first time that day. “I mean, would you mind if I went?” she asked in slight monotone.
“No, not at all!” Bella smiled an unconvincing smile back at her. She figured it technically made sense for Sydney to go, since she was invited in the first place, but since when did Sydney want to go to a party? She would definitely do something embarrassing like bring her own box of rainbow goldfish or do the sprinkler dance move in the middle of the dance floor.
Surely, Sydney noticed the fake bitch tone Bella used, but she ignored it. A genuine smile broke on her face. “Sweet, I can drive us,” she said, leaving Bella’s room as fast as she’d come in, as if she were afraid Bella would let her in on the fact that she actually really did mind if she went.
***
Christmas music suffocated Bella when she climbed into Sydney’s gold Mercedes station wagon. She had taken a little longer to get ready, so Sydney had been waiting outside to warm up the car. Guess she’d also decided to warm it up with a little Christmas spirit.
“Are you serious right now? Thanksgiving hasn’t even happened yet,” Bella exclaimed.
Sydney just laughed and shifted the car into drive. Her little air freshener danced from its string on the rearview mirror. It read some quote about facing the mountain before you can climb it. Bella didn’t quite understand. Sydney wasn’t a big climber.
Bella noticed that Sydney had really dressed for the occasion. She looked kind of pretty sitting there, her curls tamed straight, and her eyes accentuated from her dark brown mascara. She wore a suede, muted pink dress with long sleeves, and although she was wearing tights, it came up a little shorter than Bella was used to seeing. Just the fact that she was in a dress was something Bella wasn’t expecting.
Bella herself was wearing a leather skirt, showing off her legs, toned from years of running, and a fuzzy violet sweater with a few fashionable holes in it. A great conversation starter. Why yes, she did get attacked by a bear on the way to the party, how could you tell?
She felt comfortable and confident up until the moment they parked on the side of the road by David Klein’s front yard. The jittery feeling in her stomach wasn’t quite so warm anymore. She let Sydney lead the way as they walked through the front door.
“Both of the Flanagan sisters are here? That’s when you know it’s gonna be a good party,” one of Sydney’s old friends from high school said slowly, greeting Sydney with a hug.
Bella smiled at the girl, but she couldn’t focus enough to join their conversation. Her eyes cut past them, scanning everyone’s faces. There were probably about 40 people there, talking, laughing, and playing drinking games with blue solo cups in the living room. The room had turned into a tournament room with tapestries depicting various sports fields on every wall. She recognized a few people, but the few people she knew were all sophomores in college. She was starting to wonder if she was the only freshman there.
Her phone buzzed, revealing a text from Gabriella. It read that her whole family had been planning to fly out to California for Thanksgiving, so she was staying there the whole week. Then she sent a follow-up message: “Sorry I can’t be there with you, I know there aren’t really other freshman.” That would’ve been good to know earlier.
“Wanna get a drink with us?” Sydney’s friend asked Bella. Her eyes naturally drooped down at the ends, giving them a permanently sad look. The girl was also high, which Bella didn’t think helped her case.
“Sure,” Bella said, darting her gaze quickly to droopy-eyed girl before returning it to the crowd behind her, searching for the only face she cared to see. That is, if he wanted to see her too. Not that she thought things had ended badly; he was so gentle when he told her they didn’t have time for each other anymore, but she was always curious to know if he still thought about her. Almost two years had gone by, after all.
She noticed that her sister had already moved on to another group in another conversation, taking a drink from some guy. Bella had never seen her so relaxed; it looked almost unnatural. Bella furrowed her eyebrows and turned away from her sister to follow the droopy-eyed girl into the kitchen for the drink that she suddenly desperately needed.
After one drink, she joined in some drinking game she’d never heard of with a few people the year above her from the cross country team. After two drinks, she realized the key to the game. Drinks three and four, she was a reigning champion. On drink five, she remembered David.
David, with his golden hair that was always just a little too long, no matter how many times he’d gotten it cut. David, who played his guitar for her like he’d been born to do just that. David, who was all of the sudden standing right in front of her.
“You came?” he smiled. A question. Bella didn’t know what to think. He looked almost just like he had the last time she saw him, basically the same as he had looked when he was a senior, just with slightly wider chin and a bit of a beer gut.
“Well, I was expecting there to be a turkey fry in the backyard, so I’m honestly a little disappointed,” she said, stumbling a little. She landed on her ankle funny, and felt its familiar pain. Only, this time the alcohol had dulled it. The numbness she felt reminded her of her runner’s high in a way. Guess that meant she didn’t have to worry about her ankle that night. Sweet.
“Nah, we don’t have turkey here, just tequila and some college kids,” he flashed that smile again.
“Even better,” she said, laughing back especially loud. What was he doing that was making her feel 16 all over again?
“So, do you still run?” he asked. A real question. But then he rested a hand a little too far down her back. And then squeezed ever so slightly.
Her skin prickled, and suddenly happy 16-year-old Bella vanished. The alcohol burned into her brain. She shoved his hand away. “Why did you break up with me?”
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, flinching away.
“I’m not just gonna hook up with you. I can’t do that.”
“Who said I wanted to hook up with you?” he yelled. Bella felt like the room had just submerged underwater. His mouth moved in slow motion. A few people around them turned to stare.
Bella bit her lip and was quiet for a moment, her head swaying a little. She became conscious of Sydney, making her way through the crowd towards her. She looked concerned. And beautiful. She ignored her. “Why did you break up with me?” she asked David again, softer this time.
His eyes shifted from upset to worried. He grabbed her hand this time, his own rough with calluses. “Belles, you cut me off first. The minute we ever had any disagreement, we didn’t talk for days,” he said. “You said you needed more time to focus on cross country. Does ‘why are you so invested in my life’ sound familiar at all?”
Too familiar. “I can’t do this right now,” she trailed off, realizing how she sounded. She was the one that asked him.
“Exactly,” he grimaced. “Look, I’m sorry, Bella. I loved you, I really did. But it’s been two years, and I really don’t think college has matured you at all.”
Bella froze. She didn’t know what to say, couldn’t think straight. “I gotta go,” she said, still holding his hand without looking at him until she moved far enough away to break contact. She didn’t know where Sydney was at that point, and she didn’t care. Sydney had seemed to be thriving all night. And that boy that handed her the drink? Definitely flirting. Was that actually her sister?
Cold air hit Bella the instant she opened the door, and it jolted her to action like the starting gun had fired to begin a race. Bella took off running.
Her black booties didn’t fit quite like her running shoes did. They pounded the asphalt, their wooden heels clicking like clogs. She pushed through. Like a mountain, right? Sydney’s quote. Just keep climbing, and it’ll be over soon. Is that it? It’ll be over soon.
Sure enough, after a little over a mile sprint, Bella’s left bootie skewed off her foot and her ankle rolled beneath the pressure of her leg. She screamed and collapsed, everything focused on the pain radiating from her ankle. So much worse this time.
“Shit,” she cried out. Her sobs felt like carpet burn down her chest. How was she going to get home? Could she even walk? Would she ever be able to again?
She pulled her phone out from her pocket, flashing the time, 2:17 a.m., and a few missed texts from her mother, one call from her dad, and one text from Sydney: “Where did u go?” Bella sighed and opened the dial screen. She closed her eyes, dialing the only person whose number she had always known by heart.
“Sydney? How good are you to drive? I need you.”
SILENT NOISE
written in March, 2017
My eyes were closed, but I could see the bright ball of sunlight shining through my eyelids. Its fuzzy rays had turned the black backs of my eyelids into a stark orange. I laid on a long, baby blue beach chair in front of our backyard pool. Warmth washed over my much too exposed skin. I was wearing one of those weird risque one-pieces that look a lot cooler on the models than on my body. It had large pieces purposefully missing from the sides, and it pressed awkward indents into my skin that matched its awkward tan lines. I adjusted it down again.
My mom was watching The Bachelor in the living room that shared a glass wall with our yard and pool area. I had left its sliding door open wide so that I could listen to Nick Viall’s beautiful voice from our television as he confessed his love for one of the contestants. We used to watch it together when I was in high school, and she would always joke that she couldn’t wait for me to be on the show, but I’d just roll my eyes. Now, I’ve finished my junior year of college having kept my twenty-one-year streak of single status, and it’s no longer a joke.
Suddenly, I noticed I could no longer hear Nick. “Mom, could you turn the TV back up? I can’t hear!”
She didn’t answer, so I sighed and reluctantly peeled my eyes open to reveal a world tainted blue. As my eyes adjusted, I left the warm sunlight to walk inside. The living room was dark and silent, so I looked beyond it and into the kitchen where my parents were standing across the counter from each other.
“Joe, you know that you slept until 3:30pm, sweetheart?”
“I know,” my father replied dully. He was sitting at the kitchen counter with a box of Cheerios and an empty bowl in front of him. His hair was disheveled and something in his eyes looked unfamiliar.
I stood my ground from the blackened living room, fascinated by the way my father was slouched down and unanimated. Neither of them noticed that I’d stumbled upon their strange interaction. I ran my hand up my arm, wincing as I noticed a sunburn developing.
“Well, are you alright?” My mother smiled at him and rubbed his shoulder. Usually, her touch made him smile and sometimes even tickle her to entice her laugh. This time, he just stared at the bowl in front of him.
My mother was taken aback by his response, removing her hand and crinkling her eyebrows in confusion. She met my eyes, finally noticing me watching from the other room, and we shared questioning looks. That was when my dad began to pour the cereal. He poured, and poured, and poured, and poured until the small, whole wheat circles fell over the edge of the bowl and then over the edge of the counter. Their pitter-patter onto the ground seemed to echo in the room.
“I can’t… I can’t do anything right,” my dad whispered slowly in a voice so small I could barely understand. “I’ve screwed up. I don’t deserve to eat breakfast. I don’t deserve anything… I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, babe, what are you talking about? I can clean the Cheerios, no problem. Did something happen at work that I should know about?”
Then, I saw something I had never seen before. My dad’s eyes and fists squeezed shut tightly, and he began to cry. It was quiet at first, but with each audible sniff, his sobs increased and his shoulders shook. His fists raised to his eyes, shielding them. Each sob drilled into my chest until my heart flipped itself into fast forward, pounding at an increasing speed.
Several months back, when he got the news that his father, my grandfather, had passed away, his eyes were dry. My mother and I held onto him tight, but he held onto us tighter, his stubbly chin against our foreheads, as if trying to pass some of his strength onto us. He heated up every casserole we were given that week, slicing them into three pieces and setting them out for our little family.
All of that strength I’d seen in him my entire life seemed to vanish in front of my eyes as my mother and I watched him, unsure of what to do. My mouth fell open, and my vision blurred as I found that my eyes were swimming in tears of my own. My mom and I both instinctively moved to hug him, our arms wrapping around each other as we enclosed him. After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, she rubbed my arm and met my eyes. I saw in them a glassy concern that wasn’t just for my dad.
“Are you ok?” she whispered. I nodded and averted my eyes, gripping both my parents tighter.
Later on that afternoon, my father came into the living room for a one second apology. “I honestly don’t know what came over me,” he sighed, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. He offered no further explanation. My mother cried herself to sleep.
That day was the beginning of my first summer without those tan lines I had been sitting outside to achieve. It was my first summer without basketball every morning at 6am. It was my first summer without my dad fully present in my life. I spent all of my time inside, not wanting to leave, watching out for my father and his bizarre behavior. It all started off with small things; entire containers of food were eaten clean, money we’d saved up had been spent, and my father, the culprit, would sleep for hours into the evening.
He had been healthy his whole life leading up to that year. He hardly ever got drunk, was never sick with anything worse than a cold, and had been a basketball player and then coach, for both my team and me. I wanted to play for the University of Florida when I received my acceptance letter, but I dropped it after playing for one season. There were too many pressures from everyone to always be the best, and I just couldn’t be the all-star player they wanted me to be anymore. Although my mom was disappointed, my dad was incredibly supportive of my choice. “You gotta have fun with what you’re doing, Anders,” he’d said.
My father had days where he was completely normal. He joked around with my mother and I, stealing sweet kisses on our cheeks, and he played one-on-one basketball with me through hot afternoons when he became drenched in sweat, both of us too competitive for our own good. He worked as a lawyer in his home office each day during the summer months in order to spend more time with my mother and me. Sometimes I think his passion for justice and the truth is where I got my own.
Here’s one of those truths: I was convinced that my father wasn’t sick.
After a week had passed since the Cheerios incident, my father’s mood appeared to improve each day. He was still sad, and his personality rarely compared to his normal self, but his smiles gradually began to return. With each one he offered me, a small weight was taken off my shoulders.
However, that one week did not heal his brain; he got immeasurably worse.
“I’m home!” My father sang, stomping through the house and into the kitchen. I was sitting at our kitchen table watching my mother make her famous spaghetti. She had just poured the stiff noodles into a boiling pot of water.
“It’s about time,” she responded, giggling at his strange entrance. “Where did you go on your little drive?”
“Ahh let’s see, well I drove around downtown and saw the coolest dog with fur that reminded me of a squirrel that was really weird because I had just been thinking about squirrels and how they’re able to climb so high on trees way more than quadruple their height, and I know that I could do that too if I were a squirrel, and I would be the strongest squirrel of all of them,” he shouted quickly. His hands were raised into the air, and his eyes were wide and fidgety.
My mother and I shared a glance at each other, and I laughed uneasily. A strange fear coursed through my veins and heated up my entire body to the point that I thought the boiling noodles had it better off than me. There was no way the man standing in front of me was my father.
“My God, Joseph… is everything ok?” Her voice shook. My mother rarely called my dad by his full name, he’d gone by Joe his whole life. When people would call him Joseph, he would laugh and correct them politely, saying that they could remember his name because orange juice, a “cup of Joe,” was the freshest drink on the block, ‘just like him.’
“I have never been better, darling!” his smile widened as he exclaimed, “God… I know him, you know… he’s chosen me to rule the world and make music for everyone to listen to for the rest of their lives about peace and justice and vi-”
“Dad, you’re scaring me,” I cut him off, my voice trembling. My father, who, just this morning, had wrapped me in a huge embrace goodbye, felt so distant.
“I wonder when we need to replace this carpet,” he asked, ignoring me and running into the living room. He fell onto his knees to inspect it, and I could see his hands vibrating along the red carpet’s frayed pieces with uncontrollable energy.
“Joe! Please, stop this nonsense right now,” my mother yanked him up off the ground, physically trying to pull him back to reality, “I’m making your favorite dinner!”
He grinned widely and grabbed her butt, using his grip to pull her up close to him, “So am I,” he said.
Suddenly, my mom’s face shifted too, as if she had thrown on a dark, heavy veil. At that moment, I didn’t recognize either of my parents.
She slapped him with a smack louder than I would’ve ever thought possible. My ears rang.
The noodles boiled silently on the stove.
My father’s depressive and manic episodes lasted for about a week each, some longer and some shorter. I found myself waking up each morning too scared to go downstairs to see how my dad would act that day. He no longer played basketball with me, so I spent some time alone in my room posting some pictures from last summer’s beach trip on Facebook. One morning I decided to Google some of my father’s symptoms.
Bipolar disorder is characterized as mood swings between mania and depression lasting anywhere from a few days to a month. Signs of mania include high energy levels, quick and nonsensical talk, risky behavior, and lack of concentration. Signs of depression include a diminished drive for doing things once enjoyed, slow and self-degrading voice, shamefulness, and excessive fatigue.
Check, check, and check.
The doctor confirmed my suspicion in a small white room one day deep into sweltering July. My mother and I sat in harsh waiting room chairs, and she rested her head against my shoulder. The cold metal arms of the seat pressed against my pale legs. My phone buzzed in my lap, so I switched it off. I felt weak. I didn’t have the patience for my friends and their summer-fling drama.
Dr. Wyatt cleared his throat before beginning, “Bipolar disorder is often misdiagnosed. One episode doesn’t define the disease, and there is not any simple blood test or x-ray that determines if you are ill with it.”
My dad gave my mother an I told you so look. She glared back and looked over to see if I noticed their exchange. I pretended to look beyond her at a model diagram of a skull on the counter behind her. I felt like I could relate to those dismantled bones staring back at me, empty and cold.
The doctor continued, “That being said, I do believe that Joseph is showing all of the symptoms of the disorder, and enough time has gone by to see that these episodes are not due to stress or dietary issues. I’d like to prescribe him Carbatrol, a mood stabilizer. This won’t cure him, but it will keep the mood swings in balance.”
I looked over at my father to see how he processed the news. He was looking down at his hands, not showing many signs of emotion.
“Thank you so much. We’ll pick up the prescription as soon as possible,” my mom replied dully. It was the diagnosis we had been anticipating and the prescription we wanted to get for my dad, but her displayed feelings of some kind of disappointed sadness seemed to match my own.
We stood up and she shook his hand and went through all of the formalities. As we walked down the long narrow halls of the doctor’s office, I silently held her hand and rubbed my thumb it. The antiseptic smell was suffocating.
A few months had dragged on since The First Day, and summer was showing signs of coming to a close. The breeze was becoming just chilly enough to raise bumps on my skin, the leaves had turned from their previous vibrant green to a muted version of themselves, and my father had faded with them. In the beginning, he took his medicine. Then he complained about the headaches it caused him. Eventually, we could no longer force him to take the Carbatrol.
His brain was not at all my father’s. He was completely different, and my mother and I couldn’t get used to the person my dad had become because of his mental illness. Every day, I stared at him hopefully, waiting for my dad to return and tell me that everything was going to be ok, that we could go play basketball in twenty-minutes, and that he loved me. None of those words left his mouth. I receded into myself. I stopped smiling, and I stopped buying cherry coke.
My mom and I used to drink cherry coke as if it were the latest juice cleanse. Just a few years ago, I would come home from my high school to her sitting on our wrap-around porch with an old-fashioned bottle freshly popped open, condensation still collecting on the sides of the glass. Some nights she even poured it into two wine glasses and we threw on sundresses, pretending we were going to a “country club event”. My dad would just laugh and spin us around, our dresses twirling into blooming flowers beneath us.
That summer, that smiling man who had convinced me that I was strong and capable was just not mentally there. Then, all of a sudden, he was gone physically too.
I was with my mother at the grocery store when he left. He didn’t take any of his belongings from the house, but his car was missing along with all of his cash and credit cards. We sat on the living room couch, staring at a blank television screen, waiting for him to return. But he never did.
He was in one of his manic episodes at the time, so we weren’t necessarily worried about him hurting himself, we were more worried about whether or not he would come home. We waited into the night, and I kept a lonely watch while my mother rested her eyes. The dull reflection of my face in the television screen stared back at me with dark holes in place of my eyes.
The next day, I tried to buy a soy latte for my mom from Starbucks, but my card was declined. We found out that my dad withdrew all of our money from our accounts, and we were broke and alone. My mind raced as I tried to piece our lives back together before I had to return to UF and put on a happy veil dark enough to hide my family’s secret. My mother was in no shape to do anything, my dad broke her, and she was dependent on me for anything.
So I cried on the phone with my mom’s mother, my grandmother, and she told me that she would take her in if I drove five hours across the state of Florida to her house. And so we packed our things, climbed into my mom’s 2001 Honda Acura, and left without words.
Our car shook to a stop in between the crookedly drawn white parking lines of a gas station. My mother and the car let out a simultaneous sigh as I clicked the keys out of the ignition. The radio that had been playing Today’s Hottest Hits cut abruptly, forcing us into silence. I looked at her body, noting the way it sunk deep into the crevices of the passenger seat. I thought she might sink so deep she’d disappear. Flashing red lights from a crimson and blue neon sign lit up her face, revealing premature wrinkles that were subtly etched into her skin.
My mother broke the silence in anticipation of my question, “I don’t need anything, Anders, sweetie.” My lips pressed into a smile for her sake. I knew she was just saying that to save money. We had a long drive ahead.
“I’ll be right back,” I reassured her, unbuckling my seatbelt.
I walked into the gas station, and its musty fumes, a sharp contrast against the salty air from outside, caused my nose to crinkle instinctively. I headed straight to the back wall of refrigerators and grabbed two ice-cold Cherry Cokes, I knew my mother. I kept my head down as I shifted towards the cashier.
The man at the counter didn’t question my payment for the drinks in dirty laundromat quarters. However, questions of my own swirled around my head. What are we going to do? How are we going to make it? My heart began to pound faster as the cashier… Henry, his nametag read, counted my money.
“You doing alright there, sweetie?” The pet name that had sounded so sweet coming out of my mother’s mouth suddenly became creepy. Henry flashed me a toothy grin and handed me back two quarters. “You paid me a little too much.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said uncomfortably. I averted my eyes, slid the quarters off the bright yellow counter, and resumed a tight grip on my coke bottles. Without another word, I walked back to where my mother had been waiting for me.
She didn’t meet my eyes when I slid back into the car we had called home for the past several days. If the soda hadn’t made such a distinct sizzle as I twisted off my coke’s cap, she never would’ve turned to see that I had bought her one as well. Her face shifted into a small, subtle joy that I hadn’t seen in months. “Oh my, you shouldn’t have,” she uttered, eyes fixed on the bottle I placed in her hands. She ran her hands over the plastic title, soaking up the condensation it had collected. She furrowed her eyebrows and held it up closer, examining the baby bubbles that shot to the surface of the drink.
I was confused by her sudden change of mood, but I expected those fleeting moments of joy to be just that. “You deserve it, Mom. We’ve been through a lot recently, it’s only right to splurge a little… treat ourselves,” I said, allowing myself to adorn a genuine smile in hopeful efforts to entice more words out of her.
“Thank you… so much,” she said, twisting the cap open with a crisp fizz. She sipped it, looking off into the distance. My heart ached at her response. The quiet voice that she had used was unfamiliar to me. I just wanted to know how she felt about the situation. No… I wanted her to tell me how I felt. She had always been better about that than I was. She had been stronger.
I twisted the key to bring the engine back to life, and the car rumbled to life beneath us. Katy Perry resumed belting out lyrics from her newest song on the radio. I began to pull out of the gas station and increase speed down the highway.
“You really didn’t have to do that,” she added, as something of an afterthought. She turned away from me and fixated her gaze on the side view mirror.
“I wanted to give you something nice,” I said gently. I clicked the radio off, and we dove into complete silence once again. We were the only car on the highway this late at night, and the moon and stars were covered by invisible clouds, enveloping us in darkness lit only by our own headlights. Straight ahead it looked as if we were driving off the edge of the world into the darkness. My mother couldn’t see the tears streaming down my face.
Several seconds went by and I felt a squeeze in my heart thinking that she wouldn’t respond. And then she did. It was inaudible at first, barely a whisper, then she spoke a little louder and with deep sorrow, “Anders… you’ve been caring for me as if I’m not capable of handling this on my own. Just because you’re about to start your last year of college doesn’t mean that you aren’t my baby girl anymore. I feel like I’ve let you down.”
I was taken aback by her words. There was feeling and strength behind them that I hadn’t seen in months. “I feel like I’ve let you down,” I replied. I took a deep breath. My head raced as I continued, “I feel like I wasn’t there for Dad enough, and it’s kinda been haunting me. I should’ve helped him take his medicine, and I should’ve been there for you more. We’re going through the same thing, we should be able to talk to each other about it, and I’m going back to school in two weeks. I just don’t know what to do anymore.” As I spoke, it was as if I was speaking to myself and hearing my own feelings for the first time. I whipped my head back to the road in front of me and corrected the car that had been teetering on the line while adrenaline rushed through my veins.
I could see my mom staring at me from my peripheral vision. She was silent yet again. I took a deep breath and drummed my fingers on the wheel to the music in my head.
After a moment too long, she replied, “Anders… I’ll never get him back. I loved him in a way that I had never loved anyone or anything else, besides you.” She shot me a quick smile and reached for my hand. The tears that had been recollecting in my eyes threatened to break out again. “The problem is that I still love him. He was a different man, he took all of our money, forced us into bankruptcy-” she cut herself off, biting her lip as tears streamed down her own face.
I reached down to grab her small hand. “I know you love him, I do too. I hope that wherever he is that he finds the help he needs. But until we see him again, we have to take care of each other. It’s all going to be alright, Mom.” I tightened the grip she held on my hand, rubbing my thumb over her fingers like she had done for me my whole life. She squeezed my hand right back and shut her eyes. The air in the car suddenly shifted. I relaxed into the seat and lightened my grip on the wheel. “We’ll be at Grandma’s house in no time.”
This caused her to giggle slightly. “No time, right… she just lives across the whole state!” Her pleasant banter sounded so familiar that it stirred a sob in me that erupted in between my own giggles.
The strangled sound that was coming out of me was enough to send my mother into a fit as well. My little Acura was soon overflowing with laughter and tears and the pure release of feelings, so much so that we had to roll down the windows to set it free. I switched on the radio and turned it up so that it would cover up our terrible singing voices, and we belted out Shape of You by Ed Sheeran. The sound of it broke through the dense air and carried the music and emotions far, far away.