Claire's Song (7 page)

I speed up because I can’t find Ryder’s beat up car. He couldn’t have gotten that far, not this quick. The October sun is starting to fall to its knees and kiss the trees. I look at the clock and know I haven’t much longer before I should turn around. I’ve never been good at driving at night and I’ve had a few accidents within the past few years, all at night. My hands are clammy around the steering wheel and the stabbing pain in my chest almost doubles me over, but I keep driving, desperately seeking Ryder. His eyes, they were so much like Jamie’s that final night. This cannot be my lot in life, to sit by and watch people take their lives for granted. This can’t be it!

A small voice whispers,
isn’t that what you’re doing
?

The thought hits me just as the sky becomes a navy blanket, the car lights beginning to poke holes through it and blind me through the windshield. I can’t see anything and my heart speeds up, nearly pounding out of my chest.

Squinting further and realizing I can’t see anything, I decide to turn around. Just as I do, a car horn blares. Blinding lights bleed through my car and I instinctively throw my car to the side of the road. My eyes are squeezed shut so tight, waiting for impact, for my last moments, to realize that small voice, that tiny voice was right. But the impact never comes. Just several more car horns and curse words as I sit on the shoulder.

Tears begin to stream down my face and Jamie invades my mind. My therapist says that this is normal, to have these worries intensify when you’re tired. I’m more than tired physically. I’m tired mentally. I almost got killed trying to chase yet another boy who doesn’t want my help. Lindy’s ugly nickname, Black Widow, ripples through my head and the tears are coming faster, dripping down my nose, onto my shirt.

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” I whisper between the sobs that rack my already tightened chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t enough.”

“But you were enough,” I hear Dr. Robinson say. We've gone round and round about the topic millions of times, but to no avail. “He left you a note. Don’t forget what he said in the note.”

I try to recall the note, but I can’t. I read it once and even brought it to therapy, but I haven’t read it since. You’d think the words would be emblazoned in my mind, but I tried more than anything to forget them, to let his words fall away along with his body, deep down into oblivion.

The speed of the cars flying by cause my own car to rock and shake until finally I pull my cell phone out of my purse and do something that I haven't’ done since Jamie. Rely on my mother.

“Claire Bear? Where are you honey?” her voice sounds warm through the phone and I hope I’m not interrupting her date with Dad. They need it. They deserve it after having to put up with their train wreck of a daughter.

I sob into the phone despite my attempts to sound strong, “Can you…can you and Dad come get me?”

There’s a pause and I can almost imagine her looking puzzled. “Where are you? Aren’t you at home? It’s dark out…”

“I’m not at home. I’m on the side of the…the road in my car across from the mall,” I answer, still struggling to speak through the tears.

My mother is not known for hysterics, but the tone of her voice scares me a little. “Claire! Why are you out past dark? And why are you crying? You could’ve killed yourself…” She trails off, the term now having a new, literal meaning in my family thanks to Jamie. “Never mind. We’ll be there. Let’s go Greg. Love you, Claire.” And she hangs up. I wrap my arms around my waist, thankful that even though we’ve drifted apart, mostly because of me, my parents still care.

They show up in less than ten minutes and my father wraps his arms around me, the scent of his aftershave so homey to me. Mom wraps her arms around us and we stand there on the roadside, huddled and hugging. For some reason I thought they'd be more upset.

"Claire, are you okay, honey?" Dad asks as he pulls back, studying me. His hair is grayer than it used to be, matching his mustache and beard. He's got this look on his face like I might break, but does he know that I already feel broken?

I bury my face further into his chest trying to collect myself. Finally, I let it out. "I'm the reason Jamie's dead. I could've stopped it if I'd have just gone to his house. I knew something was off and I called his sister instead. I…" then the tears start again because that's all I can do when I think about Jamie. "I miss him."

My father pulls away and I hear my mother's sharp intake of breath. I meet both of their harried faces. "You are
not
the reason Jamie is dead," Dad says as he holds my shoulders and gives me a stern look. My mother nods in agreement although she looks like she’s about to cry too.

"Jamie made a choice and you couldn't have possibly known that. You did the right thing calling his sister. You can't go through life blaming yourself, honey," Dad continues, his gaze boring into mine, as if he can make me understand.

"And remember what Dr. Robinson says," Mom interjects. "She's right, you know. Jamie loved you and would hate for you to think you're the reason for all of this."

I want to tell my parents about what Lindy said, about what all the other kids at school say about me. Telling them that their daughter is the Black Widow would probably break their hearts and I can’t do that to them. Actually, there's no one to tell. The school counselor doesn't really do anything about bullying and it would probably just spur Lindy on even more if I told him about it. There are the teachers, but what can they do? It's the last thing I need on top of not properly grieving my best friend. I keep counting the months until graduation, but it seems so far away and I wonder how I’ll make it.

"We love you, Claire. Okay?" Dad pulls me and Mom in for a hug.

I nod against his chest.

"Now let's get on home before it gets too late," he smiles and heads for my car. I follow him as Mom gets behind the wheel of their SUV. Things feel normal but screwed up at the same time and my mind won't stop worrying about Ryder. I don't know how I'll manage until I see him again, just praying that I actually
do
see him again.

RYDER

            It's Monday morning and I'm on my fifth beer. I'm lying on my mattress that's on the floor and staring at the ceiling. I'm finally feeling the buzz, letting go a little bit. Shelly and Donald have the harsher stuff, but I like my teeth so I stay away from it. Alcohol fits my needs for now.

            Even though I'm trying to forget Claire, I keep thinking about her. Hell, that's part of the reason why I didn't go to school today. I don’t want to face her.  Leaving her house like I did was the wrong move and she deserves better.

            Part of me wonders what it would be like to just give in, to not worry about how it'll end up in the long run or who it'll affect. I want to kiss her before I die. Besides, I won't be here for the fall out and she's tough.

            Wonder what she thought about me not showing up at school.

            "You in here?" Shelly calls from the door. She looks like death. My mom used to be decent looking in her day, but now her cheeks are sunken in, her teeth rotted and missing. Her eyes are bloodshot and I know she's tweaking.

            "What?" I ask as I raise the bottle to my lips.

            "You ungrateful little idiot! Give me that!" She yells as she snatches the bottle from my hands. I don't even make a move for it. I already know what's coming next. It's a movie that plays every week.

            "You gonna drink beer, you best be buying it for yourself. When I come in here looking for you, you say ma'am. You hear me?"

            I nod.
Just get it over with,
I think. It's hard to believe how crazy her eyes look. Wonder what good ole Dad would think of us now or if he would even care.

            "We need money. I know you got some stashed around here or maybe I'll just take the guitar," Shelly says as she starts scratching her neck and it sounds like her fingernails brush against scales.

            I sit up. "No. Not the guitar. Dad bought that for me, so it's not yours."

            Her eyes get bigger and she moves closer, the bottle hanging loosely from her skeletal grip. "You don't mention that man in my house. And since it's my house, I'll take whatever I damn well please!" She smacks me across the face, the burning sensation moving from my cheek to my lip.

            The joke's really on her because I hid my guitar. I knew she'd pawn it again and I need it now more than ever. I can't risk losing it or I'll have to go through with things without playing on stage somewhere. And I really don't want to have to do that.

            "Now where is it?" She looks around, starts turning over everything in my room. I stand there quiet, not sure what to say or think. My face still burns, but she's done worse and I have a sinking feeling in my stomach that she hasn't even done her worst this time.

            Shelly starts to shake as the anger builds and mounts. She turns her hateful gaze on me and then I know it’s coming, that it's almost over. She raises the beer bottle in her hand.

            "Tell me where you hid it!" she holds the bottle near my head, a clear and present threat.

            I say nothing.

            "Fine," is all she says before she busts the glass across my head.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CLAIRE

            Ryder didn't come to school today. I stared at his empty chair and then I decided to finally tell Mrs. Weathersby.

            "I don't think he's okay," is all I manage to get out. It feels like I'm tattling.

            "What do you mean?" she asks as she pushes her glasses into her hair. She looks so young as concern fills her features.

            "He came over to work on the project Saturday and he kind of left abruptly. I…I wondered if you could tell me where he lives so I could check on him? I've got this…this gut feeling thing and it's usually never wrong," I sputter.

            Mrs. Weathersby pulls her purse out of her desk drawer and fishes car keys out of it. "That's all I needed, Claire. I've been wondering the same thing. I'll just head over there since I've got planning next period. You better get to class so you're not late," she offers me a small smile.

            I cross my arms over my chest. "No way. You go, I go."

            Her eyes widen a fraction, and then she smiles a conspiratorial smile. "Legally, I can't tell you where he lives or take you there. But I can't help it if you follow me of your own volition." She gives me a wink as she turns and walks out of the room.

            A smile forms on my own face as I hitch my bag over my shoulder and follow her to the parking lot. One of Lindy's minions yells out at me, "Black Widow! Where's your latest victim?"

            Mrs. Weathersby turns on her heel sharply and shoots the girl a withering look. It works because the girl doesn't even look at me again as she sulks away. My teacher doesn't say a word about it, just continues down the hallway, well aware that I'm on her heels.

            Even as I get in my car and follow her, I feel the sting of those words and pray that Ryder's not a victim. I pray he's okay. Mrs. Weathersby leads us through the nicer section of town and then farther into the outskirts where the poorer people live. We finally reach a trailer park nestled among the pine trees. It’s so run down that it doesn’t even look like anyone lives there anymore. Mrs. Weathersby slows down on the dirt path as she searches for Ryder's home.

            The ill repair of the trailers, most rusted with busted out windows, takes me aback. A couple of them have rebel flags covering their windows. My heart sinks as I think of Ryder out here. He doesn't belong here. We stop at the worst looking trailer of them all. This one is rusted and the bottom is falling apart, the steps leading up to it decrepit and ready to topple over any minute. The blinds are torn in a majority of the slats and there are several windows that are actually broken.

            Mrs. Weathersby gets out of her car and looks over at me, her expression worried. "You should probably go," is all she says as she carefully makes her way to the door.

            I shake my head. No way I'm letting my favorite teacher get killed or whatever. And I've got to find out if Ryder's okay. Mrs. Weathersby lifts a hand and knocks on the door. It slowly squeaks open, but nobody appears behind it.

            "Hello?" She calls out.

            "Who is it?" A rough, rusty female voice calls out. Within moments a woman appears at the door. She's wearing a nasty, stained white tank top and ratty jean shorts that are too short for her age. In some aspects I can see the resemblance to Ryder, but not much. Her blonde hair is clipped on top of her head and she looks like she's on something. I start to regret coming, but I just try to keep thinking of Ryder. This is for Ryder.

            "I'm Mrs. Weathersby, Ryder's teacher. He didn't come to school today, so I wanted to come and check up on him," Mrs. Weathersby says without a hitch. She's strangely calm as I stand a little ways behind her.

            The woman eyes her suspiciously and then her bloodshot gaze lands on me, "Who's that?"

            Mrs. Weathersby feigns surprise as she turns around, "Oh I didn’t realize she followed me. I think that's one of Ryder's friends."

            The woman scrunches her nose up at that. "Ryder doesn't have friends," she snorts.

            "Well is he home?" Mrs. Weathersby continues, ignoring the woman's jab.

            A cool breeze blows through, ruffling the leaves off of the scrawny excuse of a tree near the trailer. My creepy meter is going crazy.

            "No, now thank you for coming," the woman starts to close the door when I hear the sound that makes my heart speed up, my blood start to pulse and race.