Escaping Fate (2 page)

Seven long hours from New York City,
Grainer was the absolute opposite of what a town should be. With a
population of less than fifteen hundred people, Grainer had fewer
stores in the entire town than Manhattan held in a single block. I
hated everything about the town. The first few days had been
miserable, but ever since the dreams had started I had become
increasingly convinced that the move was even more of a terrible
choice than I had realized and longed to go back.

Holding my misery close to my heart, I
crawled out of bed and picked my way between unopened boxes on my
way to the bathroom. I tugged a pair of denim shorts and an off
white linen peasant top from my still packed suitcase as I stumbled
along. The rest of the house was slowly being put away, but my room
looked the same as it had when the boxes and bags had been first
unloaded a week ago. It was a worthless attempt at
protest.

The bathroom floor was surprisingly
neat. I had not left it like that the night before. I sighed,
knowing that my mother must have snuck in after I had fallen asleep
and cleaned up the piles of dirty clothes. My mother was
desperately trying to make the transition to my new home town as
painless as possible. I felt a small measure of guilt at my
obstinate behavior, but not enough to give in.

I had made my opinion on the move very
clear to my parents. In the end, their fears had outweighed my
objections. The apartment was packed up within a month of the
decision and one by one the boxes and furniture were carried down
to the waiting moving van. I sat in the room that would no longer
be my own and cried. The worst part of moving was being alone. I
left all of my friends in Manhattan. My only ally, my brother
David, stayed behind, ready to start college in the fall. Now, I
was alone, alone in my own home.

The night of the first dream had been
the first night I had not woken up crying because of the move. I
had suddenly found a new source of fear. Hoping to scorch away
thought, I turned on the shower until the streams of water were hot
enough to make me wince. I stepped in and let the dull pain clear
my mind. As I showered, I rinsed away the unsettling feelings the
dream had left me. Everything else remained.

I ached for someone to know as I
finished my shower and stood brushing my hair in front of the foggy
bathroom mirror. My silver-green eyes sparkled in contrast to my
thick black hair. As I stared at my own face in the mirror, it
suddenly changed into the face of the raven-haired girl from her
dream, blurred by sacrificial paint. The stranger’s eyes held fear
and blinked away burning tears.

I reached up to brush the tears away,
only to find my face completely dry. I blinked, my eyes opening to
find only my own face, clean and almond colored, staring back at
me. I drew back from the mirror, fearful that the face would
return. Shivering despite the warm misty air that surrounded me, I
quickly left the room.

I had woken up so early that neither of
my parents were awake by the time I left the bathroom. The
stillness of the house made it seem safe enough to leave my room. I
would have at least a few hours of peace before my mother continued
her relentless battle to force me into loving my new life. I
wandered into the box strewn living room and pulled a book off the
top of a stack of boxes.

I was more into blogging and video
chatting than reading, but that was something left behind in
Manhattan for the time being. The book I held had been opened out
of pure boredom my second day in Grainer. Surprisingly, I had blown
through the first half of the novel in just a few days. I had no
idea where the novel had come from, most likely another thoughtful
gesture by my mom, but I was glad to have found it. Plunking down
onto the couch, I sat down to read. Hours later, my mother wandered
out of her room, fully dressed and ready for the day.

“You’re up early,” my mom
commented.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“One of these days you’re going to have
to get used to this place.” My mom sighed at my melancholy.
“Arrabella, run down to the grocery store and pick up these
things,” she said, “and I’ll make us some breakfast.” The list she
handed me was written on one of the brand name medication notepads
my dad often brought home from his office. Her perfect handwriting
was nothing like my dad’s hurried script.

“I’m fine with cereal,” I
said.

“Well you don’t have to eat, but your
father and I would like some breakfast. He starts his new job today
in case you’ve forgotten. I won’t send him to work on an empty
stomach, so go,” she said. Her voice had taken on the firm tone
that I knew not to disobey.

Picking up the list as I dramatically
rolled my eyes, I headed out into the morning sun. I did not want
to do small town things like shopping in the neighborhood grocery
store. I had always been more than happy to shop for groceries in
Manhattan. I loved the street side stands and the hundreds of tiny
specialty markets in Manhattan. There, I was free to wander about
deciding what I wanted, moving from store to store until I had
everything on my list. I loved the endless variety of the
markets.

If the small store in this town did not
have the items I was looking for, too bad, it was the only grocery
store there was. How primitive, I thought. I was not a small town
girl.

The sign hanging above the grocery
store entrance had been hand painted, and not in the trendy art
deco style popular in retro art galleries. The store was small and
quaint and disgusting. I plastered a disapproving grimace on my
face as I walked in. Scowling at the rows of products, I quickly
gathered the items on my mother’s list. Checking the last item off,
I walked the short twenty steps to the checkout counter.

The cashier was a girl not more than a
year older than me. She greeted me with a smile and began scanning
my items. At least they’re not completely backwards here, I thought
when I saw the electronic scanner. In my fog of self-pity and
dislike, I half expected the cashier to pull out a pencil and
calculator. The happy chirp of the flashing red scanner deepened my
scowl.

“You’re new in town, right?” the
cashier asked.

I wondered if her lopsided smile had
anything to do with my sour expression.

“Yeah,” I said. Aren’t small towns
great, I thought in my most sarcastic inner voice.

“It’s not so bad here,” she said. “Most
of us go down to the beach on the weekends to hang out during the
summers. If the weather’s alright this Saturday, we’ll all be there
for a bonfire.”

“Who’s most of us?”

“The high school kids, mostly just
juniors and seniors.”

“Are there more than just you and me?”
I asked. From the size of the town, I would have been surprised to
find out that our graduating class consisted of more than five
students.

“Of course,” the girl said. Her laugh
said she was not surprised by my reaction. “It’s not that small of
a town. My name’s Dani, by the way.”

“I’m Arra.” I watched Dani put the last
of my groceries in a plastic bag. Her friendly smile made me feel a
little less alone. I was suddenly looking for a reason to stay at
the counter a little longer. “So there’s a bonfire at the beach
this weekend?”

Dani nodded. “You’re more than welcome
to come if you want.”

Back in Manhattan I spent most weekends
out with friends, but I was strangely nervous to accept her
invitation. I did not want to care what anyone in Grainer thought
of me, but it seemed unnatural not to care at least a little. “I
don’t think I even remember how to get to the beach,” I said. “It’s
been a few years.”

“Just head east out of town. You’ll
eventually run into it. There’s pretty much nothing between here
and the coast,” Dani said. “If you think you’ll get lost, you can
always just stop back by the store and I can show you how to get
there.”

The frown I had been trying so hard to
hold onto softened into a smile. At least that was one good thing
about Grainer. The beach was close and usually pretty empty.
“Thanks Dani. I’ll definitely think about it.” I walked out of the
store, my steps less sluggish than before.

Chapter Three

When I finally got back to the house,
ignoring an irritated glare from my mom, I could feel my bitterness
starting to slip away. As much as I wanted to, I knew I was not
going to be able to despise my new home forever. Day by day it
would grow on me until I felt at home in the quiet little town. Day
by day. I laughed. It was already beginning to feel more
normal.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, I
took the strawberries out of the grocery bag and began slicing
them. Their sweet smell filled the kitchen. I could not help
popping one into my mouth. Sugary bliss swam over my taste buds. It
was possibly the best strawberry I had ever tasted. My mom had
always complained about store bought produce. She missed the
homegrown fruits and vegetables she had grown up on. I used to
think she was just complaining because she didn’t like the city.
Now I had to admit she was right.

I sat listening to my mom hum as she
turned pancake after pancake. I smiled as the pancake stack grew
higher and higher. The fluffy tower made me think of my brother
David. He was only one person, but the family’s food consumption
had dropped significantly when he moved into his own apartment just
before we left Manhattan. My mom still had not gotten used to the
change. She even had to put back the extra plate when she began
setting the table and serving the food. Thoughts of David not being
here dulled whatever small bit of contentment I had found
earlier.

Despite the allure of the special meal,
I just stared at the strawberry covered pancakes, absently mashing
them with my fork. My mom kept glancing over at me with an anxious
look, but my funk had settled in again. Strawberries and pancakes
were my favorite breakfast food, but I hardly touched the meal.
Knowing my mom had made the meal especially to cheer me up, plus
the staring, eventually won out. I took a bite with a faint
smile.

“
Well, I know that you
wanted to work on your own room again today, but I could really use
your help sorting photos. Those movers did an awful job of packing.
The album pages have all fallen out and the photos are just in
piles at the bottom of the boxes. It will take me forever by
myself,” my mom said with a smile after seeing me spoon the food
into my mouth.

“Yeah, sure, Mom, I can help,” I said.
My enthusiasm was miles short of genuine, but my mom ignored it. I
knew that my mom could sort the photos much more quickly by
herself, but she probably just didn’t want me spending another
sulky day alone in my room. I had been “arranging” it since we got
here. And so far nothing had actually moved. My mom’s obvious plan
to speed my progression towards well-adjusted and happy annoyed me
considerably, but the sigh of relief and pleased smile mellowed my
irritation.

Taking another forced bite before
pushing the plate away, I said, “I’ll go get started,” and left the
table. I saw my mom’s smile twitched a little as I got up, but I
kept moving. She sighed disappointedly as I left the
kitchen.

***

The two of us quietly, but slowly,
organized the dismantled photo albums. Every so often my mom would
pick up a photo of one of us kids, usually me, and tell the story
about the day it was taken. I smiled at each of the stories, but
wished she would just let me work in silence. Or better yet, let me
go back to my room.

Pulling another box over to me I wished
it were the last one. When I opened the box that had once contained
carefully scrapbooked pages of me and David on summer vacations, an
overwhelming loneliness settled over me. Me and David were very
close, or had been before my parents left him behind to prepare for
college. I still had not quite forgiven him for abandoning me, but
at the same time I was excited for him to be on his own.

To my fifteen year old mind, college
was a dreamlike escape, a wonderful life silently waiting for me.
It was only a painful three years away. When David called earlier
in the week, I begged him for every detail of what adult life was
like. Going to work, living on his own, going out on the weekends.
I was so jealous. I longed for college life. David, of course, had
teased me to no end about being stuck in Grainer, but his
excitement quickly bubbled to the surface as he poured out
practically every hour of his week to me. He was so
lucky.

I looked back down at the picture I was
holding and was pulled out of my college dreams by a tiny face
looking back at me from the photo in my hand. The photo was black
and white, slightly yellowed, but the features were still in
perfect detail. Raven black hair, beautiful tinted skin, and
glittering silvery eyes, just like my eyes, stared up at
me.

The girl was about seven years old. She
was cute and perky, just like every picture I had ever seen of
myself, but I wrinkled my face in confusion when I realized that
the little girl was riding a horse. I was absolutely sure this was
me. The face was identical to the one my mom had already hung on
the wall, but I was terrified of horses. I had never ridden one in
my life, and if I had, I certainly would not have been smiling
about it.