Wander Dust (2 page)

Another car drives by, and I remember I’m standing in the front yard in my rumpled pajamas. I quickly run back into the house and slam the door behind me, turn over the dead bolt, and fumble to chain the door. Next, I make my rounds through the house to verify that every door and window is locked. When I’m happy with the security of my fortress, I plant myself on the couch in the TV room. I don’t bother with the remote. I burrow under a quilt, jolting at every creak the house makes until I fall back asleep.

When I wake up an hour later, I’m happy that I managed not to dream. Or, at least if I did, I don’t remember it. I inspect my hand again, but of course, nothing is there because I’m crazy.

I stand up and head for the kitchen with the quilt wrapped around my shoulders. Its long length drags on the floor behind me. I pour myself an orange juice and walk to the kitchen table to sift through the mail. There’s one envelope marked, Miss Seraphina Parrish.

The envelope is weathered but the paper is a lovely, shimmering silver-gray. Beautiful, dark blue calligraphy scrolls across the front. When I turn it over, there’s a black wax seal with a fancy B embossed into it.

After shuffling back to the couch, I place my OJ on the coffee table and settle back into the cushions. Upon closer inspection of the envelope, the origin is impossible to make out. The stamp isn’t from the U.S., the postmark is smudged, and there’s no return address.

Flipping it over, I slide my finger under the back flap. The wax seal pops, releasing its hold. I slide out a piece of paper and unfold it, only to see that it’s blank. On top of the paper sits a photo, one that immediately transfixes me.

::3::
Disappear

His eyes are sparkling green, the color of a deep tropical ocean. A nest of thick, dark lashes surrounds them. His gaze speaks to me, even though I don’t know him. He’s beautiful on so many levels that I wonder if the picture is part of a dream, one infinitely better than what I’ve been having.

I stare at his face and see kindness. A charming grin stretches across his square jaw, abruptly ending at a dimple. One so small, I have to squint to see it. His hair is a disheveled chocolate brown, and there’s a certain air of confidence in his posture. A confidence that far exceeds his age, which appears similar to my own.

I flip over the photo. There’s no name, date, or any other inscription, so I tip over the envelope. Nothing further falls out. It’s just a picture of a boy, one that instantly makes me want to know him.

I slide my finger down one edge of the photo. It’s been trimmed from a larger photo. As far as I can tell, there’s an arm of another boy draped across his shoulders. However, I’m just as unsure about why the two have been separated as I am about having received only this piece of the photo.

As perplexing as the photo is, I stare at him for hours because I realize when I do, I feel safe. He helps me to forget about the Lady in Black and every other unexplainable thing that’s happened. Even though I’m unsure who’s sent him to me, what their reason, or if I will ever meet the boy, I’m grateful for the peace he brings me. This is the most normal I’ve felt in two weeks.

•

Ray comes home, and I’m still cocooned in a blanket, slipping in and out of consciousness.

“So what is this?” He grabs the envelope from the coffee table and waves in front of me.

I sit up and yawn. “Oh, ah...” I stumble over my words. I can hardly tell Ray about a picture of boy when I have no idea who he is. “Was an invitation for a holiday party,” I lie.

“Oh, looks fancy,” he says and tosses it back on the table. “But remember, you’re grounded.”

“I
know
, Dad.” I throw my head back and roll my eyes.

“Just want to make sure you remember.”

How could I forget?

After making a pit stop in the kitchen for coffee, Ray meanders to his office. He stays there all day, working. I stay on the couch, taking advantage of the fact that I’m finally sleeping peacefully.

•

Another week slips by uneventfully. I go to school, come home, do my homework, sleep, and get up and do it all over again. On Saturday, I rehang my curtain, return my room to its original layout, and manage to talk Ray into allowing me to return to practicing with my band members, despite the fact that I’m still grounded in every other way.

When school starts Monday, I’m feeling pretty good. I acknowledge that the boy’s photo might, somehow, be keeping me sane.

All morning, I manage not to peek at the photo, but by my fifth period, government class, I can’t help myself. I slip him from my pocket, just far enough to see his smiling eyes. After one look, he instantly calms me. Mr. LaSalle walks by me, toward the blackboard, and I quickly return the photo. I cross my foot onto my knee and begin doodling on my black Chucks.

Mr. LaSalle paces the front of the classroom blabbing about government structures. “Miss Parrish, please tell the class the definition of a communist government,” he asks me after writing
communism
on the board in yellow chalk. He spins around quickly as though he’s trying to catch me off guard.

“It’s a totalitarian society structure which dictates all government policies, property ownership, job and wages, and distribution of goods based on the collective economic needs of the state with the goal to abolish social class divisions,” I say in one long breath.

For a moment, his mouth hangs open like a fish. “Where did you read that, Miss Parrish—from your tennis shoe?” Mr. LaSalle asks with a snort.

“No—I memorized it from our government book,” I say. Before he has time to respond, the bell rings.

Thirty kids, including me, catapult from their chairs and rush to the classroom exit like a herd of cattle. In the hall, most students migrate toward the cafeteria for lunch. Instead, I make a beeline for the outdoor courtyard.

I push through a set of double doors and inhale, relaxing my shoulders on a deep exhale. For me, leaving school is like coming up for air. Somehow, I always manage to escape right before I feel like I might drown.

I meander to my usual lunch spot, the furthest location allowed on school grounds. When I reach it, I settle on the grass beneath a low palm. The precise angle of the canopy of fronds protects me from the Florida heat.

Words for new music lyrics have tinkered around my head all day. The only way they’ll go away is if I write them down, so I poke around my tote for my pen and journal to make notes for my band members. When the pen eludes me, I dump the bag’s contents out onto a patch of grass. As everything spills out, tiny lizards, previously camouflaged against their surroundings, scurry away in all directions.

Instead of a pen, a glimmering object coiled around my sunglasses catches my interest—my birthday gift. With all my obsessing over the Lady in Black, I’ve forgotten about my mom’s bracelet. This instantly makes me feel guilty.

I eat my sandwich and inspect the bracelet. Clearly, it’s an antique—old, but in decent condition. A large square emerald sits in the center and is complimented by a floral wreath of metalwork to either side of the gem. Diamond chips intertwine the details like twinkling stars. I place it over my wrist. The hard convex shape wears like a cuff but in three linked sections. It fits perfectly. As I start to latch it, my thoughts are with my mom, Eliza.

After a moment of fighting with the clasp, I remember myself and gaze across the courtyard to the clock. “Crap.” I jump.

Chemistry is in the farthest building on campus, and if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for class.

This normally wouldn’t be a big deal. I’ll admit, I’ve missed my fair share of classes, but on several occasions when I’ve actually made an effort to attend, my teacher, Mr. Carver, has slammed the door in my face at the exact moment the final bell rings, refusing to let me in. With today’s impending test, I can’t afford that. On top of everything else, Ray will kill me if I receive another detention.

Clambering, I repack my bag then sprint across the courtyard while trying to fasten the stubborn bracelet clasp on my wrist.

“Geez, Mom, how did you deal with thi—”

The last word never makes it from my mouth. A freezing gush of wind sucks the breath out of my lungs. The ground shakes, jolting me like an earthquake. The earth twists and screams in a hideous, grinding noise under my feet. Behind me, the trees crack in half, grass rips, and building foundations crush into themselves as the earth lifts high up into the blue sky. The land, which has turned into some kind of monster, hovers like a gigantic piece of paper folding over me.

Scared, I run faster, covering my face from the flying debris, but when I look up again, I freeze. The roof of my school building races down from the sky to crush me underneath. I crouch down under its massive shadow, terrified. I know I’m about to die.

Out of nowhere, an invisible force launches me forward as fast as the speed of light and into a wormhole. Confused, I struggle to reorient myself as a kaleidoscope of colors streak by me. Sounds become distant, muted, and warp into eerie whispers that call my name. I recoil away from them. My body bounces off a rubbery wall and explodes in a new direction through violent winds. When I think it will never end, I abruptly collapse in a pile on firm ground.

I remain doubled over on the grass for several moments, shaking. My lungs ache with ragged, uneven breathing.

My hearing returns. I take my head out of my trembling hands. I expect complete silence because I’m certain lunch is over and sixth period has started by now.
Mr. Carver’s door is already shut!
“Uhh!” I groan and roll onto all fours, grasping long blades of cool grass between my fingers. Even though I’ll miss class, I’m happy to feel the earth below me, instead of racing downward from the sky to kill me.

Instead of silence, people are laughing, talking, moving nearby. I decipher a curious new noise—city sounds.

Fuzzy objects slowly reclaim their shapes as I struggle to stand. My equilibrium is still off, so when I swing my tote over my shoulder, I stumble.

Worried, I grab my wrist and check for the bracelet.
Still there
. At least this relieves me.

My eyesight sharpens as I focus on my new surroundings. In the distance, a couple snuggles under a tree, but not a tropical palm like in South Florida. I glance behind them, taking in the unfamiliar historical building. Turning, I see an exceptionally tall, gold obelisk, similar to the Washington Monument. As I look up even higher, behind it stands a one hundred story tall building, the John Hancock Center.

I gasp. My eyes open wide in disbelief.

I’m familiar with Chicago from my sporadic visits to Aunt Mona’s, and I realize I’m looking at it right now. Shocked and perplexed, I scan again, still confused beyond understanding because Miami is gone. Disappeared.

My gaze falls to the cars parked on a nearby road—old cars. I recognize their approximate age from a car show I attended with a friend. Then I notice that all the cars zooming by on the bustling city street are old, at least by twenty years.

My focus whips back to the couple in love. They’re teenagers, but dressed like rock stars from twenty years ago, before I was even born.
Is that some new fashion trend?

Cheerleaders practice handsprings on the lawn nearby. Their long, retro style skirts touch their bare kneecaps.

Right now, I can’t believe what I’m looking at. It’s not only a different city, but it’s also, at least, twenty years before. The thought is absurd. Ridiculous. Impossible.

Because I can’t even begin to process my predicament, I will my feet to run away, in any direction.

I take off. The ground begins to shake below my feet. I pick up my stride to escape it, but the quake worsens, jostling me from side to side. When I glance back over my shoulder, the menacing land rolls up toward the sky, blocking the clouds, the escaping birds, and finally the shining sun. It hovers over me a moment like a crashing wave, and I’m beyond terrified. I rev my arms and run faster.
This cannot be happening again
.

The earth moans in pain as it collapses in on itself. Horrified, I crouch down where I am. Rocks and city debris pelt my back. I do the only thing I can—I cover my ears, protecting them from the awful grinding sound.

When I glance up at the moving earth, I know I’m about to be crushed. But this time, the obelisk that once stood at the center of the courtyard, slices down from the sky like a dagger ready to stab me. Just as its pointed apex skims my shoulder, I throw my body out of its path. As the world snaps shut, I drop through another wormhole.

Motion sickness takes over as my body tumbles through a prismatic haze of colors and whispers. My stomach flops. I close my eyes. I don’t want to see what happens next.

Slam.

•

I awake to a buzzing noise.

Am I dead?

My head hurts. Something crunches beneath me when I move. It’s a bed covered with crunchy paper. Pungent disinfectant lingers in the air. I flinch at the same time that I heave myself in to a sitting position. My wide eyes scan the space. I’m sitting, ramrod, on a cot in my nurse’s office at school. Many faked illnesses have acquainted me with the room’s bubble gum colored walls.

The bell rings.

I jump.

Even though I still feel light-headed, I waddle off the bed, tripping over my own feet. I grab my tote from a plastic chair and dart from the room, hoping to escape before Nurse Perez returns. How can I even begin to explain to her what has happened, especially when I have no idea how I ended up in her office in the first place?

The hallway surges with students. I receive a few shoves as I stand disoriented. Just as it occurs to me that I had no idea how many classes I’ve missed, someone’s arm latches into mine. Before my body can respond, my friend, Beth, pulls me forward.

“Quick!” she says and looks back at me. “We’ll never make it to Carver’s class if you move at this pace! We have a test—remember?” Her eyebrows arc over her brown eyes.

As confused as I am, I understand this: I haven’t missed anything. Beth drags me all the way to chemistry because, under the present circumstances, making it on my own is impossible.

Despite a headache and a nagging suspicion that I might be crazy, I attempt to focus on what I know is real—
science. My mind is still in a fog, but for the next hour, I power through my chemistry exam.

When class finally ends, I need a mental break, specifically some time to contemplate my craziness. As soon as I exit the door, I coerce Beth into skipping next period with me. She agrees.

Together, we creep into a hidden staircase, behind building D, which empties three floors up and out onto a tar and paper rooftop. After determining that the best spot, far away from the edge, we plop down with our bags in the shadow of a large air conditioning unit.

From our hiding place, we have a wide view of Miami Beach. The pastel, art deco buildings gleam in front of turquoise water in the distance. Palm trees rustle in the ocean breeze.

Beth taps a single cigarette from a pack. She traps the cigarette between her lips and pulls it from the box. After two quick flicks from a lighter, she’s puffing away. She blows a long trail of smoke into the air and then coughs a few times.