1989--June

Like the pigments from paintings of oceans from a thousand skies, her eyes. It almost knocks me over; the sight of her stings. It stings the heart in an unthinkable notion. The kind of feeling that you don’t just get from heartburn, but rather, the faintest, most quaint idea that something, something out there could make you heart finally sing once more.

If I were to be gone, she would wake me up in a flash; she would make me everlasting. No one could take me away. I would stay with her forever, and I vow my whole heart and soul to this girl. She doesn’t even know my name.

I don’t normally jump to conclusions about random people, but this girl was something else.

She had abnormally glittery eyes. If the moon got pushed closer to the earth by a meteor, no one would ever think about the potential harm, because this girl’s eyes were that stunning. Her eyes push me back so hard I stumble back from the first few steps onto that old dirt road we’ve all come to know as Plamesview.

Plamesview is that old road in the backyard you’re never supposed to go to, according to your parents, yet no one-and I mean no one-will stop you even if you tried to step over that do not cross sign. It’s like that place that you always dream of one day running off to when you’re in a tizzy, but you never go because you’re afraid of the potential harm. It’s not like anyone else has ever gotten hurt, or murdered, or shot, or raped. It’s just; the thought of there being a specific rule about this one road gathers your mind in a tedious way. It’s long enough to make you go crazy. If you were to go to the other side of that road, you would most likely never come back. And that, my friend, was the fun part.

So this girl, who doesn’t know my name, steps over. She’s obviously new to town, but you don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable or weird or like she doesn’t belong, so you keep your mouth shut.
It’s like she has no idea she’s being incredibly ignorant, and quite frankly rude, to the people around her. Us kids have a reputation to keep and it’s definitely not the one that jumps over do not cross fences.

I’m not going to just let her keep going-after all; she doesn’t want to ruin her reputation as well. Of course, it might ruin mine, but I’m not quite sure, because I’m doing this for the better of her.

Perhaps I’m only doing this because of her eyes, but it’s not the point. This girl could die, for all we know, and I’m not willing to take that chance.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I shout, darting over to the fence.

She doesn’t respond. She wipes her knees of dirt and continues on into the distance. I don’t know whether or not this girl is out of her mind, but I wasn’t going to let her walk into that vast area all by herself-oh no. But the fence….

It scares me, to be honest. It’s always been that thing that everyone is dared to climb over, but when they put one sole of the shoe on the wire diamond, everyone runs away screaming and giggling immaturely. Everyone in our town acts like a bunch of five year olds. It’s not our fault our parents raise us to be afraid of the outside world. It’s not our fault we have to endure nights of TV-less agony, unlike those other kids from Park Rush. It’s not our fault, and it’s not fair.

“Hey! Wait up!” I roar.

The girl must have some issues at home. She is insisting on ignoring every word that comes out of my mouth. If she’s anything like this towards her parents, I hope God blesses them.

“Please! Stop!”

“I’m not doing anything wrong here, buddy” she finally snaps, after we are about a half mile past the fence. She doesn’t look at me. She’s just standing there looking at the yellow half circle on the horizon. The soft wind hits her hair and makes it move ever so slightly. The grass is killed when she decides to step on every last piece as if it’s begging for mercy.

“Are you new or something?”

She still doesn’t look. She sits. She waits. For what? I don’t know.

“What are you doing?”

“I come here every Friday and sit,”

“What does that even mean?”

This time she looks, but her eyes aren’t filled with that glossy shine I knew before this very moment. “It’s none of your beeswax, kid,”

“Well I’m going back. Have a nice life,”

She turns back to the sun and stares.

“You know if you do that, you’ll go blind,” I shout behind my back and continue to walk down the path keeping a very low profile.


The ground was rough on Plamesview. If an outsider were to look at it, they would think they had just walked into the Sahara desert. There are many cracks and ditches and no rivers and it’s quite scary, actually. Every so often, you’ll see the wanting of life creeping up between the cracks in the rusty dirt. Green patches of grass, a strand or two pop out saying hello and pop back in as if making their own funeral. But since I’m not an outsider, I just see home.

I should feel shameful for walking on Plamesview without anyone but that girl knowing. But I’m not. Nothing happened. I shouldn’t feel sorry for my actions because it’s not like anyone knew what they were protecting us from. There was nothing but ground and grass and sun and girl. How is that supposed to be dangerous? What was the point of putting a fence there when NOTHING was coming after us? The thought escapes me.

Maybe it was meant to be or something; for someone to stroll on in and for me to find her and follow her and wonder this. That’s what I’d like to think…but it’s not like that’s possible or anything.


1989—October



You know, people would expect to see that girl in the paper. They’d expect to see her picture under the headlines, “Girl gets kidnapped and never returns home”. After what happened, or should I say, didn’t happen that day, I learned that I can get away with things never thought imaginable. I could actually follow my dreams and explore the outside world instead of just sitting back and listening to it all happen around me. I don’t want to be that kind of person.

I should tell you. I should tell you that I didn’t see this girl at all until the other day when I was shopping with my mom in that old market with the red and white awning. It was raining, and I remember it as if it happened just two minutes ago. It had been the first storm since the summer months, giving us that final push into the fall. I had noticed that no one had been carrying an umbrella and were scurrying around trying to find a perfect tarp to keep their hair in place. That market with the red and white awning was where my mother and I darted over to first.

At first we were walking towards the video store, but we also needed food like a pack of wolves with empty bellies, so it was no trouble at all when we felt that first threatening drop of the inevitable. It felt good to know our drought was over, but of course, we didn’t want to get too soaked.

So I’m walking down the aisle, right? Not the getting married aisle, but the one in the grocery store stuffed ceiling tall with canned goods and cereal boxes. I was the cart pusher and mom was the thrower inner; I was doing a pretty good job too, until I saw her. I caught just one glimpse of those eyes, those deep blue, sparkly eyes that I had been dreaming about for months. It couldn’t be…CRASH!
I knock over a good chunk of apples in the produce section. Pitter pat, pitter pat; the apples go. Fall, fall, fall: one by one.

“What do you think you’re doing?” my mom shrieks, in astonishment, “Were you even paying attention?”

“Oh! Oh…sorry. Didn’t mean too crash,” I say frantically placing the apples back into the bin, “let’s continue,”


People looked at us with miniature glares, making sure their eyes spat out the worst message possible: what’s wrong with you? I don’t know. All I know is that either she’s crazy for making me want to jump over that fence, or I’m crazy for actually following through with it. It’s probably—you guessed it: me.

I’m walking faster now; faster than the others, at least. I scan the aisles for bread crumbs and avocados as I was told to do so by my mother. Bread, sardines, snack cakes, butter, Jello….junk food, produ—BUMP!

“Aghh!” she shrieks.

I manage to do the worst thing a man (well a fourteen-year-old may not be considered a man to you, but after what I’ve been through the past few months, I consider it a pretty good classification) could possibly do to the opposite sex. I spilled the entire contents of my Starbucks Coffee all over her white blouse. And guess what? It’s her. It’s that fence girl. She’s alive and well, and so are her eyes. I thought it was but a dream…what I had witnessed just a while ago. I thought it wouldn’t, couldn’t be her. I thought she was going to be dead or something…I thought she’d be gone.

“Oh my gosh!” I stand there, arms out, shoulders shrugged. She’s doing the same thing, but looking at herself, her shirt. There, right in the center, lays a big lump of light brown wetness. What have I done?!

I bet people are starting to get real angry with me now. First the apples, and now this? Wow, I’m a real big jerk, that’s what I am. I wonder what they are thinking…am I just clumsy? Or am I a complete dick for wanting to even be near this girl. Eyes.

She looks up. She looks for a long time. It’s our first actual eye contact. Wow.

“I-I d-didn’t m-m-mean too,” I stutter, “I-I’m reallllllly sorrrrrrry,” I give her that puppy dog look you see on those old fart commercials.

She just stands there, puts her hands by her side and gets really close to me. I can see her eyes really good this time; they are really close. Green flecks—she has green flecks, “It’s okay,” she whispers in my ear. And by the time I can even think about turning around and asking if she needs any help, she’s gone.


1989—November



I’d like to tell you that school has been a great experience for me thus far, but the way I see it, school has never been such a freaking drag. First there’s the teachers. If they aren’t yelling at me for one thing, they are handing me a detention slip for the other. If I wasn’t so tempted by Miss. Donahue, during history class, they wouldn’t be telling me anything otherwise.

You see, ever since the beginning of the year, Miss. Donaheu has been that girl that makes all of the guys get butterflies in their stomachs. The way she talks, acts, looks makes us all distracted. I’m sure the only reason all of us guys are failing is because instead of looking at her eyes while she’s talking, we’re forced to stare into the inevitable: boobies! Yea, I went there.

So here I am in history class, looking at those plump, how should I say it, grapefruits, and all I can think about is how I’m thankful for her. If it weren’t for Miss. Donaheu, I wouldn’t go to school at all. Forget the law, the cops, the potential failure at life; I don’t care about that stuff. School’s just a place you go when parents are at work. School is just a babysitter. At least that’s how I see it. It’s not like we learn anything, anyway. We’re forced to sit in a chair, write down pointless notes about happened before we were even born, and hope to god we don’t get called on when we don’t have the answer.

So Miss. Donaheu does just that. Calls on me. As if I had the answer!

“Andrew, wake up! What’s the answer?” she insists.


“Miss. Donaheu, I don’t know” I say, not hiding my eager eyes, spying the prize. It gets all quiet, and people look at me long enough to realize what had just happened. They start turning red and some choke on their laughs.

“Uh, Andrew…do you need to go to the nurse or something?” she asks, glancing at my upper thighs.

S***! I got a boner in front of the whole class and Miss. Donaheu! My reputation, life, and complete desire to go to school have just faded away to the shadows of Plamesview. A place I plan on going to. Tonight.


***


There it is. Wire connected by wire, stuck into the ground so deep, if you dug you just might find my soul. One foot on, one foot off; one hand low, one hand high. Push, push again, and jump. I’m over. I’m over and it feels so good. The sun’s away, sleeping for now. My feet are here, awake as can be. They move forward, faster and faster until I reach my final destination. I step on an old, beat up sliver of grass; dead. I grab from its root, another piece and another until all of the grass is misplaced and scattered all around the sandy, dirt road. I toss and I scream so loud. No one hears me. I don’t want anyone to hear me. This is my moment to let it all out. Let all of the stress, the worry, the embarrassment out. Let it all out.

When I’m done, it’s real quiet. So quiet, I feel a little foolish. I really don’t even care though, so much I sit down and look out. For miles and miles around me, I can see nothing. For miles and miles, it’s just dirt and left over grass. I look there for so long, I manage to pretend to meditate, or whatever you call it. I close my eyes for what feels like a second, and when I open them, it’s Saturday.

Sun streams on my back and evaporates the excess drool from my mouth. What. Have. I. Done? I must have lost my mind! Standing up and fixing my clothes, wiping the grass from my head. I look around frantically. Which way is home? Where is the fence? North, east, south, west?

“HELP!” I yell.

Nothing. Nothing is all I can ask for, I suppose. What, or who I should say, would answer me? No one’s out here anyway.

“ANYONE?!”

Footsteps. I turn around, fast.

“Who’s there?” I mutter under my breath.

“It happens to me sometimes. I just follow my feet. They’ll take you home,” a feminine voice says, with a small giggle. Is she making fun of me? What’s her problem? I look around, but nothing’s there. Look around some more. All I see is a girl with golden brown hair and crystal blue eyes, laying on her stomach with her feet in the air, hands under her chin. “Teehee!” she giggles again.

I suppose it’s my turn to send a chuckle or two over, but I’m not going to do it. I just stare. Why does she always just show up in my life? Why does she even care about being here? I don’t understand.
I don’t understand because it’s her. It’s her again.