2020-2021-FICTION

The first Monday of Summer was warm and bright, with a sense of freedom blowing across the sweltering breeze. It hadn’t rained in a week, but the grass was still a bright green, so much so that it looked right out of a storybook. 

Maddie had been waiting for 10:00, but the time had come and gone with no change. Now it was almost 10:30, and she was getting impatient. Sitting on her small front porch, she tapped her foot and squirmed in her seat. The brick stairs were hot from the sunlight filtering through the large oak tree above her. Maddie looked out over the long gray driveway that led up to her one-story home. She sighed. They just had to be late today. The summer wasn’t about being late. 

“Maddie!” She sat up quickly. Scanning the grass at the end of the driveway, her eyes landed on the group. A tall, pale girl, a shorter boy, and one boy in between; tan skin and medium height. Maddie felt her heart flutter. She stood, shaking off the feeling, and raced for them. 

“Hello Allison! Hello Issac!” Maddie said, throwing her arms around two of her friends. Then she pulled away, paused, and turned to the tan boy. “Hi, Owen.” She felt her cheeks turn slightly pinker when Owen responded with a wave. 

Suddenly, a gust of wind, very strong wind, pushed Owen right at her. He was only a few inches away from Maddie when he caught himself. Owen glared at Isaac. Maddie had always admired her friend’s use of their abilities, but she noticed Owen more. 

“Stop,” Allison elbowed Issac in the side and whispered something quietly, so that just Issac could hear. Maddie stared at her feet, glancing up at Owen once, to see him looking back. Maddie decided her shoes  were the most interesting thing in the world. 

Maddie had always thought it was unfair that her friends had gotten their wind-controling powers at least a year before her. It had meant that Allison, Issac, and Owen had a full year of extra training then her, which meant she, currently, couldn’t match their skill. Also, she needed to have the powers in the first place. 

No, not powers. Abilities. That’s what the teachers at her school had called them. Her parents, too. But when the adults left the room, the abilities became powers.    

“Let’s Wind-Fight!” Allison declared, snapping her out of her daze. Maddie blinked, then frowned at her.

“You know I can’t do that.” Maddie told her. 

Wind-Fighting was a game first developed years ago, back when humans first figured out they had the ability to control air pressure and wind direction. Wind-Fighting involved using your full force of will to throw wind at your opponent and try to push them over. Whether that involves picking them up with gusts then dropping them, or increasing the pressure around them, or just throwing sharp gales at them. Maddie often daydreamed about being the Champion, and being celebrated. 

“I think she meant that she wants me to fight her. Right?” Issac asked, turning to Allison. She nodded. 

“Ok, are you betting or not?” Owen asked. 

“I’ll take my usual,” Allison said. Issac laughed. 

“Then I’m not sure I want to win.” Issac said, grinning. Maddie grinned. Allison’s usual tendency was that you had to take her out to lunch.

“And if I win, you each owe me a favor.” Issac said. Owen smiled. 

“Don’t bring me into this!” he said, laughing.

“Just fight,” Maddie told them. Allison gave a small giggle. Turning away from each other, Allison and Issac took 7 paces away from the other. 

“Three, two, one!” Owen counted off. Allison raced to turn and threw up her hand. Issac, who was a bit slower, was caught in her sudden gust. He rose a yard above the ground, feet flailing and kicking. Throwing out an arm, Issac returned Allison’s favor by lifting her above the ground. She crossed her arms and glanced at Maddie. Higher and higher Allison went, almost above the tops of the ancient magnolia trees, and still rising. Maddie raised a hand to her mouth and gasped. “What’s he doing?” Owen muttered, then turned to Issac. “She’s too high! Bring her down!” Issac’s face was flushed, bright pink. 

“I can’t!” Maddie wanted to laugh, and cry, and scream all at once. She wanted to laugh because Issac was the most powerful of their group, yet he couldn’t even undo his own trick. She wanted to cry because he was the most powerful in their group and he couldn’t even undo his own trick. And she wanted to scream because HE WAS THE MOST POWERFUL IN THEIR GROUP AND HE COULDN’T EVEN UNDO HIS OWN TRICK!!! How could she and Owen help, when one of them had incredibly weak abilities and the other none? 

“Just release your hold!” That was another thing that the teachers had said, and Maddie was happy she remembered that. Issac frowned and turned to her. 

“How do you even know that line?” he asked. A high screaming cut him off. 

Maddie’s phrase had worked, having Issac released Allison, just not how she had wanted. Now Allison was hurddenling toward the ground. Issac couldn’t have saved her; his power was depleted and he would need at least 5 minutes to recharge. Maddie turned to Owen. 

“Do something!” Maddie shrieked. Owen threw out a hand, attempting to pull from his own reserves. Maddie watched, helplessly, as Allison slowed to an almost-stop, then began to drop again. Why had she liked this boy at all?

Watching her closest friend plummet, something inside Maddie snapped. She was, in no way, going to stand there helpless and watch Allison fall to her doom. By reflex, Maddie’s arm shot out from her side, her fingers spread wide. Following the path of her fingertips, the powerful blast lifted Allison as she neared a few feet from the hard cement. As the breeze dissipated, Allison was gently set down on her bright green sneakers. Maddie let out the breath that she didn’t know she was holding.

“Well,” Issac started. Owen cleared his throat, then grinned at Maddie.

“Welcome to the club.”

        The stars above me twinkle like thousands of diamonds suspended on an ebony backdrop. Gazing up at them, I wish I could freeze this moment and live in it forever. I can hear your laughter in the soft night wind and feel your presence in the whispering leaves. I don't ever want to leave here, to go back to the trials of my life. I don't want to face them without you. 

       Mama cries every time your name leaves someone's lips. She is like glass, fragile and thin, always on the verge of shattering. Boo tries to hide the pain he feels, but his smile looks as though it has been chiseled from stone. All the life and fun that used to glimmer behind his eyes has faded. Papa’s face is grey and slack, and he moves slower these days. We all do.

       Remember, Chloe, the day that little Brian came home from the hospital? He was so tiny then; his little fists waving as his face crumpled and tears streamed down his rosy cheeks.

       The two of us gazed down at him with wide eyes, unsure what it would be like to be the big sisters of this screaming bundle. Ever the bold one, you reached out and offered him your knuckle in replacement of the binky that no one could seem to locate. He latched on and his whole face relaxed. Right then, we locked eyes and made a silent vow to love him and protect him, and to teach him how to be a Bretwell.

        As he grew, you played peek-a-boo with him so often, calling “boo!” as you revealed your shining blue eyes, that he became convinced that he was called Boo himself. I guess it just stuck. 

        At your funeral, when one of our stuffy great-aunts would waddle up to the line of family to “pay their respects,” calling him “dear little Bryan,” he would firmly correct them. “It’s Boo,” he would say,  “Boo Bretwell.” It was his last tribute to you, I think. 

        And remember….remember the road trip we took to Oregon, just the two of us after I got my license? We were walking around Portland arm-in-arm, laughing and talking in between bites of ice-cream. Strawberry; our favorite. You dropped your cone, and this little scruffy mop with legs came running out of nowhere to lick it off the hot asphalt. 

         You lifted him up and cradled him in your arms. 

         “Well, hey there!” you said, your eyes crinkling with laughter in that way that I loved. Before I knew it, that dirty puppy was in our car on the way back to Idaho with us. Mama didn’t have the heart to say no to your or the puppies’ big, wide eyes and so he became a member of the family and was deemed Gulliver. 

         He’s been my companion since you left. I love Boo to the moon and back, but he won’t talk about you the way I need to. He just pretends everything is fine, even though neither one of us will ever be fine again. I suppose we're all handling your absence in different ways. 

         At least Gulliver just sits and listens. He misses you too. I can tell. Sometimes, I find him curled up on your bed, whining for you. 

         I’ll never forget the day you came to me, your eyes puffy and red. Another boy had used you, and hurt your gentle soul. I held you as you cried and I remember feeling a surge of burning protectiveness as only an older sister can. I never wanted anyone to hurt you again. When Asher came along, I didn’t want to let him get close to you. I couldn’t bear it if he left you crying. In my eyes, nobody deserved you. 

         But he was gentle and kind and funny, and I was soon forced to accept that he was right for you, maybe in a way that none of your boyfriends had ever been.   

         I wonder Chloe: do you remember that terrible night? Do you remember going out with dear Asher? You were just two sixteen-year-olds without a care in the world. I try to imagine what happened in between the time you left our driveway in his red pickup and the moment you left the Earth. 

  I picture you pulling onto the freeway, giggling at Asher’s praise of your new blue dress and blushing when he leans over to kiss you. And then, there is the impact as the drunk driver swerves into Asher’s car. 

   Glass shatters. 

   Metal grinds. 

And you are both gone. 

       Is that how it happened? I suppose I’ll never know. 

       I’m standing here over your grave now, Chloe, and I don’t understand how this cold slab of stone could possibly be the marker of the place where you lie. It has none of your life, your spirit, your fire. It’s just a rock. How could this be where you end? I had always thought there would be a plume of brightly colored flowers growing on the spot where you were buried. Doesn’t nature see how special you were?  Will anyone but me remember your energy and the love that poured from you every day? Or will they stand and recite the things they are meant to say to someone whose sister had died? “ She’s in a better place…it was her time to go...there’s a reason for everything…” All that they say to me seems so polite and so “understanding” and yet so horribly wrong. The words they say could be about anyone. They understand nothing, and they didn’t know you at all. This Earth didn’t deserve you, Chloe. 

  One thing Meemaw said helped me to understand, at least a little, why you had to go. We were sitting outside on the balcony at your wake because I couldn’t stand to look at one more pitying face. I asked her in desperation why God had taken you so soon. I hadn’t cried up until that point, but it wasn’t because I wasn’t broken beyond repair inside. 

         All of a sudden though, the tears burst forth and wrenching sobs wracked my chest. Meemaw didn’t say a word but sat and rubbed my back until my weeping slowed and I couldn’t cry another tear. That was when she said softly;  “The brightest stars burn out the fastest.” 

        Now, looking up at the billions of tiny white lights suspended in the vast, dark sky, I know that of all the brilliant stars in the universe, Chloe, you outshine them all.  

It is way too hot for 8:00 on a Saturday. I glance up at the score, sweat running down my back. We’re tied at 23. I’ve been making goals this whole game, but the other team has Olivia Varp. I went to summer camp with her, and she is so hardcore. She keeps cheating, but she’s so sneaky that almost no one notices. She shoved Remy, who’s also really good (and on my team), and then Remy had to sit out the rest of the game. I glance to the left, and see my teammates Sophia to my left and Aria to my right. They are not running around since this is a penalty kick, since someone finally caught Olivia kicking Grace in the back of the knee. I have to make sure this goes in. If it does, we win. And then we can go to the semi finals. Focus, Abby. I size up the ball, then run for it. My breath catches as I kick it. It was a power kick, the largest I could muster. The black and white ball is sailing towards the goal. It heads for the goalie’s face. Not where I was aiming, but it works. They duck as the ball flies past them. That’s a good word for it. Flies. I hear a cheer erupting from the stands. My teammates swarm me, hugging and high fiving and fist-bumping. We make our way to our coach, Coach. Violet, and she wraps me in a hug. “Great job, Abby.” I grin at her. She gives me a gentle smile as more people crowd around me and I am pulled away. 

I tug on my blue and black striped jersey, with the soccer ball design on the back. My shirt and black shorts match the girls around me, but they’re all wearing their hair in ponytails. I tried that, for our first game, and never made that mistake again. Mine is pulled into a tight bun that my mom makes for me every Saturday at 6:30 a.m., exactly 30 minutes before the game. The field is about 10 minutes away, so I wake up around 6:15. I dress, eat, make my bed, and then sit on the stool in my parent’s bathroom as my mom brushes my hair and pulls it back into the bun. If she’s in a good mode (and already had her coffee), she’ll tie a soft, blue scrunchie into the bun, to match my outfit. I need her to do it, because if I try to do it, my hair explodes. Literally. Somehow the bun can hold up through all the jostling of the game, but it can’t take my fingers. Even reaching back to touch it can ruin it. That reminds me of my family. I see my mom and sister. Dad couldn’t make it, but I understand. He is in Africa for a week, doing I-don’t-know-what because I-don’t-really-care. I don’t even know what he does, or who he works for. He won’t tell us, so my sister and I guess every week. My favorite idea is Government Mind Control. 

Walking toward them is too slow, but I start like that. Then I break into a full-out sprint, my cleats giving me the traction I need. I jump into the hug, pulling my sister closer to me and mom. Eliza is only 6, but she looks like me with her long strawberry blonde hair and green eyes. We take after Dad in looks, but I get my tall height and thin build from Mom. Eliza and I look so different from Mom’s chocolate hair and eyes, but we all share the same pale skin. I push back a lock of curled hair from my forehead. That’s another thing, that everyone else in my family has straight hair. My hair is a few inches less than waist length and is very curly. On good days, each curl is well defined and smooth. On bad ones I look like our pet poodle, Mikey, who has medium length, white and super curly hair. I might as well have stuck my hand on an electric fence, that’s how bad it can be. I actually have touched an electric fence, but just because no one thought to put a sigh. It made this weird clicking noise when I touched it, and it really hurt. 

Anyway, I finally managed to escape my suffocating hug, my mom beams at me, her brown eyes shining. “Wow. I knew you were going to win.” Eliza pops her head around Mom’s arm. 

“You promised ice cream! I want ice cream! Now!” I laugh and gently tug at her hair. She frowned at me. “You want ice cream too, right?” I smirk and nod. 

“Why, of course. What crazy person doesn't want ice cream?” Eliza lights up and begins to pull on my hand. 

“What about Emily? Isn't she going to come?” Mom asks. I nod. 

“Be right back.” I don’t want to go back to the sweaty ball of the players, but luckily Emily has stationed herself just outside of them. Her family didn’t even bother to come, which I hate. Whenever we hang out, we go to my house, or the park. I notice her dark looks ashen, her black hair falling out of her ponytail. “Em?” She looks up and her color returns immediately. 

“Abby!” She says, looking overly relieved. “I thought you had forgotten me. Remember the time my parents forgot me at the game?” I nod and smile, taking my best friend’s hand. It was the day I noticed her. She was an ok player, not great, but not bad either. She had been sitting on the bench after everyone had left, staring at her phone. I remember walking up to her, confused since no one was there but her. My mom had taken Eliza to the park across the street, so it was just me and her on the field. 

“Hey.” I had said. 

“Hey.”

“Where are your parents?” I asked. She had shrugged. 

“They left.” 

“Why didn’t you go with them?” I asked. I was in sixth grade at the time, so everyone’s business was my business. Being nosey didn’t exist. The girl had just sighed.

“I didn’t realize they left. I think they forgot me.” 

“Oh.” I couldn’t imagine that. My parents would never leave me or Eliza anywhere. “Do you want to come home with me? My mom is getting me ice cream and you can have some too.” She had looked at me with wide eyes. 

“What? Really?” I remember nodding. She grinned. “I’m Emily, but my friends call me Em.” 

“I’m Abby.” I stood and offered her my hand. She took it. We started off down the street toward my mom. 

“Abby?” Present-day Emily asks, snapping me out of my daze. She pulls me forward. “Ice cream awaits! What are you waiting for?” I smile as we walk toward my mom. We tread to the car, talking about whatever crosses our minds. Mom slides into the driver's seat as Eliza sits in the passenger. It’s rare times like these she gets the front. Mom starts the car. We pull out of the large parking lot and into traffic. 

“What ice cream are you gonna get?” I ask Emily. She just smiles and shrugs. I turn to Mom. “What size can we get?”

“Since you won, a large is fine.” 

“Yes!” Eliza shrieks. 

“Not for you, silly!” My mom slows the car as the light turns red. “You didn’t play soccer. You can have a small one.” Eliza pouts. 

“I was being a cheerleader! Does that count?” Eliza is super flexible, so I don’t doubt that. 

“Fine,” Mom caves. “A medium.” 

“Yay!” Eliza says. The light turned green, and we head left. I see the ice cream place a few blocks away. 

Suddenly I hear an engine running to our left. Eliza screams as the car jerks violently, and I hit my head. Hard. I gasp as the world goes black. 

~~_~~

The pain is tangible. Even here, in the darkness. Voices fade in and out. I don’t recognize them. A sharp pain in my arm jerks me awake. I see a glimpse of the room I’m in. A sterile white, and I can’t tell anything else. The view is warped, somehow. Like it’s only out of one eye and under sedatives. It’s all I see before I am pulled under. 

When I resurface the second time, I don’t see anything but hear a voice. 

“Abby? Abby? Please wake up. It’s Eliza. “Mommy won’t wake up and Daddy’s not here. Abby?” Eliza. I need to see her, to know she is real, not part of a dream. But I am pulled under again. 

This last time I woke up, everything was wrong. The first thing I noticed was the smell. It was rubbing alcohol and too much lemon, like a mixture of a hospital and your grandmother’s house. Wait. Hospital? I open my right eye, then promptly shut them. Oww. Too much light. I attempt to  hear what I can, which is a whole lot of nothing. If I focus, I’m able to hear some kind of instrumental music coming from my right. I gently crack open my right eye and give it a moment to adjust. I can see I’m in a small room. It has 2 cots, which are both occupied. Since I don’t notice anything else worth mentioning, except for a wheeling cart to my left, I tilt my head to the cot to my right. I see a small figure in it. I attempt to pry open my left eye. I feel a gentle pressure on my face and decide to leave it closed. 

“Eliza?” I whisper weakly. I try again. “Eliza!” She jumps, only half awake. 

“Abby?” I nod. She bursts into tears and leaps in my cot with me. I embrace her as she sobs into my shoulder. “First Mommy won’t wake up, and Daddy won’t come home from Africa, and Emy has an ouchy, and you --” I cut her off.

“Tell me about Mommy and Em first, ok?” She can barely nod. 

“When the car went kaboom, she--” A woman walks into the room from a door I hadn’t noticed. She is tall, and has pale skin and blue eyes. Her blonde hair is braided over one shoulder. 

“Eliza,” she says kindly. “How about I tell Abigale--”

“It’s Abby,” I corrected. She smiles.

“Of course. How about I tell Abby about what happened and you go get some candy for her?” She glances back from Eliza to me. “What do you like?” 

“Anything chocolate or gummy.” I tell Eliza. She races out the door as the woman pulls a chair up to my cot.  

“Hello,” The woman starts in a kindly voice. I can’t help but smile back. “We can either have me explain everything, and then you ask questions, or you can just start asking questions.”

“Number one, and some water?” She laughs and hands me a water bottle. I chug it. 

“OK,” she starts once I’ve stopped drinking. “To start, I’m Nurse Ameila. You need to know that your sister is  a miracle. She could have been impaled by the broken glass or hit the dashboard, but she was absolutely fine, save a few scrapes and bruises.” I let out a laugh. 

“Really? Completely fine?” She grins at me.

“Yep. But your friend,” she checks a paper in her hand. “Emily. She’s broken both an arm and a leg. But she’ll be ok, since they were both hairline fractures. And your mother, she has been heavily sedated. That’s what Eliza meant. She has a few crushed ribs, and two broken legs.” I wince. “Don’t worry, she’ll also be fine. Her legs are already mostly mended and her ribs will be great in a few days.”

“Who got the most of the hit? Who will have lasting scars?” I ask tenderly. She looks at me sadly. 

“You, but it’s really this one area.” She reaches out to trace the covering over my eye. It’s an eye patch, I realize. 

“What happened?” 

“You hit your head pretty hard, and that caused some internal damage. Possibly permanent, but it’s too early to tell.”

“What do you think happened?” I’m internally praying that I won’t have a dented eye. 

“I’m . . . not allowed to say.” She drops her gaze to hear feet.

“It can’t be too bad.” What am I doing? I’m the one on the cot, she should be assuring me! 

“If you would like, I can go get your doctor.” I nod. She stands to leave. Taking one last glance at me, she leaves.

I wait for what seems like an hour, but is probably just a minute. A clock ticks loudly on a wall, high above my head. A little later, a short black woman walks in. She has small oval glasses perched on her nose, and she is wearing a white doctor coat with a blue shirt covered in yellow smiley faces. Her grim expression is at odds with them. She turns back to the door to talk to someone outside. Something about ‘sterile’ is all I hear. I see a burn of dark hair. I reach back to see if mine is still alive. Nope. My curly hair is loose, but it looks like it’s pitying me because it is one of those good days. It hangs limply around my shoulders. I glance down to find that I am no longer dressed in my soccer uniform, but a hospital gown. I don’t want to know who, when, where, or how. I’m good with the why.

The short woman walks toward me. She takes Nurse Ameila’s seat. I can already tell she will be a lot less happy than Nurse Amelia. 

“Hello.” She has a voice that is low and strict, like a principal. “You may call me Dr. Morgan, and I have been watching your progress. I have been allowed the pleasure of explaining your injuries.” She gives me an icy smile. I have a feeling this is not a pleasure for her. I’m also pretty sure that the temperature just dropped 10 degrees. “Why do you think that you are wearing an eye patch?” I shrug. “Take it off.” 

My arm shakes as I reach up. I squeeze my eyes tightly closed as I pull off the eye patch. I pull the band that was wrapped around my head into my hand. I slowly, slowly open my eyes. Dr. Morgan is looking at me expectantly. I blink. Then frown. I reach back up to my face. There is nothing there. Just my face, with nothing blocking my eye. That’s impossible. 

“What.” I breathe. “What’s going on? My eye isn’t working.” I’m starting to freak out. I touch my face again. “I can’t see, I can’t see, I can’t see!” Where yesterday was a flow of info is now just a squishy lump.

“I can explain.” Dr. Morgan says. I calm just enough to listen to her. “When you hit your head, you had some internal bleeding, and you bled into your retina. You have retinal detachment in your left eye.” So that’s why it feels like I’m covering my eye with my hand. Not even a glimpse of light breaks through the overwhelming darkness. I yank the eye patch back on. I don’t know why it helps, but it makes it feel a lot less real. 

“Am I blind?” A tear escapes my good eye. 

“Not permanently,” Air floods back to my lungs. 

“Not permanently.” I repeat. I say it one more time, so it feels real. Then I realized something. “Why didn’t you fix it while I was unconscious? And how long has it been?”

“A week.” My eyes bug out. 

“It’s Saturday?! I have a game today!” She sighs.

“No, it’s 1:30 in the afternoon. Aren’t those games super early?” I nod. 

“Did my team win?” She sighs again.

“I have no idea, and we didn’t fix you because these things cost money. Money that you don’t have, and your mother is unconscious and your father in another continent. Your sister was able to stay here because she refused to leave. And we couldn’t exactly force her.” Dr. Morgan pulled back her sleeve to reveal a bit mark. My jaw drops. 

“Eliza did that? No way,” She smirks at me.

“Yes, way. She even managed to break the skin.” It looks pretty healed. “She did it Monday, by the way. When I tried to get her to leave.”

“Why isn’t Dad here?” I can’t help but ask. She sighs.

“Do you know what he does?” I shake my head. “You father is one of the most renowned scientists in the world.” She looks at me with a sense of awe, her cold tone gone. “Have you never heard of Dr. James William Adler?” 

“He never talked about his work.”

“Well, he’s in Africa because, after his groundbreaking discoveries in the yellow fever, he has been asked to take a look at malaria.” Wow. How did I never realize that my dad was famous in the world of boring stuff? 

“Hey, let’s go back to the eye thing. When do I need it fixed by?”

“It’s best done within a few days.” she admits, cold tone returning, but also not daring to look me in the eye. “If not, it increases the risk of permanent blindness.” I pause, feeling the anger rise in me.

“So what you’re saying is that I may go blind because no one bothered to pay you? You just decide my vision wasn’t worth your time? You think that this isn’t going to matter?!” I’m screaming by now. Dr. Morgan shrinks under my gaze, mumbling what I assume are useless excuses. “WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT!?” Suddenly the door bursts open and Eliza walks in. Well, she skips in, but then sees me looking very angry and freezes. She slinks up and places a bag of sour gummy bears in my lap. My favorite. “Thank you, Eliza.” I say in a controlled voice, not removing my gaze from Dr. Morgan. She takes my hand and I deflate, look at her watery green eyes. Dr. Morgan leaves. Eliza moves the candy to the cart to my left and crawls in with me. We cry together as I slip into a dreamless sleep.