Amber Kizer's Blog - Posts Tagged "excerpt"
The first three chapters of MERIDIAN!
Below are the first three chapters of MERIDIAN (Aug 11, 2009). Enjoy! [an easier to read, formatted version is available at www.MeridianSozu.com:]
“In the economy of Nature nothing is ever lost.
I cannot believe that the soul of man
shall prove the one exception.”
Gene Stratton-Porter
Afterword from JESUS OF THE EMERALD 1923
PROLOGUE
The first creatures to seek me were the insects; my parents cleaned the bassinet free of dead ants the morning after they brought me home from the hospital. My first word was “dead.”
At age four, when I stepped out of bed and popped a giant toad like a water balloon, I never again turned any lights off.
For all of my sixth year, I slept sitting up thinking I’d spot the dying coming toward me.
There were times when it felt like my insides were full of broken glass, times when the souls of the animals passing through me felt too big, too much. I’d open my eyes in the morning and peer into the glassy gaze of a mouse on my pillow. Death never became my comfortable companion.
I didn’t have nightmares about monsters; I wasn’t afraid of a thing in my closet. In fact, there were many times when I wished they, the dying, would hide under my bed instead of burrowing into the pile of stuffed animals by my head.
My mother hugged me, told me I was special. I’d like to think my parents weren’t revolted by me. But I’ll never forget the feelings apparent in the glances they exchanged over my head. Worry. Fear. Repulsion. Concern.
My first chore was to clean up the carcasses. My second was to make the bed. I’d don rubber gloves and pick the dead up. My hands grew callused from digging so many graves. We ran out of room in the backyard by my fourteenth birthday. When I was too ill to do it, my dad stepped in and removed them, but it was always with thinly veiled disgust.
I trembled my way through the days, constantly sleep deprived, chronically ill. My stomach always hurt. Low-grade headaches constantly thumped a slow tempo. Doctors labeled me a hypochondriac, or worse—still they never found causes for the symptoms. The pain was real. The cause a mystery. They suggested shrinks. Growing pains. Perhaps I was one of those children who required lots of attention. I’d catch my mom staring at me—she often started conversations, only to break off and leave the room.
With each moon phase, the animals got bigger. Soon, they came during the day as well. At school, kids whispered my nicknames: Reaper, Grave Digger, Witch. Others, I pretended not to hear. Adults ostracized me, too. It hurt.
As I got older and stopped trying to bond, I came to the same conclusion as everyone else. I was weird. A freak. A sideshow act.
When my brother Sam was born, I kept a vigil in his room. Intent on cleaning up the dead things before he woke. I focused on making him feel that he wasn’t alone, that I understood how scary this world could be. I wouldn’t let him suffer my fears; he’d be normal in my eyes. By the time he was a month-old and the only dead came near him because of me, I retreated.
My parents pretended it didn’t matter. That nothing ever died around me. That our backyard wasn’t a graveyard. If anything, they acted like I had a talent. A gift.
If we had an extended family, I didn’t know them. The only exception was my namesake, a great-Aunt who sent me birthday quilts once a year. My world was, and is, me and death. It’s a lonely place to live, but I thought things were getting better. My name is Meridian Sozu, and I was wrong.
CHAPTER ONE
I got up the morning of December twenty-first anticipating a four day weekend for the Christmas holiday. I went to a snotty private prep school that took breaks the way most people go to the dentist. Only when they really, really had to.
Which is why I had school the twenty-first, on my sixteenth birthday. My parents refused to let me skip. It was a typical, normal day. For me “normal” meant that my stomach churned so much I swallowed Tums by the roll, and never went anywhere without Advil. My eyes depended on Visine for clarity; otherwise, I gawked in the mirror and saw the eyes of a lifetime alcoholic. I kept a stash of ace bandages and braces in my locker at school.
I coped. I studied. I kept up the façade, but I desperately needed a break. Time to sleep late. Time to eat too much and catch up painting my nails with glitter. Time to stop faking it and be myself, even if no one noticed. Time to dye my hair, currently it was the obnoxious red of tomato juice. I figured black would be a nice way to start the New Year. It fit my mood. I tucked my prerequisite white cotton blouse into my perfectly pleated tartan skirt.
There were also a bunch of new DVDs I wanted to watch. Movies about girls my age having crushes and friends and being absolutely, completely normal.
I added thick black eyeliner and three coats of mascara, as if I could make the bruises beneath my eyes an accessory. Then, I painted on clear lip gloss and tugged at the opaque tights I wore, pushing our dress code to the limit. I didn’t mind uniforms. At least I was part of a group for once in my life. But I hated looking like a little Lolita. I stared at my reflection hoping to see answers. Wishing I saw the solution to my life.
To my mutinous reflection, I rattled off the constellation names I’d been memorizing for the advanced astronomy test I had the following Tuesday.
The phone shrilled: once, twice. I tossed my toothbrush into the sink and grabbed the hallway extension. The phone never rang for me, but I still answered it, hoping.
“Hello?”
Silence. Breathing. Murmuring.
“Hello?” I repeated.
Mom appeared at the top of the stairs. “Who is it?” Concern deepened the lines on her face, aging her.
I shrugged at her, shook my head. “Hello?”
She yanked the phone cord out of the wall, breathing fast, suddenly wild-eyed and pale.
Dad raced up the stairs. “Another one?”
Mom’s fist clenched the cord and she fiercely wrenched me into her arms. What the hell?
“What’s going on?” I let her hold me, and listened to her breath catch. My dad kept petting my hair. For the last five years, they hadn’t touched me except for accidents or unavoidables. Now, they didn’t seem to want to let go.
“It’s started.” Dad was the first to step away.
“What’s started?” I pushed away as the phone rang downstairs.
“We’ll talk more after school. You have a big test today.” I recognized the stubborn expression on mom’s face.
“I think we should-“ Dad pressed her shoulders, rubbed her neck like he always did when she was upset.
“No, not yet. Not yet.” Mom chanted.
“What is going on?” I felt fear sizzle in my spine. “Rosie-“ Dad cradled mom’s cheek with one hand and
reached for me.
“After school,” Mom said firmly. “Be careful today. Extra careful.”
“Why don’t you tell me why?” I asked. “Is this about my birthday? Turning sixteen? I can wait to get my license for a few months. I mean I’d like to drive, but if you’re this scared we can talk about it.”
Mom smoothed my hair, shaking her head. “After school.”
I shrugged and looked to my father for guidance. His expression told me he wouldn’t break ranks. “Is it boys? I’m not dating; it’s not like there’s a guy-“
Mom cut me off. “Do you want pancakes?”
I never eat breakfast. “No, that’s okay. I should catch the bus or I’ll be late.” What else can there be? My grades are excellent.
“Mer-D!” Sammy launched himself at me. As a toddler he’d given me a nickname that stuck, so even at age six I was still his Mer-D. “Happy birthday! I got you a presie. I got you a presie. Wanna know? Wanna know?” He danced around the kitchen with a maple syrup-covered fork, Pollock-ing every surface with stickiness.
“Later, Sammy. After school, okay? With cake?” I adored him. Loved him in the unconditional way I’d never received, except from him. He wasn’t afraid of me. He’d pretend to blow up the dead things with his Lego men or pose them in little forts, like caricatures of life.
“Cake, cake, makey-cakey.” He pranced around, his face split in a grin.
I dropped my voice so Sammy wouldn’t hear me. Turning back to my mom I said, “Why are you so freaked?”
Dad answered for her. “There is something we need to discuss when you get home, but it can wait.”
“Are you sure?” I pressed. I hadn’t ever seen either of them this anxious.
“You don’t want to miss your bus.” Mom hovered. She’d been swinging from overprotective to distant for the last few months. There was an almost tangible distance like an ocean between us. I’d catch her scrutinizing me, like she was trying to memorize my DNA.
“You have everything you need?” She stared at me, patted my hair and tucked an errant curl behind my ear. She always made me want to shake my head and mess up the curls more.
“Fine. Yup.” I shrugged her off, marching out of the kitchen feeling like a kid at an adult’s only party, pissed that they wouldn’t just tell me. Secrets made me feel small and insignificant. There was a vibe I couldn’t place. I shrugged my backpack on.
Mom gave me a pathetic, sad smile that made her haggard. She didn’t say anything else.
Dad strode out from the kitchen. “Meridian, wait.” He drew me to him and hugged me so tight breathing was a challenge.
“Dad?” I leaned away, confused.
At least Sammy wasn’t acting strange. He was playing with the Lego set he’d opened the day before, on his birthday. My mom, brother and I were all born within a day or two of each other.
Mom kissed my forehead as I heard the bus clank down the street. I set off in a limping gallop without glancing back. The bus made a distinct chugging sound that made me want to hurry even when I already waited at the bus stop. So Pavlov. My right knee felt stiff and swollen. I reached the stop as the doors opened and other Prep kids got on in front of me. None of us spoke—or better to say, everyone ignored me. Another day, another eye roll.
I passed my bio test. Turned in my English term paper about graphic novels as the new Dickensian serial, wrote two hundred country names and their capitals for a pop quiz in World History, and skipped lunch par usual since the cafeteria was a world I avoided at all costs. I typically hung out at the back of the stage, in the costume room, when I wanted to evade the rest of humanity. Besides, it was easier to hide the carcasses creeping in around me.
The bus rolled back to my stop at 4:30. My mind raced. Four days off. I wanted to start doing nothing immediately. First order of business, dumping this utility uniform and boots. Kids poured off the bus behind me, all chatting incessantly. I almost broke into a flat-out bunny hop up the block to my house. A blue mustang full of senior guys slowed as they hung out the windows and flirted with my bus mates. I felt invisible to them, but I listened with one ear as my house came into view.
A white SUV with tinted windows roared around the corner ahead. The driver had to see the mustang and group of teens in the middle of the road. I’d swear he sped up. Racing toward me, or maybe them, accelerating. I dropped my backpack, frozen with shock.
Mom must have been watching for me out the windows. She ran out of the house yelling, waving her arms. Chills vibrated up my spine. Her voice broke the trance and I leapt out of the way into bushes, but the group of kids behind me were not so lucky.
I heard the impact of metal against metal. Glass cracking and breaking. Screams. I felt as if my arm was ripped out of the socket and as if there wasn’t any oxygen left.
The accident only lasted seconds from beginning to end, but the world around me slowed to a crawl. The SUV hit reverse and sped away, leaving the driver of the mustang half-inside the vehicle and half-out. Crumpled metal littered the road like tissue paper. A girl from my bio class lay motionless on the ground with others I didn’t recognize. Lots of limbs lay unnaturally. Moans and groans from more victims meant the rest were alive. I moved toward the carnage to help, drawn to them, when the pain doubled me over. It felt like hot pokers piercing my eyes. Breathing became almost impossible. I fell to the road, tears streaking my cheeks as flashes of lives and people played like disjointed movie trailers in my mind.
Mom lifted and dragged me farther and farther away. Her words were jumbled, her tone frantic. Another spasm hit me. What was happening to me? Then, Dad was there too, laying me onto the backseat of the family sedan. I held my stomach, my eyes tightly shut against the pain. Sweat bathed me.
“Get her out of here. We’re packed. Sam and I will meet you where we--” Mom ordered my father, the car already moving. She yelled to me, “I love you, Meridian. Don’t forget that!” Dad hit the gas, laying rubber as tears dripped down his cheeks.
He kept talking to me, nonsense words. Assurances. Prayers. But I was in so much pain I barely heard him.
The further away we drove from the house and the wreck, the less torture I felt. My breath came back; the pain receded like a tide. Finally, I was able to sit up in the backseat and wipe my cheeks with a tissue dad passed back.
“Better?” He asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
I nodded, not yet sure I trusted my voice. I didn’t understand. “What’s going on?”
“We don’t have time. We’ve run out of time. Mom should have told you sooner. She should have explained. But she wanted you safe. Believe me, she wanted you to stay safe. And happy. To be a kid, for as long as possible.”
He wasn’t making sense. “What are you talking about?” I asked when he paused to catch a breath. It wasn’t as if I’ve ever been a safe, happy, normal kid.
“You’re not human. Not completely human. You’re special. That pain you felt was a human soul, I think. It’s complicated.”
Huh? I swallowed. “Are you okay?”
“You have to leave, Meridian. You have to go to Auntie’s house and learn how to do this thing.”
“What thing?”
He blew out a frustrated huff. “I don’t know. Your mother was supposed to explain it to you. I’ve never seen it before. All those years she knew the pain was real and never told me why until Thanksgiving when the calls started-”
I raised my voice to stop him. “She’s not here! You are! What do you mean, I’m not human?”
Dad made eye contact in the rearview mirror, “You’re
an angel being called a Fenestra.”
Clearly, I’d fallen asleep on the bus and this was a
terribly odd nightmare. “Of course.”
“I’m not insane, young lady.” Dad gave me his best stern face and tone.
We drove into the Costco parking lot.
“Can you walk?” he asked me.
I felt sturdier, but still the body aches of a good influenza cramped my muscles.
He helped me to my feet and half-carried, half-hauled me through the long aisles of bulk goods. He kept glancing back over his shoulder as if he expected to be followed. Luggage hung off his shoulders and bumped displays as we struggled to the back.
As we pushed through a door marked “employees only,” a brisk wind ruffled my hair and chaffed my cheeks. “Dad?”
A taxi was parked right outside the door. A scruffy skater type not much older than me, got out and started transferring luggage, without a word, from Dad’s hands to the taxi.
Dad’s eyes had the expression of a trapped animal, “There isn’t time. I have to get back to your mother and brother. Don’t come home. We won’t be there. Maybe someday we’ll see you again. You will never be alone, Meridian. Never. We will love you always, but the rest of this journey you must make yourself.”
“What’s happening? What’s going on?” Tears threatened to choke off my voice.
Dad pointed. “This is Gabe. He’s going to drive you to the bus station. You need to get to Auntie.”
“In Colorado?”
He nodded. “She’ll be able to help you. But you must be very careful. Very, very careful. Stay away from people who are sick, or dying, do you hear me? Run the other way from them until you get to Auntie’s.” His hands bruised my upper arms.
This made no sense.
“Promise me, Meridian, promise you’ll stay away from the dying until you get to Auntie.” He shook me. “Promise!” I’d never witnessed such intensity on my father’s face. He scared me.
“I-I-p-pro—mise.” I stuttered out the words.
“They’ve arrived.” Gabe’s scratchy smoker voice broke the intensity of my father’s gaze.
“You have to go now. There’s a letter in your things.”
I glanced into the back of the taxi and blinking finally recognized my duffle and camping backpack. “I don’t want to go-“
“Trust me. You have to go.” He kissed my forehead and pressed me into the back of the car. “Keep your head down. This will be over soon, I promise.”
Before I could respond, he’d shut the door and disappeared back through the exit into the warehouse. “Dad? Daddy!” I yelled.
“You’d best be silent and lie down back there…Or they’ll see you.” Gabe said, his eyes shifting in the mirrors.
“Who?”
“For lack of a better explanation—the bad guys.”
“Bad guys?”
“You know what that makes you?” He gave me a feeble smile.
“Nuts?”
“Nope, one of the good ones.” Gabe’s taxi rumbled out of the parking lot and I rested my head on my hands. This had to be a dream. Didn’t it?
CHAPTER TWO
“…Hey kid, we’re here.” Gabe slowed and braked the car.
“Here?” I asked, not recognizing this part of town.
“The bus station. They’ll probably be watching the airports. Put this on to cover your hair.” He handed back a Portland Trailblazers baseball cap. “There’s money in the backpack, plus your ticket.”
“Ticket?” I barely mimicked his words correctly. Try as I might, I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around this.
“To wherever you’re going.” He unloaded my duffel as I crawled carefully from the car. I hurt. My mouth was parched.
“Where?” I asked again. Had Dad said Colorado?
“I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Plausible deniability. I’m only doing a favor for a friend.”
“Huh?”
“All I know is you help people get to heaven. Other than that, you need someone better informed.”
I help people get to heaven? Is he a loon?
“There’s a letter from your parents. Keep your head down, kid.” He slammed the lid of the trunk closed and brushed past me, leveling a stare at me. “Get inside. Get on the bus. Pay attention. Got it?” Then he revved the engine and sped away, leaving me in the parking lot.
My arms screamed at the weight in my duffel, so I paused every few steps to catch my breath on the way into the terminal. I scanned the empty lobby and picked the far corner to camp in. I kept my back to the wall. Who am I watching for? Will I know them? Who is after me? And why?
I rifled through the coat’s pockets, realizing this was a heavy winter coat I’d never seen before. Mom had written my name on the tag inside, or I’d have assumed it belonged to a stranger.
The letter was written by my mom in her lyrical script. I loved her handwriting. So fluid, graceful. A pang of longing struck me as I began to read.
December Twenty First
My Baby’s Sixteenth Birthday
Dearest Meridian,
As hard as it is to write this letter, I know it is harder still for you to hold it, to read it. I know the sorrow in my heart is matched only by yours. I wish I could tell you not to be afraid. I’ve protected you all these years, and now I wonder if I didn’t make your destiny more difficult. If my need to hang on to you as long as possible has placed you in great peril? There was never a good time. I kept thinking you’d ask me and demand to know more, but you simply accepted your life as normal. I know this is scary and unexpected. I hoped to travel with you to Auntie this summer. To be with you. To help you. But that is not to be and I hope someday you will forgive us. My darling girl, you are a woman now, and it’s time you take your place as a Fenestra, a title I know you are unfamiliar with.
You are special. You have always known this. And so have I. I knew the moment your cry sounded on midnight, this day sixteen years ago, that you were remarkable. A true blood Fenestra, with Creator given gifts and blessed talents. And with these come immense responsibility. For true greatness demands great sacrifice.
The Creators will keep you safe on your journey. I do not know in what form they will appear, but I do know they will help you reach Auntie’s. Know that we will see you again. If not in this lifetime, then on the other side. Know that you will be protected. Know that your journey is necessary and that others have felt what you are feeling. Though some aren’t strong enough, I know you have the strength of a perfect diamond and the courage born of indelible compassion.
Learn everything you can from Auntie. Be kind to yourself. Listen to your inner voice. Know that we love you, always. We too have to flee to safety. Under no circumstance come home. We will not be there.
You are going to Great-aunt Merry’s in Revelation, Colorado. Get on the seven a.m. bus. Get off at the second stop after Walsenburg and watch for the green Land Rover. You’ll know it when you see it. I have enclosed extra money in case you run into trouble, or get hungry on the trip. I packed everything I think you’ll want. Please forgive me if I overlooked a token of your childhood. I did my best. Your father sends his love. Sam will miss you more than the rest of us combined, I fear. You are one of the Chosen, Meridian. For that I am both grateful and sorrowful. It means you must navigate your path without me, but know that I am always in your heart and you always will be in mine.
Your mother in this life,
Mom
I hugged my bags to me and read the letter over and over again. I memorized it, casting furtive glances at anyone who entered the dingy space. They all appeared normal and completely uninterested in me. Twelve hours to kill. When my stomach growled I checked out the vending machines.
I plugged a dollar bill in and pressed the button for knock-off Hostess chocolate cupcakes. I leaned against the glass. The twirly thing caught on the edge of the packet before it could drop. Figures. Nothing was easy.
I slammed the side of my fist against the glass. “Come on!” I shouted and pounded again. Finally, the cupcakes fell into the well and I fished them out.
I tried to hum a few bars of Happy Birthday, but couldn’t get past the first notes before tears clogged my throat and I couldn’t breathe. Useless.
“Happy Super Sixteenth Birthday, Meridian,” I said, biting into the stale and waxy cake. I chewed and swallowed by rote, leaning back in the hard plastic chair. I let my head roll back. I studied the water stains on the ceiling high above me. They were the patina and sepia tones of ancient continental maps.
When I was little, Sam’s age maybe, I studied the single photograph of Great-aunt Merry we had in the house. It was snapped during her days as a nurse in World War II. I used to study it to see if I looked like her. My namesake. But Mom hadn’t acted like Great-Aunt Merry was a real person. More a fairytale or myth.
In my family, all our birthdays are within three days of one another’s, except for Dad’s. But I shared my exact day with Auntie. I’d never met her. Frankly, it was creepy being named after someone alive. Like they’re paying attention, making sure you live up to whatever it is they think they are.
She left me alone except for our birthday. She usually sent a quilt. All different sizes, they grew with me over the years. Intricate stitching, brightly colored tiny pieces of fabric; some like impressionist paintings, others like photographs of places, people, and events I didn’t recognize.
All of them seemed to tell a story each time I touched them. Like the resonance of a tuning fork, a hum vibrated up my arm. So I put them in the hall closet, and tried not to come into contact with them. There was nothing comforting about the stack; they only made the little hairs on my body stand up like an electrical storm hovered over me.
I jerked upright. Nothing came this year. Nothing for me to open first thing in the morning. She knows I’m coming? Is this part of a plan? I resisted the urge to dial my house and ask. I inhaled ample breaths and tried to relax. Were my parents really not home anymore?
The bus station smelled of sweaty dollar bills and despair. It reeked of loneliness and solitary travel. I resisted tumbling toward the edge of sleep, hyped on adrenaline and not just a little fear.
I kept my head on a swivel, thinking that if I could see the threat coming I could do something brave and heroic like get the hell out of the way. There were so few people in the station. I began to relax. Just a little.
The bus didn’t leave until morning. Hours passed that way until the sun lit the edge of the horizon. Rapid-fire heels broke the edgy silence. The woman’s raven hair, the color I couldn’t find in a box, was tugged tight back into a bun on the back of her head. Her lips were bright fuchsia and her suit would have been a power suit in the fifties. It was well cared for, but the light blue faded to gray. She had a regal bearing, but it rang false to me as I studied the woven bag slung over her shoulder. She could carry the world in that bag.
She raced to the counter. Animated. Her hands did as much talking as her mouth, and yet the bored ticket taker barely flicked his eyes away from the grainy television muted on the counter beside him.
She slapped the counter while stomping her heels, but her hodgepodge of Spanish and English didn’t illicit a response from the ticketer. Or maybe he chose not to understand her. I closed my eyes, leaned my head against the top of my bag, and tried to tune out somebody else’s problem.
What had mom packed for me? How could she know what I needed in this situation?
The conversation at the counter escalated and the woman’s gesticulations became more desperate. I didn’t want to interfere. I’d studied five languages, but never actually used any of them. The woman started to get hysterical. The teller’s voice raised another octave. She didn’t have enough money for the ticket.
Fine. I lumbered to a standing a position. Let the blood drain south and bring the toes back online. I dragged my bags behind me, hoping if I walked slow enough the confrontation would be over by the time I’d shuffled those ten feet to the counter.
No dice. I asked in Spanish if I could help.
The clerk’s face bloomed in comical relief. “She insists on going to some place in Colorado, but she’s forty bucks short. I can’t sell her a ticket.”
I explained in rudimentary Spanish. The woman’s face lit up as if finally someone heard her. I listened as she poured out a river of story way too fast for me to catch. Her daughter was having babies. Twins. She had no other money. Something about work and losing her job. She kept smiling at me, as if I could make it better.
This could be a trick. A story to sucker me. But, I dug into my coat.
Her name was Marcela Portalso. Forty bucks was everything to her. Surely mom gave me more than two twenties for emergencies. I pushed it under the glass.
Señora Portalso protested, “No. No.”
“Por favor.” Please.
She didn’t want charity. A hard worker. No hand outs.
I reached into my Spanish vocabulary and put together the words for present and baby. I have no idea if I said them in the right order.
The clerk shoved the ticket out the window. A beautiful smile decorated the Señora’s face and she clutched the ticket like it was a gift from God.
Standing there, it was all I could do not to start crying for my own mother.
Señora Portalso insisted she would pay me back in Colorado City, or Denver, or Podunk. I wandered back to my corner. The minutes clicked by until finally they called our bus number. I stashed my duffel under the bus, inhaling exhaust as it idled. Ten other people crowded around trying to be the first on, like a swarm of gnats. I stayed back, feeling the need to keep my distance. I prayed they wouldn’t talk to me. I saw no bad guys and no speeding SUVs.
I didn’t want to get on the bus at all. I wasn’t a big traveler; my parents only tried a family vacation once and it ended horribly.
Señora Portalso patted the seat next to her with obvious enthusiasm when she saw me. As I settled into the cramped space, she tapped my hand. “Muy linda,” she kept saying. “Luz! Luz!”
Very pretty. Light. Light.
I stopped thanking her after the tenth time. I didn’t have much to say. I was full of questions, but she couldn’t answer any of them.
I slept fitfully as the winter sun rose high in the sky, then drifted behind storm clouds. In the dark, the lights of the interstate flashed in bursts as we passed truck stops and rest areas. The inside of the bus was a dingier, more claustrophobic dark than any room I’d ever slept in. I kept my knees tight against the seat in front, tucked up so my feet stayed off the floor.
Bits of conversation drifted through the darkened interior. “A job…family…never been to Colorado…heading to Disney World…nothing better to do…” They all had a reason, even if it wasn’t a good one, to be heading out. And what was mine? What happens if I stay on the bus? Go on to New York City or up to Seattle? Will anyone notice? Will anyone care?
We stopped at a couple of diners for pee breaks and to grab a quick snack. I came out of the bathroom and heard a voice in the diner that sounded like my father’s--“Can I get more coffee?” I whipped my head around, but it wasn’t him. I kept a scout out for anyone following me; the ominous instructions to be careful echoed in my head.
In the early morning light, I split a sandwich with the Señora, who gave me a mealy apple and several crumbly homemade cookies in return. The cookies reminded me of my mother. I swiped at tears that leaked from the corners of my eyes. What were my parents doing now? Were they okay? Was Sam more scared than me?
Oregon disappeared in the distance, Nevada and Utah came and went. Finally, we crossed the Colorado state line. In Durango, I ate another Milky Way. Mom wasn’t here to tell me not to. Monte Vista was unremarkable; the snow picked up speed in Alamosa. In Walsenburg, we turned north heading to Pueblo, but I watched for my stop as instructed. My heartbeat sped up. I watched the miles crawl by, barely seeing more than a thick cottony white.
What I could see were lighted, flashing billboards proclaiming, “Find Salvation in Revelation” and “Faith is a lifestyle for Eternity”. They popped up every few miles. Weird. It felt a little like the Vegas strip.
We drove into Revelation a full day after I’d gotten on the bus. Revelation Colorado? Someone’s idea of a joke, right? My school uniform was wrinkled and smudged with god knows what substances. My legs hurt from sitting all that time. I wanted a shower. Real sleep. Someone to tell me this was a mistake. Ha ha! Anyone?
We climbed down as fat snowflakes fell with an icy hush. They covered my hair and stuck in my eyelashes.
“Worst snowstorm in a century. Good thing we got here when we did; they’re shutting down and grounding the fleet until this blows over. Some fools are going to be spending Christmas in small towns they never wanted to see.” The third driver of this trip cackled with mirth as he unloaded our bags. I wondered how he could find pleasure in other people’s misery. But I didn’t ask.
I collected my duffel; hefting it, I wondered how it gained so much weight riding under the bus.
I was supposed to scan for a green Land Rover. One I’d know when I saw it. With the flakes falling smaller but faster, I could barely make out the shapes of buses in the lot. White swirled everywhere. No green anything.
Already my fingers and my nose had that stiff unreal feeling of numb. I’ll recognize what when I see it? A person? The Land Rover? Aunt Merry herself?
“Better get inside before you freeze.” The driver slapped the luggage bin closed and hocked spit onto the snow drift before hustling on his way.
All the passengers raced inside, seeking light and heat. I stood alone. As always.
CHAPTER THREE
Standing in the bleak alone outside of Revelation’s bus terminal parking lot, I saw no answers. Felt no epiphany.
I trudged into the overflowing terminal. Grumpy stranded travelers seemed surprised it snowed in Colorado right before Christmas. An older man in a wheelchair fiddled with the oxygen hose in his nose, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up unexpectedly. I was swamped with the feeling of holding my breath too long under water. As if every moment without an inhalation was one closer to full out panic.
I’d felt this at the car accident two days ago. My father’s voice shouted in my head, “Promise you’ll run. Run, Meridian, go!”
I had to get away. I needed to create distance between us. Someone, some person was dying, and they’d hurt me. I turned in great circles searching for a safe place, out of the weather, but there was nothing. My breath choked and I wheezed.
The old guy turned and stared at me. But past me, as if I wasn’t really standing there at all. His eyes widened and his hands reached toward me.
A sharp pain shot through my head and rippled down my arm. I started stumbling toward the doors to the outside. His family bustled around, a toddler threw a tantrum, and still the old man’s gaze locked on me until he smiled.
The doors whooshed open behind me and I tripped out into the snow. But I could breathe. The attraction lessened and I kept going, backing away, one step at a time. Several blocks away I knelt and vomited in a curbside garbage can. I tasted blood. I grabbed a handful of what I hoped was clean snow and let it melt in my mouth until I could spit out the taste. Sweat beaded along my face and arms.
One foot in front of the other, I pushed on until I found a bench in an ATM booth. I sat to gather my strength back, closing my eyes against the waves of nausea and pain. An ambulance raced past me with its lights flashing. It stopped at the bus station. I waited until they’d loaded a person into it and then I ambled back to the station. I didn’t have another option.
“Meridian. Meridian.” I heard my name being yelled and turned.
A heavily pregnant woman toddled behind Señora Portalso, waving her hands. I stopped. I’d forgotten the Señora.
“I’m Dr. Portalso-Marquez, thank you so much for helping my mother.” She shook my hand and kissed my cheek.
“You’re welcome.” I cleared my throat, uncomfortable with the Señora’s scrutiny.
“She wants you to have this.” The woman gestured to her mother.
Señora nodded and handed me a fifty dollar bill.
“I only gave her forty bucks.” I said, trying to give the money back.
“Yes, but you shared your food and she wants to make sure you have enough to eat tonight. Are you okay? You don’t look well.”
What must they think of me? What must they assume? “Oh, I’m fine thanks. I can’t-“
“Please. Keep it. We have to get to the hospital—my contractions have started, I think.” Which explained the pain around her mouth and eyes. “Here’s my card. If you need anything, please call me. We have plenty enough to share. My mother simply didn’t receive the wire transfer before she’d left. She refuses to learn fluent English.” With a wave of her hand and sigh, she turned to her mother.
“Thank you.” I put the card in my pocket along with the money. “I’m meeting someone.” I needed to explain I wasn’t alone.
Señora Portalso leaned into her daughter and spoke rapidly. The young woman turned back to me and translated. “She wants you to know she’ll see you again.” She shrugged hesitating, “If you’re sure you’re okay?”
“Bella, bella luz.” Beautiful, beautiful light. Señora tapped my cheek and they moved toward the wall of doors.
I wanted to ask what she knew about light. What did she see? But I kept my mouth shut and watched them walk away.
I stayed behind a post as people shook the snow from their coats and stomped their feet. No one surveyed like they were searching for a sixteen-year-old they’d never met. Evidently, no one expected me.
I sat for hours, eating Milky Ways and drinking Ginger Ale. I dredged out the paper mom wrote Auntie’s address on:
EastMeetsWest
115 North South Road
I was torn between wanting to listen to mom’s directions and thinking there was no way, with this snow, a centurion was going to make it, even in a Land Rover.
An imposing black man marched over in my direction. I studied my bag, refusing to make eye contact. His size intimidated me and his vibe felt dangerous.
“You be needin’ a cab, missy?” His thick African accent blew through me with power.
“Huh?” I asked, my gaze snapping to his.
“You be goin’ someplace?” He repeated.
I peered up at the clock. Five hours, eight milky ways, ten packages of Doritos and three ginger ales. I shifted against the pillar I’d been holding up with my back.
“Maybe.” I didn’t know if he was the “you’ll know it,” as in, you’ll be point blank asked, or if this was fate giving my tush a little push. I can sit here and wait, or I can get myself to Auntie’s house and demand answers.
He scratched his chin, but didn’t take his spellbinding eyes off my face as he reached into his coat pocket. “I make six trips to and from this place. You be sittin’ here that whole time.” He held out a photograph and shoved it under my nose. “My daughter Sofi. She’s in Boston. Stuck in big Nor’easter. I hope she not alone like you. I’m Josiah, where your family? Where you need to go?”
What a question. Where is my family?
I’d never learned to trust my instincts. Did I even possess instincts? I didn’t know if I could trust this man with his midnight skin and his golden eyes.
I wanted a bed, a shower, and broccoli, a weird thing to crave. I scrounged in my pocket for the paper. Worst case scenario, he was a serial killer who preyed on stranded travelers with the help of blizzards. At least my death would end this.
“Okay. Sure. 115 North South.”
“The big place off 69?” he asked.
“I guess.”
His brow wrinkled, “You got family there?”
“My aunt.” I swallowed.
“I drive you to the turn out, but snow too heavy out there for this little car to make it up the hill.”
“You don’t drive a Land Rover?” I asked, sure this man was my “you’ll know.”
His boundless laughter rolled over me as he bent and lifted my bag, “No missy. An ol’ Subaru. With older chains.”
“Oh.” I said, and followed him. He was very talkative. He told me about his family. His daughter studying law and immigration in Boston. I sat back and listened. I nodded and grunted when it was appropriate. He didn’t ask many questions, but seemed to chase the darkness away with his voice. The snow mounds rolled by and plows passed us in each direction. I couldn’t have said where we were if my life depended on it. And I was too tired to truly care.
“Here we go.” He slowed the car to a stop and reached around to pop the trunk.
In the far distance, using my imagination, I could almost see a glow of lights. The driveway was covered in snow drifts and icy patches.
“You sure?” I asked, reluctant to leave the heat of the car.
“I’m sure.” He climbed out.
I tucked my scarf around my mouth and shoved my hands into gloves. I glanced down at my very cute boots and wished I’d thought to wear ski clothes when I went to school. Not that I actually owned any. I wasn’t dressed for a long hike in the snow. Don’t have a lot of choice, now do I?
He hesitated at the trunk. “You certain? I can drop you at a motel in town and you can phone your Auntie.” He seemed reluctant to strand me in the wilderness, in the obscurity of the unknown.
I put on a brave smile. “I’ll be okay. Thank you.” I handed him the fifty Señora’s daughter had given me.
“Too much. A gift.” He gave me a little bow and didn’t touch the money.
“Thank you, but please take it.” I insisted. “Send it to your daughter for a cab ride. She might need it.”
“’Kay.” He scribbled on a scrap of paper and pressed it into my hand. “You call me, you need ‘elp.”
“Thank you.” I pushed his makeshift card into my pocket and started up the driveway.
There was no house to see. Nothing to make me think this was a good idea. I listened to the gears engage on that old rusted Subaru and felt, more than saw, the taillights fade away. There was no point in glancing back. But my God, it required everything I had not to run after him and beg him to drive me all the way home.
“In the economy of Nature nothing is ever lost.
I cannot believe that the soul of man
shall prove the one exception.”
Gene Stratton-Porter
Afterword from JESUS OF THE EMERALD 1923
PROLOGUE
The first creatures to seek me were the insects; my parents cleaned the bassinet free of dead ants the morning after they brought me home from the hospital. My first word was “dead.”
At age four, when I stepped out of bed and popped a giant toad like a water balloon, I never again turned any lights off.
For all of my sixth year, I slept sitting up thinking I’d spot the dying coming toward me.
There were times when it felt like my insides were full of broken glass, times when the souls of the animals passing through me felt too big, too much. I’d open my eyes in the morning and peer into the glassy gaze of a mouse on my pillow. Death never became my comfortable companion.
I didn’t have nightmares about monsters; I wasn’t afraid of a thing in my closet. In fact, there were many times when I wished they, the dying, would hide under my bed instead of burrowing into the pile of stuffed animals by my head.
My mother hugged me, told me I was special. I’d like to think my parents weren’t revolted by me. But I’ll never forget the feelings apparent in the glances they exchanged over my head. Worry. Fear. Repulsion. Concern.
My first chore was to clean up the carcasses. My second was to make the bed. I’d don rubber gloves and pick the dead up. My hands grew callused from digging so many graves. We ran out of room in the backyard by my fourteenth birthday. When I was too ill to do it, my dad stepped in and removed them, but it was always with thinly veiled disgust.
I trembled my way through the days, constantly sleep deprived, chronically ill. My stomach always hurt. Low-grade headaches constantly thumped a slow tempo. Doctors labeled me a hypochondriac, or worse—still they never found causes for the symptoms. The pain was real. The cause a mystery. They suggested shrinks. Growing pains. Perhaps I was one of those children who required lots of attention. I’d catch my mom staring at me—she often started conversations, only to break off and leave the room.
With each moon phase, the animals got bigger. Soon, they came during the day as well. At school, kids whispered my nicknames: Reaper, Grave Digger, Witch. Others, I pretended not to hear. Adults ostracized me, too. It hurt.
As I got older and stopped trying to bond, I came to the same conclusion as everyone else. I was weird. A freak. A sideshow act.
When my brother Sam was born, I kept a vigil in his room. Intent on cleaning up the dead things before he woke. I focused on making him feel that he wasn’t alone, that I understood how scary this world could be. I wouldn’t let him suffer my fears; he’d be normal in my eyes. By the time he was a month-old and the only dead came near him because of me, I retreated.
My parents pretended it didn’t matter. That nothing ever died around me. That our backyard wasn’t a graveyard. If anything, they acted like I had a talent. A gift.
If we had an extended family, I didn’t know them. The only exception was my namesake, a great-Aunt who sent me birthday quilts once a year. My world was, and is, me and death. It’s a lonely place to live, but I thought things were getting better. My name is Meridian Sozu, and I was wrong.
CHAPTER ONE
I got up the morning of December twenty-first anticipating a four day weekend for the Christmas holiday. I went to a snotty private prep school that took breaks the way most people go to the dentist. Only when they really, really had to.
Which is why I had school the twenty-first, on my sixteenth birthday. My parents refused to let me skip. It was a typical, normal day. For me “normal” meant that my stomach churned so much I swallowed Tums by the roll, and never went anywhere without Advil. My eyes depended on Visine for clarity; otherwise, I gawked in the mirror and saw the eyes of a lifetime alcoholic. I kept a stash of ace bandages and braces in my locker at school.
I coped. I studied. I kept up the façade, but I desperately needed a break. Time to sleep late. Time to eat too much and catch up painting my nails with glitter. Time to stop faking it and be myself, even if no one noticed. Time to dye my hair, currently it was the obnoxious red of tomato juice. I figured black would be a nice way to start the New Year. It fit my mood. I tucked my prerequisite white cotton blouse into my perfectly pleated tartan skirt.
There were also a bunch of new DVDs I wanted to watch. Movies about girls my age having crushes and friends and being absolutely, completely normal.
I added thick black eyeliner and three coats of mascara, as if I could make the bruises beneath my eyes an accessory. Then, I painted on clear lip gloss and tugged at the opaque tights I wore, pushing our dress code to the limit. I didn’t mind uniforms. At least I was part of a group for once in my life. But I hated looking like a little Lolita. I stared at my reflection hoping to see answers. Wishing I saw the solution to my life.
To my mutinous reflection, I rattled off the constellation names I’d been memorizing for the advanced astronomy test I had the following Tuesday.
The phone shrilled: once, twice. I tossed my toothbrush into the sink and grabbed the hallway extension. The phone never rang for me, but I still answered it, hoping.
“Hello?”
Silence. Breathing. Murmuring.
“Hello?” I repeated.
Mom appeared at the top of the stairs. “Who is it?” Concern deepened the lines on her face, aging her.
I shrugged at her, shook my head. “Hello?”
She yanked the phone cord out of the wall, breathing fast, suddenly wild-eyed and pale.
Dad raced up the stairs. “Another one?”
Mom’s fist clenched the cord and she fiercely wrenched me into her arms. What the hell?
“What’s going on?” I let her hold me, and listened to her breath catch. My dad kept petting my hair. For the last five years, they hadn’t touched me except for accidents or unavoidables. Now, they didn’t seem to want to let go.
“It’s started.” Dad was the first to step away.
“What’s started?” I pushed away as the phone rang downstairs.
“We’ll talk more after school. You have a big test today.” I recognized the stubborn expression on mom’s face.
“I think we should-“ Dad pressed her shoulders, rubbed her neck like he always did when she was upset.
“No, not yet. Not yet.” Mom chanted.
“What is going on?” I felt fear sizzle in my spine. “Rosie-“ Dad cradled mom’s cheek with one hand and
reached for me.
“After school,” Mom said firmly. “Be careful today. Extra careful.”
“Why don’t you tell me why?” I asked. “Is this about my birthday? Turning sixteen? I can wait to get my license for a few months. I mean I’d like to drive, but if you’re this scared we can talk about it.”
Mom smoothed my hair, shaking her head. “After school.”
I shrugged and looked to my father for guidance. His expression told me he wouldn’t break ranks. “Is it boys? I’m not dating; it’s not like there’s a guy-“
Mom cut me off. “Do you want pancakes?”
I never eat breakfast. “No, that’s okay. I should catch the bus or I’ll be late.” What else can there be? My grades are excellent.
“Mer-D!” Sammy launched himself at me. As a toddler he’d given me a nickname that stuck, so even at age six I was still his Mer-D. “Happy birthday! I got you a presie. I got you a presie. Wanna know? Wanna know?” He danced around the kitchen with a maple syrup-covered fork, Pollock-ing every surface with stickiness.
“Later, Sammy. After school, okay? With cake?” I adored him. Loved him in the unconditional way I’d never received, except from him. He wasn’t afraid of me. He’d pretend to blow up the dead things with his Lego men or pose them in little forts, like caricatures of life.
“Cake, cake, makey-cakey.” He pranced around, his face split in a grin.
I dropped my voice so Sammy wouldn’t hear me. Turning back to my mom I said, “Why are you so freaked?”
Dad answered for her. “There is something we need to discuss when you get home, but it can wait.”
“Are you sure?” I pressed. I hadn’t ever seen either of them this anxious.
“You don’t want to miss your bus.” Mom hovered. She’d been swinging from overprotective to distant for the last few months. There was an almost tangible distance like an ocean between us. I’d catch her scrutinizing me, like she was trying to memorize my DNA.
“You have everything you need?” She stared at me, patted my hair and tucked an errant curl behind my ear. She always made me want to shake my head and mess up the curls more.
“Fine. Yup.” I shrugged her off, marching out of the kitchen feeling like a kid at an adult’s only party, pissed that they wouldn’t just tell me. Secrets made me feel small and insignificant. There was a vibe I couldn’t place. I shrugged my backpack on.
Mom gave me a pathetic, sad smile that made her haggard. She didn’t say anything else.
Dad strode out from the kitchen. “Meridian, wait.” He drew me to him and hugged me so tight breathing was a challenge.
“Dad?” I leaned away, confused.
At least Sammy wasn’t acting strange. He was playing with the Lego set he’d opened the day before, on his birthday. My mom, brother and I were all born within a day or two of each other.
Mom kissed my forehead as I heard the bus clank down the street. I set off in a limping gallop without glancing back. The bus made a distinct chugging sound that made me want to hurry even when I already waited at the bus stop. So Pavlov. My right knee felt stiff and swollen. I reached the stop as the doors opened and other Prep kids got on in front of me. None of us spoke—or better to say, everyone ignored me. Another day, another eye roll.
I passed my bio test. Turned in my English term paper about graphic novels as the new Dickensian serial, wrote two hundred country names and their capitals for a pop quiz in World History, and skipped lunch par usual since the cafeteria was a world I avoided at all costs. I typically hung out at the back of the stage, in the costume room, when I wanted to evade the rest of humanity. Besides, it was easier to hide the carcasses creeping in around me.
The bus rolled back to my stop at 4:30. My mind raced. Four days off. I wanted to start doing nothing immediately. First order of business, dumping this utility uniform and boots. Kids poured off the bus behind me, all chatting incessantly. I almost broke into a flat-out bunny hop up the block to my house. A blue mustang full of senior guys slowed as they hung out the windows and flirted with my bus mates. I felt invisible to them, but I listened with one ear as my house came into view.
A white SUV with tinted windows roared around the corner ahead. The driver had to see the mustang and group of teens in the middle of the road. I’d swear he sped up. Racing toward me, or maybe them, accelerating. I dropped my backpack, frozen with shock.
Mom must have been watching for me out the windows. She ran out of the house yelling, waving her arms. Chills vibrated up my spine. Her voice broke the trance and I leapt out of the way into bushes, but the group of kids behind me were not so lucky.
I heard the impact of metal against metal. Glass cracking and breaking. Screams. I felt as if my arm was ripped out of the socket and as if there wasn’t any oxygen left.
The accident only lasted seconds from beginning to end, but the world around me slowed to a crawl. The SUV hit reverse and sped away, leaving the driver of the mustang half-inside the vehicle and half-out. Crumpled metal littered the road like tissue paper. A girl from my bio class lay motionless on the ground with others I didn’t recognize. Lots of limbs lay unnaturally. Moans and groans from more victims meant the rest were alive. I moved toward the carnage to help, drawn to them, when the pain doubled me over. It felt like hot pokers piercing my eyes. Breathing became almost impossible. I fell to the road, tears streaking my cheeks as flashes of lives and people played like disjointed movie trailers in my mind.
Mom lifted and dragged me farther and farther away. Her words were jumbled, her tone frantic. Another spasm hit me. What was happening to me? Then, Dad was there too, laying me onto the backseat of the family sedan. I held my stomach, my eyes tightly shut against the pain. Sweat bathed me.
“Get her out of here. We’re packed. Sam and I will meet you where we--” Mom ordered my father, the car already moving. She yelled to me, “I love you, Meridian. Don’t forget that!” Dad hit the gas, laying rubber as tears dripped down his cheeks.
He kept talking to me, nonsense words. Assurances. Prayers. But I was in so much pain I barely heard him.
The further away we drove from the house and the wreck, the less torture I felt. My breath came back; the pain receded like a tide. Finally, I was able to sit up in the backseat and wipe my cheeks with a tissue dad passed back.
“Better?” He asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
I nodded, not yet sure I trusted my voice. I didn’t understand. “What’s going on?”
“We don’t have time. We’ve run out of time. Mom should have told you sooner. She should have explained. But she wanted you safe. Believe me, she wanted you to stay safe. And happy. To be a kid, for as long as possible.”
He wasn’t making sense. “What are you talking about?” I asked when he paused to catch a breath. It wasn’t as if I’ve ever been a safe, happy, normal kid.
“You’re not human. Not completely human. You’re special. That pain you felt was a human soul, I think. It’s complicated.”
Huh? I swallowed. “Are you okay?”
“You have to leave, Meridian. You have to go to Auntie’s house and learn how to do this thing.”
“What thing?”
He blew out a frustrated huff. “I don’t know. Your mother was supposed to explain it to you. I’ve never seen it before. All those years she knew the pain was real and never told me why until Thanksgiving when the calls started-”
I raised my voice to stop him. “She’s not here! You are! What do you mean, I’m not human?”
Dad made eye contact in the rearview mirror, “You’re
an angel being called a Fenestra.”
Clearly, I’d fallen asleep on the bus and this was a
terribly odd nightmare. “Of course.”
“I’m not insane, young lady.” Dad gave me his best stern face and tone.
We drove into the Costco parking lot.
“Can you walk?” he asked me.
I felt sturdier, but still the body aches of a good influenza cramped my muscles.
He helped me to my feet and half-carried, half-hauled me through the long aisles of bulk goods. He kept glancing back over his shoulder as if he expected to be followed. Luggage hung off his shoulders and bumped displays as we struggled to the back.
As we pushed through a door marked “employees only,” a brisk wind ruffled my hair and chaffed my cheeks. “Dad?”
A taxi was parked right outside the door. A scruffy skater type not much older than me, got out and started transferring luggage, without a word, from Dad’s hands to the taxi.
Dad’s eyes had the expression of a trapped animal, “There isn’t time. I have to get back to your mother and brother. Don’t come home. We won’t be there. Maybe someday we’ll see you again. You will never be alone, Meridian. Never. We will love you always, but the rest of this journey you must make yourself.”
“What’s happening? What’s going on?” Tears threatened to choke off my voice.
Dad pointed. “This is Gabe. He’s going to drive you to the bus station. You need to get to Auntie.”
“In Colorado?”
He nodded. “She’ll be able to help you. But you must be very careful. Very, very careful. Stay away from people who are sick, or dying, do you hear me? Run the other way from them until you get to Auntie’s.” His hands bruised my upper arms.
This made no sense.
“Promise me, Meridian, promise you’ll stay away from the dying until you get to Auntie.” He shook me. “Promise!” I’d never witnessed such intensity on my father’s face. He scared me.
“I-I-p-pro—mise.” I stuttered out the words.
“They’ve arrived.” Gabe’s scratchy smoker voice broke the intensity of my father’s gaze.
“You have to go now. There’s a letter in your things.”
I glanced into the back of the taxi and blinking finally recognized my duffle and camping backpack. “I don’t want to go-“
“Trust me. You have to go.” He kissed my forehead and pressed me into the back of the car. “Keep your head down. This will be over soon, I promise.”
Before I could respond, he’d shut the door and disappeared back through the exit into the warehouse. “Dad? Daddy!” I yelled.
“You’d best be silent and lie down back there…Or they’ll see you.” Gabe said, his eyes shifting in the mirrors.
“Who?”
“For lack of a better explanation—the bad guys.”
“Bad guys?”
“You know what that makes you?” He gave me a feeble smile.
“Nuts?”
“Nope, one of the good ones.” Gabe’s taxi rumbled out of the parking lot and I rested my head on my hands. This had to be a dream. Didn’t it?
CHAPTER TWO
“…Hey kid, we’re here.” Gabe slowed and braked the car.
“Here?” I asked, not recognizing this part of town.
“The bus station. They’ll probably be watching the airports. Put this on to cover your hair.” He handed back a Portland Trailblazers baseball cap. “There’s money in the backpack, plus your ticket.”
“Ticket?” I barely mimicked his words correctly. Try as I might, I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around this.
“To wherever you’re going.” He unloaded my duffel as I crawled carefully from the car. I hurt. My mouth was parched.
“Where?” I asked again. Had Dad said Colorado?
“I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Plausible deniability. I’m only doing a favor for a friend.”
“Huh?”
“All I know is you help people get to heaven. Other than that, you need someone better informed.”
I help people get to heaven? Is he a loon?
“There’s a letter from your parents. Keep your head down, kid.” He slammed the lid of the trunk closed and brushed past me, leveling a stare at me. “Get inside. Get on the bus. Pay attention. Got it?” Then he revved the engine and sped away, leaving me in the parking lot.
My arms screamed at the weight in my duffel, so I paused every few steps to catch my breath on the way into the terminal. I scanned the empty lobby and picked the far corner to camp in. I kept my back to the wall. Who am I watching for? Will I know them? Who is after me? And why?
I rifled through the coat’s pockets, realizing this was a heavy winter coat I’d never seen before. Mom had written my name on the tag inside, or I’d have assumed it belonged to a stranger.
The letter was written by my mom in her lyrical script. I loved her handwriting. So fluid, graceful. A pang of longing struck me as I began to read.
December Twenty First
My Baby’s Sixteenth Birthday
Dearest Meridian,
As hard as it is to write this letter, I know it is harder still for you to hold it, to read it. I know the sorrow in my heart is matched only by yours. I wish I could tell you not to be afraid. I’ve protected you all these years, and now I wonder if I didn’t make your destiny more difficult. If my need to hang on to you as long as possible has placed you in great peril? There was never a good time. I kept thinking you’d ask me and demand to know more, but you simply accepted your life as normal. I know this is scary and unexpected. I hoped to travel with you to Auntie this summer. To be with you. To help you. But that is not to be and I hope someday you will forgive us. My darling girl, you are a woman now, and it’s time you take your place as a Fenestra, a title I know you are unfamiliar with.
You are special. You have always known this. And so have I. I knew the moment your cry sounded on midnight, this day sixteen years ago, that you were remarkable. A true blood Fenestra, with Creator given gifts and blessed talents. And with these come immense responsibility. For true greatness demands great sacrifice.
The Creators will keep you safe on your journey. I do not know in what form they will appear, but I do know they will help you reach Auntie’s. Know that we will see you again. If not in this lifetime, then on the other side. Know that you will be protected. Know that your journey is necessary and that others have felt what you are feeling. Though some aren’t strong enough, I know you have the strength of a perfect diamond and the courage born of indelible compassion.
Learn everything you can from Auntie. Be kind to yourself. Listen to your inner voice. Know that we love you, always. We too have to flee to safety. Under no circumstance come home. We will not be there.
You are going to Great-aunt Merry’s in Revelation, Colorado. Get on the seven a.m. bus. Get off at the second stop after Walsenburg and watch for the green Land Rover. You’ll know it when you see it. I have enclosed extra money in case you run into trouble, or get hungry on the trip. I packed everything I think you’ll want. Please forgive me if I overlooked a token of your childhood. I did my best. Your father sends his love. Sam will miss you more than the rest of us combined, I fear. You are one of the Chosen, Meridian. For that I am both grateful and sorrowful. It means you must navigate your path without me, but know that I am always in your heart and you always will be in mine.
Your mother in this life,
Mom
I hugged my bags to me and read the letter over and over again. I memorized it, casting furtive glances at anyone who entered the dingy space. They all appeared normal and completely uninterested in me. Twelve hours to kill. When my stomach growled I checked out the vending machines.
I plugged a dollar bill in and pressed the button for knock-off Hostess chocolate cupcakes. I leaned against the glass. The twirly thing caught on the edge of the packet before it could drop. Figures. Nothing was easy.
I slammed the side of my fist against the glass. “Come on!” I shouted and pounded again. Finally, the cupcakes fell into the well and I fished them out.
I tried to hum a few bars of Happy Birthday, but couldn’t get past the first notes before tears clogged my throat and I couldn’t breathe. Useless.
“Happy Super Sixteenth Birthday, Meridian,” I said, biting into the stale and waxy cake. I chewed and swallowed by rote, leaning back in the hard plastic chair. I let my head roll back. I studied the water stains on the ceiling high above me. They were the patina and sepia tones of ancient continental maps.
When I was little, Sam’s age maybe, I studied the single photograph of Great-aunt Merry we had in the house. It was snapped during her days as a nurse in World War II. I used to study it to see if I looked like her. My namesake. But Mom hadn’t acted like Great-Aunt Merry was a real person. More a fairytale or myth.
In my family, all our birthdays are within three days of one another’s, except for Dad’s. But I shared my exact day with Auntie. I’d never met her. Frankly, it was creepy being named after someone alive. Like they’re paying attention, making sure you live up to whatever it is they think they are.
She left me alone except for our birthday. She usually sent a quilt. All different sizes, they grew with me over the years. Intricate stitching, brightly colored tiny pieces of fabric; some like impressionist paintings, others like photographs of places, people, and events I didn’t recognize.
All of them seemed to tell a story each time I touched them. Like the resonance of a tuning fork, a hum vibrated up my arm. So I put them in the hall closet, and tried not to come into contact with them. There was nothing comforting about the stack; they only made the little hairs on my body stand up like an electrical storm hovered over me.
I jerked upright. Nothing came this year. Nothing for me to open first thing in the morning. She knows I’m coming? Is this part of a plan? I resisted the urge to dial my house and ask. I inhaled ample breaths and tried to relax. Were my parents really not home anymore?
The bus station smelled of sweaty dollar bills and despair. It reeked of loneliness and solitary travel. I resisted tumbling toward the edge of sleep, hyped on adrenaline and not just a little fear.
I kept my head on a swivel, thinking that if I could see the threat coming I could do something brave and heroic like get the hell out of the way. There were so few people in the station. I began to relax. Just a little.
The bus didn’t leave until morning. Hours passed that way until the sun lit the edge of the horizon. Rapid-fire heels broke the edgy silence. The woman’s raven hair, the color I couldn’t find in a box, was tugged tight back into a bun on the back of her head. Her lips were bright fuchsia and her suit would have been a power suit in the fifties. It was well cared for, but the light blue faded to gray. She had a regal bearing, but it rang false to me as I studied the woven bag slung over her shoulder. She could carry the world in that bag.
She raced to the counter. Animated. Her hands did as much talking as her mouth, and yet the bored ticket taker barely flicked his eyes away from the grainy television muted on the counter beside him.
She slapped the counter while stomping her heels, but her hodgepodge of Spanish and English didn’t illicit a response from the ticketer. Or maybe he chose not to understand her. I closed my eyes, leaned my head against the top of my bag, and tried to tune out somebody else’s problem.
What had mom packed for me? How could she know what I needed in this situation?
The conversation at the counter escalated and the woman’s gesticulations became more desperate. I didn’t want to interfere. I’d studied five languages, but never actually used any of them. The woman started to get hysterical. The teller’s voice raised another octave. She didn’t have enough money for the ticket.
Fine. I lumbered to a standing a position. Let the blood drain south and bring the toes back online. I dragged my bags behind me, hoping if I walked slow enough the confrontation would be over by the time I’d shuffled those ten feet to the counter.
No dice. I asked in Spanish if I could help.
The clerk’s face bloomed in comical relief. “She insists on going to some place in Colorado, but she’s forty bucks short. I can’t sell her a ticket.”
I explained in rudimentary Spanish. The woman’s face lit up as if finally someone heard her. I listened as she poured out a river of story way too fast for me to catch. Her daughter was having babies. Twins. She had no other money. Something about work and losing her job. She kept smiling at me, as if I could make it better.
This could be a trick. A story to sucker me. But, I dug into my coat.
Her name was Marcela Portalso. Forty bucks was everything to her. Surely mom gave me more than two twenties for emergencies. I pushed it under the glass.
Señora Portalso protested, “No. No.”
“Por favor.” Please.
She didn’t want charity. A hard worker. No hand outs.
I reached into my Spanish vocabulary and put together the words for present and baby. I have no idea if I said them in the right order.
The clerk shoved the ticket out the window. A beautiful smile decorated the Señora’s face and she clutched the ticket like it was a gift from God.
Standing there, it was all I could do not to start crying for my own mother.
Señora Portalso insisted she would pay me back in Colorado City, or Denver, or Podunk. I wandered back to my corner. The minutes clicked by until finally they called our bus number. I stashed my duffel under the bus, inhaling exhaust as it idled. Ten other people crowded around trying to be the first on, like a swarm of gnats. I stayed back, feeling the need to keep my distance. I prayed they wouldn’t talk to me. I saw no bad guys and no speeding SUVs.
I didn’t want to get on the bus at all. I wasn’t a big traveler; my parents only tried a family vacation once and it ended horribly.
Señora Portalso patted the seat next to her with obvious enthusiasm when she saw me. As I settled into the cramped space, she tapped my hand. “Muy linda,” she kept saying. “Luz! Luz!”
Very pretty. Light. Light.
I stopped thanking her after the tenth time. I didn’t have much to say. I was full of questions, but she couldn’t answer any of them.
I slept fitfully as the winter sun rose high in the sky, then drifted behind storm clouds. In the dark, the lights of the interstate flashed in bursts as we passed truck stops and rest areas. The inside of the bus was a dingier, more claustrophobic dark than any room I’d ever slept in. I kept my knees tight against the seat in front, tucked up so my feet stayed off the floor.
Bits of conversation drifted through the darkened interior. “A job…family…never been to Colorado…heading to Disney World…nothing better to do…” They all had a reason, even if it wasn’t a good one, to be heading out. And what was mine? What happens if I stay on the bus? Go on to New York City or up to Seattle? Will anyone notice? Will anyone care?
We stopped at a couple of diners for pee breaks and to grab a quick snack. I came out of the bathroom and heard a voice in the diner that sounded like my father’s--“Can I get more coffee?” I whipped my head around, but it wasn’t him. I kept a scout out for anyone following me; the ominous instructions to be careful echoed in my head.
In the early morning light, I split a sandwich with the Señora, who gave me a mealy apple and several crumbly homemade cookies in return. The cookies reminded me of my mother. I swiped at tears that leaked from the corners of my eyes. What were my parents doing now? Were they okay? Was Sam more scared than me?
Oregon disappeared in the distance, Nevada and Utah came and went. Finally, we crossed the Colorado state line. In Durango, I ate another Milky Way. Mom wasn’t here to tell me not to. Monte Vista was unremarkable; the snow picked up speed in Alamosa. In Walsenburg, we turned north heading to Pueblo, but I watched for my stop as instructed. My heartbeat sped up. I watched the miles crawl by, barely seeing more than a thick cottony white.
What I could see were lighted, flashing billboards proclaiming, “Find Salvation in Revelation” and “Faith is a lifestyle for Eternity”. They popped up every few miles. Weird. It felt a little like the Vegas strip.
We drove into Revelation a full day after I’d gotten on the bus. Revelation Colorado? Someone’s idea of a joke, right? My school uniform was wrinkled and smudged with god knows what substances. My legs hurt from sitting all that time. I wanted a shower. Real sleep. Someone to tell me this was a mistake. Ha ha! Anyone?
We climbed down as fat snowflakes fell with an icy hush. They covered my hair and stuck in my eyelashes.
“Worst snowstorm in a century. Good thing we got here when we did; they’re shutting down and grounding the fleet until this blows over. Some fools are going to be spending Christmas in small towns they never wanted to see.” The third driver of this trip cackled with mirth as he unloaded our bags. I wondered how he could find pleasure in other people’s misery. But I didn’t ask.
I collected my duffel; hefting it, I wondered how it gained so much weight riding under the bus.
I was supposed to scan for a green Land Rover. One I’d know when I saw it. With the flakes falling smaller but faster, I could barely make out the shapes of buses in the lot. White swirled everywhere. No green anything.
Already my fingers and my nose had that stiff unreal feeling of numb. I’ll recognize what when I see it? A person? The Land Rover? Aunt Merry herself?
“Better get inside before you freeze.” The driver slapped the luggage bin closed and hocked spit onto the snow drift before hustling on his way.
All the passengers raced inside, seeking light and heat. I stood alone. As always.
CHAPTER THREE
Standing in the bleak alone outside of Revelation’s bus terminal parking lot, I saw no answers. Felt no epiphany.
I trudged into the overflowing terminal. Grumpy stranded travelers seemed surprised it snowed in Colorado right before Christmas. An older man in a wheelchair fiddled with the oxygen hose in his nose, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up unexpectedly. I was swamped with the feeling of holding my breath too long under water. As if every moment without an inhalation was one closer to full out panic.
I’d felt this at the car accident two days ago. My father’s voice shouted in my head, “Promise you’ll run. Run, Meridian, go!”
I had to get away. I needed to create distance between us. Someone, some person was dying, and they’d hurt me. I turned in great circles searching for a safe place, out of the weather, but there was nothing. My breath choked and I wheezed.
The old guy turned and stared at me. But past me, as if I wasn’t really standing there at all. His eyes widened and his hands reached toward me.
A sharp pain shot through my head and rippled down my arm. I started stumbling toward the doors to the outside. His family bustled around, a toddler threw a tantrum, and still the old man’s gaze locked on me until he smiled.
The doors whooshed open behind me and I tripped out into the snow. But I could breathe. The attraction lessened and I kept going, backing away, one step at a time. Several blocks away I knelt and vomited in a curbside garbage can. I tasted blood. I grabbed a handful of what I hoped was clean snow and let it melt in my mouth until I could spit out the taste. Sweat beaded along my face and arms.
One foot in front of the other, I pushed on until I found a bench in an ATM booth. I sat to gather my strength back, closing my eyes against the waves of nausea and pain. An ambulance raced past me with its lights flashing. It stopped at the bus station. I waited until they’d loaded a person into it and then I ambled back to the station. I didn’t have another option.
“Meridian. Meridian.” I heard my name being yelled and turned.
A heavily pregnant woman toddled behind Señora Portalso, waving her hands. I stopped. I’d forgotten the Señora.
“I’m Dr. Portalso-Marquez, thank you so much for helping my mother.” She shook my hand and kissed my cheek.
“You’re welcome.” I cleared my throat, uncomfortable with the Señora’s scrutiny.
“She wants you to have this.” The woman gestured to her mother.
Señora nodded and handed me a fifty dollar bill.
“I only gave her forty bucks.” I said, trying to give the money back.
“Yes, but you shared your food and she wants to make sure you have enough to eat tonight. Are you okay? You don’t look well.”
What must they think of me? What must they assume? “Oh, I’m fine thanks. I can’t-“
“Please. Keep it. We have to get to the hospital—my contractions have started, I think.” Which explained the pain around her mouth and eyes. “Here’s my card. If you need anything, please call me. We have plenty enough to share. My mother simply didn’t receive the wire transfer before she’d left. She refuses to learn fluent English.” With a wave of her hand and sigh, she turned to her mother.
“Thank you.” I put the card in my pocket along with the money. “I’m meeting someone.” I needed to explain I wasn’t alone.
Señora Portalso leaned into her daughter and spoke rapidly. The young woman turned back to me and translated. “She wants you to know she’ll see you again.” She shrugged hesitating, “If you’re sure you’re okay?”
“Bella, bella luz.” Beautiful, beautiful light. Señora tapped my cheek and they moved toward the wall of doors.
I wanted to ask what she knew about light. What did she see? But I kept my mouth shut and watched them walk away.
I stayed behind a post as people shook the snow from their coats and stomped their feet. No one surveyed like they were searching for a sixteen-year-old they’d never met. Evidently, no one expected me.
I sat for hours, eating Milky Ways and drinking Ginger Ale. I dredged out the paper mom wrote Auntie’s address on:
EastMeetsWest
115 North South Road
I was torn between wanting to listen to mom’s directions and thinking there was no way, with this snow, a centurion was going to make it, even in a Land Rover.
An imposing black man marched over in my direction. I studied my bag, refusing to make eye contact. His size intimidated me and his vibe felt dangerous.
“You be needin’ a cab, missy?” His thick African accent blew through me with power.
“Huh?” I asked, my gaze snapping to his.
“You be goin’ someplace?” He repeated.
I peered up at the clock. Five hours, eight milky ways, ten packages of Doritos and three ginger ales. I shifted against the pillar I’d been holding up with my back.
“Maybe.” I didn’t know if he was the “you’ll know it,” as in, you’ll be point blank asked, or if this was fate giving my tush a little push. I can sit here and wait, or I can get myself to Auntie’s house and demand answers.
He scratched his chin, but didn’t take his spellbinding eyes off my face as he reached into his coat pocket. “I make six trips to and from this place. You be sittin’ here that whole time.” He held out a photograph and shoved it under my nose. “My daughter Sofi. She’s in Boston. Stuck in big Nor’easter. I hope she not alone like you. I’m Josiah, where your family? Where you need to go?”
What a question. Where is my family?
I’d never learned to trust my instincts. Did I even possess instincts? I didn’t know if I could trust this man with his midnight skin and his golden eyes.
I wanted a bed, a shower, and broccoli, a weird thing to crave. I scrounged in my pocket for the paper. Worst case scenario, he was a serial killer who preyed on stranded travelers with the help of blizzards. At least my death would end this.
“Okay. Sure. 115 North South.”
“The big place off 69?” he asked.
“I guess.”
His brow wrinkled, “You got family there?”
“My aunt.” I swallowed.
“I drive you to the turn out, but snow too heavy out there for this little car to make it up the hill.”
“You don’t drive a Land Rover?” I asked, sure this man was my “you’ll know.”
His boundless laughter rolled over me as he bent and lifted my bag, “No missy. An ol’ Subaru. With older chains.”
“Oh.” I said, and followed him. He was very talkative. He told me about his family. His daughter studying law and immigration in Boston. I sat back and listened. I nodded and grunted when it was appropriate. He didn’t ask many questions, but seemed to chase the darkness away with his voice. The snow mounds rolled by and plows passed us in each direction. I couldn’t have said where we were if my life depended on it. And I was too tired to truly care.
“Here we go.” He slowed the car to a stop and reached around to pop the trunk.
In the far distance, using my imagination, I could almost see a glow of lights. The driveway was covered in snow drifts and icy patches.
“You sure?” I asked, reluctant to leave the heat of the car.
“I’m sure.” He climbed out.
I tucked my scarf around my mouth and shoved my hands into gloves. I glanced down at my very cute boots and wished I’d thought to wear ski clothes when I went to school. Not that I actually owned any. I wasn’t dressed for a long hike in the snow. Don’t have a lot of choice, now do I?
He hesitated at the trunk. “You certain? I can drop you at a motel in town and you can phone your Auntie.” He seemed reluctant to strand me in the wilderness, in the obscurity of the unknown.
I put on a brave smile. “I’ll be okay. Thank you.” I handed him the fifty Señora’s daughter had given me.
“Too much. A gift.” He gave me a little bow and didn’t touch the money.
“Thank you, but please take it.” I insisted. “Send it to your daughter for a cab ride. She might need it.”
“’Kay.” He scribbled on a scrap of paper and pressed it into my hand. “You call me, you need ‘elp.”
“Thank you.” I pushed his makeshift card into my pocket and started up the driveway.
There was no house to see. Nothing to make me think this was a good idea. I listened to the gears engage on that old rusted Subaru and felt, more than saw, the taillights fade away. There was no point in glancing back. But my God, it required everything I had not to run after him and beg him to drive me all the way home.
