“Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence” – Paul Simon

1989 – Fall

David crept up the winding stairs. He had woken to have a Camel cigarette. He was looking out at the old pond on his New Hampshire property. He heard his five year old daughter Robin talking to someone- her window was cracked. Nicholas’s room was first at the top of the stair and he was dead asleep- as usual. When he saw the door to Robin’s room- it was closed. This was not unusual for her. The light pierced from below. She was lightly laughing inside. When he opened the door, she was fine and beaming up at him. It was another night not going to bed and playing with more of those plastic ponies he kept on buying. Then, there in the corner was the heirloom- the old rocking chair. And it was empty and moving. Robin was talking now to both of them.
1986 – Winter/Summer

Chrissy sprinted as fast as she could away from the decrepit lamppost. She had run by here many times on many days in the past. Her stomach was full, it was Thanksgiving dinner where she had just been- she had only a serving. Houses across America- guest-bedrooms were covered with polypropylene coats and scarves and mittens- driving gloves in pockets. She had a family back there but her destiny demanded more of her.

Her slightly over-wined father looked at her as if she was insane when she asked to be excused. Her chair hummed back from the table before he gave a curt nod. She pouted her mouth and blew a stray blonde curlicue out of her vision. She would always be his little girl. Her mother shook her head- an imperceptible-smile into a cloth napkin. She withheld her temper at the wild-streak that was ever unavoidable. It was hopeless after Mark assented. Chrissy was the mature eldest daughter. The kids-table aside didn't pause in the new change of events- unperturbed they played on with their napkins whirling on their heads and spoons to their faces. They would make tantrums later as Chrissy would be missed but they were outnumbered. Twenty odd guests looked between the household rules of engagement. The divide in her immediately family was visible to her long-distance travel-worn relatives, and they kept their opinions to themselves until she was out the front door. Soon after, her foot falling down the stairs with her jogging sneakers messily tied. Chrissy was perhaps given too much freedom for 16. She was a babysitter for over seven families in the small town and a priceless bringer of order among the little-people.
She pocketed her sky-blue Tercel's keys after she ran by her beaten car. She told “Harrison” she would see him later. The sight of the car always gave her the feeling she would die in it one day- on some darkest of nights. She was in high school and far too much an "old soul" to many of her friends liking. Sure, they tolerated her fine- she was pretty, funny, and loyal to a fault. But there was always something pulling her from every engagement. She had a far off look that made her uneasy company- as if she had something... not ‘better to do’- just more important. Like there was a fire she was going to put out in some random house somewhere. Taylor once said poignantly at Softball practice that "She encroached on their collectively remaining years with a reminder of the unrequested impending responsibilities of adulthood."

Her proverbial arrow-heading mind was designed for a future she held to herself. Her feet pounded on the pavement and a cramp began to build under her right rib. She timed her pace with the fall of her stronger leg. When her foot impacted, she exhaled every third step with the cold wintering ground. The cramp subsided and yielded to her insistence. The gravel increased and she gave the necessary care to ease into the fastest pace she had ever found. She ran the unforgettable pattern through the lamps up ahead. She felt the wind rushing by. The warm air curling up and the sun shifting overhead. Night time wafted with the sound of summer peeper frogs. Her feet began to roll with it and the resistance disappeared. This had all depended on the taming of her wild blonde frizz back into a messy pony tail- smothered under her ratty Bo-Sox cap. She hadn't changed her top into something she could run in and the large sweater hung awkwardly off her left shoulder beneath the jean-jacket, she closed it and zipped it up to keep her bra-strap from being immodest. She nearly knocked over her standing mirror in her beige-and pink bedroom when she'd yanked the jacket off of it's impromptu frame. Time was everything today. It was now or never.

She remembered back two years ago on the note she had received in her locker freshman year. Then there was the note before that. Then the note before that- they were a seemingly endless stream. She would never forget the first note. It was done in crayon. It wasn’t a flattering drawing of her- but it was mysteriously hers and hers alone. That one was not in a locker- it was in her cubby-hole. She saved them all- but no matter where she hid them, they always went missing. Locked up or not. Hidden or not. She just got good at memorizing them. Even the copies she made wouldn’t remain. By the time he drew her the pattern, she was ready to run it.

That first note- it was in preschool. It was a small twice folded thing, bigger than her hand. She had been there to get her snack of raisins and annie-crackers. When she saw it perched there- she looked over her shoulder twice, movie-star curious- and was of course, alone. It was from a boy.

She gazed up at the large glass and stone structure ahead. It rose over the crest as she ran. She passed the white clap-board houses and cedar-shake homes. Rippling flags red white and blue presented their porches raised above the sidewalks. Lights faded in the warmth of the nation’s holiday. Fourth of July. Technically speaking- it was the day after- but these patriots in this part of the country just had them all weekend long. It was a Saturday. The fire-works winked in the distance- then the concussive bursts in the air hung on- the sulfuric smell and tinge of bar-b-que made her smile. Her heart pounded hot in her chest. These clothes were turning into a furnace. The face of the Concord Memorial Hospital began to show it’s night-lit signage as she wound her way past the oddly structured parking lot. She passed the main entrance and continued her way up the concrete wheel-chair access ramps that sloped back and forth towards the Obstetrics wing. She had memorized the instructions in his note. They always were meticulous and precise. This was one test of many but a supremely crucial one.

Chrissy greeted the air-conditioned lobby and smiling bright- she waved to the woman sitting by the desk. Her panting and speed was excusable. That was a girl that knew where she was going. Her air of maturity greased her way through the prerogatives of adults. She wound her way to the stairwell, passing the warped pale wax coated wainscot. It was easy for her to follow the small navy wall placards with braille bumps below. She felt them for interest then cursed herself at getting distracted. She was so excited to see the baby.

She made her way into the laundry space and found a locker alcove off to the side. Sixth one over- two down. She took a big breath of faith and stripped out of the jacket. She pulled out the purple-mint scrubs and began changing right there, while her sweater made it’s way over her bush of hair she glanced her day-glow watch. It wasn’t synchronized to this time- but it sure as heck still counted the minutes right. No one would be here and see her. She glanced aside and saw her figure in the mirror over a small sink. She hoped her chest would grow a little more. She looked inside and found the lanyard with an I.D. photo of a pretty blonde with straight hair. It wouldn’t do if anyone stopped to ask her about it. She chewed on her lower lip. She shucked off her jeans and crammed her stuff into the neighboring locker- ball-cap kingly on top. She counted under her breath how long it took her to put on the outfit. They were a little big. She pulled the elastic waist band out and heard it snap smartly on her belly. Ouch. She put her feet into the white pumps within the bottom of the locker, she didn’t bother lacing them and just shoved the strands down the sides of the strangers shoes with her pointer fingers. She side stepped and hopped in front of a mirror and took her scrunchie from her wrist into her teeth while she worked back her hair into a better pony tail. She then choked it tight and bound it with ferocity. She pursed her lips and saw her look at least two convincing-years older- it was key to stretch the temples. She looked at her own face and smiled at herself- a crazy smile- eyes wide and mouth open. She shook her head at how much of a dork she actually was and she sprinted back off up the stairs. Shit. She turned and went back down and found in her rear-jean pocket a note. This was Jeannie’s.

She took two stairs at a time and made her way up to the room. It was late for the employees that worked odd shifts. Nearly 11:30pm. He was born yesterday- there were complications. Jeannie had been exhausted- at not the two hour fire-works birth nearly exactly a day ago- but from the issue that Nicholas did not keep his breast-milk down. The baby was rejecting every form of nutrition. Potentially he’d die within a few days. Nothing was making it past the sphincter exiting the stomach. The Obstetric surgeons wanted to operate and discover why. Jeannie had refused and continued to feed him anyway, praying and coaxing him to absorb whatever he could into his little belly.

Chrissy slowed as she approached the room. She felt the jitters creeping on her hands and up her body. She was nervous to meet her. To meet them. To see him- though he was just a baby now. She had seen Jeannie in the future, but that was totally different. She would have to look unassuming and natural. She would have to act a perfect part of a semi-clerical nurse, or intern. She peeked through the small pane of glass at the brightly lit room. Jeannie H. Dorsey was propped up in her bed within 227B. She was wearing jeans and a loose sweater herself. Her hair was pulled back as well. Dark brown. She was beautiful but worn down. Artistic and classy. David was nowhere to be seen- possibly outside nervously sucking down a cigarette and walking Robin around by her hand- two and a half years Nicky’s senior. Jeannie’s sweater was drawn up so the baby had access when he was done fussing.

Chrissy looked down at the note and folded it and unfolded it twice. She strode in. The woman barely noticed her until she spoke. “H-H-Hi Mrs. Dorsey- I just got off the phone with your friend Mr. Price from Los Angeles. He wanted you to have this- I took the whole formula down for you. It’s called the Barley Formula.” Jeannie reached a frail arm out from her red-faced child she held close. He was meaner than a beet and the burp rag was a mess. Jeannie smiled wanly and cocked an eye-brow. Chrissy felt like speaking a little more than she should. It came out strangely and she’d kick herself for it all the way back home. She could tell Jeannie had pride-fully cleaned the mascara tracks that had been there, but she missed a bit on her chin.

“You know, they say that lactose-intolerance is pretty rare these days. But I bet that’s not the case- ya know. 1 in 10,000 doesn’t really make sense. I was lactose-intolerant and um, well- I am a living testament! I didn’t get any surgery.” Jeannie read the formula. “Really?” She said faintly before her eyes turned up and took the girls face in full. Chrissy felt odd like she was being photographed and gave a drawn in smile. “Nick is adorable. He. Is. Adorable.”

She looked down.“Thank you... Nick… that is something. I was just thinking of that name a few minutes ago. David wanted to go with Matthew.” Jeannie paused. “What did you say your name was, honey?”
The pretty young girl was gone.

Chrissy had made it back home for curfew. Barely an hour had passed in her time. Her parents usually let her go running for up to two before they would get worried. She was not too fast but was getting better. She had her eye on Track Captain this year. Once she had rolled her ankle on an unsettled cobblestone and they found her sitting on the curb patiently a few blocks away.

Chrissy looked at her life before her and behind and fit the pieces together. She snuggled deeper into her covers and felt the night creep in. She had just shut the door to the hallway night-light and climbed into her medium-sized four-poster in her Dads old ZZ-Top band shirt. She knew it was fine what happened with Jeannie. She was certain.

Before she could go to sleep- to calm the jitters- she wrote a note to Nick in her spiral-bound. She held the feathered end against her nostril because it tickled and wrote a simpler one this time:

NICK!!!!
You made my day with this. definitely inspiring me! I'll send you a
picture of what comes out of this. I cannot thank you enough. keep
it coming! let's turn this collaboration into a great project - let's
make a book!
so good to hear from you my prince charming!
XOXOHearts,
Chrissy

She looked back two years before, when she got the wildest note-one of her favorites. It was the one that wound her up- running the pattern and impersonating a kid down the street from the Dorsey’s. She had to bring her bike so David would notice her while he took a break from mowing the lawn. Nicholas was two then. Robin was four and a half. Dave was a funny guy- balding up top with a broomy mustache. He was pretty easy to talk to and liked to talk- he smoked like a chimney. His socks were pulled up high to keep the cut grass from getting all over his ankles. Jeannie was a deep conversationalist. David provided wisdom easily when not asked for it- though it was precise and excellent all the same. She had secured the job on the spot. She went in to meet the kids that afternoon. She remembered standing in their foyer looking at the house that changed over the years. It was cute. Old beam-work, white plaster walls. David had his shoes off, pale shins- and stood comfortably within his domicile. It was warm. Almost like something elves would work in- in the north-pole.

She had been noticing the details and taken an offered glass of orange juice. She wiped her lip when she was asked if she wanted to see Jeannie’s art studio. She did. The old room opened with a latch. David had rapped thrice for permission to enter from the matriarch. The woman was incredible- and it showed how much of a perfectionist she was. She did air-brushing and photo-retouching. She was mid working on a motor-cycle tank at the moment. Someone wanted a bald eagle to appear like it was ripping the bulb to shreds- with ethereal patriotic smoke emitting outwards.

The house was fitting and had antiques which met it’s build from the 1800’s. What they lacked in new stuff was easily filled by yard-sale appliances. They didn’t have much money and both had to work with the young kids. When asked how much money she expected to take care of them- she said the first day was always free- in case the kids didn’t like her. David thought this was ridiculous but Jeannie nodded in approval. Jeannie liked her but couldn’t quite place as to why.

Robin was honored and a gabby one when she saw a female role-model in her midst. The girl owned a plastic pony army. She had corn-silk blonde hair and round features. She was darling and easy to work with. When she met Nicholas- he was a terror- but sweetened up when he was tired. Somehow he was deeply offended at the idea of being put to bed- he would do it himself like a little soldier. He developed a crush on her pretty quickly. Within a few days he made kissy faces and took them when he could get them. Then he wanted to be tucked in. His little smile would peek through the banister and watch her while she handled Robin. She never wanted to go to bed, she would talk to a bed-post until daylight. Chrissy got to walk their large white Samoyed, Lancer.

Often Chrissy watched the pair in the day hours. Then that fateful day Nick had warned her about in the notes, arrived. Younger Nick had torn across the yard and fallen into the submerged water-garden bathtub. He hadn’t even slowed down- he just dumped in there. But Chrissy was heroic in a flash. Robin had been coloring at the miniature picnic table and pointed out Nick hauling across the yard. He ran everywhere- when he wasn’t climbing. Chrissy made it in time and lifted him out bawling. He was handling milk better these days, but he sure puked a lot still. She kept dairy away from him- he was a time-bomb. He puked this time from the water.

She saw him sit quietly and work on his drawings. For hours. He sat there poised over the living-room table, oh-my-god hours upon hours- making the tiniest drawings with a pencil upon a stack of white printer paper. He would discard the ones he didn’t like. Toss them to the floor if they didn’t match what was in his minds-eye. Jeannie always wanted to save the tiny drawings. David always asked the boy why he didn’t just practice on the white space. Nicholas responded matter-of-factly that if he liked what he drew in that test-space that the final drawing would be ruined. Robin just liked to sharpen the pencils and organize her art-space setups. The little blonde headed girl always wanted to wrap Chrissy’s arm or foot with an ace-bandage, which David had high-up in the bathroom’s wooden medicine cabinet. She would talk the entire evening- even through mouthfuls of food.

Well, I remember, I remember, don't worry, how could I ever forget?
It's the first time, the last time we ever met
But I know the reason why you keep your silence up, no, you don't fool me
Well, the hurt doesn't show, but the pain still grows
It's no stranger to you and me
I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord
Well, I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord- Phil Collins

1993 – Spring/Fall

Nicholas laid on the carpet still as a shell on a beach. He was normal for an almost 7-year-old of his size. His hair had taken on a darker shade- where before it was peanut butter, but that would change back by August. He was quiet and still. Trying not to move and be seen by the kind overlord, Mrs. Crane. These were the more reflective years. A wilder childhood left him exhausted and contemplating of everything that had flashed by. He stared at the murky ceiling. It was nap time- and he was pretending to close his eyes. The construction-paper cut-outs waved about above and his mind wandered.

It would be a letter he would write someday.

“Dear Chrissy-miss,
You are one of my favorite people in the whole world, you know? The sound of the rolling train in the background down the street. The smell of the laundry room and the loose change spilled all over the floor. What we could count we could have! I think of the Revolver/Counting Crows tape you made for my Dad that I stole and listened to on repeat because it was the only music I had access to at 5 years old. I think of that stained glass window I broke. I think of that cool doll house you had built with Robin. The tiny orange corvette. I think of Robin and I reenacting Sleeping Beauty on the stairwell and you too. I think of you playing dead, or just asleep. I think of homemade salads and your sandwich skills. I think of walks on cobblestones- the dwarf house. I think of walking funny in public, arms linked, Wizard of Oz style. I think of trying to dive at your friend’s pool we snuck into. I think of seeing you arrive on the car with your cool pony-tail in a jean jacket- wild and ready in the breeze. I think of when you went to that stupid Jesus-camp you told me you were going to and waiting for you to come back from there and dying of boredom. I think of that mean pool table and my hurt hand. I think of warm soda sitting on the basement stairwell. I think of ginger snaps and ginger ale. The bowl of M&Ms. I think of so many great things.
Write back, please!”

“Psst.”

“Psst!”

“Pssst, Nicky!”

His teacher was standing over him. Rocking him with her slender hand. He barely opened his eyes- wishing he could go back. The other kids were standing around grinning. Some were very serious. The judgement began.

“Whats he doing, Mrs. Crane?” A girl asked.

“I think he was having a good dream.”

“Yeah- he’s smiling.” A boy laughed, and more giggles arrived.

“Maybe he’s in love!” Then the laughter erupted. He turned a shade of crimson and sat up like a shot.

1984 – Freshman year.

“Jeesum Crowe Puh-rissy- are you serious that you don’t want a boyfriend- at- all?” Trisha had a chip dangling from her mouth. She then put it back in the bag before leaning over the table top to emphasize. “Megan Farrel had like, two last week.” Shannon burst out laughing at the joke. When it settled down and the teachers gaze swept over their heads like a laser beam, Trisha continued. “Not that there are a ton of choices or anything- but you could at least try.” She sat back with finality. Chrissy just stared at her over the top of her book bag hugged close. Wishing she would just change the subject. Shannon then opened her mouth- trying to mollify it a bit for her friend. “Well, you still get those notes once in a while. Which you never TELL. ANY. ONE. ABOUT.” Chrissy turned her chin up.

“I don’t get them anymore- I made the whole thing up you guys-“ She looked at the two shaking their heads. “I even told you that during Truth or Dare. You kept pressuring me about Morgan Dodier that I had to invent my own boyfriend for the entirety of grades-school.” The other girls looked at one another conspiratorially. Trisha piped in again, “Yuh, that was the one time you picked Truth. You always picked Dare before that. This matter has yet to be decided upon by the holy triumvirate…. You never showed us the notes.” Chrissy batted her eyes and looked over at the boys table. They were sitting unusually quiet and reserved at the moment. They were always in their own world. Signs of maturity, perhaps. “It’s because, it is so stupid to show your friends fake notes that you made for yourself. Honest.”
“I’m calling bullshit.” Trisha said as she stood up to throw out her trash pile. Then she said the words under her breath. “Buh-hu-huulll-shit!” She tossed the bunch into the can with wide open palms- everything suddenly disgusting. She approached the table digging into her pocket for a piece of wintergreen.

“Seriously, Chris. We would like to really know someday.” Shannon said, a little bit overdone that she was offended. Chrissy just nodded nonchalantly and put her apple back in her mouth, misjudging the distance to her braces. “Ouch.”

2003 Summer

Nicky made the twenty minute drive all the way from Martial Arts camp. The Tercel kept the pace. He was exhausted. He was sleeping at the camp and going to soccer practice in the late afternoons until 11pm at night. The regimen had him up in the cabin at 7am for a five mile run- breakfast and then a morning workout, mid-morning session, then lunch and another workout which he instructed to the younger group. Their feet never failed to find a way to connect into his groin- today was another rehearsal of encouraging them to get comfortable in confrontations. He was working to get onto the varsity soccer team. Camp- which he’d never miss- it fell on pre-season for one of the most prestigious teams in the country- for it’s schools size. It was day three- he was hanging on but he had to stop on the side of the road. He had grabbed a peanut butter sandwich before sprinting off with his duffel from the rec hall.

His air passage was closing. He had pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway. He stood himself up straight as the cars whipped by at 70. He had a cramp building in his left leg which had worked the clutch. He felt the esophagus bind up and there was only a trickle getting through now. He stumbled into the reeds by the ditch. He knelt there in his shorts and white t-shirt, straining to get his air.

Shur-Gungs voice in the back of his mind- and not alone- urged him on to get his air. If he could get his air- it would be over. He slowed his heart rate and squeezed a trail of tears further down his face. His mouth was wide and the ropes of phlegm laced down onto the prominent hayseeds. He coughed out and sat back on his heels. He started to count downwards. It must have been the peanut butter. Which was a new prostest. This body was not yet invincible- no matter how hard he forced it to be. He could run 20 miles and fight for ten minutes flat but he couldn’t get down a fucking sandwich. If this was the end, he readied himself as best he could.

He stared out at the clump of yellow closest to him of flowers. He stretched his attention out further and sank flatter onto the earth from his kneeling pose. His thumb was poised over the call button on his phone. It wasn’t the numbers 911 that he’d entered. His back he kept straight, and loosened the stomach. He looked deeper into the field and found a copse of buttercups. He thought on them glowing on his chin. 28. 27. 26. From the shade of the cleaning a voice boomed out to him. Laughing deeper as the cars rumbled by. 26. 25. 24…

Chrissy made her way down the hall ahead to get to the second half of fifth period- as calm as could be. She still had about seven minutes. She was used to covering up her inner thoughts that swirled inside the crystal ball of her brain. She ducked into the least used bathroom- the wheelchair-access deadbolt one by the shop rooms. When she got to the mirror and looked. She broke.

Tears gushed out and she erupted a wave of pent up rage and wistfulness and grief. Maybe it was hormones- maybe it was the long built coil and yarn and lies and junk hovering there. Her head turned down and parts of her dripped into the sink.

She would never tell her friends- it wasn’t even a truth she could comprehend herself. The notes had stopped coming. The notes hadn’t come in two years. She had changed schools. She had dove into the libraries; chemistry and physics books, even weird occult stuff- That’s right Chris, you fucking moron, aliens are sending you love-letters- and passed out trying to understand quantum mechanics. There weren’t any answers. Why would the notes- why would they ever continue? None of it made sense anyway. Perhaps I am too young for life, she thought. Perhaps I am certifiably insane. She wished that this particular weight of obligation- of only her strange life- would just go away- rush by. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes that night and go to sleep- wake up and have it all be gone. She took a deep breath and saw the puffiness to her face in the mirror.

Maybe she had not followed his directions. Maybe he was dead. Maybe despite his instructions, she would run the pattern tonight. She didn’t care about the rules. Right? She could say she was watching the Donny Henderson for an hour or something.

1990 Winter

Jeannie and David were laying in their bed that night. She was trying to make it through his syncopated snores. There was something wrong with the man’s septum. Her mind was alert and the recent art piece had just been finished- which always restored to her a few extra units of attention. She asked him “How come Chrissy never seems to get bigger or taller? Don’t you think that’s strange?” David rolled onto his shoulder and continued- although a tad bit quieter.

1982 Fall

Chrissy had gotten this last note two days before she finished middle-school. There was going to be a graduation party but she was sure she wouldn’t go. She wanted to run the pattern. Something was wrong. Nick was writing her again. This was definitely a note from the future. It had come in pieces in reverse order. They had disappeared as usual and the last one came that she rehearsed over and over again. She was walking through the library during her study hall. The compilation went something like this:

“…When I think back on what it used to be like to have reoccurring nightmares, it seems odd. At the time it was terrifying, the content of it- but that it recurred was what haunted me the most. Almost as if someone else shoved the pictures into my head, in front of my little face and through my eyes. It wasn't a matter of content. Really, it was a matter of experience. I was being haunted, repeatedly. Why would an ancient demon choose a two year old child? Was it my innocence? Was I a threat? Was my happiness the antithesis of such evil?
Or was it that I someday would listen to what it had to say...
I grew up in Gilmanton, New Hampshire...”

Chrissy tipped a waxy volume out from the shelf which covered New England in the period of the Salem Witch Trials. She could have sworn she had checked it out before. She opened it and moved through the pages starting with the high-gloss black and white cover. The cellophane was peeled back.

“… A house which originally used to be an ice house- it was built in the 1800's with a brick floor. Ice would be hauled in as giant bricks, cut from the pond on the property spanning 26 acres. As a kid this seemed kind of funny to me because the pond was stinky. I had a hand-me-down fishing pole and couldn't catch anything but algae. I found more dead animals in that pond than live ones growing up. A deer once. I imagined that their spirits would be frozen underneath, trapped under or trapped inside the ice, cut out, and hauled onto our brick floor. The bullfrogs would survive, as my mom told me they burrowed deep into the mud before winter came, and determinedly slowed down their heartbeat. I would try that when I was in the water at Crystal Lake, sink to the bottom where the water was cooler and try and relax before the thoughts of dead animals came rushing back, or the thought of an alligator coming out of the darkness- out of our pond- eating my sister and I when we were just playing under the tree house. That’s Robin, whom I had sworn to protect from things real or imagined. I loved the water, up until I had the thoughts I wasn't supposed to have- then I had to get out. The thoughts would creep in around the edges of my imagination, and eat the logical thoughts and then become fixed in front of my eyes- I thought I was seeing things. Maybe though- when you are haunted- you are seeing things. Things that are there that other people ignore.

My sister was the first one haunted. She was afraid of the dark before I was born, two and a half years later. She used demand my dad leave the light on, because the darkness brought the hauntings. Robin was a friendly child- she hugged complete strangers. Reached out her arms to old women in the grocery store, where one time my mom had her back turned- and my sister was nearly kidnapped. The woman was located holding my sister in the bread aisle, one aisle away from the cart- nearly stolen with a trusting smile on her face. My mom told me this and that I was not the same, I told strangers I hated them because they were condescending to me, a little frustrated man stuck in a tiny body. I felt that I could call lightning if I was mad enough. I felt my thoughts had force, and they did. My Dad once came up the stairs to turn my sisters light off as he did each night- and once again, found her sitting in the center of the oval quilted rug smiling and playing with ponies and talking to the ghost woman. The ghost woman would talk to Robin and watch her play with her toys, because Robin didn't want to sleep- she wanted to play with her ponies and talk to someone. She didn't want to talk to the one that came in the darkness.
The one that came in the darkness lost his interest in my sister when I came along. When I told him to leave her alone. Then he came after me…”

There was a familiarity to the paragraphs in the book. It was a bit of an ache on her hands. So she chose a corner desk and went and sat on the table top portion- her book-bag slung over on the singular strap. She was looking down and gnawing on her fingernails.

“…I thought I was brave when I was small. I suppose I was. When I crawled up the creaky winding stairs at nearly three and would put myself to bed. I would say "Momma, I'm tired, gonna go bed now." My sister would stay awake, and play with her ponies under the watch of the ghost woman in the ghost rocking chair and talk to her. I didn't mind, my sister was happy. The ghost woman left when the hauntings began. I suppose any ghost could be scary, but when you have the contrast of a kind one... and one that fed on the dark inner depths of fear, a fear that transcended time and space and this world, you learn to like a pleasant presence of a good ghost…”

She self-consciously removed her fingertips from her mouth and looked at the accompanying photographs of wooden shacks from Salem.

“…For the first time, my sister was silent when I reached the hall way. Like she was gone somewhere, down a dark tunnel with no sound. I called out for her, and for the first time, she never answered…”

She had the feeling she was being watched from between the book stacks. So she paused with the book and walked over to a more open space- more eyes and ears. She felt a little more superstitious every day now.

“… I went to my room, reached up to the light switch and felt a frigid darkness on my hand- the switch did nothing and brought no light. Little had I known that he was waiting for me. I felt a creeping wrongness to everything. It looked like my room in all appearances, but it was not, I owned nothing of that space anymore. I was foreign. It was as if something had carved my room and my possessions out of dark rotted wood with complete precision detail and with an affinity for the task only to be described as a concussive wickedness…”

Chrissy sneezed and wiped her wrist on her nose- it was dry and that was fine. Then itched behind the back of her ear and rotated a bracelet on her wrist which was a bit in the way.

“…The laugh followed. It boomed throughout every fiber of the room. It rattled my small body to the marrow and then beyond. Sending terror into me that only exists in lifetimes long gone and forever black and lost. I was not a child. These things do exist. There are ghosts, but worse- there are demons…”

Chrissy glanced up at the clock and noticed that she had twenty more minutes. She idly flipped forward for anything of more mention.

“…The headboard slowly bent and warped inward it's rotted wood into the shape of a face, into a relief of the demon mask. The smile he had chosen to meet me with- and give me my first encounter with…”

She reached into her bag and rummaged for the folded note from Nicky. There wasn’t any remains of it. She then cursed and flipped to the back of the book. She noticed the beat up yellowing library slip hanging out from its keeper-envelope. There, written in red crayon, was Nick Dorsey’s name. The year was poorly drawn but it was a pair of 20’s. What the fuck?

“..they never stopped but rose in volume and wicked intention. It burrowed in me and found whatever made me special as a child, as any child individually is, and like a snuff dropped over the last candle, extinguished any chance for...”

1988 Fall

I think Nick is in jail. Chrissy wrote furiously with her pen upon the envelope the letter had come in- shoved it back into the mailbox under the street lamp- as if it was on fire. She stood there for another twenty minutes by her watch and then checked it to make sure it went. The box was empty when she pulled the lid back down. Shit. Shit. Shit. She had to do something better to stem the bleeding and whatever was going through him right now.

“Nick!

Happy New Year! In 2019, I'm hoping to create more, which means I need
more inspiration! I have been reading and re-reading your emails
regarding the stories from our childhood in Gilmanton. It has
provided me with a drive to create and dive deeper in the the realms
and memories of our weird little home tome and all that time together. Have you written anymore?
Please say yes, and send it my way.

Have you ever listened to Paul Simon, Call me Al? (yes, that’s rhetorical)
It feels all too familiar. Give it a listen and let me know what you
think. It reminds me of us!

Miss you, hope all is well, HANG IN THERE!
LOVE
Chrissy”

1992 Winter

The Dorsey’s were running a bit late and Chrissy had made a pact with Nicholas over one chapter of one book. It was his favorite- they were laying on his bed upstairs. It was a big heavy volume- a collection of stories. The room was decorated with ninja-turtles and trans-formers. The yellow carpet had a large stain under the bed from a carton of raspberry ice-cream he’d snuck in one day months ago and left. The dogs howled outside and he snuggled closer. He had his little finger in his hair and was twirling it around as she read. The knees on his pj’s were worn down- she thought she’d get him a cool pair for Christmas- it was a tight year for David and Jeannie. She read on in the tale which was probably too gruesome for his age of five. He anticipated another voice coming from a character. Chrissy turned to him and roared like the Pirate Captain Dogger Blath. The growl in her voice tickled him and he turned his cheek into her naked shoulder, she didn’t wipe the saliva that had come from his pruny little thumb. Her sweater was hanging off all baggy as was the fashion and he stopped laughing and stared at her in total overwhelm of a new idea. He placed a flat palm to her hair. He frowned and spoke with gravity.

“I want Dogger Blath to let them live and to love each other- Chrissy.”

“I know bud.” He untangled his palm from her frizz.

She didn’t get it. So he sat up and put his hands on her chin and pressed forward.

“No, Chrissy- listen.” She had her eyes wide at the insistence of him. She turned her ear slightly.

He spoke and stayed still – the world was ending somewhere “Evil always gets in the way. That and time. Time is evil, too.” She just stared, wondering what he knew.

“I want Captain Dogger Blath to let them live and to love each other.”

She heard their car back into the driveway. Then the car doors shut one before the next. She got him tucked in and hit the light. It was a drill.

The blue Jeep idled on the slick slope, they had driven this far once again. David was concerned and rightly so. Chrissy was trapped.
“I don’t care about you reading him a story that late, kiddo.” Dave said. He was trying to make a different point and she changed the subject like a master.

“Chrissy, look. I know your habitual insistence. You always take your bike- and that is fine. It just friggen froze-over out there from this damn storm. I am driving you down the driveway.”

Chrissy looked at him in the dome light. She had been peering out into the snow fall – the familiar trail of dark trees hung heavy with the weight of the flakes collecting. She had pretended this was her driveway for years. The beat of the wipers was steady. Even the last name on the mailbox was what it was. They didn’t even have her number- David just delivered the notes to the mailbox and she picked them up after school- or so he had thought. He insisted on her number many times- but she said her parents didn’t believe in the construct of phones and so she wasn’t giving it out, ever – to anyone. Her babysitting ruse was congenially under the table. There wasn’t a moment where it had failed in the past. She did an excellent job as a spy. She turned toward him and fed him a line of shit.

“I-I-I-I don’t want you to see where I live. We are poor, Dave. It is embarrassing.” She choked on the last word her voice rose up higher attempting to uncatch where it snagged.

Chrissy began to cry- and real good too. He couldn’t tell exactly what nerve he had hit- but something was off about the whole charade. “What is going on?”

Before he was done asking, he reached out his hand to her shoulder. “Look Mr. D, I just don’t really know what to say. I don’t really want to babysit any more.” She had flinched.

“What are you talking about?” His hand went back to the wheel- his leather glove flexed on the grip and he looked forward at a sedan slowly passing by on the narrow road.

“I want to grow up- live a little more. I have plenty of money I have saved up. But I hardly see my friends.” She looked back at him to see if he was buying it. He wasn’t.

“I get it, kiddo. But. God-damn! You are kidding me? You love Nick and Robin! What do you suppose they are going to think?”

She pulled at the latch. “I know. I am sorry. I am so sorry. Tell them they can write me!”

He helped her pull the bike from the back hatch. The red of the brake-lights covered their legs and the snow fell lighter. The air was still and filled with the rolling exhaust fumes.

“You have your own choice, kid. It’s totally yours. But I am not going to tell you that it’s the best idea I’ve heard. You are like family. Really.” His hat brimmed was pulled down low. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and fumbled to get it lit. When he looked up- she was gone.

No bike tracks. “Shit. Chrissy! What the fuck?” His mouth forced the ‘f’ out around the butt of the cigarette. He shut the hatch and went to the cab. He rushed to head down the unplowed path with the Jeep and make sure she didn’t slip down it’s steep incline.

“I don’t get it dear, the fucking trail was a dead end. Nobody lives down there. Utterly abandoned of whatever there was. Maybe the place was still standing in the sixteen-fucking-hundreds.” He peered into her face for an answer. Jeannie took her hands off her hips and shook her head. He smelled so awful- cigarettes and barn boots. “Did you touch her? Did you flirt with her? I know you. I know how things were in the past- so spit it out! What in the hell did you do?”

“No, damn it Jeannie. I did not fucking touch our babysitter. Jesus-fucking-Christ!”

“Well you’re the one who is going to have to tell them you scared off their favorite fucking person in the world, David.”

He swore louder but not at anyone and pushed off the stone fire-place mantle.

Jeannie and David sat the pair down. They were a team now. Big versus small- and big was winning. Big always won. Nick wiped his hands on his face and felt the slick tears and mucous glide until it hit his sleeve. He didn’t understand why she would go. Why she wouldn’t say bye. Robin sat with her bowl of ice-cream, her onesie booties fluffed the fur of Lancer under the living room table.

“It’s okay honey. You can always write to her. She wants you to write to her.”

2004 Spring

Nick dressed in his suit, feeling awkward at how it clung at his arm pits and thighs. The training had made him bigger in places he wasn’t ready for, for at least ten more years. He stepped forward to the mirror and leaned in. He worked his hair over with the tea-tree pomade he bought. His hands were tacky and shaking. The bathroom floor clicked with the unusual sound of dress shoes upon it. Fucking prom- again. He hoped Heather noticed and liked it. He had followed her directions and got a haircut a week prior- so it didn’t look too fresh and lame. She was probably right about all that stuff. He sighed in an attempt to relieve himself – his nerves were strumming fast. He had felt weird purchasing the condoms. That wasn’t upon request- why he did, he wasn’t certain. It’s not that he wanted to have sex with her- he could though. Heather was wild and beautiful and he would feel unprepared if he hadn’t made the decisive purchase. He knew she’d somehow think he wasn’t a real guy if he didn’t have them. So he had them.

The gas station was empty at the moment besides himself and the cashier. He asked for a yellow pack from a kid three years older than him- whom he had seen around the high-school years ago. His name began with a J- he thought. “That’s all J. Oh, and a pack of the yellow Trojans.” He pointed thinking it was fairly official he was sexually active. “It’s Greg.” “Yeah, shit, sorry Greg.” Fucking. Weird.

The fucking things were six bucks. Maybe he’d need another pack? What was he kidding- it wasn’t going to be some marathon with prophylactic flying all over the place. Or was it? Just get the fuck out of here- best described the look on Greg’s face. Maybe the word would get around eventually he was banging Heather. He hoped the guy died of a coronary that night…

“You look so handsome dear.”

“Thanks mom.”

“Are you meeting Heather at her place or the high-school?”

“Her place. I gatta run.” He felt guilty for cutting his mom off another moment that slipped between the cracks. Some day he would make it back and make up for it. He had to promise this to himself more than he ever wished he had.

You see, her hands had crabbed up and the arthritis was bad as she couldn’t hold a paint brush anymore. Dad was working doubles and she had nothing better than a book and the couch to pass the time.

“Well okay! I hope to see some photos of you and the prettiest girl in school, okay?” And she never pried at his time, the shreds of his dwindling presence were pearls on an otherwise barren shore.

He felt weird thinking about it all now in the back-back corners of his mind- the last note he had received from Chrissy was a week ago. It didn’t really fit or coincide with anything he had written her. She was concerned for him for some reason. He didn’t know what had transpired wherever she was now. Ohio? Texas?

He moved his Tercel down the switchback road and turned up the music to take the edge off. Then he thought about it- he’d want to feel the moment. He turned the music off. He reached into the glove box, where Heathers babies-breath-crowned black/violet-corsage was stowed and protected. He saw the old mix tape Chrissy had made. He worked the clutch and the gear shift with his left hand and his long toed shoes. He had the rhythm down and could drive a stick without his hands mostly. He tore the tape out and put it in. He cranked it up and thought of her note as Paul McCartney tore into the first track.

“Nicky, this is really fun.

Of course you are still you. You have such a bright spirit: where would it go if it were not with you? You've clearly grown it and nurtured it. I hope it sings in your work. I will listen to the song you referenced and appreciate your sharing all of that.

You're an amazing writer. What do you read these days in there?

I particularly love the image of the flowers you made. Spectacular portrait of your artist-imprisoned status. Some lucky girl out there is blessed to have you and it seems to me from our minor interactions that she'll be a human equipped to understand that.

Sushi, by the way, is a very favorite food. Maybe tied with raw oysters.

I absolutely understand that my husband isn't the best painter of my portrait. He's different than you in marked ways. He doesn't much talk about deep things, because there's not much news usually, and also because I don't talk to him these days much- work and all. (This is another topic. My relationship with him is not easy in these times, as I was so involved in the pro-bono work and his perception of me is not actually me. Not to bring politics in but just as a descriptor of the nature of that not-easeful relationship. We don't fight, at all, but I avoid. So it goes, for now.)

Parenting is the grandest adventure - maybe? I don't know. I'm in the weeds, as they say, but certainly the work of it is entirely from the heart, even the brain part has to run through the heart first. I am inspired by my kids and in love with them. I am amazed by them. The hard parts are harder than anything else I have done. (Sadie has very difficult health things with her tummy, for example: my role in keeping her alive many times over has bolstered my superhero status in ways I could never have expected. Etc.) I definitely can't imagine living without having had this adventure. I am not a woman who only was made to be a mother - (sometimes I feel envious of the simplicity of that) but the struggle of me and them and balancing the work of parenting and living and working is all a great and noble challenge. It's a gift and I fully appreciate it.

I appreciate the description of your experience there. I understand production and it sounds like ultimately creative work with the potential to create good in the world. A platform for artists- hardly. I get that. I slaved for many years but under the umbrella of saving artists rather than your situation. I don't understand what happened that Prom-night you had, really. But I want to.

In a funny way it’s just like what kind of yoga I’d teach in a parallel universe doesn't really matter, it doesn't really matter as long as you feel your work is contributing to something bigger than you that inspires you and hopefully others. My church is nature and truth and love. I hope you have found yours in there while you have the time.

I appreciate your kind words and am grateful to have been an inspiration for you. Your love for me is a blessing and has guided me through my whole life. It's easy to be kind. Its the pain of being an empath in a world of hateful actions that's hard.

I have so enjoyed this exchange. May it continue? White Knight of the past?

Love,
Christianna”

2004 Spring/Winter

Chrissy took the Tercel and drove the pattern. It wasn’t the same and tore the shit out of the ground and the ditches. The vehicle lost control. There was a loud stop to the plan. The metal ground and she faded. She gave up then and there.

Chrissy walked forward through the pools of light. Her left rib ached and she tried to step it off. She checked her watch and saw what had passed while she had been running. There was minutes of time per the reports he gave her. There was still a chance. She pulled her hat down low and quickened to a jog. She loved him in ways that no one else knew. She was his ‘pretend’ girl-friend when he was growing and as well when he was much too young. She hoped what she wore would be okay. It was different somehow with Nicky. He was her man who helped her reach a blinding maturity and wisdom beyond- some normal life for a teen-age girl. She had been a mother. A sister. But she knew that she had been his only. He had the vantage of looking back at them, while she had the full view of looking forward. There was no way to meet on a common ground, beyond this night- the worst night of his life.

She came around the edge of the building of the high-school. There was no one in the darkness’s sight save for the group gathered by the truck and the sports-car. Nicky’s sky-blue Tercel sat further off, it was hers- theirs- which she sold- for it’s engine was doing fine- and he bought off a local repair man when he turned 16. He was 17 now and tall and slender and strong in the shoulders. She thought he never looked at the pink-slip to see her name as a previous owner. It might not have even been in this dimension. He was rounding out and forming up into the shadow of his father’s frame.

The suit cut and hid the anger she knew he felt inside- a need to simmer and would boil over when the lamppost went out. George was leaning close- breathing and mad in the eyes. Alive still. The rest of his crew were also. Bating at the edges like hyenas. Heather was screaming. Chrissy prepared to call out, and his keys dropped. Her voice was shrill but Heathers took the night in its eclipse. The light just popped.

Chrissy disappeared.

“Nicky!!!!!
I am thrilled to hear from you.
I miss you, too. It feels a bit like we’d abandoned us for something we barely understood with what happened that night. It feels good to hear that you miss me, too. All those things you mention are in my heart too. I remember them. And I am grateful for them, grateful that you had that upbringing and the experiences in NH, and grateful to be largely recreating our childhood but on a larger and bolder stage for my own tiger (ryan) and bear (sadie).
I am so glad you get to see your family. I know that it means the actual world to all of them. I guess your dad understands what you’ve been doing and why you stay so separate in a way that some don't, but i know she misses you terribly and is always longing for connection. Write your mom, will ya?
My family is well. Bremerton, where we moved in 2018, suits us. Cedric's still commuting to the big city - which is hard - but that will end in the winter at some point when he retires from lawyering and fully goes entrepreneur. Our house is awesome. Downtown and walkable and just feels like home, already.
Ryan is sharp and creative all of the time. ALL. He's got that artist/engineer crossover kind of brain as far as I can tell at age seven. He just started 2nd grade and is tiny in body and huge in spirit. He's emotional and sensitive and musical and beautiful, and a real challenge to parent. It offers joy and frustration all in one package to help guide a kid who doesn't need or want much guidance. He just needs to create all day every day, have a lot of physical movement, and explain his ideas to someone who will listen. Oh – and trees. He needs the woods. They feed him.
Sadie is four. She's bold. Opinionated. Clear. Sweet. Powerful. Loud. Funny. Extremely physically strong (she's swimming and riding a pedal bike no training wheels cuz she just decided it was time). She's girly but kinda already in that badass girl way that we all end up needing to take on as the gender oppression builds in our lives. She's smart and magnetic and popular at school: all the kids listed her as her favorite person to play with. She’s got her self together and at some point Ry-guy will probably be sleeping on her couch while she has some huge job and he's starting his 5th venture.
They love each other fiercely.
I am also a solo parent all week. That takes a lot of work. And it's great and hard and frustrating - and the work is real, again.
Soon, when Cedric leaves the city and is around, I will go back to work in addressing societal change. I have been doing what I can on the sidelines, but haven't been able to dive in entirely due to time constraints, which has been really hard for me. I look forward to going back to work. I can't wait to contribute to this most important issue of our lives in a meaningful way. I have a lot of skills the world needs and I look forward to the next phase of my career with great enthusiasm. So yeah, you can say I am crime fighting on behalf of the planet.
Love,
Chrissy”

The expansive ski-resort had it’s event hall rented out for the evening. It stood on the slope above the lodges within the White Mountains. It was in a log-cabin architecture where the uppermost floor was nearly all glass with a full wrap around balcony. Within it were the balloons and decorations- and waxed dance floor. When their arrived in their luxury cars and limos the sun was already setting. The top floor was ablaze in the night with the Class of ‘04’s prom- music had long been blaring to the maximum of the fridge-sized speakers.

Nicky threw his head back and took in the warm air. It wafted up from the dance floor. Everyone was free. Tonight was a night with no restrictions, no limits. They were young and had gone through it all together for this. He felt his own blend of tears mix with the sweat on his brow. Heather squeezed his hand and let him know she was going to get a glass of water from the serving table. He nodded and tried to keep his nostrils from flaring. He felt like a king, it was going better than well. He knew in a year or so- this all would be gone. He knew he might never dance to that sound, that song, and most likely not with the girls he grew up with. There were so many faces that could disappear after tonight. He took them all out there one at a time for a spin. He grew up dancing and this one was not to be forgotten.

Heather had her own entourage to show off for and she didn’t mind. They both did their fair share of partner swapping- and the connection they had together, is they both looked good at whatever they did. They glowed and jealousy was a thing easily forgotten- it was truly a night that was meant to last. Heather couldn’t have been more proud of her date, he couldn’t have felt more alive than in this moment. He could die tonight- it would all have been worth it.

He stepped outside and began to air out his suit- the cool wind rose up and buffeted him harder than he expected. He considered keeping on his jacket. He took it in stride and leaned up against the railing. Other couples wound their way back inside. The girls glowed in their dresses and the boys walked with pride. He looked back around and saw he was alone. He looked up at the stars and found the ones that he knew. He wanted a moment all to himself.

“Nicky.” A voice came from over his shoulder. He turned and looked and saw Heathers head peeking from inside the glass.

“Who were you talking to?” She said with her right eyebrow arched like a queen. Her smile shifted and turned up at the edges. A wooden headboard burnt and blackened.

“Nobody babe, I’ll be there in a minute.” A deep laugh died in the woods and faded.

He stood there and braced his hands on the railing. He counted to ten and waited.

“Nicky.”

He turned with his finger raised, ready to tease Heather for being impatient. The voice matched the face and he couldn’t believe his vision and what he now saw. His eyes pulsed and behind them fire-worked- thoughts echoed in his mind.

“Chrissy?”

She stood their wearing a radiant salmon-colored? dress from who knows where? She was gorgeous. Like a dream-deja-vu. His heart began to plunge into his newly-scuffed shoes. Her bright hair piled high and spilling over to glisten. The angles connected up and she still looked just right. Her make-up was minimalist and her nose perked up at the end. Her lips parted with a smile he’d often wished to see again and again.

“What. The.” She cocked her head and admonished the swear before it could come out. He stared for too long. A new look which made him blink. His mind shouted to bring the world back into focus. He drowned but broke for the surface again.

“hell?” She waited. An imperceptible blush rose up the back of her neck.

Nick reigned in his voice so it wouldn’t crack or studder. “You look nearly the same as the last time I saw you? How is that even possi…”
“Hopefully I look better than that.” She swirled the faded pink dress around her hips and looked down. Playing the part of a sleeping beauty.

“The letters? The mailbox?” She started to laugh hard- it erupted out of her before he could finish. “That w-w-was fucking crazy, huh?”
All he could do was nod. Her laugh trilled off and died.

“You aren’t going to leave this prom with Heather, you know.”

“Wha, I can’t believe it… I can’t- any of this.” Her eyes were focused and her demands would be surely met. “Alright. I know.” Her eyes flashed and then softened.

“I know too.” She said as she came forward to reprimand him, a sly smile under the waves.

“But since it did. Just. Happen… let me do this.” Chrissy looked searchingly into his eyes and felt if he was there- and he was. She stepped further into his arms in their frame. His hold was tender and careful to the touch. He could feel her skin prickle and glide in his questioning- to define reality and a wish. She stood up on her toes and the distance faded to one.

Love is a feeling.
Quench my desire-
Give it when I want it
Takin' me higher
Love is a woman...
I don't want to hear it-
Give in to me
Give in to me - Michael Jackson