Dying to Forget (16 page)

***

After the final bell rings, Abby practically runs down the street to get away from the school grounds. She hasn’t talked to anyone besides teachers all day. She has no friends, in fact it’s almost like the entire school hates her. She’s so sweet, I don’t understand it.

She walks briskly down the streets for almost half an hour until we reach a heavily wooded area. Abby flanks the over-grown trees until we reach a railroad crossing. Weeds and grasses have grown over the edges of the rail but I’m still concerned for her safety as Abby begins to walk along it, following the slight curve of the tracks into the woods.

When I said to go somewhere quiet, I didn’t mean for you to pick a completely deserted place where who knows what sort of creeps linger! And get off the tracks, are you crazy?

Abby ignores me and continues south until a small gap in the trees opens up to her right. She leaves the railway and walks slowly along the unleveled green grass until she comes to a large tree with low-hanging branches. She scrambles up until she’s a good twenty feet above the ground. I wish I could feel the scrape of the bark on my skin. I spent most of my childhood in trees and didn’t realize until this moment that I would never be able to climb one again. I can’t chastise her for scrambling up so high; it’s something I would do too and I feel at home with her in the canopy.

As she looks out at the view of the woods around her, I wonder where we are. I don’t recognize the scenery at all and the accents of the people in these parts are different from the West Coast. I wait for her mind to start settling, but it’s still racing wildly with thoughts of school, family and…
death
? Eventually I’m able to grab onto something long enough to place us. Erie, Pennsylvania.
Wow. That’s a long way from home.
Then again,
everywhere
is far from home, since home for me is now a place always aglow in blinding white light and half-naked people with bare feet that never get dirty and everyone’s hair smells like yummy grapefruit.

She is staring at a tree scuff-mark on the knee of her jeans when I pull myself away from thoughts of the Station and back to her reality. Suddenly, and before I fully understand what is happening, she crawls further out on the narrow branch she was sitting on and begins to stand.

What are you doing?

Slowly she pushes up into a crouched position and hovers over the branch as it sways beneath her weight.
Oh no, she’s going to jump!

Don’t you dare!! Sit back down, now! This is NOT what you want to do!

A small animal-like cry escapes from her mouth and she plops down onto her butt. For a second I’m afraid the sudden shift in weight is going to snap the thin branch and send Abby plummeting to the ground tangled in a mess of branches and green leaves.

Crap! You almost gave me a heart-attack!

I try not to laugh at the irony of what I’ve said, since I’m already dead and all but Abby has begun to cry wildly now and she is still sitting on the branch, with her size six sneakers dangling above twenty feet of open space.

It’s okay Abby. Let’s get off this branch, get comfortable and just take a break, okay?

She sniffles and wipes the snot from her draining nose before swiping her hand along her jeans.
Gross, but necessary, I guess.
Napkins aren’t handy at the moment. After she climbs back to the tree trunk, she settles herself into the meeting place of two branches and props her legs out in front of her. From this position she isn’t in danger of falling, so I relax tremendously.

“Oh, daddy,”
she whispers. And there it is, the flood-gates of her memory open up wide enough for a semi to drive through and I’m left digesting the fact that Abby is the daughter of a murderer.

***

Just over a month ago, Abby’s alcoholic and sometimes drug-impaired father walked into a local liquor store and held the place up at gunpoint during a manic episode. Three hours later he was led out in handcuffs with a broken nose and a police bullet lodged in his left shoulder. He left the teller and three innocent patrons dead inside. His weapon of choice was a Colt .44 special and he fired off each bullet at whatever moved just as the police rushed the front entrance.

Abby’s already fragile mother couldn’t handle the angry onslaught of attention from the locals and skipped town, leaving her only child with her aging and physically disabled mother, who for the most part ignored Abby entirely.

The kids at school were the hardest part for Abby to accept. She lost the few friends she had and endured a daily assault of verbal berating and physical tormenting. Ivy, the tall and pretty brunette snake, had snatched Abby’s glasses off her face in P.E. and crushed them beneath her feet just two weeks before. For whatever reason, that particular trio of girls were making it their mission to inflict all sorts of miserableness onto Abby every chance they got.

There was one boy, a former boyfriend of Ivy that stayed friendly with Abby. They weren’t quite friends but at least he didn’t torment her like her classmates did. Abby seemed to have warm feelings for him but I wondered if he was continuing to smile and greet Abby in the hallways just to spite his ex-girlfriend. Since he was out of town with his parents for a funeral, I couldn’t form my own opinions about him just yet. For now, memories were all I had to work with. At least I found nothing of him hurting Abby as everyone else had, so he couldn’t be as bad as the rest of them.

Enter in Mr. Fyne. He recently caught Ivy and one of the other girls, Shandra, cornering Abby in front of the girls’ bathroom and since then he’s seemed to make it his mission to wander the halls in between classes, keeping an eye on Abby. It wasn’t just the students that turned on the poor girl, even some of the staff stared at her like she was harboring a communicable disease, or worse - flat-out ignored her. Not Mr. Fyne though, he seemed to truly care for Abby.

My hero.

I’ve waded through enough of Abby’s memories to understand why she almost threw herself off the top of a tree. The next few days would be critical, so I crack my imaginary knuckles and stretch my imaginary neck, and roll my imaginary sleeves up to prepare myself for this tough case. Abby is going to need all of the training I’ve had and probably more, to successfully pull her back from the edge she seems ready to launch herself from.

It’s not going to happen on MY shift, kiddo. We’ll find a way out of the dark, don’t you worry. I have big hopes for you…but for now…baby steps. When’s the last time you’ve had a candy bar?

For girls, chocolate fixes almost everything.

***

After a hefty dose of dark chocolate perfection, I guide Abby home, where she can prepare for the next few days. Fortunately, her mother left many of her things behind in boxes that fill up Abby’s grandmother’s garage. In one of the crumpled cardboard boxes she finds what I’ve asked her to look for and carries the items into her room, setting them uncertainly on her bed.

She takes a shower, washes her hair and lather’s it in conditioner, leaving it on for a full ten minutes before I allow her to rinse it. I have a feeling that making Abby feel better from the inside-out will help with her confidence at school. I don’t want her to cross over from the innocent girl-next-door to a vain wannabe-beauty-queen but she has absolutely no idea what to do with what she has. That’s what big sisters and moms are for. Abby has neither. But she does have me. And I learned from the best…Bree.

When she’s holding the flat-iron in her hand out in front of her like it’s a vicious viper ready to strike, I try hard not to laugh.

Let’s just see what this does for your hair, remember…baby steps. If you don’t like it, you can wash your hair again and let it air-dry into its lovely frizz-filled fluffiness, I promise.

***

The next day we arrive at school five minutes after the last bell, on purpose. Abby rushes across the front lawn and into the double doors as if she’s naked outside. I can tell by the nervous ball her stomach has become that she feels just as exposed standing in the hallway, but she’s here, she’s already done it…it’s time to show herself off to the school.

When she opens the door to English class, I remind her to roll her shoulders back, stand up straight and smile. There’s an audible gasp of surprise as she walks calmly across the room to her seat. Even the teacher has stopped mid-sentence to stare at her.

Abby sits down and carefully crosses her ankles, being sure to gently tuck her skirt in between her knees. Her hair is smooth and straight and cascades over her narrow shoulders like a chocolate fondue fountain, coming to rest at the middle of her back. I know how beautiful she looks because she spent nearly half an hour this morning staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Through the course of the day, a handful of girls have smiled at Abby and four…FOUR boys have stopped to say hi. At least ten times that many have gawked at her as she walks the halls. Even Mr. Fyne, who is her P.E. teacher, no surprise there or course, seems shocked at the change of attention she has created around her. To think some good conditioner, an hour with a flat-iron and a mega-watt smile could inflate her confidence to such heights is just amazing! She has done exactly what I wanted her to do; she’s given them something
else
to talk about.

I spend a solid week burrowing deep into Abby’s mind. At night, when she is sleeping I do what I did with Sloan; prod and organize and plant little seeds of hope. Her confidence meter has gone from zero to somewhere in the millions since my arrival. She’s had her school lunch with two freshmen for the last three days and they seem to genuinely not care about Abby’s family drama. I hope they become good friends. With time, they just might. I know part of her success is the fact that she listens to me. It's like we have a direct line of communication, yet she is unaware that someone else is indeed talking to her. It's such a difference from Sloan, it's refreshing and thrilling to have such an eager Assignment.

It’s Friday, the last day of a very long week and I’ve been sitting on my imaginary throne since Tuesday. Mr. Fyne no longer follows Abby’s tiny shadow down the halls but he is still very friendly with her and keeps an eye on the Kardashian wannabe’s during P.E. class. The trio has done little more than send scathing looks in Abby’s direction but with my constant assurance that looks won’t really hurt her, she has learned to ignore them for the most part. Her confidence shows.

She is crossing the wide lawn in front of the school on her way to start the day when a shrill whistle startles her. She looks to her side to see a happy-faced boy jogging in her direction.
Oh, this is the leggy chic’s ex.
She stops and waves at him.

“Abiline Peterson, is that really you?” He comes to an awkward halt just a foot in front of her and leans forward, arms open wide for a hug. Abby seems surprised but lets him hug her into his broad chest. Heat radiates between them. He has light brown hair that is cut short and combed forward. He's a pretty good-looking guy, for a school jock. For a moment I think of the school jock back at home that stole the most valuable thing I had. I still hate him. Immensely. I shake my head back at the Station to clear my mind.
Come back to the present, Piper.

“Hi, Donny. You’re back.” She smiles and I feel a subtle stirring of hormone’s warm her insides.

Ah, I get it. Abiline and Donovan, kissing in a tree…k-i-s-s-i-n-g.

I only tease her because it makes her feel good to imagine him that way. I can tell by the scattering of her thoughts as she struggles to remain calm around Donny. He walks her inside and chats in detail about his trip out of town. When we pass Ivy and her minions in the hall, he barely nods at them. He’s completely engrossed in Abby for the moment.

This is good, Abby. Very good. You are making friends and people are seeing that you are your own individual and that you shine through the darkest of times. Keep it up girly!

We part with Donny at his classroom door and Abby all but skips along to English class. She’s elated. I’m elated. Until we see who is waiting for her inside the classroom talking to her teacher.

“Mom?”

***

“Hi, Abby.” Her mother stands up taller and squares her shoulders, despite the looks from students that are slowly filling the classroom.

What is she doing here?!
My imaginary throne suddenly poofs into oblivion.

“Abiline, your mother has a day pass for you. Did you bring your essay?” The teacher speaks quietly, as if trying not to attract any more attention from the staring teenagers but his hushed voice does exactly the opposite.

“Um, yeah.”

Abby reaches into her backpack to pull out her binder. After fumbling through papers for a minute, she removes one and hands it to her teacher.

“Thanks, Abiline. Have a good day, we’ll see you tomorrow.” He smiles weakly before turning his attention to the whispering class.

Tomorrow? I doubt we’ll be spending the whole day with dear, old mom. You’ll probably see us again in ten minutes.

Abby silently follows her mother back into the now empty hallway and through the building. By the time they reach outside the temperature has dropped a bit and Abby pulls her sweater tightly around her. The autumn air has been cooling steadily in the last few days.

Ask her what she wants, Abby.

When they reach a set of benches underneath a sprawling Red Maple tree, Abby plops down onto the concrete and watches with curiosity as her mother wipes the bench clean before sitting down on the very edge. I think she’s either ready to bolt or afraid of a little dirt.
Maybe both?
Somewhere I know my eyes are rolling.