Forever Freaky (22 page)

I wasn’t surprised that I didn’t run into
Amy. She wasn’t in any of my classes, and at lunch she was
conspicuously absent. I knew she was in school, though; I could
feel her presence. She was like a pot of water left heating up on
the stove—eventually I had to do something with her.

Jack, Melody and I had lunch each day as
usual, although Jack grew quieter and glummer as the weekend
neared. I suspected he was not dealing well with the promise I’d
forced him to make; it was killing him that I didn’t want him with
me in the woods when I confronted Amy. He didn’t want to be left
out. I was sure he was thinking about breaking the promise. A
couple times I reminded him that we had a deal, which confused
Melody, who didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. She just
stared at me and then at Jack. All that she could gather was that
Jack and I were keeping secrets, and it was apparent that she
didn’t like that one bit.

On Friday, Jack didn’t say anything at all.
He sat, he ate, and when he was finished, he got up and walked away
without a word, leaving Melody and me alone.

“What was that all about?” she asked, almost
demanded.

“Nothing,” I said.

“What going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right,” she said, and there was venom
in her words. I never thought that she was capable of such an
attitude. It just didn’t fit her; she reminded me of a seething
bunny rabbit. She kept looking at me as though it was painful to
see me.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re screwing him, aren’t you?”

“Huh?” Honestly, it was the last thing I
expected to hear—also, the last thing I needed at the moment.
“No.”

“Oh, whatever,” she spat out.

“It’s not like that,” I said. “You know me.
That kind of thing just isn’t meant to happen.” I watched her for a
moment; she seemed totally devastated. I was not good at being
nurturing, but I tried. “I regret that he doesn’t like you,” I
said, which came out sounding stiff and insincere.

She pursed her lips. “I just don’t see the
attraction. You’re so wrong for him.”

“I’m wrong for anybody,” I said.

“You know, I saw him first,” she complained.
This wasn’t true, but I didn’t correct her.

“I wish he did like you.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, it would make my life easier,” I
said.

She studied me a few seconds. “Yeah, I
suppose it would. I just don’t understand why he doesn’t like me.
I’m likable, right?”

“Infinitely,” I lied.

“Then why? Maybe I’m not weird enough, huh?”
she asked. “Is there any way I can be weirder?”

“Believe me, you’re getting there. Wanting to
be weird is the first step to becoming weird.”

Melody grabbed her lunch tray and stood.

“It’s doesn’t matter. Really, who cares,
anyway?” she asked, before she walked away.

As I sat alone, I looked across the crowded
lunchroom and caught sight of Eloise Parker, who was also sitting
alone. I guessed we had something in common, some natural repellent
that drove people away. Maybe that was a good thing.

Saturday morning was sunny and warm, and it
was hard to believe that dark deeds would be done soon.

My mom was at work, tending to the sick and
dying. Better them than me, I figured.

My dad was home, though, up early and getting
things done. He mowed the lawn, way too early to suit some of our
neighbors, who probably rose sleepy-eyed from their bed at the
buzzing racket of a lawn mower, whining, Doesn’t somebody know it’s
Saturday?… But my dad was so used to a 24/7 schedule he never
seemed aware of the time. He wasn’t rude; he was just a
fireman.

After he had finished the lawn, he tried to
involve me in domestic chores. That was always a big mistake. I
just wasn’t the domestic type.

“You wanna take a try at weeding the garden?”
he asked, standing in the kitchen as I choked down my breakfast. He
was already dirty and sweaty and living proof that yard work
couldn’t possibly be a good thing.

“I don’t think so,” I said, definitely a
future condo owner.

“It’ll do you some good,” he said. “Get out
in the sun. Soak in some vitamin D. Maybe get a little tan. You
always look so—pasty.”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know anything
about planting and stuff like that.”

“I’m talking about weeding. It’s simple. You
just pull the weeds.”

“Wouldn’t that be de-weeding?” I asked.

He stared at me. A shadow seemed to fall
across his face. Maybe the shadow was the realization he was not
talking to somebody normal, somebody who understood and cared about
normal things like how their lawn and garden looked.

“Well…uh… never mind,” he said, his
disappointment seeping into his words. “I suppose you’ll be
spending the day in your room, staring at the walls or
something.”

“Actually, I was going to a barbecue,” I
said.

“A barbecue?”

“It’s the end-of-school thing they have ever
year,” I explained.

At first he seemed puzzled. A barbecue? That
was normal, right? Dead meat sizzling on a grill. People gathering
together to talk and drink and eat dead meat. Sure, that was
normal—really normal. He looked almost joyous at this development,
as though he were about to run out of the house and shout so all
the neighbors could hear: My weirdo daughter is finally doing
something normal!… What would he think if he knew the real reason I
was going?

“No, that’s cool,” he said. “A barbecue, huh?
Well, sure, why not?” He actually sounded proud. He turned and left
the kitchen, heading back out to the yard.

About a minute later, he returned and poked
his head though the doorway. “There going to be boys at this
barbecue?” he asked.

“I suppose.”

“Well, just don’t get pregnant,” he warned,
and then vanished again.

I shook my head. No wonder I was such a
freak.

***************

Home-made advertisements for the barbecue had
circulated around school for about a week. They were printed on
pink copy paper. The writing was in big bold letters.

I arrived at the forest preserve at about
noon. I parked in the lot, which was empty except for a few cars. I
sat behind the wheel and checked out the recreational area. It was
a large kidney-shaped grassy area cut into woods. The area was
completely surrounded by the woods except for the parking lot,
which was visible from the main road. There were picnic tables here
and there, along with wooden shelters under which you could plant a
grill and barbecue your heart out. There was plenty of open area
for running and tossing around softballs and Frisbees. I saw big
problems with the place. Tactically it was a nightmare; everybody
within the area would be open to attack from anywhere along the
tree line, and there were hundreds of yards of tree line and acres
of woods in which Amy could hide. How could I possibly find her, in
the dark woods, in time to stop her? It seemed impossible. It would
take a horde of freaks like me, each one positioned at intervals
just inside the woods so that one or another of them could get to
her quickly. And even then actually stopping her would be a huge
problem. I seriously considered just going home. What was the
point? What business was it of mine, anyway? Did I even know these
people who would get hurt? Did I owe them anything? But some
nagging little voice in my mind told me I must try. Maybe it was
the shadow of a conscience, or maybe it was a small, demented
entity, remnant of a past or future schizophrenia, that refused to
accept my true nature. Whatever it was, I listened to it more and
more lately, no matter how foolish I ended up feeling. So, yeah, I
would try—I would try, I would fail, and I would wonder why I had
even bothered.

I got out of the car. I walked toward the
tree line and entered the woods. To me, who never communed well
with nature, it was a totally alien environment. The air here was
cool and damp. There was the skittering of invisible tiny creatures
moving on the ground over dead leaves and twigs and tree roots that
had broken through the clammy earth. There was the rustling of
birds hopping from branch to branch overhead, and the incessant
chirping of uncertain songs.

I walked parallel to the tree line, about
fifty to sixty feet within the woods, so that I could look left and
see bits and pieces of the grassy area past straight and slanting
tree trunks. It was insanity. There was no path here. The ground
was uneven. The ground was slimy. I had to step over large rocks
and deadfall. I had to push past doomed saplings that couldn’t grow
much in the shadows of towering trees. I should have brought a
machete. I should be wearing hiking boots and a long-sleeved shirt.
I was pathetic, truly pathetic. What had I been thinking? After a
half an hour, I had covered about five hundred feet. My lungs
burned and I could barely breathe. My knees and elbows hurt from
the times I’d slipped and fallen. My ankles hurt from the times I’d
slipped and almost fallen. And I was fairly certain that I had
trudged through a sizable patch of poison ivy, and now I was
waiting for something to start itching.

I found a thick tree and sat on the ground
and leaned back against its trunk. It took a while for me to catch
my breath. I felt feverish, as though I needed to sweat but my body
couldn’t spare the water. I never realized I was so physically
unfit.

I sat there for a long time. An occasional
shout from the clearing told me that people were starting to
arrive. They were setting up grills. They were carrying coolers
filled with ice, cans of soda and beer, and hunks of dead meat.
This was ridiculous. How could I protect them? I wasn’t even sure I
could protect myself.

Then I heard a rustling sound nearby.
Something large was moving among the trees deeper in the woods,
slowly coming up behind me. That bastard Jack, I thought at first.
I knew it—I knew he wouldn’t stay away. What was I going to do with
this guy? He just didn’t listen. Although I was irritated, I was
relieved, too, that I didn’t have to be alone.

But it wasn’t Jack. A moment later, coming up
from the side of the tree on which I rested, a deer wandered out
toward the clearing. I watched it walk past me, venturing closer to
the edge of the clearing. Its tail was white and white smudgy spots
dappled its tawny sides. It must have smelled humans, heard their
strange catcalls, and got curious. It stood there staring through
the trees, and then, its curiosity satisfied, it turned round to go
back. That was when it spotted me. It stopped dead in its tracks
and stared at me with big brown eyes. It didn’t seem at all
startled.

“Yeah, I’m here, stupid,” I said.

The deer kept staring at me.

“Get! Skat! Shoo!” I yelled, but it held its
ground. I was puzzled. Do deer act this way? Aren’t they supposed
to run away and hide? “You know what I am?” I asked it. “I’m a
freak. I can concentrate and blow your brains out thought your
ears. Your eyes will pop out of their sockets and roll on the
ground like a couple marbles. What’s the matter with you,
thing?”

The deer didn’t move. Now it looked at me
with sadness in its eyes. Apparently I was so lame I couldn’t even
scare wild prey. Finally, when it was good and ready, it wandered
away, going deeper into the woods.

I sat there for a long time, maybe three
hours, waiting, listening as more people arrived into the clearing.
I decided to get up and check it out. I felt sore and stiff when I
straightened up and crept closer to the party. I peered round a
tree truck to see that there were about 150 people, some gathered
round the shelters, some sitting at picnic tables, some sitting on
the short prairie grass. The air was filled with the odor of
lighter fluid and charcoal briquettes. Somebody had brought a boom
box, which was spewing out some techno junk. This was so no good. I
was sure that as evening approached there would be about three
times as many people, all herded into a confined space, all coming
to a barbecue and not realizing they were the ones that would end
up on a grill. Some dark part of my mind made me giggle at that
thought. Stop it, Jules, I had to tell myself. It’s not funny.

I studied the layout of the area. Where would
Amy hide? Where would she attack from? I wasn’t sure. I had no
flashes of the future to help me, either; paranormal abilities can
be so unreliable. I had to take my best guess and hope that it was
good enough. I noticed that the entrance to the clearing formed a
bottleneck. That was where I would hide: in the woods on one or the
other side of the bottleneck. That way she could cut off the escape
of people fleeing to the safety of their cars.

I started to work my way back toward the
parking lot. I found another tree against which I could sit and
wait. It was a fifty-fifty guess; of course, Amy could choose the
opposite side of the bottleneck. It was better, really, because it
was nearer the road, to where she could easily escape and pretend
that she didn’t have anything to do with what happened in the
clearing. But where I was felt right. The woods were deep behind
me, and at night Amy would feel safe in the darkness in the woods
as she savored the distance screams of her burning victims.

I would wait here. She would come. And what
would happen, would happen.

Somewhere along the line I fell asleep. My
sleeping habits were so strange. At home, in a comfortable bed, I
barely slept two hours a night. I would stare at the dark ceiling
until four o’clock in the morning. Or I would fall asleep earlier
and then waken every fifteen to twenty minutes until dawn. But in
unfamiliar places I slept more soundly. Here, in the woods, sitting
at the base of a tree, my arms wrapped around my bent legs, my head
resting on my knees, I found a peaceful slumber somehow.