The last bell rang and children burst out from each door, racing to get away as if the school building were on fire. Rebecca descended the steps with her head down, avoiding eye contact. Another day down. Step over the cracks. Shoe lace untied — just keep moving, tie it later.
Rebecca had one more obstacle between her and the safety of home. The dreaded walk to the bike rack. Once you were out in the yard, away from school faculty, it was every kid for themselves. Rebecca lived a few miles away from school. The first few days her mother had made her take the bus back and forth, but that was worse than prison. It locked her up with no place to run, allowing the other kids 30 uninterrupted (and mostly unrefereed) minutes to torture her at will. So she begged her mother for permission to ride her bike instead.
In her peripheral vision she spotted Jeff and Tommy creeping like two evil henchmen, eager to play their favorite game. Her heart sank as they pulled up right behind her.
“Watch out, she’s mental,” Tommy said.
“I hear she had to go to a brain doctor,” Jeff said, returning serve.
“Yeah, they opened her head, but they couldn’t find nothin! Ta doosh!” Tommy’s laugh was filled with evil. Rebecca ignored their barbs and kept walking the endless path to the bike rack.
But Tommy wanted some tears. He hopped forward on one foot and gave Rebecca’s backpack a shove, knocking her face-down onto the sidewalk. Rebecca caught herself just before she kissed the ground — scraping up her hands a bit, but otherwise okay. Tommy hadn’t intended to use so much force, but didn’t apologize either. Instead he raised his hand in a victory dance.
Rebecca stayed down, hoping they were satisfied, having gotten their humiliation. They stood over her, cackling and high fiving like their team just scored a goal.
Holly Schmidt, another regular victim of the evil duo’s barbs just for her name alone, stood over Rebecca, eyeballing the two hyenas. Holly was very tall for her age, heavy.
“Leave her alone!” Holly screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Holy shit, it’s Holly Schmidt!” They sang in harmony. A parent walking with their child saw the commotion and approached. Tommy spit in Rebecca’s hair as they jogged away.
Holly offered her hand to help, but Rebecca was too embarrassed to do anything but get up and out of there as quickly as possible. She brushed past Holly, unlocked her bike from the rack, tossed the lock in her front basket and climbed on her bike.
She didn’t get 10 feet when the chain broke, sending her pedals spinning out from under her little, white sandaled feet. She lost control and found herself face down for the second time in only a few minutes. All around her, merciless child laughter.
She got back up without dusting herself off, defiantly marching her bike down the street, not looking back. Her elbow burned, blood oozing through her sweater sleeve.
Along the route home was an opening in a fence that led to a wooded area. It cut a direct path to her street that would have shaved about 10 minutes off her trip, bypassing the bridge over Route 101, and the big round about at Redwood Drive. Many of the kids used it. She saw people jogging in there from time to time. She didn’t know if Jeff or Tommy used the path to go home, but that wasn’t what she was afraid of.
The place gave Rebecca an overwhelming sensation of dread whenever she approached. She always picked up the pace double time to hurry past it, as if whatever dark evil lurking deep within the trees was going to reach out to grab her if she walked too slow. She didn’t know why it scared her, but the butterflies in her stomach swarmed when she got close, similar to how she felt just before the spells came over her.
CHAPTER 8
Laura held the phone away from her ear and shook it, her face contorting with frustration. She exhaled contempt for the person on the other line as she lifted the phone back up again, regaining her composure.
“I’m not going to discuss it anymore.” She took a deep drag from her cigarette and pulled back the blinds to look out the front window. She saw Rebecca dragging her wounded bike, slamming it onto the lawn. “No, I didn’t get it,” she said, distracted. “Bullshit.”
Laura stabbed out her cigarette in an ashtray on the windowsill. “Yeah, well, what you say and what you do are two totally different things.”
Rebecca kicked open the front door and made a beeline for the staircase. Laura followed behind. “I gotta go,” she said, pressing the button to end the call. She followed Rebecca to the staircase and watched her disappear around the corner.
“Hey, where’ve you been? I was worried sick!” Laura heard Rebecca’s bedroom door close with a bang. “Becca?” Laura climbed the stairs. She reached for the handle, pausing a moment to calm down, still pissed off from the phone call. She reminded herself how Rebecca need not suffer for her mistakes. For all she knew, the drama and betrayal that sliced their family up the middle was the cause of poor Rebecca’s night terrors.
Laura slowly entered the room. Rebecca was seated in the center before a large, white easel. On it, a half finished canvas painting of the maple tree growing outside her window. Adorning every empty space of wall in her room were crooked, hastily tacked up works of art, each one a glorious masterpiece, amazingly detailed. A true prodigy if there ever was one.
Along the floor was an assortment of canvasses, empty bottles of paints, brushes, charcoal pencils. Laura spent a good portion of the wages from her part time supermarket job on Rebecca’s expensive art hobby. How could she not? It also kept her quiet. Rebecca never suffered any outbursts while she was occupied with her art. Perhaps the outlet for her expression released those troubling emotions in a more sane and civilized way. Without it, she exploded, especially when immersed in the dull, confining routines of elementary school.
The sun was setting outside, casting a warm orange glow through the room. Rebecca dipped her thin bristled brush into a jar of water. She dabbed it, then dipped it into a jar of green paint, scraping and poking the glass to utilize the last remnants.
Laura loved to watch. She offered no explanation for Rebecca’s gift. There wasn’t anyone in her family she could trace the artistic gene back to. It was a mystery. A miracle.
Laura wasn’t particularly religious, she never took Rebecca to church or felt the need to hand down any family traditions as there weren’t any in her family growing up. But she was convinced that if there was a God he was speaking through Rebecca’s artwork.
Laura gazed around at the growing collection on the walls. Rebecca’s art mostly consisted of still lifes, inanimate objects. There was one of herself that she wasn’t particularly fond of, mainly because Rebecca had very accurately captured the wrinkles beginning to form around her eyes. The portrait made her look angry. Rebecca painted it one night after Laura scolded her for not eating her dinner. She remembered feeling self conscious upon seeing it a few days later, wondering if she really looked like that. That one could go, she thought.
“You okay, sweetie?” As expected, she got the silent treatment. “That’s really beautiful, what you’re doing there.”
“Bike’s broken,” Rebecca said. Laura frowned on one side of her mouth.
“That old bike was broken when I rode it. I’ll get you a new one, I promise.”
Laura spotted green chewing gum had somehow gotten tangled in Rebecca’s hair. She’d have to cut it out. Little fucking bastards.