Too Perceptive

The anniversary of my mother’s murder loomed before me. It was unavoidable, creeping up on me each year and casting my already gloomy world even deeper into shadows. Like standing at the base of an impossibly tall skyscraper, I could crane my neck in any direction trying to avoid it, but in the end the imposing steel-glass tower would dominate even the sun’s presence and obstruct my view of the sky completely.

My nightmares were always worse during the weeks leading up. Their intensity left me shaken and weak, effortlessly transporting me back fourteen years to become the blood-soaked six year old in a crumpled SUV. Some nights I dreamed about the hospital, instead: doctors and nurses conferring in hushed tones, the whirring of machines, too many wires and IVs hooked into my pale, broken body to count. It got harder to slow my racing heart and release the viselike pressure in my lungs – more difficult to shove the memories back into the dark recesses of my memory.

Functioning on even less sleep than usual, I doubled both my caffeine intake and my sassiness. Lexi tried to pry information from me about my unexpected late-night motorcycle ride with Finn, as well as give me a detailed account of her latest Tyler sexcapades, but I lacked any patience to indulge her. I could barely tolerate some of her stories in my most rested state, let alone after a sleepless night. The dark circles lining my eyes were a perpetual testament to my lack of sleep, but Lexi didn’t seem to notice or heed their warning to give me space.

Truthfully, I didn’t want to talk to Lexi about Finn because I knew I’d never hear the end of it. She’d overanalyze and make it a much bigger deal than it was. And though I might admit to myself that I’d been taken aback by the night I’d spent with him, I would never share that fact with Lexi.

Finn had surprised me. He drove off campus for almost an hour without saying much of anything or giving me any indication as to where we were going. My ever-cynical mind had just begun to wonder if this drive into the darkening woodlands was a ploy to kill me and stash my body where it would never be found, when Finn pulled off the winding road and out onto a highway lookout point. He hopped off his bike and walked to the thin, rusted guardrail, where he could look down at the lazily flowing river just discernible in the growing dusk. I dismounted and followed him warily.

“Why are we here, Finn?” I asked, curious and slightly confused about our location. This was the last place I’d expected a leather-clad, tattooed bad boy to spend his nights. There were no other cars on the road, no streetlights, and no signs of civilization; this place had been neglected for years, if the corroded rail and cracked pavement were any indication.

“Shh,” Finn whispered without looking back at me. “Do you hear that?”

I couldn't hear much of anything except for the buzzing of a nearby mosquito, eager to make a meal of me, and the faint trickling of water as it flowed over the mossy stones in the riverbank.

“What am I supposed to be hearing?” I asked skeptically.

“Nothing,” he said, turning to glance at me as I joined him at the railing. “Just the quiet. I come here to think sometimes. Clear my head.”

I looked away from him, trying to process that bit of incongruous information. I didn’t really want to know that there were other sides to the beautiful man standing next to me. I wanted him safely in the box labeled Narcissistic Assholes I kept in storage in my mind. He certainly wouldn’t lack for company in that particular box.

But now, he wasn’t really fitting, no matter how hard I tried to close the lid on him. I couldn't entirely merge the asshole he pretended to be with this guy quietly enjoying the tranquility of nature. The vapid self-obsessed typically don’t appreciate much except their own reflections in the mirror. He, on the other hand, was complicated. And I didn’t like complicated; I liked my mental storage boxes – clearly labeled, organized, and easy to handle.

Though unspoken, it was clear that we weren’t leaving until I’d satisfactorily appreciated his river vantage point. I studied the view from our perch, which hung about thirty feet above the riverbank, and had to agree that it was calming – soothingly beautiful in a way that only the outdoors can be. The ceaseless flow of the inky river numbed my mind and as I focused on my surroundings, I quieted the relentless worries racing around my head. For the first time in weeks, I wasn’t focused on the approaching anniversary of my mother’s death; my mind was blissfully clear.

There was no light out here except that cast by the nearly full moon and the stars above, infinite in number and even more beautiful than they appeared from my rooftop at home. After a few minutes of silent appraisal, I began to understand why this place was so special to Finn.

It was his rooftop.

That abruptly led to another thought – why had he brought me here, to his sanctuary? He barely knew me. How could he know I’d even enjoy something like this? I certainly couldn't imagine him taking one of his bimbo-groupies all the way out here.

“Why did you bring me here?” I whispered, reluctant to break the quiet that had descended on us. He looked over at me, his dark eyes trapping mine immediately, almost hypnotically. Long seconds dragged by as his gaze burned into mine, unblinking; I wanted to look away, to break from the intensity of that look, but somehow I couldn't. His eyes flashed briefly down to my mouth before returning to stare into mine. I gazed back guardedly, trying to discern his intentions.

I thought he wasn’t going to answer me at all, but after several more heartbeats he cleared his throat and finally fractured the silence.

“I just knew you’d get it,” he said, shrugging and finally moving his penetrating stare back to the river below. “You get me.”

I didn’t like his answer. It implied a level of understanding, of closeness, that we didn’t share. He didn’t know me; no one did – not my closest friend and certainly not my father. Finn was dangerous, I decided. Perceptiveness was not a quality I encouraged in those I spent time with.

I grew uneasy, the tension I’d cast off when we’d first arrived slowly creeping back up my spine and reclaiming its viselike grip. Finn seemed to sense my growing unease, suddenly pointing down the riverbank to divert my attention.

“Fireflies,” he said, drawing my gaze to the glowing orbs darting through the grassy fronds that lined the banks. A small smile curled one side of his mouth up as he watched the phosphorescent bugs light up the sky. “They’ll be gone soon.”

“Why?” I asked.

“They’re only ever out in the summer months. This is probably one of their last nights, it’s getting too cold.” A soft laugh slipped between his lips. “I used to catch them in glass jars when I was a kid, just to look at them up close for a few minutes before letting them go. I’d sit out in the field behind my house all night, waiting for them to appear. Sometimes they didn’t. But when they did, it was like magic, you know? Like a sign that there was something more out there for me, and maybe if I was patient enough I could have it.”

I watched the lightning bugs in silence for a few minutes, unsure of what to say. I was stunned that he was opening up to me; I hadn’t asked him to, nor did I intend to reciprocate. I didn’t do the whole heart-to-heart, lets-bond-over-our-troubled-childhoods thing. But I was curious.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a nature lover,” I said, eyeing his tattooed bicep.

“Less about nature than it was about escape, Brooklyn. I’d imagine you’d understand that better than most.” He leveled that intense stare at me again and I quickly looked away. This boy saw infinitely too much about me, and I’d barely said a word about myself.

We didn’t speak again as we made our way back to Finn’s bike, and I couldn't help but feel that something had changed between us, as we stood together watching the fireflies glowing one final time in the dying heat of August. As I slipped my arms around his waist, I knew, without a doubt, that I would have to stay far, far away from him after this night. I could handle the carefree, bantering Finn I’d encountered before, but the guy who’d brought me here was an entirely different creature. I didn’t know how it was possible, but he could read me, see me, in a way no one had ever been able to do.

Finn kept his initial promise of dessert, driving back toward campus and pulling into a small homemade ice-cream parlor a few minutes from my house. We licked our cones on picnic benches outside, and he effortlessly slipped back into the funny, overly-sexual lead singer he’d been before our time at the lookout point. We bantered easily and laughed about Lexi and Tyler’s evolving relationship, pushing aside any memories of the charged interaction we’d shared in the darkened woods. It was surprisingly fun; Finn was easy company, as charming as his heartbreaker status required him to be. But I couldn't quite forget the look in his eyes as he’d watched the fireflies in the darkness, no matter how hard I tried.

He dropped me off at home shortly after, giving me a friendly hug and making inappropriate jokes as I walked toward the house. It was almost as if he sensed my disquiet and was trying to calm me, like I was some skittish wild animal he’d pushed beyond its comfort zone.

Too perceptive, I thought for the hundredth time that night.

I waved cheerily from the stairs, pretending everything was fine between us before firmly shutting the door behind me and letting a shaky breath of relief rattle from my lungs. Finn Chambers was the worst kind of wonderful –charming, attractive, funny, and painfully intuitive.

And I intended to avoid him like the plague.

***

I spent the next two weeks doing everything in my power to stay away from Finn. When he’d approach me on campus it was tricky, but not impossible, to escape any kind of interaction. Avoiding eye contact and ignoring him wasn’t enough, though – the guy really couldn’t take a hint, and proceeded to try to speak with me every time we crossed paths. I’d had to resort to slipping into the girls’ bathroom, dodging into empty classrooms, and even mingling with groups of random passerby to evade him.

On the few occasions he managed to confront me face to face, I’d formulate an immediate excuse and practically flee the scene. And my excuses were always flimsy at best; I’m pretty sure he knew I was lying when I told him I had to pick up Lexi from tennis practice, in light of the fact that she’s never voluntarily stepped foot onto any sort of athletic arena in her life. Oh, and he definitely knew I was bullshitting him when I claimed to be late for work – my nonexistent job certainly helped to solidify that alibi.

My lack of sleep was definitely interfering with my cognitive abilities. Either that or the intensity of his dark eyes was causing my brain to short-circuit every time he came within a ten-foot radius, thus eliminating any deceptive skills I once might have possessed.

Considering he hadn’t even existed in my life until a few short weeks ago, he suddenly seemed to be everywhere I looked. I remained convinced that eventually he’d accept my tireless evasions as an indication that we weren’t friends and simply lose interest in me. After a few weeks, I knew my strategy was finally working when I literally stumbled headfirst into my problem on my walk to class, not paying attention as I shot off a quick text to Lexi about our Friday night plans.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” I said, steadying myself on the arm of the guy I’d obliviously barreled straight into. “I’m such a ditz, I–”

The words died on my tongue when I looked up into a set of deep blue eyes – eyes so uniquely expressive they could really only belong to one person – and realized my mistake. I hastily stepped backwards out of his personal space, suddenly uncomfortable and dreading anything he might say. Something flickered in Finn’s eyes as he looked down at me, but it disappeared too quickly for me to process.

He didn’t say a word. He simply stepped out of my path, half-bowing with a mockingly chivalrous sweep of his arm, as if to usher me along. I avoided his eyes, walking as fast as my short legs could carry me away from his presence and, strangely, from the guilty pangs clenching like a fist around my heart. The guilt both confused and terrified me.

I hadn’t done anything wrong. What right did he have to look so hurt? It wasn’t like we were friends. We were strangers, really.

And yet, the way he’d looked at me revealed that he’d been wounded when I’d shut him out of my life. I didn’t understand it, or him, or the feelings of regret coursing through my veins – and frankly, I didn’t want to. So, I did what I did best – compartmentalized my emotions and moved on.

I knew I was doing the right thing by staying away from him. He was a risk I couldn't afford to take, and I assured myself he’d soon forget all about me. After all, he had plenty of adoring fans to keep him company in the meantime.

At least, after two solid weeks of dodging him, he finally understood that we would never be friends. As I walked home, I realized that I’d likely just experienced my last ever encounter with Finn. I tried to remind myself that it was what I’d wanted, pushing the small voice screaming You’re such an idiot, Brooklyn as far from my consciousness as possible. I could deal with any amount of regret, if it meant I was safe in the end.

***

The anniversary of her death finally arrived. I was exhausted from the nonstop nightmares that had taken up residence in my head for the past two weeks, but I knew I needed to escape this day and be alone. I borrowed Lexi’s car and ditched my classes, hoping a long drive with no particular destination might do something to calm my mind. It was a futile hope, but I clung to it in desperation.

The annual sympathy card, no doubt selected and signed by one of my father’s secretaries, had been delivered with the morning mail. I’m not sure why he bothered to have one sent; we’d never done anything to commemorate her death in the past, even when I’d lived with him. When I was little, I’d spend the day crying each year, sometimes begging him to talk about my mother – how they’d met, what she was like, anything to keep her picture unfaded in my memory. But he wouldn’t, or couldn't, speak of her and eventually I stopped asking him to.

I drove until Lexi’s car ran out of gas, pulling off to fill up in a nameless town full of faceless people. It was ironic that everything seemed to blur together today, as if I were moving too fast to process any details, since each minute dragged by like an hour and each hour passed like a day.

My weeks of nightmares had assured that the memories boiled just below the surface of my consciousness, and today I didn’t bother to push them under, as I would’ve on any other day. Instead I reveled in them, letting them wash over and consume me as I relived each horrifying detail of her death and its aftermath. When my eyes blurred and I could no longer see the road before me, I pulled over and finally allowed myself, just this once, to be weak.

I was never more grateful for Lexi’s self-absorption – she hadn’t even questioned my need for her car or asked where I was going. I’d never discussed my past with her though we’d met only months after my mother’s murder, when I’d moved across the country from California to live with my father. I couldn’t talk about her death, and Lexi hadn’t ever pushed me to.

I’d always loved her for that.

By the time I was able to pull myself together, night had fallen. Wiping the wetness from my tearstained cheeks and puffy eyes, I drove home on autopilot. I felt hollow, like a shell of my normal self. Everything inside me had been wrung out and all that remained was the jumble of skin and bones that looked and sounded like Brooklyn – the emptied husk I allowed the world to see.

As I wound through the hushed streets of my neighborhood, my headlights illuminating the growing darkness, my thoughts drifted to my mother’s killer. It was rare that I allowed myself to think about Ernest “Ernie” Skinner, inmate 91872-051 in San Quentin California State Prison, but tonight I was too emotionally drained to push the thoughts away. His face, the face that haunted my memories and filled my nightmares, had long been burned into my brain as a symbol of the life that had been ripped from me.

I still remembered his words from the day of the crash with startling clarity. How his bloodshot eyes, glazed over from the cocaine thrumming in his veins, had stared into my face as if memorizing every small feature.

I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you, you little shit. I was home free, they weren’t gonna catch me. You fucked it all up! You made me crash.

A shudder passed through me as I saw myself at age six, trembling on the witness stand as I gave the testimony that condemned him – sealing his fate with a twenty-five year prison sentence and overturning his appeals for a lesser sentence. The hate blazing in his eyes as they led him away in chains and an orange jumpsuit was directed solely at me, as if he could incinerate me with the force of his glare alone.

Thankfully, he had ten more years to rot in prison. I didn’t let myself think about what might happen on the day he was finally released back into society.

I pulled into the driveway next to the old Victorian and tried to collect myself before going inside. Even Lexi, in all her egocentrism, would see through my facade of normalcy if I walked in with tear-glazed eyes and smeared mascara. Flipping down the overhead car mirror, I touched up my makeup and schooled my face into what I hoped would pass as my trademark mask of cool indifference.

It would have to do, for now.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 547