The Arrangement Anthology 1(123)

I don’t answer. I look out the window at the parking lot. Unbidden memories flash behind my eyes like they’re happening now. I see my parents park their car and take my small hands, as we walk toward the station. I’m four years old and smiling. They tell me about the play we’re going to see in the city, and that there will be music and dancing. I can’t stop smiling. They swing me between them. I laugh as my little feet kick in the air. Marty speaks and the memory shatters—he doesn’t know what this place does to me.

“Avery? Did the train stop?”

“Yes.”

“Get off. Go downstairs and wait for me. I’m already in my car. Did you get off the train?”

The night air chills my skin and I realize I’ve already exited the train. If I didn’t call Marty, I might have passed this place without getting off. The platform is high, it’s taller than the trees. I can see the school below and a parking lot that’s mostly empty. The wind whips past me, tugging my hair as it blows. My red dress does little to keep me warm.

“I’m outside. I’m fine Marty. I’m sorry I called you.” I’m staring like I’m lost in a dream.

More memories surface: Argyle Lake and winters with silver skates. Recollections of my Dad jumping up and down on the ice, telling me to come out, that it’s safe. I was so afraid back then, but my parents made me feel safe. They chased away the monsters.

I wrap my arms around my middle. A guy walks past me and gives me a once over as he heads toward the staircase. My make-up is probably smeared all over my face.

I hear Marty’s car start and realize he’s talking to me. “…can call me anytime. I’ll be there as fast as I can.” I nod and hit END CALL.

My red dress draws attention, but the expression on my face keeps people away. I walk down the stairs and fold my arms over my chest. I try to wait for Marty, and pace inside the lobby of the station. I look at the benches, at the seats, and more memories pound into me. I can’t stand it. It’s like opening Pandora’s box. There’s no way to let one recollection slip past without summoning ten more. This place brings them back. And, it’s not just the pictures and faces—I feel the hugs and distant laugher caress me lightly. It’s as if I’ve been touched by a ghost.

That’s it. I can’t wait. I can’t stay here. I turn quickly and push out the front door. I head down the sidewalk and I don’t think about where I’m going. I don’t think about anything. I’m not sure how much time passes when my phone rings again. I look at the screen and see a picture of Marty’s smiling face with his 80’s flipped collar and spike hair.

“Hey,” I say after answering.

“Where are you? I’m in the station, but you’re not here.” Worry laces through his words.

I feel bad for making him worry. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stay there. I’m walking on Locust.” I’m not far from the station. The truth is, once I left the building, there was only one place to go.

“I’ll be right there.” Marty hangs up.

I keep my phone in my hand and look at the houses. I stop in front of one and stare. A single sidewalk leads to the front door of a little Cape Cod style house. It’s still the same pale yellow color as it was when we lived there. The tree in the side yard still has my tire swing from when I was a kid. It moves in the breeze, gently swinging. I glance at my old window, and then to my parent’s window.

My gut twists, tying itself in knots too tight to bear. I clutch my stomach and sit down hard on the curb. I press my fingers to my temples and lower my head to my knees.

Breathe, Avery. Just breathe. It’s my mother’s voice. I hear it in my mind like she’s really here, but I know she’s not. I realize I can no longer remember the exact sound of her voice. It’s a shadow now, missing the inflections that she had. A sob creeps up my throat and strangles me. I sit there like that for too long, lost in the past.

Headlights finally illuminate the street in two wide beams. I don’t look up. Marty steps out of his car and hurries toward me. “Are you all right?”

I shake my head. I can’t look at him. I can’t tell him what I did with Henry. I hate myself. I hate what I’ve become. I don’t want to relive anything about tonight. I don’t want to tell him about Mel and Sean. Just thinking about it makes the panic return.

Marty holds out his hands. I take them and he pulls me up. I fall into his chest and he folds his arms around me. He kisses my forehead and says, “Bad night?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”