CHAPTER FOUR
Meg stared into the full-length, rectangular mirror which was nailed to the back of her closet door, and scrutinized her reflection. Her dark brown hair was hopelessly straight, and shorter than she'd like it to be-- it fell just past her shoulders, in a plain bob cut. She no longer wore bangs, the way she did as a child. It was a very thick head of hair, which made it very difficult to manage and syle, so most often, Meg just wore it down with a part on the side. Nothing terribly interesting. Her face was round, which made her look younger than she was, and her cheeks were full, which made her look heavier than she was. Her mother said it was just babyfat, that it would go away, but Meg was pessimistic about the whole thing. She was determined that she was going to be full-faced forever. The high cheekbones gave her a slightly exotic look, but that was the only good thing she could say about her face. Her eyes were a mixture of brown and green, and depending upon what light she was in, had specks of gold in them. Against her fair skin, they appeared fiercely dark. Meg disliked her eyes intensely. She would have much preferred to have translucent, glowing, light blue eyes like her brother did. She was petite; 5'2", with an average bust and a full derrierre. She wanted to be taller, at least a couple of inches, and have a smaller figure. She wanted long, blonde hair with waves in it, and all the boyfriends in the world. Like a Barbie doll. She twirled around, examining herself, and frowned at what she saw. She was going to have to parade around in a skimpy cheerleading uniform soon, and she didn't have time to lose weight.
She still wore her nightgown. It was morning, and she had to go to school today. She picked up the brush from her vanity table and glided it through her hair, brushing out all the knots she'd put in it while she slept. If nothing else, she wanted to make her hair look neat and shiny for the coming day. Once finished, she ran her fingers through her mane and shook it out. Then she found two brown barrettes and clipped them onto either side of her face, to add something decorative. She looked into the mirror and gave herself a quick, insincere smile. The barrettes did little to improve her self-image. She adjusted the barrettes, then opened her closet door wider and began looking for something to wear.
It proved to be a challenge. She weeded through blouses, t-shirts, shorts, and jeans, but nothing seemed to look right. She held up each item against her frame, to see how it would look, but nothing satisfied her. Either it was the wrong color, or the wrong style. So she walked into the closet and began throwing articles this way and that, some on her bed, some on the floor, in search of the perfect outfit. Nothing made her look just right. Nothing made her look beautiful. But then again, maybe nothing ever could. She was at a loss.
"Meggie?" she heard.
"Yeah, Mom?"
The woman rapped on the door. "Do you want me to take you to school today?"
"Yeah, if you can," she hollered, through the closed door.
"Well, hurry up, then," she said. "You've not got much time." Meg looked at her clock and her mom was right. She'd been spending all morning picking herself to pieces. But she still had no clue about what to wear. Everything made her look heavy.
She finally decided upon a pair of stonewashed jeans and a turtleneck sweater. The sweater was baggy enough to hide her figure, and the jeans were sort of in style. She put on a pair of black, leather boots and laced them, then put on her watch. She spritzed some perfume, a sweet, floral scent, on her wrists and neck. Then she left the room in disarray, the piles of thrown clothes still on the bed and floor.
While starting to descend the stairs, she turned around. The door to Cory's room was half-open. Not knowing why, she felt a pull to go inside. She'd not been in that room in months, and perhaps, neither had her parents. Every few months, her mother ritually went into Cory's room to dust, and vaccuum, and sit in the rocking chair. Meg never saw what she did while she sat in the rocking chair, but she probably cried.
It was cool in his room. All the vents were open, but the windows were closed. On the wall next to Meg's room, several wooden shelves were nailed up, holding a large collection of stuffed bears and other animals. His bed was neatly made, the comforter and sheets the same ones Cory had used when he was alive and living in this house. The room was decorated in shades of blue; the bedspread was blue plaid, the carpeting was royal blue, and the wallpaper was light blue. A couple of baseball posters were pinned up on the wall above his bed, and some baseball bats were lying on the floor next to his nightstand. A circular, blue rug was lying in the center of the floor, on top of the wall-to-wall carpeting.
Meg sat down on the edge of his bed, and ran her hand along the comforter. Her parents had kept this room exactly the same as it had been eight years ago. The unwritten rule was that no one was ever to change it or to mess it up. Her father had once suggested that they turn it into a guest room, but was met with silence, and then tears, by her mother. They never spoke of it since.
Meg admitted, she missed her brother. She missed his vitality, and his cheerfulness. As a little girl, she often played with him when the other little girls were not around, and she missed that. He was a gracious brother, and at times, very loving. But he could be pushy, too. Sentimentality would not alter her hindsight where Cory was concerned. The pain of his absence still gnawed at her heart, but she admitted, the wounds were not fresh. Time had thickened her skin somewhat about his death. She wished she could say the same thing about her mother. After all this time, some nights, it was as though the accident occurred just yesterday.
"Meggie! We have to go!" she heard. She leapt up from the bed, straightened the covers, and quietly exited the room.
"I'm coming!"
That day at lunch, Meg did not see Mark in the cafeteria. His friends were not there, either. She looked all around, at all the tables and booths, and in the line, too, but didn't see them. She was hoping to catch a glimpse of him that day, and throughout the morning had kept an eye out for him, but he was nowhere to be found. So she sat down with Amanda and her two friends and said hello, and began eating her peanut butter-and-banana sandwich, after getting a soda from the drink machine.
"Hi, Meg. Are you feeling better?" Kate asked, as Meg peeled back the foil on her chocolate pudding, dipped her finger in and sampled the dessert.
Meg smiled and nodded her head. "Couldn't be better," she assured them.
"Did you hear? Two spots have opened up on the varsity cheerleading squad."
"Where did you hear that?" Meg asked, curious.
"The coach's assistant. We ran into her today before homeroom. She said they were looking for two girls to fill in." There were going to be no tryouts this time. They were going to pick two cheerleaders from the junior varsity squad, based solely on the coach's recommendation. Something about a fight and two girls lost their places. Meg's interest was piqued. They chatted for a bit more about cheerleading, and talked about the day's events. Then, to everyone's surprise, Meg changed the topic of conversation. "So tell me more about Mark," she said, in between bites.
Silence. They all looked at each other. For a few moments they didn't say a word. "The guy who made you cry yesterday?" Amanda said. She gave Meg a sympathetic look. Then she leaned in close for a whisper. "Didn't I tell you everything you needed to know at the cheerleading tryouts?" She was referring to her warning.
Meg swallowed and looked at Amanda. "You told me he was bad news, but you didn't tell me why. Just tell me whatever you know."
Amanda and the girls were still hesitant. "You never told us what he said to you, Meg," Laura said.
"Yeah, and why you got so upset," Kate interjected.
"I just want to know more about him, that's all," she said, without elaborating on the short conversation.
They all started talking about Mark at once. "I heard he got suspended from school last year for keeping hard liquor in his locker," Laura said, with a matter-of-fact tone in her voice.
"I heard he was busted for smoking pot at a school game," Kate said.
"Didn't he vandalize the principal's office last spring?"
"Yeah, apparently he smokes a lot of dope and he's a heavy drinker. He's always getting into some sort of trouble."
"He's just the sort of guy that Beth goes after: a bad boy," Kate said, with half a laugh. Meg took in the information with sincere interest.
"Does he do drugs?" she asked, even though her question had already been answered.
"Yeah, and that's not all..." the girl trailed off. "He's been known to get into all sorts of crime." Meg sort of flinched, but she hoped they did not see that. She wasn't going to ask what kind of crime he had gotten into.
"What kind of drugs does he do?"
"Oh, everything," Kate said, with perfect confidence. "I'm sure he's tried everything that there is," she added, and then said, "even the hard stuff."
"How do you know this?"
"Oh, rumors. When you've been going to school with the same people for a number of years, news travels."
"Why are you so interested in him? Do you know this guy?" Laura asked.
Meg shrugged. She didn't want to reveal anything, not now. "Sort of, but it was along time ago." She became very quiet. She didn't want to say what her mother always said-- that Mark was the one who killed Cory. She said, plainly, "He was best friends with my brother, before he died."
"What did he say to you?"
She shrugged again. "It's not important now." They didn't ask further. If they had, she would have ended the conversation. She gave Amanda a long look, signaling that she was ready to stop talking about it. Amanda understood. They finished their lunches, then after a while, the first bell rang, and lunchtime was over. Meg gave one last scan around the cafeteria, looking for him, but still, he was not there. They scrambled up from their seats, and headed towards class.
It was raining outside when school was let out. Meg hadn't brought her umbrella, and she was supposed to walk home that day. So she stood out front, under the awning, waiting for the rain to die down. It was thundering and lightning, and the sky was dark with rain clouds. She wanted to wait at least until it was safe to walk.
"Megan?" someone asked. "Little Megan Mitchell?" She turned. There stood, umbrella in hand, a young man with a huge smile on his face. He was sandy-haired, wearing glasses, and stood about six inches taller than her.
She smiled back, not recognizing him.
"You don't remember me?" he said. "It's Jeff Finch. We used to go to elementary school together, way back in second grade." She looked more closely at his face, and then recognized him.
"Oh, hi! I do remember you." She laughed nervously. They were play-mates at Williams Davis Elementary School. "I see you're prepared for the storm..." she said.
"Oh, you don't have an umbrella?" he asked. "Take mine. I'm getting a ride today. I have karate practice, and then I have to go to work."
"It's been a long time since we've seen each other."
"Yes, it has been. What, eight years? Whatever happened to you, Megan? I haven't seen you in forever."
"It's just Meg now," she said, "and I've been in private school."
"All this time?"
"Yes."
"Well, listen."
"Yes?"
"There's a dance coming up, the homecoming dance, and I was wondering if you'd like to go with me. It'd give us a chance to have some fun," he said. "Do you like to dance?" he asked.
"I do," she said. "And sure, I'll go with you."
He smiled. "Here, let me give you my phone number." He scrawled his name onto a piece of notebook paper and handed it to her. "Give me a call, okay?"
"Sure," she said. She watched him walk away, then get into the passenger's side of a waiting car. With a smile on her face, she opened the umbrella, and began the trek homewards.
As she walked, she listened to the rhythm of the rain beating down on top of the umbrella and the distant crackling of thunder. She couldn't wait to go home, kick off her shoes and cozy up in a warm, dry house.
She'd not walked two blocks when a black convertible pulled up beside her, its stereo booming. The passenger's door opened, and the music was turned down. "Meg?" he said. It was Mark. Meg stopped in her tracks, and bent down to look at him.
She approached the car door. "Get in," he said. "You shouldn't be walking in the rain, especially when it's thundering out, and your house is a long ways from here."
She got in, obediently. She shook out the umbrella, folded it up, and pulled it into the car. It was nice and dry in there. Mark's stereo was playing an alternative song she liked. She closed the door, and he put the car into gear and drove off.
When she looked at him, he was staring at the road. His face was not shaven, and his hair was messy. His jaw was set. At first, she didn't know what to say; she was surprised. "Thank you, she said.
"Don't mention it," he answered. The car was littered with empty bottles and trash, and cassette tapes were strewn all along the floor and back seats. It smelled like cigarette smoke. Mark's jacket and bookbag were thrown hastily into the back, but Meg kept her bag on her lap, where she hugged it with her arms. Already, she was getting a lot of homework.
"Do you know where I live?" she asked, even though it may have been a stupid question.
He didn't hesitate. "I remember," he said. "Spruce Lane."
He had the same face; long, thin, and heart-shaped, but no more glasses. He was Mark, alright. She could tell that the more she looked at him. He was very quiet. When he was a child, he was shy. But now, she thought it was more like reservation.
He smelled slightly of cologne, and it was a light, musky scent. Meg wondered if she should apologize for approaching him yesterday. But she hesitated to say anything about it, because she didn't want it to come out wrong, like she was fishing for an apology. So she remained silent, wondering what to say to him next.
He turned the steering wheel, and they turned onto a residential street. What Meg didn't want was for the opportunity to speak with him to come and go, without her ever having said anything to him. So she spoke up. "I'm sorry I came up to you yesterday," she said, hoping it sounded alright. He didn't avert his eyes from the road.
"It's been a long time since I've seen you," he said, coolly.
"Too long," she said. "A lot has happened since then."
He tensed his jaw, concentrating on the road. "I'm sure it has," he said, glancing into the mirror.
She felt a little awkward, not knowing what to say. "What have you been doing all this time?" she asked, hoping that her question didn't sound too ordinary. He turned to her, briefly.
"I've been surviving," he said, simply. She detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but wasn't sure if she'd heard it or not. She hugged her bag more closely around her lap.
"Is that all?" she said.
"No," he said. "but most things in my life wouldn't be too cheerful a topic of conversation, if you know what I mean." She nodded her head, slowly.
"I suppose you've stayed in Glenwood all this time..."
"Unfortunately," he said. "Glenwood is a depressing town, so isolated from the rest of the world. If I had my own way, I would leave this place. But I'm only seventeen. Where can I go?"
She agreed. "You have only a few months before your birthday, right? Then you can go wherever you want."
"It's true," he said. "But if I leave, I wouldn't be able to finish school, and I'd be letting down my parents."
She admired him for saying that. But she doubted him. "You don't really care about that, do you?"
He turned, just for a moment. "Some days I care about it; other days I don't."
"Are you much of a student?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, do you like it? Is it something you actually enjoy?"
He then laughed. "Actually, no. I hate it."
"So is it your parents that's keeping you from leaving?"
He looked at her, his big, brown eyes intense. "I like to show them what it means to stay and stick it out."
She smiled, even though she didn't know what he'd meant.
When they arrived at Meg's house, the rain had mostly stopped. It had been a short drive, and Mark hadn't asked for directions once. She wanted to talk with him more... she wanted to ask him questions, she wanted to hear more about his life.
The car was stopped in the driveway. The engine was still running. "I know this may be an imposition, but..." He looked at her. "Won't you just visit with me, for a little while?" she asked. He didn't respond just yet. "The rain has stopped, and we wouldn't even have to go inside... we could go for a short walk in my backyard, in the woods. Please, Mark," she said. "It's been such a long time since I've seen you."
He considered the request. "I suppose so," he said. "I've got nowhere to be right now. That would be alright with me."
He turned the car off, and they got out of the car. The air was cool and damp, and breezy. The dead leaves under their feet were wet with fresh rain, making it a slippery journey to the wooded backyard. They walked around the front of the house, around the side, and followed a graveled pathway to the back.
Underneath the trees, the ground was perfectly dry. The foliage was thick, and had blocked out the rain. "Tell me honestly," Meg said, as they walked deeper, side-by-side into the woods. "Do you remember me at all?"
He was quick to answer. "I remember lots of things about you, Meg."
"But you would care not to remember?"
He gave her an apologetic look. "That's not true." She was sorry she had said it. She wiped a strand of hair from her face.
"I came upon you so suddenly, without warning...you must have been shocked to see me after all this time. I'm sorry if I frightened you."
He slipped his hands into his pockets. "It happens when two people are separated for a long time, I suppose," he said, and looked down at his feet as they walked.
She followed his gaze to the frayed cuffs of his jeans. "Are your parents still together?" she asked. They followed a dirt path that led them amongst Douglas Firs and Pines, up and down small, rocky hills. Further into the woods lay a small stream and beyond it, a paved path for joggers and bicyclists
"No, they've been divorced for six years now. I live with my mother and every other month I visit with my father in Maine."
Meg nodded her head. "They used to be such a happy couple, from what I remember."
"They had their moments. But things change. I have to remind myself in the mornings when I wake up that nothing is constant."
"Or else you would forget?"
"Or else I would cling too tightly to what I have, which is a lot right now."
"You don't sound convinced of that."
"In the eyes of my parents, I have everything."
"What about your own eyes?"
"I don't trust my own eyes." They reached a steep incline underneath a row of Douglas Firs that looked to be an excellent spot for sitting.
"Shall we sit here?" she asked. He nodded in agreement. The ground was dry. Mark pulled out a crumpled pack of Marlboros and took one of the cigarettes out and put it into his mouth. Then he pulled out a lighter and lit the end, and began to smoke.
Meg watched him with curiosity and caught a whiff of the white smoke as it floated past her nose. She eyed him as he took a long drag. She had never smoked a cigarette in her life, following the strict orders of her parents and her schoolmasters who had both threatened and warned. But secretly, she had always wanted to. "May I have one?" she asked, timidly.
He looked at her with surprise. "Go ahead," he said, after some hesitation. He offered her the crumpled pack.
She immediately coughed. Mark said nothing. She felt awkward holding it in her hand, felt embarrassed that she'd made a spectacle of herself. She suddenly didn't know why she was doing it.
"My parents don't trust me at all," she said, stifling a cough. "They never let me do anything."
"Are they still together?"
"Yes, but sometimes I wish they would split up, the way they're so cold to each other sometimes. They put the whole focus on me, I think, to detract from their failing relationship. I'm supposed to pretend that nothing is wrong, and I usually do."
"You don't have to."
"I feel like I do. If they didn't have me, I think they might not have anything." She finished off the last of her cigarette, then put it out in the ground. "They're so strict," she said. "I can't stay out late, or go to parties, or do anything, really."
"Maybe you're not missing much," he said.
"The only way I could convince them to let me come back to public school was to promise them that I'd be on top of my studies, and not get into any trouble."
"That sounds fair."
"You're lucky, Mark. You're a senior this year. You're almost finished with school."
"No--I'm a junior."
She gave him a questioning look. "Why?" He tensed up. She could sense that he was uncomfortable.
"I had to stay back a year," he said.
"Were you behind in your schoolwork?" she asked.
"No, not exactly. I had to go to a psychiatric unit of a hospital for three and a half months when I was in the fourth grade." His gaze was steady.
It came as a shock to Meg. This was the first she'd ever heard of it. "My parents never told me that," she said, quietly. He took another drag from his cigarette.
"Maybe there's a lot of things your parents didn't tell you," he said. She knew exactly what he was insinuating. And she agreed. It was common knowledge at the Mitchell home that her parents blamed Mark for the accident.
"I'm sorry--"
"It's not your fault."
"If Cory were here, he would have fought for you," she said, and came closer to him.
"But he's not."
"I know." She'd finally mentioned Cory's name. She was wondering how to approach the subject, without being too tacky. Mark finished off the last of his second cigarette, then stood up and dusted off the back of his jeans.
"I have to go," he said.
"So soon?" asked Meg. He didn't look her in the eyes.
"I have to go home and call my girlfriend," he said, dusting off his jacket.
"Beth?"
"Yes."
"I've seen her. She's head cheerleader for the varsity squad, isn't she? I saw her when I tried out for j.v. squad. She's very beautiful," she commented.
He nodded, still not looking Meg in the eyes. "I'm sorry but I have to go, Meg."
"Thank you for visiting with me."
"No problem," he said. Then he turned and left, leaving Meg alone in the woods.