November 3, 2010

  • nanowrimo, day two.

    [For the beginning of the story from day one, click here.]

    I burst out laughing, although unpredictable antics are Lottie’s strong suit and I should have been expecting her response to such a glorious electronic beat. Lydia hollers, “get it, girl!” and tries to imitate Charlotte’s wild gestures, to no avail. As graceful as Lydia could be in life, she is no dancer in a rap video. She may have no rhythm, but sit her in front of a piano and you will be left awestruck by her natural gift. And although she denies it as a superpower, Lydia Grace Noble has perfect pitch. I am very much looking forward to the Christmas party, at which she has promised us she will play and sing carols – as long as those of us who are so inclined will sing along. It’s a mere eight weeks away, and the anticipation is definitely palpable. My favorite time of year, the time that contains Thanksgiving and Christmas, is when my heart yawns and stretches, coming awake fully for the first time all year. Everything about these two months each year makes me feel joyful, like I am still just a little girl. The cold, the clothes, the traditions – all of it! Football games no one really pays attention to in their carbohydrate-induced stupor, eating all day long and not feeling the least bit guilty about it, and the closeness and warmth of family around the fireplace make Thanksgiving utterly perfect; while the decorations, the classic songs, the hustle and bustle, the giving, the getting, the colors and the lights, the movies, the shopping, the gift-wrapping… Christmas is overwhelmingly my favorite holiday.

    But here I go, getting lost in daydreams and warm, sparkling memories, when I’m supposed to be telling a story. This happens to me far more often than it should…

    I am brought back to the present reality when Lydia appears in my direct line of staring vision.

    “Forest green,” Lydia appraises with her own imploring, light green eyes. “It’s either Christmas, your family, or the new kid.”

    “The first,” I confirm casually, making absolutely no attempt at hiding anything.

    The problem with brutal honesty is that it leaves you fully exposed. I feel like I am constantly walking around naked.

    “Ew, Georgia Lynn, would you mind picturing yourself fully clothed from now on? My poor little heart can’t talk all that,” Louise informs me teasingly, and as she towel dries her wavy brown hair I see a glinting stone, looking suspiciously like an engagement ring, on her left hand waving with her motions.

    “When did that happen?” I squeal, grateful – for once – that my mental capabilities did not ruin a good story for me.

    “Well, since you’re pryin’…” Louise teases me, drying her right ear and grinning from that one over to her left.

    “Yes, I realize I am prying, but, I really want to know – you know it’s because I care about your life,” I tell her, reaching out to inspect the rock perched proudly on that oh-so-important finger. The yellow gold band houses a large, round-cut diamond surrounded by little circles of blue topaz.

    “Wyatt took me to the exact place where I first found him…” Louise begins to explain, but as my ears take in her words; my mind fades back to seven months prior – the night that Wyatt Livingston joined our band of strange and lonely pariahs.

    “There it is again,” Louise was saying, holding her head in her hands.

    “What is it?” I ask, my hands fluttering uselessly near my newest friend’s aching head. She’s a reader, like Nadia, so headaches are a common occurrence, but this one is so bad I am really starting to get concerned.

    “This man’s voice. He just keeps crying out – ‘help me, please, anyone, help me!’ and  I can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from, or I would help him! He is so miserable, Georgia, I am kept awake at night, sometimes all night, and  there ain’t a single thing I can do for ‘em,” Louise’s ocean blue eyes are wrinkled at the corners with deep concern.

    “And you are absolutely sure it isn’t someone in the building reach out to you?” I shift from foot to foot, restless.

    “Positive,” Louise confirms; she is pacing nervously now.

    “We should go look for this guy,” Charlotte proposes. Her tiny, indestructible frame is visibly twitching with anticipation. “The four of us could do it, easily. Lou, you and Nadia could work together listening for him to find his location, and I could definitely fix up any minor wounds he may have until we can bring him here.” Charlotte is a healer – internal and external. She is virtually unbreakable, impervious to illness, and can heal others by touch – to an extent, depending on the time they would take and the seriousness of the trauma.

    “Lydia won’t like it,” I blurt, disgusted once more by my lack of mental or verbal filter. I wish I could just bite my lip and keep all the nagging truth and reason inside, and just be easygoing.

    “She doesn’t have to know,” Charlotte’s gentle voice is unusually low, and she shrugs, small and fearless.

    “Easy for you to say,” I snort. “She can’t put you into a coma.”

    “She can’t put you in a coma either, genius,” Charlotte rolls her honey brown eyes. “At least, I don’t think so…”

    Her face fades into a more contemplative look and I make a haughty sound in my throat.

    “I think we should do it,” Nadia’s musical voice finally enters into the discussion. “I mean, why else do we have these abilities, if not to use them to help others? Lydia would agree with that much, anyway.”

    “And the entering into danger part…? That’s our decision to make; we are more than capable, and absolutely old enough, to call our own shots. I say we do this,” Charlotte pounds her fist against her palm.

    All eyes swing to search the pained face of the reason for this conversation.

    “If you gals are gonna back me up, I don’t see any problem with this,” Louise decides on the spot, her brow furrowing into a stubborn line, her slender jaw set firmly.

    “Well, let’s get started, then. Everyone put their cell phone in their pocket and grab a flashlight. The quicker we start moving, the sooner this man will get the help that he needs,” Charlotte reasons, pulling two flashlights from under our bunk beds.

    As quietly as humanly possible, the four of us creep down the hall and down the staircase – taking each step as quickly as we can relying on Charlotte’s keen senses and silent, graceful leading, as well as Nadia’s ability to listen for any leadership who would stop us, to keep us from getting caught. Louise is too distracted by the constant gnashing of teeth in her gray matter to be much of a help – I lead her by the hand and keep her feet from hitting the inevitable squeaks in the old wooden stairs. She shoots me a grateful glance in the dimly lit lobby, and I see the raw panic and ache that does not belong to her inside of her nightfall pupils and morning sky irises. I squeeze her slender hand and try to give her the smallest of comforts – she squeezes it tightly in return, and I know she gets my mental message.

    “Is there an alarm?” Nadia asks in a whisper.

    “Not on nights when Jerry is in charge of security,” Charlotte rolls her eyes. “He thinks he can take on anything or anyone that decides to walk through that door, so he doesn’t bother with it. I personally think it’s just because he is technologically inept, and doesn’t want to learn how to set the stupid thing.”

    Nadia grins. “Then let’s hope it is indeed Jerry’s night to watch the place – I have it on good authority that he also loves to raid the fridge more often than necessary.”

    We all inhale softly and hold our breath inside of our lungs, our hearts pounding in anticipation as Charlotte reaches out a tiny, tan hand to turn the huge brushed nickel knob. Hearts pounding in our ears, we hear the tiny click of the latch releasing us out into our mission field.

    When no obvious alarm sounds, we pile out onto the giant old staircase, knowing getting down those brick steps would be the noisiest part of the deal. Tennis shoes clattering against the mortar and blocks, clamoring for the muting of the lush lawn below, the four of us reach the grass with no sound but a mutual sigh of relief. Charlotte pushes Louise forward, and Lou takes the leader role with no fanfare or ceremony.

    “He’s getting louder,” Louise tells us confidently, letting her feet blindly follow the siren song of the screaming inside of her skull. “We’re coming!” she says urgently aloud, though I know she’s probably yelling it with all her might back to him mentally.

    And we blindly follow her farther into the woods, through the paths in the ancient firs and sweet-smelling pines, four flawed Samaritans with no knowledge of the man in need – other than his need.