Unbound (4 page)

“Nice
work.” Greg smirked and shook his head before heading back down the field.

Scowling,
I pelted after the ball, already dreading the lecture-disguised-as-advice from
my father on the merits of teamwork and camaraderie.

The
mass of murky clouds overhead were thick with unshed rain as I jogged into the
tree-darkened shadows. Deep in thought, I was building the argument I would
present to my father when the smell of sulphur hit me like a punch in the gut;
the crack that followed so excruciatingly loud that I thought my eardrums had
burst. Limbs tingling, my skin blazed as if hot water had replaced the blood in
my veins. With an enormous grunt I tumbled forward, palms splayed out in front
of me, breath sucked from my lungs.

Something
was burning.

Hammered
into the dirt, I heard my wrist snap with a sickening crunch as I skidded along
the hard-packed earth between the trees. The moment before I hollered in pain,
I knew. I felt it.

He
was there.

Looking
up silently from a face full of leafy underbrush, I saw him striding urgently
towards me, his eyes wide with concern. With only a few long strides he
gathered me into his arms to cradle me effortlessly, one hand smoothing the
hair back from my face.
 

Frowning,
he placed my wrist carefully against my chest. “Hold your arm steady, Rachel,”
he murmured and then looked at me with the same reassuring expression that I
knew I’d seen before. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

Mutely,
I stared up at him. His eyes, warm and steadfast, were infinitely sad and I
wondered what had happened to make him so unhappy. Walking swiftly towards the
soccer field, we emerged from the trees just as the ambush began. My father was
the first to reach me. Looking panicked, he stretched himself towards me, and
like a baby, I passed gently into his arms.

“Her
wrist is injured,” the man said softly. My father glanced at him briefly, as if
hating to tear his eyes away from me. “The lightning did not strike her
directly – it struck the tree first and she fell from the impact.”

“Rachel,
Rabbit, you okay?” My father hugged me tightly against his chest and turned to
the crowd of adults who had now reached the far edge of the soccer field.
Amidst the chorus of concerned voices and suggested advice, I was hustled back
down the field towards the first aid kit. Peering from my father’s chest at the
ring of anxious faces, I closed my eyes. I only looked back once as my father
jogged towards his car.

He
wasn’t there.

 
“Do you
believe in guardian angels?” I asked Alex.

“Depends on the day,” she smiled. “But I wonder if
you’re really asking if I believe what you’re telling me?” she asked.

Yes
. But I said nothing.

“I believe in you, Rachel. Perhaps it’s time you
found out if you believe in yourself. Will you come back next week?”

I nodded, knowing I would come back. I had nothing
left to lose now.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

For
the next few weeks, my sessions with Alex continued in the same way. I felt a
little less apprehensive about talking about my past and the secret I’d been
holding on to so tightly. Talking to her, I could feel something loosening in
my chest, as if the chains I’d been bound by for so many years were slowly, link
by link, unravelling. Although I still found myself double-checking locks, and
climbing out of bed in the middle of the night to make sure the stove was off,
I wasn’t as angry at myself as I did it. And I understood that this was how I
coped, when there didn’t seem to be any other options.

“You’re
seeing yourself in a new way,” she said, when I told her what I’d noticed.

My
smile was wry. “I’m a little less worried that I’ll be committed, if that’s
what you mean.”

She
sighed and looked at me with such kindness that my throat tightened. “You’ve been
very lonely since your father’s been gone.”

I
teared up, as I always did when I tried to speak about him. When I let myself
think about him. I conjured up his warm smile that crinkled his eyes and how it
felt to be wrapped in his hug. “I miss him every day,” I said, letting the
grief come. When I was having a particularly hard day, I would imagine he was
behind me, with his hands on my shoulders.

 
“Since he’s died, your world has felt a
lot less predictable. When was the last time you felt safe?” she asked

“The
last time?” I didn’t have to think about it. I knew. It was two years ago. I was
sixteen years old.

The
three years after my father’s death had been harder than I could have ever
imagined. Losing my dad alongside of my mother’s fragile mental health had
catapulted me violently from pre-adolescence into a pseudo-adulthood I was
barely prepared for, much less capable of understanding.

Although
my grandmother continued to watch over us, I was never able to re-enter
childhood in any genuine way.
 
Instead, my tremulous temperament transformed itself into a fierce
vigilance that kept me wary, effectively separating me from my childhood
friends.

I
simply could not live in the world that they lived in – knowing what I
knew. They believed themselves invincible, immortal and immune to the demands
of impending adulthood. I knew better. I knew that people died. And I knew that
the ones they left behind were meant to put the pieces of their life back
together, even if they were broken beyond repair.
 

My
worries were not the normal fears of a teenage girl. I didn’t toss and turn at
night wondering what to wear the next day or if the boy I sat next to in
biology liked me. I worried about other things, like my mother’s mental health,
or my grandmother dying. My fears generalized to things to which typically
developing 16-year-old girls rarely turned their thoughts. Environmental
disasters were high on my list. My mother had raised an eyebrow when I began
stockpiling bottled water and batteries in the closet. But global politics, the
faltering economy, high school massacres, they were also on my radar. While the
other kids at school laughed about episodes of SNL, I became obsessed with CNN,
particularly the live news coverage. Hoping for some warning this time. Hoping
that the next time someone I loved died, I would be ready. Waiting for the next
bad thing to happen, I made myself as small a target as possible.

Never
the most popular girl, I became nearly invisible at school and faded into the
background of my social circle. My abnormally small world felt safer and more
predictable than the busy life I saw my classmates living. My free time was
spent reading the books my father had left behind on his crowded bookshelves. It
was only through these fictional characters that I could imagine a life where
the risks of living outweighed the fear of dying.

If
not for Lacey, I think I might have disappeared altogether. Unwilling to
abandon me, she’d managed to keep me connected to her own vast and eccentric
social circle, although with only the finest of threads.
 
When I found myself dateless again for
the spring semi-formal – not that I wanted to go – Lacey had turned
down other offers and invited me instead. It wasn’t as if I could blame my male
classmates for their disinterest. As a nonentity, I encouraged their
indifference. It was so much safer not to try, than to try and fail. But
despite my refusals, Lacey refused to be gainsaid, and she’d demanded that we
go together. Who could argue with Lacey?

In
the backseat of her family’s giant station wagon she eyed me sideways as her
mother drove us towards our high school’s crepe-smeared gymnasium. Her efforts
with my hair and make-up had underwhelmingly transformed me from ugly duckling
to regular looking duckling. Gazing at my reflection in the car window, my
unruly dark brown hair had been curled and piled on top of my head, with mixed
results. The overall look was fairly becoming, although a few wisps of hair
refused to be tamed and stuck out from my head. The make-up she had applied did
make my blue eyes a little brighter, and the blush on my cheeks mimicked
excitement rather than the sickening apprehension I felt.

Feeling
her stare, I turned to raise my eyebrow at her inquiringly.

“What?”

“You’ll
do,” she said and punched me on the shoulder.

I
went back to staring out the window.

Walking
into the gym, I was assaulted by both the noise and the flashing lights. Dizzy,
I felt an intense pang of regret for allowing Lacey to drag me here. Why had I
agreed to this?

“Rachel,
wait. Take this.” Lacey shoved something in my hand as we edged along the wall
towards the mob of people she knew who lounged on the far side of the
gymnasium.

Looking
down, I saw a white pill nestled in the palm of my hand.

“What...?”

“It’s
Valium,” she yelled over the noise. “I took it from my mom’s medicine cabinet.”
She shrugged. “She has seven children”

I
must have looked pale.

“Trust.
It’ll help you relax. It will help make all of this,” she gestured at the
seething mass of people around us, “a little easier.” She nodded her
encouragement. “Go on.”
 

Taking
a deep breath, I threw the pill to the back of my throat and gratefully took a
swig of water from the container she had handed me.

My
eyes flow open. Instinctively I gasped for air, causing me to choke and wheeze
in an alarming manner. My chest was on fire.

“Shhhh!”
Lacey pounded me on the back and grinned devilishly.

“Not
water?” I managed to cough out between burning lungfuls of air.

“Scotch,”
she said proudly. “I think your Dad would be proud, don’t you?” Grinning, she
led me by the hand across the gym.

Several
hours and several gulps later, I found myself leaning against the painted brick
wall chatting with astonishing ease to Adam, a good natured and good looking
boy who I’d known since grade school. We hadn’t really spoken in any meaningful
way since sixth grade, although we shared a few classes together in the last
few years.

He
leaned over so I could hear him over the music. “How come I’ve never seen you
at a dance before?”

I
shrugged. “I don’t dance.”

“Everyone
dances,” he said confidently.

I
shook my head. “Not well.”
 
On the
rare occasion, I danced alone in my living room, but that was a one-woman show.

“I
bet you can dance,” he said, “You just need the right partner.” Grabbing me
around the waist, he swung me in a circle and put me back down on the floor.

After
the room stopped spinning, I smiled with delight and clapped my hands like a
child. “Again,” I demanded.

Adam
laughed and picked me up easily, swinging me around again and again.

Giggling
with glee, I stumbled as he set me down. Trying to find my balance, I succeeded
only in stepping first on his foot, and then my own, before tottering into his
chest.

“Whoa!”
His eyes narrowed as he appraised me. “Christ, Rachel, you look like Bambi
learning to walk.
 
Maybe you should
sit down.” His voice was full of concern.

“Um
yeah,” I mumbled. I was still waiting for the room to stop spinning. And why
was I so
hot
all of a sudden?

Grabbing
me by the shoulders, Adam propped me against the wall. “Wait here,” he
commanded. “I’ll go find Lacey.” He dashed away into the crowd.

Leaning
back and closing my eyes, the cool brick wall felt refreshing against the back
of my head, but I was still dizzy. Deciding I needed fresh air more than I
needed Lacey, I felt my way along the wall with as much dignity as I could
muster, desperately looking for an exit that would lead me away from the music,
as well as the swirling mass of humans that I kept bumping into.

With
muddled relief, I pushed on the exit bar of the heavy fire door and lurched
onto the tarmac outside, arms stretched wide. Inhaling deeply, the air smelled
of fresh earth and new sod.

Need to lie down...not here
.
Grass. Nice cool grass. Maybe that would stop the world from spinning so
cruelly. Heading in the direction of the football field, my shoe caught on a
crack in the pavement and I went down hard on my hands and knees.

“Stupid
shoes, stupid ground,” I moaned, trying to struggle back to my feet. Distantly,
I registered that I was bleeding, scrapes marking my legs and palms. Managing
to gain enough footing to stumble towards the darkened field, I tried to ignore
the tilting planet.

Reaching
the grass, I kicked my shoes off and padded unsteadily across the wet ground. A
light drizzle had begun to fall, and grateful, I promptly collapsed into a
prone position. As my eyes drooped close and my ragged breathing slowed, I
became aware that my name was being called, repeatedly, and with some
insistence, from the direction of the gymnasium. I wanted to shout back, but as
I formed the words I realized I didn’t really care if they found me right away.
For once, in a very long while, I was not afraid.