The next morning I woke up terrified and shaking. I dreamed that I was entombed inside a rotting tree being smothered. Unfortunately, in my semi-lucid, panicked state I forgot about my injuries. I frantically rolled over to escape from the nightmare. The wounds ripped open, again. Burying my face in a pillow, I screamed through the fresh agony.
One would think after fifteen years of numerous peculiar mishaps that my pain threshold would be higher. I used to believe my low pain tolerance was kind of my cosmic payment since I didn’t have any real scars to show for my previous misadventures. My pain threshold remained infuriatingly the same, even though I will have some very deep scars from this little excursion. So much for the celestial scales of justice staying in balance…
Once I was certain that I wouldn’t yell out in pain, I ran to the bathroom and peeled back the blood soaked gauze. I attempted to patch myself back up. Sadly, it looked like a hyperactive monkey applied the bandages by the time I was finished.
Tray handles all of our medical emergencies. I can’t even wrap a square gift box without messing it up. So my failed attempt was wasted effort from the start. The gauze was already falling off and gapping.
The heaping pile of items Tray tossed on the floor was making me insane. They would have to stay put because I was in too much pain to deal with them.
The clock displayed the time at 4:53. So, I grabbed my portable CD player and turned it on. Even though I had the headphones plugged in, the wind somehow heard the song and responded to the music. The air was desperately trying to force its way through the Styrofoam barrier. It was blowing so hard that one side came unstuck.
Completely lost in thought, I walked over on autopilot to re-tape it. Reliving my strange journey through the enchanted forest…my still present grief over the dead tree…it held so much pain…I want to know the secret it’s holding…how will I find it again??
…ouch…
I stepped on something sharp and almost lost my balance. Biting down on my lower lip, I suppressed the painful scream. I hopped over and grabbed my book light to survey the ‘Ember-damage’. Warm blood had already soaked through my sock, as I reflexively pulled the shard of glass out of my sole. That was a major mistake. I started hopping in a circle, squeezing my foot, trying to contain the painful crimson flow.
My book light went sailing and I hobbled over to pick it up. That’s when I noticed something odd. Shards of glass shimmered across my bedroom carpet in various shapes and sizes. I couldn’t quite comprehend what I was looking at because the scene was (and is) impossible.
The shattered glass was scattered on the inside of my bedroom like someone smashed the window from the outside???
On a frantic and psychotic mission, I swiftly limped down the hallway. It seems that I am bent on proving that I need a straitjacket immediately. Although it was insane, I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
Pointing the book light toward the earth right below my bedroom window, I was stunned beyond belief. The ground underneath it was entirely glass free! Wait – maybe, the shards got buried, somehow??
Ignoring my pain, I dropped to my knees. I searched for the missing glass that should definitely be lying there. The dirt was caked like dried cement. There’s no way anything could be buried underneath it. The wind seemed to react to my overwhelmed emotional state and whistled wildly through the trees.
The broken pieces should be lying all over the ground outside, but they are scattered on my carpet. I was standing inside my bedroom when I broke out the window. That means the shards should be littering the ground!
My injuries were long forgotten, as I ran back into the house at breakneck speed. I have no idea why I’m in such a hurry. It’s not like a mad dash will change this loony situation.
I switched on the light and blinded myself. When my vision was restored, I surveyed the floor underneath the broken window. My reality still had not changed. Every shard of glass from the shattered pane was lying on my bedroom carpet!
Somehow I broke the window pane from the outside, in???
Tray must have been so consumed with panic last night that he didn’t even notice it. I scrambled to throw away the broken fragments before he discovered them. He tends to overreact when it comes to me and any dangerous/inexplicable mishaps.
I have no explanation for this lunacy. I can’t even explain it to myself…
Pain thundered through my entire body and, between my various injuries, I was bleeding a river. Still, I continued to ignore everything except my frantic clean-up efforts. After trashing what I could, I started vacuuming.
I suppose I thought if I could make the glass disappear from my sight then maybe I could convince myself that it didn’t happen. It was a ridiculous assumption. My bloody wounds would offer a painful reminder…even if my mind wanted to forget.
The silence made my ears ring when I turned off the vacuum cleaner.
“It’s kinda early to be making so much freakin’ noise, don’t you think?” Tray unexpectedly grumbled as he shuffled down the hallway, scaring me in the process.
In my all-consuming frenzy to remove the glass I forgot how loud the Suck Master is. We named our vacuum cleaner because it has been with us for so long it’s like part of the family.
I followed him into the kitchen with my face flush from guilt. All the empty boxes in the corner meant Tray had worked late into the night putting stuff away while I slept through the pain storm. The reward for his efforts was being jolted awake at the ridiculous hour of five in the morning by his psychotic little sister.
He poured himself some water and tried to conceal his yawn. Guilt gnawed at my insides, but I couldn’t do anything to fix the situation.
“Sorry for turning on the Suck Master and scaring the life outta you this early in the morning. I don’t know what I was thinking,” I stated and I tried to smack myself on the forehead to demonstrate my frustration.
He grabbed my arm, mid-swing – preventing me from hitting myself. He stopped me with so much grace that I gasped. Somehow, he managed to touch the only place that wasn’t injured.
“You’ve already managed to destroy about half of your body. Do me a favor and don’t try to finish the job today. I can’t take much more in the ‘little girl destruction department’ without losing it, myself…” Tray told me humorously, but I could hear the exasperation underneath the comical tone.
My arms were streaked with blood and the gauze was barely covering my skin. Tray noticed the useless bandages were covered in dirt, too. He didn’t even ask for an explanation. He redressed my wounds and patched up my newly injured foot.
I promised him that I would be more cautious. He responded to my vow with a silent nod and worried stare.
After breakfast, we headed to the local high school. Due to my accident, we won’t be starting school until next week. At least this gives me plenty of time to shop for the clothes we need to blend in.
I brought my notepad and pen because relying on my faulty memory is not a good idea. Strategically parking where we could observe the students without being noticed, I noted what they were wearing.
Our type of lifestyle requires careful planning. Some parts of our cover-story remain the same. Others change from place to place. So, we always rehearse the details of our life story.
I’m usually comfortable with the necessary deceptions. But, this particular move was different from all the others. I was suddenly scared I might say the wrong thing to the wrong person – putting some adult on alert.
I didn’t initiate this relocation. So, I didn’t have time to mentally prepare myself for it. I still feel out-of-sorts and lost. My crazy trip into the world of perplexing madness didn’t help matters, either.
This new school is also much smaller than any we have ever attended. It’s easy to blend in at large urban schools. No one asks too many questions. Life in those big cities hardens most school administra
tors. Usually, their only concerns are making sure students are placed in a class for every period and whether those students shoulder a criminal element along with the backpack they carry. I had been one of the ‘nameless many’ in those situations.
I assumed that smaller schools meant intrusive administrators, nosy students and overly interested teachers. I was scared I would slip up on our first day, but I refused to share my anxiety with my brother. I had already been enough of a burden for the time being.
After rehearsing our background story three times, Tray made us stop. He tried to convince me that three is a lucky gypsy number, but I knew that was just a pretense. He gets frustrated if we go over it too many times. Although I dearly love my brother, he has the patience of a hungry infant when it comes to practicing anything.
I spent the next two days shopping at local consignment shops and purchasing clothing similar to my detailed notes. By Sunday night, we were ready to meet our Monday-small-town-high-school fate.