Leaving Castle Rock//Chris Chambers

Part One//The Tree House

The days were long; strenuous even, and the bad ones seemed to lug by, lasting years. She had been told once, perhaps when she was eight or nine, more than likely by her mother, that she was strong. She barely felt any of that left in her now, as she listened to the droning teacher and clenched the web of skin between fourth and pinky finger, all in attempt not to cry.

And though the classes were long, it was her free hour that caused her the most pain; pain of choosing who to sit with out of the abundant sea of fake friends who had a cruel sense of the world and put on a thin mask over it whenever she sat down. It was her free hour that caused her to go home and really cry, usually in the shower, sometimes at the bottom of her bed.

Second semester had just hit, and the snow began to tumble down in sheets and piles with it, covering the earth in a sort of magical blanket. She believed the snow was one of the things keeping her going, and she feared the day when the sun would come out, bringing with it an eternal hell.

The snow and the stars at night were a couple of the few things she had left. But she believed what saved her the most was the ashen-haired boy she shared a room with. They had known each other (though mere acquaintances for most of that time) since they were ten. That was when they lived in the small town of Castle Rock, a quaint little town that seemed to have an invisible dome over it, because everyone knew nobody left Castle Rock. One day, she and the boy ran away. They were fifteen then. They are seventeen now.

While she spent her days at school, and nights doing homework, the boy spent all his time in the factory. It was an automobile factory, one where the workers stand in one spot next to a conveyor belt and spend ten hours latching two pieces together, or perhaps screw one bolt onto another. Her days at school were long, but she knew his were longer.

And though the two had never been more than friends, they both grew closer as people do when they seem to be each other's only source of happiness. It seemed no matter how long, how awful, how tear-inducing the day was, they could always find each other when they came home. And that is how they saved each other. Little did she know at the time, she was a lifeboat to him as much as he was to her.

She didn't have much to think about at school so she thought about the boy. And the boy didn't have much to think about at work so he thought about her. And in this way they grew in love, not like two teenagers who blindly fall into love after the fifth date, but the kind of love that is cultured and tended to: like an apple tree that one spends years watering and loving until one day an apple blossom blooms. If only they realized what was happening.

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Their story began on the fourth of August, on a particularly sunny day. Four years before the droning school and work days. Four years before lifeboats were something they even needed. The summer days in Castle Rock are hotter than the ones in Chicago or Las Vegas, and sometimes even more than the ones in all of Florida. Hot and sweaty and droning. Our girl sat at the bottom of a tree house, one that had been put together by the small hands of many ten year old boys. Those boys had long grown into responsible adults, but the tree house was used by a new generation of young boys, and the house remained touched by little hands: though unkempt, and falling apart unlike it had been those twenty years or so ago.

She held a wooden box filled with glass bottles of coke, at least a couple dozen, causing her back to arch from the weight. She could hear the rambling of the boys inside, and see puffs of smoke from cheap cigarettes as they drifted out of the house and into the already thick air. This place used to scare her at one time, when she was twelve and the world taught her to fear boys, especially those her age. But now as she stood under them, she only felt a slight excited and anticipation to talk to someone else her age, and perhaps make a new friend or two.

Before she had time to put the box down and knock, a boy came, more like tumbled out of the door, a goofy grin on his face. His face straightened out as soon as he saw the girl, and he stood up, clearing his throat.

"'You need something?" His ash hair fell into his face.

"Hi, urm...yes, Mr. Mattler gave me these to give to you if you'll take them." Our girl worked at the local grocer, the one in the corner of the Main Street, the one that everyone went to if they needed absolutely anything (and the store did hold almost everything one could need, as long as you weren't picky about off-brands). Mr. Mattler ran the place and had an awful fondness for the boys who played in the tree house which his once young son had helped build. Our girl soon learned she would have to often make trips there delivering all sorts of knick knacks on her way home. In this first case, it was the extra box of coke.

"Course we'll take them. Tell Mr. Mattler he's the best for me, will ya?" The boy stepped off the ladder and over to our girl, half smoked cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

She only gave him a quick nod, and passed over the heavy box. "Thanks for bringing it over too. I know it's out of the way."

"Oh, the walk is far but it's nice. The clouds are out today so I at least had something to look at."

"Mmmm," the boy agreed, though unsurely. Just as he was about to turn around, he hiked up his knee and leaned the box against it. "Almost forgot. Take one, or two. There's only a couple guys up there, we won't be needin' all of these." He handed her one with his now empty hand and offered her another.

She shook her head. "Thanks, I think one is all I'll need for now. Thanks." She gave the ashen-haired boy a small smile and turned around but before she could walk away the boy spoke. "Hey, you want to come in? Just for like a couple minutes. We have a fan. Oh and a cooler."

She thought about it, and hesitantly the boy cut in again. "If not I get it, we're not really most people's crowd." He looked at the dirt and kicked it up a bit with the tip of his shoe. Our girl bit the inside of her lip.

Most people's crowd.

Everyone knew about the boys who hung out at the treehouse. Dirty kids who lived on the wrong side of town.

Wet ends. Thieves. She'd heard them called by every ugly name in the book.

Just last week, it was rumored that one of the boys stole the milk money at school. Along with the fact that all their older brothers (or all the ones with older brothers) were a part of the far side Cobra gang: a group of teens who went around terrorizing the town. A few years, and the treehouse boys were thought to be sure to be following in their shoes.

"I--better get heading back....thank you though, for the Coke."

"Yeah, no problem. Hey see you in biology!" Ashen-haired boy waved and turned around, heaving the box with him to the tree house. But our girl stood there for a second. She could hardly believe that he knew she was in biology with him. In fact, she would have been surprised to hear that anyone recognized she was in their class; she remained silent in the back, invisible to those who didn't take a second glance. She smiled to herself. It felt good to be noticed.