Saving the Reject | Michael Clifford | Editing

s i x t e e n ;

Michael

Charli never told me where we were going.  The occasional direction was the only thing that broke the silence of the car.  The atmosphere felt ten times more tense, and I could feel Charli building up her walls.  I could be wrong.  God, I hope I'm wrong.

"Take a left here," she instructed, reaching a dirt road.  We were almost out of city limits, probably having driven for a good half hour now.  The road we were on now hugged the cliffs of the coast, and I found myself thanking my parents for giving me a car with such bright headlights.  Without them, Charli and I might have been in our watery graves by now.

Wanting to break the heavy silence, I adjusted my grip on the wheel, asking, "Do you know the band All Time Low?"  She didn't answer for a second, seeming to be so entranced in her thoughts that she hadn't even realized I had spoken.

Finally, she did.  "Of course," she responded, her voice timid.  "I love that band."

"Really?" I asked with an eyebrow raise.  I took her as a One-Direction-Justin-Bieber type of girl, but again, I really need to stop pretending like I know her, and actually get to know her.  "What's your favorite song of theirs?"

"Somewhere in Neverland," she responded immediately, no hesitation in her voice at all.  I smiled.

"So you like the idea of running away, huh?" I asked her with a smirk.  I saw her nod.

"Honestly, who doesn't?"

I had to agree with her there.  "So have you ever thought about it?" I asked quietly, turning with the road.  It seemed to stretch out for miles; no end in sight.

"What?  Running away?"  I nodded.  "Why do you think I'm going to college so far away?"

"College is your safe haven?  Where are you planning on going?"

"New York."

I didn't mean to slam on the brakes as hard as I did, and I regretted my actions the second I saw Charli wince in pain and the seat belt pulled against her chest, almost knocking the wind out of her.  I should've apologized or something, but as shocked as I was, all I could say was, "New York?"  She nodded, a confused look in her eye.  "Why the hell are you going there?"

"I was never going to waist my entire life in Sydney, Michael," she told me, looking out the windshield.  "Not after - "

Fear and realization seemed to sweep over her, and I had the realization that I almost got a glimpse into her infamous past.  She was a mystery.  "Not after what?" I asked her, not bothering the start the car again.

"Nothing," she said quickly, her eyes tightly closed.  "I just haven't taken my meds yet."  It was a lame excuse, yet at the same time, it was a legitimate excuse.

Charli ducked down, reaching for the bag at her feet.  I respectively waited until she sat back up straight before I accelerated the car once more.  With the rattling sound of the bottle, she dumped two small pills into the palm of her hand, before dryly swallowing them with ease.  How long has she been taking theses pills?

"Stop at the next curve," she instructed gently.  Though confused, I followed her orders.

But then she got out of the car.  "Charli!  Don't leave!  I'm sorry if I - "

She looked back into to the car at me, a confused expression on her face now.  "What are you going on about, Michael?  We're here."

"We are?" I questioned.  We were literately in the middle of nowhere.  "Where exactly is here?"

"Well, come out and see!" she called, now a short distance from the car.  With slight hesitation, I again followed her orders and got out of the car, immediately entangled in the darkness of the night.  Why did she lead me here in the middle of the night?  I'm sure that in daylight the view was a beautiful one, but I could see nothing by the car the sat two feet from me.  I couldn't even see her.

Then I saw a spark of light not too far away, right on the cliff's edge.  Two - three - then four candles were lit, and though I knew Charli was the culprit, I couldn't clearly see her.  Then, strangely, the sweet music of an old piano mixed with the crashing waves below.  A piano?

I carefully followed the sound, guided by the candles, and now that my eyes have adjusted, the silhouette of a girl sitting at an old piano.  Charli.

I was surprised by how talented she was at the piano.  The tune she played now was familiar, but I just couldn't place it.  She stopped as I sat beside her on the piano bench.  With the moonlight, and he help of the candles, I could make out the bouquet of now dead flowers laying on the top of the aged and rusty piano.  The grass has grown around it, causing me to wonder how long it's been here, sitting on the edge of this cliff.  It was a beautiful place.

"This was my grandparent's property," Charli said quietly.  "A few acres worth.  I used to love coming here as a kid."

The silence was placed perfectly.  I didn't break it: it wasn't my place to.

"My mom hated them," she continued, her breath shaky.  "She hated this place.  I never understood why.  I still don't, even after they're all gone.  My grandparents were amazing.  Everything about them was beautiful.  They were the perfect couple cursed with a rebellious child, but they stayed around."  I watched her now, as tears threatened to fall, but it was only that: a threat.  She was too strong.  "You should feel special, Michael.  Not even my brother comes out here anymore."

"I'm honored," I whispered softly to her, and finally, she looked at me, a bittersweet smile on her face.  Bittersweet; that was the only word to describe it.  That was the only word to describe her.  I glanced down at the piano, Charli's fingertips still delicately placed on the note she'd played.  "What song was that?"

She took a deep breath.  "Boston, by Augustana.  You know how I told you I liked the idea of running away?"  I nodded.  "Well, it started with this song."

She began playing again, and I began to recognize the opening piano.  An older song; I must have been a kid the last time I'd heard it, but I'd heard it nonetheless.  My breath hitched as she added in her own voice.

"In the light of the sun, is there anyone?"  The words came so smoothly, so naturally to her, that I took back what I had said earlier.  College was not her safe haven, this was.  The place where fear seemed to float away with the waves below; where no one and everyone could hear you; a place with stories I'll never hear; a place where Charli was no one other than Charli, and there were no such thing as walls.

And suddenly, I wanted to tell her everything about everything.  But I knew I couldn't.  She would never look at me the same way, never get the chance to feel anything.  This, whatever it may be, has to come delicately, or it will leave nothing but scars.

She only got through the first chorus, only the painfully truthful lyrics leaving and imprint on me:  "You don't know me, you don't wear my chains. . . "

It was true; but for who?  That, I didn't know.