clementine

chapter 7: Clementine is 15 years old

We stopped at the gas station for a suspiciously long period of time. Only Keith got out of the minivan. We took the right onto my street (thankfully driving past Clementine's house), and then speeding on past my own house. The lights were still on.

"Aren't you dropping me home?" I asked, voice meek. I had at least hoped that the boys would know that Shannon and I wanted nothing to do with the cruel games they liked to play in order to keep us all on top of anyone who threatened our superiority. I didn't want to know how cruel my own friends were, but I guess no one ever does.

And yes, looking back, I know that it all sounds so dramatic. High school is not politics. It's worse. It's like trying to hold onto rails on a rollercoaster without seatbelts. It is hoping that anyone else knows how to keep you safe, and sometimes that means picking someone else's fingers off of the rail.

"I have an idea." Keith repeated, which did not provide any insight. It wasn't long before the minivan shuddered to a stop. The headlights illuminated nothing but endless tree trunks and the kind of darkness that clutches onto the light.

It was the forest. The one that had towered over me when I was nine years old, when I rode my bike home, alone and frightened.

Is that what Clementine felt after everything? I can't imagine those things even dwelling inside of her. In six years, I had never returned to those woods. Never gone back for her.

Everyone was out of the car. Except for me. I was frozen, staring into the shadows cast across the dirt outside of the windscreen. "C'mon, Sam." Trevor held out his arm for me to take and stared at me with those grey eyes, and they were blank. They were not charming, but devoid of anything. It was like he had no idea what was going on, and it assured me that it was okay not to.

I held onto his hand and let Keith lead us all into the woods. It was times like these that cell phone torches were an essential element of daily life.

When someone finally asked the trivial question on everyone's mind, Keith decided to share his brilliant idea. He was holding what looked like a watering can.

"Where the hell did you get that?" I could hear the fear confusion in Richard's voice. And then, quieter, "That's what took so long in the gas station?"

Keith ignored him. "Clementine Ross," I instantly felt relieved knowing that it was not us that he was going to turn against, "Has been in my face for far too long. It's time to put her back where she belongs."

"And where is that, exactly?" I spat at him in disgust Richard scoffed at him.

The cruel contours of his face were warped by the torch light when he replied, "I'm just going to send her a message."

Like the idiots we were I was, we all I thought this was harmless. A message, I had reassured my racing heart, it's nothing, no one's going to get hurt.

When we arrived at our destination, the sounds around me were muffled. It was Clementine's tree house, sat at ground level, made up mostly of young tree trunks and scraps of wood. Was this the first one she ever built? Was this the one we were supposed to build together? Or were there more scattered throughout the forest, all waiting for her, for me?

There was no denying that Clementine was no carpenter. The entire structure was poorly erected, held together with what looked like yarn and a few nails, yet it felt like a safe place. A place that someone could pretend was real. As if safe places actually existed in Crimson Valley.

It wasn't until Keith started watering the timber that my mind began to work. It was all happening so fast, and by the time the pungent odour had hit my nostrils, I already felt nauseous. I couldn't speak when all I wanted to do was shout. Later, the fire brigade would consult the Sheriff about the gas can left at the scene, marked with his last name. He would chuckle and tell them something like "Boys will be boys." and there wouldn't be any more questions asked.

Finally, I found my voice. When Richard stepped back with his hands up to refuse his part, Keith motioned for Trevor to come closer, which he did. His hand slipped from mine, and I stared at his mouth, but couldn't hear the words. I saw the fingers that had been intertwined with mine reach out to take a small box from the other boy. Who knew such a little thing could cause so much damage?

I tried to plead with him from my mind, Trevor, don't. This isn't right. This is stupid, I'm scared. Like always, He couldn't hear me.

With the flick of his wrist, and a nod of encouragement from Keith, he lit the match.

I said, "Don't, Trevor,"

The same time Keith said, "Go Trevor!"

And maybe they meshed into one. Because he threw the flame into the puddles of liquid, and the safe place was not so safe anymore.

Sometimes, I still have this dream, that as I stare through the flames, she's standing there, and she's every version of herself. The new girl, the girl who climbed the oak tree in my back yard, the girl wearing the stained apron, the girl who... well, you get it. And she's staring at me, and the gold is melting out of her eyes into tears that turn into flames, and I'm burning.

And I wonder who lit the match that time.