Scratched

Forty Six

FORTY SIX

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Time seemed to move much slower here.

I remember when I was in high school, even before then, things had seemed like they were running so fast. I felt like time was never enough then, but then everything just slammed to a halt. And when I found myself in Lechston stuff kicked into gear, running so fast I thought I couldn't keep up. I had gone off with it. I thought I could keep up with it until I couldn't. And now I was back here, and everything moved as if it had no destination—no focus. I sometimes think it didn't. I think about it, and I wonder how much has towns like Riverview changed.

I'm not talking about superficial changes like buildings and the people who inhabit them. That stuff changes all the time or at least normally. Here, in Riverview, even that seemed to change less. The Spellings' have lived in the same big house they have always lived in, and the Kelsey's have the same idyllic house they always did. Down the street the Miller's dog still barks at the same time every night. Run for Cover bookstore has had the same books it always had, and I bet even the same ones haven't been disturbed. It's all just frozen, never changing.

At one time maybe I would have felt different. Maybe I would have found it comforting—the idea of everything being just as it was. It gives a sense of safety, but how often is our perception of something accurate? We believe in justice, and karma but does it ever really happen? We can believe in something all we want, but that doesn't mean it is true or that it will happen. Looking at this—this purgatory—I know that it isn't comforting. After what I have done and what I have seen it just isn't enough. Its the reason why people who leave home don't come back. They realize it is better—that they've been missing everything. Why stay safe when the world is waiting just outside the box? One step could send you somewhere truly amazing. I knew that, and now this it just wasn't enough.

I blew out my breath. It shot out in the car, cascading over the dashboard. Mom had sent me to the store to pick up some stuff for dinner. She had found me still in bed at noon, and decided I needed to get out. I was content in my bed, but she thought I was wasting a beautiful day. I glanced out the window. Grey clouds hung over head, pouring down rain. Yeah, beautiful goddamn day. Regardless of what I wanted I knew that I wouldn't get peace until I went. I hadn't even had time to change. I was still clad in my flannel pants and Queen shit. I'm sure I just looked lovely.

I pushed my thoughts away as I neared home. I was a few feet out from my driveway when I stopped. The car jerked, causing me to fly forward a little in the seat. I stared down the road to the car in our driveway. It was a car I couldn't forget in a hundred years. It was a 1968 red Rambler. My heart kicked up, and I found my anxiety going through the roof. What was Reed doing here? How did he even know where to find him? I thought back, trying to remember if I ever told him where I lived and then I remembered. I had told him about Riverview. So much for disappearing.

"Great," I mumbled to myself.

I pulled up in front of the curb since Reed had kindly taken the last spot in the driveway. Shaking my head I climbed out of the car. I quickly grabbed the bags out of the back before heading inside. No sooner than I had entered the kitchen did I see him. He was sitting at the kitchen island while my mom stood a couple feet away. Reed laughed, looking at my mom. He hooked a finger towards a plate in front of him. "You make some mean cookies, Evie!" I froze. Evie? He was giving my mother a pet name now? What the hell is wrong with the world? This is just too much.

I dropped the groceries onto the counter loudly. They both turned around, their eyes landing on me. I stared at Reed, wondering what he could possibly be doing here. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and his smile widened. He looked just like the day I had met him. "Piper!" he exclaimed, taking a bite of another cookie. "We were just talking about you! You're mother was telling me about your fifth grade play." I cringed. Of course. Of course that was the story she would tell him. Its the one she always told. Kick a ladder across stage one time and its all anyone talks about.