Changing Seasons

chapter two

The smell of cigarettes, asphalt, and other strange scents that inhabited the island of Manhattan mixed with the musky smell of the rain. Winter's converse (or what was left of them) were soaked all the way through. It had been a couple hours and the rainfall had yet to cease, but she found her self still wandering down the peopleless sidewalks and alleys.

She was doing a lot of thinking. Which was common for someone who almost jumped off a tall building, Winter guessed. She was thinking about many things, but always ended up going back to the boy on the roof. Which is what she thought she would call him for years and years to come. Maybe in a book she will write, or talking to her children when she grows old. "The Boy on the Roof." So many questions cluttered her head, but not the normal ones.

See, not so long ago, Winter was fairly happy. She lived in a quaint little apartment in a decent part of Manhattan with her Mom and her Dad. She was an only child, but she didn't really mind. She had her best friend, Charlotte- or Charlie, as Winter dubbed her the minute they met.

And it wasn't that she was sad, either. It was more emptiness eating her away than anything, like someone took an ice cream scoop and scooped out all of her feelings.

Winter snapped out of her reverie and saw how far she had walked, she was almost to the dock were the ferries took people to and from the small island.

Standing at the stoplight, the streets glimmered romantically with the afterthought of the rain. The buildings were almost all dark, and the sky was the weird grey color it gets when there's too much light pollution to see any stars.

Last but not least, there was a black mini van waiting for the light to be green, and Winter felt her heart drop into her stomach, and the flashback started again.

Spring break. Sunlight. Music. Her family, (with the addition of her best friend Charlie, who was considered family anyways) was driving along the coastline of Venice Beach in sunny California.
Her and Charlie were goofing off and giggling in the back of the car, and her parents sat in the front, holding hands while her Dad was driving.
It was a picture perfect vacation. The ones you see on postcards in hotel gift shops.

"Jeff," her mom yelled at her dad, motioning towards a child who ran out in the middle of the street to retrieve a lost frisbee.
But he didn't see soon enough. The little boy, who couldn't be more than eight, who looked at our car with wild eyes, was frozen. Like a deer caught in headlights. Her dad gripped the wheel and tried to swerve unsuccessfully, while her and Charlie screamed in the back, holding on to each other for dear life. Everything after the swerve was a blur. Did the car tip, or spin, or flip over? Who was screaming? Was it her mom, Charlie, or herself? How long did she spend sobbing, bleeding and broken in the car wreckage until someone found her?