Runaway

Chapter II

Rosie Clark stepped out of her bright blue 1956 Chevrolet Bel-Air and brushed her brown hair out of her face. Towering above her was Norma Jean Pisarski's bright pink two-story home where her granddaughter had moved into with her back in 1952, when both she and Rosie graduated from high school. She closed her car door, a small pile of leaves at her feet stirring and catching on her shoes. The wind picked up and the trees rattled with the dying leaves, any dead ones letting go and catching air. Rosie shivered slightly, the chilly breeze biting at any uncovered skin.

She climbed up the ramp that led to the front door and knocked, unsure if she should use the key Barbara Ann sent her, and waited patiently for her friend to come. The yard was quite a mess; leaves were everywhere, the dirt patches where the flowers once grew were empty, the bushes needed trimming, the grass was wracked with weeds... Rosie would make it her goal, once spring came, to beautify this ugly yard. Barbara Ann's pink '57 convertible Impala sat unused in the driveway. It was a beautiful car and absolutely brand new, but Barbara Ann was unable to drive it. She turned to face the porch furniture, all unused since Norma Jean was bedridden. The paint on the white wooden rocking chair was chipping and badly in need of cleaning, and the outdoor table was leaning against the house for support at an uneven angle, the fourth leg lying on the deck beside it.

The doorknob jiggled, and a delicate voice inside said, "Come in!" Rosie waited a moment before turning the knob and pushing open the door. Inside the home was just about as messy as the outside. Boxes were everywhere, their contents overflowing and spilling out onto the floor. Norma Jean Pisarski was known for being a fashionable woman and always had so much clothes, and to see it all in boxes was slightly hard on Rosie. She turned to the kitchen, where various pots and pans littered the counters and various boxes and cans of food were stacked on top of each other.

"Sorry for the mess," little Barbara Ann chirped, closing the door behind Rosie. "It was a lot worse, but my cousins helped take most of the stuff. They'll be around this weekend to take the rest." Rosie looked down at her frail friend, bestowing on her a smile that showed her acceptance of the circumstances. "It's so wonderful to see you, Rosie!" Barbara Ann raised her arms to her friend and Rosie accepted the hug from her dearest friend.

"No trouble at all, Barbie! I can promise you that in my free time, I will return this house to the beautiful form it ought to be!" she said with a smile.

"Grandma would be so happy knowing that her home has fallen into such good hands!" Barbara Ann said cheerfully. "Do you need any help bringing your things in?"

"Oh, no, not at all! I'll bring it in myself. You sit tight," said Rosie. Barbara Ann wasn't lazy. She didn't grow up a rebellious teen and she wasn't doing things by choice; she couldn't do things. She couldn't go upstairs to put clean sheets on Rosie's bed or clean out Rosie's bathroom. She couldn't change her own bed sheets and she couldn't clean her own bathroom. She couldn't carry the boxes out to her cousin's car and she couldn't repair that table leg out on the porch. She couldn't drive her car because she could no longer press the gas pedal. Barbara Ann Pisarski was paralyzed from the waist down.

In the spring of 1953, Barbara Ann was in a car driving down a big road with her university friends having a good time, laughing and singing along to the car radio with them. They had been having fun, as most young college-age kids did. The driver of the car was singing the loudest, dancing in her seat along to the latest Elvis hit. She never saw that deer run out into the street. When she saw it standing in the road, she swerved, the car crashing into a large tree. The night was clear and cloudless; stars twinkled brilliantly overhead. There weren't many street lamps on the street, as it was rarely busy even during the day. There were six girls in that car that night; only two survived.

Mary Jane Smith was killed on impact, her small body having been thrown through the windshield and out of the car. Susie Doe, too, was killed on impact, as the car had crashed into the tree where she sat. Betty Kellogg's head smashed through the window, nearly detached from the rest of her body. Ethel Hamilton was crushed between the tree and the rear seat of the car. Jennifer Smith, Mary Jane's younger sister, was better off dead; she remained hospitalized, paralyzed from the neck down and unable to do anything. Barbara Ann had a shard of glass in her lower back, which severed the nerves. She could no longer feel anything nor move from the waist down.

Barbara Ann was a wonderful dancer before that accident. She had dreamt of becoming a ballet dancer or the star in a broadway musical, dancing until her feet could no longer stand it. She was beautiful, with pin-straight strawberry blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes; her figure was small and her legs were long. Rosie could remember the look of utter sadness on Barbara Ann's face when she learned that her legs would no longer move and that she would never be the elegant ballet dancer of her dreams. She always had that sad look in her eye no matter how much she smiled and at night, she was always haunted by the silhouette of her wheelchair in the darkness of her room.

Rosie descended the ramp that Norma Jean Pisarski had installed when her granddaughter moved in with her and opened the rear door of her car, pulling out a suitcase stuffed with various articles of clothing and a few personal items. It was heavy and though no one was watching, she did her best not to show that she was struggling. The street was quiet, with the exception of Rosie's grunting as she attempted to move her suitcase, but to no prevail. Suddenly, the smell of cigarette smoke overwhelmed her, and her suitcase was lifted from her hands. "Hey!" She lifted her eyes to see whom it was that had taken her suitcase.

A tall, toned and tanned man with dark black hair was stomping on a cigarette butt to put it out, Rosie's suitcase in hand. He carried it up the ramp and left it on the porch for her, Rosie standing helplessly nearby and staring. When he descended the ramp, his eyes met hers; they were a gorgeous ice blue color. He nodded to her before taking his leave, Rosie still stunned into silence. He was halfway across the street before Rosie called, "Thank you!" after him, and he didn't even turn around. Rosie wondered how he had possibly known she was struggling with her suitcase. Had he just been passing by when he noticed her struggling? Had he been watching her the entire time? Why did he even care about a girl he had never even seen before? His action puzzled Rosie and he watched as he climbed the stairs of his front porch and disappeared inside of his house. She shook it off, expecting never to give him any thought again.