Grayson's Body

Premonition

Chapter 3: Premonition

Premonition

[pree-muh-nish-uhn]

noun

1. a feeling of anticipation of or anxiety over a future event; presentiment: He had a vague premonition of danger.

2. a forewarning.

When Grayson pulled into his driveway, I was clutching the handlebar like always. He was a bat-shit crazy driver. He always complained that I was "too safe" on the road so he usually drove himself and myself to school, which annoyed me because, I mean, how can you be too safe?

I was throwing my book bag over my shoulder and thinking about Low Shoulder as I closed the jeep's heavy metal door. I took out my bottle of black tea and sipped on it as I walked the light gray pathway to his door. Grayson was already taking the porch steps by twos and unlocking it. I looked up at the light blueness of the sky and felt the sweetness of the spring air, letting it hit my hair and ruffling it up.

I went in behind him, smelling the sharp scent of pine and house cleaner.

"Mom, I'm home!" He yelled, and I flinched because somethings never changed. Grayson still screamed like the concept of an inside voice was beyond him. I put my tea up as we crossed the entryway. He threw his gym bag down on the chair by the coat hanger that was nailed stiff into the wall.

I was thinking that I really needed to call Chip, that she probably wanted to know what was going on, and to see how she was feeling while I felt my feet against the cool hardwood floor.

I was also thinking about how I was going to spend the night with Grayson instead because that's what he wanted.

I hadn't gotten any texts, no calls.

Grayson and Chip hated each other.

"Grayson? Ethan?" Called Mrs. Clark and she was walking into the entryway through the kitchen. Her hair was up into a loose bun, some strands falling loosely on the side of her face. She had makeup on, but, then again, she always did. One of her cats, a black and white little thing that looked like it had a white mustache on her, walked with her as well, rubbing against her black yoga pant clad legs. When she saw me, she patted over, and I scooped her up in my arms, rubbing her slick back as her declawed paws dug into my shoulders.

"Hi, Muffin," I mumbled and rocked her back and forth in my arms.

"Ethan, how was your Friday?"

I looked up at her standing there, smiling, and said, "Boring, but it went well."

"That's good. I had a pretty good day today. Guess what I did?"

"What did you do?" I rubbed the side of Muffin's cheek and she purred.

"Shopping," she said with a flourish of her hand and a grin as Grayson moved past her without a word.

I returned her look, mirroring it, and said, "Did you buy a lot?"

"Oh, yes," she began, and I stood there listening to Mrs. Clark.

I think when she saw me ten years ago, wide eyed with glasses, little, crying, she kind of did that thing that baby ducks did when they're born. What's it called? Imprinting, I think.