Being Henry David - By Cal Armistead Page 0,30

Sophie’s keys giving me free reign of the school, I took a shower in the boys’ locker room and picked out a change of clothes from the lost and found—faded jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. In the cafeteria fridge, I found some ham and cheese sandwiches, milk, and an apple.

My side hurt and was bleeding again, so I let myself into the nurse’s office to get antiseptic and bandages. The cut should be better by now, but it’s still red around the edges and hurts to touch it. Worst of all, it reminds me of Simon.

In my imagination Simon is a zombie, withered hands reaching, eyes glazed, blood streaking down his forehead, nubby teeth grinning. Will he be looking for me too, like Magpie and those guys who work for him? But no, none of them can find me here. There’s no way.

Don’t think about it.

Walden Pond is a mirror, reflecting gray-blue skies, the pines, and oak trees with new leaves pushing out of fat buds. Some people are out hiking, but the deeper I go into the woods, the more alone I am. Walking faster, I break into this little trot, a comfortable jogging pace that just feels good. Maybe I really did run track in my former life, because running feels as natural as walking, as playing guitar, as breathing. Somehow I’m even able to set aside the pain in my side to focus on the running. My legs and breaths settle into a rhythm that calms every cell in my body like meditation, like some kind of drug. Even though my body is moving, my mind is relaxed.

A collage of images floats into my consciousness, snapshot memories of Jack and Nessa, of Magpie and Simon. Thomas. There’s Hailey smiling at me and Cameron glaring. Ms. Coleman. Sophie and Billy. In such a short time, my weird disjointed life has put me in contact with a lot of people. Some I’m glad to have etched on my brain. Others I’d erase in a nanosecond if I could figure out how.

Leaves and pebbles and pine needles crunch in cadence under my sneakers, lulling me into a comfortable trance, and in this frame of mind, I try to access the memories that lie just out of reach.

Gently pressing my memory to the edge of places that don’t feel safe, I think: Dad. Then I think: Mom. The beast inside twitches in its sleep, but I refuse to surrender, focusing instead on my pumping arms and legs, my breaths. Inhale. Exhale.

Dad. Mom.

Like a camera taking a picture, an image of my dad flashes behind my eyeballs. Tall man, dark hair, wire rimmed glasses, gray eyes like mine, a kind smile. We are outside, Dad and me. We’re in the woods, building a fire. We have sleeping bags and backpacks and compasses. This is something we do together, something that belongs to us.

Now I see Dad clutching a suitcase, waving good-bye. There are no words, but I know he is going, leaving again. My heart clenches like a fist. Don’t go, Dad.

I almost trip over a fallen branch on the trail, but as I regain my footing, another image floats into my consciousness. Mom. Hair blond and wavy, face anxious and thin, a half-empty glass of red wine clutched in her hand as she stares out a window. Doesn’t look at me, doesn’t see me. I yell something at her, then turn and charge out a blue door with a half-circle window. I slam it shut, the window shatters, and glass skitters on the floor, but she doesn’t even turn around.

My breath hitches in my chest, but I press my memory even further, contemplate another word: sister.

The beast roars awake as if I poked it with a stick and I completely lose the rhythm of running and breathing. Stumble off the path into a small inlet next to the pond, hidden from the path by a hill and a cluster of evergreens. Leaning against a tree branch, wheezing, I peer into the green-brown water of Walden Pond.

Searing pain blinds me and I grab my head to keep it from exploding, forcing myself to go there again. Sister. The thing inside expands, rips at the lining of my stomach, squeezes my lungs. Sister. It’s trying to kill me, wants me dead. Better dead than to remember.

My legs are rubber, give out, and I collapse on a big rock, doubled over to cradle my seizing stomach. My God. My entire body drifts toward