November, 2011

I’m shivering, teeth chattering. A little nutcracker soldier at my father’s side. I feel the cold wetness trapped on his nylon jacket as he drags me closer by the back of my shirt collar. “You’re six now, behave yourself.” When I look up, his eyes are fixated on the little girl in the distance, waving frantically as us, grin split ear to ear. “Don’t play too close to the lake,” he warned quietly before releasing me.

I walk towards her, head high and hands in the pockets of my vest like I’ve seen the older kids on my block walk. I nudge through the long grass with my shoulders, sneakers sinking deep into the wet mash potato ground.

“What are you doing here Vanya?” I look up when I reach her, where she stands tall on the stump of a broken tree. “Did you run away from the home again?”

She hops down, close enough for me to see her cheeks rosy from the cold and her lidded eyes. Muddle green and glistening like they were encased in thick polished resin, color like the bottom of the lake after the rain.

Vanya puffs her chest proudly. “Those creepy nuns didn’t suspect a thing,” she boasted, “you told me you come to the lake every Saturday with your dad. I wanted to come too.”

My chest tightened, she wasn’t allowed to leave the girls’ home on the weekends, where she had once complained loudly about her long list of ‘duties’. “Making the bed, scrubbing the floors, unclogging the drains, and that’s just half of it.” I remember the bitterness lining her tongue, hands fisted at the unfairness of it all. I couldn’t begin to imagine living like that, trapped, and enslaved by monsters that called themselves your guardians. I understood why she ran away, why she runs away all the time. I don’t understand why she returns, night after night, to their cruel unforgiving captivity.

Horizon is a quiet, dead town, but it is also the perfect playground. It’s got miles of fields to run around in, lakes to swim in, trees to climb, and an actual playground. The big cool ones, where the slides make parents hold their kids back in worry. It would be an absolute torture to only watch from the windows.

“Dad likes to fish,” I murmur quietly, looking back at him. He’s sat on a bench near the lake, fishing gear strewn around half set up, but he’s staring at us. His eyes are dark, almost glaring, and a deep frown is etched on his face. The expression is so familiar, there are times I peer past his speckled stubble, and I see deep downturn lines carved around his eyes and mouth. I suspect sometimes that he can see into Vanya’s skull and all the devious little plans she conjures inside her head. It makes my skin pebble.

“Evan!” She pleads for my attention, and I turn back to her to notice that she has her hands hidden behind her back and a mischievous smile on her face. “Guess what I found.”

I smile back, however pitifully. “A map to a secret treasure?” I entertain. She likes adventures and things beyond this world, has an imagination that only exists in tales and movies made for children. I like action films where the bad guys die, and the good guys have guns that shoot through walls. But in this sleepy town, she breathes life into it with her wild, absurd notions. And it’s fun, she’s not like most girls.

Vanya rolls her eyes. “No, stupid.” And she holds her hands out like an offering, presenting to me…a rock. It’s really flat, like a pancake, and it’s smooth and round and perfect for-“-skipping!” She giggles, all giddy. “I found a whole mountain of them. All perfectly shaped and pretty. Look how shiny it is,” she marvels, shifting it in her hand to catch light, “let’s see who gets the most skips.” There’s a hungry competitive glint in her eyes. I’m bait.

“Shut up. No way. I’m stronger,” I scoff. And we’re off. She drags me closer to the edge of the lake, where there’s a small hill of pancake-looking stones. It’s obvious she’s spent hours hunting for them, just waiting for me to come play with her.

We take turns tossing all afternoon. She’s good, practiced, like she’s been skipping stones all her life. I use the method dad taught me, swinging my arm back from the side, and spinning the stone into the water. I’d never admit it, but she’s better than me. And when she wins, game after game, I feel something in my stomach twist, and before I know it, I’ve placed my hands on her shoulders and given her a small push.

She stumbles into the shallow waters. “Hey!” she exclaims, “don’t be such a sore loser.” The water laps at her ankles. Her shoes must be drenched, and her socks soggy, but she pays it no mind. “You’re just throwing it all wrong.”

I flex my hand, frustrated. And I grab another rock, throwing it a little too close to her. We watch it sink.

“No, I’m not, my dad taught me that.”

“Well, he’s doing it wrong then.”

I feel my face harden. A part of me wants to push her again. But I turn away. “I don’t want to play with you anymore.” I walk away, back to where Dad is, and I could hear her screaming my name from behind me.

“Evan come back! Just one more game!” “Evan! Don’t go!” “Come back!” “Evan, don’t do this to me.”

I wave at her from behind, not wanting to turn and see that childish victorious grin on her face. “I’ll see you around sometime Vanya.”

But I never saw her again. Two weeks later, my family left Horizon in its wake, and we moved to a new town.