Tick, tick, tick. The early morning glow of the sun peeks over the top of the trees across the frozen lake. I’m standing in the front bay window rocking from foot to foot. What am I going to do?
I glance at the wall clock. The hands tell me it’s five after eight. The pendulum swings back and forth slowly, lazily, unconcerned. In contrast, I can feel the thumping of my heart in my chest. The thrum of blood rushing through my veins echoes in my ears.
I sway back and forth. The wind rattles the windows in their frames. A snow devil traveling across the ice swirls up into a column, then explodes into flurries and dissipates, scattering its contents across the ice. In reply, the ice crackles, then let’s out a low groan. I shiver.
Tick, tick, tick. A figure emerges from the morning shadows, out for a morning stroll along the edge of the frozen lake keeping close to solid shoreline. Bundled up in a hooded parka with a woolen cap and scarf, it’s hard to make out who it is. My heart stops for a hopeful moment… but no. It looks like Mr. McGrandy.
A golden retriever bounds out of the wintery fog and shoots past Mr. McGrandy, heading out further onto the ice. Even from where I stand inside, I can hear Mr. McGrandy’s shout. The dog puts on his brakes, sliding forward a few feet before skidding around and heading back toward his friend. Mr. McGrandy and I both look toward the hole near the center of the lake.
Tick, tick, tick. I glance at the clock. 11:15. What? How can that be? I turn back to the window. The sun is now high above the trees. Mr. McGrandy and his dog are gone. The only thing left on the lake now are snowy tracks and a jagged icy trail that leads nowhere good.
I feel an adrenaline rush and my breath quickens. I have to go. I have to go now. I pick up my phone and send a quick text message. I hear the faint ping of my mom’s phone from her bedroom upstairs. I put my phone down on the front table where we keep our keys, purses, and other at-home detritus. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and walk out the door.
*****
Inside the bus station I keep my hoodie up and my head down. There’s a line of people queueing to buy tickets. A young girl sits on a wooden bench holding the hand of a toddler in a stroller. The girl keeps her eyes fixed onto one of the figures waiting in line. I furtively look around to make sure no one else is around watching me and I get in line.
I lean to the left and count how many people are ahead of me. Considering folks that are seemingly together, I’m seventh. I focus on the ragged bottoms of the jeans in front of me and wonder where they are going. Do they belong to a man or a woman? I want to know, but I don’t look up. I wonder what they are running from.
“Hey!” somebody yells. “Are you buying a ticket?” The tattered blue jeans are gone. I tip my head up enough to see that there is no one standing between me and the ticket window twenty feet away. The guy at the window holds his hands palms up and shrugs in the universal gesture of what’s-the-matter-with-you?
I walk to the window and buy a ticket.
Outside there are two groups of people gathering to board buses. I join the group that will not be traveling with me. Nobody looks up. Everyone is either engaged with fellow passengers or are scrolling on their phones. Drivers in uniform wrestle suitcases and large parcels into open cargo holds.
The overhead speaker announces that my bus will be leaving in five minutes. I force myself to wait while I count off two minutes, then abruptly head toward the restroom. I see my bus driver look in both directions before boarding the bus and I hurry forward scooting on behind her.
She startles for a moment and then says, “Grab a seat. It’s pretty empty now, but it’ll fill up as we head south.” I tug at my hood, mumble something that even I didn’t understand, and head toward the rear of the bus.
*****
I am here. I’ve never been to this city. I don’t know anybody who lives here and I’m hoping no one will find me. I wander around the bus station. I spend some time studying a muraled wall map, clearly not to scale. The local Denny’s appears larger than the un-identified sports stadium. The power of advertising dollars at work. Still, I find the map helpful in acclimating a bit. The You Are Here arrow pointing directly to a bus in the middle of the huge map makes me anxious and I look over my shoulder. An elderly man wearing a gray cardigan dozes in one of the molded seats. He hugs a tattered and duct taped paper grocery sack.
I browse through a rack of brochures advertising Things to do Around Town. I take a few that have maps on them. Between the Ladies and Men restrooms, I find a bulletin board peppered with a mish-mash of notices in all shapes and sizes. Curled paper edges flutter gently in the breeze of a blowing air vent like pondweed at the edge of the lake. I think of the lake, frozen on top and the dark cold dangers beneath it. Cold washes over me.
Forcing myself back to the surface, I try to focus on the papers that are now still. Realtor business cards, a book review written on a paper napkin, a mattress for sale for $800, a paper plate advertises babysitting services and has a phone number repeated along the edge with scissor cuts for easy tearing. The board is overflowing, and to that point there is a collection of notices on the floor that have either fallen or been plucked off by others to make room for their notice.
I hear the squeal of airbrakes as a bus pulls into the station. Through the plate glass windows, I see the door open and people begin to disembark. I turn back to the board and remove a three by five card and stuff it in my pocket. I start to leave, then turn back to the board and pull down an ad announcing golden retriever puppies for sale. I crumple it up and throw it on the ground with the other abandoned notices and head out the street side door.
*****
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, trying not to think about how many people have used this room, and this bed, before me. I’m not having much luck. My imagination conjures up a motley crew of previous tenants in my mind.
A young woman with her head in her hands sits at the marred desk in the corner of the room while a baby in a soggy diaper wails from this bed. A serial killer leans against the warped window frame, picking at his fingernails with a knife and daydreaming about his next victim as he watches people on the street below. A strung-out junkie lies on the bed, crying while he masturbates.
This last thought propels me off the bed. I pull my cardigan tightly across my chest, blow on my hands, and sit down at the little desk, the only other place to sit in my small rented room, but I’m thankful for it.
My post in this chair has become achingly familiar over the past week as I sit hour after hour, sometimes lost to this world, sometimes trying to write what I feel I must confess. But I have no words to express the turmoil inside of me. Thoughts and images flash in staccato through my brain. I want them out, I need them out, but I am unable to release them through my pen or any other means. I turn toward the window and watch the flicker of the neighboring neon lights reflected on the glass. I add thoughts of Christmases past to the tornado of thoughts trapped in my head.
The desk and floor are littered with paper – pages and pages – some torn, some crumpled, most of them empty except for the only part I am sure of; the signature line.
Please forgive me, Ava
*****
Ava
I’ve been walking for over an hour. What started as a quick step outside to stretch my legs and clear my head has turned into a mission. I’m hurrying down the sidewalk, not sure if I’m headed somewhere or trying to get away from something. Maybe both. I weave in and out of the pedestrians – suits looking to grab a quick lunch, service workers on their way to their next job, fashionistas hitting the shops – people looking normal, acting normal, and thinking normal thoughts. I wish I was normal.
I feel a drop of water hit my hand. I look up, but even though the sky is overcast, and the clouds are steely gray, it’s not raining. I touch my cheek with my fingertips. I’m crying.
I stop abruptly on the city sidewalk. A black and tan wiener dog moves ahead of me on the left and stops to scold me. “Yap, yap, yap.” It crosses in front of me and approaches a second wiener dog that has come up on my right and is sniffing something on the pavement. The first dog scolds the second dog while she’s at it. “Yap, yap, yap.” Her trailing purple lead starts to tighten across my shins.
“Chilly! Stop!” A young woman at the other end of the purple lead hurries to catch up with the dog.
“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to catch you up in our daily drama.” The woman scoops the still yapping bundle of energy into her arms and continues down the sidewalk. A man bends down to pick up the quieter red wiener dog and meets his companions at the corner. They wait for the crosswalk light to change.
I step out of the flow of foot traffic and lean against a building as I watch them cross to a dog park. I’ve passed this way several times before and haven’t really noticed it. The couple pass through a chain link gate, secure it, then walk through a second gate closing it behind them. They set the two wriggling dogs on the ground, leaving them hooked to their leads, but allowing them to unreel more length. The four of them head purposefully down the pebbled path.
My hands feel cold and when I look down, I see I’m gripping a section of the park’s chain link fencing. When did I cross the street? The words ‘forbidden forest’ come to mind as I look over the fence and into the park. The tree branches, naked of leaves, appear sharp and dangerous. A variety of paths, one paved, others covered in stone, or wood chips, shoot off in different directions from the double-gated main entrance. People in winter jackets, hats, and gloves walk up and down the paths, some tugging on leashes as they try to keep wayward canines on the path and off the wet terrain. The trails are clear and dry, but the ground is covered with a light dusting of snow while some low and well-traveled areas are muddy.
A Basset Hound, wearing a plaid coat, waddles beside an elderly woman. The woman moves slowly, using a cane, but the Basset is clearly in no hurry as he plods along, his ears brushing the sidewalk as his head sways back and forth. A tire hangs from a tree by a rope, and a teenage boy encourages a border collie to jump through it, taking turns with another dog that looks like a mutt.
I walk over to the entrance and see a sign advising patrons to be sure the first gate is closed securely before opening the second gate. I vaguely wonder if there’s a rule against entering the dog park without a dog, but I slip through both gates without triggering any alarms.
Just off the path the wiener dog family followed is a large pool of water which I thought was a reflecting pool, but I can now see there is a small bubbling fountain in the center. I think it must be heated, or it would be frozen. Wouldn’t it? Maybe not if the fountain recycles the water. I’m watching the fountain wondering about moving, freezing water. My heart starts to race.
A grey pit bull with a tennis ball hanging out of one side of his mouth and his tongue hanging out of the other bounds up next to me, drops the tennis ball, and bumps against my leg. He looks up at me with his intense blue eyes. We lock eyes. After a moment, he moves to the pool where he laps noisily at the water, creating ripples across the glassy surface.
I stare at the ripples. Deep breath in 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Deep breath out 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. I stare at the ripples. I stare at the ripples. I stare at the ripples.
Ralph
It’s a beautiful day at the park! I’m excited to be here and WOW do I love the snow! I’ve finished taking inventory and there are not very many regulars here today. I saw Nova and Macaroni playing with their kid, Stryker with his policeman, Neil and the fragile Maisie, and Frank and Chili have just arrived with their couple. I’m guessing the snow might be keeping people away, but I don’t understand. I push my nose down into the powder and run!
When I finish my loop and am back at the entrance, I stop and shake the snow out of my snout. I’m considering making a second perimeter lap on this glorious day, but that’s when I see there’s a new human in the park. She’s standing near the watering hole. I look around for her protector, but I don’t see any one unfamiliar.
I wonder if I can get her to throw my ball.
As I trot over to her, I feel a waviness of darkness. Before I even reach her, I feel her thick and heavy hurt. My head drops and I slow my wag, but I continue toward her. I can see she needs some happy so I plop my ball in front of her and tap her foot lightly with my paw. She doesn’t seem to notice. She’s very still and doesn’t greet me. I look into her eyes. Uh-oh. She needs help.
She stares into the water. I walk over to the water’s edge, then splash in. Wow! It’s cold but I drop my head and take some refreshing laps. After I wade back out, I give a great shake and roll on my back for a minute. WOW, do I love the snow!
I return to the girl with darkness. Her need is great and feels a little scary. I sort of want to leave, but I pick up my ball, return to her side, and lean into her leg to let her know I’m here and she’s not alone.
Emily
Emily and Carter finish their afternoon lap at the park. As usual, Chili is pulling on her lead looking for her next adventure and Frank trails behind closely investigating any variations in the grass or path since he was last here. As they approach the water pool, Emily pauses.
“Who is that with Ralph? Isn’t that the girl that Chili wrapped her leash around?” Carter stops beside her and looks toward the watering pool.
“Ralph! Ralph!” a voice calls. The gray pit bull beside the girl looks up at her, chuffs softly around his mouthful of tennis ball, then turns and heads toward the sound of the calling voice. The girl appears to have no reaction to the dog’s leaving, but then she slowly takes a step forward, then another, until she is standing in the pool.
Emily gasps. Chili tugs at her lead, anxious to continue their walk.
“Carter,” the young woman says pulling on her companion’s arm.
“I see,” he says, but his attention is drawn to the pull at the end of his own leash. The red dachshund is rolling in a patch of something that might be mud but also might not be. “Frank. No! Frank, stop that.”
“Excuse me, “Emily calls to the young woman. “Hello, are you okay?”
There is no response from the girl who is now standing in water up to her ankles.
A police officer and German Shepherd approach from one of the paths. Emily calls to him.
“Brian. Hi, I’m glad you’re here. There’s a girl standing in the drinking pool.” She gestures for him to look.
“I called to her, but she is either ignoring me, or something is wrong with her. Ralph, that gray pit bull, was standing with her, and I thought maybe he had a new walker, but then he got called away and she just up and stepped into the pool. Something’s clearly wrong with her. Her feet must be freezing!”
Brian, still in uniform after a long day on duty approaches the woman in the pool.
Ava
You okay?
That’s weird. Is that me? Did I just ask myself that question? I’m not sure, but something’s odd; not quite right. My voice tries again, louder this time.
“Hey, are you alright?”
That is not my voice, and it is not inside my head. I look around. A police officer with a German Shepherd stands to my left, where the grey dog had been only a moment ago. Was it really just a moment?
The unease inside me starts to grow, and I try to suppress it. The police officer waits patiently for a response. A couple has stepped off the path and is looking at me. It’s the couple with the wiener dogs. Have they been watching me? Did they call the cops?
“I’m here,” I say. “Just meditating.” I realize to my horror that I’m standing in the pool. My tennis shoes are soaking wet, and my feet are so cold I’m almost afraid to move them. I slowly step out of the water like this is an everyday occurrence.
“I’m good. I’m here,” I say heading in the direction of the entrance. I force myself to walk slowly past the couple. They put their heads together and whisper as I pass.
My feet want to run. My mind chants, ‘Run, run as fast as you can, you can’t catch me, I’m the Gingerbread Man.’ I force my feet to slowly take one step after another. I count my steps as I counted my breaths earlier.
When I get back to my room, I strip off my shoes and socks. Pulling the blanket from the bed, I sit down at the desk, wrap my feet, and pick up the pen. I put a fresh piece of paper in front of me, and I write.
I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here…
*****
I’m sitting at my desk writing. The words flow fast and furiously, and my pencil struggles to keep up. It begins to feel thick and awkward in my hand. I realize it’s a piece of chalk, and I’m writing on concrete. I stop and look at the scrawling on the ground. Although I wrote the words, I can’t read them. I’m frightened. It’s an important message, and I need to understand what it means.
I look around to see I’ve written the words on the concrete at the bottom of an empty swimming pool. How odd. My feet feel wet, and when I look down, my tennis shoes are shimmering like a mirage.
I glance back at the message I’m meant to decipher. The words are wavering now. I can’t process what is happening, and by the time I realize the pool is filling with water, my jeans are wet up to my thighs. I’ve got to get out.
There is a ladder on the side of the pool, but it is too high for me to reach. I need to get to the shallow end. My legs slog in slow motion through the deep, rising water. I try to make my way up the concrete slope to the shallow end, but it’s now slippery with algae, and I keep sliding backward. Panic builds in me as I realize I’m not as fast as the water. I’m clawing for purchase with my fingers and the toes of shoes, but I make no progress and the water closes over my head.
I’m trying to hold my breath, but involuntarily, my body takes a deep gasp. My lungs burn. I thrash wildly and push my face upward, seeking the surface. Suddenly I am awake and rolling out of bed and onto the floor. I push up onto my hands and knees, feeling the scarred wood floor against my palm and fingers, taking in deep gulps of air. When my breath returns to normal, I crawl over to the window and lean on the sill, watching and waiting for the sunrise.
Once Upon a Willow 