Scarlett
Casper Wyoming. Was there really anything, anything at all, special about Casper, Wyoming? Is there really any reason for me to be going to that particular city, in that particular state? Of all the cities in all the states of America, what gives Casper Wyoming the privilege of holding my baby sister's wedding? As far as i know nothing at all happens there. But in the back of my mind I know why she chose this place. She chose it because nothing happens there. She chose it because I would have no choice but to take a week off and take part in this celebration. My baby sister is only eighteen. It's been two years since we've seen each other. And the first time in two years I get to see her is her wedding to Silas.
I am happy for her. I am happy that she is happy. I would wish for nothing less. Even though there is nothing I want more then her happiness, I can't stop the small sparks of jealousy that erupt in my stomach. I squelch them quickly though. This is her day. This couldn't happen for me, I don't have room for it, I have scars. I think of the conversation.
"Scarlett, is that you? I mean of course it's you, it's just that I haven't heard your voice in so long! I miss you!" Rosie sang. Her voice was light and feathery. Half Dragonfly. I could hear Silas in the background saying hello. I snickered.
"Yea Rosie it's me. I can't believe you called! I miss you too. Want to explain the lack of post cards lately?" I ask suspiciously, but it's still playful. I couldn't believed she called. Calls always end in sadness, hints of regret, lack of regret. It all hurt.
"I've been quite busy, but I've been thinking of you so much. It's been two years Scarlett..."
"You want to visit?" I asked after I know she doesn't continue, recognizing the way her voice falls, knowing what she wants without her trying to say it, getting a little excited, but also a little scared at the prospect of her and Silas coming back.
"Well actually..." Rosie started. Oh no. "I have some news." I could hear it in her voice. This was going to be something huge. I could hear the hesitance in her voice along with an excitement that was bound to explode. "I want you to come visit me here, because... well because SILAS PROPOSED! We are getting married! Oh Scarlett you have to come, it would mean the world to me! Please tell me you'll come. You won't have to be here any more then a week. A week at most. It's been two years, it's my wedding Scarlett please don't deny me this!"
What could I say? I couldn't say no, it was her wedding. "Of course I'll come. One week. I can do that. When is it?"
And we had discussed details, Rosie gushing over them all excitedly, me expressing my happiness for her and the occasional skeptical question. Hearts that were not joined any more, but still in sync, still familiar, still family. And I am still happy for her.
But this blasted train ride. I hate it. I feel claustrophobic. I'd rather walk all the way to Casper Wyoming fighting Fenris all the way, but my sister knew me too well and told me about this only a week before the ceremony so I would have no choice to come by plane or train. I don't have the money for a plain obviously, so train it is. I want to burn it down. Oops Rose I guess I'll have to walk there anyway, there was the strangest accident with the train on the way over. My sister is not stupid. She'd know something was up. Damn it. Somehow I managed to grab a box that was empty save for me, and even though this could change at any moment and someone could come and sit here, I don't think anyone will. Not after they see my scars. I've even abandoned my coat, my t-shirt giving my scars full breathing room. It's funny how they never see sunlight. I'm always in a coat or out at night, or both. Usually both. But now they are soaking up the sun as we pass nothing after nothing after nothing on the way to no where. The no where where my sister's wedding it happening. Again what is so special about that town? Are there even Fenris in a place like that? If there are Fenris in Ellison, I guess there are some in Casper. No. I'm not supposed to hunt. One week. I can do this.
How the hell am I supposed to sit around and be a good little wedding attendant while people are dying? I just won't tell Rosie I'm hunting, and I'll only go when I'm sure I won't get caught, and I will make sure I don't get hurt. But even this train ride is killing me. This is three days I'm having to sit around and wait. Three days I have to ignore the burning sensation under my skin to save people, to stop families from being torn apart. Rosie said she'd taken care of everything, that all I really had to pack was a toothbrush and some casual clothes. She'd already gotten a dress for me. I am going to be wearing a dress. Great...
My self-pity session is interrupted by the sound of a doorknob turning. In comes a girl I've seen walk through here before. It's a day and a half into the trip and she's walked through two or three times already. She doesn't look up at me or say hello. Her nose is buried in a book. It's been a different one every time. She seems to be the same age as me, 20, even though she dresses like a rebellious teenager. I've only seen her in two, but I think it's safe to assume she likes wacky outfits. Today she is wearing a pair of overalls that look as old as time itself. It looks as if they started out much too big and she tailored them to fit. The arm holes are so low I'm surprised I can't see her underwear. She's cut the pants so that they are small shorts. Underneath the overalls she's wearing a white polo and black and white striped leggings. Her shoes are a pair of cracked old leather boots that come up to her ankle and lace up. Her hair is died jet black and cut choppy, almost like she took a blindfold and scissors and went crazy. Her bangs are blunt and the rest of her hair is done into two ponytails that come off the sides of her head. If anything she's quirky. Fenris don't really go for girls like her, they go for dragonflies, so she should be protected. She's still got a book in her hand and I fully expect her to walk straight through the hall without looking up again.
Instead, to my extreme surprise, she plops down on the seat across from me, still looking at her book. She uses her finger to skim a few more lines, pulls what looks like an old receipt out of her back pocket, book marks her page, and looks up into my one widened eye with a bright smile. "Hello," she says with a voice just as bright. "I'm Meredith."
"Scarlett," I return with a slightly confused expression. No one just comes up to me and starts talking. As I analyze her more I can see an odd mark that starts on the side of her jaw and runs down her throat disappearing into her shirt. I look down at my scars, not subtle at all. It's too late to pull on my jacket, she's already seen them.
"You'd make a very cool photo," she says almost to herself. I'm appalled. Did she come here just to make fun of me? To taunt me? I get ready to tell her to get out when she starts talking again. "Scars, you know? They tell stories. Symbolize being tough, you know? I like them. Yours happen to be especially cool. I realize you'd probably never let me. Most people are very sensitive about that kind of stuff. I think they make you, you know? But I could definitely see you in photos. And it's not even like they marred you, it's more like they just sit on top of you. That's very editorial, especially since your face is beautiful. Your like photographical evidence of the end of innocence. I'm talking too much. You are going to leave this train hating me for this, I'm being much too forward and I have no right. But before I go I've got to ask, how did you get them?"
It takes me a moment to speak. I've never been more confused. I don't even know this girl. She knows nothing of having scars like mine, how can she say this to me? Nonetheless I answer her in a choked voice. "Wolves." Shit. Why did I say that? The story is dog attack. Dog attack. Wolves are not ordinary.
Meredith's eyes light up in fascination. "Wolves? That's so interesting! Wolves! You don't hear that every day! I guess that doesn't really need explanation, getting mauled by wolves, there's no how did it happen. I always get asked that." She stands up and I think she's going to leave, but instead she tugs up the polo shirt under her overalls. Her stomach and sides are a swirling pattern of scars, burn scars. Somehow they manage not to be totally hideous, or maybe I'm just comparing them to mine, but it could almost be an ink splat tattoo only in browns and yellows. "Got my picture in the newspaper for this one, needless to say it wasn't exactly flattering since I was on a gurney being rushed into the back of an ambulance. I was at a friends house, and her neighbors barn caught on fire. Their little girl was in it. I couldn't just stand around, I mean she was like five. I threw her out the window, it was first story. Just before I could get out a board fell. I tripped and my stomach landed in a little bit of fire. I was fifteen." She doesn't seem to be bragging, but more answering all the questions before I asked them. Her eyes are very far away as if she's feeling flames again. The way i feel Fenris claws whenever I think about my story.
"I think your story is just as cool," I say sincerely.
"Nah, my story is hot," she says with a sarcastic smile, and I can't help but grin at her black humor as well. "Mine's fairly stereotypical, with all that town hero crap. Wolves is pretty unique. I used to wish my scars were from something like a shark attack. But now I get that all scars hurt, might as well be happy with the ones you got, you know?" That made me think. I'd always thought scars or no scars. I'd always had scars and wished I didn't. I've never thought about wanting a different kind of scar. It makes me think of Rosie's subtle burn marks. Did I really want to trade?
"I never saw that little girl again. She was a cute little thing, the whole blonde hair blue eyes shebang. I imagine she's a pretty ten year old girl now, with no marks on her skin at all. I used to be jealous. To be the saved one instead of the savior, you know? It took me like three years to get over it. But then I watched this show called America's Next Top Model. I'd watched it before but I pretty much just looked at the pictures, one photographer admiring another, you know? But there was this one chick that season who had burn marks all over her stomach. It made me think, you know? If she can come out and say hey I'm interesting because I have scars, I went into this industry because I have scars, I am beautiful because I have scars, then who can't right? I mean I know both of us having scars doesn't make us soul sisters, but its nice to find someone who knows what it's like to be on my end of the stares, you know? Besides I kind of always hated the damsel in distress thing, I might have scars people stare at but I was the one who took action."
I was growing quite fond if this girl, for some reason. She talked so much I didn't really have to, but she still put a you know on the end of every few sentences to check for my attention. "Your scars are in a place you can hide them, though," I say. They don't rise up over her skin the way mine do.
"I've got it all on the top of my arm, actually," she says pointing to the part of her arm covered by the polo shirt. "I like wearing tank tops. I like tank tops more then I hate my scars. I wear them all the time. It's worth stares to let my skin breathe I think. When I first got them I was really really bitter about it, because there was nothing I could do. I couldn't put out every fire out in the world. I felt extremely useless, there was nothing to kill, no one to blame, you know? I actually used to tell kids I had leprosy to get them to stay away from me. I was a weird kid. Still a weird kid, even if I'm 20. But now I like being the weird kid. So it works out. If I didn't have the scars God knows I might have turned into some little slut of a bimbo," she says snickering. She looks at her watch and jumps. Shoot, I have to go to my little sister. Crap. Well I'll see ya, or not you know? It's whatever, but think about what i said. Without scars, you have no stories. And that's the end of our sermon folks leave some money on your way out!" she says in an announcer type voice, and leaves the cabin, taking her book with her.
My mind is whirring.
The scars have always been my link to the Fenris, the reason I can't live like Rosie, the reason I am good for nothing but hunting. When they ripped my flesh I secretly believed maybe they ripped my soul, left an ugly oily paw print on it that makes them a part of me, makes it impossible for me to think of anything else, makes it impossible to let me feel much else besides the need to hunt them. It's the right thing to do, but this stranger has come in and told me it's not the only things the scars symbolize. They are more then an ugly rope that holds me to my job. I'll never stop hunting Fenris, it's in my blood, it's what I do, but maybe I don't have to always feel the hatred.
I'd always thought the scars left no other option. No one would think this scarred body was beautiful. No one would look at me and think that girl looks like someone I would talk to. But here came Meredith, to talk to me because of my scars, because she knew that because of my scars there was something interesting hidden there. And even though she knew better than to pull it out of me, she was right. I think I just made my first non Fenris hunting friend.
There are more people then soulless wolves. There are more people then my sister and Silas. I'd never give those people up, but because of this girl I'm realizing I could add. I have more room in me.
I'm not my scars.