The window was wide open so fresh, cool air blew on my overheated face, drying up tears as soon as they came. My shiny black pumps and grey sweater lay unceremoniously in the middle of the living room floor. Now I was considering changing out of my tight jeans and t-shirt and into some ratty sweats to match my mood.
"Are you sure he's coming, sweetheart?" my mother asked as gently as possible. She wasn't accustomed to this frail, vulnerable side of me. Mom knew me better than anyone else, but I tried to be tough in front of everyone, including her.
"I'm sure," I whispered. I paused, disappointed by the evident exhaustion in my voice. "He just wouldn't do this. He's coming."
Her warm brown eyes, identical to mine, lifted to the clock in the dining room. She looked at me pointedly, yet sympathetically, communicating that if no man comes by 9:40 pm, he wasn't coming at all.
She shuffled her slippered feet down the hall toward her room. A second later, I heard her and Dad muttering their concerns. I plopped down on the floor by the window, resting my cheek against the cold window sill. This was no way to spend a seventeen birthday. I hadn't seen Sam in three days and he never answered my calls or texts. If this were any other boy, I'd swear he was dumping me. But after two years of bliss with Sam Uley, I swore he was my soulmate. What was scary was his mom and friends had no idea where he was, either. Sam wasn't the kind of troubled kid who'd take off. Straight A's, a loving mother, and a spot on the basketball team were proof of that. His reputation on the rez was based on his kindness and leadership.
When I last saw Sam, on Wednesday at school, he was dropping hints about where he'd take me for my birthday. Our anniversary was close to my birthday, so last year, we celebrated both occasions on one date. It was warm for October, and we spent a whole day at the beach. He had spent what little money he had on a cheap bracelet that remained priceless in my eyes. He even wrote me a long poem, which contained all those silly clichés that lovesick people express. Still, it was ours…
My next few actions were that of a wild woman. As much as I loved Sam Uley, I hated how much he affected me. Before my freshman year, when I met that kind, cute sophomore, I was very independent and hardly thought of boys, besides the occasional crush every few years. Love, in the romantic sense, was something between my parents, or the theme of every fairy tale. Fast forward a couple of years, and now it was the force that drove me to grab my pumps and sweater then slip out my front door.
Sweat trickled down my body when I realized how black the sky had become. The full moon's light was captivating, yet intimidating, threatening. In the woods behind my house, I heard the strangled cry of some beast of the night. It seemed to speak to a wild side of me that I didn't know I possessed, deep in my bones, on the surface of my soul. I stood on my porch, glowing in the moonlight, fighting the irrational urge to follow the monster's howl.