Disclaimer: The "dance and dancer" quote is a variation on a line from Guy Gavriel Kay's The Fionavar Tapestry. The Grijalvas are from the book, The Golden Key by Melanie Rawn, Jennifer Roberson, and Kate Elliott.
Max and a grumpy Isabel waited for their friend to crawl in Max's window. An
excited Michael Guerin had called at three in the morning with what he termed
'important news.'
"I swear to god, Max, if he thinks we're taking another road trip," Isabel
huffed.
"Don't worry, Isabel, we'll bring your boyfriend this time," she smacked her
brother playfully but had smiled at the thought of Alex.
The casement window slid open and Michael grinned at Isabel and Max. "I used
them, my powers. I can control them now!" He lifted Isabel's pink bunny slippers
off her feet and set them to hopping in front of their shocked faces.
"What happened?"
He paced back and forth, Isabel's slippers mimicking his movements in midair,
"I dunno, I was just...I wanted to move the painting but it was still wet and I
didn't want to touch it and then it just moved. I didn't even have to think
about it. And then I could just do everything. Max, look." He shoved his right
hand before them. I cut it, and I healed it."
Max tried to contain his hope. He knew that Michael hated not being in
control of his powers. While not exactly jealous of Max and Isabel, he knew his
pride was hurt. "Michael, is it okay if we test this. I mean, I believe you. I'm
totally proud of you. But let's get to know your limitations just...in case."
Surprisingly, Michael agreed. He was confident in his abilities, now. Isabel
hugged him, smiling, then got back to business, "You woke me up, Michael."
"Oh, really," he took in her rumpled hair and pajamas.
"So let's start off with dreamwalking. If anything happens, Max can pull us
out."
"Sure, safety first."
He and Isabel laid down on Max's bed. After the pillows had been arranged to
her satisfaction, Isabel whispered, "See you there."
Michael found himself in a blue room, not unlike Isabel's. The bed was a
little bigger and it was much messier. Her walk-in closet was wide open but
there was nothing in there but jeans, shirts, and sweat pants. Inspired, he
looked at her vanity. One tube of mascara and a lip gloss, but none of the
various lotions and vials that she usually stockpiled.
There were framed photographs of her and Max in Colorado, the entire Evans
family, and one of Alex. There were even some stuck in the mirror. More of Max
and the Evans family. There was even one with him. He hardly ever had pictures
taken, no one ever asked. But this one, he remembered. The first day of
sophomore year, Michael couldn't sleep and had walked over to their house.
Before hitching a ride with them, Mr. Evans had requested a picture. Max had
groaned, apparently they did this every year. He'd stood off of to the side,
trying not to look like an intrusion. Mr. Evans fumbled with the timer before
joining his wife and children; he looked surprised when he Michael leaning
against the jeep. Gesturing, he indicated a spot beside him. And so here it was,
a photograph of parents sending their children off to school. Only, it looked
like he was the third child. Like he belonged. He whispered, "Like I was
family."
Arms enclosed him from behind, "Not like, Michael, you are family. You're my
brother," she kissed his cheek, "don't you know that?"
She moved in front of him, holding his hand, "Max is the annoying big brother
who acts tries to act all grown up. I'm the spoiled brat little girl princess
who gets whatever she wants from her big brothers."
He whispered again, "Brothers." He'd often thought that nothing would change
if he'd never been born. Isabel and Max might still be aliens, but they'd still
have each other. He didn't fit in the equation, he was excessive; he made things
harder.
"And you're the middle child who doesn't want to be bratty or anal retentive.
Instead, you're just difficult. A lot."
He laughed, "Okay, brat
***
"No, Agnes. You cannot have another break," Liz gestured towards the floor,
"the place is packed. Besides, cigarettes can kill you."
Maria grimaced from behind the older waitress and mouthed, "We should be so
lucky."
Liz stifled her laughter as Agnes walked away. Liz was sure Agnes would
insult some customer before the hour was over, but she couldn't lose another
waitress right now. Her parents had left for a restaurant convention in
Oklahoma, leaving her in charge.
They couldn't have chosen a worse weekend. Two huge tour groups had come into
town last night and Casa de Enchilada, the only other non-food chain
establishment was being renovated. Liz had struggled to handle everything with
cool efficiency before breaking down and begging Alex to bus tables.
And then, suddenly, she felt like she could tackle another influx. Looking
up, she stared into the eyes of Max Evans. She still hadn't gotten over his
rejection. They had gotten close, even sharing one mind-blowing kiss, so when
Maria and Michael had hooked up she had asked Max, why they couldn't, too. She'd
never expected him to let her go.
He'd loved her for years. But, maybe, now that he knew her, he realized the
Liz he'd fallen in love with...the reality didn't stack up.
She knew better now. She could be patient. Wait for him to understand he
didn't need to protect her; it was enough to love her. So, they hadn't started
at square one, they were friends -best friends.
So when she saw how carefree and happy the three Czechoslovakians were, she
couldn't help but let go of the chip on her shoulder.
"Hey guys, what's up? You're all looking less paranoid than usual.
Max, Isabel, and even Michael laughed. Michael was the biggest surprise. He
gestured expansively, "Three Tenth Planet special and cherry cokes on me."
What's the occasion?" She'd never seen Michael is such a good mood.
He leaned towards her and whispered in her ear, "I can control my powers!"
So that's why he was acting like a little kid. She hugged him,
"Congratulations!" Then pulled back as if burnt, "Um, sorry, Michael, I didn't
mean-"
"It's okay, Liz. Thanks for being so great about it. You're not bad for
a...not being a Czechoslovakian."
Max, Michael, and Isabel shared smiles. The entire day had been a joy.
Playing around with their powers and acting like a family, without looking over
their shoulders at strange noises. Max smiled especially wide, happy that
Michael was being nice to Liz. It meant a lot to her and when she delivered the
order to the cook, Maria could tell she was glowing.
"Hey, Liz, Agnes drop dead?"
"No, umm...," Liz wasn't sure what to tell Maria. She'd been avoiding Michael
since the rave and had returned, slowly, to her old nature. Or, maybe not
avoiding, Maria had also returned to dancing and singing. Liz had always been a
little jealous of Maria's talents but knew that Maria sometimes envied her
studiousness. It didn't matter in the long run, they had each other. She had the
two best friends in the whole world. So she made her choice, "Michael can
control his powers now."
The blonde's eyes widened and Liz was afraid for a moment. Then Maria smiled
a tiny smile and suggested, "This is big. Great. Your parents are gone for the
weekend, why don't you have a celebratory get together tonight?"
Liz hugged Maria, "That is such a great idea! I'll go tell them!" Orders in
hand, Liz approached the three plus Alex who was joking with Isabel.
"C'mon, Is, Liz could use the help. Besides, you look really hot in the
uniform."
"You saw that?" Isabel blushed. "Thanks, Liz."
"So what are you guys doing tonight?"
Max quirked an eyebrow, "I was thinking high-speed chase with a bunch of FBI
agents in tow, but if you think you can top that, be my guest."
"I was thinking we could have a Michael party."
Michael blushed and ducked his head uncharacteristically. He'd been so
obsessed with painting and the right ratio of egg yolk to pigment lately he
hadn't been around the gang much. Instead of being insulted, they were acting,
well, like friends. Even Liz, who had gone all Sigourney Weaver on him. Most of
them were acting like friends, anyhow. Friends. Two human friends and a...broken
heart?
"Oh, that's right, Liz," a familiar voice cut in. "Take all the credit."
Max, Michael, and Liz looked up in surprise. Alex and Isabel shared a knowing
glance and handsqueeze. "Liz's hands were full so I thought I'd go ahead and
bring these over." She put three bottles of Tabasco on the tabletop and walked
away leaving the stunned in her wake.
***
Maria let her body flow, sharply now, then smooth. Everytime she danced, it
was sweet. She didn't now why she'd stopped. To unconsciously pick up on a hook
here and know what to do. No confusion or question of right. Just the feeling of
energy and lyric. She stepped into a twist or swing without fear of consequence
because there was no way for this to be anything but good.
Michael watched her, reeling. He had kissed that length of arm, left his mark
on that expanse of back, he knew she could burn but never imagined that she
could exhibit such sense of grace. Yet here she was and all he could think was,
"You cannot tell the dancer from the dance."
And then her eyes flew open in rage and he realized he had spoken aloud.
He tried to explain, "Liz called me -told me to pick you up-"
"Did she mention the part about spying on me?"
No, I didn't mean to, it was just so-"
"Private."
He understood. "I'm sorry, Maria. I never meant to disturb you, but I
couldn't stop watching you. You were hypnotic, beautiful."
"Who are you and what have you done with spaceboy?"
And then she smiled and he knew it would be all right. "So you thought it was
beautiful?"
"Yeah." He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. They were empty now; he
hadn't replaced the bottle of cypress oil. "So, uh, how long have you been
dancing?"
"All my life. But just started up again, technically. And it's like I don't
understand why I ever stopped. Dancing gives me this whole sense of...I'm not
sure I know how to explain it, ya know."
"I know. It's how I feel when I paint. It's special."
They shared a smile. Michael crowed inside, he'd missed this. He had his
powers, he had friends, it was a day for brightness. And maybe, just maybe Maria
and him could work out now. Truthfully, he'd missed her. However he tried to
deny it, there was something about her that important. She had this strength you
couldn't ignore, and she listened to him as if he was significant. She made him
feel good.
And then it all clicked for him; didn't he deserve her? He did.
He cupped her face and pulled her in before she could react and the feel of
her body still wet with sweat was electric. Her mouth was still as soft and
giving, she opened her mouth to him, he responded, and then she bit his tongue.
Hard.
She was out of his arms and furious.
"Godash," his tongue was bleeding. Taking a moment to heal it, he said, "God
damn!"
"Oh, you're mad at me?"
"What was that?"
"Make up your mind, Michael. You can't just push me away and then kiss me
like that. No, you know what, don't make up your mind. I don't need your
opinion. I am so tired of this shit, Michael. So tired."
Michael was stunned. Maria didn't cuss. 'Swearing is just being lazy.'
Maria never swore at him, she baited and fired salvos, because she cared enough
about him to be creative. Maria obviously didn't care anymore.
"No, it's not like that," he swallowed his pride, "I want to hold you. I've
always wanted to hold you. I just don't want to hold you down."
"Oh, that's fucking rich. Did you drag yourself away from Ulysses long enough
to watch 90210?"
"Why are you being like this?"
"I don't know, maybe, because you're an asshole."
His expression was pained, "Look, what I said at the soap factory. I'm sorry.
We can still work things out."
"It's too late, I already forgave you for that. You want to be alone, go be
alone by your own damn self. Just because you leave me bruised, doesn't mean I'm
gonna crawl off and die offstage."
"That's why we belong together. You're a fighter. We're of the same ilk."
"No. We're not," she looked him in the eye. "Whatever ilk you're from, I'm
confident I'm from a different one." And then she sneered, "Oh, did I say 'ilk,'
because I meant species."
"Maria," he looked deep into her eyes, trying to convey his need for her.
She spat at him, "Save the soulful stares for Max, I'm not Liz."
"You've got that right," he muttered under his breath. He would make her
understand. "They have that whole let's fall into each other gently mentality. I
like what we have. We don't have to be starcross'd."
"What we have?" She smiled, feral, "Don't get all intense, Michael. I'm only
sixteen, I want to date, not be involved. I'm young and I plan to enjoy it.
That's the way it's gotta be."
"So we date, I can handle that."
"Gee, I don't think so. When I said date, I didn't mean you, I meant other
guys. Human men." She walked up to him, close enough to kiss and whispered
sweetly, "Let's just be friends."
Max was worried about Michael. He didn't exactly think Michael would take on
the FBI by himself, but his sudden disappearance was disturbing. Michael could
have been kidnapped...His friend had never shown up at his own party; neither
had Maria. But when Michael hadn't shown up at Max's window and Maria had denied
any contact, Max had even visited the trailer park. He hadn't really expected
Michael to be there, he hated the place, but it a possibility. He'd even skipped
Biology on the off chance that Michael had showed for school before ten o'
clock.
So when he saw Michael nonchalantly eating fudge ice cream with tabasco in
the librarian's office, Max was justifiably upset.
"Max?" Michael jumped up; he'd gotten used to thinking of the library as his.
"I'm not gonna get caught doing anything, Maximilian. I'm just sitting here
with my ice cream," he spooned up more.
"Yes, with tabasco sauce! Michael, someone will see and be suspicious. Let's
get out of here before you get in trouble."
"No."
"Michael," Max's voice shaded to warning. It seemed that the nice Michael of
the weekend was gone, and the brooder was back. And Max didn't understand why.
"Max, look, I'm good here. Why don't you leave?"
"Because I'm trying to watch your back."
"Young man," an authoritarian voice came from Max. "Shouldn't you be in
class?"
"Uh..."
Ms. Clarke greeted Michael more warmly, "Hello, Michael, I see you found the
ice cream."
With a parting glare, Max left the library.
"So, who was that?" She sat down in the chair opposite him. This was, by now,
a familiar arrangement. They would sit and conversed amiably, usually sharing
tabasco and a form of chocolate. Ms. Clarke regarded Michael's twin gustatory
inclination as a sign of that he was meant to be her helper. Nothing more.
Michael had grown more comfortable with her over the few weeks, sharing his
progress with painting and other anecdotes. He never spoke about his foster
father and their low socio-economic status. And she didn't seem to care. Roswell
wasn't a huge town, he knew that if she did care, she could ask around and find
out about his reputation. But even assuming that she had, she hadn't kicked him
out.
In turn, Ms. Clarke shared her life with him. Faculty gossip and family
stories. She came from one of Roswell's first families, from before the '47
crash so she viewed the town's alien hang-up from a unique perspective.
Michael sighed, "That was Max Evans."
Ms. Clarke frowned. She'd imagined Michael's closest friend to be more
pleasant, less brooding. "Oh." She didn't push.
"He's just worried right now. Liz, that's the girl he makes googly eyes at?"
"I remember."
"She threw me a party and I sorta didn't show. And I sorta didn't tell anyone
where I was all weekend. They thought something happened to me."
Ms. Clarke watched Michael. She'd gotten familiar with his body language and
knew something deeper was bothering him. However, the librarian also knew that
it would be best for Michael to volunteer information. The best thing for
her to do right now would be to listen.
Michael sighed and looked down. "It's this girl." He'd been thinking about
their encounter all weekend and still hadn't figured out what had gone wrong.
"Liz's talkative girlfriend? The blonde." Michael had never really mentioned
her.
"She's sort of an ex-girlfriend." He went slow, unsure of how to share his
feelings. "To use the term loosely."
"Maria." He savored her name. "She affects me. She's, like, uber paranoid.
She always smells like cypress oil because she sniffs it when she freaks." He
smiled bittersweetly, "It calms her down."
"And she's gorgeous. Not like Isabel," he looked at Ms. Clarke for
recognition. She nodded, "but she's these eyes. Green. Brighter than, than
everything. And this mouth. She's always pouting, even when she's laughing.'
"I mean, the mouth on her." He blushed. "I mean, the way she uses it." He put
his head in his hands. "That didn't come out right. She's got this way of
talking. You think she's this vapid bubblehead, but she's the only one who can
keep up with my smart alec cracks. But at the same time, she's like you."
Ms. Clarke smiled encouragingly. Michael sounded as if he was never realized
these things before.
"She listens. Really listens. And you should see her dance," he was lost a
moment in recollection. "It's like this zone, where she's steam and flood. I
never saw anything like it. Plus, she's got this strength. And all of it is
amazing and it's like I don't understand how it all fits into one person. She's
this girl, and there's no one I'd rather fight with."
"You're in love with her," the older woman smiled benignly.
"Yeah. I guess I am." Then he groaned, "Oh, god..."
"I'm guessing this is the ex-girlfriend portion."
"She got too close. I couldn't handle it." He combed his fingers through his
spiky hair. "I told her, I told her," Michael forced himself to look her
straight in the eyes, "I didn't want to get intense. Attached, involved whatever
you want to call it." He took a breath, shoved his trembling hands into his
pocket. "I was scared. I let her think I didn't care that she was some toy.'
"I let her go."
And then Ms. Clarke was handing him a tissue and telling him, "Take your
time."
Michael balled his fist in his pockets; "She makes me into this sop. I don't
know if I wanna be that person."
"It's okay, it's not too late. You can still make it right."
"No. I can't. Because I hurt her again. I kissed her. I thought it would be
okay. We were in this moment, and she looked so right. But it wasn't okay. She,
she bit me." He looked dumbfounded.
"Oh, Michael, you're so young," she sympathized. "What you told me -did you
tell her?"
"No."He digested what she was saying before groaning. "I am such failure."
"Michael!" Ms. Clarke's voice was sharp; she'd never used that tone with him.
"Never say that." She punctuated each word with a gesture. "You are incredible."
She smiled gently, "Now, go put the ice cream dishes in the back sink, and go.
Go find her, Michael."
He looked up. "What?"
"I'm a hopeless romantic, now, scoot! Faint heart never won fair maid," she
said.
Michael stood up with a look of determination.
As he ran the door, she called out, "And no kissing until after you get the
girl!"
***
She was drooling slightly onto her textbook when Michael found her in study
hall. He smiled. She wasn't so much snoring as softly murmuring. He enjoyed the
opportunity to look her over. Skin so fair and creamy. Even in the desert. He
reached out a hand to her caress her face.
He was in her dream:
They were back at the rave. But before she'd finally trapped him in the
corner. She was talking to Liz; they were searching the factory for something.
Him and Max.
The real Michael stepped towards Maria, he would tell her now. The truth.
But then the band stopped playing and the party hushed. The lead singer
stepped up to the mic and said, "Is Maria here? Maria DeLuca?"
Maria, in her barely-there seventies revival outfit, moved to the stage.
Party-goers, even the drunk ones, had made a path. The trumpet players helped
her up before playing a sort of trilling salute. A red carpet rolled out from
the door to the makeshift stage.
"Maria DeLuca, meet your father!"
A handsome man in his forties strode towards her in an impeccable Armani
suit. He held his arms open, "Maria, my Maria? I've been looking for you for
sixteen years. You're so tall! So lovely! Baby, I understand if you don't want
anything to do with me, but, please, give me a chance. I live my life for you.
If you're willing to trust me, the limo is waiting outside."
"Daddy?" Maria ran into his arms.
He held her fiercely, "My daughter. I will never leave you. I love you."
They walked out together as the partygoers cheered and threw confetti.
Maria got into the limo with the help of her father. Never looking back. Never
seeing the rawness in Michael's eyes.
***
The painting was wrong, all wrong. He'd make huge mistakes. The technique was
perfect but he looked nothing like Maria's father.
"Mr. Guerin? It's not time for class yet." Mr. Hinds noticed Michael staring
at the painting. He'd given it an A+.
"I hate him," Michael growled under his breath. Louder, he said, "I hate it."
"But it's the best work to come out of my classes all year. A formidable
enterprise, I was hoping to exhibit it at the state level."
"No."
"Mr. Guerin, I must beg you to reconsider."
"No. I can do better."
***
Michael shed his jacket and brought out his leftover panel and gesso. Never
stopping except to ask Mr. Hinds for eggs from the cafeteria. He didn't bother
with a sketch.
His hands edged out, coaxing Maria's father onto the wood. He didn't hate Mr.
DeLuca. Mr. DeLuca made Maria happy, he made Maria forget Michael.
But Mr. DeLuca wasn't perfect. The other painting, it was flawless; but there
was no passion there. It was not the labor of love he had striven for. He'd
gotten too caught up in methodology and application. So now he fixed it. Little
lines around his eyes, Maria's sometimes-feral eyes. He made a man of
experience, capable of love. Of making her happy. Of doing everything that
Michael could not.
Michael couldn't stop. He was driven to make this into an act of
transcendence. This would be his penance. His silent admission of love and
guilt. More than ever, he realized he could not be with her and so he painted.
Mr. Hinds handed Michael a glass of ice water every hour or so. The teacher
recognized, but had never experienced, this frenzy. It sucked Mr. Guerin in and
spilled out art. The paintings were similar but for shadows of longing and other
inexplicable changes. It was dynamic; he had a prodigy on his hands.
When Michael finally relented, he could barely encompass what he had done.
He put down his paintbrush, asked the speechless Mr. Hinds to grade it, and
walked out, empty.
***
Sugar?" Ms. Clarke held her hand out, "Michael? Sugar?"
"Huh?"
"The sugar, you kooky child. Two cups."
"Oh, sorry." Michael handed the librarian the measuring cup. "I'm just kinda
tired." He cracked his neck, "I'm here though. Look, flour."
Ms. Clarke smiled, "This was a really good idea, Michael. I'm sure your
friends will like it."
"If I can get it, right, I've never baked before. Thanks for helping me."
"But are you sure they'll like tabasco?"
"Oh, it'll be great. We like it, don't we?" Michael had decided to make a
tabasco tunnel cake. He'd gotten the idea for a chocolate bundt cake with a ring
of equal parts fudge pudding and tabasco sauce from the Flying Saucer cakes they
served at the Crashdown. Originally, he'd planned on using cake mix, jell-o, and
the bottle, but Ms. Clarke had been so enthusiastic he asked for her help. When
the day's errands and various other duties had been accomplished, she'd marched
him of to the home ec lab.
Michael figured it for a peace making gesture. Max was still a little mad for
looking like a jerk in the library.
"Maybe you should ease off on the painting for a while, if you're tired. It
takes a lot out of you. Emotionally, I mean, it's exhausting. Here," she put the
spatula in his hands. "Pour half the batter in the pan, then the pudding and
tabasco. Yes, you're doing it right. Now, put the rest of the batter on top.
Great, now we'll pop it in the over and voila!"
Michael held the pan gingerly and tried not to burn himself. He stifled a
yawn. "Huh, maybe I should take a nap."
"Yes, you should. The cake will still rise if you're sleeping." Ms. Clarke
rummaged in a trunk by the sewing machine and pulled out a red and green patched
quilt. Leading Michael to the Family Like part of the room, she laid him and the
quilt down on an old orange couch.
"I feel like I'm in kindergarten," he mumbled. Secretly, he relished the
attention. Hank had never tucked Michael in. He could admit to himself,
sometimes he wished Ms. Clarke was his mother or even his grandmother. When he
was with her, he didn't feel an unsteady or discarded. Alone, he could admit
that he liked who he was when she was around. Maybe he could have been that
person if someone had loved him.
"Then I guess I'll have to tell you a story," she ran her fingers through his
spiky hair. Ms. Clarke smiled, she had a knack for choosing the special
children. She conceded that all children were special, but her helpers tended to
the incredible. Insightful, talented, good-natured. She knew how to pick them.
Michael Guerin could go far, if he wanted. If, when his senior year rolled
around, he was interested, she would bring up art school.
Her grandfather, great-grandmother, and several other relatives for the last
hundred years had attended the Corcoran school in Washington DC. He could get
there on his own merits, assuredly, but recommendations from alumni would assure
they would come begging after him.
"This is the story of a family, the Grijalvas. The Grijalvas were limners,
painters, and they lived in the duchy of Tira Virte. But they were not just
painters, they were special. The art ran in their blood, but more than that,
some of the males of their line possessed magic. What they painted, came to
be..."
A soft rumble interrupted her. Michael could hear the story later. She pulled
the covers up to his chin and rearranged them to cover his feet before standing
up. The frosting would not make itself.
***
Isabel rolled her eyes, "You know, Max, you could have just said, 'I want to
go make googly eyes at Liz' and it'd be okay."
"I was hungry." The dark boy smiled sheepishly.
"But we could have waited for Michael. You peeled out of the parking lot."
"Oh, he'll find a ride."
"You're still upset." It was a statement.
Max was saved from further embarassment by the appearance of their waitress.
"Hey, guys, what can I get for you?" Liz leaned towards Max. Isabel wondered
what it would take to push Liz into her brother's lap. By accident, of course.
"No dessert." Michael slid into the booth carrying a white cardboard box.
"No outside food, Michael." Liz pointed to a sign on the wall.
"Aw, c'mon, Liz. I baked it myself." He lifted up the cover to reveal the
fudge glazed bundt cake sitting daintily on a white lace doily. He'd been so
refreshed from his nap he'd even made little chocolate leaves.
Liz was practically drooling, "I'll cut you a deal. If you share, I won't
confiscate it."
"Sure, Liz," he looked up slyly, "didn't know you liked tabasco tunnel cake."
"Nevermind. Ugh."
Isabel looked into the box, "How'd you manage that? I didn't know you baked."
"I'm a Renaissance man. Did you know, little sister, that I am also a
proficient airplane pilot, fashionista, and-"
"Liz!" The blonde's shriek was head splitting. Maria was standing ten feet
away, at the door. And she had a new haircut. She had a bang now, and it slanted
across her forehead. The back had been shorn and leveled as well. Michael
noticed the way it exposed her unblemished neck. He remembered the time she'd
had to wear that ridiculous turtleneck in the middle of a heatwave
Maria ran to her friend's side, "Guess what! No, you'll never guess! He
called me! Again!"
The two girls let out another joyous shriek and jumped up and down.
"What's up, Maria," Isabel asked. Though she had grown closer to Maria and
Liz, she knew nothing about the new development. She flashed a look at Michael,
who looked like he was caving in on himself.
"Oh, hey, Isabel, Max." Maria waved and glanced at her watch, "Look at the
time! I gotta change into uniform. Duty calls."
As the door swung shut behind Maria, Michael looked inquiringly at Liz.
"It's not my secret to tell."
"Liz?" Max was a little hurt. They had no secrets between them. Or at least,
not on his side.
She nearly crumbled, "It's between Maria and her...her god."
Isabel didn't like the tension, "Hey, Max, let me up," she pushed Max out of
the booth and into Liz. "Order for me, I'm gonna call Alex."
Looking back, she saw Max hold his arms out to Liz for balance. Touching,
they stared into each other's eyes. "Just friends," Isabel snorted.
***
Michael watched his best friend make googly eyes at Liz. Thinking maybe, if
he had deep brown eyes the soulful stare thing might've worked on Maria. Did
brown even do Max's eyes justice? He thought of them critically. They were sorta
girly, all delicate long lashes. And they weren't really brown, they were more
earthy. Like a furry, woodland creature. Max had Bambi eyes. Yes, earthy -which
was funny, considering.
Max and Liz wrenched there eyes apart when Michael began to heckle them
because what was a soulful stare, really. Trite nonsense, people! Okay, he was
being just a little harsh. Maybe. But the symmetry of their relationship
bothered him. Happy families, looks, smarts -not an ounce of dissidence between
them. He respected, but could not understand how they got worked up over each
other.
They probably agreed on everything. And then he smiled, remembering Liz's
Xena imitation. He wondered if Max would like to hear about it.
Liz was okay, but give him a good Maria fight anyday.
Except for the fact that Maria wasn't even acknowledging him anymore.
Sometimes he thought that it was good that way. He'd probably end up just like
her dad anyhow, abandoning...
At least, that bastard would at least get in Maria's slapping distance before
she turned her back on him.
"Michael, hey, man, you there?" Max was shaking him.
"Uh, yeah."
"You wanna go somewhere?"
"Done staring already? That was quick."
***
"Isabel, grab my hand and I'll pull you up. Did you really have to wear those
shoes?"
"Play nice, Maximilian."
"I don't see you helping me."
Isabel grunted as her two brothers helped her up the rock, "No one told me we
were coming up here. Did you think I wanted to ruin my new shoes?"
"I forgot how beautiful it is up here," she looked around and began to spin.
Michael and Max watched as her golden hair wrapped around her body. Their
sister: the whirlwind, the brat, the Elle McPherson of the sophomore class.
"Uh, dizzy." They laughed and helped her lie down between them on the rock
This was a good place for them, where the chinks in their armor become rifts.
Yawning gulfs. This rock in the middle of the desert, away from the highway,
laden with their memories. It was almost a tie to home. Every time they visited
they'd say, "We will come back soon." But they don't. They cannot allow these
chasms.
A good place, and deep.
"Sometimes I feel so porous. Like honeycomb, you know?" Michael spoke up. He
is neither whispering, nor speaking. The three are connected by more than love
and species, they are linked by survival instincts. They don't like to talk
about it, though. "That things are happening all around me, but they wash right
through. I don't know sometimes. I don't want to think about it. I want to think
about going home and I feel guilty if I think about other things. Because,
maybe, I'm being punished. They, I don't know who, won't let us come home
because I don't want it bad enough. So I gotta focus."
Isabel grabbed his hand, she is shivering. "That's not true. We all want it.
Our whole lives, there has been nothing else."
"No, Isabel. He's right, sometimes, when I look at Liz I can't keep home in
my mind. She's all I want."
Isabel pursed her lips, "Then how come you're not with her? That's they way I
feel about Alex and if I ever lost him-"
"That's exactly why. I can't be with Liz until I can be sure I can stay. She
deserves better. That's why we need answers. If we could just find our planet-"
The three hushed, the words were coming too fast now. Too hard. And so, for a
while, they drew inside themselves for calm. Each concentrating on the
starscape, but trying not to think, "Which one is home?"
Michael broke the silence, "What if I could paint us there? Home, I mean."
"What are you talking about?" Max asked.
"There's this book, The Golden Key, where when some people paint
certain things, they come true. I know it sounds crazy, but-"
"Was this a fairy tale, a children's book?"
"Just listen, Isabel. Okay, just listen." Michael stood up and paced while
Max and Is leaned against each other. "I researched. It's not an entirely new
concept. There are lots of stories where life imitates art. Like the story where
everything written on a magic typewriter comes true. There are movies, too."
"A John Candy movie," Isabel cut in. "You're going on pop culture, Michael."
"Look, just hear me out. Our species, our people aren't like humans."
"Yeah, super powers. No kidding, Captain Deduction." Max gently squeezed
Isabel's hand, urging her to be quiet. If Michael was going to start sharing his
plans -actually planning- before acting, Max was willing to give it a chance.
"I mean. Look at all our clues and powers: visions, dreamwalking, glyphs.
They're all highly visual. The molecular structure and the healing aren't here
nor there but they don't require chanting or words or anything, you know."
"I guess."
"Think about it. None of us very good at talking. We can't sing a note. Did
you ever think it's because our people don't talk? When we came out of our pods,
we couldn't talk."
"You're right. Isabel, remember, I understood you, but we couldn't talk. Mom
and Dad thought we might be deaf."
"Exactly, Maximilian! Maybe in our original bodies, we don't have the
equipment to talk."
"I still don't know," Isabel's brow was furrowed, "it sounds like a fantasy
or something."
Max spoke up, "Aren't we? A fantasy. Aliens, dreamwalking, telekinesis. Is,
we're livin' la vida fantasy here. I don't see why Michael can't try."
"We don't even know what home looks like!"
"We could start small. Paint ourselves into Valenti's office and get his
files or something."
Isabel gave in, "I guess, you could at least try. I mean, it wouldn't be
dangerous if it didn't work. You'd just have a painting."
Michael hugged her, "Thank you. Your approval does mean something to me, Is."
Max joined in the hug, figuring Michael hugs were rare and not to be missed,
"Like you wouldn't have done it, anyway. But this way, Isabel gets cake."
***
"...topic may not be an event or a person. It must be relevant in throughout
the history of the world. Not just the seventies or the Middle Ages, throughout
the history of the world..."
Michael shook himself, wondering why he'd even bothered to come to class. Mr.
Sommers was in full Ben Stein monotone mode. He wanted to fall asleep, like most
of the class, but he couldn't. He'd slept so much in the last few days it was
almost like he was hibernating, but the dreams hurt.
His dreams were usually safe. But now they hurt.
So he stayed awake
He tried to think about his new project and the approach. In the Grijalva
story, the painters had to use items from their body. Hair for brushes. Bodily
fluids mixed in the paint. All of the fluids, or just one? Sweat, spit, tears,
urine, semen. And just how were they to be mixed?
"Michael? Hey, man, its lunchtime." Max stood at Michael's shoulder with his
books. "Is it cool if we eat here? I gotta stop by locker first and dump all
this stuff."
"Whatever." Michael grabbed his pencil and jacket before heading for the
quad, "I'll meet you in the quad."
When Michael reached their usual group of benches, he stopped. Maria was
there, chewing on a cucumber sandwich. They hadn't spoken since the night in the
dance studio. He could understand, now, why she hated him. And, it wasn't like
he made her life shine any brighter. So he left it all up to her. And she had
moved on to some guy who actually called her.
Michael sat down and stuck his hands in his pockets, "So, uh, hi."
"Hi." She was aloof and her voice rang with finality.
"Good sandwich?"
She chewed.
He pulled his hands of his pockets and stared at them. "Uh, dance much
lately?"
She swallowed, "Look, since you obviously are not possessed of the necessary
social acumen, I'm going to spell this out for you. I'm not your friend. I don't
like you. I don't like your hair. Now, go sit over there, far away from me, and
return to whatever you were doing with your hands in your pockets."
Michael knew what he should have done. He should have offered her a
head-snapping retort on the way her shirt emphasized her more salient features.
Or lack thereof. He should have attacked her anything, her blondeness, her
waitresness, her humanity. This was the time to for a killing blow. But he could
do nothing but try not to touch her.
Maria looked away from him, her eyes heavy with loathing until she spotted
Isabel and Alex. They sat down at roughly the same time as Max and Liz; the
girls began to chatter. Accustomed to Michael's distanced look, Max and Alex
discussed the history assignment.
Michael watched Maria unwrap another cucumber sandwich. Her hands unfolded
the wax paper without tearing it.
"So," Isabel started, "who's been calling you? I want details!"
Michael looked up. She was glowing.
She was inaccessible.
"Oh, my gawd," Queen Isabel's friend Sienna ran up to them. "A limo just
pulled up to the school."
A limo?" Alex asked.
"Yes, a limo, you...nice boy," Sienna was too much the follower to insult the
chosen consort. "I think it's an actor. He was so totally hot."
"Who?"
"The guy in the limo. Armani suit. Not old, but more like, aged. Robert
Redford, Paul Newman aged." She sighed, "Total hottie."
The steady babble of the quad became frenzied as news of the limo seeped in.
Those swift of mind had already taken into account that there were no limosines
in Roswell, this person had been driven in a limo through the desert highway.
And then it all stopped. The proclaimed hottie appeared on the quad in his
proclaimed Armani suit wearing a visitor's pass.
He looked at the students, a little anxious. His eyes fell on their little
group and Sienna let out another sigh.
"Maria?"
"Daddy?"
Maria ran into her father's arms. As he swung her up into his embrace, Liz
was explaining everything to Alex, Is, and Max.
"It's her dad. He first called her a few days ago, he said he'd been looking
for her all these years. She wasn't sure how she felt, but after a few phone
calls, she asked him to come out here. That's what I couldn't tell you. Sorry."
Maria was crying and laughing and smiling. Amy DeLuca was right, they had the
same laugh, same eyes.
But, Michael reflected, this was no surprise. That was how he had painted
Maria's father.
Maria grunted as she pulled at the cardboard box from the closet's top shelf.
Just a few more inches and she'd have it.
"Mooooom!" Maria screamed as the chair began to teeter beneath her
"Maria DeLuca! We have a step ladder for a reason," Amy put both hands on the
back of the chair.
"I know," she answered penitently. "I just wanted to find this necklace." She
jumped off the chair and plopped onto the bed, box in her lap. Shaw pawed
through the box of never worn jewelry. Smiling, she found the small vial and
slipped the silver chain around the neck.
"Cedar oil, sweetheart?" Amy didn't want to pry, for both their sakes, but it
didn't mean she wouldn'tworry.
"Bubbles, actually. I thought it'd be a nice touch -you know, festive." Maria
stood and smoothed out her cherry red, triple-tiered skirt. "What do you think?"
Amy sighed. Sometimes the hurt was too much, her life was one extended
mistake from birth to...but Maria was no part of that. She loved her daughter
and whenever she lapsed into the pain, she kept her daughter at arm's length for
fear her daughter would blame her own birth. Whatever betrayals and scarring Amy
had exchanged with Jeremy, she could never forget their brief liaison -it had
given her this incandescent, sun-crowned daughter. The one right thing she'd
done.
Amy sighed. Sometimes the hurt was too much, her life was one extended
mistake from birth to...but Maria was no part of that. She loved her daughter
and whenever she lapsed into the pain, she kept her daughter at arm's length for
fear her daughter would blame her own birth. Whatever betrayals and scarring Amy
had exchanged with Jeremy, she could never forget their brief liaison -it had
given her this incandescent, sun-crowned daughter. The one right thing she'd
done.
"You are beautiful, baby. He's always loved that color."
Maria took her mother into her arms, "He won't be here for a while longer.
Let's go sit in the kitchen, I'll fill you in on Alex and Liz's love lives."
***
"Alex and Is get a sort of sick kick out of it. That's why they are, you
know. Perverts to the core. I mean, I knew about Alex's proclivities but I had
no idea about the princess." Maria shared a wry grin with her mom, "But I don't
think Liz and Max really mind being stranded together, alone, every time we all
make plans. I'm pretty sure they enjoy it. Max still acts standoff-ish about
their relationship that way but he can't help himself from loving her. Liz knows
he'll come around so she deals with his dysfunction. It's kind of cute, in a
sort gross wet-calf way, I guess."
Amy looked at her daughter critically. She would be vibrant to a stranger's
eyes, but Amy DeLuca knew her baby. "But what about your love life?"
Maria flinched, "It's no biggie. I've been so busy with dancing and singing
and work, you know. Oh, and not to mention, school! I'm way into school these
days. I heard it was good for your pores," she cracked.
Amy smiled. Though Maria's instructors had taken her on as a scholarship
student, Amy'd had to scrape up the money for toe shoes and sheet music. But it
had all been worth it. Her baby had talent. The recent revival of her interests
had also brought color back into her daughter's cheeks. The first time she had
heard Maria's plum like voice resonate from the bathroom shower in a year had
been a pleasant shock. Amy often wondered what her own life would have been like
if she'd found passion in art instead of physical touches alone.
"Besides, I've got you, Mom, and-"
The doorbell rang.
"Go ahead and answer it, honey, I've got start those pies, anyway."
Maria grabbed her mom's hand, "Mom? Please, say hi this time. It would, it
means a lot to me.
She broke, "Just give me a minute, okay?"
Maria bounced through the kitchen door and came back with a bouquet of yellow
stargazers. The tall man following her held another bunch of the lilies, he
handed them shyly to Amy.
"Hello, Amy," his hand was trembling a little. She studied the man -the years
had been kind. And, surprisingly, it didn't hurt to look into those green eyes
anymore. She took the flowers and busied herselfwith finding a vase.
"Jeremy, it's been a long time."
"Yes," he sat down at the kitchen table holding Maria's small hand. Amy felt
relief as she watched him watch their daughter. This man who could not love her
would not be leaving her baby. "You look beautiful, though."
She blushed -but only a little. Maria sat back in her chair, eating it up.
Having her father back was more than enough but if there was even the distinct
possibility of a nuclear family...they weren't old, she could have a little
brother!
"Jim Valenti is a lucky man."
Maria stopped dreaming but didn't feel so disappointed when her mother smiled
in response, "Thank you."
An awkward silence.
He stood up, still holding Maria's hand. "Well, we have to get going.
Rent starts at six. I'll have her back by eleven, okay?"
Amy nodded her assent with a small smile on her face,"Oh, Jeremy?"
He turned, half-afraid she wouldn't let him take their daughter.
***
She sat down on a the table and barely noticed when he locked the door behind
him. Shaking her head in disbelief, Amy reached for the phone. Jim was off duty.
"And there was this time in middle school when Alex was feeling all unmanly
because Isabel's new boytoy was a jock, right?" Jeremy gazed at his daughter
fondly from across the table. "So me and Liz dress up in this football uniforms
with pads and straps and just everything. We jumped him from after school with a
football and played tacked on the front lawn of the school. Me and Liz were so
bad, Alex looked like a pro." Maria bounced a little, happily slurping her
virgin strawberry daiquiri. It was the closest thing the place had to a
milkshake.
The ambient light of the overhead chandelier swung dancing flares over her
head and the table. After the play, the limo had taken them to Mesa dela
Estrella, a posh and exclusive restaurant hidden just off the desert highway.
Maria had been so excite, she hadn't even known it existed. He smiled over her
indecision of menu choices and her incredible grin when he'd told her they could
keep coming back until she'd tried everything.
He laughed at his little girl's story. He didn't know how he'd gone so long
without her, "Bet Alex doesn't feel unmanly now. Isabel is his girlfriend,
right?"
Maria nodded as the water cleared away the remains of the walnut salad in
preparation for their main course. Jeremy spared the young main a stern glare as
the young man stared at his daughter. Not that Jeremy could really blame him,
she was incandescent. Sun-crowned.
"Yup. Hey, uh, Daddy? Would you like to meet them?"
"Alex and Isabel?"
"Well, everybody. Alex, Max, Is, Liz," Maria giggled. Is and Liz. And didn't,
sometimes, Max call her Izzy? Izzy and Lizzy, she'd have to share that.
He arched an eyebrow at her, "I thought there were five when I came to your
school. Another boy?"
Maria frowned, "That's Michael Guerin. He's just Max's friend."
Jeremy noticed the blaze of pain cross her eyes but decided to pursue it
later. "Sweetheart, I'd love to meet your friends. Tell you what, why don't we
stop by the Crashdown for dessert. Maybe they'll be there?"
She beamed and squeezed his hand. Just then, the waiter reappeared carrying
Chicken Kiev and Turkey Mole. Her eyes widened and her tongue darted across her
lips in anticipation.
He laughed, "But there will be no eye-contact with the waiter. I see the way
he's looking at you."
Maria blushed as the waiter rushed away from their table, "Oh, Dad! Don't
embarrass me like that!"
"But, favorite daughter, isn't that what fathers do?"
"Favorite daughter," she arched her brow in a way reminiscent of his own.
"Aren't I your only daughter? I mean, I am, aren't I?"
He took her chin in his and looked into the green eyes that were as clear as
his own, "My only, ever. My favorite, always."
***
His blonde woman-child had fallen asleep on the way to the Crashdown so
Jeremy carried her up the porch and rang the doorbell.
"Maria?" Amy's voice was sleep-mazed.
"It's Jeremy," he whispered. "Maria fell asleep."
She unlocked the door and ushered him inside. She showed into their
daughter's room and tucked the blanket over her after he laid her down. For a
moment they both looked at Maria with absolute love, then a flash of what might
have been. Had things gone differently, this could have been a nightly ritual.
"Amy," he whispered, but not the way he had yearsbefore. We need to talk."
She nodded and led him into the living room. Their past had been whirlwind.
They'd met at a California redwood rally. The air between them had been charged
with passion and urges -but it had not been a tender thing. They had both known
it, but in youth, the strong attraction was undeniable. They had fought and made
up again and again for months. And when he'd told her he was leaving for Alaska,
for minta trees and polar bears and that she would not be joining him, she
hadn't been sad. But she had told him the truth, she was pregnant. He accused of
making it up to traphim. Then he left.
The pregnancy had been rough, physically and mentally. Eighteen, she had
nowhere to go. And she didn't know which hurt more, the rejection of accusation.
The scorn of being an unwed mother and the hardship of providing had nearly
devastated her. God knew that sometimes she drank too much. She knew, now, that
it had never been love but the truth was no less bitter.
They sat down, looking at each other. Amy waited for him to speak. This man
couldn't hurt her anymore; she was afraid, however, for her daughter. Though
she'd witnessed the love she'd seen in his face, she couldn't stop thinking of
her baby.
"Amy, I have to leave."
Oh, god, she'd heard those words before.
But this time, she would fight.
"No."
"I have to. It's business. I promised the firm to end this deal before I
retired."
"No. You are not leaving my daughter, Jeremy. I swear to god I will shoot and
stew you before you hurt Maria."
Incredibly, he laughed. "I wasn't planning on abandoning her, Amy. But I
wanted to ask you first before I asked Maria. I want, Amy, can I take her with
me? Please?"
Amy was shocked, "Where?"
"Europe. The business part is going to be in England, but I figured we could
make a tour of it. Visit the continent, it could be educational." Fiercely, he
added, "I can't make up for those years, Amy, but I will cherish her."
Amy watched him closely, saw his desperation. She considered what it must
have felt like, she could afford kindness. "You have my permission. But youstill
have to ask Maria."
"Thank you, Amy!" He hugged her briefly, lifting her off her feet. "You don't
know how much this means to me! I'll take great care of her!"
She smiled and shooed him out of the door.
He walked backward towards the limo, still shouting, "Tell her I love her!
Tell her I'll meet her friends tomorrow! And tell her I love her! A lot, okay?
Amy, don't forget! More than anything!"
Maria sank into the cool and firm seat in the back of the limo surrounded by
the deep smell of leather. For Maria, leather spoke of the past -something for
which she'd always felt a lack. No more. She was the favorite daughter of a
father now -not that her mother's love was worth less, it was just different.
Her father -who had a name and a limo like right out of adolescent dreams. It
would've been enough if he'd been broke and disinterested in her, but this man
was everything she'd ever wanted in her dreams of family bliss.
But the limo was nice, too. Goodbye, Volkswagen Jetta. Hello, sleek, shiny,
and running limousine. Finally, a car that didn't suck.
"Your car sucks!" "And so do you."
Another good thing about her father: in Europe, there was no Michael. She
would be so far away, it would be like being on a whole different planet.
She hummed softly to herself as the limo pulled up to the school.
***
"Lizzy! Alex, where's your better half?" She ruffled his hair before
enveloping them both in a power hug.
"Whoa, air," Liz gasped for breath.
Maria grinned sheepishly, "Sorry, just happy to see you."
"Oh, no," Alex returned. "That's not a happy to see you look. That is the
same look from...,"Alex grimaced, struggled with the memory, then snapped his
fingers in triumph. "First time you beat the crap out of Kyle!"
"Yeh, I did sort of mop up, huh?"
"Last time he ever tried to take my dodgeball." Alex fluttered hit eyelashes
outrageously, "My hero."
Maria sniffed back some tears, "God, I'm gonna miss you. You are the best
things in this one-horse town."
Liz put an arm around her best friend, "It's okay, Maria, we understand. You
have to go, who else is going to feed me and Alex's need for cheesy souvenirs."
"She's right. I'm talking collectible silver spoons and stuffed animals.
Actually, what I really want is some lederhosen." Alex did a little jig in front
of his locker.
Maria smiled, "So, Liz, I take it you want a dirndl?"
"Oh, yeah, that's me. A little Alpine milkmaid," Liz fluttered her eyelashes
in a much more attractive way than Alex had.
"Hey, what about me?" Max said as he and Isabel joined the group.
"For you, I'm thinking a beret."
Alex wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, "Zee French, zey are zee best
luhv-erz! Eh, mon cheri, Liz?"
Max and Liz blushed; Isabel threw her head back in laughter. The Ice
Princess, Maria reflected, would never have done that. Alex had softened her
defenses, let Isabel find herself secure in his unconditional love.
She would miss her Czechoslovakian friends, she admitted. It was like they
fit perfectly into the little group Alex and Liz had formed in elementary
school. Max and Is, anyhow.
Maybe the reason Michael didn't was herself. She wasn't like Alex or Liz, one
to comfort or smooth things over despite rejection. Maria, even with two
parents, had her own defenses
The warning bell rang out, disturbing the path of her musings.
"So, uh, I'll see you guys at lunch?"
You're not coming to geometry?" Is arched a perfect brow.
"I leave in four days, yeh, I'm going to waste my time in that pit of
despair?" Maria arched her own (no less perfect) brow. "Besides, I've got to do
some paperwork. Return this book from the library," she flashed the cover of
Grapes of Wrath at them.
"I leave in four days, yeh, I'm going to waste my time in that pit of
despair?" Maria arched her own (no less perfect) brow. "Besides, I've got to do
some paperwork. Return this book from the library," she flashed the cover of
Grapes of Wrath at them.
Maria tucked the book back in her messenger bag, "Yeah, I sort of never
returned it. Truthfully, I didn't find it until last night when I reclaimed my
room."
"Reclaimed?" Max inquired.
"You know, like from the wilderness," Liz laughed brightly. She looked down
at her watch, "Oh, guys, we have to go. Unlike Ms. European Vacation over there,
we have class."
"Go ahead, I'll check you all later," Maria agreed as she turned towards the
library. Though the halls were empty, she walked close to the walls, running her
fingers lightly along the cool plaster. Four more days, Friday never seemed more
far away. Finally, she had found something better for her than Roswell.
Substitute a spaceship for a limo, and you know what I mean.
Maria faltered, nearly colliding with the library entrance as the memory
flashed before steeling herself. I don't need this. I've got a father and a
mother and -and Michael would do just fine on his own. He had Isabel and Max and
his powers and his godamned stone wall.
***
The difference that marked the library from the rest of Roswell High (besides
the books and emptiness and the accompanying quiet) was the light. The wall that
joined it to the building was common plaster, but the two springing from it were
glass connected by a panel of stained glass that looked like it belonged in a
cathedral.
Shards of pale buttery gold, prismatic bone, and diaphanous windowpane swept
through each other in a random, wild pattern. Maria saw herself moving through
the beams, becoming a part of it. She could hear the soft, insistent pulse of
rhythm -she could put words to that music; it would be like the sea slapping
against sand. So very wild and akin to herself.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" A voice interrupted.
She turned around, unconsciously clutching her bag.
The bearer of the voice held out a hand, "Hi. I'm Ms. Clarke, the librarian."
Maria shook it with as much grace as she could muster with her eyes once
again planted on the stained glass. "It's gorgeous. I never knew..."
"But you know now," Ms. Clarke said gently. "It's enough."
With those words, Maria firmly remembered where she was. Pulling the book out
of her bag, she said abashedly, "I'm returning a book. I have fines. Big fines."
Amazingly, the librarian laughed. "Ah, a lamb returns to the fold. Thank
you."
That was it. No nagging or muttering about the uselessness of teenagers.
Maria smiled as the woman punched the computer keys rapidly, "What do I owe
you?"
"Thirty-five even." Ms. Clarke put the book on the nearby shelving cart.
"Wow, is that, like, a record? Do I get a ribbon?"
The woman laughed, "Not by a long shot, I've still got an APB from a book
checked out in '79," she looked at the screen and cleared it, "Maria DeLuca.
Maria. I know that name from somewhere."
"It's a fairly common name."
"No, I don't think that's it." Ms. Clarke's face clouded over briefly,
"That's okay. I'll remember eventually. Now, what else can I do for you?"
"Well, I've got these checkout-papers I need to clear. I guess I can get them
done now," Maria pulled the multi-colored sheets out of her bag.
The librarian grimaced good-naturedly, "Where's my young helper when I need
him? I'm sure he wouldn't mind having this stack shoved on him since you're so
lovely -Maria DeLuca! You're Michael's Maria!" The woman's smiled widened
infinitely.
"Oh, I don't have a boyfriend." A beat, "Michael Guerin?"
"Yes, he's my library aide. He's a gem!" Ms. Clarke gushed while
inconspicuously inspecting the small blonde. Michael was a very special young
man, after all. While she had had no doubt of Michael's good taste, this girl
who had completely enchanted him interested her. "And so talented. Do you see
that?"
The librarian pointed to a forty by thirty painting of orchids curling around
a trailer. The trailer was dirty and old but surrounded by the flowers as it
was...sort of like what Liz said, but opposite: wilderness reclaiming. The
painting shocked her -power without fanfare and something rooted...admittedly,
the motif was rehashed and old-school, but the work remained unpretentious. It
was generous in color, acrobatic in scope, so undiluted...
God, Maria thought, to be that beautiful.
Finally, outloud, she said, "Michael did that." To herself, she thought, this
is one of the reasons I love him. In front of a painting like this, she would
not lie.
Turning away from the painting and its implications, she said, "This place is
something else. It's just gorgeous. I wish I'd known-,"
Ms. Clarke put a kind hand to the girl's cheek, "It's okay. If I may ask,
where are you going?"
"London," she answered distractedly, "Then Italy and Spain, some other
places."
"There's beauty there, too," Ms. Clarke said, seemingly aware that Maria
wasn't speaking on the surface.
Hard to believe there was any left for the rest of the world after this room
had taken it's lion's share.
"Oh," Maria wasn't sure what else to say. "Could you tell Michael I said,
hello then?" It seemed unfair to visit this place which belonged to Michael
without his awareness.
"Why don't you go say hi to him yourself. I think he's sleeping in the stacks
back there." Ms. Clarke smiled, "Just give him a little shove, okay?"
Maria smiled back, not able to remember she'd felt this comfortable with an
adult. Not since Grandma Claudia...
The light sound of snoring could be heard from around the corner in
Reference. Running her hands against the book spines, she slowed. What would she
say? Sorry, I intruded on your private sanctuary and haven't acknowledged your
presence in a two weeks, by the way, have I told you I'm leaving the country?
She was pretty sure he already knew she was going, what with Is and Max, but
he'd never said anything. Not that she would have stuck around to listen, she
walked away when he was within speaking distance because it was so so hard not
to touch him when he was near.
In the days when he touched her like it was necessary and not just about
groping, she had thought that, maybe, there was something to be cherished
between them. The way they moved together was too searing to be anything less.
She sighed and decided to leave. Better, this way she would not have to
remember craving for and never receiving a heartfelt goodbye, some confessional
spar of feeling.
She wanted him to miss her. To say so.
Maria saw herself :
Above a crystal bier crowned with honeysuckle and pink delphinium, Michael
laid quietly. She reverently caressed his cold cheek and leaned into him,
careful of the flowers.
When she kissed him, manna fell from the sky onto grass.
A castle appeared and a black jagged tower, which fell. The castle spired
into the sky, gleaming like a pearl.
They stood together on the water, which sang to them. He pulled her in and
whispered, "You came." "Maria?" Michael shook himself, he'd awakened to find her staring dumbly at
the stained glass wall behind him, one hand placed on a bookshelf holding her
upright.
"Oh, I just stopped in to return a book and the lady up front told me you
were here so I wanted to say hi," she responded quickly. "But I can see that
you're sleeping, so I'm gonna go. Okay?"
"Sure," her appearance in the library evoked somewhat a different reaction
than Max's.
"Hey, I just wanted to tell you, I hope you have a good trip."
So he knew.
He went on, "I'm just glad one of us got out."
She hid her face from his smile, he was glad. "Thanks, I'll send you a
postcard or something, okay."
She fled, taking only a moment to say goodbye to the librarian.
"Uh, I have to go get some more paperwork cleared but thanks, you know, for
showing me the library."
Ms. Clarke looked up from her computer and cup of cafe au lait. "No problem,
do you want a mug before you go."
Maria looked closer, it was suspiciously pink as if something red had been
added...
She shook her head, twisted Snow White daydreams and suspecting the librarian
of being Czechoslovakian? She had to get out of this town.
Later, sighing before a mirror with the benefit of bathroom lighting, she
splashed water on her face. He was glad she was leaving.
***
"Max! Stop being such a hog!" Isabel snorted ungracefully and grabbed the
bottle of Tabasco from her brother. He snatched it back and bopped her on the
shoulder before she could uncap it. War declared, the two began to tug on the
sauce bottle.
Maria, Liz, and Alex watched in complete amusement as the siblings battled.
"You know," Alex began conversationally, "I've always wondered why you don't
you just use ketchup like normal people-"
"Normal humans," Isabel interrupted despite her attack on Max.
"Let me finish. And then use your almighty molecular powers to change it into
Tabasco. Less unsightly bottles that way. And much cheaper. Not to mention,
inconspicuous."
Alex caught the bottle as both Evans' loosened their grip on it. They looked
at each other in amazed silence as Alex's idea soaked into their brains once
again setting Liz and Maria into laughter.
Alex patted Max on the shoulder and said comfortingly, "You will learn, young
grasshopper, one day you will be as wise as me. One day, grasshopper."
Liz gave her best friend a sidelong glance, noticing the marks of hard
scrubbing on her fair skin. She nudged her softly and mouthed, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she replied a smile on her face. "Just mentally packing, you
know."
Liz hugged Maria, not believing her.
***
Above a crystal bier crowned with apples and rampion, Michael laid quietly.
She reverently brushed his lips with her fingers, tracing the length his smile
would take and leaned into him carefully.
When she kissed him, salt fell from the sky onto grass and gathered on his
still form.
White as bone, it encased him like a moth in cocoon.
A black tower appeared and a spiring pearl castle, which fell. The tower
plunged cloudward into the starless sky.
She stood alone in the water, which was clogged with salt. She clawed at
the cocoon refusing to acknowledge thehis contented smile traced through stiff
salt.
After the friction of her hands and the cocoon had grated her flesh she
noticed the salt mixing with the blood, stinging. Her body shaking violently,
drops of it fell, slowly, into the still waters. Then the faces appeared
beneath the sheen of water, howling:
You took you took you took Maria woke up, sweating and thirsty. Asking herself, "What the hell?"
"-never went home last night."
"-still in yesterday's clothes."
"Oh, god-"
"-alright?"
"-can't stay, gotta be moved, now."
"-collapsed in our driveway."
"-so scared right now."
***
Moving through the crowds of people in the hall prior to the warning bell,
Maria felt weak. She'd never had such full-bodied dreams before and they scared
at her. She'd been surprised to find her hands were not ragged strips but the
dissonance of Michael encased in salt was so much as to keep the surprise
pleasant.
She hadn't experienced anything so horrifyingly graphic since Isabel had made
a guest appearance-
"Oof!" Maria fell to the ground, cogent enough to be glad she wasn't carrying
books.
"Oof!" Maria fell to the ground, cogent enough to be glad she wasn't carrying
books.
"Oh, hey, Maria," Max said distantly as he helped her up.
"No harm, no foul."
Well, okay then," Max turned away
"What's your hurry?"
"No hurry, just class. School, you know?"
The five-minute bell rang.
"Actually, Max, I wanted to ask you about Michael."
He looked her in the eyes. She noticed the tense set of his shoulders.
"What do you mean?"
"Um, is something wrong I mean, you know, he's good right?"
"He tends to be self-sufficient when he's not being, uh, Michael-ish."
Ordinarily, Maria would have laughed. "Oh, okay."
He waited until he turned right before he broke into a run towards the
parking lot, vaguely making out her parting, "Are you sure?"
***
"Maria DeLuca?"
"Hi, I came back." She smiled half-heartedly, one-hand still planted on the
stained glass wall.
"I'm glad, I've got your paperwork done." Ms. Clarke led her to the office.
"I had that wall put in specially. Years ago, I wasn't sure why."
"It's comforting," Maria responded. Though she'd slept hours last night, she
was tired but too terrified to fall asleep.
"Actually, Maria, I wanted to ask if you've seen Michael today? He was
supposed to come in today and he never came. It's never happened before
"I haven't seen him either." She hadn't seen anyone today, except for Max in
the hall.
"Well, do you think you could take him something for me?" Ms. Clarke pointed
to a paper-wrapped square, "Michael's art project, Mr. Hinds said he didn't dare
keep it in the classroom."
"Sure thing."
"Thanks, Maria. Michael's lucky to have such a good friend."
"Yeah..."
Ten minutes later, the blonde was breaking into Liz's bedroom through the
window. She had walked because she couldn't very well take the limousine on a
truant's quest. Finding no one there, she went on to the Evans'. None of them
had been in school. Not Michael, Liz, Isabel, Max, or Alex. No way was this a
coincedence.
Even though she'd grown up in Roswell, Maria could appreciate the New Mexico
sun. She was wearing four-inch platforms that had never been meant for anything
more strenuous than crossing your legs. Why the hell did Alex have to live so
far away?
She could see the jeep through the Whitman's open garage. What is going on,
she thought as she collapsed on the doormat.
***
"I can barely see him," Isabel said again.
"What do you mean you can't see him? He's right there." Alex patted a
comatose Michael on his bed
"No, she's right," Max answered tersely. "He's fading and I can't sense him."
"Try touching him," Liz suggested. There had to be a reasonable answer for
this. "Maybe it's an alien thing."
Max's hand swept right through chest and didn't stop until it hit the
comforter.
"What are we gonna do, Max?" Isabel clung to Alex. "How can we heal him if we
can't touch him?"
Liz spoke up, finding an inner calm contrary to Isabel's desperate sobbing.
"Is he...resting?"
"I can't tell, Liz, I can't even...," Max broke off, shaken by his friend's
condition.
Alex let go off Isabel and placed her in Max's arms. They needed to touch
each other right now. He put his hand over Michael's chest, then his mouth,
"He's breathing steadily. Shallowly, but steady."
"So do you think he's dreaming? Because maybe if he's dreaming, Isabel
can...check it out?"
"So do you think he's dreaming? Because maybe if he's dreaming, Isabel
can...check it out?"
"Not Isabel, I'll do it. It's my responsibility."
"No, Max. I'm better at dreamwalking than you." She went to lie down next to
Michael but offered one hand to both Max and Alex. Her brother and her boyfriend
both squeezed her tight and Liz placed herself at the foot of the bed.
***
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***
Liz had to hold down Isabel's legs once she started convulsing.
Clouds of steam began to billow from Michael's still form. It was the sort of
steam that made your skin blister if you put your face over an open boiling pot.
Liz could feel the sores on her cheeks and saw them on Alex, too, through the
steam.
"Alex, we have to get out of here," she screamed, trying to ignore the pain.
"We have to take her with us -she's starting fade, too!"
"Downstairs, hurry!"
"I won't leave him," Max screamed as he opened the door for them.
Liz and Alex practically tumbled down the stairs holding Isabel's swollen
body. Panting, they dropped her on the couch and watched as the steam began to
fill the rest of the house.
"Water," Liz rasped. "I'm dry."
"Me, too," Alex said agreed. He had difficulty pouring them drinks. He looked
down at his blistered hands; "This was not the best idea."
"Water helps, we should bring some up to Max."
"Go ahead, I'll try to get some into Is-"
A scream split through the dissolving steam. Max's.
***
"I had to," Max whispered, his entire body glowing silver. Like Isabel, his
eyes were sunken and it looked like they were going to slide off the couch.
"I couldn't get in." Isabel repeated, "I couldn't get in. It was like, there
wasn't anything to get into. I've never felt anything like that."
She paused, "But it hurt."
Liz sighed; Max had healed all of them though he had been exhausted; the
steam had disappeared through open windows. She looked at him, "What happened?"
"After you left, I could see him, touch him. It helped, I thought that if I
did, maybe it'd...help enough."
"He drained us," Isabel said. "Why?"
"I CHOOSE HIM!" Michael's scream was deafening. Alex and Liz raced upstairs
to find him thrashing, moaning.
Liz grabbed a sock out of Alex's top drawer, and moving quickly, stuffed it
in Michael's mouth. "Calm down," she crooned, "You'll choke yourself."
By degrees, he subsided. By the time Isabel and Max had made it up the
stairs, supporting each other, Liz had taken out the sock.
Max took Michael's hand. Isabel sat next to him on the bed and cradled his
face. Running her fingers through his hair she asked, "What's happening,
Michael? Do you know."
Michael put a finger to his lips, "Can't tell you, Izzy. Secret." His eyes
lit up faintly and he leaned forward conspiratorially, "I did it. Are you proud
of me?"
The four exchanged confused looks.
"What did he do?" Alex voiced for all of them. "What did he do to himself?"
***
Water churned around her waist. The faces had swallowed up Michael; she
dove down through droves of small jawed fish until her hair caught in the
sharp coral. It lashed her as the waves tossed her body back and forth, she
broke against it losing a bit of her scalp. She ignored the sea salt working
its way into wound, she was deep now where the fish had no eyes. Crawling on
the ocean floor, she scraped her knees on shell and became lost in the algae.
It was too dark, she couldn't see anything. She could feel faces made out
in water, they pressed against her body buoying her up, carrying her. They had
little teeth that scratched when they groaned wordlessly.
They brought her into a hall lit by phosphorescent slugs. Bonelessly, she
drifted to Michael when the emerald scales of his tail blinded her. She held
out her arms. She tried to call out but the water rushed into her, it filled
she was going to be torn apart.
Then a great wave swept through the hall, bearing her back up to the sky.
She could see the ruins of a castle and a black tower's base, both smothered
by the white salt sea.
Before the sea crumbled and the sky with it, she saw one spot of color. The
observation was almost divorced from herself: Distantly, was Michael that in
the embrace of her wave's twin? She only saw his emerald tail bobbing up and
down. Maria gasped for air when the dream broke.
It took her a moment to realize she was lying face down in the Whitman's
welcome mat. Gathering herself she rapped on the door.
"Maria?" Alex was surprised to see her, school had not let out yet.
"What's going on, Alex?" She shouldered her way past him. "What the hell is
going on? What's wrong with Michael? Where is he?"
"Maria-"
"Why would something be wrong?" Isabel cut in, suspicious. She was still, as
ever, protective of her brothers. As much as she liked Maria, the girl had still
shown up here without having been informed.
"Why are you all here then?" Maria stepped closer to the taller girl, anger
edging into her voice.
Alex tried to placate them both, "Why don't we all just sit down?"
Isabel's eyes narrowed, "You," she hissed. "What have you done?" Alex had to
step between them to keep Isabel from clawing at Maria.
"Me? What have I done? I'm a victim here I never wanted any of you in my
sleep! I never asked for weird, freaky mermaid dreams to pull me out of
consciousness! Where's Michael? If he's the one who done this, I want it fixed!"
Alex took Maria aside, "Look, Maria, you're angry. Isabel's angry. Why don't
we just take some time and I'll tell you what's going on later. Deal?"
"Alex," she snarled warningly.
Firmly, he replied, "Later. I promise."
"Fine," she looked down at her watch. "I gotta meet my dad anyway."
***
"He's gone," Max said quietly when Isabel returned upstairs.
"No," she grabbed at where Michael should have been.
"I can still see him, Isabel, just barely," Liz affirmed.
"It's Maria," Isabel said.
"Now, you don't-"
"You heard her yourself, Alex! She's stealing his dreams somehow."
"Maria wouldn't do that."
"Liz is right, Is." Max held his sister. "I'm scared, too. But you remember
what Michael said, that he did something?"
"That's vague," Alex said.
"And he asked if you were proud," Liz frowned. "Was there anything he was
trying to do."
"Oh, my god, Max, the painting." Isabel grabbed her head between her hands.
"That night, on the rock...do you think he did it?"
Did what, Isabel?" Alex asked.
"He was going to try to paint something into life." Max explained, "He got
the idea from some fairy tale. I thought he gave it up, though. He never
mentioned it after that night."
"He never mentioned the dreams either."
"What night?" Liz asked.
"The day he made that cake," Max tried to remember. "What if he did and
whatever kind of monster he created is stealing his life force?"
"Whoa," Alex said. "Don't you think that's kind of far fetched? It sounds
like a bad B-movie. You know, siphoning alien brains."
"We don't know," Is said. "Anything is possible."
"Okay," Liz spoke up. "So we go and find Michael's paintings and destroy
them?"
They stopped to stare at him. Finally Max answered, "Let's not even deal with
that thought yet. Alex and I will drive to the school and see if he's got
anything there. He wouldn't have left anything at Hank's. You two stay and watch
Michael."
"What about Maria?"
"She's with her dad right now," Isabel felt guilty. "I don't want to bother
her. We'll call her later."
***
"And we go ski in Zurich or see the fjords in Norway," Jeremy told his
daughter. She was cuddled next to him, a stack of tour guides in front of them.
"Oh, and you'll love Germany, they have the best food: schnitzel, bratwurst, and
brotchen."
"Cool, I promised Liz I'd get her a dirndl!"
Jeremy hugged Maria, "And, of course, we'll have to get Alex lederhosen."
She laughed; he was great. The incident with Isabel had left her mind. She
didn't need anyone but her dad.
***
"Thanks, Mr. Hinds," Max told the art teacher. "Michael thought he should
start to keep them all at home."
"No problem, they were starting to clutter the room, anyway. Actually, about
his final project-"
"Max!" Alex yelled from down the hall. "Motor's running, come on."
"Oh, gotta go, Mr. Hinds. Thanks again."
"Did you get them all?"
"Yeah, come on, help me with them." The two boys loaded the paintings into
the jeep.
***
"There are only seven?" Isabel asked.
"Not including the domes, but I think those were made too long ago."
"And the one in the library but we checked it out," Max added.
"Okay, so what do we have?" Liz began to unwrap the paintings.
They worked slowly, not sure what they wanted.
"These are all landscapes and still lifes," Max said, finally.
"So we're thinking Venus Fly Trap-Little Shoppe o' Horrors maybe," Alex
deadpanned.
"Alex, this isn't the time."
"I'm serious."
"Hey, stop, you guys," Liz broke in. "There's one left."
"It's heavier."
Isabel touched it, "I don't feel anything special about it."
"Who says you should?" Max said impatiently
"No."
"What is it? We can't see, Liz."
Liz swallowed hard as she turned the panel around
"Oh my god, that's-"
"Look at the date on it, Isabel, it's the night Michael got his powers under
control."
"Max," Alex's voice had lost all humor, "How did he know...?"
"He's right," Liz said, "This is before we ever met him. That's just before
Maria started getting the phone calls. Max, how did he know what Maria's dad
looked like?"
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