At first I just walked as fast as I could without running. Down the trying street, away from my locked-up sister. I was walking as fast as I could, trying to run-unsuccessfully. I knew I could go faster. Like when you're in water and you're to get somewhere in it, but to heck with how hard you try, you can't go faster. You know you can, but your body won't listen and you simply can't.
My legs finally gave and I crumpled to the side of the road. A winding, long road with nobody on it. No people, no cars. Just us and a grassy field on either side of us. Dusty was soon with me. He tapped my shoulder, then gestured to what I was wearing. I looked down and nearly sobbed. I had my pink pyjamas on, the ones with little ice cream cones scattered on the pants. Natalie had blue ones. They were a present from our Aunt Betty for Christmas. I ran my fingers through my knotted hair, fighting with myself not to yank any out.
Admiring our surroundings, I came to realize I didn't know where we were. But I wasn't in a predominantly caring mood; I felt sick again.(Not that it had ever really gone away.) I said, "Can I eat something?"
Dusty wasn't listening. Instead he was staring at me. I tried to stare back, but it felt too awkward; I looked away. Spread my legs out in front of me and studied my shoes. My cheeks felt hot and I couldn't tell if it were because I was ill, or embarrassed. Probably either or. I didn't like Dusty seeing me in a mess like this.
I could tell Dusty was smiling. I snapped," I haven't eaten yet, I'm starving." Then I remembered I had Oreos in my smallish pocket, so I yanked one out with such force it broke in half. Tears immediately filled my eyes and I shrieked, "Fudge!" I chucked one half of the stupid thing as far as I could. We watched the Oreo land softly on the grass on the other side of the road.
Honk honk.
I said to Dusty," Gosh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I got mad over a cookie." I raised my hand to my face and felt my forehead. I still had a fever, hot to the touch and it wasn't helping that the sun shone brightly. Most people would think that living in a naturally sunny area is nice, but I would tell them it most certainly is not, especially when you're dying.
Holding the Oreo to my mouth, I said," Well, shouldn't be a total loss." I popped it in, chewed, swallowed thickly. The simple action of eating hurt my throat so much it made me change my mind. I didn't need food. Not now, anyway.
Apparently Dusty did. He had a pile of crackers on his legs and was occupied peeling away an orange. I watched in fascination as he set each piece meticulously on each cracker until he had a whole meal consisting of-not cheese and crackers- oranges and crackers, placed one by one down his legs. He held one out to me. I said, "No thank you, I'm not hungry."
He honked in agitation, telling me in the style only Dusty could that I was just complaining about starving a minute ago. In the end, he left the matter by itself and ate every single one of his crackers and oranges.
I had my knees drawn up to my chest and placed my chin on top of them .I confessed to Dusty, " I don't know where we are." The sky was grey and blackish, all of a sudden, and the sun was being blocked out. It was a relief, really. But not enough of a relief to make me feel less sick. I picked off a little fuzz ball from my pyjamas and sat it in the grass between me and Dusty. It didn't stay long, though; the wind blew it away. I couldn't see where it went since it was so small.
That one thing- that piece of fuzz that came off from my jamies- made my mind swirl. All my life I felt trapped, stuck in my own diminutive world with my books and math and frequent walks in the park. That was it. That was my entirelife, right there. And then Dusty, my savoir from God comes along, and look where I end up. I should have hated him, loathed him for what he's done. Hated that he took me away from my perfect life and taught me the importance of not caring at all what people thought of you. I should have, so why didn't I?
"Oh, Dusty," I mumbled, holding my head. It hurt so much."Dusty?"
He honked twice.
Thinking of Natalie, thinking of what poor Mom and Dad would say when they came home from a long day's work and found her locked in the, "Cleaning closet," I said, just above a whisper," I made a mistake." I ran my hands over the grass, taking notice how it didn't shine like it did when the sun wasn't hiding behind clouds. I said it again, louder , in case Dusty wasn't listening. "I made a mistake."
Dusty didn't honk, didn't touch me, didn't do anything. He merely gave me a face, as if to say, Everyone makes mistakes.
