Title: A New Journey

Chapter: Part One - The Prologue (roswell)

Author: storydivagirl [at] hotmail [dot] com

Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to Jason Katims and such. Just a big fan, especially maria/michael fan.

A/N: My first Roswell story worth posting thus far. Feedback always welcome-the good, bad, and ugly. To keep up with my writings and such, I maintain a livejournal. My username = storydivagirl

Part One - The Prologue (Roswell)

Rarely, if ever, have I found myself in a particular situation where I knew how to listen to my heart. Even now, when the center of my world finally seems to have moved passed those rough times and my feet are firmly planted in the here and now, I sometimes have to let someone else close to me, someone I trust, tell me what I'm thinking. I don't trust my heart or my gut. It so frequently undermined my thought process, the little bit of prudence I have always managed to maintain, and I found myself acting out in preposterous fashion.

Like the time I set out to locate my friends. They were no more really, having long ago traded in their identities, their lives, for a world on the run, a world where I didn't belong. After all, I wasn't really one of them, no distinguishing marks or alien-like abilities. I was an outsider that had words like "better off" and "lucky" tossed at her, but feeling neither of those sentiments, feeling betrayed that these people who owned my world for three years were moving on without me.

"Maria, you need to decide what you want to do," Liz had told her.

"I know."

"You can have a life. A life I'll never get to have," Liz stated. She stated it like she was making the decision for me, like she knew I would be incapable of turning my back on her and Michael and the rest of them. She smiled weakly in my direction, hugged me, and said, "He wants that for you too, you know."

I smiled and repeated, "I know."

And that was how that went. They ran for the proverbial hills and I was left to make some semblance of a life that made little sense without my friends. It was a strange moment of depressing clarity, to concede that all those times when I convinced myself that I was independent and strong had been fabricated half-truths. I was a mere shell of a girl, a person who had to start over just like my friends, but without the foundation of support they all had in one another.

I regretted my decision an hour after the van departed. I drove recklessly down the Interstate, blasting maudlin music that articulated the emotions circulating through my veins, and I tried to find them. They had an hour start, but I was sure that I could catch up. Sheer will would propel me on at warped speeds until I stumbled upon their Mystery Machine with purple curtains and fixed things with everyone, joining them on the road to nowhere in particular.

It didn't happen. They were somewhere far away and I was still in Roswell, being followed, working the same wretched job with Liz's parents glaring in my general direction-wondering why I didn't stop their daughter from leaving, why did she go and I stayed, why, why, why-and watching my mother and Jim Valenti fall madly in love.

I tried to make a go of it, knowing that Liz had been right. Everyone wanted me to have that normal life that they were never going to have. I was their beacon of hope, but I felt so lost and confused. I would travel with my band on the weekends and check out the off-road bars, the seedy underworld of backwater towns, wondering if I would bump into them. I wanted to find Michael tending bar some place and locking eyes on me when I ordered a beer. I wanted to see Kyle fixing cars at the local garage when I stopped for gas in some town.

Pretty soon it became a game to me. I created worlds for each of them, new identities where I tracked them down and simply said, "I've been looking for you." I felt my legs move faster when I saw a man with Michael's frame or Liz's hair. I passed vans on the road, speeding up next to the car and meeting the furtive expressions of random hippie drivers, never one of my friends.

I started drawing sketches, imaging how they looked. Was Michael's hair short again? Had he grown a beard like I always told him he should? Had Liz decided to find out if blondes really did have more fun?

I reached out to them in dreams, but never to any avail, not even a trip down memory lane. I drove myself crazy, teetering on the brink of insanity, until my stepfather stepped in and tried to set me on a different path.

"Maria, you need to get out of here."

"Are you kicking me out?" I asked, turning over on my back and staring up at the white ceiling that was slowly peeling in the corners. In a melodramatic mood, I could compare my life to the fraying walls and corroding paint of my home.

He sat on the corner of my bed. I knew he felt uncomfortable acting as the patriarch to an already-grown girl who had lived too much and lost even more. He patted my leg, "You did the right thing."

I sat up, "What?"

"If we had lost all of you, if you went," his voice trailed off and I berated myself for how selfish I was. He had lost his son, the only family he had, and somehow he never broke down or let me see how much it pained him. He sighed, "It must be hard for you. You get to bear the brunt of this on your shoulders-the Evans, the Parkers, me, your mom-we all depend on you now. You're the link to the rest of them--and it's slowly killing you."

I shrugged. I wanted to hug him, tell him that I understood his pain, but at the same time a voice in my head pointed out that he had my mother, at least he had someone. I felt a surge of misplaced anger, that he shouldn't be so damn histrionic about my present emotional status. I bit my lips as the words "I'm all alone" slipped out. There was no one in this town for me, no one that I could even imagine allowing close enough to become a friend. I was a step away from wearing all black and reading existential poetry, maybe doing myself in like Sylvia Plath had with the kitchen oven.

"But that's not fair to you. I see that now. And you can't stay here, Maria."

"So you are kicking me out?"

"No, I think-your grandparents-your mother talked to them and they want you to come stay with them, maybe take some college classes. It's out East and maybe that will make it easier for you."

"I must be pretty bad off if my mother is talking to her parents," I muttered.

"She's worried about you. We all are. You shouldn't have to deal with this. The others-they're in danger, but they've got protection, they've got each other to count on, someone watching their backs. You don't have that."

"But I-I don't know what to do. What if they try to contact me?" I offered in vain. I knew that would never happen. My friends wouldn't put me in that kind of danger and I doubted they trusted me to be able to help them. I was never the brain or idea girl of our group, more like a lackey. Yet, for some reason, on those days when I got in my car and almost didn't come back, going off into the sunset to find a life of my own, I could never make it past the New Mexico border. A panic would swell in my chest and a nagging voice would scream, what if he needs you? What if he comes for you and you're not here?

I always turned around and when I drove up the familiar street of the town, I knew that I didn't have to worry about that. It was never going to happen. There was no Prince Charming or Michael, the slightly charming, coming to rescue me from my own self-inflicted misery. I'd holler at myself, punching the steering wheel and looking like a girl in the middle of a manic episode.

"They won't, Maria. You know that," Valenti replied. He tried to smile, like he could fix everything with a half-grin that reminded me of Kyle, and added, "You can't spend your life waiting on them. You need to move on."

"Right."

"And I think going out east would be good for you. A change, a different world from out here."

"But what about the henchmen? I still see them following me sometimes."

Valenti shrugged. He pushed stray strawberry hairs off my face and said, "That will continue for awhile, especially since they'll probably think you're meeting up with the others, but I'm guessing when they see that you're a dead end, they'll go away. One day, you'll have your life back."

I shook my head, determined not to cry, not to let the lingering after effects of his use of words, dead end, destroy me. There had been so many times that I had used those same words about Michael, so many times when I had managed to convince myself that loving him would lead nowhere fast. And I was right, but it was because of my own unraveling. I was one of those stupid girls, a stupid romantic comedy protagonist that didn't realize what she had until it was gone. I replied, "I'm not sure that I'll ever have my life back."

"I don't buy that for a second. You're going to have friends and love in your life."

There has only been you. You're it, Maria. I won't love anyone else, Michael had said before he drove off.

"I'm glad one of us believes that," I replied to my stepfather.

He patted my cheek, "We can't allow this to destroy us. They would want to know we were okay."

"You make it sound like they're dead."

He grimaced before replying, "Well, to keep them alive, we need to act like they are dead to us."

It was surprising to see how little I planned to take with me. I found myself trying to forget everything, forget my friends, by simply leaving my room behind. I packed some clothes, purposefully forgetting my blue sweater that Michael said made my eyes sparkle and the Saturday night boots that Liz and I had bought in a particularly girly mood. I shoved my guitar into my trunk and a few random photographs, leftovers of a life I no longer wanted, or maybe wanted, but no longer had.

I hugged my mother tightly, who kept stroking my hair and repeating that I needed to drive safely and stop when I got tired. "Boston is a long trip. Please be careful. Call if you need anything."

"I will," I promised before pushing my sunglasses on my face and waving tentatively toward my house. I checked my side-view mirror, taking in the presence of government rent-a-thugs and started my car. I made it as far as the New Mexico border, stopping right in front of the "Thank You For Visiting New Mexico" sign.

I hummed along to Matchbox Twenty and exited my car. I was never the type to do anything in a simple fashion. It wasn't in my nature. If I lost my keys, I didn't just lose my keys and mess up my own day. No, if I lost my keys, the world seemed to stop moving, with everything hinging on my one idiotic moment. The pressure of leaving this state behind me, driving a few more feet into Texas, filled me with such woe, such fear that I was ruining bigger plans, putting the people I loved in danger.

Of course, my friends would have been the first to roll their eyes and tell me to get over myself.

I sat on the side of the road, silently wishing my friends would drive by and find me. I envisioned it perfectlythe van wouldn't stop, barreling down the interstate when Liz noticed me on the side of the road. They would do a quick U-turn, never losing speed. The side door of the van would slide open and Michael would pull me inside, taking me with them on their next adventure. I chanted it to myself for minutes, convincing myself it was the plan, but after an hour of only passing trucks, I hopped into my car and started a journey of my own.

to be continued...