Part Two - Boston

I am nothing, if not a series of contradictions.

I knew it when I was sixteen and hooked up with Michael in the eraser closet at school, playing like I loathed him and wanted nothing to do with him. In fairness, I really didn't think I wanted anything to do with him, not on a daily basis anyway, not in that potential walks-me-to-class-holding-hands-and-saves-me-from-the-lunchline-Romeo manner.

That was never Michael.

That was what I always wanted. I wanted the Max, the romantic persona that swept a girl off her feet, the Fabio off a drugstore romance cover.

Again, never Michael.

I knew it when I was looking at Michael in the park that night, stars reflecting in his long hair-too long, having told him time after time to cut it (being Michael he purposefully grew it even longer, the Jesus Alien Complex)-and broke up with him. It was a strange, bemusing, agonizing moment. For once, I held all the cards in our relationship. For once, I was the one walking away. It was oddly comforting, but at the same time, all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around him. I wanted to stay where we were, hovering somewhere between the same 'ole, same 'ole and nowhere.

I wanted Michael.

I wanted him, but decided I couldn't be with him.

That day he left, that stupid day when I wished I was five again, when "take back" was a valid option, he had said things. Things I had waited our entire tumultuous relationship to hear, things he only seemed brave enough to say when he was leaving me or thought he was leaving me, things that mirrored the emotions that I felt rising off me like steam on a blacktop. I wanted to scream, "I know. Me too. Me too."

But I didn't.

Because I was furious. I was ecstatic and elated. I was in heaven-I was in hell. I hated him at that moment. Through everything, through his destiny with Isabel and stupid Courtney, I had never hated him until that day. I was so mad, so, so mad that he could do that to me, that after all that time, I was back at square one with him-him making big proclamations and running away.

Of course, I wanted to go with him.

Of course, if the opportunity arose again, some sort of Quantum Leap chance to fix things, I would go with him and my friends. I would swallow my lapse into logic, which never suited me anyway, and hop in the van with the rest of them.

Of course, that wasn't going to happen and I had to stop thinking like that. I had to stop thinking about him.

Michael would have been so pleased with the way he was affecting me. Had he been around, he would've smiled smugly and said something utterly annoying without missing a beat.

"You want me? Fucking, well come and find me. I'll be waitingwith a gun and a pack of sandwiches"

Radiohead reverberated through my car as I drove down the interstate. I was somewhere in the middle, having survived a night at some cheap motel with scratchy sheets and thin walls-too thin even when blasting Jay Leno to spare me mental scarring. I was tired, the local radio was hinting at possible tornados, something I had no knowledge of aside from the movie, Twister, and a Radiohead song was prompting me to check my wallet and mentally calculate how long I could roam the country on two hundred dollars.

"You want me? Fucking, well come and find me. I'll be waitingwith a gun and a pack of sandwiches"

If that wasn't a sign, I didn't know what was. Logically, one could say that I had purposefully picked a CD comprised of lyrics that dealt with finding someone in a bitter, non-committal way. But Liz was the logical one. Maria, dramatic. Liz, logical. We picked those roles when we were seven.

I wondered if anyone missed me. I wondered if our separation was as arduous on them as it was on me, or if I was merely a reminder of a world they had left behind. An ephemeral being linked to a place that sent them running.

I instinctively glanced out my rearview mirror and saw the plain brown sedan tailing me from a distance. It changed everything. There was no wayeven if I passed them on the road, even if I pulled over for gas and Michael was there, I wouldn't do anything. I would stay behind because that was the only way I knew how to protect any of them.

And this went on for the next two days-me, meandering through the prairie and the mountains with my friends on my mind and unable to convince myself that a new life was even possible. Somehow keeping my car en route to Boston and not stopping at every small town, every outsider-friendly metropolis.

I needed to look on the bright side. At the very least, I wouldn't be reminded of my friends with every turn I made in Boston. I wouldn't be stuck working in that blue uniform that never flattered my figure. I'd be free to discover a secret talent I never knew I had.

Maybe.

So I tried. I tried to be optimistic. That was what everyone wanted. I could feel it. Sometimes I swore I could feel him, urging me to do great things and start over.

When I arrived in Boston, I awkwardly greeted my grandparents. I found them oddly soothing, considering how my mother made them sound like bloodsucking demon parents, and even allowed them to rope me into a couple of classes at the community college. I had a room with ugly pink curtains that looked out on a park, late at night the small pond mirrored the neon signs flashing in the sky. I had a job at a record store, one of those too-hip-to-pay-well places.

Slowly, I started to find my groove, not necessarily a life because that word scared me. I feared the wrath of betrayal to my friends. I feared the pain of losing someone again. And this groove went day-by-day until one day I walked out onto the street and didn't see the familiar brown sedan. No henchmen, no further reminders.

It was done.

And, like the series of contradictions my life had always sustained, that was when it all started once again.

That was the day that I saw Jesse coming off the train. He was in an Armani suit, obviously making a lot more money those days, and swinging his briefcase in time with a beat only he could hear. He hurried into a local coffeehouse where I had occasionally played my songs and I followed him. I saw him pull out a picture, a picture of Isabel and flash it in the night manager's face.

I gasped and he spun around, obviously hoping I was Isabel and he would have some sort of reunion. I knew that feeling and smiled encouragingly.

"Maria?"

"Maria, are you hear to sign up for the next Open-Mike Night?"

"Not this time, Dotty. I will take a large black coffee to go though," I said. I pushed my hair back and narrowed my gaze on Jesse, "Hey."

"So they-are you looking for them too?"

"What?"

"I think they're here."

I pulled him aside and asked, "Are you still being followed?"

"No-one day it stopped and it worried me," Jesse replied. He sat down at an empty table and started fussing with packets of Sweet 'n Low, tearing them open and painting the table with the white grains.

I took a seat across from him and shrugged, "Jim said that would mean that they realized we're dead ends." I still winced at the thought and Jesse followed suit.

"The reason I'm scared is because they're here. They're here, Maria. Or they were here not that long ago."

"You keep saying that, but-"

"Someone broke into my house the other night."

"That could've been anyone"

"Someone who melted the locks?"

"This could be a trap, Jesse. Why would they come here? Why come to Boston? Everyone knew you got the job here. It wouldn't be safe."

"Or maybe it would be the safest place for them to be. Think about it," Jesse replied as he pulled out a file. It was filled with pictures of Isabel but computer-generated with different hair and eye coloring. He spread them out cautiously and said, "The people chasing them would think it was stupid to be here."

"You're basing this conclusion on a logic that I don't think any of them possess, especially Michael, and he's loud. He wouldn't want them anywhere near you."

"Have you heard anything from them?"

"No," I said quietly. I tried to play off the pain with another shrug, "I didn't expect anything."

"Isabel wrote me."

"What? When?"

"About four months ago, my mother got a letter and she forwarded it to me. The postage was from New York, but the details, the things she mentioned about my life, a life here in Boston, made me realize she had to be around. They were here at some point."

The thought caused my stomach to flip. With their abilities to change their appearance, I wondered if I had walked right by Michael. Had I passed him on the street on my way to work? Had I walked right past him without an iota of recognition while one of the Feds following me around detected him immediately? The idea that I might not even know him anymore struck me like a bat to my skull. I hunched over, hugging myself protectively, and whispered, "But that doesn't mean they're still here."

"What if the reason we lost our tails-what if they've been caught, Maria? What if they're waiting on us to locate them? What if they're waiting and we never come? Could you live with yourself if Michael died or Liz or Kyle--" he whispered.

"I get it," I snapped.

Dotty came over and put my coffee on the table. I pulled a few bucks out of my pocket and dropped it on the table. I stood up, forcing myself to forget bumping into Jesse and forget the adamancy in his tone when he suggested that the others were in trouble, that Michael was in trouble, well, in more trouble then they already were. I couldn't do this. I had never been the strong one. I was the girl that played strong, pseudo-bravery when she wanted to be included, but wasn't capable of carrying the fates of her friends' lives on her shoulders.

I studied Jesse, trying to silently speculate to his level of sanity, hoping that maybe he was simply missing Isabel like I missed Michael, like it was so intense at times that something had to be done, no matter how ill-conceived it was. I appraised his disheveled hair, stubble on his chin, and bags under his eyes. I sighed when I felt my body betray me and sit back down. I grabbed a sugar packet from his hands, dumped into my coffee, and drank it down without stirring it.

"So, even if you're right-let's say that the group of them came here. They decided that Boston was such an obvious place to be that they figured they were safe. Where do we start? You didn't have much introduction into the world of the Czechoslovakians-"

"What?"

I waved him off, "What I used to call themanyway, my point was that we have no idea where to start. FBI agents and private detectives hired by the Evans had no luck, so what makes you think that you and I could do this? I never even won a game of Clue and you want me to play bounty hunter?"

"The difference is that we can feel them," Jesse replied sternly. He leaned across the table, "Tell me you can't. Tell me that there aren't times when you think Michael has invaded your head and is trying to tell you something. Tell me that up until a few days ago you knew in your gut that they were okay. And tell me that those feelings haven't abruptly disappeared in the past forty-eight hours."

I took another sip of my coffee. My head was pounding like it was a balloon stuck in a windstorm, thoughts fizzling out with a slow hiss, and about to pop at the slightest touch. I mimicked Jesse's stance, leaning in until our heads were practically skimming one another, and replied, "I don't know. I figured I was imagining things, Jesse. I've spent the past eighteen months holding on to them like they were some damn security blanket! I thought that I was finally letting go, getting some closure, accepting that my life was separate from theirs."

Jesse stared at me for a minute. I realized that if he were Michael I would've known what he was thinking. Michael tried to preserve the notion that he was an unreadable force to be reckoned with, but I always knew what he was thinking. Every line on his face, every half smile, every blink of the eye, told me what was running through his head.

I wondered if Jesse was thinking the same thing about Isabel as I watched him stop staring at me and begin to gather up his files. He stuffed them into his briefcase and stood up. He extended his hand and shook mine firmly before making his way to the door.

I called out, "Jesse."

"I'm not giving up. I shouldn't-I shouldn't have let her go without me, but I did. Now I have to make it right."

"Maybe you did the right thing."

He rolled his eyes, "Does that help you sleep at night, Maria? Knowing Michael is out there somewhere, possibly hurt, but it's okay because you did the right thing?"

My fist shook with a fury that my mind hadn't processed yet. I stormed over to him and snapped, "Who the hell do you think you are? I'm trying to save you more agony, Jesse. You had little to no dealings with any of the," I lowered my voice and whispered, "Czechoslovakian situations that arose. You wouldn't even know where to start."

"Maybe that's why I found you."

I groaned, "Technically I found you."

"Fine, maybe you found me because we're supposed to find them. You're right. I doubt I could do this alone, Maria, and I know you hardly know me, but trust me. Trust that I really do love Isabel and I want her safe. Trust that I know that my gut is telling me something's not right."

"That's an awful lot of trust."

Jesse placed his hands on my shoulders. He stared at me, probably willing me to aid his pathetic plight, and said, "We could do this. You've got the experience and I've got the brains-"

"Are you insinuating I have no brains?" I quipped.

"That didn't come out right."

"I thought lawyers had a firm grasp on persuasive speaking. I'm pretty sure that they wouldn't want you to insult the jury members you were trying to sway."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know," I replied. I felt my hands tightening to the point that the blood stopped flowing to my fingers. I took a deep breath, trying to let it sink in, and added, "and fine."

"Fine?"

"I'll help you," I said, immediately regretting it and glancing over my shoulder. I expected to see my federal entourage back in all its glory, waiting for me to lead them right to the people I loved most in the world.

"Are you sure?"

I shook my head no, but replied, "Yes." I tossed my unfinished coffee into the trash receptacle and opened up the door. I walked out into the remnants of the day, with Jesse falling in pace by my side, and said, "We need some sort of plan. We can't go at this all willy-nilly."

"I wasn't planning to. I've got an idea."

"Okay"

"What are you doing tonight? Feel up to a trip to New York?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. He hurried up the steps to the train and I had no choice but to follow him. Again, I glanced over my shoulder, suddenly paranoid and fearful, and silently prayed that everyone was okay. I mentally willed them to wait for us, to hang on however long it took, and for good measure, I blasted them for dragging me into this once again.

to be continued...