It felt odd driving through the sun-baked landscape in the dead of winter. I was much more accustomed to the frigid air and slick roads in Boston, so the clear roads and high visibility was both relaxing and unnerving at the same time. The few times I had exited my vehicle for gas or food in this area the air seemed to stifle all thoughts the second it hits. It was a dry and heavy heat that sapped any energy you had in your body and made the skin tingle like it was already burning. In the Midwestern and most Northern states you always here people complain about the bitter winters, but after this experience I think I'd rather die freezing to death numbly than burn alive and feel everything. It would seem odd that a Bostonian would travel so far south, or at least it seemed odd to the few gas station attendants who looked at my I.D. when I went to purchase cigarettes, and after awhile the notion began getting to me why was I here? I occasionally had to job my memory with the high school reunion invitation sitting in the passengers seat. Christian Springs High School, the bland high school in the middle of a bland town that I left years ago in my journey to be a journalist. It's hard to be nostalgic for a town that you vaguely remember full of people who vaguely remember you, despite being such a small town. Maybe it's because I didn't play any sports or actually bring the town any fame that they have scorned me in this way, but whatever the case may be I don't care. The closer I got to the town the more I felt this nagging notion in the back of my head that there was something I was leaving out of my mind about this town though. The only reason I really came was because of my mother's nagging and it's hard to ignore her and at 7PM on a Thursday I arrived at her door and smiled at the cheery woman who waddled out of our townhouse and down the driveway to hug her baby boy. I had been driving all day, however, so the tearful embrace was cut short and I took residence in my old room, untouched since the day I left.
The room was more unsettling than anything. It was like some shrine to a man that had long since perished, everything meticulously put into it's exact space and made into a tomb for my 17 year old self. I set my bag at the end of the bed and changed into some less ratty clothes then laid in bed staring at the ceiling. I tried falling asleep several times, but each time I closed my eyes I was jarred awake by a disturbing vision. I couldn't quite make out any images, it was like watching an old T.V. that had the antennas with a fuzzy picture and no distinct lines, but I could hear screams perfectly clear. There was no harsh humming accompanied with the T.V. image only screams. After the fifth try, I gave it up and shimmied out of my bed to search the house for some sleep aid. I shuffled out into the hallway pulling up my flannel pajama pants and glanced towards each end of the hallway. My head ached a bit as I trudged forward surveying some of the old photos that mom still had hanging on the walls and resting on bookshelves. Again this odd nagging feeling filled my mind as looked over the images, it all seemed to come from a place I'd never known and the longer I stared the more alienated I felt. Was there some sort of memory about Christian Springs that I had locked away? I knew I always detested this place, but maybe there was some sort of subconscious reason for it all. One picture began to stick out though, a simply framed photo from what seemed to be a prom-like event. The person on the right was easily identifiable being myself, but the girl I was with came up as a blank. She was a beautiful girl: fair-skinned, red-haired, pale green dress. It all made me wonder why I couldn't remember her, I assume she was my date to some kind of event. A feeling of self-hate and resentment began to well up at my apparent failing and in my fit my hands had clenched tightly enough around the frame to shatter the glass and I dropped it with a yell as I had cut my hand open.
"What's all the noise out here?" my mother's voice pierced the silence and worsened my headache with it's pitch.
"Sorry, I couldn't sleep for some reason." I smiled at her faintly apologetic, trying to hide the wound.
"Well now I can't either." she sighed and notice the picture frame on the ground, "Oh now don't worry about things like that, frames can be replaced." She plodded over and began picking up the pieces.
"Hey mom, who was that with me in the picture? I can't remember a name, it's annoying me that I can't."
Without sound she straightened up and walked off into the kitchen to dispose of the glass. I was just ignored by my own mother, is there some sort of conspiracy going on here that I don't know about? I followed her until I reached the pantry and fished out the first aid kit we had stashed in there and began wrapping up my hand. Whatever was going on here was worse than I thought, maybe my classmates would have some answers for me tomorrow. I ventured back and climbed into bed, finally being able to fall asleep albeit it wasn't a peaceful sleep. I was filled with images of violence and clamorous people screaming and shouting. They say you only dream of people you've met before, but again all the faces were blurry images of unfamiliar origin. I awoke in the morning drenched in a cold sweat and fought the urge to resign back to comfort of my bedding and got up making my way towards the shower. After the morning clean-up routine and getting dressed it was only 10:30 A.M. and the reunion didn't start until 5 P.M. Mom insisted I stick around and meet up with family before I had to leave again, but the thought of staying in that mausoleum any longer scared me more than anything that happened last night.
There wasn't much to do in town as I exited the car I realized this. It was a small enough town that you could walk it in a few minutes and only contained a few shops. Even so, just being out in the fresh air was enough to at least ease some of the discomfort. Since it really was the only option I really I had, I finished up the cigarette I had started when I left the house and began walking along the town feeling somewhat nostalgic for a change. I guess it was a nice change from the loud and crowded Boston, but I felt the hate I had for the town softly melt away. I had yet to see a single face that I could truly remember, but the vagueness of it all gave me good writing inspiration for when I went back home. The scene was somewhat peaceful and actually pleasant until I began to hear the sound of music in the background. It started with the low humming notes of violins and was soon joined by the rest of the orchestra, but there was no musician or conductor to be had when I turned around to investigate. For a reason I can't explain to this day, I simply began walking towards the sounds without any conscious thought about where my steps led me. After my short bout with delirium I found myself inside the High School Auditorium fully aware of myself now. The music has stopped and let every footstep into that dark hall echo endlessly as I went towards the center of the room glancing around as I went. What had led me here? Where did that music come from? I looked down and reached up to scratch my head, but had to stop my hand just in front of my eyes. There was a faded, but still visible, tan line from were a ring once was. I can't recall ever wearing a ring and I wasn't engaged yet the mysterious band didn't dissipate only burned into my eyes as I stared at it.
"So you finally came for our dance?" a soft voice called out behind me, but no face accompanied when I turned around.
I was about to reply to the empty air when everything started to come back. Even if it was only bits and pieces of a single event, their collective impact was staggering and I finally began to realize everything I had been feeling since I arrived: the nagging feeling, mom ignoring the photo, the reason everything was kept in such a sterile order in that room, the girl in the photo. Most people are moved to tears when overwhelmed with memories and feelings, but all I could feel was nothing. The sordid memories only began to re-solidify every reason I had for leaving this place. The faded band around my finger once held the place of a ring that was given to me by Amy, the girl in the photo. It was only high school, but we had dated for three years before we were to graduate and had made a promise to be married after that. The photo was taken at prom, but the photo couldn't contain the excitement in her eyes that so vividly penetrated my mind now. She had always loved dancing and bothered me to go with her, but I lack the proper coordination and never did. So, prom was the perfect excuse for her to force me into the endeavor. Unfortunately for the young couple the fates didn't like the idea so much and their prom was infiltrated by a group of escaped fugitives who thought a group of young high school kids would be the perfect hostage situation. Everyone was instantly frozen in fear and I was too until one decided to advance upon Amy. Then in a display of overwhelming stupidity I tried to stop them myself and in the scuffle, I was shot twice and knocked out which explains some previously unidentified scars. What I later learned in the hospital was that however brief my moment of valor was it allowed a few to escape and contact authorities, but not before lives were taken. Without her first dance Amy died alone, scared I was dead as well, and even in death I could not comfort her any longer because I had the unforeseen luck to survive. I hated myself after hearing the news that I began my plans of leaving immediately and wanted to never come back to this place. The self-hate began to fill me again, if I had only stayed put then maybe we'd have survived, maybe this would have only been a dark spot in the fairy tale you know that dark part that all fairy tales contain, but are left out for the kids sake. It came to a boiling point where my only reaction to all of this pain and anguish was...to dance. I had taken some lessons since then, never knowing why, and the music began to fill the room again.
"See? It's not that hard is it?" Amy's voice came out again and I began to see her in front of me, hands intertwined with mine. Once again, I could feel her skin against mine and hear her voice so pure and light.
"But this...this isn't real" I stammered struggling for words.
"Sure, I'm not real," she looked up at me with a faint smile on her pale lips, "But this feeling is."
"All I can feel is hate and pain, Amy I'm so sorry." I stopped dancing and looked down at the floor.
"Shhh," she cooed and I could feel her embrace me, "Just be quiet and dance. It's my turn to comfort you."
And so I returned to dancing with her, "If I had just stayed put we'd still be together."
She smiled again, "I never left, I've been with you locked away until you could remember everything...and forgive yourself. Because of you many others were saved."
I could feel her hand cupping my check and I sighed, "And yet somehow that only feels like a small consolation compared to what I lost."
"You only lost the physical me, now that you've accepted what happened I'll be in your memories, it'll be like all the cheesy love stories you used to write." she said.
I laughed a bit, unable to help myself, "You always said you loved them though."
"I do and I'll always love you. It's about time you did the same." she said in a more serious tone.
I smiled a bit then nodded and with that all the music and dancing stopped simultaneously. I was alone again and sighed wondering if I had just snapped and gone insane. I walked back outside slowly and hoped Amy would return again, as much of an illusion as it was the scenario still felt all to real. I stepped outside into the fitting weather of wind and rain. The drive back home seemed to take longer this time knowing it would definitely be the last time I came back down. Amy's spirit would always be here and I didn't want to face it ever again, after all I'm really not that much of a dancer anyway.
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