Jack City

Margie Fulham

It didn’t happen. I was looking forward to a long talk about my grandparents but as of today, it hasn't happened.

It’s been four days since my father showed me the seedlings growing in the open field next to the SCA building. The coincidence of viewing the same trees I saw hours earlier in a dream was a bit too much to ignore so I decided to heed the advice from the giant who gave it.

My dad and I were supposed to discuss my grandparents but he’s been working long shifts and coming home late. I’m betting his sudden overtime was planned to avoid me but I can’t prove it.

Here's a little story for you. D.B. Cooper was a famous thief from the U.S. that hijacked an airliner, demanded a ransom and parachuted out somewhere over southwestern Washington.  The name, D.B. Cooper, was given to him in error so no one even knows what his real name is...or was.

Anyway, he was never found and police claimed he died during the parachute dive but no parachute and no money was ever found so more than likely, he blended in with the masses and was never caught. The whole story is pretty cool but begs the question of how a man can go missing for decades. It also, coincidentally, leads into my next subject. 

Margie Fulham was difficult to locate. Jake and I spent three days pedaling our bikes through the cookie cutters hoping to see her walking somewhere among the rows of bland homes. I wanted to ask Kristina if she knew anything about Margie but I couldn't help but sense that inquiring information from Kristina was or could be risky business. I hated to think that way but just one slip of her tongue could bring calamity if she told her father.

On Thursday afternoon, Jake and I were taking a break, sitting on a sidewalk and drinking from our water bottles when we saw a petite, shy looking teenager walking very briskly as if she was avoiding someone. Jake tapped me on the shoulder and we jumped on our bikes, pedalling quickly towards her. Sure enough, it was Margie. We had planned well in advance to pretend we were only out on a bike ride and when we saw her we would act surprised.

"Oh my God," I said astounded, "Is that you Margie?"

Jake and I had parked our bikes a few feet in front of her and jumped on the sidewalk to impede Margie from walking past us. The girl looked at us strangely and I sensed she wanted to walk around but stopped out of necessity. One thing was certain; she had no idea who she was looking at. 

Physically, she had changed quite a bit over the years. She was not as petite close up as she was from a distance, which was momentarily intimidating. She looked kind of strong but her face and general appearance was still very mousey. I would say the obvious difference was that this once smiling, fun-loving girl appeared to be extremely introverted, as if she were a turtle living in a shell. 

"Margie,” I continued, "It's me, Amanda Cunningham. You used to babysit me and read bedtime stories."

She stared at me for a few seconds and for an instant I saw a happy glimmer in her eyes before she shut down and became a stone. 

"Yes, I remember you,” Margie replied. “You can’t be here, you should leave."

It was Jake's turn to try his luck. 

"Wow, I think you also babysat me when my mom went to work. I'm Jake Brossard; do you remember me at all?"

Hearing Jake's name didn't help us at all. If anything, it caused Margie to grimace and freeze. 

"You should go, they're watching us."

Both Jake and I surveyed the entire street and couldn’t see anyone. 

"Who is watching us, Margie?" I asked.

Margie tried to walk around us, clutching her handbag against her stomach. Jake had no desire to give up so quickly. 

"We thought you had left years ago, I can't believe you're still here," he said loudly.

This caused the timid girl to stop and face us. 

"What do you mean? I can't leave...no one can leave...we can never leave." 

She pushed Jake aside and rushed into one of the replica homes before we had a chance to get on our bikes and chase her.

Jake and I stared at each in total disbelief. The more we learned, the more we were astounded and perplexed. 

"What’s she talking about?" I said strongly. "I can go to Whitby whenever I please and you go to different hockey arenas all the time. She's just crazy...freakin’ fruit loop. Any of us can leave whenever we please."

Jake stood with one foot on a bike pedal and the other on the road. 

"Yes, we can but maybe they can't."