Devil's Lake

7 - A Friend

I'm soaring on the wings of a crow, clinging tightly to its soft feathers as the wind rushes at my face and through my hair. Through the clouds, it soars, and I feel almost one with it. I am the tiny girl on its back, and I am the bird.

I caw as an enemy bird approaches, and then I dive at breathtaking speed to avoid a full on attack. I have barely a moment to recognize what lies below us until we splash down into water. The crow vanishes, and it is just me, a prisoner to the water, perpetually drowning.

But then a bare-chested Philip swims up to me and takes me into his arms. We kiss, and the pain in my lungs vanish. We sink till my back hits the bottom of the lake. Fish tickle my toes, and light barely reaches my eyes. Far up above me is the surface, a mural of the reality above it. Life above doesn't seem real. It is just me and Philip.

We are not in a lake at all. The mural above us is a piece of fine art pinned to the ceiling. The artwork on the wall are all underwater depictions, but the floor beneath us is still sand. He lies over me, caresses my face, runs his hands through my wet hair.

"Come back to me," he says.

I open my mouth to say yes, but then Philip is suddenly the crow, pinning me down with his sharp hooks. Other birds fly in through unseen windows. They attack each other, screaming horrible noises. Feathers fly everywhere.

I drown in a sea of feathers, happy and content.

"Yes, Philip. I want this."

"It's Alice, right?" Braydon's cousin, Jesse, shouts from across the picnic table.

I startle and release my left arm from the grip of my nails. I turn toward him slightly.

"Um . . . Alison," I say and turn my back toward him again.

The polka music continues to drown out most of the voices here. People dance around the outdoor floor, smiles, and laughter all around. It makes my insides cold. All these people. Why did I come?

Jesse's voice surfaces just barely above the music, repeating my name till he gets my attention again. I barely look his way.

"You were late," he says. "What happened?"

I blush. I'd been crying and hyperventilating? Took about an hour to calm down? Then I had to reapply my makeup to hide my patheticness? By that time, I was already late and had to convince myself that not coming was an act of avoidance that'd make my anxiety worse in the long run? "Uh—I came in from Madison. Weather's been horrible, hasn't it?"

"Yeah," he says. "Sure has. Storms have been nuts."

I smile at him because I don't know what else to say. Then I turn my attention back to the gallop-hopping of mostly old people and children swinging around the dance floor. Everyone's smiling and laughing. I feel slightly dizzy and like I'm edging toward an out-of-body experience. That's where your anxiety gets so intense, you feel disconnected from yourself. You become a self-observer and are amazed your limbs still obey your commands.

I grab my bottle of water and take a quick drink, hoping it'll help. Then, as I lower my bottle from my lips, I notice a figure standing just outside the shelter watching me. His face is unusually thin, his nose long and beak-like. Beyond that, I only notice the strange lightning design on his black Tee. It looks like a bird made of white light.

I notice Jesse is still talking to me. "—student there?"

I turn. "Sorry. What?"

He blinks a few times and frowns.