Wind Damage
© Stephanie Penn 2013-14
01. Stretch
. . . . . . . . . .
When I sneeze, a part of my soul escapes into the air. The particles travel faster and faster into the air, spiraling out and away. I used to watch them fly away and do nothing to try to get those pieces of my soul back. I used to not care.
But that was before I met her.
. . .
The earth’s heartbeat pulsed in sync alongside sneakers pounding on wet pavement. She, however, stayed still, as if waiting for a flat line.
She sat on the cold metal bleachers, fidgeting with her damp shorts and sweater that seemed to envelop her. Every once and a while she’ll look up and fixate on the runners passing by her, one by one, as if longing to be one of them. Then, as quickly as she looked up, she would turn away, as if repulsed by the notion, and went back to fidgeting and shivering. Sometimes she would stop and stay as still as possible, fighting the cold until she grew red faced from holding her breath. She tried so hard to desperately stand still, as if maybe time would stop still if she did, but her efforts were in vain.
Her slightest tremor shook the rickety metal bleachers that were so rusted over, the bench moved alongside with her from the exertion of pressure on the weak legs that barely supported the girl. It also squeaked like hell. My body tensed up each time she moved. It pissed me off like hell.
“Can you not move around so much?” I said. My voice slightly echoed, and a few runners turned to stare at the sudden outburst.
“Please,” I added much softer.
She jumped and whipped her head fast with wide doe-like eyes, making the thousands of water droplets that struggled to hang on the side of the benches plummet to their deaths. “Sorry,” she said and stood still again, her face growing redder as she held her breath once more.
Mara Meyers. Three months ago, she was a star student with the universal consensus that she was the best student that ever walked the school floors. Three months ago, she was a star athlete and had each team fighting over her recruitment. Three months ago, she was voted most likely to be the most successful person who even graduated from this crappy excuse of a hell hole disguised as one of the nation’s finest high schools. Three months ago, she had it all, and everyone wanted to be her friend, if not her. Three months ago, she was good at everything she touched and wouldn't be caught dead not participating in class, even if that class was gym class.
Today, she was everything but.
This year, she arrived at school a mess. Rumors indicated that she turned to drugs over the summer, like brother, like sister. I knew that wasn't the case.
As a child, little Mara was always running away when she saw her brother’s friends come around. Little Mara, always turning up her nose whenever she saw us around. Little Mara, already sworn off drugs after countless nights of helping out a drunk or all doped up brother get inside the house. Besides, Ian already had said that it wasn't drugs that turned her into this.
I sneezed. Loudly.
She jumped again. Her mouth formed an O shape as she began to speak, “Bless-“
I sneezed again. Her wide circular eyes grew even bigger. “Bless-“
I sneezed again for the third time. This time she quivered with distress as if she was the one who suffered from the aftershocks of sneezing herself.
“Bless you, bless you, bless you,” she screamed desperately, as if the world would crumble beneath her if I wasn't blessed for sneezing.
A few runners who looped around that track narrowed their eyes and scowled at her outburst.
“Sorry,” she whispered again. “Do you want my sweater?”
“Why would I want your sweater?” I said.
“Well,” she stammered, “Cold… You’re sneezing… Um, you shouldn't sneeze, and-“
“Why shouldn't I sneeze?” I said a little too loudly again.
“Sorry, I just thought that…” She went back to tugging on her now drenched sweater. It seemed like the sweater was wearing her rather than the other way around due to the stretching from the rain and her constant pulling.
“If I took your sweater, I would probably end up with pneumonia.”
“Oh.” She slouched and looked down at the sweater and shrugged. Then she sat back up, fixed her posture, and composed herself. Even when she was a mess, she was still trying to look presentable. Typical, perfect little Mara still existed.
“So, why are you here?” She said back in a normal tone.
“Excuse me?” I sputtered at the random boldness.
“Why. Are. You. Here?” She repeated slowly. It was like sitting up straight suddenly turned her back to her old confident self from three months ago. It’s amazing what good posture can do.
“I have this as a class?”
“No, I mean, why are you taking this class. Aren't you a senior? You should be done with gym already.” She stared at me with pursed lips as if she was that little girl again all those years ago who turned the cheek from Ian and me.
“Shouldn't you be done? You’re a junior.” I pointed out. Our school only required two years of gym, taken in our freshman and sophomore year.
She bit her lip and said, “I didn't take it as a class last year. The school let me take an extra honor class instead.” Figures.
She looked over to me again, “You never answered my question.”
“I failed the class. Two years in a row. Passed my first year but not the others.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie.
“You’re lying. It’s almost impossible to fail gym at this school” she said.
“Well I did it.” And ended up being the only student that failed the easiest second year gym course the school offered, not once, but twice in a row.
“You’re lying,” she said.
“I’m not. I don’t do the runs, and I never came to class.”
“I see you run around the city every day,” she said.
“Just because I run then, doesn't mean I run here.”
“Why not?” she said, her eyebrows furrowing as she tried to make sense of me.
“Because,” I said.
“Because what?”
“Because. I hate running?” I mustered up a half assed reply. She raised an eyebrow at my obvious lie, but didn't push it.
“I’m being rebellious,” she announced with vigor as if I asked her why she herself wasn't running today. No one skips out on the runs. You get full points just if you just walked the whole damn thing. Well, no one but me and apparently her.
“Rebellious?” I said.
“Yeah,” her eyes drifted to the runners, “I just didn't feel like running today.” The side of her mouth curled up slightly.
Mara Meyer. The girl who once shot for her goals so far up, but somehow ended up slowly falling further down from where she once started.
“Why are you like this now?” I blurted out.
Her smile quickly turned upside down. “Why are you like that?” she responded back with underlying tones of hostility.
“Like what?” I didn't mean to tick her off. The question just came out.
“Like… that! You… You aren't even like an average boy!” she said.
“Hey now—“
“Average teenage boys have friends—” she continued.
“I have friends,” I said.
“—and a social life, or at least some social life,” she furrowed her eyebrows even more and focused her sharp gray eyes, “And I don’t think only hanging out with my brother and his stoner buddies every once and while counts as a social life. Or friends.” Her face was contorted in an all-out brooding scowl now. I clearly hit a nerve.
The wind whistled as runners passed by, shouting out their names to the teacher hunched over her clipboard, substituting the lack of sound between Mara and me.
“Sorry, that was a bad question to ask,” I said. She went back to fidgeting with her shorts.
Mara shivered, a tremor shaking down from her shoulders to her knees.
“If you were going to skip the run anyways, why did you change into your running shorts? Or why didn’t you just not show up?” I said.
She nervously laughed and stuck her hands into her sweater sleeves. “It was more of a last minute decision. I lied. I’m not really that rebellious.”
“Well if you ever need spots to hide out from class, I know places you can hide where the janitor won’t find you and haul your ass back to class. If it weren't for me needing to pass this class to graduate, no doubt about it I would be skipping this class like usual.” She winced noticeable at my use of the word “ass.”
“Oh. Okay then,” The artificial heartbeat of the earth seemed to intensify the awkward in the situation.
“So,” she said, “how’s senior year?”
“What?” I said.
“I’m just trying to make basic conversation,” she said.
“Well don’t.”
“But-”
“No,” I cut her off.
The coach called us in, signaling the end of the period and saving me from an awkward conversation with her, thank God. I needed to ask Ian about her.
Hormones. That might be the explanation for her recent downfall.
. . .
“I’m going out,” I yelled out immediately as I dropped my bag off in the house.
“David! Is that y-” I slammed the door hard, putting an abrupt premature ending to her sentence.
Outside it was quiet. Quiet for a city, that was. The wind had a soft high pitch to it; the cars weren't emitting a dying sound from overwork, and the fresh air was clear for once, still recovering from its bath. The birds were chirping for once. It sounded more like a quaint suburb. It looked like a quaint suburb with the lined up pretty houses.
Only this was a city, not the manicured suburbs with their manicured lawns. One or two or three suburban look-alike blocks uptown weren't going to change that. The towering skyscrapers that made up the skyline faintly peaking up from behind the houses proved that. If you looked further behind the slowly dissolving skyline, you wouldn't be able to see anything with all the clouds and smog. The city shrouded itself in rolling gray clouds. The only thing that connected the isolated city from the rest of the world was a faint bridge out in the background.
I ran. I ran as hard as I could away from the false suburbia of the rich class citizens, away from the bleak park filled with families giving the sleeping bums stink eyes, and away from houses aligned in uniform. I sprinted all the way past the bleak stop sign that signaled the end of the block, and the end of the suburban isolation.
I found myself in the heart of the city. Downtown, the skyscrapers seemed even taller, rising higher than the sky itself. Business people walked briskly down the sidewalks with their fancy black suitcases and buttoned up blazers. Shiny silver fancy new cars filled up the street. All of downtown was silver and monochromatic, as if color was outlawed down in downtown. It looked all too fancy, all too clean. Likewise, my parents worked in this area. I hated it.
Near the edge of the city was the school, which looked extremely out of place with the giant red brick building standing stark against a sea of gray. The only thing that proved the school belonged with the rest of the area was the preppy, business-like fancy suits students had to wear.
I haven’t worn the actual uniform in its entirety since freshman year.
Past the school was the old part of the city. If you wanted to make it to downtown, you worked out here. It was tolerable. Brick buildings lined the streets, and semi-formal suits waited at the bus stops. The people here still had their personalities, still had what was left of their souls. They laughed and worked hard to attain success. The worst part of this area was the future. In a few years, all these laughing people would move up to the silvery hell of the business hierarchy; they would move up to the top and own their own cars and command people. Too bad they had to lose all of their likability to do so.
And then there were the projects. The ghettos. Bums, diseased pigeons, rats, and empty syringes littered the streets. Trash and food lined the alleyways, the sidewalk stained black. Empty lighters and cigarette butts always surround the benches around here. People need to learn how to use a fucking trashcan.
I also hated this area of the city. It was a mirror of despair, of the loss of ambition.
But Ian was here. People here were fun. They were funny. They were good to talk to. Ian lived here. He was the whole reason why living in this city was manageable.
. . .
“David. Wait up!” I heard the sounds of wheezing and coughing behind me. Must be Ian. I was near the apartment.
I stopped running and turned around to face him. He slowed down to a halfhearted jog before stopping in front of me, taking a full minute to wheeze and cough up a lung while doubled over.
“Yeah, smoking does that to you,” I said dryly.
“Well I’m not going to be running a marathon anytime soon, so I think I’m good,” he replied heaving and gasping between words. He looked down to my shoes and said, “David, you’re killing your shoes by running in them. Get some goddamn running shoes already.”
“These are my running shoes.” I pivoted and began to begin running again.
“Hey, wait a minute, would you?” Ian stood up and shuffled over, trying hard to keep up. I slowed down to minimal jog.
“Since when did you care for my shoes?” I said.
“Since the day you bought the last ones in stock the store, you dumb ass,” Ian replied.
“If you didn't spend all your money on that supposed ‘premium’ pot, you would have already had new shoes to care for yourself.”
Ian winced at the memory of the scam. “That screwed me over so bad. I was out for days. Oh well. Learning experience I guess.” He laughed heartily.
The thing is, with Ian, he may look like just another bummed out drug addict with no future, in fact he was, but his smile can light up the world. He was a good person. Drugs weren't going to change that about him. He could have gone places if he chose to.
“So, I talked to your sister today,” I said.
“What, Mara? You have class with her?” Ian huffed.
“Yeah, gym.”
Ian scoffed, “So how is she? Still as nosy as ever?”
“No shit, this is Mara we’re talking about,” I laughed.
His smile disappeared and his voice got soft, “So… how is she doing this year, you know, any other changes?” Ian had a soft spot for friends and family, Mara included, even though they haven’t talked in ages.
“Besides the obvious? Well she skipped a run today.”
“Just a run? Not just the whole day? It’s okay, baby steps,” he laughed nervously. We don’t talk about the bigger issue at hand, namely, Mara and her complete isolation from the world. We don’t talk about Mara at all. Mostly because she cut Ian out of her life after he moved out a few years ago.
“At least she’s still a little bit like herself,” I answered.
“Still nosy as fuck?” Ian’s eyes lit up.
“As fuck,” I agreed.
Ian stopped and bent over to catch his breath one more time.
“Oh come on, we didn't even get down the street yet. You’re getting worse at this Ian. Did you switch dealers again?” I joked.
“Always being out of breath is one of my reasons why I should quit,” he heaved.
“It’s not like you’ll quit anytime soon,” I said. Not with Judy around, at least, I thought. But it’s not like I would say that around Ian.
“Well not everyone can be like David Hayes over here. How does running make your asthma better? I don’t get it,” he said.
“Well I’m in shape… And you haven’t been in the last few years.”
“You know what,” he panted out, “I’m going to leave you… to do your running. I don’t want to… stop you. And hey man, be good to Mara for me.”
I turned around and sprinted off without a further notice. Ian probably didn’t want to go too far from the apartment, because he couldn't handle the walk back up the three flights up stairs without dying. I chuckled a little at the thought of Ian collapsed on the stairs and dramatically calling out for help like he was on the brink of dying, and picked up speed.
Be good to Mara for me. What did that even mean?
. . .
The rain picked up and started pouring down in a flash, making surface slippery, the mud extra soft, and the skyline dissolve little by little with its acidity. I've always hated the rain. It makes days seem even more dreary with its prolonged exposure to sick souls shrouding the city in a sea of failed empathy. Unfortunately for me, it rained all the time in this city.
The cold sank deep into my bones, chilling me to my very core.
I made it. I made it to the bridge, the outskirts of the city. I ran. I ran harder and harder and the bridge became closer and closer to me. I usually never go out this far out.
I didn't step on the bridge. I looked around to see if there was anything out there, anything stopping me from going forward.
And then I saw her. She didn't stand out, but she was there. If I hadn't stop to look, I would have ran right by to the next city and not notice her. She was there, looking out to the lake. Mara.
Oh shit, is she going to jump?
I stood still, waiting for her next action. She didn't see me, but I saw her. An obstacle, blocking me from moving and leaving this city.
After a few minutes, I decided to leave. I didn't want to be there, should she jump. It’s not like I wanted her dead, but I didn't want to be noticed by the news or anything.
Running back was always the hardest for me. I've always hated running laps around the school. You would run forward and forward, but before you know it, you’re running back to your original starting point. As if you have never left.
I started running back. Away from Mara and her potential disaster. Away from the bridge, away from my potential freedom. It hurt, but I had to.
Be good to Mara for me. Something stirred in me, and I turned my head to take a quick glance at the girl on the bridge. For Ian. To make sure she was still alive after that split second I turned my back away from her.
A split second is longer than you think. People can die in less than a split second. One moment they breathe and their hearts beating vigorously. The next moment, they’re dead, their hearts still as if that time before beating continuously didn't mean anything.
Mara was alive. She didn't jump. She stood still, her hands clenching hard onto the railing, frozen onto the folds of time himself. She didn't have an intention of jumping. After all these years of knowing her, perfect little Mara would never jump.
Only I didn't know her as well as I thought. No one could have predicted her downfall this year.
Mara didn't jump.
The rain battered on harder and the sound of rolling thunder became louder. Mara ended up picking herself up to go back home.
But I was soaked to my very core from the sudden strengthening of the rain. As I ran back home, I couldn't help but think that the sudden heavy rain was punishment.
Punishment for in that split second I turned my head and looked back.
I looked back.
It took a split second and I looked back.
Mara didn't jump.
But I looked back.
. . . . . . . . . .
[sorry for the inconsistency in the indention. It's just how wp converts it from Word]
Thank you anyone who has read this story, whether you like it or not. It's been a year since I have first uploaded the first part of WD, and I have since deleted it / merged it with this chapter. I've edited this slightly, and there may be grammar or spelling mistakes.
If any of you are supporting this story, I'm so grateful. I'm going to /try/ to not wait an entire year before updating this, but no guarantees. Please leave a comment with your thoughts and feedback. Negative or positive, I would love to hear how I can improve.
Thanks again to you all for reading this.
banner to the side is made by the lovely sociopathetic <3