SOLO ELITE THE GREAT AWAKENING
Chapter 12 A New Beginning

It wasn’t long before we started to fix up the house, and we were excited because the house would be beautiful when we were through—something that middle-class people like us could never afford. Mama had gotten the house cheaper than expected, but there was a lot to be done; it needed the Sheetrock put up, carpet or tile on the floors, and more, but at least she had found a good-paying 9-to-5 job, which meant that she would be home an hour or so after I got off the school bus.

The weird part was it seemed someone had bought all the materials and had begun construction and then abruptly left. Everything that we needed to fix up the house was already there: brand new doors and boxes of tile, stacks of Sheetrock and rolls of carpet plus the padding. Mama and I worked on the house every night after she got home from work, while Grandpa Chuck would drink his coffee and sweep the same section of the porch. It was the best part of my life now. Without Teddy, I was just sleepwalking through school, year after year.

Painting the front porch was the final project. Mama and I collapsed in the front yard, both of us covered in the overspray of white paint from painting the porch rails. It took a little over four months, but we were finally finished with the house.

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I started down the school hallway, not really making eye contact with anyone. I wondered to myself if everyone’s conversation centered on me. I know that was probably not the case, but it sure felt that way. I began to analyze my walk. Come on, Robin. Left and right. Left, then right. Before I knew it, my legs became entangled in an invisible wire. I bet my schoolmates must have been focused on my crippled walk, because their smiles seemed to get bigger with every step I took.

Finally I was at my locker. I made it. Good God Almighty, I made it! I did my best to stare straight into my locker and organize my books. It’s not that I was really OCD about organization, but the longer I stood at my locker, the more people left for their next class, the fewer people for me to deal with. As the sound of the voices became less audible, I slowly closed my locker door, all the while still staring straight ahead. My bangs covered most of my view, but I could still see that, in the corner of my eye, the coast was clear and that it was safe to leave.

At this point I had already mapped out the best escape routes to help me avoid contact with anyone. Under the blond curtains of hair I navigated to the stairway. A couple people were still in the halls. I could tell from the shoes that passed in my line of sight. Lunch was much the same way, only now I had the extra challenge of carrying my plate all while walking.

Even in the midst of this crowd of people, I still found myself alone again. Once more I was back to where I started, as an outcast, but only now an older version, weathered from years of hurt caused by my hands and others. I cried a lot and mostly at school and always unnoticed. The only thing that I had ever wanted was to belong, and to be loved and accepted. No one ever knew that I was in so much pain, but, if they were to lift up my veil of hair, they would see eyes scorched by the salt of my tears.

The thing is, I desperately wanted that, someone to give a damn and lift up my bangs and wipe away my tears. Mama loved me, and I knew that, but I was missing something. As satisfying as it was to hear Mama say, I love you, it was like a bathtub being filled with the purest love but without the plug in the drain. On the bus I would count the potholes to know when I was close to home, and, when my feet finally hit the gravel in the front yard, it was like a small victory.

April 14, 2010

It was the first school day of the week, and it had rained almost the entire time. On the ride home, rain continued to pelt the windows of the bus, but, when it idled at my house, the rain had stopped. I found myself roaming my home, bored out of my mind, as the sound of the rainwater draining from the roof could be heard in the background. Usually Grandpa Chuck would sit and talk with me, but the rain had put him in bed a little earlier.

I thought about how I used to explore my old backyard and how strange it was that here there were eleven and a half acres of land, and I had not even attempted to discover any of it. Even though we had fixed up the house, it was still not level, and the back door required some skill to open. I wrapped my shirt around the door handle to get a better grip and gave it a hard jerk, and it opened. Walking out on the old wooden back porch, I heard my shoes make a funny suction sound from the moisture left from the earlier rain.

Standing at the edge of the porch, I could see that the backyard grass had grown as high as three feet in some places. A rusted white metal shed was the only man-made object—other than the house of course—and it had been devoured by the weeds. Even the trees seemed to be overtaken by the grass.

Propped against wall on the back porch was a large stick that was knotted and would make a nice makeshift sword, so I grabbed it and used it to probe the ground in front of me as I walked in the high weeds, just to make sure it was safe. After taking my first step, it was a little squishy from the mud, and the grass matted down, but it was fine. I kind of liked that sort of thing. Between the old white shed and a large oak tree seemed like a good area to start the exploration of my new backyard.

I couldn’t move very fast because the grass was intertwined with itself, and the only thing that worked for me was to stab my stick through the blanket of grass and lay it over, so then I could step on it and press down a clear path. I had been so busy focusing on what was at my feet that I didn’t even notice the massive red barn. There was no telling how long this thing had been here, and it was obviously old. The barn had been infected with the moss that was also on the surrounding trees. Some of the red paint had bled through the moss but showed no signs of victory.

The thorns from some weed and the grass intertwined, covering the entire building that went up a good twenty feet. The door was to the right of me, and, strangely enough, it seemed to be double insulated with the thick thorny vines. I kicked at the bottom of the door, but each time my foot slipped because of the moss. The door flexed at my final kick, and the seal of the door peeled away and swung open. I then grabbed the stick and chopped at the remaining hanging vines of thorns.

With one glance I was instantly struck with déjà vu, and I immediately thought about something I hadn’t remembered in years. Even though the room was dark, I could still see from the little sunlight that found its way inside. This was almost identical to Adam’s house: a rusted red lantern on the ground, a fire pit in the corner and a small round table with a piece of paper softly flapping from the breeze. I slowly stepped on the dirt-covered floor and cautiously approached the table. I reached for the sheet of paper as my heart beat out of my chest.

When I heard Mama calling me in the distance, I paused for a moment and looked back in the general direction of the house, but I knew this sheet of paper could confirm for me that Kenosh and Adam were real, so I continued toward it. My fingertips touched the edge of the paper when a loud bang from behind me startled me.

I bolted out the door, scrapping my ear on a hanging thorn as the sting of the wind rushed past my ears. I stood still, in front of the barn, wanting to know if this was real, but, at the same time, if it was real, it would scare the hell out of me. Mama was on the back porch screaming for me at the top of her lungs. If it hadn’t been for her, I would have gotten a better look at the building that was a few feet in front of me beyond the weeds.

To keep her from worrying, I threw down the stick and ran as fast as I could. The path that I had carved seemed to grow longer with every step I took, but I knew I was getting closer by the sound of Mama’s voice getting louder. I rounded the corner and charged out of the jungle of dead trees and grass. “Mama, what’s wrong?” I said, while gasping for air and holding my left ear.

I don’t know why I seem to home in on objects that poke at my memory of Kenosh; maybe it was because my memories of that place were so strong that my mind refused to let it go.

Or maybe I’m just plumb crazy.

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