Fiction

Part 2

You wake up in a white room. Not really a room, exactly, but it is a space. You think. You are there, so it must be, right? In front of you is a couch with a person on it.

I put my turn signal on and pull off of the pavement. I open my car door and breathe in the spring air. I see new leaves, green, on the trees, and potholes that I dodge and jump as I start skipping.

Perfection- it has taken over the lives of millions of teenagers.

Expectations of perfection from parents, teachers, guardians, random people you've never even met, classmates, friends, and even yourself. 

It was a small bracelet; it was black and braided rope, with the words “ I love you forever” on it.  My mom gave it to me on my 15th birthday. She didn't make a big deal about it. She just smiled and wrapped it around my wrist.

A month in the mountains. By yourself. What if someone comes to your camp? What if a bear attacks you? All these thoughts flooded her head as she pulled up to the bottom of the mountain. No buildings, all trees.

"How could you say that?" 

"The real question is, how could you disagree?"

I find myself retelling this story in the quiet of the night, blanketed by darkness. I know I shouldn’t be able to, but somehow the days come back to me in bits and pieces.

As he crossed the everdale Wyoming border, he had realized that the rain had been following him all along. Thomas was drenched in water as his suitcase was cracked and his business cards bled.

The lies are ready on your lips, practiced, you done this a thousand times, but you falter. You falter and shatter the illusion of truth.

Rori Acher is eighteen years old and dying. Any licensed medical professional would pronounce her perfectly healthy. But there are many ways to be dying that are not physical. 

It's 9 o'clock on a Saturday- 9:00 AM, that is, when Mom made lemonade for the annual summer party at our house. Fresh-squeezed lemonade. It is sitting in a cooler on the small table in the tiny house in our backyard.