What I Can't Recall

I sink fast, and before I know it I'm totally engulfed in water and need to breathe, badly. Everything around me seems dark, even though my eyes are open and it’s day time. I can’t place it, but there is an eerie feeling to drowning. Death, I suppose, if that counts as a feeling. I try and swim upward with my one good arm, but it seems to be impossible.

What is it with me and life or death situations? If it was possible at the moment, I would sigh. I can’t believe I’m going to end up dying at John F Thompson Memorial Pool. What a way to go. I try once more to swim upward to no avail.

I look around, panicking. There's no way out of here. The chlorine is burning my eyes, and I'm beginning to see purple. My throat is burning so badly, I feel as if I've swallowed ten tons of salt and it all rubbing against the inside of my throat. My lungs are begging me for air.

So, finally, I give up. I just let go; as if none of it matters anymore. That’s what I tell myself: life isn’t worth all of this. The prospect of death should be welcoming.

Death. Death is simple.

When you're dying, nobody expects anything of you. Nobody is constantly demanding perfection of you. Everybody understands. They know what it means to die, and for a moment, they understand you. They feel for you for a moment, but then move on to something else. Nobody's eyes are on you anymore, watching your every move, if you’re dead.

Everything starts to go black; fade away. At first it frightens me; but then I once again tell myself life isn’t worth this anyways. I let myself fall into darkness until I'm surrounded by big black nothing, I feel at peace with the world, I feel as if everyone understands...

Then, I feel some strong hands wrap around me. They pull me up towards the surface, up towards the wonderful air. The wonderful, wonderful air! They lie me down on the hard concrete; somewhere in the process of being brought back to surface, my eyes have closed. I feel a warm hand checking for a pulse, and hear whoever in belongs to sigh in relief in finding I still have one. “She’s okay,” he calls out loudly. I can definitely tell he’s a he now, his voice is deep. He drops his voice a little, leaning closer. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” I barely manage to get out, struggling to open my eyes. I take about ten deep, painful breaths before doing so. I look up to see a shocked Ellie, a confused Jason, Seth, and Derrick, a mad Bryler, a jealous Kaylie, and a betrayed-looking May.

My rescuer, my savor, is none other than Jake Spencer.

I like there; my mouth agape, taken aback by the fact that he's the one who has saved me.

He is totally soaked; and he jumped in after me with all his clothes still on him. His black hair is dripping water and sticking to his forehead, his shirt and jeans are clinging to him tightly, and he looks exhausted; he's breathing heavily. It’s strange seeing Jake in these conditions, but it surprisingly doesn’t take from his attractiveness as much as you’d think it would. In fact, it seems to add to it.

Jake is undeniably eye-catching. He'd probably be a big-time popular at school; have all the girls all over him, if it weren’t for the fact he is pretty much a loner. That and I think he might scare some people with his wardrobe choice.

He wears a lot of black, for one. Tight black jeans, black T-shirts, black wrist bands, black converse. He dyes his hair black as well, to add to the whole ensemble. He mostly keeps to himself, he seems to always have that black iPod of his in his ear; blasting weird and unfamiliar music. A lot of people would call him 'emo', but as far as I know, he doesn't cut himself. He’s just a guy who likes his alone time, and seems to pretty much hate all other living beings.

Jake has always been one of those mystery guys to me. I mean, why be a loner when you're rich, attractive, everyone seems to want to be your friend, and you can have pretty much any girl you want? It’s not the type of background you usual see with people from his social group.

And while we’re on the subject of strange things he does, why come to a pool- in jeans and a long sleeved shirt- if you really don't have anybody to hang with, and don't like to tan or swim?

“Um, thanks-” I manage to choke out, still having a little trouble breathing. I push my hair out of my face; it’s dripping water down into my eyes and making them hurt more than they already do.

“No prob. You hurt?” He asks, seeming to try to keep his words to a minimum. It seems to me almost like he’s afraid that if he talks too much, he’ll give something away. Reveal a little too much. I can tell straight-off he’s one of those secretive-type guys.

“Nah, I'm fine,” I say, not able to take my eyes off of him. The concerned look on his face is sort of mesmerizing; something I can‘t seem to look away from. Maybe it‘s mostly because I’m surprised that I’m worthy of being concerned for in his eyes.

“Um, you sure about that?” He asks hesitantly, eyeing my arm suspiciously.

I follow his gaze to see that my bandage has come completely off, which is hard to believe. How could that have even happened? I’d had it wound up so tight, and all I’d done was go in the water for a little bit. I sigh. The gash on my arm looks really gross and like it might be bleeding. Well, that's just marvelous.

“Um, okay, so maybe I'm not as fine as I thought..” I trail off, as I begin to feel a little bit of pain in my upper arm. I quickly take my hand and cover it.

“Here, let me drive you to the hospital,” he offers, seeming to know that’s the kind of treatment my wound would require. “I’ve got nothing better to do, and it’s on my way home anyhow. Sorta.” I know this is a total lie, because I know where he lives. And it’s not in Springfield. It’s here, in Ludlow.

Before I can decline- which I was fully planning to do, once getting over all that he had said. That was the most I’d ever heard come out of his mouth the entire time I’ve known him- he sweeps me up off my feet and starts carrying me towards his car. Bryler looks at me concernedly as we make our way out the gate, and I shoot him an apologetic smile, unsure what else to do.

“I can walk; it's my arm that hurts,” I point out to Jake, in hopes of him letting me down so I can walk by myself. Him carrying me makes me feel oddly like a young child, and I don‘t really like the feeling. He continues on walking as if I hadn't said a single word.

Once we get to the parking lot and reach his car, he sets me on the hood and unlock the doors. He’s got a rather nice car; one of the best you could probably see in a town like ours. He had to drive to the dealership in Boston to get this baby, for sure. It’s a cherry- red mustang convertible. Something I never thought I’d get to see in my lifetime. I’d always known Jake was rich, but I hadn’t know he was this loaded.

He opens the passenger side door and then sets me inside carefully, and I can feel my sore brush against his leather seats. I hope I don’t get blood all over his car. He then proceeds to buckle me in- as if I don't know how to do it myself- and shuts the door for me as well. You’d think I was some incapable little child. I sigh.

He walks around the car slowly, seeming to take all the time in world for some reason. Once on the other side of the car, he quickly gets in; as if he‘s suddenly now in a rush. After setting down in his seat, he turns around and rummages around in the back seat, looking for God-knows-what. It feels like forever before he emerges back into the proper seating position, and hands me an old shirt. It’s black- no surprise there- and has many holes in it and paint stains covering the front.

“Put pressure on your arm,” he instructs me, as pulling on his own seat belt. I sit there for a moment, but he stares me down with a cool glare until I start to wrap it around my arm. As soon as I’m holding it securely around my arm he starts the car.

“Ready to go?” He asks me, though not a necessary question. I just nod “yes” in response.

We sit through the seven mile ride to the hospital in Springfield- not the closest one, but the one that’s nicest - in silence, the only sound the barely audible tune of a song. Jake has on his radio, but it’s nearly turned down all the way. I can’t make out words or voice, I can just barely hear the soft hum of the melody. I wrack my brain for something to say, but fail. I begin chewing on the inside of my cheek; I hate awkward moments. But I’m saved by us pulling into a parking space.

Once we’re completely stopped, he gets me out of the car and proceeds to pick me up and carry me again. It's rather embarrassing, actually. Everybody is looking at us like... well I don't even know how to describe the look. I guess how anybody would look at a soaking wet guy dressed in all black carrying and girl in a white-with-blue-polka-dots-bikini that has a blood stained T-shirt wrapped around her arm.

Jake carries me over to a chair in the waiting room and sets me down carefully.
“Finally,” I mutter, glad to be seemingly independent. I hated having to rely on someone, or even appear as having to rely on someone. Composer is everything, and I want everyone to think I‘ve got it all together and I‘m doing fine on my own.

It can't help but gag at the smell that looms in this place; disinfectant. That and that pathetic, sickly people smell. I imagine that’s what death smells like.

Jake walks over to the receptionist and talks to her for what seems like forever, the whole time dripping, leaving a huge wet puddle on the floor that I can‘t pull my eyes away from. It‘s bothering me immensely.

Finally, Jake finishes up with his story, and him and some other people walk back over to me, pushing a wheelchair. He sets me inside and some random guy in scrubs proceeds to wheel me off to the ER, Jake walking along-side me.

I feel like screaming at everyone 'I can walk! My arm is the part of me that hurts!', but I don't think anyone would care or take notice. Everybody's just lost their mind today. I guess it's nothing I can control. So I just shut up and try my best to enjoy the ride.

I look around the hospital walls, looking at all the pictures little kids have drawn just blurring right by as they rush me down the hall. I can’t help but notice a little girl standing the doorway of some room. She looks to be about four or five and doesn’t have any hair left on her little head. I frown, and tell the nurse- I assume that’s what he is, anyways- to stop for a second. He lets go of the handles on the back of the chair, and I wheel my way over to the little girl’s room’s doorway. She stands there looking frightened, but not saying anything.

“What’s your name?” I ask her curiously, smiling warmly, as I look around for clue of what it might be.

“Sally,” she says with a slur. She’s missing her front teeth, and she looks pretty darn adorable. She’s clutching a frayed-looking teddy bear to her side with her left arm, and her hospital gown has Winnie the Pooh all over it.

“Hi Sally, I’m September,” I tell her slowly, looking straight into her eyes as I do so. They are a never-ending brown, like a pool of chocolate. They are quite pretty; eyes some people would die for. “You ever get lonely here?”

She nods her head. “My momma said I’m gonna get out real soon, though. As soon as I’m done recoverin’ and I’m all better.”

“Well that’s good,” I say with a smile. “Hey, I’ll tell you what. How about next time you want someone to just come here and maybe play a game with you, you give me a call, okay?”

“Okay!” She says excitedly, smiling so I can see those missing teeth again. “But I don’t know your number. Do you think my momma does? She knows a lot of people‘s numbers. She keeps ‘em in her phone.”

“Your momma probably doesn’t know my number,” I admit, laughing a little. “But is she anywhere around? I could tell it to her.”

“She went to go get a nurse,” Sally explains. “But she’ll be back soon, I think.”

“How about this,” I said, “you let me write it on your hand, and when your momma gets back, tell her the deal we made. Don’t hesitate to call me, alright?”

“Okay, September,” the little girl says, rushing off into her room to go get a pen, I assume. She returns with a green Crayola marker in hand, and I smile a little bit. I take it from her, and write my number in bold letter on her hand.

“Don’t forget,” I tell her, as the nurse walks over to once again get a hold of the handles so he can push me.

“I won’t!” She promises, making her way back into the room, looking decently brighter than before.

“That was really nice of you,” the guy in scrubs comments, a smile on his face. “We need more people like you around here.”

“Yeah,” Jake mutters in agreement, a puzzled, disorientated look on his face. I could tell he could hardly believe what I’d done, it was written all over his face. Maybe he thought me to be a mean person or something; I wouldn’t put it past May to make me sound that way whenever she talked of me around him. And surely she did sometime or another. They were related, after all, and she really did hate me. She had to have someone to bitch to about it.

Once finally inside the room, awaiting a doctor, Jake and I do nothing more than sit, letting the silence engulf us. The clock seems fills the silence, though, with it's constant and steady tick, tick, tick. I wonder how many tocks it will tick before the doctor arrives in the room.

I am left all alone with my thoughts, which seem to wonder to another time. Sitting in this room in the ER, next to Jake Spencer, my mind brings itself to the memory it can connect Jake to, a memory of a rainy day two years ago, in late October.

“September, where did I put my-,” Mom started to ask me, looking rather frazzled as she turned her head in every which direction.

“On top of your dresser,” I said, knowing full and well that Mom was looking for her keys.

“And what about my-”

“On the kitchen counter,” I interrupted once again, as I envisioned her coffee cup, sitting there next to the roll of knocked-over paper towels, carelessly tossed onto our new counters, the ones we‘d only gotten last year.

“What would I do without you?” She asked.

“You'd never make it anywhere on time. Speaking of which, you need to leave now or you'll be late. Again,” I said, as she walked through the door into the living room, where I was lying on the floor, running my tongue over my teeth. I handed her her wallet, and she leaned down and kissed me on the forehead, probably leaving a lipstick-lips mark. I made a mental note to wipe it off later.

“You sure you'll be okay here alone all day? It's such a gloomy day outside,” she noted sadly, looking out the circle window above the kitchen table. Mom wasn’t the type that liked to be kept inside, that much was obvious. The rain always got her down.

“I'm sure, Mom. I hadn't been planning on doing anything outside today, anyways. I've got some homework to do,” I lied easily, something I rarely ever did. I was the responsible one, the one who took care of everything. The last thing that ever crossed my mind to do was lie.

“Well, if you're positive... what time will Bryler be over?” She asked, flipping the wallet over in her hand to look at the other side of it as if it were the most interest thing in the world, though she’d seen in thousands of times. It was simply her name, etched onto the back of it.

“Whenever he wakes up, I guess. You know him, never awake before ten on a weekend. Oh, wait. Don't forget that you have a dentist appointment this afternoon at four. Make sure you brush your teeth before you go. Okay?” I asked, concerned. Last time she’d ended up with a cavity.

“Okay, okay, okay,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Sometimes I feel like your the mom and I'm the child.”

“Yeah, me too. Especially on Sunday mornings while you watch cartoons and I clean the house,” I said with a smile. She knew I was just teasing her, though.

“Love you,” she said with a laugh as she walked out the door.

“Love you, too,” I called after her.

I looked around the house for a minute, after she'd left. Even though it wasn’t quite even winter yet, it felt like Christmas. It smelt like a combination of gingerbread and fire wood. It was really warm, because I was sitting in front of the fire. The slow snow fall outside made it feel even more so like the holidays. I knew that soon enough I’d have to start getting out the decorations. I hoped to put up the Christmas tree on a day Mom was gone; all she ever seemed to do was make a big mess of things. A mess I had to clean up myself. It was best to do things I knew were going to be a catastrophe when I was on my own.

I sighed and got up, making my way to the kitchen table, which I pulled out my backpack out from under. Unzipping it slowly, I tried to remember what all homework I had. A flashback of Mrs. Peytson’s annoying voice echoed in my head; “Page one-eighty-two, problems one through twenty, thirty-seven through forty, forty one through forty two.”

I pulled out the dreaded math book, and started to work on my much-dreaded Algebra homework, and before I knew it, I heard a knock at the door. I looked at the clock, which read ten forty-five. It figured it must have been Bryler.

I pushed myself up out of the wooden chair, using my hands by pushing my palms against the cold wood. I shuffled slowly across the hardwood floor, through the dining room, through the living room, and to the front door. I unlocked the lower lock first, followed by the heavy-duty top bolt, and then placed my hand carefully on the cool, golden handle. I turned it slowly, opening the door to see Bryler... accompanied by Ellie, Jason, Seth, Liz, and Derrick, who were all decked out in warm clothes. In the midst of doing my algebra homework, I'd forgotten completely about what we were doing today.

“Uh...one minute,” I said, closing the door, and rushed upstairs as fast as I could to my room. I took a left once reaching the top of the stairs, the only direction you could chose. I threw open the door to my room, rushing in and not even bothering to close it. My floor was littered with tons and tons of dirty clothes, the comforter was laying directly next to the bed, and there was an array of books, CDs, makeup, and other random junk scattered across the floor as well. I picked up a purple long-sleeved shirt off my floor, and quickly threw it over my black tank top. I was very hesitant to exchange my comfy, navy sweatpants for jeans, but I did nonetheless. I grabbed a gray bag, and threw in the items Bryler had requested much earlier; two flashlights, a camera, and a pair of binoculars. On the way out of my room, I grabbed a jacket on my way out of the room, and an old white scarf as well. I wrapped it around my neck tightly as I made my way back down the stairs, finding then lot of them all standing in my living room.

“Okay, I'm ready to go now,” I told them, making my way out into the wet, cold outside world without waiting for their responses.

They all followed quietly after me into my backyard, and I suddenly felt very conscious as to the fact that I had no idea where I was supposed to be leading them. I let myself fall behind a little so that Bryler was the one leading us straight into Ludlow Woods.

As we made our way through the falls trees, bushes, and other forms of underbrush, I wondered why Liz- Seth's little sister- had come with us, but I decided to just go with the flow. There was no way she'd rat us out; she was lucky to be hanging out with us, since she was only an eighth grader and we were in high school. The soft crunch of my shoes on what little snow happened to be sticking to the ground was starting to bug me, but I tried to block out the sound.

After twenty minutes of walking, we reached the huge house. That’d I’d never seen before, but heard about many times.

“Everybody know the plan?” Bryler asked.

Everybody nodded their heads 'yes' in response.

“Okay, good, let's split into groups,” he said,” Seth, Liz, and Derrick will be in charge of cutting the power when we give the signal. Ellie and Jason, you guys are in charge of getting the picture,” he said, tossing them the camera out of my bag, “and September and I, we'll take care of the rest.”

“What's the signal?” Liz asked.

Bryler handed her the binoculars, as if that gave her all the answers. She looked at him a moment before he sighed and began to explain.

“I'll turn the flashlight on and off three times. Make sure you're looking over at the front window,” he says, “okay, now, let‘s do this thing!”

Everybody broke apart and Bryler and I snuck over to the front porch, then ducked behind the shadows. I handed him his flashlight and got one out for myself as well, so I wouldn‘t be left in the dark.

“Okay,” I started, leaning close so that I could whisper it in his ear, “so what now?”

“I'm going to flash the light three times. I'll run inside. Then, you count to one hundred. On one hundred jump out from behind the shadows and scream 'gotcha'. Okay?”

“Got it. Remind me again why we're doing this,” I said, a little confused at the point of all it. I was beginning to think that one of the many things the seniors said about freshmen was true- they pulled the stupidest pranks. But hey, you only got to be a freshman once in your life, so you’d better screw it up right the first go around.

He shrugged at my question, probably understand himself how lame it was, but not wanting to admit it, and said, “Because we're bored, we hate them, and we haven‘t done anything incredibly stupid this year. Those seem like three good enough reasons for me.”

I started to let out a soft laugh, but Bryler put his hand over my mouth, trying to stop the sound. My heart sped up at his very touch. God, I had it bad.

“Shhh,” he said, gently placing his index finger from the other over his soft lips. Then, with his hand still over my mouth, he flashed the light three times towards the front window. The power went out, and I heard a scream. Bryler released my mouth and then went running inside the house. I started counting silently.

On ninety-six Bryler ran by and into the woods. On ninety-seven, I heard someone walk out the door.

On one hundred, I jumped out and scream,

“Gotcha!”

But, for some reason, Kaylie and May didn't scream. For some reason, it wasn't even Kaylie and May. It was Jake Spencer.

Now, it was beyond my imagination why in the world he was over at May's house. Some things just can't be explained easily.

“I think this is yours,” he said, handing me the flashlight Bryler must have dropped.

“I-I…Uh...”

I had no clue what to say, for what seemed like the first time ever. We never went over what to do when, instead of two terrified girls, you came face-to-face with an hot guy looking at you like you were mentally retarded.

Jake simply turned around and went back inside. I stood there for a moment, but then started to walk the walk back to my house all alone. Seemed to me like everybody else ran away, leaving me there. What wonderful friends.

Halfway back to the house, though, I ran across Bryler, looking around, panicked.

“There you are!” He exclaimed. “I've been looking everywhere for you! I thought I was going to have to go back and find you, and that idea wasn‘t seeming so great.”

“What,” I asked sarcastically, “did you think Jake was going to turn me into his lunch or something?”

“No,” he said, “I just... I don't know. I was worried about you. You could've gotten lost or something.”

“I'm a big girl, Bryler. I can take care of myself,” I said, though I didn’t really mind that he was so worried over me. I found it kind of sweet.

We walked slowly the rest of the way home; talking, trying to figure out why Jake was there. Once we got to my house, after doing a little research, I discovered that Jake is May's step brother. Something it seemed that nobody else at the time knew.

Sitting here next to him, I can't help but feel bad for what we did. Especially after he just saved my life. I guess we didn't do anything too terrible to him; it was one of the lamest pranks I‘ve ever pulled, actually. But what do you expect? I was a Freshmen then. All Freshmen are stupid, therefore by extension their pranks are as well. We probably did ruin his Saturday morning, though.

After what seems like an eternity and a half of sitting in the room with Jake- not saying a word the entire time- the doctor comes in. Dr. Neal, his name tag informs me.

He looks like one of those doctors who might actually do something fun on a Saturday night. He has a full head of blonde sun-streaked hair, piercing blue eyes, and a nice smile. He's not immensely overweight, or awkwardly tall. He doesn't look like he's never seen sunlight, or that he's never laughed before. He looks like an average-joe, okay kind of guy.

“Hello, Miss-,” He says, searching through his computer database for the name Jake must have given his.

“You can just call me September,” I tell him, trying to save him the trouble.

“Okay then, September, I'm Dr. Neal, but you can just call me Ian if you like. What seems to be the problem?” He asks, raising his eyebrow. I assume it’s because of the fact all I'm wearing is a bikini, and a T shirt which is wrapped around my arm.

“Okay, Ian. Well, I was at the pool with my friends, when I kind of got pushed in. You see, I'm not supposed to swim or anything, and I must've scrapped my arm on the side of the pool when I fell in or something...,” I say, unwrapping the T shirt, to show him the wound.

“Wait a minute,” he says looking at my arm carefully, his eyes narrowed. “September. September as in September Day?”

“Yeah,” I respond kind of sheepishly, inwardly groaning. I hate it when people made a big deal out of the whole thing, as weird as this might seem, it’s embarrassing.

“Why didn't you say something earlier? You would have been moved way up on my priority list if I had known you needed immediate attention!” He says, an alarmed look on his face. This is what I hate so much. How everyone is always so concerned about me, how everyone is always making a big deal over everything I do.

“I didn't want to, you know, make a big deal out of it or anything. I'm sure other people here needed your help and I should have to wait my turn just like they had to,” I say, making what I knew was a good point. There were other people besides me in the world. I wasn’t the only one with problems.

“Other people don‘t have a gunshot wounds in their arm,” he replies, sounding kind of panicky.

“It isn’t even really that much of a gun shot wound, though,” I argue. “It’s more like a bullet kind of barely sliced it’s way through the top layer of my skin.”

Jake raised an eyebrow; probably starting to wonder the same thing that everybody else did: If who-ever-the-heck-killed-my-mom had gone to the trouble to shoot me, why wasn’t I dead? It could of so easily been done. I was passed out cold; I couldn’t have run away or anything. And then there would have been no witnesses. The thing is, I don‘t know anymore than the all of people who keep trying to ask me.

“How in the world did you get out the pool, anyhow? Records say last time you were here you were still having trouble moving it,” he says, looking at the small laptop that he’s balancing on his forearm.

“I pulled her out,” Jake speaks up, holding up one finger on his right hands; as if he were raising his hand, but with a lot less effort.

“Well, you saved her life, young man,” Ian says approvingly, setting his hand on Jake’s shoulder.

“It's the least I could do, since my bratty stepsister was the one who pushed her in in the first place,” Jake says flatly, kind of inching away so Ian’s hand fell loosely from his shoulder.

“Oh, well I see,” he says, frowning a little, then turns to me, “we could probably work out some sort of agreement where their family has to pay for the medical costs.”

“That’s okay,” I say, shrugging a little, then wincing. It hurt my arm.

“What about the medical costs, though?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowing. I guess he hadn’t expected that from me. “You can’t just pay for them all your own.”

“It's not their fault I was shot,” I say easily. “If I hadn’t have been, then if she had pushed me in the pool it would have been harmless.”

“It is her fault that you'll probably have some kind of infection now, though,” he says while closely examining my arm. I can't help but wince every time he touches it. “Maybe you should stay here overnight, so we can keep an eye on it?” He suggested, finally looking at me. The entire time he had seemed to be eyeing my arm, but now we had eye contact. I don’t know if I liked that better or not.

“Um, do I have to?” I ask hesitantly. I really hate staying in hospitals; it was a mixture of things I hated. Sadness, first off. And people- well, nurses and doctors- are always fussing over you, asking if you need anything. Plus the smell of disinfectant made me want to throw up.

“Well...yes.” He says finally, giving me an apologetic look

“Well then I guess I'll stay,” I say decidedly.

I can't help but notice the grimace that's been on Jake's face vanishes for a moment and is replaced by a slight smile. Just as quickly as it vanished, it reappears, though