There Is No Room For Sparks

My mother told me a lot of things when I was younger. Whether I chose to listen or remember a word she said was a different story, but nevertheless, she said them until I came to live by them.

It wasn’t as if she told me anything different from what any other mother was telling their children: look both ways before you cross the street, treat others the way you’d like to be treated, chew with your mouth closed. It was the basics, the things you learned at an early age and were reinforced every day as you grew older.

I followed them most of my life, never being one to defy a figure of authority or a so-called important rule. I was terrified of what would become of me if I didn’t listen, didn’t do exactly what my elders told me to for they knew best. I was nothing more than a mere child in my young state and although a chance to ignore their instructions sounded all too tempting, I couldn’t bring myself to commit such an action.

One rule plagued me with horror every time I thought of what would happen if I broke it. I never forgot it.

My mother used to tell me never to talk to strangers, never to trust them, and never to follow them anywhere. The instruction ceased to worry me until the day that my sister didn’t come home from school. I decided the moment I saw terrified look in my mother and father’s eyes that I would never trust anyone I did not know.

Even when my sister came waltzing through the front door a day later a mess, but alive no less, it didn’t shake my decision.

The day she came home, Jacie was drunk out of her mind and to this day, I wondered why that didn’t have more of an affect on me than the fear of strangers did.

Because it would soon come to be seen that that exact fear of strangers that worried me every time I was left alone would cease to exist the moment any sort of alcohol was poured down my throat…

xx

I didn’t know where the voice came from, but somehow I managed to squeeze out the simple sentence, “W-what are you doing here?”

He smiled again, handing me that familiar smile that I’d grown used to throughout my whole childhood. But it wasn’t the real smile, just a re-creation, a result of genetics.

“Trying to help you out.” he told me, holding a hand out to me. I grasped it thankfully as I tried to stand up only to wobble and stumble. He caught me and put my hand on his shoulder so I could steady myself.

I stood there precariously in hopes I could maintain the little balance I had long enough to figure out why my head was spinning so much at the sight of this boy. “No,” I nearly yelled, “what are you doing here?”

All he did was shake his head, “Let’s get you out of here, then we’ll talk.” He said, walking me away from the house.

“No!” I yelled again, falling backwards in attempt to pull away; my muscles weren’t working correctly just yet, “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

“Nella, come on. I’ve known you for as long as I can remember. Please let me help you?” he begged, a pleading look in the one eye I could see through the shadows.

“Don’t call me that.” I mumbled, crossing my arms over my chest until I realized I’d lost the one thing that kept me standing. Quickly, he grabbed my arm again.

“Why can’t you just let me drive you back to your house?” he asked.

“Why can’t you just let me take care of myself?” I spat back.

He shook his head and groaned, “Noella, c’mon. You won’t make it home if you don’t let me give you a ride.”

My eyes widened at the thought, “I know for a fact that you can’t drive.”

He gave a small awkward laugh, “I wouldn’t be driving. My--”

“Why are you even here?” I cut him off, “I mean, you shouldn’t even be in this town more or less at this party.”

“Why not?” he said, his voice sounding more genuinely curious than offended.

“’Cause you’re like, fifteen!” I exclaimed, a little bit too vigorously for I fell a step forwards to be caught by him yet again.

“C’mon Nella. My friend will drive us home.” he insisted, beginning to walk me towards the street.

I stopped dead in my tracks and let my legs give out from under me, “Not a chance.”

“Do you want to sit here all night by yourself?” he asked me, his eyes hard and stern. I hated them with such a passion, I could scream.

I didn’t answer.

The truth was, no part of me felt like I knew this boy. Last time I’d seen him, he was ten and looked absolutely nothing like he did standing before me right now. His face was more angular and his eyes had gotten brighter, just as he’d gotten about a foot taller and he’d thinned out a substantial amount. His voice was deeper and he spoke with much more confidence and maturity than he ever would have been able to at the age of ten. I’d spent countless nights with him at his house, wasting away the night around a bonfire or beneath the big oak in his backyard, enjoying his company and listening to the jokes he’d learned at school.

I could feel my face softening when I thought about being alone. Alcohol could only keep the thought from my mind; it didn’t mean my fear was gone altogether.

“Let me at least walk you home.” he said quietly, holding his hand out to me.

My shoulders slumped and I felt myself give in. Ignoring his hand, I jumped on his back and he managed to catch me before I fell back to the ground.

As we left the premises, the only thought that kept playing through my head was At least I'm safe...for the time being.

“I missed you Noella.” he said to me.

I closed my eyes and rested my pounding head on his shoulder, “Shut up.”

Will O’Callaghan was unlike his brother in many ways.

First being...John wouldn’t have come back.