Fight or Flight

Once the sun went down, the only sounds that could be heard in her town were the cicadas calling out to each other. The town was dead in the middle of the night and Quinn couldn't say she minded. It was small and humble, with two coffeehouses and only one bar. Beaufort was a homey, beach town run on mostly the business of tourists who came to see where famous pirates had once lived and pillaged. You could notice them a mile away, these tourists, with their over-sunblocked noses and expensive cameras dangling from their necks. They'd swarm her town in the summer, like locusts to Egypt. They were a plague and a blessing to the citizens of Beaufort. They needed the tourists to survive, but it could also have been said that the tourists needed them to survive as well. It was something Quinn learned first-hand that summer. The summer to end it all.

Her feet slipped off the metal bars stapled into the ground, and she threw out her hands to balance the fall. She glanced slowly around her, but the sounds of an oncoming train or the lights of a giant hunk of speeding metal weren't to be found. Beaufort was normally quiet, but something wasn't quite right. The whistling of the wind teased her ears as it rustled her hair and Quinn listened closely for a minute, her body remaining crouched low to the ground. The sand near the train tracks inched up her leg and her sneakers scratched the inside if her thighs. She shifted uncomfortably when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. Slowly lifting her head, the brunette stared into the darkness.

Silence filled her ears then, and she squinted, unable to make anything out of the black except the sight of the bridge and the train tracks. She turned to go when the footsteps began again. Quinn whirled around, her heart beating fast in her chest. She wasn't hallucinating, she wasn't. Someone was walking towards her.

"Who's there?" Quinn spoke out, the sea breeze carrying her voice across the bridge. It echoed against the metal of the abandoned train and she heard her words repeated back to her threefold before the stranger made their presence known.

"I'm Garrett. I...uh-got lost. I'm not from around here."

Quinn snorted, kicking the ground at her feet with the tips of her sneakers. She didn't respond, but the smirk remained on her face as she looked up. Remaining silent, she searched for the shape of the boy that had spoken, holding out her hand. Feeling the space in front of her, she sucked in air as her fingertips ran lightly across a warm chest. The person chuckled, and Quinn's eyes narrowed as she finally let a few syllables slip past her lips.

"Not many people would come all the way out to the tracks."

"I..I-told you. I'm not from here. I got lost coming back from the bar-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb-"

The boy stuttered, reaching his hand up to rub the back of his neck. He hesitantly opened his mouth to speak, but Quinn interrupted.

"You didn't disturb me. I'm just not used to anyone being out here."

"Oh."

Quinn smiled, brushing her hands off on her jean shorts. "Where were you headed? It's pretty late. There's not much to do in Beaufort after the sun goes down."

"Erm...I was headed back to Queen Street, actually. I'm staying there with my aunt for the summer."

She paused, her hands twirling the ring around her finger as she responded, "Ah. Follow me."

Beckoning him forward, the pair walked in silence as they left the train tracks behind. A few twists, turns, and approximately fifteen minutes later, Quinn stopped walking and turned back to the boy. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in her first glimpse of the boy who'd stumbled into her backyard. He was taller, far taller than her and his brown eyes held a smile as he glanced down at her. The boy's hair was too long, and his stick-thin body made Quinn clutch her sides self-consciously. She felt her cheeks burn as her gaze took all of him in, from the heavy jeans that hung just a bit-too-low along his waist, and the t-shirt taut across his chest. Her eyes flicked to his feet, and she laughed lightly at his perfectly white Vans. Her own sneakers were scuffed and close to falling apart. It was one of the costs of living where she did.

"Your chateau awaits you, monsieur."

He bowed formally, taking her hand in his and kissing it lightly. "Why thank you, m'lady."

She turned to go, but his hand caught her arm and she turned, looking up at him.

"Any chance I'll see you again?"

She smiled lightly, "I suppose there's always a chance. But don't count on it. Besides, tourists aren't ones to hang around."

Quinn left him standing at the end of the street, his jaw agape and his eyes sparkling from the unintentional challenge. She wasn't like the girls in the city, yet she held more passion behind her dusty blue eyes than anyone back home. She walked away from him so easily, with her head held high and her long tan legs sticking out from beneath ripped jean shorts. Her ponytail swung back and forth before fading into the distance as she headed back home.

She reached the front steps of the small house, slipping her fingers into her pocket to claim the brass key. Quinn forced it into the lock, turning it slowly. She felt it click and turned the door handle, palm pressed up near the top to mute the creaking sound. Humming quietly to herself, she dipped her head into her father's room to find him snoring on without fail. She turned the corner, stepping lightly into the kitchen. Her shoes had been forgotten at the door--Quinn hadn't worn socks since she was seven. The calluses on her feet stood strong throughout the year, especially during the summer. She grabbed a glass down from the cupboard, and poured herself some juice. She wandered in and out of the rooms, touching this and that.

There was usually a large amount of noise in her house; her dad's job maintaining the boats at the marina kept the small house filled with the sounds of good-natured men coming in for a drink after work, or a break from the sun. But during the nights, the house was silent. It was the way Quinn liked it, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She didn't live in this world, but in a different one entirely. Stepping into her room, she flipped on the light. Her walls were covered in sketches, drawn on with various pieces of chalk picked up from her floor. It was a simple room, painted a light blue with golden stars adorning the space near the ceiling. Two large bay windows took up one half of the small room, looking out over the bay. Hanging from the ceiling were model airplanes. She'd been making them as long as she could remember. Her dad had begun buying her the small, plastic and balsa wood gliders when she was a young girl.

It hadn't taken her very long to figure out what was wrong with them, why they wouldn't fly. She'd been frustrated when all of her hard work and precision would just take a nosedive into the ground. Armed with a small razor and the bright red propeller, she figured out how to balance the propellers so the model airplanes would fly straight. Her love had grown from there. She collected every single book she could get her hands on--and spent hours reading and learning everything she could about airplanes and flight. One summer, Quinn and her dad had built her a workshop behind the house so she could build larger projects. She worked her best at night when everything was still except the bay, and the soothing noise of the water would keep her pace as she worked. Quinn loved the night almost as much as she loved her planes.

But Beaufort was a morning town, the one time of the day when her life invaded her dreams. Her two worlds meshed, with the sounds of the men in her father's crew echoing throughout the house and her last ideas fizzling out onto paper or the walls of her room--whichever was closest. Exhausted from only a few hours of sleep, Quinn wandered into the kitchen. Tugging down on the sides of her shorts, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail, a few wisps tumbling down into her face. She reached for the fridge, grabbing the bright red container of apple juice.

"Hey pumpkin. You're up early. I haven't even headed out yet."

The broad man in the doorway smiled down at the girl, reaching up for the glasses as he joined her at the table. Mason Harley was intimidating at first, but years of hard work had only hardened the surface of his hands, not daring to interfere with matters of his love towards his family. His voice was deep, but his touch was gentle as he placed his hands down on Quinn's shoulders, kissing her on the head. He moved around the table towards the stove, picking up the spatula that normally hung over the countertops. A welcome smell filled the air as Quinn's father flipped the pancakes. Motioning towards the syrup in the cabinet to his left, the girl headed towards the desired item.

"When do you think you'll be home tonight?"

The question was innocent in nature, but there was an underlying hint of warning in her tone. Mason had been late every single day that week, and Quinn wasn't going to stand for it anymore. When her father didn't answer, she sighed quietly.

"It's okay, Dad. It is. I'll just pick up something from Marley's. It's not a big deal, I promise."

Mason sighed, choosing silence over arguing. He placed the steaming hot pancakes in front of Quinn, and headed towards the door. She stared down at the plate for several minutes after he'd left, his usual whistling absent from across the bridge. She placed her head in her hands, running her fingers through the wisps of hair that fell in her face. Picking up the plate, she tipped the contents into the trash, letting them hit the bottom with a soft thump. It wasn't the same since her mother had left. Her father didn't have time to eat the special pancakes with her anymore. It'd always been their thing, the three of them. Once her mother had gone, Quinn and her father had stopped talking about it, stopped mentioning anything to do with her. They'd begun to ignore her existence; to them, she didn't exist. Not a trace was left behind except the pancakes. Banana pancakes, just like her mother liked them, on the days it looked like rain.

Growing up on the coast had taught Quinn the art of telling when a storm was on the way. It'd taught everyone who lived in walking distance of the shore. First would come the rain. Soft whispers would fall from the sky. It'd be brief, only a light glimpse of the unrelenting rain that would invade. Quinn loved it when the sky grew dark, and the winds rustled her hair around in her face. Stepping out onto the porch, she headed towards the dock. She could faintly see her dad's crew out on the marina, pulling the boats in and locking them into place.

Watching from the docks, Quinn surveyed the town. Nothing was still, yet it seemed as if everything was moving in slow motion. She watched quietly as Spencer pulled down the shutters over the windows of his gift shop with acquired intelligence, securely fastening them into place. He gave a satisfied smirk before heading back inside to close the shop. They rarely got summer storms, the weather normally holding out until the end of the season.

Only the surf shop remained unclosed, with its windows thrown open wide and the bright posters beckoning eager surfers inside. The waves crashed frighteningly during a huge storm, with winds of terrifying speed and torrents of rain hailing down on the roofs. But Quinn adored when it rained, almost as much as she loved the feeling of the sun on her legs or the wind in her hair. When it rained, everything was still. When it rained, Quinn was allowed to breathe.

It started raining lightly, only for a few minutes at first, and then it quieted. Quinn watched from her bedroom window, clutching the nearest plane to her side. She ran her fingers over the carefully sculpted balsa wood, dipping her fingers into every crack and crevice. She watched, and waiting for the real rain to start. To bring her father home, and for everything to be washed away by the waves and the sheets of rain. But it never came.

Several hours passed, but the rain never came. The sky cleared, something unnatural to the citizens of Beaufort. Confused by the odd weather, the patrons of the town reopened their shops, and the town came alive once more. Abandoning her quiet home, Quinn took to the streets. Holding her shoes in her hand, she felt the scalding pavement licking at her toes and the abnormal sun at her back. Dropping the sandals to the ground, she slipped them on before heading up the stairs to Marley's Grocery. It was more of a General Store, but the name Marley's fit. Dean Marley had owned the store as long as Quinn could remember. The familiar smells rushed at her as she pulled open the door; the scent of fresh fudge clashing with the salt of the sea settled her nerves. Raising her hand in greeting to Marley, she headed towards the back. Grabbing a drink from the coolers, she rejoined him near the front of the store.

"Hey Quinn darling, your usual?"

She nodded, reaching into her pocket for her money, but Marley waved it off.

"You're my best customer, Quinnie. Gotta let me treat you sometimes. Besides, all of this nonsense with the damn weather has all of them snowbirds confused. Look at 'em out there, them biddies with their shopping bags and whatnot. I'll be damned if there ain't a storm comin'. Mark my words, Quinnie. It'll rain."

Quinn smiled, nodding at appropriate intervals. Marley's constant chattering calmed her down, and she watched in silence as he made her favorite wrap: chicken, lettuce and a dash of Marley’s special sauce. She quickly turned as she heard the door creak open behind her, the small bell ringing at the top of the large, wooden entrance. She heard laughter and the boy from the night before appeared in the doorway, accompanied by an elderly woman Quinn faintly recognized.

"Ah, Joyce! Good to see you back in my store. It's quite a pleasure."

Quinn shifted uncomfortably as Marley greeted the woman with fondness, abandoning his task and going to greet her. The boy glanced around the store, his grin broadening as his gaze landed on Quinn. She shied back, turning around to face the counter once more. She squeezed her eyes tight, pleading to disappear on the spot.

"Well, if it isn't my human map!"

The boy was at her shoulder, smiling widely as Quinn exhaled slowly. She turned to face him, keeping her face neutral.

"That's a charming nickname. Really."

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll work on it.”

Quinn sighed, glancing around for Marley. She just wanted to get her sandwich and get out of the store, but he was deep in conversation with the woman Garrett had accompanied.

“Who is the woman?”

Garrett glanced towards Marley and the woman, a small smile making its way across his face.

“That’s my Aunt Joyce. Well, she’s not really my aunt but she’s the closest thing to family I have here. After the band got signed, my parents kind of kicked me out. They didn’t much like the idea of me leaving school-”

He froze, pressing his lips together and shutting his eyes. “I talk too much, I know. I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t want to hear my life story. I tend to babble when I’m nervous. Normally I don’t get nervous, but you’re pretty and I-”

His eyes snapped open, widening even further as Quinn failed to keep her laughter in. He grumbled to himself as a smirk made its way across Quinn’s face.

“Great, you probably think I’m a bumbling idiot.”

“Actually, I-”

The two were interrupted by Marley’s hand on Quinn’s shoulder, and the woman’s arrival at the counter. She stood quietly behind Garrett, an amused expression on her face.

“I’m sorry, Quinnie. I didn’t mean to forget your lunch. I just ran into Joyce here, and I couldn’t help myself.”

Marley winked at the woman before returning to his post behind the counter, leaving Quinn to fend for herself.

“Erm…hi. I’m Quinn.”

“Hi dearie. I’m Joyce. I see you’ve gotten to know my Gary.”

Garrett turned red, reaching his hand to rub the back of his neck. Muttering about the nickname, he nodded. Quinn threw Garrett a smirk, before turning back to Joyce. She was older up close, the laughter lines around her eyes small but abundant, and the dark circles under her eyes reached for miles.

“Do you live here, dear? Or are you just visiting like Gary?”

“I live over on the island, ma’am.”

She put her hand up, waving away Quinn's words. “None of that ma'am nonsense. I'm just Joyce. You must be Mason’s girl. Nice fellow, that one. Fixed some cracked shingles on my house a few years back.”

Quinn smiled. Her father was always helping out with the carpentry around town. He’d wanted to do it professionally, but there wasn’t enough to be done to base a career around it. He picked up odd jobs here and there, but nothing substantial.

"How's he doin', your father? How a'come he's not down here with ya? I woulda liked to see that boy."

Quinn stiffened, rocking on her heels. "He's at work, ma'am."

Joyce shook her head, turning back around to talk with Marley in low tones but Quinn could hear her perfectly.

"It's a shame he sends that girl all around town like that. She needs proper raising, she does. I wonder where her mother is. I mean, just look at 'er, all scraggly hair and shorts that show off her legs. It's improper. And I thought my Gary was in bad shape."

Mumbling a small thanks to Marley, Quinn grabbed the sandwich and tried to keep the tears back. After she'd slipped from the grocery, Quinn headed towards the dock. It was the longest in town, the last few panels of wood hovering precariously over the water. Most of the people in the town didn't bother using the old dock, choosing one of the newer, safer ledges for their picnics. But Quinn liked the diversity, and she claimed the spot as her own. Sandwich in her lap, she toyed with the hem of her shorts, and her eyes traced the wood under her as they had many a time before.

She could see the etchings in the side of the dock, spelling out the initials of her father and mother. She could remember their stories, often told during one of Mason's drunken stupors. She ran her fingers over the deliberate indents in the wood, softened over years of assault by the sea. She didn't hear Garrett approach, and she started as he slipped down beside her.

His quiet greeting pulled her from her stupor, her gaze turning to meet his gentle one.

"You okay?"

She smiled, but it remained guarded. "I'm fine, promise."

They sat in silence, the weight of her unspoken emotions filling the air.

"He's never around anymore. I mean, we get along. Things have gotten better. But I can tell he misses her, y'know? I can hear him, crying sometimes. I think he blames me for her leaving."

Garrett's hand crept towards hers, his comforting eyes searching for hers. She turned away. She didn't want his pity.

"I'm sure that's not true. How could he blame you?"

"I look like her. Same hair, same eyes. I've seen the way he looks at me sometimes. I remind him of her, and it hurts to look at me. He insists that can't be it, but I don't see how it could be any different."

Garrett slipped his hand into hers, sliding his thumb across her palm. She let him, her eyes glazed over as she continued.

"I can remember the night she left. I was only six, but I can remember it perfectly. Her suitcase was lying open on their bed, only about half full. They were yelling. I stood at the door, my eyes following the shirt in her hand. It was the red one, the one she always wore to bed. I tuned them out. To me, it was just another fight. They were routine. Normal. This wasn't any different."

She laughed woodenly, her eyes void of emotion. Garrett didn't move, his fingers coming to a standstill, afraid to interrupt Quinn's trancelike state. She paused, taking in a few breaths before beginning again. Her voice was hollow, and Garrett watched as she recited the story from memory.

"It's ironic. It was raining, but that didn't stop her from leaving. I asked her to stay, y'know, to finish eating. It was the last time we had the pancakes together. It was a stupid tradition, but she broke it. It wasn't the same after that."

She swallowed, her mind far away and her voice monotone as Garrett cut in.

"Tell me about it. Tell me about the tradition, the way you remember it."

Quinn smiled at him, returning the pressure as his hand gripped hers.

"When it rained, you could tell immediately. The sky would darken, and the wind would whip your head around. The storms used to scare me, so mom would make the pancakes. They'd never be a normal flavor like blueberry or chocolate chip, but always banana. She loved them. I remember watching her make them completely from scratch. She wouldn't have them any other way. But when she left, it was like she took them with her. Not the recipe, just...she took the fun with her. I don't even know where she is, Gary. She's just gone. I feel like I'm betraying him by wanting out, by wanting to find her. It's suffocating me, being trapped here."

Quinn's eyes snapped to Garrett, quietly imploring. He scooted closer, tentatively pulling her against him. She resisted at first, freezing instantly. Garrett held his ground until she slowly relaxed against his chest. Garrett's words were soft and Quinn craned her neck to hear them.

"I'm sorry, Quinn."

She pulled away from him, turning her body to face his. Garrett flinched as a low flying gull passed the pair. Quinn gave a wane smile, but it quickly faded.

"Yeah, me too."

They sat in silence, Quinn's mind buzzing with the day's events. She wrapped her arms around her knees after what seemed like hours. Garrett mumbled something, but Quinn didn't quite catch it. Her hands trembled, and she clutched them together before speaking.

"What's it like?"

Quinn's words were lost to the wind, but they found their way to Garrett. The breeze swept across the pair, enveloping them in the smell and sounds of the bay in front of them. Goosebumps rose up from Quinn's arms, and she tightened her grip on her knees. Her eyes stayed focused on the narrow strip of land across the clear water, not wavering as Garrett responded.

"What do you mean?"

"The city, traveling, being in a band. All of it."

"It's..." he paused, hesitating as he glanced at Quinn out of the corner of his eye. She remained stoic, her face not showing an inch of emotion. She'd closed back up, turning her body away from him.

"It's everything. Everything I've ever wanted, and everything I could only dream of. Just the idea that people are hearing our music. I get to spend my days playing music with guys I consider my brothers. It's...amazing. The fans, they know our lyrics. They like our music. I still have trouble getting over it sometimes."

When she didn't reply, Garrett shifted so his body faced hers, his knees knocking into hers. Quinn lowered her knees into a crossed position, dropping her eyes so she wouldn't have to meet his intense stare.

"Don't you have a dream?"

"No."

"You must though. Everyone has one. You've got to want something, Quinn! I mean, for fuck's sake, you've got to want to get out of this shit town. You can't let everything that's happened with your parents get you down. That's not fair."

She opened her mouth to argue, her eyes suddenly filled with rage but Garrett cut her off, "No. Listen to me. I know you love this town, with its culture and everything. But that can't be it. You can't believe that living here your entire life is your destiny. That's just not right. You're better than that. What do you want?"

"It's not that simple."

"Yes, Quinn. Yes it is!" Garrett stood, running his fingers through his too-long hair. He was the opposite of Quinn, his fists clenched and his eyes blazing. She was calm, her nonchalance obvious and her countenance a state of muted acceptance. "What do you want?"

"To get away. To bring my mother back. To fly."

He fell silent, his fists relaxing until his fingers just hung by his side. Sighing, he resumed his post of sitting next to Quinn. He placed his head in his hands, and they sat in silence watching the boats glide down the bay. Together, they wordlessly watched the sun go down and the town settle in for the night. While the town slept, Quinn lived.

She slowly got up, stretching out her legs and grabbing her flip-flops from the side of the dock and waited for Garrett to do the same. The sandwich from Marley's lay forgotten on the side of the dock as Garrett stood.

He shook his head but followed her, responding, "I'll never understand you, you know that?"

She smiled to herself, "Of course you won't. You're just a tourist."

"Why do you keep saying that?"

"Hmm? Oh. You just are. You're not from around here. You don't get it."

"Get what, Quinn?"

She laughed, twirling around in the middle of the road. Garrett anxiously looked back and forth before joining the brunette in the street.

"It's stuff like that, Gary. Stuff that comes with living in a town like this. I don't have to look up and down the street before I step out onto it because it's the middle of the night, and I know no one is around. It's stuff like knowing which days are going to be nice out just by looking at the water, and things like knowing Spencer from the gift shop downtown got dumped again because he's playing Gloria Gaynor as loudly as he can. You have to live here to know it."

She stopped to breathe, and looked Garrett straight in the eyes. "You're a tourist, Gary. You won't understand."

He stepped forward, startling the girl. She took a wary step backwards but he reached out and caught her arm, pulling her towards himself. Whispering, he stared at her without blinking, "It's stuff like knowing where to find the only person awake in the middle of the night, and knowing exactly when the high and low tides of each day are. Living here doesn't mean I can't understand, Quinn. Visiting doesn't have to be the end of this. You and I both can feel it. Don't shut me out now. Don't automatically assign me to one of your stereotypes. I'm more than that, and I want to understand. So please, Quinn, just let me in."

Garrett stepped closer, so close her breath caught in her throat. Quinn couldn't breathe, and she tilted her head slightly to the right as her eyes slipped shut. She could feel his warm breath on hers, the contact with his chest and the proximity of his lips to hers made head ache. She couldn't remember whether it was her or him that leaned in further, only that their lips ghosted across each other's, and how his hand slipped down her arm.

Light streamed in through her closed eyelids and Quinn groaned, opening her right eye to peer out. A loud car horn broke the pair up; the noise sending them reeling out of each other's arms, leaving them awkwardly standing by the side of the road. Quinn glanced down at the ground, unable to look Garrett in the eye.

"I'm sorry, I can't."

She teetered on the tips of her toes for a second before bolting--her head pounding and her only thought was getting away.

She'd been raised in Beaufort her entire life, and she knew the ins and outs of every single alley and road. She just ran. The muscles in her legs screamed and her breath hitched, but she kept on running. She ran until the bottoms of her feet were black like the night sky, and she ran until she felt like nothing could ever touch her. She ran until her legs gave out beneath her and she collapsed.

She ran until she flew.