Forgetmenots and Second Thoughts

Weeks dreadfully passed, and with each waking day Wren had begun to become surprisingly less numb. She had been forced to go home by her mother, who had unfortunately spent a night roaming the streets looking for Wren in her old Ford. Wren felt like she was being taken away in a police cruiser that evening, her arms crossed over her chest in a huff and her eyes staring solemnly out the passenger seat window. Wren had committed to locking her bedroom door every time she entered and left, the fear of Charlie still consuming her. Paranoid, she had taken to the habit of checking underneath her bed and inside her closet.

She had spent days on end cooped up in her bedroom scared out of her mind to leave even for school, fearful of encountering Charlie. She did come across him once. He had caught her eye while in the sitting room and gave her a wink and a sly grin. Wren had hurriedly continued on her way, suddenly anxious to get out of the house.

She missed classes and skipped meals, yet her mother did not seem to notice all that much. Wren had gotten used to the feeling of her stomach eating itself away due to the lack of food in it. She’d intermittently get chills, and she had begun to have haunting nightmares when she’d finally allow her eyelids to close. These frightful nightmares usually resulted in Wren waking in a cold sweat, her heart pounding out of her chest like a hammer to cloth. She was forced to cope with these recurring dreams as she still felt like she was alone, like she could not tell anyone.

She had attempted to take her mind off of the situation once or twice, usually ending in gaudy tasks being preformed. She had unpacked her entire nail polish collection that had been steadily growing for a number of years, and with full concentration, had painted her nails a variety of colors. She had also taken to evening walks, figuring it would help to clear her mind of any madness. She had been careful to stand clear of Christie Road, discomfited to even come in a small radius of Billie Joe. She had not seen him since that awful evening, with its horrendous rain and blowing currents. She had given too much thought to the matter, wondering whether he had been one hundred percent sincere or sarcastic and witty. She had ensued to avoid him in the halls of Pinole Valley High; however that also resulted in steering clear of Sara.

It was on a particular mood-lifting afternoon that Wren had unintentionally come across the group she had once deemed acquaintances. It was warmer than most days had been over the past couple of weeks, and Wren found herself slapping on a pair of distressed denim knee-knockers, a pale purple scoop neck tee shirt, and a heather grey fly-away vest. With her usual tattered Chucks and her hair let down in a natural wave, she found herself leaving the house in a brighter mood than usual.

She skipped out the door with a faint smile on her lips, the sun cascading down on her, bringing out the red tones in her hair. Ingrid sat in the Ford awaiting her arrival, a typical scowl plastered to her lips. She had done up her hair in a tight French twist and had thrown on a pair of black slacks paired with a cream coloured short-sleeved cardigan, in which she had buttoned up. Dangling from her neck was a piece Wren had never seen her wear before- a twisted chain of gold. Wren opened the car door and sat herself down, closing it behind her. She flung her bag from her back and rested it on her lap before securing herself with a seatbelt. Her mother started the car, and backed out slowly. All the while, Wren could not take her eyes away from the necklace Ingrid had surprisingly chosen to sport.

“What?” Her mother asked her furiously when she noticed her staring. When Wren did not answer right away, she glared at her from the corner of her eye and shouted, “What?” once more. Wren snapped back to reality.

“Where did you get that?” Wren asked her childishly, her blue eyes sparkling at the piece of jewellery. Ingrid looked down slightly, still keeping her eyes on the road in front of her.

“This?” She asked her daughter, pointing to her neck. Wren nodded hopefully. “Oh. Charlie gave it to me last night. Charming fellow, is he not?” Ingrid questioned, the corners of her lips edging upward slowly. Wren froze and forced a fake smile, bobbing her head mechanically. Immediately after, she looked toward her passenger window and was silent for the rest of the trip.

Ingrid parked in front of the school like she had since they moved and Wren got out as quick as she could, flinging her book bag over her shoulder. She did not look back but threw a free hand in the air, waving goodbye. She felt anxious to start her day, her mood as bright as the sky before her. The sun created a beautiful mural of color; the light cerulean made the shades of yellow and orange look bolder. She let out a happier sigh as she reached the student doors and let herself into the hallways overwhelmed with students. She reached her locker only to find something that would slightly dampen her good mood.

Sara stood before her, leaning against her locker with her arms crossed against her chest with a sour expression on her face. Her auburn waves had been thrown into a messy bun atop her head, and her eye lashes were thick with black mascara. She wore tattered skinny jeans and a black and white plaid button down tied at her waist.

“Have you just been hanging around other people and ignoring us?” She started sharply, questioningly, “Or have you decided you’re just better off without friends?” Wren was speechless, unsure of what to say. A few students passed by the two girls, throwing glances in their direction. She looked down at her feet and swayed.

“I have no idea what to tell you.” Wren told her earnestly, her eyes still glued to the ground bellow her. It was then that she heard soft giggles escaping from Sara’s mouth, and Wren shot her head up, raising an eyebrow. Sara crooked her neck to the side and unfolded her arms, shaking her head, a slight grin appearing on her face.

“I was only joking. You seem to be back to normal. Whatever normal is for you, anyway.” She told Wren, who was still slightly bemused, but accepting. “Whatever it was, you have obviously gotten through it. Am I right?” Wren parted her plump lips as about to object, but stopped herself and nodded her head in agreement. The two smiled at each other as the bell rang, an indication that the students be on their way. Wren collected her books and held them tightly in her arms and walked to English with Sara.

“You know...” Sara began as they walked the halls, captivated by the bright gold and navy banners that were attached to almost every free wall in the school, advertising the school’s mascot. “Billie’s been asking about you.” Wren was not sure what to make of this—she knew that whether she liked it or not, she would have to come in contact with Billie Joe sooner or later—preferably later. They reached the classroom, but did not enter. Sara faced Wren and put a hand on her arm, which still had remnants of purple and green grouped at the surface of her flesh. Frightful of Sara noticing, she wiggled her hand away.

“Come outside with us at lunch?” Sara pleaded, her dark eyes gaping at her. Wren thought about it for a short while as her classmates hurriedly made their way into the classroom they were standing by, and she nodded slowly, unsure if she made the correct decision or not. Sara smiled graciously, and she and Wren joined the class.

Wren’s stomach churned throughout the entire morning, filling with fluttering butterflies that tickled her insides and made her feel queasy. Her head ached with the thought of having to see not only Billie Joe, but John as well. She had almost completely forgotten about the small run-in she’d had with John. Not that he had actually noticed she was there, but Billie Joe sure had.

The rest of the morning had simply been a blur, and Wren’s mood had gone from once dazzling to nervous in an instant. She was solemn and quiet and her arm slightly ached from being hidden under her desk. Her lengthy hair was still in its messy wave; her cheeks flushed a natural, healthy shade of pink. Her colourfully painted nails were slightly chipped at the tips and it bothered Wren. She studied her hands the entire walk out of the building, a granola bar safely encased in the pocket of her shorts. From a distance, she could see the group sitting on the stairs, as they were the first time she had met them. Hesitantly, she walked closer and around until she had come face-to-face with two of her worst fears.

Immediately, Billie Joe stood, his lips curling upward. He wore his cap backwards again, his reddish brown curls peeking out from underneath. He sported a white tee shirt with “Operation Ivy” inscripted in black font across it, his black jacket, and some black jeans. Suddenly unsure of what he was doing, he sat back down beside Mike, who was giving him an incredulous stare with his light blue eyes. John was sitting opposite to Billie Joe, and was giving Wren a friendly smile. Sara was the first to speak, befuddled at the fact that she had even decided to join them. Sara welcomed Wren back as she climbed the cement steps to sit beside her. The conversation had been stimulating, but Wren was uninterested. She could not stop herself from glancing in the direction of Billie every so often, listening to the softness of his voice, his quirky laugh. She had been in a daze when John had decided to speak to her.

“So, where have you been?” He asked her, a devious grin on his mouth. “I’ve missed you.” He was acting as though he had done nothing wrong; yet to him, that was surely how he felt, for he most likely had no idea that Wren had seen him with the young blonde in the hallway. Wren was not sure how to respond, and thankfully she did not have to. Billie Joe had stood again, his hazel eyes full of rage. He walked the short distance to John and stood in front of him, fuming. His fists were clenched. Wren had never seen Billie Joe like this before.

“Leave her alone, John.” He said as calmly as he could. John’s smile had vanished and his eyes were vacant, yet he still managed to choke out a laugh.

“She isn’t your property.” He shot back carefully. Billie’s teeth ground together. He took a step back.

“You’re a scumbag. You do this all the time.” He said irately, and then looked over to Wren, and back to John. “I’m sick and tired of your games, man.” And with that, he stomped down the stairs and walked in the opposite direction. Wren, feeling the need to follow him, got up and jogged in the same direction. John sat back, bewildered and confused as to what had just happened.
Wren had eventually caught up with a fuming Billie Joe, his hands stuffed into his pockets and steam escaping from his ears. She had not said a word to him, but walked along side him. She wasn’t sure where they were going and she did not care; anywhere was better than with John.

“I can’t stand the way he looks at you.” Billie finally spoke up, nearly a half hour later. They had made their way down town, bustling cars of various colors driving by them. Wren nodded and stared forward. The sun was still out, yet it was half-covered by an array of plush clouds. The air had cooled slightly, but it was not enough for Wren to feel a temperature change. She put her head down as they walked, and Wren kicked a stone with her Chucks. The cars were noisy and the fumes made Wren’s head spin.

Billie spoke up again. “He’ll get over it.” He sighed. “He always does.” Wren looked up at him and could not help but smile. He glowed.

“What do you mean? He has done this before?” Billie Joe stopped walking as though he was suddenly glued to the concrete sidewalk below them. He put his hands to his forehead, rubbing his temples.

“Has he done this before...” He muttered almost inaudibly. He looked at her. “Too many times to even keep track of anymore. And it usually results in what you saw back there. But it isn’t usually me.” His hazel-green’s slowly shifted from her deep blue eyes toward her arm. He gaped and gasped at the blacks and blues that formed an irregular pattern under her skin. “What is that?” He asked attentively. Wren took a step backward and covered her arm with a hand.

“Nothing.” She said slowly, looking the other way. “I fell, that’s all.” Billie did not seem satisfied.

“You just fell.” He began, almost mocking her. “What is going on Wren?” Wren was silent with fear, unsure of how to escape. She looked up at his concerned expression and stuffed her hands into her pockets, suddenly cold. She shrugged, her eyes welling up with tears. She mouthed ‘nothing’. A transparent water droplet crawled down her cheek and Billie moved closer and cupped her face with one of his hands, wiping the tear away with his thumb soothingly.

“Then why are you crying?” He asked her softly, in almost a whisper. Wren sighed heavily.

“Can we go somewhere quiet?”