Through Grass, Grown Tall

Hunter laid on the dirty ground with her grimy black sneakers raised above her leaning against the wall. Her fingers tapped against the ground slowly as she hummed old Third Eye Blind songs in silence. She had been in the cell over night. She called the one person she knew would come get her know matter what, and frankly she was surprised she wasn’t here yet; that wasn’t like Rosie at all.

Unless—

“Hunter Champagne,” a deep voice boomed, walking over to the cell opening the door. “You can collect your things at the front station.”

Hunter followed behind the officer angrily—she knew he was here. Only he would make her wait all night in a goddamned jail cell. He probably assumed it would ‘teach her a lesson’.

It hadn’t before, why would he think this time was any different?

An officer opened the door in front of her opening up into the main part of the jail where an aged man was waiting. His hands were on his hips, resting on the cotton of old grey sweat pants. He was wearing an old Arizona State hoodie and Nike’s that had to be the newest running shoe. The man had been a runner since she could remember. Sometimes when she was little she would wake up and jog next to the man, soaking up as much time as she could with him before his next business trip.

“This is some real shit you’re pulling here, Hunter,” the man spoke, not even bothering to look at her. She gathered her backpack and signed a few papers before following him outside into the Arizona heat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied simply, a smirk on her lips.

Her dad turned around and looked at her fiercely, his body only a few inches from hers. His eyes looked tired—there were bags beneath them just beside wrinkles that had formed in the past two years since she had been gone. “This whole rebel without a cause act isn’t cute anymore, Hunter,” he spat. “It’s time to grow up.”

Hunter turned her eyes to the ground angrily, her fists clenching. She climbed into the shiny car—it still smelled new. It smelled of money. After all, that was all he had these days wasn’t it? Besides Maggie anyways.

“My fucking wedding day, Hunter,” he spat. “This is the most…I don’t even know what to say to you.”

“Welcome back,” she said sarcastically, laughing at her own joke. She would never, ever, expect a ‘welcome back’ from this town or anyone in it.

“You could have RSVP’d,” her dad said, his anger beginning to subside and be replaced with hurt. “I would have gotten you a table and stuff…there’s not much room but I’m sure we’ll find somewhere for you. Pencil you in.”

“Pencil me in,” Hunter said softly, rolling her eyes. As long as she could remember her life had been schedule after schedule—she was never free. There were practices, speeches to make for student council, Chase’s never-ending doctor appointments, dinners with her dad’s colleagues. She never had a choice—her life was planned for her whether she wanted it or not.

“We would have had a spot if you had told me you were coming, Hunter,” he said simply. “But you didn’t. We haven’t heard a word from you in two years.”

“I had no reason to come back,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders and looking out the car window into the familiar scenery around her. Not many of the houses had changed—they all had the same perfectly groomed lawns and spotless overly sized windows showing off unnecessarily large chandeliers.

“With that attitude would you have saved a spot for you either?” Her dad said shortly, proving his point. “You ran away, Hunter. And after all that happened these past years, I wasn’t about to stop you. I would have too.”

Hunter ignored his harsh words. She was stronger now than she was then—she wouldn’t break down anymore. Maybe it was simply because she couldn’t—she was already completely broken.

She stepped out of the BMW and grabbed her bag from the floor. She followed her dad up the steps to the mansion that had always been too big for two. It still smelled the same—like apples and clean linens. She supposed Rosie was to thank for that once her mom had gone.

“And who might this lovely young lady be?”

Hunter smiled her first real smile for months. “Rosie,” she sighed, running to the woman and engulfing her in a hug. If anyone knew her it was the housemaid—and that she found almost sad. “I missed you,” she said honestly, letting her throat tighten; for the longest time Rosie was all she really had.

“I missed you too, pretty girl,” the aging woman smiled. She poked at her thin stomach, “You’d think that man you call your father could feed you on the way home. Tsk, tsk. Go shower up and get dressed—I’ll make you some food.”

Hunter smiled and nodded her head, pulling her bag higher on her shoulder and walking up the stairs of her old house. She walked down the hall to her room ignoring all of the framed photos of her in her childhood and youth. Why did he keep them up? Maggie probably made him.

She pushed open the door to her room, inhaling and closing her eyes. She wasn’t ready for this—for all the memories. It was going to be too much. Instead, she kept her eyes shut tight and lay on the soft plush rug that was right where she had left it; she was at peace until she heard a soft knock, knock, from the door. “Come in,” she mumbled, after lying in the same position for twenty minutes.

“Hunter?” Maggie asked, smiling gently at the girl lying on the floor. She was wearing a white robe that she assumed was what her stylist told her to wear until they got to the chapel.

Maggie’s eyes were still a glowing green and as nice and welcoming as she had always been. She had been dating her dad for about ten years—she was always nice. She just wasn’t her mother.

“Hey Maggie,” she said simply, looking down to the floor.

“Your dad is just upset, you know that,” the woman said sweetly. “I saved a spot for you on the reservations. There will always be a place for you at my wedding. Shower up, sweetie. Your clothes are still in the closet.”

The door shut softly and Hunter stared at the wood. She was scared to see the rest of her room. After gathering up her courage (and her eyes completely drying out from zoning out) she finally got the nerve to look to her left—her wall…or what used to be.

Hunter stared at the wall blankly—all emotion running from her veins. It used to be covered in pictures. Pictures of all of them—everyday they spent together she always took a picture in fear it would be the last.

Eventually it was.

But now the wall was empty, desolate…sad. Maybe the wall had always been reflective.

She took off her shirt and let it fall to the ground below her. She stripped the rest of her clothes and stepped into the shower letting her matted hair soak beneath her fingertips. She felt hollow as her fingertips ran over her ribcage; she had nothing left. She literally was just bones.

Hunter padded her way down to the kitchen quietly, listening to the voices arguing in the kitchen.

“You should have left those pictures up, Michael,” Maggie hissed. “Those were all she had left.”

“It’s not good to hold on to the past,” her dad replied. Hunter could imagine him. He would have his arms crossed across his chest and stare convincingly in her eyes like any other lawyer would do.

“So are you just going to throw out every picture of Colleen as well just because she’s gone too?”

“It’s not the same,” her dad seethed, getting angry. Hunter stepped closer to the kitchen, listening around a corner more intently at the mention of her dead mother’s name.

“How, Michael, how?” Maggie argued, her voice rising.

“Hunter doesn’t deserve those pictures anymore and we both know why,” he stated. “End of conversation. I’ll see you at the chapel, my limo should be here soon.”

She hid behind a bookcase as her dad left the room and stalked up the stairs, soon being followed by Maggie. She stepped into the empty kitchen taking a seat at a bar stool, their conversation echoing in her head.

In a way she was almost glad the photos were gone—her dad was right, she didn’t deserve to see them.

“Macaroni and cheese still your favorite?” Rosie asked, carrying a bowl to the girl.

Hunter smiled emptily and nodded her head. The maid sat the bowl in front of her handing her a spoon. She took the spoon instantly and scooped up the pasta shoving bite after bite into her stomach silently. She hadn’t eaten for days now.

“Where were you this time?” Rosie smiled, pulling a postcard out of her pocket from San Diego.

Hunter let a grin slip from her lips. Rosie was the only person she cared to let know she was okay—and she felt that after raising her she deserved it. Her dad had always had business trips or meetings in other states, but Rosie was always there.

She never wrote letters or anything on the postcards, she just sent them blankly and that was enough. Rosie didn’t need words to understand—she always knew.

“I was in Utah,” she said simply. “Nothing too interesting there, just a lot of Mormons.”

Rosie laughed, “Did you find Jesus, Hunter?”

Hunter chuckled and narrowed her eyes at the woman, “I was too busy dancing with the devil.”

The woman smiled and tied her hair in a knot. “I need to finish preparing for the reception—it will be here, you know? I’m almost prepared but the caterers should be here shortly.”

“I’ll see you later, Rosie,” she said, cleaning her own dish and walking up the stairs.

She pulled a dress out from her closet, smiling that it was black. She placed it over her thin frame, remembering how it used to fit; it was so much looser than it used to be. She put on red pumps with gold spikes and a long gold chain. She placed pounds of makeup on her face covering the bruise that no one seemed to mention—it was as if they weren’t really surprised.

Maybe they felt she deserved that too.

She loosely curled her hair, surprised that she remembered how to after all of this time. She hadn’t tried to look nice since—well, since Chase’s funeral.

She finished getting ready and rode with Maggie to the familiar chapel, ignoring the look of obvious disapproval at her attire. Maybe a black t-shirt dress and red studded pumps wasn’t wedding appropriate but she honestly didn’t care. She didn’t think a wedding at this chapel was appropriate and they didn’t seem to care either.

Maggie and her bridesmaids exited the limo, Hunter following slowly behind. The wedding was to begin in twenty minutes and she could literally feel her stomach bubbling just being in this parking lot again—she couldn’t do this.

Two years wasn’t enough time away. She wasn’t okay.

She walked across the street to a gas station, letting her heels click against the asphalt. “Hi,” she smiled, looking at the clerk, one pack of Americ—

Her voice slipped away from her as she noticed a haunting figure walking towards her. She couldn’t see him—why was he here?

“Just one second,” she mumbled quickly, ignoring the weird look from the teller and skipping to the back of the store. She opened the glass doors pretending to skim the drinks, listening to a familiar laugh hanging in the air.

She took a deep breath as he appeared in the corner of her eye and she prayed he wouldn’t look to see her. Luck never really had been on her side though.

His green eyes drifted to her. At first, he was in shock; his eyes widened then narrowed, remembering what she had done and why she had left in the first place. His lips hung apart lifelessly and he couldn’t seem to speak.

“Don’t say a word,” she said simply. She wasn’t begging, if anything it was more of a command.

“Does he—

“Nope,” Hunter replied, slamming the drink door shut and walking to the front of the store, ordering her cigarettes and walking out of the gas station.

Eric didn’t chase after her—why would he? He probably hated her just as much as the rest of them if not more. They were basically brothers.

He looked different—she was surprised at how much two years could do to somebody. His hair was shorter and he looked more mature. Did they all look that way now?

How did she look now?

Hunter walked back to the chapel, keeping her eyes down and staring at the ground. She could hear everyone’s excitement about the wedding and how beautiful the chapel was but she couldn’t find joy in any part of her body.

There was nothing happy about this place at all.

She let her cigarette fall to the ground and stomped it out beneath her pumps. “Ma’am, will you be going in? The bride is on her way.”

Hunter nodded her head simply and walked into the chapel quietly keeping her eyes downcast. She knew he’d be here—in this place where Chase had died. They were all there. They’d all be there today as well.

They’d all grown up together; her father was like family to them as well.

Everyone stood as ‘Here Comes the Bride’ came on the organ, and Hunter eventually looked to where her father stood at the altar. He was smiling, waiting for his bride, purposefully keeping his eyes off of her she was sure.

Hunter looked to her father’s right to a boy who was sitting in the pew, staring back at her blankly. She knew he’d be here—it didn’t matter if Eric had told him she was there or not, she was bound to run into him at some point.

John O’Callaghan was everywhere.

He stared back at her and she wished for a minute she could read his mind. But all the dark thoughts he was thinking she was sure she’d already thought about herself. He was taller now. His hair was cut short and his chin was covered in stubble. His soft pink lips were parted, and after what seemed liked forever they shut, just forming a straight line.

Hunter tore her eyes away immediately. How dare he even look at her—especially here of all places? He wasn’t allowed to look at her with those piercing green eyes—he wasn’t allowed to even think about her here.

Just not here.

Hunter spent the rest of the ceremony staring at the altar. She couldn’t see her dad smiling, holding Maggie’s hand, and finally tying the knot after ten long years. She couldn’t see the preacher, or the groomsmen, or the bridesmaids.

All she could see was the coffin.

She remembered the cold feel of his face on her hand. His skin was so pale—whiter than a ghost. His hair was combed down on his head perfectly, and his lips had lost all their color. She remembered his closed eyelids that hid his big, green, dead eyes.

Chase, the boy she was going to marry someday on that altar laid right there where her dad was marrying—and at that moment she was sure she would never feel happiness again.

She could still feel John O’Callaghan’s eyes boring into her skin.