Trace Your Shadows

THEN

Fiona doesn’t remember the first time she met the Wentz family. It felt like they’d always been there, in the house to the left of her own, and that was that. She knew Dale Wentz was a friendly, cherub faced lady with kind eyes, always ready with a pleasant greeting if you bumped into her, and that Peter Wentz Senior was a tall, sturdy man who kept mostly to his own thoughts. Fiona knew that they had three children, Pete, Andrew, and Hilary, and a Jack Russell named Razzo who was a troublesome little thing, always managing to get out the back gate and away.

That was the extent of Fiona’s knowledge of the family next door and she’d never attempted to learn more about her long term neighbors because she never saw much of a point. Her life was far too busy, trying to navigate her way through high school and attempting to convince her parents that she was old enough to get her ears pierced. She’d never been aware that the smiling faces of Dale and Peter Wentz hid the troubling truth, or of the worry that seeped into the cracks of their cheery facades. No, Fiona had never thought beyond the superficial when it came to her neighbors.

That was, until May 2nd, 1999. The day Pete Wentz, the oldest child of Dale and Peter Senior, had his first attempt at taking his own life.

Fiona, by this time, was a junior and three months off being seventeen, which of course she was ecstatic about. Seventeen seemed to be this incredible age where you weren’t quite old enough to be saddled with adult responsibilities but you were no longer treated like an insolent child who couldn’t do anything for themselves. She’d dreamed of this age for some time now, imagining what it would be like to no longer be babied and talked down to, to be able to stay out late, and go a little crazy.

She’d grown up as a sheltered daddy’s girl, she knew this, and it wasn’t like she was looking for a way to break away from this label but she did want to experience life as a teenager, just a little, before she’d be expected to settle down, go to college, work for a career. Seventeen seemed to be the age to be a little wild and adventurous.

But suddenly growing up, growing older, being at the age with a million possibilities didn’t seem to make her feel so infinite. Not when the hushed whispers began to grow, making their way around the streets of Chicago, from teacher to teacher, student to student, mother to mother, until it seemed like the whole town knew.

It was like a morbid game of Chinese whispers, every person you spoke to having a different version of events. They started off with mild concern, about the Wentz kid being sick, maybe an eating disorder, maybe cancer, and then they grew and grew and grew. He was going to hang himself, he took pills, a razor to the wrist, tried to sink himself in the bath. All horrible images, all too terrible to be thought about for too long.

It seemed to cause this domino effect, suddenly every parent in town was looking at their kids differently, trying to get inside the heads of their children and wondering, constantly wondering, what if this had happened to one of my own?

Fiona’s own parents did exactly that, sitting her down the evening that the rumors all came to life and watched her with worried eyes.

“You’d talk to us, wouldn’t you? If something was wrong, if something was troubling you, you know we’d listen? And try to help?” Her father had asked, holding her mother’s hand tight in his own and watching carefully at her every move. Fiona tried to nod, she knew this of course, but her parents weren’t convinced.

“Don’t feel like you have to hide anything from us, honey. We love you, no matter what,” her mother continued, reaching across to smooth down Fiona’s hair lovingly and Fiona nodded again.

“I know,” Fiona answered quietly, trying on a smile. “I’m fine, I’m okay.”

Her parents continued to watch her, trying to find a lie when all she had was truth and finally Fiona had enough of being observed like a wild animal behind thick glass and sighed huffily. She wanted to retreat to her room and think over things a bit more, not be on interrogation by her parents because of something their neighbors’ kid did.

“You know, suicide isn’t contagious,” she told them evenly, before getting to her feet and rushing up the stairs to hide out in her bedroom for the night. She knew she was out of line, she was never one to be so rude with her parents before, but suddenly she feared for the future, started to ask herself what it means to grow up and why the boy next door tried to prevent himself from reaching the golden age.

She thought about Pete all that night, looking out her window into the empty room next door she knew was his, and wondered why he did it.

“Perhaps we’re not as infinite as we think,” she whispered quietly, the thought heavy on her heart as she tried to will herself to sleep.

*

A week passed, rumors died down, and Pete returned from hospital.

Fiona watched from her room as a weary looking Dale ushered a gray faced Pete inside, holding him close to her like she was afraid he’d disappear and Fiona thought maybe he would. He looked almost transparent, small and fragile against his mother’s frame, and not at all like the loudmouthed rebel boy she remembered running up and down the street a few years back.

Again, Fiona found herself fearful for the future, of growing up. Pete had always seemed happy, to the extent of her knowledge at least. Her parents had called him trouble, but Fiona just figured that was what older boys were like. Loud mouthed, tough, and a little crazy. She saw none of that in the Pete being lead inside, feeling a chill run up her spine at the thought and she turned away from the scene outside to grab a cardigan, believing that her thoughts on invincibility were the truth after all.