The Fox and the Flower

This morning I wake up crying. I can't remember why or for whom, I just know that there's this sinking feeling in my chest that puts my stomach in knots and my eyes just can't hold the tears back. They over flow and dribble over my chin, leaving streaks down my face. I try to distract myself, concentrate on my breathing, look around the room. Nothing works. For some reason I want to scream out, throw things at the walls, destroy whatever I see. But I keep myself in bed.

My internal clock must be backwards because when I glance at the window, the moon is brightly shining. My aunt and uncle must be in bed by now, I don't want them to see me like this. So I lay here in bed, let the tears flow, and bite my lip to keep the sobs from escaping my mouth. My chest shudders with every raking sob and I dig my nails into the mattress. It hurts, it hurts so much. All that's in my mind is that I want it to stop. Stop all the hurt, the pain, the misery, and I wanted them back. I wanted my parents back. When I heard that they had died, I was at school. They had both driven me to school that morning and they never made it back. Memories of that day come to me in flashes and I remember the principle coming in the class room, I remember how shattered I felt when she told me, I remember the sorry looks I got from the teachers as I walked down the hall, and worst of all, I remember going to see my parents in the hospital. They barely looked human because the car had caught on fire and they were long dead by the time I had gotten there.

I also remember that I didn't cry when I visited. I just stood there wide eyed and completely hollow. The world still moved around me, but I wasn't apart of it. When I went to go see the therapist (social services ordered it) I remember I told her I felt guilty because I didn't cry when I saw them and she told me I was in shock. That it was perfectly normal for kids, especially my age, to experience intense shock when losing a loved one. 'Course I didn't believe her. When your parents die, the natural reaction should be to cry. To bawl your eyes out until your body can't physically produce another tear. Oh, but I'm crying now. Yeah, a month after their death! What kind of daughter am I? What daughter doesn't cry for her parents at their funeral?! Was I always this way? How can a child be so heartless...Stop.

I sit straight up in my bed and swing my legs around so that they touch the floor. I have to move, to play music, to do anything to stop this madness. If I don't, I feel almost certain that I'll explode. Suddenly this house feels so constricting and smaller than I remember it. In a haste, I shove my slippers on and run out the front door. I'm careful enough to let the door close quietly, but reckless to the point that I just crash through some of the newly fallen fall leaves and run up the road. It's dark out, I can barely see where I'm stepping, and I don't know this place well enough to go anywhere. To be honest, I don't know where I'm going or what I'm going to do when I get there. I just know I have to go somewhere, somewhere where I can breathe. I run up the dirt road and make my way into town. All of the stores are closed and the only thing other than the moon shedding light are a couple of flickering street lamps. I switch from running to a slow walk and take in ragged breaths of the crisp fall air. The run has dried away the tears from my eyes and has given my body something else to do other than cry, like breath more oxygen into my lungs. I don't know which way I'm walking and when I look around I find myself near a park. My mind doesn't think to look for anyone because I doubt anyone's awake anyway.

I walk over to the nearest play-thing, which happens to be a merry-go-round, and sit down between two of the bars. Mindlessly, I grab onto the bars and peddle myself in a circle with my foot. This goes on for a little while, I don't think about anything, I just watch the grass as it blurs by and listen to the metals slight creaking. Then suddenly everything stops spinning, but I'm not the one that stops it. At first I think it's just a kink in the axle, then think better of it when I hear the crunch of shoes on leaves behind me. Who else would be out this late? A rapist?! Cereal killer?! Kid napper?! Immediately I start psyching myself out and can feel panic building up in my chest. Whoever they are, they turn the merry-go-round so that I can face them. Looking up I find three guys, all definitely older than me, probably seniors in high school. They have a certain air about them that give off the impression that they're kind of preppy. Nice clothes, lots of time spent on their hair, and I could've sworn I thought I saw the flash of car keys in one of their pockets. But there's also things about them like the pocket knife in ones hand and the certain glint in all their eyes that sends up a red flag in me.

"What do ya think you're doin' here girl?" One of them says.

"Don't ya know this is Soc territory?" another says.

I furrow my brow and look at them like they just told me they were all penguins. 'Soc territory'? What the hell is a Soc? Is that like some wanna be white boy gang or something?

"What's a Soc?" I ask, bewildered.

"You Greasers, ya' think you're funny don't ya'? We'll see just how funny you are."

I'm about to ask what a Greaser is too, but am interrupted by one of them grabbing a head full of my hair and roughly forcing me to the ground. I face plant and catch a mouthful of dirt as I do so. They gang up on me and start kicking my ribs, my legs, and my stomach. I try to fight back, to do something to stop this, but the pain in my body is way too intense and it keeps coming. Once they get tiered of kicking, two of them pin my arms and legs down to the ground while the other sit on top of me. Fear creeps up in my heart and in my mind as I try to force my way out of their grip, but they're much stronger than I am. The one on top of me whips out a pocket knife and rests the blade on my cheek. Adrenaline starts pumping through my veins and I wriggle harder in their hands.

"You just don't quit, do ya? I kind of like that in a girl." he presses the blade down a little harder on my cheek "It would be a shame to ruin this pretty little face of yours."

The minute he finishes talking I spit at him straight in the eye. He yelps in surprise and backs off my face for a minute. I think about trying something else, but his fist collides with the side of my face before I have a chance to do anything.

"You little bitch!"

My God, that hurt.

"Ditto." I spit at him.

There's a glint of something nasty in his eye and he presses the knife back down on my skin, this time on my neck. Something catches in my throat and I stare him down. If he was going to play games then so was I. I wasn't going to go down letting him know I was afraid.

"You're just wanting to die aren't ya? Well today's your luc-"

"Hey! Piss off Socs! You're getting the park dirty!"

In the distance there's a deep voice and I turn my head to see where it's coming from. There, under one of the lamp posts, are four guys. The voice coming from the tallest one who has his dark hair slicked back just so. I scan their faces to see if I know any of them, which I don't know why I bother doing. There's no way I'd know anyone around here other than my aunt and uncle anyway. But I do recognize one of them. The boy who cut wood with my uncle this morning.