Half-Life

Untitled Part 1

After a suspended moment that pulsed with tension, Britney killed the overhead light, surrounding us with darkness, except for the soft glow of the Autumn Harvest candle centered on a dinner plate between our sleeping bags.

We shifted our bodies to stare into the flickering light. Hours earlier the candle had illuminated the Milovich's front porch jack-o-lantern, drawing trick-or-treaters to their door. Now freed from the pumpkin and relit, its intent was to attract strangers again, but of a very different sort. The flame was lower this year, but that was just fine with me. It gave a more serious vibe to the room, and reduced Abby to the edges of my vision, allowing me to at least pretend we were all the same girls who'd dreamed up this Halloween sleepover back in fifth grade when we realized the initials of our first names spelled the word BATS.

"One minute warning," Britney announced, studying the Tinkerbell wristwatch she'd unearthed for the occasion.

"I'm good," I spoke up, just to assert I was back in team player mode.

Britney's cheeks went puffy with a grin. While not technically overweight, everything about her seemed large. She did this goofy accent when she talked about herself, saying she came from "goot peasant stock." I know she wished she was smaller. Just like I wished my hair wasn't so thin and mousy brown.

Abby, on the other hand, didn't want for much. The God of Genes had been more than generous, giving her shiny blonde hair, clear skin, and a pitching arm that sculpted her waistline and took many of her teams to playoffs. And now she had a boyfriend. Go figure.

"Ready positions." Britney's volume had significantly dropped, yet somehow her voice retained its power. It was almost as if her words were stalling out, and wavering in the Autumn Harvest air before us.

I couldn't begin to make sense of that, but no matter, for the outside of my brain took over, with prickles rushing across my scalp.

Giving my head a shake, I propped up on my knees, my butt coming to rest on the heels of my sleep socks.

Each of us held a small compact mirror, its lid snapped shut. At the stroke of midnight, we'd scoot around with our backs to the candle, open and lift our compacts until we had a clear view of the flame. Supposedly, if we really tried-and really believed-the face of the man we were to marry would come to life inside the flame.

Ridiculous, of course, and no surprise these alleged future husbands had been no-shows. But we'd had lots of laughs over the years, predicting the class nose picker, the middle school crossing guard, or a kaleidoscope of faces, meaning regular visits to divorce court.

"No question who I'm going to see tonight," Abby announced.

I bit on my lip, waiting for one of the others to shoot her down. And while I knew that sometimes silence screamed louder than words, as the moments ticked by like drops of hot oil on my skin, I lost what was left of my patience.

"This is our fifth year playing, Abby. If he's your Mr. Right, how come you haven't seen him already?"

She swiveled toward me. In the shadows of her eyes, I thought I saw a glimpse of the girl who'd befriended me back in kindergarten, who'd stepped up to fill the vacuous void in my life after my twin sister died, who knew all my secrets, who always had my back.

Then her brow arched and the softness fell away. I stiffened, wanting to reach out and smack her smug face. To hug myself. To cry out in pain. But I did nothing more than sit there, tensed and stubborn, while our lifetime of memories licked like flames along the walls.

"Besides the obvious?" she shot back. "That this is the first time we've been able to follow the rules, to actually play it on October 31st?"

She totally had me there. Halloween had fallen on school nights the previous years, so we'd had to settle for the nearest weekends. Technically, it did change things.

And if I were to be completely straightforward with myself, this night did have a different feel already from the others. More concentrated, more intense. Almost as if something was on the verge of happening, or someone was waiting and watching.

But I was no more prepared for brutal self-honesty than I was to respond to Abby, and felt relief course through me when Britney piped up.

"Now, remember," she said in that eerie tone that skipped off from her usual voice. "We need silence. And total concentration." Her words hummed in the air until she drew in a sharp inhale. "Time."

We all did our fancy moves, four butts swiveling in sync. Compacts up and snapping open.

My hand inexplicably unsteady, I maneuvered my mirror until I got a sparkling eyeful of flame. I went into game mode, imagining myself in a killer wedding gown-this year I went with knee-length, ivory silk and lace-and taking slow, rhythmic steps down center the aisle of my church. My arm scooped inside the circle of my dad's, I tried to feel the crush of the carpet under my designer heels. I took in the guests we passed in the pews. My cousins, my brother, Abby-

Abby? Wait! What was she doing there?

Oh well, on the bright side, at least she wasn't ahead of me, as my maid of honor. I'd kept my resolution to demote her to the sidelines of my life.

And there was Mom, in the front row, in a high-necked burgundy dress, kneading her hands anxiously, waiting for Dad, in his tux, to give me away and join her.

The fact Kirk Maxwell was nowhere to be seen was encouraging, but I still figured I had about as much chance of spotting him in the flame as, well, Liam Hemsworth.

Continuing my measured steps toward the altar, I concentrated on the image of our parish priest, holding an open prayer book.

What I didn't envision was the drastic drop in room temperature. Or the goosebumps that sudden swept up from my feet upon the sleeping bag to the nape of my neck. What the-

"Trisha."

My breath felt sucked from my lungs.

"Trisha!"

I closed my eyes as if to will the voice away. It wasn't Abby's. Selena's. Or Britney's. And it wasn't coming from inside the room. But from inside my head.

I knew I'd semi-consciously blurted out the thing about Abby being into one-armed guys earlier, and like most people, I sometimes spoke before thinking. But this...this...was different.

"Trisha."

"What?" I sputtered, either out loud or in my head. Any muscles not already wire taut went rigid, and I almost hoped Britney would hush me, expose me.

But the only noises reaching my ears were my own ragged breaths.

Either with supreme courage or stupidity-or both-I rolled back my lids, forcing my eyes to focus. To see a face against the flame.

My own.

Okay, okay, hardly a headline: Girl Sees Self in Mirror.

Except that it was a big deal. Gigantic. Colossal. Because what I was seeing, what I was hearing? I knew for sure it wasn't me.