S.M.A.R.T. (The Subject of Mind Altering Research and Testing)

Chapter Two

The school bus rounded the corner, and Sheila looked out to the sidewalk the way she did every day. She hoped she would see him standing there, on the sidewalk, where he always had before. He had been missing-in-action for over five months now, and all she wanted was to see him waiting for her, like he always had. The bus rounded the bend onto her circle and she dashed to another window for a better view. Her heart jumped with anticipation, but fell fast back to the ground in a hurdle of disappointment. He wasn't there. Her father wasn't home yet. She knew if he was, that is where here would be. Waiting for her. Like he always had before.

Sheila was twelve and had her mother's pale skin and chestnut brown hair, with razor cut bang that angled gracefully above emerald eyes. She scanned the other kids on the bus, the youngest to oldest, all chattering with bright stupid smiles on their faces. None of them understand.

She had turned twelve only two months past, and even on her birthday and during her party, she kept turning her eyes to the front window of her living room, hoping to see a car pull up and her father step out of it. She didn't want anything else for her birthday, she only asked for that. She got nice presents, and her mother threw a party. Her friends came and her family too, though she had wished they hadn't. None of that had truly mattered to her. She blew out her candles. She smiled to be polite, pretending to be happy - though she wasn't, and inside felt as extinguished as the candles that had smoked in front of her. She hadn't even made a wish. If anyone is listening, they should already know, she had thought.

The bus pulled to a stop and Sheila stepped off to cross the street towards her house. It was on Oak Circle - third on the left. It was a white house with blue windows, two stories tall, with a porch out front that had four white Roman pillars. It was June, so the sun was still high in the cloudless blue sky, and a blue and white garden of crocuses and phlox bloomed around the edges, each one sticking its neck out to bath in the warm rays. It had at one time been rather beautiful to her, but today she walked past without notice, making her way up the driveway and climbing the steps in disappointment.

She opened the door, threw her backpack to the ground and kicked her shoes off. "Mom!" She shouted; she always did that - she liked to her mother to know she was home. 

She listened but didn't get an answer. The family car was in the driveway, so she knew her mother was home. Maybe she is asleep, or caught up in her reading. Her mother sometimes did that. Sometimes she would have to say "Mom" four or five times just to get her to look up from a book. Sometimes she would even call her "Jane". Something about calling your mother by her first name always gets her attention.

Sheila left her backpack in the foyer and went down the hall where she heard the tap running from the kitchen. Sheila hopped up onto one of the stools beside the kitchen island and put her elbows on the glossy marble countertop. Behind her sat the family table, made of dark-stained oak with matching everything to go with it. Her mother had already set it for dinner. Two plates. 

The table set up was quite elegant. Everything matched. The chair cushions all matched the placemats, and even they all matched the colour of the island counter-top. It was centred with a vase, and above the whole set hung a chandelier, completing her mother's masterpiece. Her mother had taken pride in her knack for decorating, but Sheila hadn't noticed these sorts of subtleties - she was more focused on the lack of her father's presence than anything else she saw around the family table.

Her mother was washing the dishes she had used to cook dinner with when Sheila came in. She was a slender woman, five foot ten, with an athletic build. She had the same dark brown hair and fair green eyes that she had given to Sheila. Her skin was soft and pale, and she had a dimple on her left cheek. She usually left her hair down and straight, but today it was tied back into a ponytail to go with her casual dresscode. Sheila often thought about how beautiful her mother was and took pride in the fact that she was the spitting image of her as a child.

Sheila had to shuffle around a bit before her mother noticed she had come in and stopped the tap. "Hi Hon, I didn't even hear you come in over the water running. How was school?" Jane asked.

"It was good, we got to have two periods of gym today, and we got to play dodgeball," Sheila replied. She loved dodgeball; it didn't really feel like school, they only got to play it once in a while, and she liked to throw balls at the cute boys in her class. "And we're starting a new book tomorrow, that's why we got to play," she continued.

Her mother smiled.

As much as Sheila loved dodgeball, she also loved to read - like her mother - but most of the kids in her class didn't, so her teacher would always let the class play dodgeball the day before, as a sort of bribe.

"That sounds like a fun day. What book are you starting?"

"Mr. Bowse says it's a surprise," Sheila answered.

"Well that's g---" RIINNG!!

The phone cut Jane off. She walked over to it - waited one more ring - and then picked it up.

Sheila tried to guess who it could be. Cousin Marty, Aunt Jen, or Uncle Matt. Or maybe one of my friends. Or an army man calling to say my dad is alive... or dead. She didn't want to think about it. Her thoughts always turned back to him.

All of her guesses were wrong. It was one of her friend's mothers calling to invite Sheila to a birthday party. Another birthday party. What's the point? Nobody gets what they really want and wishes never come true. If they did my dad would be---

Her mother's voice turned to panic and interrupted her thought.

"I'm sorry, I'll have to call you back, Linda. I'm getting an important call on the other line." She didn't even wait for a response before she switched lines.

"Hello? Yes, this is." She said rather quickly, turning cherry red, and not but five seconds later the phone dropped from her hands, hitting the counter and falling to the floor.

It's him, he's dead. Sheila thought, frozen still. She could feel tears welling behind her eyes.

Her mother fumbled the phone back to her ear. "Thank you, thank you, God, thank you." She spat out in a quick breath. "We'll stay right here." Her mother said, pausing to keep her composure, and then said thank you twice more hurriedly before hanging up the phone and turning to her little girl. Her trembling face turned to a smile, tightening her eyes to release a sickle of tears down her cheeks.

"He's alive. They found him!" She exhausted in a thin gasp. Her smile turned to a weak laugh and then back to a cry.

Sheila jumped down from the stool and went to her mother. Jane bent down and the two exchanged a long tight hug. Sheila hadn't noticed, but the dam had broken on her own tears too, salt running her own face too.

"Your dad is coming home." Her mother gasped as she collapsed to spill her emotions to the floor.