Route 262

~7~

I'm keeping an eye on the clock as I drive toward Route 262, speeding all the way. It's not because I have any intention of going back to the school - I don't. It's because I like to look at the time, look at what period is starting right now, imagine what I would be doing if I were still in school. Right now, I'd be starting Physics.

When I first pull into Dead Man's Curve, the thought that hits me is that there's nothing. I don't know what I expect to see there - really, I don't know what I could even realistically hope for there. Maybe a couple of times, the image of James sitting on the guard rail, his face turned to look down at the town flashed at me - but I park the car, in the same spot that we sat in less than 24 hours ago.

After a couple minutes, I get out of the car. There's nothing out there, of course, but the brisk air works its way into my lungs, and I feel slightly more alive staring out at this view. I'm shivering a bit - I forgot my jacket at school - and mostly I'm just letting my thoughts sift.

The summer that we were both nine was the only time I'd ever had anything with James. We'd never been close but we'd played together at one of our houses, for the fact that there was literally nothing else to do. It was the night that my mom had stepped out for a minute to go grocery shopping while it was raining heavily. It was the night that the power had gone out.

And we were down in my basement, a room that didn't have any windows at all, everything pitch black. I'd started to breathe heavy, and James had started to cry.

And because I didn't know what else to do, didn't know what to do if there weren't any adults to rescue us from this, I'd tugged at James. Even then he'd been taller than me, and he'd followed me to the closet. I'd shoved aside a couple of boxes, thrown a couple of coats on the floor to sit on; it was just enough space for two nine-year-olds squeeze next to each other. We'd grabbed each other's hands, his head bumped up against mine, each of us jumping whenever there was a clap of thunder, trying desperately to be brave and stick the whole storm out.

I don't remember how it ended, or when my mom even came home.

I'm pacing by the guard rail now, when I finally see it - a white flag of paper, taped into the groove of the rail. I peel it off, and I'm about to unfold it, but my fingers are trembling so hard, and I need at least a little bit of time to not think about James, to not think about his disappearance or how involved I am in it.

So I stuff it in my pocket, and I get back in my car, and I drive straight home. And while I waste away the hours away until school ends, I keep pushing the whole crisis to the back of my mind, trying to bury it under other thoughts, but pieces of it always keep sticking out.