Head Above Water

I had gone camping once before that day.
It was in the backyard in a medium-size pink tent with my sister. We made it through the night and then went inside for lucky charms and Saturday morning cartoons.

Having a tent was something I wished I had that night as I woke up with bugs of every shape and size crawling all over me—including a water bug that’s had no issues with sitting on my face.

I screamed.
Loudly.
It was shrill and high-pitched and as freaked out as I was, it was still the best feeling ever to wake up to the sun with a passing of flesh tone to my skin.

I screamed.
Loudly.
It was a shrill and high-pitched and as freaked out as I was, it was still the best feeling ever to wake up to the sun with a passing of flesh tone to my skin.

I stood up and I felt calm, I felt happy, even in my current hellish predicament it felt great to be on my own.

Real life came crashing down on me as I felt hungry.
Not hungry enough to chow down on Mr. Waterbug, but enough to feel some discomfort. I ran back into the woods and kept the road in my sight as I thought about my sister in a “Sound of Music” kind of daydream—where I would run to her front door and feel welcomed by her a new family.

An hour later I was in the downtown area of town near the churches. I walked on the opposite side of the road, not because I was afraid of being struck by lightning but more because I was angry that I hadn’t been all of the times I asked for fire from above.
Maybe just have my clock stopped on demand.

“Already been down that path…once again,” I muttered to myself as I came up to a row of houses.
I had made it back to town, but what did it matter? By my looks people would assume I was in trouble or had been in some. I walked by two houses and contemplated knocking on a door or just entering inside—maybe to have a drink of water.
No stealing.
Maybe lay on the couch and close my eyes in a Goldilocks kind of way—punishing my luck that the owners would get home. The great thing wash that they wouldn’t be my parents or brother—the three bad bears who didn’t eat me but made it much worse to live.

I moved past the houses, out of the neighborhood and into the downtown area. Downtown Prattville was nothing like the downtown of a larger city. It was rows of churches and small office buildings. I walked across the street from one of the churches—only to be in front of another. I felt disgusted looking at the stained glass windows and well-kept lawns.
“If they only helped others like they helped themselves.” I mumbled as I crossed the street again only to comes within a few inches of a car that I walked right in front of.
“Please, hit me,” I thought as the the brakes of the vehicles screamed. I didn’t turn into a hood ornament.
“Damn,” I thought as I awaited for the driver to roll their window down and scream about how stupid I was for living and walking in front of him.
“You okay?” The driver asked as he got out of the car.
“I’m fine,” I replied as I tried to avoid eye contact.
“Are you lost?”
“No,” I lied. I was lost.
Physically, I knew exactly where I was.
Mentally? An atlas, globe or map wouldn’t help me.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
I nodded as I walked on.
“Michaela.”
I stopped dead in my tracks at the sound of the name I wanted people to call me. Maybe I was dreaming he said it, so I took another step.
“Michaela Leigh.”
I turned back to the man but I avoided looking at his face.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I shook my head.
“Come to the side of the street. Let me back my car up. Will you wait right here?”
I nodded as and he nodded to me in reply. I looked at his face for a fraction of a second. He didn’t look familiar. He was dressed in a button down shirt and had some sweat stains, which meant either the abrupt stop of the car scared him to death or the heat was up way too high where he was at.

I walked closer to the parking lot as he got out of his car and met me halfway.
“Do you want to come in?”
I shook my head.
“I understand. My name is Anthony Cox. I’m the youth pastor here.”
I nodded but didn’t look at him.
“You know my son. He’s told me about you. Like your name and about what happened at school.”
“No one really knows what happened.” I replied.
“You do. That’s what matters.”
“I’m sorry I walked in front of your car. Can I go now?”
“If you want. But, I’d like it better if you came inside, out of the cold, and sit down. You don’t have to talk to me. You don’t have to talk to anybody. I’d just like you to rest a bit.”
“Sure, why you call the police?”
“No. We’ll call whoever you want to. Do you have any other family?”

I took another step into the parking lot.
“My sister. She lives somewhere in town, but I don’t know her number or where to find her.”
“We can work on that together, if you like.”
The thought of being struck with a wooden stake through my heart was merged with the vision of calling my sister and having her drive up and take me away from everything.
“Okay,” I said with a bite to my lip and a nod.

We walked into the church, down the hall and into a spacious office area with two women sitting in front of computers.
“Jolene, can you get get me the local phone book and one for Montgomery. Also, we need some clothes from the closet, please?”

One of the women got up and walked out into the hall.

“We’ll make the calls from out here. Have a seat,” he said as he pushed a large roller chair out of his office and invited me to sit down.

I looked around the office, trying to see if there were any bars on the windows or some form of rope or something to tie me down. All I could see were bookshelves full of heavy, leather-bound books; framed certificates and pictures were all over the walls. One picture in particular showed the guy in front of me: Randy, a woman, a girl who looked about eight, and someone who had braces on his teeth—with one of them looking like someone had punched him in the mouth: Tony.