Woke, With a Small Black Notebook

7:00 am. The sunlight streamed in through the window. Like clockwork, she opened her eyes and jumped out of bed. She was going to be the first one there.

She slipped on her shirt and jeans, took a swipe at her teeth with a dry toothbrush, grabbed a twinkie on the way out the door, and jumped on her bike. As she pedaled, her breath was deep in her belly and her shoulders were pushed forward. The Saturday morning sun was slightly mild against the chill still lingering on the grass.

In the distance, she saw a figure at the top of the hill, slowly the figure came into focus, growing larger and larger by the second. Julie skidded and pedaled harder. With her breath now in her ears, she raced past Tom Aker’s house and to the edge of the blacktop where unruly weeds and towering trees began. Julie gazed at the woods as she skidded around, simultaneously popping out the kickstand. That was her move. Her signature move.

“Beat ya.” She snapped as she turned around to face Dana. Dana kicked out the stand and slid off her bike real slow.

“No, you didn’t.”

Julie squinted her eyes, “Yes. I did.”

“You’re not in the woods yet!” And Dana darted past Julie. Julie sighed, she could never beat Dana in a foot race and sprinted her way to Dana’s side.

They waited there, at the edge of the blacktop where black gravel crumbled into dirt. Ticks, spiders, and other creepy crawlers awaited them inside the woods, but they had to wait for Margaret.

“Where is she?” Julie tried to see beyond the hilly road into the neighborhood, but there was nothing.

“Com’on.”

They turned around and walked into the woods, pushing aside random branches and stepping over large rocks and overgrown tree roots.

“You think they already came outside?”

“Shh! No, of course not,” Dana ridiculed.

They came upon a clearing demarcated by a chicken wire fence. They knelt down behind their makeshift fort and watched. Just beyond was Big Roger’s trailer. He had a wife and three kids. The oldest was Eric and then it was Marcia and Joy. They were never at school. They were never outside. The only time the girls were seen was at church. They never looked anybody in the eye. All the neighborhood kids teased, saying they were cursed. But Eric––he was everywhere. He had a truck and would race down the backroads trying to kill as many squirrels or raccoons as possible. He would speed up really quick and make a face like it was life or death. Dana, Julie, and Margaret rooted for the squirrels, but always, their bets ended dismally.

And that, in part, is what they were waiting for: every Saturday morning, Eric comes out, opens up a gate, and chickens start running around. He spends minutes if not hours chasing one down. He’ll trip. He’ll fall. He’ll yell. Then, snap, he’ll get one and break its neck so fast the chicken never had a chance. Betting on which chicken it would be was what Dana, Julie, and Margaret did. It wasn’t very girl-like. It wasn’t very kid-like. But they did it. Though they could hardly tell which chicken was which, so they ended up spending an hour at Dana’s house debating over it.

But Margaret had yet to show up. And these chickens had yet to start running around like their heads were already cut off. The girls didn’t know it, but chickens would never again run around in that trash-filled yard.

It started to get warm in the woods. Julie moaned, “Ugh, this day is turning out stupid.”

“Let’s go,” Dana said.

But Julie wanted to wait. Her real reason for coming these Saturday mornings was sure for the betting, but she wanted a glimpse of the girls. Were they cursed? Was there a shadow hanging over their heads?

They stood up like they weren’t scared of being seen and marched out of the woods with renewed intention. What exactly they intended to do, though, they didn’t know. Their Saturday morning was getting off to a strange start. Something was wrong. The air was getting too warm before noon and Margaret was missing.

They pedaled off and started to swerve all around, trying to pop black tar bubbles on the road. At the bottom of the hill, they saw her and yelled, “Margaret Jean! Where have you been?”

Margaret whipped her head around. Meeting somewhere in the middle, the girls stopped to collaborate.

“Did you see Eric?” Margaret inquired.

“No. Where were you?” Dana asked.

Margaret stuck out her foot, “Got new shoes. Momma had me try’em on this morning. Nice, right?” Margaret was smiling from ear to ear.

“Yea, whatever.” Julie wasn’t interested.

“Oh, come on, Jules.” Margaret whined, “I know you ain’t got the money right now, but these are nice shoes.”

“Shut up. I don’t need new shoes.” Julie stuck out her feet, sandals, “I’m not a wuss like you. My feet don’t need protecting.”

Dana rolled her eyes, “Guys. What are we gonna do? Should we go back and find Eric?”

“What? No.” Julie was adamant. And bored. And annoyed.

“You guys didn’t hear then?” Margaret jumped off her bike and let is fall, with a small thud, to the ground.

“Hear what?” Dana said. She scooted a bit closer with her bike.

Julie put the kickstand out and walked closer, too.

“Eric.” Margaret whispered, “Eric won $20,000 last night, some lottery ticket.”

“No way. Where?” Dana screeched. Julie just stood back, listening.

“7-11. Everyone says he’s just gonna waste that money.”

“Where’s he gonna keep the money?” Dana asked. Julie shot her a glance and closed in to learn more.

“Well, how do I know? I don’t even know if he has the money yet. I don’t know how that works.” Margaret was aghast at their ignorance.

“Oh, he has it.” Dana was sure. “Let’s go back.” She slapped Julie on the shoulder.

But Julie was frowning, “No, I gotta go home.” She jumped on her bike and started pedaling fast.

“Jules! Jules!” Dana yelled after her, but the wind was catching her words and sinking them. Besides, Julie was already halfway up the hill.

* * *

Julie parked her bike under the porch and went inside, using the back door. Sweat trickled down her forehead and she could smell her armpits. She opened the fridge and let the coolness wash over her before looking for a drink.

“Where’s all the soda?” she whined as her mom walked into the kitchen.

“Haven’t been to the store yet.”

“Why not? I’m thirsty. I’m hungry. And there’s NOTHING.” Julie shut the fridge door and marched past her mom.

“Julie. Don’t talk that way.”

“And what way is that?” Hand on hip.

“What is wrong? You better snap out of that attitude of yours or else.”

“Or else what?!” Daring.

Her mom softened her voice, didn’t take the bait, “Dad’s in the office, ok. He’s working on some stuff.”

Julie sighed, softening, and turned to her mom, “Why don’t we ever see Big Roger’s girls. What do they do all day?”

“Sweetie, we don’t talk about them, ok? They’re homeschooled or something. Just stay away from that place.”

That wasn’t the answer she wanted. Another lie. She went straight to her room and slammed the door. Under her bed, she pulled out a small black notebook and turned to the page where the last entry was:

Another lie. Today, dad lost his job. Margaret told me. Her dad’s his boss. And no one in this house is saying anything about it. They are just acting like everything’s fine.

Under it, she scribbled:

Again, another lie. Those girls aren’t homeschooled. Not one person in that house knows what 1+1 is. And not one person in this house can say the truth.

And then she wrote:

How do I get a lottery ticket?

Julie waited for her mom to leave. Then, she grabbed her change purse, went back outside, and got on her bike. She made sure she didn’t see Dana or Margaret anywhere. She pedaled hard and detoured through Samuel Johnson’s backyard to skip going by Dana’s house. She came to the end of the road where the woods started, hid her bike, and snuck to the fort. She was alert. Dana and Margaret could be there or around there, and she was in no mood for them.

But they weren’t there.

Just the thick, hot air.

Julie crouched down. She was in it for the long haul. She could be patient––that’s what she told herself, at least––if that meant sorting the truth from the lies. But the gnats were ruthless, and the sun still managed to find her through the thicket of tangled branches and bright green leaves. When she thought she had done well by lasting two hours, only 30 minutes had ticked away. She stood up, remaining a little hunched over, and turned to go.

But a loud POP exploded.

Leaving a ringing sensation in her ears.

Julie grabbed her head, looking side to side. And that’s when she saw her. The eyes of the younger daughter, Joy. Joy was staring at her from under the trailer where a rusted sheet of metal was propped up. She was crouched, too, like a cub tiger. And just staring. Her eyes were large but unmoving. It was like she had been watching Julie this whole time, like Julie was the one being spied on.

They stared at each other for a minute before Joy hid completely behind the sheet of metal, feral-like.

The chicken wire came into full view. Rusted. Julie wondered who was being kept in or kept out. She strained her eyes to see any other movement but felt like she was still being watched, targeted. Her heart was beating loudly and clearly.

Julie grabbed her bike and took off toward the 7-11. As she turned the corner of the road, she heard skidding and had to swing off the road onto the gravel to keep from being struck.

Eric.

In his red truck.

Racing down the street.

But there weren’t any animals in his way for him to speed like that.

Julie rushed to the 7-11. Parked her bike and counted the money in her pocket, which amounted to nothing more than $4.95.

“How much is a lottery ticket?”

The cashier looked her up and down, “Who wants to know?”

“I do.” Incredulous, like: duh!

“You can’t buy a lottery ticket!” The cashier quipped.

“And why not?!” Julie shot back.

“You ain’t old enough, for starters.”

Julie flipped her head to the side like that was a stupid and small detail that could easily be rectified.

“Ok, girl, you got to move aside for this gentleman unless you buying something you can.”

Julie looked around and then went outside. She blew out hot breath and pedaled home, defeated only temporarily.

* * *

At the bottom of the hill, Margaret and Dana were conversing with the boys of the neighborhood. They were all excited and whispering.

“What happened?” Julie pushed her way in.

“Jules!” Dana screeched. “The girl, Marcia, she shot herself.”

Julie stood quiet; eyes wide. Wide. WIDE! “What?!”

“She shot herself. She committed S-U-I-C-I-D-E!” Margaret chimed in, acting like Julie was dumb or something.

“Bull.” Julie pushed her way out of the huddled mess. She couldn’t bear to be around people not brave enough to open their eyes.

She knew. There was no suicide. Another LIE!

Julie threw her bike under the porch and went straight to her room. She leaned back on her bed. No one cared about those girls.

* * *

As night broke, Julie woke. Her eyes were wide open with a thought in her head. She pulled out her small black notebook and turned it to the next empty page. Pen in hand.