lapsarian

one

there were no houses at the end of the cul-de-sac on hartford road. the adults were very specific that they lived on a cul-de-sac, as though even saying the words "dead end road" would lower property values.

"no, there are no houses, but look how wide the road is," they would say, "and instead of more homes, we have those lovely woods to look at." and they would nod at each other sagely, assured that they were indeed savvy to have purchased homes on such a well planned street

the children of hartford road held no such preconceptions about their neighborhood. they knew that the woods were unlovely, and whispered rumors from brother to sister to playmate as to why there were no houses built over bulldozed treelines.

"no, there are no houses - and look how wide the road is," they would say. "they couldn't tear down the trees down there. they tried, but the monster stopped them. stopped their machines dead in their tracks. they had tow 'em out and you can see them all in the junk yard, rotting."

it was almost a tradition for the older kids to dare each other to spend halloween out there. every year they bet candy on someone staying an hour out there (not foolish enough to even try for overnight), just far enough in that you couldn't see the road. every year, the unlucky one to take the bet came out minutes after walking in, confused as to how they had made it back to the road. one time, jeff winstock took his compass in to make sure he could walk straight and not get turned around. he set the record for longest time at twelve minutes before walking out between the oak trunks with a baffled look, insisting that he had walked south the entire time.

beth didn't understand why the other kids were so superstitious. living in the last house on the right hand side meant that her backyard jutted into the woods. at her mother's request, she had never walked so far out she couldn't still see the lights on at home at night; still, she had spent many years in and out of what she felt were her woods, learning the bit by her house by rote. she was the retriever of lost balls and frisbees, when she played with the neighbors at four and five; by six, the other kids didn't invite her anymore, too freaked out by "the weirdo" who navigated with such ease. still, their rejection would never completely erase the memory of her then two year old sister ayla calling her a hero for bringing back her stuffed lion after one of the boys threw it into the darkening green. in ayla, beth found a constant shadow, so she was never truly alone. besides, her best friend charlie came over most weekends, so it was alright in the end.

as beth grew older, she was able to negotiate further trips into her woods, and in this way learned what would become the way she most treasured spending time. as often as she could, she would carry library books and an ipod into the trees and sit until the light was gone.

this was where she found herself a week before school was due to start. this time, she never finished a chapter, instead listening to hold on now, youngster... on repeat and stressing about starting high school. charlie couldn't be more excited, of course. she had insisted that they take theater together, but while charlie was taking choir beth would be in art. they always did their best to ensure they'd have at least one class together every year since they had the choice, refusing to relive the devastation of fourth grade (the administrators had learned their lesson and placed them with the same teacher again for fifth).

beth's constant anxiety about being a high schooler ate through her like a tapeworm nymph, escaping from her roiling gut to her exhausted mind constantly. this would be the first time she wouldn't be in school with ayla, who had barely left the house this summer. ayla was far too kind, too quiet, to stand up for herself; beth had always done that for her.

today, though, she wasn't thinking of her sister. she was thinking of the stack of new clothes and school supplies put away in her closet. no uniform this year, no ayla, far less charlie... it all felt like too much. and so she sat and worried in her reading spot.

soon enough the light began to fade. beth gathered herself (and her book) and walked in the kitchen door to the smell of roasting chicken. her mother gave her a distracted smile from the stove where she was mashing potatoes. beth waved back and made her way up the stairs.

ayla's door was cracked so beth knocked gently before swinging it open. ayla was in bed but must not have been quite asleep as she opened her eyes and smiled to greet beth.

"how were your trees?"

"green, i guess. have you been in bed all day again?"

"yeah, i was just really tired. mom said if i don't start feeling better soon, i'll need to go to the doctor."

"ew." doctor reece was seventy-something and always smelled like breathmints and steamed broccoli.

"i know. so i'll be up tomorrow. maybe we can go walk up to the movies and see something?"

"yeah, sure. mom was just finishing up when i came in, so you'd better get up and get ready for dinner or dad'll be pissed."

"yeah, okay." ayla rolled out of bed and walked to her closet. beth left her to get changed, and to put her ipod on the charger.