My Great Escape (Part 2): Chapter 9

In case I forgot to mention, it's raining in buckets. I've been outside not 5 minutes, & my clothes are soaked through to the skin.

I'm fucking freezing, & my hoodie weighs a ton now. So much for good planning...while I was researching train fare, I didn't take 5 seconds to check the weather WHY?!

Because OBVIOUSLY I had my sights set on freedom, have a one track mind, & am a top notch planner!

So now I'm clawing at the charcoal grey shingles on the roof of my parents' house, because if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer not to take a tumble.

-"Zoe! What can I do to help?!"

Griselda swoops down in a panicky blur, knicking my white knuckles with her razor sharp talons in her haste. Warm sticky blood mixes with cool rainwater. & I lose the grip I had with my left hand.

I slip a little more.

-"Fuck! Back off Gris! I'm gonna fall & break my head!"

-"I'm sorry!" She flutters up, & I lose sight of her.

I'm starting to breathe too hard, too fast. Deep breaths, I tell myself. You've done this a hundred times or more. It just wasn't raining so hard you couldn't see before.

But it doesn't matter. You don't NEED to see.

I swing my left hand back up, fingers fluttering across the shingles, looking for a grip. I find one.

I try to redistribute my weight, & spread my feet, the rubber toes of my sneakers getting a little traction.

Just a little.

I scoot down, ever so slowly. An inch at a time. Getting close to the edge.

I feel a small smile creeping across my face. Almost there. I'm gonna make it.


KA-BOOM!


The crashing thunder catches me off guard, & I lose not only my composure, but my grip. For only a split fucking second--but it doesn't matter. It's a split fucking second too long.

I go skiding down the roof, feet scrabbling, arms stretched out in front of me....fingers reaching. One of my fingernails catches & pops off & I hear a ragged screech.

& realize it's coming from me.

& someone's wailing in my head.

I reach the end of the roof & grab madly at the gutter--another fucking mistake--but who's thinking at this point. I'd have been better just to try to roll up & take the fall. I'd land in the grass; it wouldn't have been too bad.

But I'm running on pure instinct at this point, & I grab the gutter with both hands.

I never stop to think that it's too damn old; it can't support my weight. Or the force with which I make contact. Not rusted out as these gutters are. Has Dad ever even been up here, I wonder?

A jagged bit of rusted metal bites into my left wrist, right into the vein.

-"FUCK!"

I can't see the blood because of the wet hoodie clinging to my skin, but I feel it.

Warm pain washes over me.

I release my grip.

I let go.

I hit the ground with a thud. Cold wet grass on my warm face.

Not cold anymore.

-"Zoe!"

Griselda sounds far away.

My eyes are heavy. Fuck it, I'm just gonna lay here in the grass. Just for a little while.

I close my eyes, just for a minute, I tell myself.

Everything washes away in a dark crimson wave....

My Great Escape (Part 1): Chapter 8

I go to school as planned, following along with our "regularly scheduled program".

My Mother drops me off in the morning, & then rushes off to meet Mrs. Porter at Our Lady of the Angels...they'll be sorting canned food for the hunger drive they've been volunteering for. She'll be otherwise distracted all day--PERFECT.

I tell her I'll walk home from school today, so she won't have to leave early. She doesn't have to worry about me. I'll come right home, I say. I flash her a plastic smile. She thinks I'm still taking the meds...drugged into obedience. She's completely clueless. Doesn't suspect a thing.

I ditch study hall today, & put the time to better use, slipping into the computer lab to do a little research. I find out that AMTRACK is running some specials...I can get a one way ticket from Chicago to Houston for $99. I have a little over $200 stashed in my knapsack at the moment...money saved from Christmas, & a few side jobs. This isn't counting my change jar either; which I'm planning to cash in before I jet.

I know what you're thinking--why Texas? My response to that is--why not? The weather is better than it is here in Chi-town, & I can get a train ticket for $99! & --I can board at 11pm. This way--I go to bed a little bit early, tell my Mother I'm nursing a headache or something...& then I'm in the clear. The folks crash out early anyways; their lights are out as soon as the Ten O'clock news wraps up. So I figure I can be out the window & tasting freedom by 10:30 at the latest. If I skate--I can be at the local boarding station in about 15 minutes. & by morning...I'll be gone without a trace, & the 'rents won't have the foggiest as to where to even start. That's why I figured it was best to go to school...at least then I can use the computers. By the time they figure out what I've been up to, I won't even be in Houston anymore...But it was the farthest I could get last minute for my money.

I fidget through my day, the minutes ticking away slower than they ever have before. In my entire life, I have never felt this impatient, but obviously, what the hell do I know?

After school, I stop at a local grocery store; they have one of those green Coinstar machines right in the front. I empty my jar into it; the coins clang all the way down. The machine plays the music of freedom as the coins jump loudly into their designated slots. The jar was filled almost to the top with mostly quarters; I have $177.73.

Awesome.

Griselda chitters in my head from time to time, but for the most part, I just tell her to be patient, & then abruptly push her out. I can't be distracted; I'm afraid I'll forget something.

I have to cover all my bases. I have to make a clean getaway.

I go home & pack my knapsack for the road; it's green denim with brown leather flaps. The thing looks like it's been to Hell & back. I've had it for ages.

I stuff it with an extra pair of jeans, some of my favorite t-shirts, my old, worn out, red "Chuck Taylor" sneakers....underwear, socks, toothbrush. I have my cash folded up & stuffed inside a small green leather drawstring pouch. This goes into the bottom of the bag, under all the clothes. I also stuff an old, battery powered discman, as my Mp3 player suffered a painful demise, into the bag with a few handpicked cds, & my favorite battered paperback book. I've read "The Talisman" so many times, I've practically memorized it, & the cover is dog-eared, & held in place with black electrical tape. I can't imagine taking a journey without old "Travellin' Jack". It's a perfect "on the road" story. I also raid the kitchen before my folks come home, adding a few cans of Vienna sausages, some chocolate chip granola bars, & some Goldfish crackers to the pack. Just in case.

I shove the knapsack under my bed, along with my well worn skateboard. I'd fished it out of the garage just this afternoon.

& now I wait....



..........


The time ticks away slower than it ever has before; my freedom is so close I can practically taste it, yet here I am, crawling out of my skin, waiting for the time to be right.

My folks come home. We make small talk. My mother wants to know about the pills. "Yes, I feel fine." I tell her. "Better in fact." She smiles....a big plastic smile. We eat dinner together. Conversation is dull as usual. She talks. My father pretends to listen. Mrs. Porter, the church food drive....blah, blah, blah. Forks scrape against white dinner plates with green borders on them. Time passes...tick. Tick. Tick.

If I stare at the clock anymore, I am going to scream. Or hurt someone. Or scream.

Griselda keeps chirping in my head; it's like having an impatient child looped in your mind constantly asking "Are we there yet?! Are we there yet?! Are we there yet?!"

Over & over again. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I retreat to my room & crank the stereo. Nothing too loud & obtrusive. Just a little Tom Waits. It helps to mellow me out. Don't want to alert the sirens in my Mother's head.

I read. Or I try to. The impatience is nearly tangible. I read words I can't remember. I focus, & read them again.

I hear the warbling of the evening news through the thin walls. Almost time.

I kill the music. Rain is pattering off the roof. Harder & harder...beating it's own rhythm. My heart seems to be keeping beat with it.

Shuffling feet drag down the hallway. Mom will be off in Dreamland counting sheep in no time.

10:20 pm. I force myself to sit damn near perfectly still for another ten minutes.

-"Griselda! You ready to jam?!" I open the link & call out to her.

-"I've been ready." She responds immediately.

I shoulder my knapsack, tuck the skateboard under my rm, flip the latches, & slowly slide the window up. The rain is coming down in sheets. Skateboarding in this will be more like surfing than skating--but I don't care. I'm going. That's all that matters.

I climb out backwards, feet first, taking extra care; everything is so slick. I slide into my little nook against the garage, surveying my situation.

I toss my skateboard down; it hits the grass with a dull thud. Then I pull my knapsack over both shoulders, drop to my hands & knees, & start slowly scooting to the edge.

My grip sucks. I start to slide...

Oh Shit.

Drugged: Chapter 7

The next few days pass me by in a blur; it doesn't really matter, as you know where I end up. But you'll just have to humor me a bit longer. This is my story after all.

I feel like I need to write it all down...every moment, every memory--because there's a distinct possibility that I will never get out of here. That the doors to "Peaceful Springs" will remain bolted tightly--& I'll never feel the rain on my face again. I start to panic if I continue along this train of thought for too long...but sometimes these pale blue walls start to close in on me. I can almost see them coming together--closer & closer--until I'm crushed between them. Unable to move. Unable to breathe. Unable to run. I have this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, & I just can't shake it away. "Zoe, you're gonna die in here." my inner monologue informs me. NO. No I will not. I will not die. I will not give up. They can't fucking keep me here. Even if they throw away the goddamn key...where there's a will, there's a way...right? I'll make my own if I have to. I'll find a way....

.....


So, as I was saying, the next few days pass me in a blur. I'm measuring time in tiny pink & blue pills. Every few hours, there's another one. I feel like I've got a blanket over my head....cotton stuffed in my ears. I go to school. I come home. People talk to me--but I don't really hear them. I see their mouths moving...but they may as well be speaking German. Or jibberish. It all makes about the same amount of sense to me.

I sleep. Alot. I have these dreams...I wish I had realized what they were at the time. Not just dreams at all. They were warnings....If only I'd heeded them, but I had no fucking idea. I thought it was simply a side effect from my meds....

I can't feel music anymore. It all sounds the same...no matter what I play. & I'm all alone in my head, for the first time in ages. & this alone terrifies me. I can't hear anyone else...not a peep from even a mouse. & I've lost my best friend. I can't hear--or speak to--Griselda anymore. Still she lingers, in the tree outside my window. Her shadow meshes with mine. But her voice has been muted. & so has mine.

Then I realize something. I have the first coherent thought I've had in days. I decide to stop taking those goddamn pills.

It takes a few days for the fuzziness to completely wear away, but slowly, I trade dreams of white walls & green eyes for the voices of birds & felines.

When I heard Griselda again, I almost shrieked with joy! I was so afraid I'd lost my gift--that my Mother & that fucking quack had stolen it from me!

-"ZOE! ZOE! ZOE!" I was sitting in algebra, watching as Mr. Simmons scribbled equations in yellow chalk on the board, when Griselda's voice finally broke through the drug induced fogginess in my mind. She kept screaming my name in intervals. Several times, & then she'd stop for a while. Time would pass; she'd do it again. Over & over. She wouldn't give up on me. She DIDN'T give up on me. She'd been at this for days.

-"Gris?" I had to really concentrate to break through to her. The drugs weren't gone yet...not completely.

-"ZOE!" her gleeful shriek startles me; I jump in my seat, banging my knee against the metal desk. A few people turn to glare at me, but before long, their eyes shift back to Mr. Simmons & his yellow chalk.

-"Gris--I'm in school. & this is really hard for me right now. Find me tonight--come to my window after dark. We're gonna be okay. I swear."

Focusing made my head hurt, but at least I was starting to feel like myself again.

.......



It was a long evening. My Mother dragged me off to Dr. Gunnkell's office. Every Wednesday night, so as not to interfere with the "Neighborhood Outreach" group, or Friday night bingo with her lady friends, my mother brings me here to be fixed. Or saved. & the good doctor fabricates some nonsense about me being delusional, or manic depressive, & my mother signs him a big fat check.

What a racket!

When the good doctor sees the light return to my eyes, he switches my prescription to Xanax. What-fucking-ever. I know better than to take that shit. Not anymore.

Never again.

Once I get home, I shut myself inside my room, lock my door & crank my stereo up to a level that probably has my mother's skin crawling. I spit the new yellow pill out from under my tongue into my palm; I shove it into the pocket of my jeans. Then I flip the locks on my window & push it up, slipping back out onto the roof.

My bird is waiting for me.

Griselda is hopping up & down with excitement....ever seen a bird do a jig before?!

I smile, & run my hand over her sleek black feathers.

-"What happened to you, Sister?! Where have you been?! I've been worried sick about you! I could see you...but you were...gone."

-"Gris, it's okay. My parents took me to this Doctor. To fix me..."

-"Fix you how? You aren't broken. There's nothing wrong with you."

-"Gris--I'm talking to a bird on the roof in the dark. My folks would totally disagree with you. They--the doctors--gave me these pills. & I couldn't hear you anymore..."

-"I've been trying to get through to you--to reach you--for several moons. Nothing worked. You weren't in there. There was no light in your eyes. You walked around in a daze. You were gone."

I shudder.

-"I'm back now." I smile at her.

-"What if they do it to you again?"

-"Don't worry, Gris. They won't. They think I'm still taking it. & we're gonna be long gone by the time they realize I'm not."

The bird cocks her head in confusion.

-"We're flying the coop, Gris."

She ruffles her feathers, fixing to spread her wings.

-"Not just yet. Gotta take care of a couple things. I'm not gonna get too far on foot. I need to be as far from the city as I can get in one night, so they have less chance of tracking me down. Stay close to me tomorrow after I get outta school. Gonna see 'bout gettin' a bus ticket. & you can follow me. Please?"

-"I'll always follow you. You're my Sister now."

-"Thanks Gris." I kiss the top of her head softly. "I've gotta catch some z's. Go hunt. We're gonna have a long night tomorrow."

She hops off the roof, flapping her wings with little effort. Before long, black feathers blend into the darkness, & I can't see her anymore....

Strange Dreams: Chapter 6

The album must've ended, leaving the amber stereo light to flicker endlessly in the dark; there was no more music. I never climb back inside to shut it down.

I just slouch there, up on the rooftop, my head leaned back against the aluminum siding of the house. I'd open my eyes from time to time, lapsing between sleep & dreams. The stars above would blur before my eyes, & my head felt so heavy & muddled.

Heavy lids droop shut once again, & images seem to flicker erraticly behind them.

& my mind is silent. I am not used to being alone inside my mind....not anymore.

But I have no energy to do anything about it. So I stay there beneath the stars. Trying to see the images more clearly...


......


I am running, stocking feet sliding beneath me. Where the hell am I?

I run, through endless white hallways...they all look the same. I have this horrible feeling of being pursued. I stop & look around, but there's no one there. I scream for Griselda, but she still doesn't answer.

The lights flicker above me...those long, florescent lights that hum as though there are a zillion bees trapped inside them.

Buzzing. Trapped. No escape.

I turn a corner too quickly, & my feet slide out from under me. I crack my head against the wall, as I crash to the cold white tile.

Warm blood trickles down my face, & leaves an angry crimson streak across the stark white wall.

I wipe the blood from my eyes, & stare at the red mess on my hand. But only for a moment.

I have to run. There's no time.

I stumble to my feet, & race to the end of the long hallway.

Where I am faced with a window. With bars on it. Because I'm trapped. Because they put me here.

There is a large raven in the tree outside the window. "Griselda?!" I shout, the words jagged in my throat. How long have I been screaming? Why doesn't anyone hear me?

A bird screams. I jump, grasping the bars tightly. But it wasn't the bird at all, just a boy. A young man actually, a bit older than me. He's lanky & pale, & he keeps ruffling his shaggy reddish hair. He's all alone. But for the bird. He lets loose another avian shriek, & the bird soars right to him. She lands softly, & wraps her talons gently around his wrist.

He looks up, right at me. His eyes are fiercely green, & a small, jagged scar runs just under his left eye.

I get the feeling that he SEES me, really SEES me...Who is he?...


......


I awaken to my Mother's incessant pounding on my door, & bright sunlight on my face, & climb back inside the house.

Green eyes linger in my thoughts....

Pretty Pills: Chapter 5

The door to hell is covered in crackled, spidery glass, & reads "Dr. Eugene Q. Gunnkell--Psychiatrist" in thick black print.

& "Purgatory", I'm convinced, vastly resembles the DMV. Everything in the "patient lounge", a very nice way of describing this drab room where you wait to be labeled, is fucking brown. Or beige. Or brown & beige. Gotta commend the interior decorator for her variety. The wallpaper features beige stripes that start to blur together if you stare at them too long. The sofa & chairs are throwbacks from the seventies....thick plush brown upholstery, with bent chrome arms. Even the art on the walls is drab...muted stills featuring vases with flowers that appear dead or dying, painted in sepia watercolors by some very uninspired artist. Perhaps he was dying too. That would explain a lot.

The "gatekeeper" is an overweight, middle-aged man who chews on his mustache when he's supposed to be "listening". He's probably been bald since the seventies, & wears a brown tie. "Doctor" Gunnkell--& I use this term very loosely--didn't listen to ME at all.

He DID, however, listen to my Mother quite a bit; then again, she is the one who signs the check, so why SHOULD he listen to ME at all? My Mother thinks he's "just wonderful".

-"Zoe. Hmmm." He's twisting that fucking mustache again. I slouch as low as I possible can in the squishy chair, without falling on my ass on the floor. He's sent my Mother away, so we can chat privately.

It's a total facade. He just wants that damn check.

-"Your Mother tells me you've been very depressed lately. She also says that you've been living in an imaginary world...& That you've been having difficulties making friends. Care to elaborate?"

-"Did she also tell you that she thinks I'm in a cult because the neighborhood gossip told her so?"

-"She mentioned something like that. But I want to hear your thoughts."

-"I think my Mother is the one who should be sitting in this chair. How's that?"

-" Here's what I think Zoe. I think you're a very ...imaginative girl, with a lot of internal issues. I think you feel ...different, than everyone else, so you lash out at a world that would otherwise embrace you with sarcasm & cynicism. These, delusions, your Mother speaks of...communicating with animals? You just want to be accepted. I can help you achieve that goal."

-"Well, 20 minutes & you've got me all figured out, huh Doc? That's pretty impressive."

-"I'm going to give you something that'll help you to relax. Should ease some of this depression & anxiety you're suffering from. It'll help you to embrace the world around you. It's okay Zoe. Everyone just wants to fit in."

He buzzes the receptionist to send my Mother back in.

-"Okay Mrs. Featherstone. Our time is up for today, but I want you to bring her back to see me next week, at the same time, alright? You were so right in calling me."

He pulls out his prescription pad. Is that all these guys are good for? Prescriptions & referals to see more of their kind? What bullshit!

-"I want to try her on Zoloft & see if this remedies any of her symptoms."

My Mother looks at the Doc with wide, serious eyes. There is such relief behind them; the good doctor agrees with her. Her daughter is broken, & better yet, there's a pill to fix it!

-"Get this filled right away. She'll take them twice a day, morning & night. If there are any complications or negative reactions, call me immediately. We'll change the dose, or the medication. But whatever you do--don't just abruptly stop these once they're in her system. That could be dangerous."

My Mother nods.

_"I'm also giving you a script for some Clonazapam. Give her one of these whenever she has an episode."

-"I cannot fucking believe this! I'm a little bit different--so you're gonna dope me up?! Un-fucking-believable!"

-"Zoe. Watch your tongue!" My Mother snaps at me. "Thank you so much, Doctor.'

-"Thank you Mrs. Featherstone. Zoe. See my receptionist on the way out to schedule another appointment."

This is beyond absurd. My Mother pushes me out the door.

We stop at the pharmacy on the way home to fill those life saving prescriptions post haste. I'm barely through the door once we get home, before my Mother is shoving those little blue pills down my throat.

My Mother sets the little orange plastic bottles on my bookshelf.

-"Honey, now you heard what the Doctor said. You'll tell us immediately if anything is wrong, alright? Just follow the directions on the bottle okay?"

-"There are so many things wrong here, I don't even know where to start." I mutter sourly.

-"Alright. G'night Dear." She flashes that plastic smile at me again, & shuts the door behind her, leaving me blissfully alone in my room.

I shuffle through the cds strewn about the floor, & decide on "Bad Religion". I turn the dial up. LOUD. My Mother never returns.

"There's people out there that say I'm no good,
'Cause I don't believe the things that I should,
And when the final conflict comes, I'll be so sorry I did wrong,
And hope and pray that our lord god will think I'm good...."

I bounce my head 'til the dizziness becomes overwhelming.

"FUCK ARMAGEDDON--THIS IS HELL! FUCK ARMAGEDDON --THIS IS HELL!"

I'm feeling sort of...drunk. Woozy. My head feels like it's wrapped in a blanket. Must be the drugs.

I snatch the little pill bottles off the bookshelf, where my Mother had left them. I contemplate tossing them out the window, but know my Mother will be looking for them in the morning. In the end, I dump them out on the thick black carpeting, swirling the little pink & blue pills around with my fingers. I absentmindedly start spelling out words.

HELP ME.

SAVE ME.

NOT ME.

I try to shake the fog out of my head. I don't like this.

I open my window, & slide outside into the night, my feet not as sure as usual. I slip into my spot, & lean my head back to look at the stars. the night sky is comforting, even if all the stars start to blur & streak together.

-"GRISELDA!" I shout in my head. I haven't heard her chattering since I got home. I almost always feel her presence in my mind. But I don't right now.

This frightens me. In fact, I can't hear ANYTHING right now. Not the Thompson's cat next door, Simon, although I can see him picking through their trash cans. Not the yippy poodle across the street, although I hear her barking. Not even a fucking squirrel.

OH NO. NO- NO -NO- NO -NO!

-"GRISELDA!"

She doesn't answer me. I fall asleep under the stars.

Heard it Through the Grapevine: Chapter 4

I have two shadows now, & only one of them belongs to me.

My bird is never far away. Well, I say "mine", as much as any living thing can "belong" to another. Griselda & I, we "belong" to each other.

No one bothers me anymore; "my peers" keep their distance. I don't know what exactly the football players said about me, but I have an idea. Word gets around y'know. Rumors spread like wildfire. I see how they look at me, when they think I'm not looking. I hear the whispers.

They think I have mutant super-powers, like one of the X-Men; perhaps this isn't so far off? I've heard that I'm worshiping the Devil. Or that I'm a witch. That I'm really a shape shifter, masquerading as a human girl. Like a werewolf. Now seriously, if I could be anyone, do you really think I'd land myself in fucking High School?! Really?! Some say I change into a huge black bird, & steal your identity. The more you listen, the stranger the stories get. But the consensus is all the same. On one thing they all agree...

Better to stay away from Zoe the Freak.

Can't say I disagree. I do nothing to dissuade them. My days have never been so peaceful.

Unfortunately, rumors this juicy don't stay in one place for too long. Word gets around. My classmates can't resist telling their friends at other schools, soon the parents are talking amongst themselves, & before long, my parents are whispering too.

& don't think they haven't noticed the lurking prescence of the large black bird, who's taken up residence in their Oak Tree.

When Mrs. Porter, who does the "Neighborhood Outreach" program with my Mother every Tuesday & Thursday, asks her if she knows that I've joined a cult, it's the last straw. See, Mrs. Porter is the self proclaimed "eyes & ears" of this community. She wears blue eye shadow up to her eyebrows, & festive earrings for every season...dangly pumpkins & Christmas lights that blink, blue & red stars for Independence day, & watermelons in the summertime. She runs her mouth a million miles a minute, & her dangly earrings swing back & forth, in effort to keep up with her rapidly bobbing head. It's almost hypnotic. She's such a fucking gossip monger. But Mrs. Porter heard from Mrs. Webber, who heard from her daughter Cindy that I was one of the leaders of a cult that worshiped machines as our true masters. See, Cindy & her friends went out for a picnic last weekend in the forest preserves, & they saw me & several other black robed figures, holding hands & chanting around a Fridgedaire!

"Oh honey!" She exclaimed to my Mother. "You've got to put a stop to this! Before it gets out of control!"

This is much too much for my mother, Mrs. Louise Featherstone, to handle. This is not the way things are supposed to be. See, you join these sorts of things to mingle, & to keep a firm grasp on your community. If everyone knows everyone, no "undesirables" can make their way in, thus infecting our perfect little neighborhood. & it's a status thing. All of the women cluck about who's husband got the better promotion, who's kid got into the better college, who's daughter is having the biggest wedding....it's fucking wretched.

She bursts into the house like a whirlwind; you can almost hear the gears turning in her brain. I'd bet they're really rusty.

-"Zoe?!" Her voice could cut glass. The door slams shut behind her. "Zoe! We need to talk!"

Yeah. Let's Talk. Why don't you try listening for a change Mother? See how that works out for you? This is gonna be good; I can tell from her tone.

-"What Mom?" I slink out into the living room.

-"I'm worried about you Honey. I've been hearing some pretty disturbing things about you..."

-"Lemme guess. Mrs. Porter?"

-"Mrs. Porter ALWAYS knows what's going on around here. She's friends with everyone. She's VERY well informed."

-"Yeah--that's what she wants you to think. So everyone tells her stuff & she can twist it all around. She's a lying hag!"

-"Zoe Featherstone! You mind your mouth! People are starting to talk about you!"

-"So what Mom?! I don't care what they think of me. You shouldn't either."

She stops for a moment, & brushes my dark hair from my eyes, so she can see my face. I scowl at her.

"You shouldn't hide your face dear. & you should smile more. Smiles are contagious you know." She flashes me the phoniest, most plastic smile she owns.

-"Are we done Mom? I have homework."

-"Don't you wanna hear what Mrs Porter told me?" She asks, aghast.

-"Not especially." I turn to go back to my room. She grabs my arm & tugs me back to her.

-"She told me that you're in a ..." She pauses, whispering the word "cult."

I can't help it--I just bust up with laughter. This is hysterical.

-"It's not funny! This is serious! They say you're ...worshiping...machines."

I laugh harder.

-"Cindy Webber saw you in Trippin Woods, with your friends, dancing around a refrigerator!"

-"Mom! Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?! First of all, what friends?! We both know I don't have any! & seriously, how would I even get a 'fridge out there?!"

-"Don't you take that tone with me, Missy!" She looks at me more closely. "Are you on drugs?!"

-"Yeah Mom. That's it. You've got me all figured out." I respond dryly.

-"Well, don't you disappear tonight Missy. Mrs. Porter recommended someone very good, & he says he can see you this evening."

-"What the hell are you talking about Mom?!"

-"This is getting completely out of hand. The depression. The sulking. The sneaking out the window--you thought I didn't know about that! All these...critters....always around! That bird!" She motions out the window. Griselda is watching us from her perch in the tree. "This can't go on! I'm taking you to a Doctor!"

I groan. "I don't need a shrink, Mom!"

-"Well, I wasn't asking you. Be ready to go after dinner. We're going to see Dr. Gunnkell."

Griselda: Chapter 3

It takes me a few minutes to compose myself.

I stand there in the alley way in awe, watching as my furry accomplices slink back into the shadows from whence they came. All but one.

The raven remains, grasping my wrist tightly...yet with care.

She watches me, wondering what I'll do next. I swing my hand out toward the sky, & she takes flight. I watch her graceful movements for just a moment, & then stoop to see if my little mp3 player has survived it's assault.

The screen is cracked & bits of the plastic have fractured & shattered. I jab at the little touch screen, but it's unresponsive. I frown.

-"Dammit!" I pitch it back to the ground, shake my head, & start walking home.

I notice a shadow at my feet that seems to vanish & reappear frequently. A shadow that isn't mine.

I light another Lucky, inhaling deeply, & continue home in a sort of daze. People pass me by, but all I notice are their feet. Sneakers & pastel pumps & work boots...beating a sort of rhythm into the pavement. This is the rhythm of the world that surrounds me, a world I don't fit into.

I reach my destination without further complications. The driveway is thankfully empty; no one is home. I twist my key in the lock, & drop my knapsack at the door. The silence is a bit unnerving.

I go into my room, & jab the "on" button on my stereo. Without even waiting to see what I've left in there, I flip the latch on my window, push it up, & slide outside onto the roof. My room overhangs the garage, so there's this little nook just outside the window, where you can press your back against that outer wall, & not have to worry about falling.

This is my favorite place to be when I'm home...just starring up at the clouds. Or the stars. I hate being trapped indoors with "them". That's almost unbearable. This is where I go to think...Where no one sees me...

I slip outside in a fluid, well practiced motion, & slide into my designated spot.

The gravelly voice of Mike Ness resonates from inside; I wrap it around me like a blanket.

" Some people like to gamble--but you always lose. Some people like to rock-n-roll--but you're always singin' the Blues. You've gotta nasty disposition--no one really knows the reason why. You've gotta bad, bad reputation--gonna hang down your head & cry. You've got bad...bad luck...."

I smile to myself & sing along, & then notice the raven, perched at the edge of the roof, staring at me.

-"Hello?" I ask.

The bird flutters her wings, & glides over to grip the window ledge just above my head.

-"So it is you." Her voice is tinged with surprise, & a bit of awe.

-"Huh?"

-"You called us. How is it that you speak in my head, human?"

-"Zoe. & I dunno. Just always been sumthin I could do. Talk to animals. But never from a distance like that. Mass call...that was ...wild. I didn't know I could do that...I thought we had to be...together, to communicate like this. You were there...." I tug at my lip thoughtfully. "You were the one that stayed. You followed me. Why?"

-" I've never encountered anyone who can do what you do, Zoe."

-"What do I call you?"

-"My name cannot be pronounced in your tongue, but the old woman who throws bread in the park calls me Griselda. You may call me that, if you wish. See, she speaks to me too...but not like you do. She can't hear me. I understand her, but she can't hear me....I wonder, if you are unique, or if there are others, like you?"

-"I dunno. Most people think I'm crazy."

-"I think you're special. You have a gift...You ARE a gift."

-"I've been called a lot of things..."gift" has never been one of them."

-"What happened to all of the others?"

-"The land dwellers left. The birds flew away. I don't think they even understood what called them there. That it was you, all along. When you screamed, it was like a siren sounded in our minds. It was impossible for us to ignore it. It drew us to the source...which was you. Once you no longer felt threatened, the mind-shriek subsided."

-"I'm glad you came back, Griselda."

-"As am I."

I hear the crunch of tires, as my Mother's station wagon pulls to a halt in the driveway.

-"I've gotta go. Will I see you again?" I ask hopefully.

-"I won't be far." Griselda spreads her dark wings, & hops off the ledge....

I watch her disappear, & carefully slip back through the window. I leave it open, just a bit...