Reach out and touch someone

CHAPTER 1

I sat straight up in bed like the people you see in the movies when they have been brought back to life after being zapped with paddles. I felt like I could barely breathe and in my half awake half asleep state I was grabbing at my throat, desperately trying to pull something away that I felt was choking me. I was fighting for my life from an unknown attacker who was taking my last breath from me. I was frantic. It took me some time before I realized it was just a dream and wake completely up. I finally realized that I was still just me, Jenna Frey, and I was okay and alone in my bed; no murderous attacker and I was safe. I broke out in tears at this revelation and I sobbed like I do when I wake up after anesthesia all over the pretty cream and lavender flowered bed spread I had just bought at JC Penney’s, on sale at 75% off.

After a few more moments of deep breaths to calm myself, a thing I do quite often, I was ready to get up and shake off this feeling. I wanted to laugh the whole thing off and chalk it up to “wow, that was crazy” after I realized that I was fine, but for some reason I couldn’t. Getting out of bed, I stepped on a Lego, scream whispered some obscenity, and swore I would throw every Lego in the damn house away. This was also something I did often. Lego’s will mess up your entire day. Those expensive pieces of plastic are a pain in my ass and my poor feet, because no matter how hard I try my boys still leave them everywhere all of the time, and those small suckers will sneak up on your toes like an assassin ninja.

Yup, definitely in my own reality. I limped into the bathroom to wash my face and handle morning business after swiping off a tiny, round, red Lego that got stuck to the sole of my foot. After drying my face I took a moment to look myself over in the mirror and I mumbled over the apparent lines I was getting around my lips. “Really? I am 33 and single; must I deal with this, too? Aging gracefully my ass”, I thought. I turned to walk away, but then realized something quickly that was not there the day before. On both of my arms there was a circular spot. It looked like something had been suctioned cupped to both of my arms. I rubbed my fingers over both spots quickly and nervously, switching hands to alternate arms. No, they don’t hurt. No, they aren’t really raised like a rash either, not that they look like a rash. They also didn’t have any color; it was more of what looked like an imprint. What the hell are they? I took off my light blue Rise Against concert t-shirt that I slept in and threw it onto the floor so I could get a better look, and see if there were anymore. As I walked back up to the mirror to look at them again, they were gone. Just like that. I know what I saw and they were there. I felt them myself, but now they were gone. I turned around and looked at my back as if the stupid things would move and were playing hide and seek. Basically, like a moron. I pulled down the scrub pants I went to sleep in and just as the pants hit my ankles and I looked at both of my legs, another set of circular marks were seen on my legs; one on both outer thigh just like my arms, but faded quickly until they too were gone. I used my hands to rub over both spots to see if I could still feel them like I was able to do on my arms, and nothing.

“You’re absolutely, hands down losing your damn mind, Jenna”, I scolded myself in a “you haven’t even had your coffee yet for this kind of crazy”, kind of way. I sat with my hands propped on the countertop, palms down, next to the one and only sink in the only bathroom in the house thinking this all over. I looked up and saw the subtle lines again. “Of course you’re still there though, huh?” And then it was the dream again. It popped into my head quickly as if some sort of reminder. I would compare it to that shitty sweater your aunt gave you at Christmas and you can’t return it. You know you got it, but you don’t want it. I had the dream, but as scary as it was I didn’t want to remember it. I wanted it to become like most other dreams I’ve had, forgotten immediately upon waking. I shook that off, too. I had too much to do today.

I walked out into the living room and looked around at the mess. I swear I can never keep up with the housework and with the two boys. More times than not I just felt overwhelmed by all of the things that I needed to do everyday with no help to do it. I keep telling myself I need to get the boys on a better schedule and dole out chores, but I never do. I have really created my own monsters with them. I guess because the boys are all I have since my divorce and I tend to spoil them.

I could hear the click, click, click of feet coming down the hall as I made my way into the kitchen to get my coffee. Following me in is Princes Laney. She is the Pit Bull we adopted from the SPCA a few months back. The boys just HAD to have a dog and even though I himmed and hawed over getting one more thing that I would need to take care of, I secretly wanted a little companion for myself. However, I wanted a little dog. I had it in my head that I could adopt a little dog that I could dress up and take with me everywhere. I’m sad to admit it, but I would even get a little tutu for it and put a bow in its hair. I was clearly delusional.

When I saw Laney with her beautiful rusty colored coat, pink nose and golden eyes

sitting there prim and proper in the cage when we went to visit, she gave me this look like “please take me home” and I just couldn’t leave her there, so home with us she came. She has been my little buddy since. She has had very bad anxiety since I got her home. For instance, I had to take her to the local shot clinic at the Petco and she had a little doggy panic attack in the store. She was hacking and panting until finally she laid down on her side and refused to get up at the end of the third aisle. I couldn’t even get her to the back of the store where the shot clinic was taking place, so I had to drag her by her leash like a mop, sliding over the floor and then she conveniently started to poop while I dragged her. Oh yeah, it just came out as I pulled her. It was a poop trail for a weird canine Hansel and Gretel story. There were a ton of people in the store and no one offered to help, either. One little girl saw the whole thing, pointed and said, “ewww!!!”. Ya think little girl? Nice of you to notice. I was mortified! She had to get her shots, however, so I got her out the front door, picked her up with the strength of the Incredible Hulk and stuck her in a grocery cart. I wheeled her right back in and she got her shots. Technically, I adopted a dog from the SPCA and gave her a good home. What I really got was a 2 year-old child and here I thought I was done with children for this lifetime. And what kind of Pit Bull has doggy panic attacks and shits herself? Aren’t they supposed to be scary and malicious? Not my Princess Laney. Not her. The only thing to date I have seen her attack with the force and deathly intent was a tiny feather that floated out of my down comforter. She did keep me company when the boys were away though so I really loved her. She has become my furry best friend and we even spoon!

I fed her and got her fresh water. Once my coffee was finished I poured myself a big, oversized cup of it and made my way to the back porch, a ritual I do every morning. Click, clack, click, clack. Laney was right behind me. I opened the back door not realizing it was Critter Valley out back this morning (two rabbits, God knows how many squirrels and a groundhog). Laney came out from behind me and took off after them all. Oh yeah, the other thing she doesn’t like are other animals in her yard. I went after her screaming at the top of my lungs for her to stop and of course the little hussie didn’t. I didn’t realize that my neighbor, George, was sitting on his back porch watching this whole thing and laughing his ass off. I finally got her under control, critters remaining safe, and he calls out over our shared chain link fence, “Do you need Bailey’s for that coffee now or a new pair of shorts?” By the time I turned around my hair was half out of the ponytail, beads of sweat pouring off of me, and I was out of breath. I looked a mess. So I replied to him, “You sir are an asshole….I will take both”.

George was a great neighbor. He moved in years before I did and lost his wife, Emma (her real name was Amelia) to cancer only a few short months before I moved in. George was probably in his late 60s or early 70s. I can’t be sure as I have never asked, but he had beautiful white hair and an abnormally young looking face, and I was sure he must’ve been quite the looker when he was younger. He always wore slacks and a button down shirt even when it was 100 degrees outside with humidity that made it 110.

George would cut my grass and check in on me. I think he just needed someone to make him feel useful since Amelia passed on and no one was there to give him a honey-do list. If I had small things that I needed replaced or fixed he would immediately get his tool box and come right over. He loves Laney too and he would watch her for me if I ever had to go away for the night, which rarely ever happens, or I had to be out of the house for an extended amount of time given her perpetual state of doggy anxiety.

He has family that lives in Florida, not too far from my grandparents, and I could never figure out why he didn’t just move there since he was on his own here with seemingly only me to keep him company. I did ask him once why he didn’t move and he said, “Because Emma is still here, I can feel her everyday and if I leave I will lose her”. I remember staring at him when he said it with a little pang in my chest, but not really knowing why. I guess it was because I felt sad for him in some ways, but found it oddly romantic in another. We had been drinking wine and talking about really nothing that night on my back porch when he said it. We continued talking about nothing after that like he had never said it. I didn’t know how to answer him or question it anyway, so sometimes the little voice deep down inside tells you to shut the hell up and move on, so I did.

After Critter Gate from that morning with the dog, he got me a shot of Bailey’s for my coffee (what? Who passes up Bailey’s?) and we talked about his garden and how the tomatoes don’t look to be coming up as good as they did last year. I realized the time, said goodbye, and made my way back into the house with Laney right behind me. I went through my day as I normally would on a Friday, a school day: woke up the boys and fed them their breakfast. Quinn has to have two bowls of Cocoa Puffs every morning and Christian has to have toast and two over easy eggs. They probably don’t know how lucky they are. I never got that kind of breakfast growing up. My brother and I got a bowl of oatmeal or Carnation Instant Breakfast. My parents worked and were extremely busy trying to keep the roof over our heads, so we really did have to fend for ourselves at a very young age, which I actually appreciated when I was grown.

Of course Christian didn’t want to wake up. He was like a teenager already and always wanted to sleep in. On the weekends he will sleep until 1 if I didn’t wake him up. Sleeping in for me is 7 a.m., if that. Eesh. Quinn is hyper as can be and wakes up on the first shake of an arm, ready and raring to go. They both dress themselves even though I still put their clothes out for them. I can’t even help it. My mom tells me I shouldn’t do that for them anymore, that I need to make them more self-sufficient, but they are my babies and before I know it they will be out of the house and I will probably be alone. I find it funny that she tells me such things anyway given that my boys pretty much get whatever they want whenever they want out of her. She even has a sign in a frame on her wall in the dining room that says, “At grandma’s house I can”.

I might as well enjoy taking care of them now, because before long they will be full blown teenagers and I will take my place in the corner as a potted plant as their friends will be probably be more important. My only saving grace is that they are such good kids and if they talk sideways out of their mouths at me they know I won’t have it. I kind of feel like I have the best of both worlds; they love me like their best friend and they also fear me a little. I’m a single mom raising two boys so they need to know respect and manners. Too many kids these days are just entitled brats without an ounce of respect. I don’t want that for my boys, but then again, I don’t think there is a parent who would. We all try our best and pray no deep psychotherapy is needed.

My friends tease me that I am going to make it so that any woman the boys

meet will never compare to their mother since they won’t iron their underwear. I laugh that off! I only iron their boxer shorts, NOT the whitey tighty’s. I joke and so do they, but I probably do entirely too much. Who cares. Screw them all. They are mine and I own them outright and that’s pretty much how I feel about it.

I walked them to the bus stop after we got through their morning breakfast and dressing routine, kissed them good-bye even though Christian, at the ripe age of 10, would rather me just give him a wave. Tough noogies is what I tell him every day and wished them both a good day at school. I watched as the bus drove off with kids talking and screaming at the top of their lungs and then turned around to walk back towards the house when I felt like I hit a wall. I don’t mean literally, but figuratively of course. Everything felt completely wrong. All of it. I felt an overwhelming sense of dread that the boys had left my sight, and that never happens when they go to school. I looked around at the other houses around me and even down one end of the street and then looked down the other. No, no, no. It was wrong. Wait, it had to be right. I know I live here, right? Yeah, I live here, but I don’t anymore. No, that can’t be right, because I clearly live here. Where the hell else would I live? I was having some sort of odd ball meltdown in between Coral Street and Madson Drive in my own neighborhood. This was a neighborhood I had rented the same house in for the last two years! But yet it felt all wrong as if it wasn’t supposed to be….again. I had already been here and I wasn’t supposed to be here again.

“Holy shit! My money!”, I yelled out loud and ran the two blocks down to my house. Even as I ran up my own driveway it seemed old to me and out of place. I opened the front door and it was the same feeling. I turned right down the hallway and then into my home office. I wiggled the mouse around to get the computer to come out of sleep mode. I immediately opened Internet Explorer, went to my favorites, and then clicked on the link to my bank account. I entered my ID and then my password, and I waited anxiously with sweaty palms as the page loaded to tell me my balance. When the screen appeared and I saw less than $200 I wanted to cry. I was confused as to why I wanted to cry, but there was this indwelling feeling that told me I had money and the figure on this screen definitely, 100% was not it. I then got real bipolar about all of this, because then I started to laugh and talk to myself. “You’re cracking up Jenna! First you think you have marks on your arms and legs, and now you think you don’t live here? You think that you actually have money? How much Bailey’s did George put in my coffee?” I went from third person analyst to first, tears to laughter. I had to shake that off too with the thought of money. I needed to get to work ASAP and stop having these unrealistic hallucinations or breaks in consciousness, because the paycheck isn’t going to make itself. I went and got some water and then came back into my office and sat down to type.

I type for a medical transcription company from home. I have done this for so long that I could probably type it in my sleep, so it was easy work and the pay was okay. It was a fairly normal day all in all seemingly except for my craziness; the boys went to school and I typed for my pay. The dog was off sleeping somewhere like she always was. Between her and Christian, I didn’t know which one slept more. The house looked like it always looked. I decided I was going to throw myself into work for the day and hope that the nonsense that was happening with me would disappear. I didn’t have time to lose my mind. It worked well. I took no breaks except to get food and to go to the bathroom and luckily nothing else completely nuts happened.

I finished up my work for the day about an hour before the boys got off of the bus. I got their clothes packed for the weekend at their dads’ house and I also made up some food for my girlfriends who were coming over to play cards and talk about husbands, ex-husbands, and the new gossip. I was so looking forward to the girls coming that night because once the boys left the house I would be restless. I did alright by myself since the separation and then the divorce, but I always had something to do or a kid pulling at my side so I really don’t have time to think about being lonely. I can easily stuff down all the hurt of the last years and the emotions that lurch where I lock them away, because I’m distracted by taking care of them. Since the girls were coming over I actually felt a little excited for the break from the mom routine.

Hell, I’d maybe even shave my legs and pluck my eyebrows just because I needed to feel like a together woman, even if only for my friends, Becca and Lauren that I’ve know for 15 years. It wasn’t until I stopped working for the day that the dream crept back up to the forefront of my mind. I was grateful it wasn’t the other stuff from earlier in the morning, but when it would shoot back into my mind, it would ping me to the chest and made me feel nauseous; it followed me. I put Quinn’s clothes in his bag and Bam! Right in my head. I let the dog out to pee and Bam! Right in my head. I marinated the chicken for dinner tonight and Bam! Again, right into my head. It was as if I gave up the déjà vu of my life to go right into the horror of that dream. It would pop up and make me feel queasy and then I would mentally force it back out.

Just like always, the boys came home from school and told me about their day. Because Quinn is so hyper, I always wonder if he had a “green light” day or not. In the school where the boys go, the teachers start the day off for the students with a light system; green for good, yellow for a warning, and red for “I’m telling your parents you were a pain in my ass today in class”. Okay, so not literally on the last part, but you can get the gist. Ed and I had been wrestling with giving Quinn medication to help him, and I knew we were getting close to having to do it. I hated the idea of putting him on anything, but it was starting to affect his school work and he was a huge distraction to other children.

“How was your day?!” I was always so excited to see their faces.

“Good mom! I stayed on green.” Quinn answered first, and he always, always tells me about his color for the day first.

“It was good, Mom. I had gym today.” Christian answered next. He loved gym class and he looked forward to it on Friday’s. When I was in school we had gym everyday, but now they only have it once a week. For a country so concerned with childhood obesity and a government who touts the same, why on earth would they make gym only once a day? It’s so bass ackwards.

I made them a snack and we talked about random things. I truly wanted this to be a normal day, but that dream kept pinging me in the chest; seeming to get more intense as the day went on, and would hit me out of nowhere. About an hour or so later, I heard the beep out front and I knew that meant Ed was there to pick up the boys. Sixteen years of our lives together and we are now at a beep for communication. It was trained into the boys’ minds as well, because they instantly got up, grabbed their bags that I packed for them, gave me a kiss and a huge, wonderful hug with “I love you”, and took off out the front door. Before Quinn made it out behind Christian to go, I stopped him and gave him a grocery bag. He looked inside, and said “Thanks Mom! You’re the best mom ever!”, and then he took off. Every two weeks when they went with him for the weekend, I did the same thing and Quinn always acted like it was the first time I gave him such a bag. I loved it.

Ed didn’t want Quinn to bring anymore toys with him to his house, but Quinn always walked out the door with a grocery bag…… that I gave to him….. on purpose… filled up with Lego’s to take right on over there. I love Ed’s face when Quinn would come walking out with the big bag. He tells Quinn no and then Quinn fusses, and he is too tired from his long day at work to fight him on it. I tell ya, a month or so more of this I can have only a third of the feet destroying Lego’s in the house! I will have effectively moved those little suckers right on out of here like a stealth minx taking out its prey. I loved it. I loved that it annoyed Ed, more.

I stood in the doorway and watched Quinn run up to him and I watched Ed’s face look at mine like he would cut me if he could. He knew what I was doing with the bags of Lego’s, but I guess today he was more tired than usual and it showed on his face. He didn’t fight Quinn this time. I got a death look, a shake of the head as if to say “you asshole”, and then Ed ushered him into the truck with Christian. I waved and smiled and watched the truck leave. Okay, so I’m a calculated bitch. I confess.

As I watched Ed drive off with my babies I became wildly uneasy. I did not want them out of my direct eye sight at all. It was a fleeting moment of panic to the point that I wanted to call Ed and tell him to bring them back home right away, but I didn’t have it in me to call him and say it. He would think I was out of my mind and I had no real reason to justify it other than I wanted them here with me and I felt dread that they couldn’t be. Because I didn’t know where the panic came from about them leaving, I wandered in my mind to how I have felt lately in general. I can admit that I would cry when they left. I really didn’t want to be alone. Yes, I went out and did things with the girls, even though it had been some time since the last romp out, but it just wasn’t the same as when my boys were here. I know that I am becoming co-dependent on them, but I truly love them being here with me and I love the schedule we keep. I was a schedule-keeping woman since the separation, and I’m now newly divorced. It had just become official in the last few months.

I knew Ed was going to marry Alannah soon. He didn’t say it, but he was the marrying type and I knew it wouldn’t be long. I was no longer in-love with him and had not been probably for the last few years of our marriage, but there was some jealousy on my part. I was figuring out this single thing myself still and he was already living with someone. He actually met her three days after our separation! That was difficult to digest at first, but I do appreciate that Alannah is so good to my kids and loves them as if they were her own. I got lucky in terms of co-parenting and the moving on part of our lives when he picked her. She is a good woman and makes him happy, which I couldn’t and probably would have never been able to do like she has for him. And I never had any issues with her myself, except for one and that wasn’t really to her face necessarily or anything that she did to me. The boys had come home after a night with their dad and somehow in the run-of-the-mill conversation, and for reasons why it was brought up I don’t remember, Christian says to me, paraphrasing, “Alannah loves to clean. She says it calms her so she cleans all the time. It’s never like here over there”.

Two things ran through my mind then. First, if my child was a grown man I would’ve slapped him across the face all dramatic like the 1930s movie divas did. I knew he meant nothing by it in terms of trying to hurt me, but what the hell man? He acts like he needs penicillin or a Tetanus shot when he walks in the front door. Cleaning has never been nor will ever be my strong suite. I was born without the gene that kicks in at some point that tells me to dust, mop and vacuum like a wonder woman. My mother, in particular, could vouch for that before even Ed could. I am great at keeping things tidy and I don’t like clutter, but the toilet needs to look like it will become a self-sufficient society complete with its own government and Walmart before I clean it. I friggin hate cleaning bathrooms.

Second? Alannah can be a good woman all she wants. She can love Ed and my boys all she wants. She can be this tiny little thing without dieting or exercise, with dark, thick, beautiful hair like a Greek Goddess, but you can’t have cleaning, too. You can’t plant the idea of being in yellow cleaning gloves, scrubbing toilets and singing The Hills Are Alive with the Sound of Music, while forest creatures join in with song and dance as you do it. Are you frigging kidding me with this? Lawd! Outside of that? I can’t complain about them together and I count myself as lucky.

But, it was hard. All of this wasn’t easy to get used to or adjust to. I lost my best friend and partner which was hard enough, but then the financial hardship made things exponentially more difficult. I had lost about 20 pounds since he and I split up, not that it was quite enough given that I still was in a size 14, barely, but the stress of hoping I could pay all of the bills on time and every other thing that required money would keep me up at night…a lot. My hair had started to fall out and my face would break out. It seemed that I had anxiety more times than I didn’t have anxiety, because I was afraid that one tiny thing like my car breaking down would be what tipped my entire situation onto its head. The fine line that I walked every day of every week for every year of the last two years since he and I split, truly had taken its toll on me. I guess all of the emotions would get to me when the boys couldn’t be a distraction, so when they left I usually would cry for a few minutes. It wasn’t just a “few tears and call it quits type of cry”. It was a sobbing, slide-down-the-wall until my butt hit the floor, slobbering snot cry, in a human pile of flesh on the floor. Sometimes I cried for hours and other times for a good 15 minutes. I was thankful that no one saw it, because I am an ugly crier. I can admit it. Ugly. I was lonely and missed the companionship and overall help in my life more than I missed Ed. I was smart enough to figure that out on my own fairly quickly. So now? He and I have beeps.

I had a quiet weekend planned for myself, which included plenty of wine tonight. Becca and Lauren came together right on time at 7, and like the wonderful friends they are, they came with a bottle of red and a bottle of white, each. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who needed a stress time-out and I admit that seeing them did calm me down inside, if only just a little, at first.

Becca has beautiful long brown hair that almost touches her butt and I hate her for it. I could never grow mine out that long without it getting on my nerves and cutting it short. Plus I didn’t feel like I had the facial structure she did to pull it off. She had come so far in the last six months or so. She had been working out at the gym to lose weight and get healthy; she quit smoking just before that. She lost so much weight that she almost looked like a new woman. Becca may have been heavier set, but she always had men drooling over her because she walked into a room with this attitude of, “yes, I’m here and I’m kind of a big deal”, but not in a snobby way; more like I am that fun girl who knows exactly who I am and I’m going to handle business with or without you. She was the life of any party! She amazed me with her strength. She was an executive at a credit card bank and traveled all over the world. I sometimes lived vicariously through her since I hardly left Delaware except to go to Maine and Florida on family vacations when I was married. She had a heart of gold and was loyal to a fault. She was just amazing.

Her only set back had been a separation from her husband, Jeff, although in my mind I wouldn’t define it as a set back. I didn’t care for Jeff. I never have. Given that I was one of her best friends I knew what their fights and struggles entailed and I knew what sort of things that Jeff would say and do to her. I could hate him for those things alone, but whenever he was around I would have a bad feeling. I can’t explain it, but I just had a feeling about him that he wasn’t a good person even at the core of him. I secretly wanted her to keep the separation going. I tried to be as supportive as I could for her, because I knew that she was in turmoil over her marriage and what to do, but I wanted her to divorce him. Not only do I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she can do better than him, but sometimes I would be afraid of what he might do to her one day. Again, I can’t explain it, but it was a feeling that I had and have always had, and it was clear; if she didn’t leave him I could end up getting a phone call that no one wants to get. He was verbally abusive and years before, physically abusive, too. I really hated him and I’m not one to really hate anybody.

Lauren has really thick brown hair that is so curly I don’t know how she manages to deal with it everyday, but somehow she does and she always looks like a professional woman; suited up and ready to make a presentation to the board of some high money place. Lauren is built more like me; decent in the breast department and curvy. Not fat, curvy. Not frumpy, curvy. Lauren is Irish and has the china doll skin. What a lucky bitch. My face breaks out if I even say “period” and I thought at 33 I was too old for that. Not her though. Lauren is the most logical of us all and can explain things in so much detail that at times you are extremely grateful for the knowledge and other times you have to tell her to get on with it or you would be there all day. She doesn’t get offended, she just says sorry and gets to her point. She is almost finished college with a Bachelor’s degree and she is probably going to be the next Vice President or President of some Fortune 500 Company like Becca, because she has it like that. She was the only one of us that hadn’t been married yet, and she could care less. She actually enjoyed the single life and what she felt to be her freedom. She was an extremely happy person with herself and her life, most of the time. She would never settle for the sake of having someone in her life. It was honorable, to me, for her to understand her own power and worth, and to settle for nothing less than she deserved.

If you separate us from each other, you could see why Becca and Lauren would hang out, but I am the woman who works from home and barely makes it every month, is divorced with two kids, and sometimes doesn’t even shower until day 2 just because it’s too much energy on days that are emotionally and physically long. My hair is mostly up in a ponytail or bun, I barely wear make up unless I am going out with the girls for the night, and I couldn’t tell you the last time I went shopping for clothes for myself. I feel like my clothing represents that I am about to go to a kids soccer game and other days, most days, I look like I would fit in nicely with bums under a bridge like an extended family based on our fashion choices alone. I guess I gave the hell up long ago on any fashion sense. I have what I call mom-at-home syndrome, I think. I probably use it as an excuse. I am naturally blond, but after the separation I needed to feel incognito like Carrie did after Big left her at the alter in the Sex & The City movie, so I box dyed it a dark brown/red. It had such a round of applause that I kept it and now I kinda love it.

We just don’t match if taken separately, but together we are just three women who could’ve been sisters if the Powers-That-Be made it so. We could talk for hours and we stood thick as thieves. I couldn’t wait to see them every single time that I did.

Two bottles down, dinner was finished and the dirty plates remained in the sink. I made some really good Caribbean jerk chicken and a potato dish that I learned the recipe for on TV. It was a hit! We sat on the back porch listening to the radio and talking, bellies full and happy, and a little buzzed except for Lauren. We were sitting on a patio set that I had just bought on my own since my divorce and I was quietly so proud of it. It was wrought black iron, of the fake variety that is, with bright blood red and sun-yellow flowers on the fabric of the cushions. There was a couch, love seat and glass-topped coffee table that sat in the middle. I bought an inexpensive outdoor rug to go under the table. It was like a living room on the back patio and I loved it. I had saved up my money for the $400 set from Wal-Mart and somehow every time I looked at it it reminded me that I can do this on my own. Cheap date, aren’t I? Well, I have always been into symbolism. I guess I could’ve saved the money in the bank for a down time when I needed a nest egg, but not me. Noooo. When I get to feeling a little down I need to buy things. It used to be skirts or shoes before I was married with children, but now it is patio sets. Go figure. And by saving money I mean that I squirreled away gift cards from Christmas and my birthday money on top of what I could do on my own. Twice a year I would get an extra paycheck, in May and October, that I would use to catch up on things, so the one on May helped a lot.

However, the nagging feeling of my déjà vu from earlier today and that damn dream was still there and growing, popping up in the middle of our various conversations, nonstop like a rude child interrupting adult conversations until you finally scream “what?!” at them. Becca was finishing a story about her sons’ winning baseball game catch when I finally blurted out, “I just have to tell you guys about the dream that woke me up this morning. Sorry Becca, but it has been sitting with me all day and I can’t stand it! I have to tell somebody about it!” I picked up my wine glass and chugged down the Pinot that was in it like a college kid at a frat party before filling it up again.

“Well, shit girl, slow down, it’s fine. Seriously Jenna, you should see your face, you’re flipping pale”. Becca never said the word “fuck” if she could use flip, flipping or motherflipper instead. All other cuss words were fair game. Fuck was my favorite word. I used it like I use salt on my food; a lot and shouldn’t.

“I am?” I sipped more wine this time, but I wanted to take the entire bottle and tip it up.

“Umm, yeah, you really are”. Her face had contorted into one of relaxation to that of concerned.

I blurted it out so fast that I didn’t realize I had a mist of sweat on my face and my pulse was racing. It startled me to have a response that I wasn’t aware of.

With wide eyes and a slow approach, Lauren said, “Jenna, what the heck? This must’ve been a pretty bad dream. What happened?” Becca nodded her head in a push for me to tell.

“Well, I had this dream that I was walking through a park, but I don’t know why I was there”, took another sip and a hurried breath, “ I remember feeling nothing at all really, but then I got into this clearing, and a small opened area circled by more trees. After a few steps in the clearing, I literally almost stepped on a woman’s body just laying there. She was dead. I remember she had on a white lacy type of shirt and a tan skirt, but she was dirty from being out there, I guess. I don’t know”.

“Was she bloody or anything?" Lauren asked. After a second to run through the memory of the dream I answered, “No, I did not see blood”, and I continued. “I remember bending over to look at her face”.

“What color hair did she have?” Becca asked.

“Brown and it was long, I remember”.

“Was it someone we know?”

“No, I didn’t recognize her”.

“This is pretty creepy Jenna”. Thanks Lauren.

“I know and it gets worse”.

“Shit, for real?” Leave it to Becca.

“Oh yeah. See, I was bending over to look at her when all of a sudden her eyes shot open and although her lips didn’t move, I heard ‘help me’ and she grabbed my arm. But then I woke up clawing at my throat, because I could’ve sworn someone was choking me. It took me a few minutes to realize that it was just a dream and for me to calm down. It was horrible, really horrible”.

“Whoa, so what do you think it means?”

“I don’t know, Lar. What I do know is that it has been eating at me all goddamned day and I cannot shake it for the life of me. I keep seeing her face over and over and her voice asking me to help her. It’s crazy, right?” I was anxious and rambling, each sentence blurted out faster than the one before it. “And then to make matters worse, I think I had some crazy fucking moment today after I put the kids on the bus where I felt detached from my life or something. It was like I wasn’t supposed to live here anymore, because I already did! As in past tense. And then get this crazy shit, I thought I had money, too! Can you imagine? Me having money? I legit went to my computer and pulled up my bank account and had the nerve to be sort of pissy that I was still broke.”

Crickets. They both looked at me with a blank stare and I looked at them eagerly awaiting an easy explanation to my irrational conversation. They weren’t sure what the hell to say to me. Would I know what to say to them if I had heard one of them say it? I’m sure I could’ve come up with something sarcastically supportive. But them? Crickets. Nadda. They just heard their friend blurt out a form of crazy and weren’t sure if it was DEFCON 5 and I was lost or maybe still a 2, and I could be treated.

Neither one answered me right away. Then, Becca spoke. “Do you think you know where her body is?”

“Say what?” I guess they were going to bypass the latter part of my breakdown completely or maybe they would come back to it.

“Do you know where this clearing is? Could you go to it?”

Lauren remained quiet. She realized before I did the track Becca’s mind was going down.

“You know what? I have an overwhelming feeling that it was at Lums Pond. I can’t explain it, but something tells me it was Lums Pond”.

“Hmmm”. I could almost see Becca’s mind turning and just at the point I realized “road trip” would leave her lips, she said it.

“I think we should just go there and see if anything might turn up.” She air quoted “turn up”.

Before Lauren could object I was already out in front with my own.

“Woman, you have lost your mind. There is no way in hell I am going out there. Uh uh, no”. Lauren seconded my reaction with a vigorous nod, but didn’t give a verbalization.

“Why in the hell not?”, she added with a laugh, because she knew it was nuts, but her eyes were as serious as a half off sale at Lane Bryant and she had a bonus check to blow.

“Umm, well, it is 10 at night and we’ve been drinking. Plus, the bugs and God knows what else. No. I never claimed to be adventurous. No. Hellz no”.

Of course Lauren chimed in with the most reasonable of excuses. “Bec, what if the police catch us out there or a park ranger guy? I don’t know about you, but need I remind you that I am broke and would prefer not to pull money out of my butt for bail?”

Becca humphed in her seat, but only momentarily, because not for seconds later she gave Lauren and me both a speech that feminists would bleed to if they heard it. Even now in looking back I am pretty sure she added to the drama with a hint of tears that didn’t quite fall from her lids.

Looking at us both first, she started; changing position to either Lauren or myself when talking about us directly. “Ladies”, both of us, “I don’t know about you guys, but all three of us have had a really shitty year. Me and my problems with Jeff and him moving out, and all the running that never ends for Randy…..I used to live. I used to go crazy and have a blast and never look back. I don’t regret my life or my choices, but I’ve definitely been feeling a little smothered and a little old. I miss that spark of something anything sometimes”. This is where the tears would be inserted.

Turns to Lauren.

“Lar, you’ve had a pretty rough year, too. You had that “thing” (what was with the air quotes tonight?), but you picked yourself back up and now you are going to finally finish college. I’m so proud of you, too, by the way, but it’s been awhile since you’ve done anything more dangerous than bleach your top lip”.

Lauren wanted to defend herself in some sort of way, maybe an “I can’t help genetics and I wax regularly”, but she knew Becca was right and instead shrugged her shoulders and instinctively put her fingers to her top lip to see if she needed a touch up. I could never tell she even had that problem before. She must do a fantastic job at keeping up with the bleaching or waxing, because I instantly looked for some sort of china doll face mustache and didn’t see anything. How do I not know about this and Becca does? The soap box Becca was giving her speech on was steel in her mind, and maybe Lauren didn’t have the energy to say anything back, and didn’t.

Turns to me.

“Jenna, my girl. You know I love you, but let’s face it, your year has blown big time. I don’t know if “put through the ringer” (frigging quotes again!) explains it. Since you and Ed broke up, as messed up as that whole thing was, you just haven’t been the same. You need to do this more than those feet your hiding under the table need Jesus. For the love of God, you need some excitement and I am not going to accept no as an answer!” Yes, I couldn’t help but look at my feet and also shrug, because they really could use a pedicure. When a girl is right, she is right.

“Bec, come on, no. This is crazy”. I looked at Lauren and couldn’t believe that she wasn’t going to be her normal reasoning self. Hello? Was she not listening to this, too? Apparently, Lar was only good for shrugging her shoulders and hoping for a no 5 o’clock shadow mustache tonight. I’m pretty sure I called her a traitor, but for as much as I wanted to tell Becca to eff off shearly out of defense, she was right. All of the things she said were true about me. As much as I didn’t want to, the little devil hidden under my apparent split ends on the left shoulder crept out, ignited a small fire, and I agreed. With one condition. “Stop with the damn air quotes for crying out loud. One more air quote and I may have to cut your ass”, I added with a seriously annoyed laugh.

After Becca agreed to my demand and Lauren came around, we were on the road headed for Lums Pond. Laney seemed nonplussed about us leaving the house, which is not like her at all. She barely opened a sleeping eye from the couch and her tail only wagged once when I said bye to her, which is surprising because if she hears car keys it sets her little doggy self into the “they are never coming back and I will be left here to eat my own tail” head spin I feel she takes from being left alone at the house. Before we left, we armed ourselves with a flashlight and an electric lantern I had in my shed. I had brought them with me when I moved out of the house that Ed and I shared following the separation. Becca brought the wine. She joked that we needed to keep our priorities in order no matter what. Lauren drove her Mazda. She always drives. It might have been the lamest way for some 30 something’s to get a kick, but we didn’t care. We are going on a little adventure to a place we shouldn’t be. It’s been a long time since we’ve done anything even remotely this silly. Plus, I might have been a little drunk by now. In reflection, I should’ve realized how sad that was. Why didn’t we do anything fun anymore? Life. That’s why.

I don’t remember the complete details of our discussion about how crazy we were when we all went to the Bahamas after graduation from high school while we rode in the car. I’m pretty sure my bungee jump and Becca’s wet T-shirt contest, that she won hands down, were on tap as we drove. I guess we went down memory lane with some of our younger more adventurous days because what we were doing right now was the most spontaneous thing we had done since that trip. Funny how Becca and I, in particular, were in such a hurry to get married out of high school and work and have a family, and time just slips by. We would always talk about that trip at some of the BBQ’s we would have earlier on. It reminded us that there was still that fun, ready-for-anything person still lingering deep down. So we talked all the way there and laughed. Lauren laughed both nervously and whole heartedly the whole time. She has such a great laugh. But at no time did the girls bring up the other part of my day where I temporarily lost it and I was too lost in conversation and nervousness to bring it up myself. I completely forgot to mention the circular marks on my arms and legs that disappeared.

When we drove around the gate the tone in the car changed and we were all in full emotional agreement: Excited, nervous….and scared to death. Laura drove slowly down the winding road passed some of the pavilions when Becca reminded me that I needed to speak up when I thought I felt something or remembered something from my dream. Duh, Becca.

I don’t know about Becca or Lauren, but the further back we got into the park, the more uneasy I became and damned if I didn’t have to pee! Damn wine and my bodily reaction to anxiety and stress. Walnut bladder, party of one? Nonetheless, I tried to concentrate and calm down through my highly wine-buzzed state. Right as we were about three-quarters of the way around the park and just as I was starting to feel like this was all crazy and nothing at all was going to happen, I blurted out, “here!”

Becca screamed out and Lauren immediately stopped the car. Apparently, I scared them, but I scared myself even more because I didn’t understand how I even knew this particular spot was the spot. It just came out on its own without my own thought.

“I’ll drive up to that pavilion parking lot”.

“No. It’s here. She is here. Just stop”. Again, where was this coming from? Was this some sort of paranormal auto pilot? I was freaking out, but was starting to pump with adrenaline and my body was forcing me towards the woods to the left of the car.

I started to open the back passenger door when Becca leaned back and grabbed my arm, “are you sure? Seriously, you’re sure?” She must’ve thought this was going to be nothing, too. We were all wrong. Something was certainly happening, but I wasn’t sure exactly what.

“Becca, I don’t know what is happening, but I need to go there”, I pointed to the woods to our left, “I can’t give you a reason, but she’s there, I just know it”. I was never more serious. My heart was racing and the urge to go was climbing and climbing; it was almost uncontrollable. I was clearly full on drunk by now. I had to be.

Lauren whispered an “oh fudge” in disbelief. Even in a situation that clearly called for an “oh fuck”, she stayed in control. Amazing. Becca followed with, “I’m kind of scared”, but before I or Lauren could reply she tipped the bottle of white to her lips and chugged it down like I did at the house before I told them the story. She pulled up some strength from somewhere and said, “Fuck it. We’re doing this. Lar, pull over”, and Lar did. I didn’t bother to close my door all the way as she pulled over half into the grass along the roadway.

I was still fighting the overwhelming force pulling me into the woods where there was no light when, thankfully, Lauren grabbed the flashlight and lantern from the trunk. She handed me the lantern and she held the flashlight. In a moment of completely logical control, which is typical of Lauren, she told me to go first, Becca to go next, and she would follow last. She was giving the reasoning behind her thought process, but I was already moving and I was focused. One of my biggest fears is spiders and snakes, and if either were to be in excess it would be here, but they never crossed my mind. There was no moon to speak of and the only light was what we brought.

I crossed into the woods like I knew what I was doing and where I was going. If either of my friends were talking I didn’t hear them. Focused. There was no trail and I had to push my way through the trees and overgrowth. I held the lantern right above shoulder height. I can’t recall how long we walked or how far in we were, but after awhile, we did indeed walk into a clearing. All objective reasoning in my mind was lost, because the clearing had no reason to be there. There was no water to fish, no volleyball net, and no barbecue pits or pavilions nearby; just an open space illuminated only inches in front of us at a time with our meager flashlight and lantern.

None of us spoke and I’m pretty sure if it weren’t for the sounds of nature in the park drowning out our silence, we could’ve heard our own hearts beating. The shock was surreal. Finally, Lauren, with an exhaled breath, again whispered an amazed, “Oh fudge”, and broke the human silence.

“We can’t split up, so were do you think we should go Jenna?”, Becca asked, trying to sound completely together in a completely unreal situation.

“I….I…I don’t know! I don’t feel it!” I bit out. “I don’t feel her!” I was starting to spin.

“What can’t you feel, I don’t understand.”

“I can’t explain it. I know I keep saying that, but it’s this feeling and I think it’s gone. I don’t know Becca. I don’t know!” Spinning, spinning….

“Okay, we just need to calm down. This has been a crazy night and we just need to…”

I cut Lauren off. “No, wait! Over there”. I pointed in a direction that was unknown in the darkness. “She’s over there”. I don’t know where my internal compass came from, but up until now nothing else made sense, so why in the hell should this? Somehow, I was sure of it.

I started to walk and again I was focused. Peripherally, I heard Lauren say to Becca, “She keeps saying she….I am really starting to freak out, Becca” and Becca replied with a short, “I know”. What else could be said about this?

For as completely insane as this all was, just like the last 15 years, Becca and Lauren followed. No matter what steps I needed to take, I could always turn around and know that they would be right there for me. I’ve never known what it was like to be truly alone because of them like some people face in their lives.

Walking through the weeds and grasses that came up to our knees, my heart was starting to sink and I was losing the sure feeling I had just seconds earlier been infused with. Ready to give up, I fell. I fell over a log startling the girls behind me.

“You okay, Jenna?”, Becca asked concerned and almost in a whisper as she searched me out with the light that Lauren held in her hands.

“Yeah, I guess I freakin fell!”, I yelled back.

Grabbing my lantern I started to get up when the log I thought I tripped over, now with light, actually were legs. It shocked me so bad I called out an “oh shit” and fell backwards, trying to crawl away and I was screaming. No this wasn’t real. No. No. No.

“What Jenna? What is it?” Lauren yelled out. They didn’t see her!

My back bumped into the stump of a tree, “She’s there Lar! She’s there! Oh my God, she’s really fucking here”. I started to spiral down the drain of my disbelief and for the first time in my 33 years I started to have a true panic attack. I couldn’t get enough air and I knew I was going to pass out. This reality was too much for me and I couldn’t make it make sense to stop me from cracking.

I went into my spiral, but then I felt a smack to my face and screaming. I don’t know where my mind took me for that time, but I was coming through a tunnel back to reality. I saw Becca’s face directly in front of me, cupping my face trying to bring me around. I came to and was rocking in place with my knees to my chest, my palms on the ground flat.

It didn’t take long after that, I think, to regain my composure, but only because the feeling, that focused feeling returned and I knew I had to go to her.

I clearly said, “I’m okay, I’m okay”, just before Becca could shake me or render another snap out of it smack. I know they were both making statements and asking questions, but I didn’t respond or answer. Focused. I grabbed my lantern and picked myself up. I swiped away one of their hands so they couldn’t stop me as I started to move. There wasn’t much they could’ve done outside of pin me down to the ground. I was going. I had to go.

Four or five strides later and the light from my lantern illuminating what minutes ago were thought to be a log, were now the creamy legs…that belonged to her. Slowly, I moved the lantern up her body revealing the tan skirt and the white lacy shirt, just as I remembered from the dream. Moving to her face I could see it clearly and the long brown hair that splayed out in all directions on the ground; an exact replication of my memory. I started to shiver uncontrollably in the early September air; it was muggy and in the 80s that night. I felt every hair on my body stand up straight like they were electrified and the goosebumps were bulging from my skin as I started to bend at the knees to touch her. Paranormal auto pilot. Must be, because there was a faint feeling to run, but the urge to touch her face was stronger. Switching the lamp to my left hand, I reached out with my right hand with the very real, not understood, deep need to feel her face….and I touched her.